Being Superman #4
As I mentioned in the last thrill-packed episode, I’d traded my worn, torn blues for a darker, edgier ensemble. It came with a heavy cape, fake shoulders and biceps, as well as that much-vaunted, seldom-achieved “six-pack.” I called it my “suit of armor.” Or maybe I should spell it “Armour” because, wearing the upper part of the thing, I felt like a canned ham! It was only fitting, then, that I had Buckets to help me get into and out of my can.
Having slipped the bottom half of the suit on underneath my Clark Kent trousers, I needed help getting into the upper portion. Thankfully, Bobby Delaney, who played Leftover Louie’s pal Buckets, helped me zip up the back. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds. In spite of being of more recent vintage, the costume had been much worn and the ol’ gray zipper wasn’t what she used to be. Further, the cape, which required buttoning to the costume’s shoulders, neither buttoned easily nor stayed buttoned. There was also a rather silly looking belt which buttoned in back and sported an S-shield for a faux buckle. If one cared to, one could push a button and get the thing to blink on and off. I didn’t think this feature would distinguish my portrayal in the annals of Superman, so I didn’t blink. The boots weren’t real boots. They were sole-less slip-ons with an elastic strap that ran beneath my shoes.
It was a chore to get into and out of, the “into” part further burdened by time-pressure. Once I left the stage as Clark Kent for the last time, I had approximately 5 minutes to doff coat, tie, and shirt, shuck off my pants, and get my super on. Yet, I must say that, in full costume, even this 54-year-old champion of the receding (albeit dyed) hairline looked impressive.
I was sorry that script cuts and lack of proper (and expensive) equipment severely reduced my super-powers. I just had to write it off as the debilitating effect of Kryptonite C (“Community Theatre”), give the few feats of strength to my hillbilly counterpart, Sylvester, and go on with the show. It was late in the show, too, before Superman appeared. Nevertheless, the old Gaelic saying is true: “Hunger is the best sauce.” By the time I strode fast and determined through the door of Airman Steve’s radio shack in search of the pie thief, each of our audiences was primed and ready. Superman had arrived!
It’s hard, now, for me to describe the precise reaction to my entrances. It seemed a mixture of awe and…pshaw! There were a few children, but the audiences were mostly composed of adults, many of them seniors. I didn’t get a lot of feedback after each performance (I was usually in a hurry to get out of my rig and back into street clothes), but, if I’m not merely flattering myself to say so, these folks reacted mostly with delight. It doesn’t surprise me, though. When you’re finally through growing up, you can let yourself grow back down. To paraphrase the apostle Paul, “When I became a man, I put away childish things. When I became an old man, I enjoyed childish things.”
So on we flew through three performances to three packed houses. When we wrapped late Sunday afternoon, March 30, I thought my long career as Superman, had at last come to an end.
Famous last words. Little did I know, the adventure wasn’t over yet.
