WHEN I MET SUPERMAN'S LITTLE BROTHER

JERRY SIEGEL'S OWN   
 KRYPTONITE

by Rick Marschall

I opened the envelope, and out slid a submission. At the time I was Vice President of Dargaud USA, colonial outpost of the largest Franco-Belgian comics publisher. It was a doomed venture, not so much because European sensibilities, and humor especially, do not automatically nor easily translate to "American."

But the difficulty lay in the "policies" of the home office -- run along the lines of the French foreign policy of recent history, Algeria and Vietnam, for instance. I was hired to edit, promote, and advertise the venture. The 50 per cent owner was Michel (Mike) Greg, and this was basically his sandbox.

Mike wanted to establish himself, maybe permanently, in the US, so he convinced Georges Dargaud to finance Mike's fantasy... and foster one of his own, peut-être (California wines were beginning to excite French oenophilia). How klunky was the effort? One of the first investments, besides a year's lease on a fabulously expensive Park Avenue high-rise office that we never used, was to print business cards, stationery, register papers, and announce to European fans and rivals, the launch of the ground-breaking invasion of America. "Dargaud International Publishing," the name was. Festooned everywhere was the logo: DIP.

"Good evening, guests. I'm the man from DIP, and allow me introduce the Face of DIP, Mike Greg." We had enough dippy folks in American comics already. The name was changed straightaway. I had been hired on the strong recommendation of my friends Leonard Starr and Stan Drake. Their solicitude was matched only by their desire to have a friend in court who could promote the heck out of their Dargaud project, Kelly Green graphic novels. 

... graphic navels, as it turned out. That, and much more, will be for another installment.

At the moment, back to the envelope I opened. Another submission. For a flash moment I thought, Huh, Jerry Siegel; just like the creator of Superman; There might a few Jerry Siegels out there. But then the address... an apartment in Los Angeles. The "origin-of-the-origin" story of the Man of Steel was to be the cover story in the second issue of my magazine nemo, the classic comics library. And so forth. The dots were connecting.

In Jerry's letter he explained that he was looking for a publisher for a new hero and series he had developed. Ricky Robot in fact had appeared in two issues of Dave Sim's Cerebus -- back-up stories in that popular indie comic book. The two brief segments were written by Jerry; penciled by Gene Day (Jerry called him Dan Day in his letter) and inked by Dave Sim). They ran in issues 64 and 65 of Cerebus.

Dave later said that he felt slightly predatory, because it was not strong material -- it certainly is not -- and he was not prepared to take time away from Cerebus the Aardvark. He described well the situation: the temptation to work, not so much with Jerry Siegel as with the creator of Superman. Neither was I at Dargaud Publishing inclined to take it on. As a new and hardly promising comics publisher at the time (Asterix being our "line leader" and never a hit in the U.S.) Jerry was at the end of the line.

It always is an anomaly -- an intractable conundrum, really -- why some creations find public favor and some do not. We all have favorite books and movies that never found "traction" with the general public; and surely we all have lists of shows and novels and movies and personalities whose popularity we cannot fathom. 

Prof Ernst Gombrich spent a long and distinguished career, and devoted more than a dozen books, to what he called the "Psychology of Pictorial Representation," which speculations come the closest, I think, to solving this mystery. Ultimately intractable, however, as I said. Why have artists approximated, or distorted, things they see? Why do cultures accept or reject various forms of artistic expression? Why are some creations -- let's say comics and cartoons -- embraced or despised? Surely it is not the (arbitrarily perceived) inherent factors, for tastes change from generation to generation, and from one society to another.

Charles Schulz created other features than Peanuts, but we hardly know them. Blondie was not popular for three years, until the marriage. Beetle Bailey only found success when he joined the Army; and Mort Walker's many other strips (except for Hi and Lois) were only middling successes, plausibly because his syndicate sought to stroke their star cartoonist... and when he jumped to another syndicate with a strip King Features finally rejected, it was a spectacular flop. Garfield's creator found far less favor when he created a second strip... 

In all these cases, and many others, it was the same cartoonist (or staffs) who created, wrote, and drew the strips. What explains it? Perfidy? Serendipity? The indefinable magic of one creation, premise, character, title? Timing? Promotion?

So with other forms of the cartoon arts. Ub Iwerks wrought wonders when he was with Disney, but not as much on his own. With comic books, Bob Kane never was able to duplicate his (or whoever's) success with Batman. We know that those Cleveland kids, Siegel and Shuster, changed a world or two, perhaps in spite of themselves, and initially signed away rights because they figured in part, "Hey, we can always develop another super man..."

It seldom works that way. Jerry and Joe plugged away through the years, found middling successes, and... a lot of frustration. I got to know them a bit; nemo, as I said, featured their dream-days and early fan-publication efforts. It sounds (sadly) fantastic now, even after stories about their trials and late-in-the-day rewards and compensation -- but a memory of mine confirms the vicissitudes of their middle-period.

I was at the San Diego Comic-Con I think in 1985 (Jackie Estrada will remember; it was after the El Cortez and U S Grant days, so in the old convention center) and sitting outside the hall were Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster, and Joanne Siegel. In a later time -- or if all were right with the world -- they would not have been sitting alone, recognized by many but neglected by most. By rights they should have been mobbed, peppered with questions, asked to pose for photographs, besieged for autographs. I did join them, and we discussed the recent nemo cover story... and things that were not in the article and interview. 

The nemo interview was conducted by Tom Andrea, Geoff Blum, and Gary Coddington. We ran early sketches and pages, including of other non-Superman heroes, and a restoration of the Siegel and Shuster fanzine story The Reign Of the Super-Man, from 1933.

Some inspired stories, art, and premises for Superman lay ahead, as did a colossal Hollywood franchise. But in 1985 Siegel and Shuster were regarded as just two more old-timers. And, sad to say for Jerry, not known for Ricky Robot.

Sic transit gloria mundi: Thus passes the world's glory. Sometimes fame and fortune move on; sometimes it follows its own schedule contrary to our dreams. Infrequently, it returns. 

Only occasionally is it accompanied by justice.