In a sense, the superhero became a historical necessity in America. As Les Daniels wrote: “The rise of crime in the US and the emergence of dictators in Europe were also regarded by the pulp publishers and their writers as forces that could be combated only by men of supernormal powers.”58 The model for the pulp hero who could save this ailing world was supplied by sci-fi novelist/social critic Philip Wylie in his novels The Gladiator (1930) and The Savage Gentleman (1932).
The Gladiator told the story of Hugo Danner, a professor's son subjected to his father's genetic experiments. Hugo develops superpowers—he can jump “higher'n a house” and run “faster'n a train,” (as opposed to being “able to leap tall buildings in a single bound” or “more powerful than a locomotive”)—but is unable to find a constructive outlet for them. Danner excels at football and on the battlefield during World War I, but is persecuted when he demonstrates his powers while rescuing a person trapped in a bank vault, and becomes discouraged while working in politics. His isolation leads him to join an archaeological expedition in South America, where he is struck by lightning and killed after cursing God.
Wylie's fiction is fairly downbeat and pessimistic, reflecting his dim view of American society. He seemed to think that human society was not ready to accept a superman, and that superpowers could only lead to isolation. Although The Gladiator may not sound like much today, but it electrified young readers in 1930, particularly the future creators of Superman.
After The Gladiator, pulp heroes began to acquire superhuman powers. Some of them did so by scientific means, others through the occult arts. The time for ordinary human abilities was past; so was the time for ordinary street clothes. Boredom with look-alike private eyes led to the development of garish outfits, which also helped to distinguish, and therefore market, the individual heroes. No one could confuse characters like the Shadow, Doc Savage, the Avenger, the Spider, or Black Bat with Nick Carter or Philip Marlowe. A quick glance at the cover told readers exactly what kind of adventure to expect.
THE SHADOW
It was in this atmosphere that America's first superstar crimefighter, the Shadow, arose. The Shadow appeared in 1930 as a narrator/announcer on a radio mystery program, but soon became a character in his own right with his own radio adventures and a pulp magazine published by Street and Smith. The Shadow was a sort of gothic variation on costumed characters like the Scarlet Pimpernel and Zorro. The Shadow dressed all in black, punctuated with menacing splashes of red. A fedora and scarf obscured most of his face so the only visible features were his piercing eyes and aquiline nose. He was merciless, dispatching his foes with twin .45 automatics. He struck terror into the hearts of fictional criminals, satisfying the need for bloody vengeance felt by many urban Americans during the chaos of the Depression. He also possessed mystical powers learned during his travels in the Orient, including the ability to “cloud men's minds.”
The Shadow was created by Walter Gibson, who wrote under the alias Maxwell Grant. A prolific author, Gibson had a deep and abiding interest in occultism and wrote onstage patter for magicians like Houdini, Blackstone, and Thurston, as well as works on mysticism and divination. He drew on all these interests to create the Shadow, molding a character who was a “mystery in himself.” The Shadow combined Houdini's penchant for escapes with the hypnotic power of Tibetan mystics and the stage magicians' talent for creating illusions. “Such a character,” he notes, “would have unlimited scope when confronted by surprise situations, yet all could be brought within the range of credibility.”59 Gibson was also inspired by Rene Lupin, a master of disguise from the French pulps.
The Shadow was featured in two feature films, in 1937 and 1938, as well as a 1940 serial starring Victor Jory. Street and Smith launched a Shadow comic quite late in the game (1949) and DC Comics revived the character in 1972, and again in 1985. An unfortunate film made in 1994 proved him a hero for a bygone age. But in his prime, the Shadow inspired a horde of masked and/or superpowered avengers. It's safe to say that without the Shadow there never would have been a Batman.
DOC SAVAGE
As the Shadow is the most obvious precursor of Batman, so Doc Savage is the most immediate inspiration for Superman. Doc Savage was also inspired by a Philip Wylie novel, The Savage Gentleman. Nicknamed the “Man of Bronze” (as opposed to the “Man of Steel”), the character first appeared in Doc Savage Magazine #1 in 1933. Writer Lester Dent (writing under the alias Kenneth Robeson) aptly described him as having “the clue-following ability of Sherlock Holmes, the muscular tree-swinging ability of Tarzan … and the morals of Jesus Christ”60 The first issue's cover pictured the hero standing in a Mayan ruin, reinforcing the occult and mystical overtones of his milieu.
Doc Savage's origin is pseudoscientific in nature. Like the Gladiator, he is trained by scientists to perform at peak human efficiency. But he also travels to Tibet for the prerequisite study of yoga and hypnotism. Savage then inherits a vast fortune, makes his headquarters on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. Like the Shadow, he and his entourage fight against evil. He also uses his fortune to invent all sorts of technological gadgets, including then-fanciful items like telephone answering machines, night-vision goggles, and automatic handguns. Doc Savage was popular in the Thirties, and enjoyed a renaissance in the Sixties with a series of paperback reprints. He appeared sporadically in other media—comics, radio, even a 1974 feature film. But, like the Shadow, Savage is essentially a relic of the Pulp Age, made irrelevant by commercial air travel and mass media. The Shadow and Doc Savage were followed by copy-cat heroes like the Whisperer, the Avenger, the Spider (cited by Stan Lee as an inspiration for Spider-Man), the Phantom Detective, the Ghost, the Black Hood, Captain Satan, even a female superhero called Domino Lady. As competition increased, these pulp superheroes became ever more flamboyant.
Ironically, all these masked heroes existed on the fringes of the mainstream society they had come to save—masks were for crooks, not lawmen. The pulp superheroes were dangerous, in marked contrast to the wholesome comic book superheroes that came later. They were usually men of science who fight against occult enemies, despite their own occult “mental powers.” Sorcerers and witch doctors were common enemies of the Shadow and Doc Savage. By contrast, the comic-book superheroes of the 1940s were often occult-powered creatures who spend a great deal of their time fighting against evil men of science. World War II brought both undreamed of destruction and unparalleled technological advance. The quaint old pulp heroes, with their Theosophical hoodoo and pseudo-scientific gadgets, were no longer relevant. It was time for new gods.
AMAZING STORIES
Sci-fi was being published in the pulps “years before they knew what to call it.”61 Hugo Gernsback, a wealthy Jewish immigrant with a degree in electrical engineering, pioneered the genre in his pulp Amazing Stories in 1926. He called the stories “Scientifiction” which he described as “the Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, Edgar Allan Poe type of story.”62 Gernsback's engineering background ensured that Amazing Stories placed a heavy emphasis on gadgetry, in turn influencing other tech-geek magazines like Popular Mechanics. Gernsback is considered so vital to the development of science fiction that sci-fi's highest literary award, the Hugo, is named for him.
For young dreamers mired in the misery of the Great Depression, Amazing Stories offered a compelling vision of the future. “World of Tomorrow” propaganda became an important government tool for keeping citizens looking beyond the trying times of the Thirties. The yarns in Amazing Stories and its imitators often depict a future free from poverty and disease, leaving readers free to worry about more exotic dangers like space aliens and mad scientists.
In 1928, Amazing featured Philip Nowlan's first Buck Rogers story and, later, the first stories by sci-fi pioneer E. E. “Doc” Smith (The Skylark of Space). Smith's stories of space-faring brotherhoods had a significant influence on comics in the 1950s, especially Green Lantern and The Legion of Super-Heroes. Gernsback launched Scientific Detective Mont
hly in January 1930, introducing the first of the modern invincible crime fighters, “Miller Rand, the Electrical Man,” a clear progenitor of Marvel Comic's later Iron Man.
Many prominent sci-fi writers—Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, and Ray Bradbury—got their start in the sci-fi pulps and went on to influence both comics and the movies. The imagery and art of the sci-fi pulps had a huge impact on comic artists, who often recycled images directly from the pulps to the comics. The flying spacemen often portrayed on the covers of sci-fi pulps like Amazing, Startling Stories, and Thrilling Wonder Stories prefigured superheroes like Superman and Captain Marvel. As the new comic Olympians grew in popularity, however, they did so at the expense of the sci-fi pulps.
WEIRD TALES
As the comics continued to peel away their readership, the sci-fi pulps responded by adding sex and horror to the mix. Sci-fi covers went from portraying future technocratic wonders to hosting a bevy of beauties bedeviled by bug-eyed monsters. In fact, the industry found that “pulp” and “horror” were two words that went together beautifully—or more accurately, hideously. Horror and pulp fiction consummated their ghastly marriage in Weird Tales, first published in 1922 by Clark Henneberger, an obsessive Edgar Allen Poe fan who saw opportunities in the pulp market for fantasy and horror.
Weird Tales was nothing if not transgressive. Occult-themed tales leavened with strong sexual and countercultural content were its stock in trade. The magazine exuded a decadent aura, with nudity and depictions of occult activity featured in cover art. Weird Tales floundered commercially in its infancy, but soon achieved notoriety when a tale about necrophilia (C.M. Eddy's “The Loved Dead”) got the magazine banned in 1924.
Weird Tales popularized the occult detective sub-genre with series like Seabury Quinn's Jules De Grandin stories. It also gave birth to the sword-and-sorcery genre—particularly the Conan tales of Robert E. Howard—and a new kind of ritualized occult horror typified by the arcane writings of H. P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith. As if all this weren't enough, it also acted as the launching pad for the careers of Fritz Leiber (Fahfrd and the Grey Mouser) and Robert Bloch (Psycho).
Weird Tales became notorious for its sexy and surreal cover paintings, particularly those of Chicago housewife Margaret Brundage. Fiorello LaGuardia chased Brundage's naked women off Weird Tales' covers, only to unleash a parade of occultic images far more damaging to impressionable minds than a little naked flesh. Hannes Bok decorated the publication's covers with chthonic tableaux that seemed like photos from the depths of hell. J. Allan St. John, who worked in a lush and impressionistic fantasy style similar to legends like Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac, followed suit.
Like any successful pulp, Weird Tales inspired a host of imitators. Ghost Stories, from MacFadden Co., claimed to publish “true” ghost stories; Tales of Magic And Mystery (1927) specialized in stories of the occult and featured articles by Howard Thurston;63 Strange Tales (1931) and Strange Stories (1939) unleashed hastily written tales of occult horror64 and Unknown (Street and Smith) treated the occult as “a kind of science operating under it own laws.”65 Although Weird Tales and its occult-oriented progeny fell by the wayside during the idyllic Eisenhower years, they had an incalculable influence on horror, sci-fi, and comic books, as well as on Neopaganism and the occult in general.
Like the comics (and rock ‘n’ roll, and video games), the pulps fell under the scrutiny of the censors. In the early 1930s, President Herbert Hoover sought to divert attention from his disastrous economic policies by forming the Committee on Recent Social Trends, which set about investigating moral turpitude in the pulps. The American public was more concerned with staving off financial ruin, however, so when the effort went nowhere, moral guardians like Fiorello La Guardia took up the cause and were more successful. “By the start of the 40s, with the nation on the verge of war, there was a kind of moral backlash,” says Harry Steeger, “it was the social pressures that killed off the pulps.”66 But it was also economic pressure. The pulps were pushed off the racks by comic books aimed at younger readers and paperback books aimed at older ones.
The pulps never really died, however. They simply morphed into post-war magazines like Man's Life and Stag, many of which morphed again into the skin mags of the late 1960s, inspired by the efforts of a young midwesterner named Hugh Hefner. And vestiges of the pulps still linger in the form of digest-sized story magazines like Analog, Asimov's Science Fiction, and Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine.
53 See Ron Goulart, Cheap Thrills: An Informal History of the Pulp Magazine (New Rochelle, NY: Arlington House, 1972), p. 37.
54 Hammett created the comic strip Secret Agent X-9 with future Flash Gordon artist Alex Raymond in 1934, featuring a dashing superspy and master of disguise. In many ways, X-9 was a direct prototype for James Bond.
55 Weismuller played Tarzan in twelve films, and was later replaced by several lesser-known actors. More recently, Disney had a major hit with an animated adaptation of the character. Two direct-to-video sequels and an animated TV series soon followed. More recently, Disney adapted their film as a Broadway musical.
56 Hal Foster, Tarzan, November 20, 1932–March 5, 1933.
57 Les Daniels, DC Comics : A Celebration of the World's Favorite Comic Book Heroes (New York : Billboard Books, 2003), p. 14.
58 Les Daniels, Marvel: Five Fabulous Decades of the World's Greatest Comics (New York: Abradale, 1991), p. 21.
59 William V. Rauscher, Walter B. Gibson: Wizard of Words (Woodbury, NJ: Mystic Light Press, 1996).
60 Quoted in Goulart, Cheap Thrills, p. 78.
61 Goulart, Cheap Thrills, p. 159.
62 Peter Haining, The Classic Era of American Pulp Magazines (Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2001), p. 156.
63 Tales editor Walter Gibson would soon become famous for his work on the Shadow. See Haining, Classic Era, p. 116.
64 Strange Stories, helmed by future Superman editor Mort Weisinger, featured a regular column entitled “The Black Arts,” written by one Lucifer, who claimed to be a “Famous Authority on Witchcraft and Black Magic.” Strange Tales included a letters column called “The Cauldron” that acted as “a Meeting Place for Sorcerers and Apprentices.” Haining, Classic Era, p. 121.
65 Haining, Classic Era, p. 124. Sci-fi scribes like Robert A. Heinlein (Starship Troopers) and Theodore Sturgeon (Star Trek) also dabbled in the dark arts in Unknown's pages, as did future Conan chronicler L. Sprague de Camp.
66 Haining, Classic Era, p. 152.
CHAPTER 11
RACONTEURS
In their heyday, the pulps attracted a wide range of authors, with a wide range of talent and varying degrees of interest in the occult. Among them were luminaries like Edgar Rice Burroughs, fantasy giants like H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, and serious occultists like Dion Fortune and Sax Rohmer. All of them contributed spiritually and materially to the coming comic craze by combining heroic fiction with themes taken from the ancient mysteries.
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875–1950) is a pivotal figure in the development of the superhero. And although it is unclear what direct associations he may have had with occult or esoteric groups, it is certain that his work is rife with mystical themes.67 Scion of a middle-class Masonic family, Burroughs left home after high school to seek adventure. He worked on a cattle ranch, did a stint in the military, and held a series of menial jobs, until boredom and financial pressure finally inspired him to try his hand at writing. He sold his first story, “Under the Moons of Mars,” to All-Story Magazine in 1912.
Burroughs' Mars yarns are alternately known as the John Carter, Warlord of Wars series or, among hardcore fans, the Barsoom series. What is most remarkable about the stories is that Carter reaches the red planet, not by rocket, but by using the occult art of astral projection. He describes this mystical process: “I closed my eyes, stretched out my arms toward the god of my vocation and felt myself drawn with the suddenness of thought through
the trackless immensity of space.”68 Not only can Carter astrally project himself into space, he is also immortal. Because of the lighter gravity on Mars, he is a superman there, and becomes a warlord when he marries the Martian princess Dejah Thoris.
Fritz Leiber commented on the esoteric roots of Burroughs' space-faring hero, saying: “I got the impression that Edgar Rice Burroughs had found in Theosophy a rich source of background materials for his Mars books; his chief job seemed to have been adding canals and atmosphere plants.”69 Leiber also notes other themes in the Mars stories that were initially popularized in Theosophist literature, including “instantaneous interplanetary travel by thought power; each planet having its characteristic ray … and airships held aloft by tanks of these rays; Methuselah-size lifetimes of one thousand years … creation of phantom and living matter by thought power … and finally the oppression and persecution of wise freethinkers by an evil priesthood.” Sword-and-sorcery legend L. Sprague De Camp added that” altogether life in the Theosophical Atlantis resembles nothing so much as life on Mars as pictured in the Martian novels of Edgar Rice Bur-roughs.”70 Burroughs himself claimed that all of the Martian races descended from the “Tree of Life,” a term borrowed from the Kabbalah.
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