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Superman on Earth

19. No More Tights, No More Flights?

It was several months ago. We'd been living in southwestern Ohio for a good while. I'd asked Barb what she thought about a reprise of Flight to the North.

"Who would play Superman?" she asked.

I had an inkling where this was going, but I had to go ahead and say it, "Well, I thought I would."

"You're too old to play Superman."

Sigh. Never let it be said that the woman's ever been less than honest with me.

You're too old to play Superman.

With that thought echoing in my head, I went back in time, tracing the bumpy route we'd traveled to get here. It had been seven years since we'd left Kent, Ohio. In the interim, we'd made our own flight northwards, to a church in snow laden northwestern Pennsylvania. There, I'd pitched the idea for Flight to the North to certain influential people. It's a good thing I tested those waters, contacting people I figured might not care for Superman. As I recall, one associated Superman with the Occult. Another thought that play-acting in church was all right so long as nobody's feet left the ground. I'm very glad now that I didn't push the idea further.

Given the reception the Flight to the North idea got there, it's a wonder I was able to foist on them the Vacation Bible School curriculum that I had a couple years earlier. That curriculum, written by my friend and colleague, the energetic and creative Terry Bailey, featured super-heroes and/or masked avengers: Lone Ranger, Zorro, Batman, Wonder Woman, and, of course, Superman.

At 47, I was maybe getting a bit long in the tooth to play the role. But I figured that, since I'd procured the curriculum, I had dibs on the part. If our director had any doubts about my fitness for the role, she kept it to herself. For what it's worth, a glance at the photos taken then doesn't embarrass me now. (Of course, they're a little blurry - probably due to my super speed.)

We constructed a wall of large cardboard boxes for me to break through. I'd enlisted the help of a couple men to play villains. I'd also given a CD, which contained John Williams' Superman theme, to our sound tech to play.

The morning of my super-appearance, I was nervous. I downed four cups of coffee. By the time I heard my cue, I was a burning river of adrenaline laced with caffeine. The music started. Unfortunately, it wasn't the Superman theme but the Batman theme. There wasn't time to change things, though, only time to face the music. I burst through the wall of cardboard boxes. One poor woman, totally unprepared for such an entrance, screamed. There was no time to check on her either. My adversaries were approaching, one with a gun and the other with a knife. I assumed the classic Superman stance, arms akimbo, shaking my head at such a poor excuse for a threat. With a blast of super-breath, I blew the gun-wielder back up the aisle and out the door. Without a glance, I flicked the knife guy away with one finger.

With the bad guys dealt with, I was now able to talk with our VBS director, a nice lady named Heather. There was a bit of funny business between us: I handed her a gift. She took it - and her arms sagged with its weight. "Oh, Heather," I cried, "I'm sorry! The box must be made of lead!" I've forgotten now why the box was made of lead. I'm also having a hard time remembering what was in the box - a Superman shirt, I think. Anyway, I then took center stage to tell the students that, ultimately, I'd received my powers from God and that I'd pledged to use them in His service. Then I had them all raise their right hands and pledge to do the same - use whatever gifts and abilities God had given them in His service. This wasn't chapter-and-verse from the canon of the comics, of course, but it fit VBS quite well.

I then rushed out of the auditorium, pushing so violently through the door that it flew back against the wall. Soon afterwards, I learned that I'd hit the door so hard the doorknob punched a hole in the wall. That settled Superman down a bit! (If I really were this guy, I'd be mortified at all the damage my super-battles had done to Metropolis!)

As if I needed further chastening, one of the teachers told me what one little girl had asked her after my appearance: "Why does Superman have white hair?"

"White hair?" I thought. "My hair isn't white. It must have been how the light struck the, uh, gray."

An Adventures of Superman episode "The Face and The Voice," centers on a thug named Boulder (George Reeves in a dual role) who undergoes plastic surgery to look like the Man of Steel. Later, he declares, "I got da built and da verse!" So, I guess, did I. I sounded like Superman. I looked like Superman - from the neck down anyway. From the neck up, though - well, maybe I should've dyed my hair, or scrounged for a dark toupee.

You're too old to play Superman.

I came back from my reverie, back to 2008, back to Barb. "What? Too old? Just because my hair is gray? Just because crows can nest in my crows feet? Just because I've had quadruple by-pass surgery?" I tried to put a jocular spin on it, but all those things were true. Thanks to life-saving surgery, exercise, a low-fat diet, and 80 mg. of cholesterol-zinging Zocor a day, I was in pretty good shape - for a man my age. It hurt, but I had to admit it. She was right. When Clark looks in the mirror and Pa Kent looks back at him, maybe it is time to retire.

Or is it? At 65 Harrison Ford slapped his fedora back on his gray head and cracked his whip again. It snapped just like it always did. After twelve years away from the role, Bruce Willis proved his John McClane really does die hard. Kirk, Spock, and Scotty got older, grayer, and fatter, but aging only made these heroes more appealing.

So what is it about Superman that demands youth? For one thing, tights! In 1991, Ron Ely appeared in an episode of Superboy playing a retired version of Superman. They never called him Superman (a copyright issue, I think), but that's who he was. He was in his early fifties at the time. I thought he made a fine Superman, an older, wiser version of the character - wise enough to wear a jacket and slacks instead of tights. Otherwise, it would've been hard to hide the gut the former Tarzan was sprouting.

A digression here: Do you suppose it's possible that, with the success of Smallville and its longstanding "no tights, no flights" policy, we might be seeing the beginning of the end of the spandex-ed Superman? This is a comics fan's worst nightmare, but it'd be an actor's dream come true. If one needn't wear that famous form-fitting suit, the threat of typecasting would be reduced. Logically, the need to appear physically perfect would also lessen. Let's face it. Super-heroes have pretty much become fuel for films. What's good for the movies is good for super-heroes. If producers of such films can sweeten the deal for a big name actor by offering him the role sans tights, I wonder if this might drastically change Superman's appearance in the future.

But, as mentioned above, I digress.

Modern comics aren't afraid to depict an aging Superman. The graying Kingdom Come version has pretty much become a DC staple. In fact, these days there seems to be a Superman for everybody. He's younger in one story, older in another. He's married here, single there. You pays your money and you gets your Superman, made to order!

Why, then, should I, a mere lad of 53, put my cape into mothballs? Besides, as everybody knows, 50 is the new 30! Well, maybe that's stretching things a bit. Still, we're living in a time when advances in medicine and a better understanding of health and fitness are helping us live longer, healthier lives. So why should we be afraid of a few wrinkles, even in the face of our greatest hero? Besides, blue and gray go rather well together, don't they?

Too old to play Superman? Perish the thought!

That being said, you know what? I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I think I'm tired of playing Superman. I don't just mean wearing the costume. I mean I'm tired of feeling I have to be Superman. Earlier, I mentioned that, somewhere along the way, I began to realize that my desire to be him was really a desire for personal significance. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be appreciated. I wanted to be the guy standing, like George Reeves, above the crowd, in the center of the TV screen, the center of attention.

But, as I've described elsewhere, I've had a taste of that. Again and again, I've appeared as the Man of Steel in public. My red-S-ed chest has adorned the newspaper, the bulletin board, and the bank. I've been introduced as Superman and greeted by that name. I've assured the melding of man and Superman in the memories of many. And now I'm saying, what's next? There must be more and better out there for me.

It isn't that I've grown jaded towards the character. I don't haunt the shops like I used to, but I still enjoy a good Superman comic. Still less do I despair over a misspent life. I wouldn't trade any of my adventures as a fan or an earthbound Superman for anything. It's been fun.

I'm just finally getting to the place that I really do believe that I really am a hero, at least to some, and I really do have powers. In fact, I've discovered that I'm even more powerful than Superman - just because I'm real. With every passing year, I grow more thankful for the gifts and abilities I've received, more aware of the opportunities I have to use them, and more grateful to the One who enables me to do so.

I pray that, when you reach your fifth decade as a fan - if you haven't already - you can say the same.

Meanwhile, he knows where his costume is. He knows he still looks great in it. And he knows that, should the need arise, he'll be back...

...Superman on Earth!

With gratitude and respect to Steve Younis and all my fellow fans.

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