The impending arrival of Independence Day got me thinking of the day back in 1976 when my Dad gave me the tabloid-sized “Superman Salutes The Bicentennial.” At first I was elated; I loved those oversized books, and this one had a fantastic cover image of Superman with an eagle and a stars-and-stripes shield (lifted, I later learned, from the cover to 1942’s Superman #14, with the army tanks removed to reflect the more dovish attitude of the Bicentennial year).

My elation faded, however, as soon as I opened the book and realized it was filled with reprints of “Tomahawk,” a frontier hero DC published in the 1950s to capitalize on the “Davy Crockett” craze. Superman appeared only on the first two pages of the book, just long enough to say, “Thanks for buying this book with my name and face on the cover, and on behalf of your friends at DC, let me just say: You’ve been punk’d! Bwa-Ha-Ha-Ha!” Well, maybe that’s not exactly what he said, but that’s what it felt like.

I’m not sure I finished any of the stories in the book, really. Even yesterday, when I exhumed the book for this blog entry, I had a hard time getting through it. The plots are sound enough: Tomahawk pilots the first military submersible, provides a much-needed shipment of gunpowder to General Washington during the British siege of New York, does spy work behind enemy lines works posing as a Tory, works with a captain in the Continental Navy to destroy British ships, and rescues an Indian chief sympathetic to the Rebel cause. Sounds exciting enough. The trouble is that the writing sucks all the excitement out of the book, not least because everyone talks so blamed much. No one ever says in three words what they could say in 50. Next to Tomahawk, Chris Claremont’s verbose “Uncanny X-Men” reads like the “Henry” newspaper strip.

On the other hand, the art is quite good. Fred Ray’s figures and action scenes have a Jerry Robinson/Mort Meskin vibe to them, and his costumes and props feel very authentic. Flintlocks, buckskins, German and American uniforms, Indian dress, even the “Turtle” submarine all ring true. Tomahawk manages to find himself in every important trouble spot of the Revolution, and before the war even starts, he saves George Washington from a panther. For his troubles, our hero is at one point awarded a genuine silver-bladed tomahawk fashioned by none other than Paul Revere himself.

In a happy coincidence (?), even the cover of the book is by Fred Ray, who made a rare foray into superhero territory to create one of the most iconic Superman images of all time (recycled as recently as 2001 to boost morale after the terrorist attacks of 9/11). The highlight of the book for me is actually in the “extras.” The inside back cover features an illustration of Hessian mercenaries by Fred Ray:

The centerpiece of the book is a beautifully illustrated 13-page summary of the Continental Army’s ordeal at Valley Forge. During and after his time at DC, Fred Ray produced a series of pamphlets for historical parks around the country, and since this section bears his copyright and not DC’s, it’s a pretty safe bet this art is from one of those projects.

The back cover of the book shows a gallery of portraits of the US Presidents — all 38 of them! Trust me, nothing makes you feel old like a recap of Presidential terms in office that ends with “Gerald Ford, 1974 - ” You get a similar effect from the opening editorial, in which DC exec Sol Harrison reflects that Superman has now been an American icon for 38 years. (!)

If you’re a fan of Tomahawk, this book is a real treat; certainly the most attention he got since the days when Fess Parker ruled the airwaves. If you’re a Fred Ray fan, it’s hard to imagine a more lavish showcase for his work. If you’re a Revolutionary War buff, there’s also a few gems. In fact, the only thing keeping this from being a perfect memento of the Bicentennial is the inexplicable appearance of some guy in blue tights and a red cape on the front cover. But you can’t have everything.

Happy Birthday, America!

It actually hit the stands a bit earlier, but Action Comics #1 bore a cover date of June 1938, making this month the 70th Anniversary of Superman’s “birth.”

To put it in perspective, in 1938 Errol Flynn was lighting up the screen as Robin Hood, Cary Grant and Kate Hepburn were “Bringing Up Baby” and Spencer Tracy presided over “Boy’s Town.” Benny Goodman played the first-ever jazz concert at Carnegie Hall, though rival Artie Shaw’s “Begin the Beguine” topped the music charts. Joe Louis knocked out Max Schmeling at Yankee Stadium and Orson Wells sent the nation into panic with his “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast. Overseas, civil war ravaged Spain while Nazi Germany annexed Austria, and unleashed the horrors of Kristallnacht.

In some ways it’s hard to imagine an era more removed or alien to 2008. That any character could survive, let alone thrive through 70 years of constant and often profound cultural change is a testament to the deceptively simple appeal of an invulnerable champion of fair play and protector of life, and to the genius of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the two Cleveland kids who fathered the Man of Tomorrow in a comic strip rejected by dozens of publishers before finding a home at what would become DC Comics.

In another sense, though, it’s even harder to imagine a time when Superman won’t be around, entertaining readers and viewers with his crusade for truth and justice, no matter how unimaginably different the world will be in every other respect 70 years from now, or 170.

From all of us you’ve inspired and entertained over the years, Superman — some of us second- and third-generation fans — a hearty congratulations on reaching your 70th year, and best wishes for a bright future. The first is still the best.

With numerous licenses floating around out there for DC properties, the folks at DC Direct — the publisher’s own in-house toy arm — have increasingly turned to “artist specific” toys. That is to say, they make action figures that look like a particular artist’s drawings.

Included in DC’s September product solicitations is this Superman figure that looks, supposedly, the way Jack Kirby drew the Man of Steel. Actually, it looks more like 60 Minutes commentator Andy Rooney after applying a bottle of Grecian formula and downing a gallon drum of steroids.

If this is really the way Kirby would have drawn Superman, maybe we dodged a bullet after all when DC had all those heads re-drawn by Al Plastino and Murphy Anderson. Anyway, while scoring low on charm, this figure might be useful if placed near items you want to scare pets and small children away from.

When I think about the span of Superman comics over the decades, one of the things that works the least for me is squeezing the past in order to tell more “untold stories”. A certain number were always interesting, but over the long-term it can be done to excess and not always for the better.

One example might be the story of Lori Lemaris as told in the 1959 Bill Finger story The Girl in Superman’s Past. I loved almost everything about this tale - the idea that Superman was a lonely college student finding his way in the adult world, the fact that Lori was a “fish out of water” just like Clark, the sense of mystery.

In attempting to update the account of Superman’s college years, Bob Rozakis changed the tone completely in the four-part series Superman: The Secret Years (1985). This re-telling focuses on Superman (here “Superboy”) as conflicted and doubtful of his role as a super-hero. He is given two roommates and thrust into a far more contemporary setting. One friend (Ducky) is a “long-haired” alcoholic who tragically is crippled in a drunk driving accident while “Superboy” is re-living his past elsewhere. The other (Billy) is a “Pete Ross” clone who causes much angst when “Superboy” is unable to save him from a fire because he is attending to another emergency.

Lori is relegated to an afterthought, a plot device. Clark meets Lori with Billy and confides his feelings for her to him. In this case, Clark is enraged (great, sadness is always better when replaced by rage) when she refuses his advances and he takes his frustration out on those around him. Not only is the character of the college-aged Clark taken out of the context of the original story but he’s forced into a psychology that completely destroys the sense of first romance so important to the original tale. I would rather see Lori Lemaris dropped than retconned like this.

Updating this story actually added less than the original spare 8 page telling. Clark would never have remembered Lori the same way at a football game in 1959 given the sturm and drang of the overloaded Superman: The Secret Years. Alas, comics might suffer from poorly conceptualized stories of a hero’s current adventures - but to me, they fall down more when re-telling the past.