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The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMANStories of the Silver Age (Part Seven)
The Big Blue Boy Scout.
That's what fans have been calling Superman for years and years and years, now.
Because Superman is honest.
Because The Man of Steel ia trustworthy.
Because The Last Son of Krypton never, ever tells a lie.
However there's your basic, common, garden variety truthfulness...
... and then there's plain, unvarnished mania. 
"Superman's Day of Truth" [SUPERMAN #176; April, 1965; author, unknown; Curt Swan, penciler] opens up with a shot of Superman playing the spandexed celebrity judge at a local baby contest.
No. Seriously.
"Oh, Superman!" one particularly obsequious High Society matron unctuates, whilst a grimly patient Man of Steel allows himself to be kerWALLOPed by a peculiarly unpleasant little hellbeast wielding a spawn-sized golden crown. "What do you think of our little darlings? Aren't they cute in the super-costumes some of them have on?"
"Did you say darlings, madam?" a plainly aggravated Superman scoffs, by way of response. "Frankly [Pick One] -- ":
A.) "... this is the worst collection of misbehaved brats I've ever seen!"
B.) "... they'd be even way cuter smothered in diced onions and spicy gravy; Krypton-style! MMMMMmmmmmmMMMMM!"
C.) "... I don't much care what you tart the li'l @#$%'s up in, or what those eighteen or twenty court-ordered blood tests 'prove!' They ain't MINE, dagnabbit -- !"
D.) "... they don't even make halfway decent jai alai balls,
f'chrissakes!" [Hefts a wriggling and shrieking infant; sidearm
lobs it, headlong, into the nearest wall. There
is a hideous, room-deadening squishing sound;
then] "See? SEE? And that's gotta be -- what?
-- the fourth, fifth one I've tried today, already
-- ?"
Incredibly enough -- even by Unca Cheeks' seriously twisted standards -- the correct answer turns out to be "A"; occasioning a forceful remonstration from a stunned and disbelieving Lois Lane, in turn.
"Superman!" the plucky newsgal scolds her bemuscled beau. "Did you have to be so blunt? EVERYONE'S offended!"
"Did you expect me to be a hyprocrite and praise those little demons," a sneering Man of Steel replies, arching one oh-so-superior eyebrow.
"So long for now, Lois," the Swain of Steel concludes, flying off. "I have an appointment with Supergirl!"
"I still think he could've been more polite to those kids and their parents," an irate Lois muses. "And there's something puzzling about his attitude!"
As it just so happpens Lois isn't the only one evincing manifest concern over Superman's newfound (and decidedly unattractive) freightload of big-"A" Attitude.
The Big Blue is kinda sorta cranky 'bout the whole business, his own bad self.
"It's started, Supergirl!" a pained Man of Steel moans, upon confronting his comely super-cousin atop a remote mountain peak. "I told some blunt truths at a baby contest, and now my name is mud with the parents!"
"Wait 'til you hear about the lunch which the Supergirl Fan Club gave me today!" an equally miffed Teen of Tomorrow shoots back. "The poor kids slaved for hours to make the affair a success, but -- !"
The scene shifts to one of a gaggle of gaudily-garbed teenaged houri; giggling and scraping before an imperious Supergirl, whilst tarted up in mock-up of the Maid of Might's familiar trademarked mufti.
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE ... and, hey anybody else out there, reading along at home, getting themselves a king-sized case of the creeps over this whole "Fan Club" thingie; with worshipful and impressionable Sweet Young Thangs all "slaving for hours" on behalf of a (virtually) all-powerful being, while doing a Hitler Youth-type number in hand-stitched copies of her costume, f'chrissakes...?
[I'm just sayin', here, is all.]
"Supergirl!" one of the identity-challenged cuties self-consciously simpers. "How'd you like the food? We cooked it all ourselves!"
"Errrrr," an embarrassed Girl of Steel errrrs. "... you meant well, kids! But, frankly, the salad tasted like moldy hay, and the chicken wasn't fried... it was burned!"
"How could you say such things, Supergirl?" a crestfallen changeling sobs disconsolately, shakily scrawling her name across the bottom of their group's printed Mass Suicide Compact. "We've never been so humiliated! *sniff*!"
"And we called her our heroine!"wails another, staggering towards the garage with a rubber hose clutched in one white-knuckled hand.
"And that was just the beginning, Superman," a glum Maid of Might concludes; shaking off the still-fresh memories of all those tiny mass graves. "Something tells me this is going to be the longest day off the year for both of us!"
"But we have to go through with it," a grim-visaged Superman reminds her, hurtling himself skyward once more; "... no matter what the consequences!"
Said "consequences," apparently, involve Cheesing Off Mightily the vast, bovine bulk of the population of Metropolis, in its entirety; as a ferociously frank Superman promptly sets about the grueling business of alienating every last man, woman and urchin within the city's limits, in mean-spirited turn.
Boy... what a big, red-and-blue butthead, huh...?
"He said my cigar smelled like the city dump!" an outraged Perry White harrumphs to an ever-increasingly puzzled Lois. "I wonder what's behind this 'Nothing-But-the-Truth' routine?" To which Lois, in turn, replies [Pick One]:
A.) "He's supposed to testify at a criminal trial, today! Perhaps I'll get a clue to his strange behavior there!"
B.) "Actually, what he said was that your cigar smells like the entire city took a dump, Chief. Good God, man... where in Christ's name do you find those loathsome things, anyway? Solomon Grundy using your front lawn as an open-air toilet, again...?"
C.) [sobbing, disconsolately] "... you... you think you've been hurt, then? I just found out he's been faking all those orgasms! Told me I came in a distant third in the ol' Beach Blanket Bingo department! Behind Jimmy freaking Olsen! AND 'Streaky,' the Super-Cat -- !"
D.) [puzzled] "Perry... you've always been better
at this whole 'Speaking Kryptonese' thing than I've been, right?
What do the alien words skanky crack ho' mean, anyway...?"
We shift our attentions, at this juncture, to a Metropolis court room, later that same afternoon.
"Superman caught me red-handed!" a sweating and nervous gangster-
type whispers to his paid mouthpiece, whilst a stoic Man of Steel is being ceremoniously sworn in prior to offering testimony. "If he testifies... I'm a dead duck!"
"Relax, Spade," the grinning shyster soothes his criminal client. "I'll undermine his testimony, by asking him questions he won't dare answer!"
"Superman," the wily attorney purrs, once Big Blue has been seated in the docket; "... everyone knows your name is only an alias! Tell the court who you really are... and don't try to fool us with your Kryptonian name!"
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE ... and "everyone knows your name is only an alias" how, PRECISELY, again? I mean how do any of the non-super denizens within the DCU absolutely, positively KNOW that this god-like, self-confessed a-l-i-e-n ubercritter doesn't gallivant about the globe in his form-fitting Underoos, all the live-long day? He doesn't need to hold down a reg'lar nine-to-five, after all; the man can safely consume (and subsist nicely upon) a diet of... y'know... balsa wood, f'cryin' out loud!
[... and, hell he's a freakin' KRYPTONIAN! His "Kryptonian
name" IS "who he really is," for the luvva Allah! Hel-looooooooo
-- !]
"All right," a complacent Superman replies. "I'll reveal my secret identity! I'll write it down for you once, and once only!"
A jumbo-sized blackboard is wheeled out at this juncture; and a cool-
as-the-proverbial-alien-cucumber Supes hefts a chunk o' chalk, and moves towards it --
... whereupon the big blue smartyboots cheats his incomprehensibly
alien hinder off!
"There's my real name!" the self-adoring superbeing offers, smugly. "Read it if you can!"
"He outfoxed that crooked lawyer by writing at super-speed!" an admiring and adoring Lois gleefully observes. "The friction melted the blackboard, so no one could learn his identity!"
"Very clever!" the mob mouthpiece grdgingly admits. (The presiding judge in question, apparently, not giving two hoots in a rain barrel whether or not Mr. Faster-Than-A-Speeding-Bullet, here, actually... y'know... obeys a direct order after having been duly sworn in, or no.)
"But I demand you answer the next question verbally," he continues. "What is the location of your secret Fortress of Solitude?"
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE ... well... cripes, people! How big
a "secret" is that, anyway? There's an umpteen-hundred-foot-long
gold key pointing RIGHT TOWARDS IT, isn't there...?]
"You'll find my Fortress at 28 degrees North Latitude," Superman coolly avers, "50 degrees West Longitude."
[UNCA CHEEKS ASIDE ... and -- again; apparently -- no one else out there in the "real world" of the DCU is even the teensiest bit creeped out by the prospect of a wholly invulnerable, totally unstoppable ALIEN CREATURE referring to his (kinda) (sorta) "secret" arctic hidey-hole as "my Fortress," either.
[Geez Louise, but Unca Cheeks is suddenly discovering all sorts
of not-so-subtly fascistic undercurrents, re this whole "Cherished
Silver Age Superman Mythos" business... ]
"I got a three-year sentence," a smiling mob gunsel later observes, after having been convicted of Whatever-The-Hell-It-Was-He-Done-Did; "... but the crime syndicate will pay plenty for getting the location of Superman's headquarters!"
Suddenly inspired (in her typically selfish, shrewish way, I mean), a scheming Lois high-tails it over to the apartment of best friend and (sometimes) romantic rival, Lana Lang.
"Since Superman seems compelled to tell the truth," the nakedly opportunistic newsgal observes; "... let's ask him the question that's bothered us for years...!"
An equally un-nice Lana is quick to grasp the essence of Lois' mean-
spirited stratagem, nodding eagerly. "We'll ask him which one of us he likes best!"
(Unca Cheeks doesn't know which one of the following this studiedly
addlepated and man-hungry pair reminds him of most Betty
and Veronica; Mary Ann and Ginger; or Basil
and Sybil Fawlty.)
Quickly cornering their reluctant super-beau at a nearby construction site -- where the ever-helpful Man of Steel has agreed to aid in the construction of a tunnel -- the Diva Duo pop The Question Ultimate.
"Superman," a grinning Lois demands; "... the time has come for you to choose between Lana and me! We know you have to tell the truth! Which one of us do you really love?"
"You have me pinned down, Lois!" the Amiable Alien readily agrees. "Okay! I'll tell you the one I care for! [sic] Listen closely... I'll say it just once!"
Cupping his hands to his mouth, then; the Man of Tomorrow sucks in a double lungful and bellows "I LOVE [Pick One] --":
A.) "... ROARRRR ROARRR!"
B.) "... ROCK'N'ROLL! SO DROP ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX, BAY-BEEEEE -- !"
C.) "... KEEPING YOU TWO INCREDIBLY 'EASY' AND DESPERATE TWITS SCHEMING AND SNIVELING OVER BIG, STUDLY, SPANDEXED ME ME MEEEEE -- !"
D.) "... STOUFFER'S STOVE TOP STUFFIIIIINNNNNNG --!"
[Turning towards a goggle-eyed Lois and Lana, dropping
his hands and shrugging nonchalantly] "Hey... I'm an alien life-form,
awright? I have my own kinda... whaddyacallem?... needs,
y'know...?"
"Ye Gods!" a nonplussed Lois observes, reeling backwards under the sudden sonic assault. "A super-shout! His answer is so loud, we can't understand it!"
[QUERY TO "PER'FESSER" QUENTIN LONG
... say whaaa -- ?!?]
"He outfoxed us!" a disappointed Lois mutters, in the wake of this latest, crushing incidence of secretus interruptus. "We still don't know which one of us he loves... or why he's forced to tell the truth!"
"He may be under the influence of a super-truth serum," Lana posits, (quasi-)plausibly; this being a Silver Age SUPERMAN comic, and all. "... or he could be affected by some form of Red Kryptonite!"
Afterwards we witness Superman returning to his (*kaff*kaff*) "Secret Fortress," where a parachute-bedecked Supergirl has been impatiently awaiting his arrival.
"Sorry I'm late, Supergirl!" a sweating and red-faced Man of Steel apologizes, wheezing his way into the room.
"I've been waiting for you!" the Maid of Might snaps, peevishly. "We're both expected for the ceremonies in Kandor! I have the Reducing Ray all ready!"
"I keep telling you, I can't help it!" a tear-stricken
Superman sobs, his features crumpling in sudden, existential angst.
"My thighs aren't fat! I'm just big-boned!
I just glance at a Whitman Sampler, and I gain eighteen or twenty
pounds! You sneering, hateful brood sow, you -- !"
Quickly pimp-slapping Our Hysterical Hero into some semblance of comparative rationality, once more Supergirl explains that she was referring, in this particular instance, to the fabled Kandorian "Reducing Ray"; by means of which normal-sized individuals would regularly shrink themselves down to dust mite-size, and gain access to the fabled shrunken splendor that was the bottled city of Kandor; last umpty-
something known survivors of the long-doomed planet, Krypton.
Honest to God.
"We're just in time!" Superman exclaims, as the two of 'em parachute their way into the fantastic futuristic megalopolis. "The celebration is starting!"
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE ... although what an entire, once-proud and formerly thriving super-civilization -- now destined to sour, successive generations of living out their lives under Really, Really Severe population control strictures; praying in silent desperation for a good-
hearted elephant by the name of "Horton" to someday stumble his pachyderm-ish
way into the sub-arctic environs of Superman's fortress; and hoping like
holy heck the big blue goombah doesn't end up getting horribly drunk,
some fateful evening, and chugging them all to death -- has to
actually "celebrate" about is pretty much anybody's guess,
really and truly.]
"Let all be silent," a bearded and solemn individual known only as The Elder portentiously intones; "... while I read of Val-Lor, the greatest hero of our home planet, Krypton!"
It seems as if -- a long, lonnnnnng time ago; weeks, even
-- these nastybad, ferret-faced alien conqueror-type fellahs calling themselves
The Vrangs "swept down upon our peaceful mother-planet,
Krypton!"; and promptly commenced to mowing down the shrieking and panic-stricken
local citizenry like so many paralyzed baby bunnies on the highway.
The Vrangs, as it turns out, are (essentially) creatures of simple, homespun tastes and values; settling down, at length, to a idyllic, bucolic sort of existence comprised (chiefly) of providing their Kryptonian hosts with the very best of arena-scaled entertainments; free, hot and nutritional meals; and even arranging for gainful employment of countless thousands, in the bustling public works sector.
"Have pity!" a withered and bedraggled codger gasps, staggering in his traces whilst attempting to haul an ore cart crammed with precious gems and suchlike. "Our old ones are too weak to labor like this!"
"Get him to his feet," a Vrang overseer snarls, brandishing a hand cannon; "... or I'll finish him off with my stun-ray!"
[UNCA CHEEKS'' ASIDE ... meaning... what, precisely? He's
gonna stun the poor, pain-wracked sod to death, then? I mean
doesn't that kinda sorta defeat the whole bloody purpose of a "stun
ray" in the first frickin' place -- ?!?]
Well this lamentable and lop-sided state of affairs goes on for -- oh, say -- the better part of forever (give or take a weekend); until the day when this one beardless youth in particular, by the fateful (to say nothing of convenient) name of Val-Lor takes it into his purty li'l haid to... I dunno... ask about medical benefits, or something.
"The slave defies us!" a particularly P.O.'d Vrang rages.
(The Vrang, it should be noted, seem -- as a species, I mean --
a wee little bit shaky, re the actual, working mechanics
underlying the essential slave/master paradigm, overall. I mean
to say if they really and truly wanted to be there in the first
place; you wouldn't have to spend anywhere nearly as much time,
shackling and scourging 'em and whatnot... right? Am I right,
here? Who's with Unca, on this one...?)
"Death is the penalty!" the offended overseer shrills, drawing a quick bead upon the disobedient Val-Lor. "Use your stun-rays at full power!"
The luckless and obdurate Val-Lor is... ummmmmm... stunned to death, right there, on the spot; occasioning a sudden groundswell of painful self-ratiocination amongst the (formerly) terrified and dispirited Kryptonian rabble.
"While we cringed, and pretended to be happy," one scarred and plague-lashed wretch moans; "... Val-Lor spoke the truth... hurled it into the teeth of our oppressors!"
"Let his courage inspire us!" another bellows, peeping out cautiously from behind A Very Large Rock. "Revolt against the Vrangs!"
Thus inspired and enboldened by what was (apparently) the very first act of cruelty committed by a Vrang, ever, upon a hapless slave the ragtag Kryptonians rise up, as one, and rattle their chains in the general direction of their alien oppressors.
Stumbling over one another in their panicky, headlong rush to avoid
getting their fuzzy butts whupped by the very same Kryptonian wussybears
whom they'd already beat up on once before -- back when
the former actually had, y'know, weapons an' stuff, I mean -- the
Vrang slavers haul hinder the holy heck outta there, at speeds
approximating Mach Now.
"And, in [...] tribute," The Elder sanctimoniously concludes; "... we mark the anniversary of Val-Lor's death with a holiday... a day on which we speak nothing but the truth, just as Val-Lor did!"
"Now to return to Metropolis and Midvale and explain to our friends," an eager Supergirl enthuses, once the blue-and-red pair have returned to normal size, once more.
"Our actions certainly must have seemed weird to them," a relieved Superman cheerfully agrees.
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE ... and they were both prevented from jointly
informing their non-Kryptonian nearest and dearest of the particulars,
re this whole twisted To Tell the Truth-type thingie, earlier,
by what again, precisely? Is Unca just... I dunno... not
"getting" the actual, for-real point, insofar as this alien truth
concept is concerned...?]
"But, Superman," a perplexed Lois later inquiries, after a chuckling Man of Steel 'fesses up before her, Lana, Perry, et. al.; "[...] at the trial, you revealed the location of your fortress! The underworld is bound to invade your headquarters!"
"Don't panic, Lois," Superman chortles. "If you'll recall, I testified that my fortress was located at 28 degrees North Latitude, 50 degrees West Latitude!"
"I just realized," the newsgal -- who (apparently) spends way, waaaay too much of her "down time" poring over musty and yellowing back issues of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC -- exposits. "That's the location of [Pick One] -- ":
A.) "... the Sargasso Sea!"
B.) "... the stage where THE WAYAN BROTHERS are filmed before a live studio audience!"
C.) "... my mother's apartment! You murdering, alien bastard -- !"
D.) "... Mort Weisinger's pants!"
"... yet I know your headquarters are in the arctic!" Lois concludes. "You were lying after all, Superman!"
"No! I spoke the truth, Lois!" the Man of Steel explains.
"I have an undersea fortress at that location! I established
it while trapping an evil pair of alien invaders!" (As opposed,
one presumes, to all of those genuinely sweet-natured pairs
of alien invaders one is constantly tripping over, nowadays.)
The story ends with a beaming Lois confiding in Lana that "If it were my Day of Truth, there's something I'd like to say Superman's the smartest, handsomest, strongest man in the universe!"
The really scary part is Perry White's standing in the background, nodding his head in emphatic agreement.
And... touching himself.
Be here next time out, campers and camperettes; when we'll all thrill, together, to the Man of Steel's epic confrontation with "The Day CANDID CAMERA Unmasked Clark Kent's Identity!"
... and that's no lie.
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories
Ever" PAGE ONE
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE TWO
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE THREE
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE FOUR
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE FIVE
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE SIX
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE EIGHT
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