The first time I laid eyes on The Reign of the Super-Man, it didn’t reel me in. No, it struck me as downright grotesque—and I believe that was Siegel and Shuster’s intent, mirroring the bleak world they knew in Depression-era Cleveland. The story is strikingly dark, a stark contrast to the beacon of light and hope they’d later shape into Superman. Living amid that era’s grip, they must have felt desperation clawing at every corner, that raw ache seeping into their penned lines. It’s a cautionary tale where science bows to personal greed, and only later, through history’s lens, does it emerge as the rough blueprint for our cherished champion of truth and justice. That realization—that the prototype might hold a paradox only clear in hindsight—pulled me deeper into their shadowed world, hungry to explore its layers.
The story deliberately lacks a true hero, a fact that only hit me recently while illustrating it, and it strikes me as profoundly significant. That void shapes how I see the narrative and its players. It feels like an open invitation—perhaps even a bold recruit—for you, the reader, to step up as the hero, to stand against the Smalleys and Dunns of this earth. Smalley, the serum-wielding professor, embodies greed with his cunning schemes, his reckless disregard for Dunn’s life, and that bitter jealousy when his creation outshines him. Dunn, though, transforms from a vagrant into a telepathic tyrant, a living symbol of power’s corruption, manipulation, and the crushing of free will. It’s a Frankenstein dance—Smalley’s monster turns on its maker, two beasts locked in a fatal duel, driven by their own flaws. I ponder the true villain: Smalley, who ignited this storm by preying on a desperate soul, or Dunn, who unleashed his might to punish a society that wouldn’t kneel? My heart tilts toward Dunn—his willful descent into tyranny cuts deeper than Smalley’s greedy spark—but it’s a razor’s edge that keeps me musing, igniting a fire to confront the Dunns and Smalleys I encounter.
This clash sparks a question about Siegel and Shuster’s journey. Why the pivot from this grim tale? I infer they first tested a strategy, summoning your gumption to tackle the world’s woes, daring you to join their “Advance Guard” of dreamers—a club they hoped would inspire action. Perhaps, as a couple of audacious 19-year-olds, they aspired to be forces of good, transposing those values into Superman’s final form. With a visionary leap, they forged that resolve into a hero to strike back directly, birthing Superman, a radiant symbol of strength and justice from their early struggles. The echoes of pulp and comic strip heroes they must have devoured—Tarzan swinging through jungles, Flash Gordon soaring past stars, The Phantom guarding the shadows, and even the quieter Hugo Danner from Gladiator—hint at their love for adventure and righteousness. Yet, beginning with Smalley and Dunn reveals the darker truths they faced on Cleveland’s battered streets. Were they echoing the cries of the weak, trampled by greed and corrupted power? Their fanzine’s title, Science Fiction: The Advance Guard of Future Civilization, sings of defenders for a brighter tomorrow, and to me, that tension between despair and the hope alive in Superman beats at the story’s core, drawing me—and now you—into their remarkable creative odyssey. I’d like to think I’m answering that 1933 call-to-arms from Jerry and Joe, and I hope my efforts have done their bold recruitment drive proud, preserving their legacy for posterity.