The Adventures of Superman: The Stolen Costume   

This entry is part of the Favourite TV Show Episode Blogathon hosted by A Shroud Of Thoughts

While mostly remembered today as a kid’s program, the first season of The Adventures of Superman could be downright dark and disturbing. I couldn’t have been the only kid watching the syndicated reruns who was creeped out by the discovery of the dead dog in “The Deserted Village” or the loony wax museum proprietor who “prophesizes” the death of several Metropolis civic leaders, then cages them in her basement, in “Mystery in Wax.”

“The Stolen Costume” was one of the more memorable stories from that first season, offering some truly noir-ish elements and an unforgettable ending.

The Metropolis police are baffled by a burglar who lowers himself by rope into windows. Despite this, Clark Kent leaves his bedroom window wide open and, with the police in pursuit, the thief ducks into his apartment, where he stumbles across the greatest secret in the free world: in a hidden closet, draped on a hangar as if it just came back from the cleaners, is Superman’s costume.

(One of the more interesting sidebars in this episode is its view into Clark’s apartment: primly decorated, Felix Unger-neat and colorless, with the secret closet as the only personal touch).

Fleeing with the costume, the burglar is shot and finds his way to the front door of Metropolis hood Ace and his moll Connie (Dan Seymour and Veda Ann Borg). The burglar, whom Ace recognizes as a local “two-bit punk,” dies on their couch but not before revealing Clark Kent as the costume’s owner.

Candy and Clark -- not to be confused with Candy Clark

His worst nightmare realized, the normally cool and collected Clark is visibly upset, anxiously pacing his apartment. While he can’t say what’s missing, he has a private investigator pal named Candy (Frank Jenks) dust for fingerprints. “What did you have hidden in here, the family jewels?” asks Candy when Clark shows him the secret closet. “No, something a lot more valuable to me,” Clark answers. 

Ace needs more solid proof that Clark is Superman and breaks into his apartment, jimmying the front door this time – Clark may as well start charging admission – to rig an explosive. Ace’s logic? If the bomb goes off, Clark will “either be dead, or we’ll be sitting on top of the world,” a statement that falls well into the category of being careful what you wish for.

The bomb goes off, Clark is alive and a meeting with Ace and Connie is arranged. But earlier in the episode Connie mistook Candy for Clark and when Connie and Ace find him outside Clark’s apartment house, they take Candy away at gunpoint to their apartment.

Clark sees the three drive off and instinctively begins to loosen his tie, then stops when he realizes there’s no costume underneath his street clothes. Moments later, he breaks through Ace and Connie’s front door, then coldcocks Candy so he won’t hear or see what happens next. Ace and Connie threaten to divulge Superman’s secret identity. “How are you going to stop us?” sneers Connie. “Everybody knows Superman doesn’t kill.” “You’re not going to tell anybody,” says a grim Clark, adding, “put on some warm clothes.”

Back in his work clothes, Superman flies Ace and Connie to the summit of a remote, rugged mountain – Ace’s “top of the world.” Superman tells them there is no way down, but there’s a cabin nearby they can call home for now. “You’ll have to stay here until I can think of some way to keep you from talking,” he says before flying off to gather some supplies.

Ace, Connie and Superman on top of the world

Certain that Superman has left them for dead, Ace begins working his way down the mountain. Reaching an icy ledge, he yells for Connie to follow, telling her, “It’s a cinch.” Well, not if you’re wearing a dress and heels. Connie slips and takes Ace with her as they plummet to their deaths.

The episode ends with an obviously relieved Clark, his secret safe and still well-kept.

“The Stolen Costume” moves along briskly with lots of snappy dialogue and interaction between the four characters. The script was written by Ben Peter Freeman, a veteran of the Superman radio show who wrote eight first-season episodes of The Adventures of Superman, including the aforementioned “Mystery in Wax” and “The Deserted Village.” Freeman left Hollywood a year later and changed careers, joining his brother’s construction company.

With the focus on Clark – Superman only appears in its final minutes – George Reeves, always appealing and underrated, gets to bring a bit more emotion than usual and his concern and anxiety feel real. Another sidebar: Of 104 episodes of The Adventures of Superman, this is the only one without Lois, Jimmy, Perry or Inspector Henderson.

Reeve’s supporting cast of Dan Seymour, Veda Ann Borg and Frank Jenks all had long movie and television careers as character actors. Seymour made a living primarily playing gangsters, most famously as one of Edward G. Robinson’s henchmen in “Key Largo.” He would hit the TV Superhero Daily Double 14 years after “The Stolen Costume” with a role in an episode of Batman.

The ending of “The Stolen Costume” neatly resolved what looked like a no-win dilemma for Superman, although it left some ethical and legal questions. Was he planning on holding Ace and Connie hostage on the mountain forever? Was Superman guilty of kidnapping? Did he anticipate the crooks would try to climb down the mountain – a nearly impossible feat – and just looked the other way?

Maybe the last question is the answer. Superman may have rationalized his actions, or lack of action, this way: Having my secret identity revealed could jeopardize the lives of my friends, coworkers, maybe all of Metropolis, and possibly even compromise my mission here on Earth. If I need to realistically balance the lives of two hoods who are likely beyond reform or redemption with that of all mankind, this end justifies the means. Ace and Connie made their choice. My hands are clean.

And with that, Superman finds the moral wiggle room he needed to keep fighting his never-ending battle for truth, justice and the American way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No direction home: Coronet Blue

When speaking with friends about obscure TV shows, while someone always remembered T.H.E. Cat or Colonel Bleep, nobody seemed to have any recall of the 1967 summer replacement show called Coronet Blue – a fitting response for a show about a guy (Frank Converse) suffering from amnesia, with no memory of his name or past.

In the opening moments of the first episode, Converse's character boards what looks like a sightseeing boat for a meeting with a woman and two men who claim they “know what he’s up to.” There’s a scuffle and Converse is knocked unconscious and his personal items are taken before he’s thrown into the river and left for dead. He survives, but he emerges a blank slate, able only to dredge up the phrase, “coronet blue.” Armed with that, and little else, he goes off to what it means and who he is. (He names himself Michael Alden after the doctor treating him and hospital where he’s recovering).

I watched at least the first episode of Coronet Blue that summer, and it was probably the TV Guide Close Up below that drew me in, but didn’t stay with it and, with the show seemingly lost forever, I couldn’t go back and figure what went wrong for me. Then, out of nowhere in 2017, came a DVD collection of all 13 episodes of Coronet Blue – only ten of which aired. Here was my chance to resolve my personal case of amnesia. Fifty years later, was it worth the wait?

Coronet Blue seemed to quickly lose its way. While the first episode hinted that Michael Alden was involved in spy work, as he’s followed around by the same people who threw him off the boat and one tries to pick him off with a high-powered rifle, the concept sort of faded away with subsequent episodes. His search became a plot device that each week had him follow some slim lead, stumble into a stranger’s life, interact a bit, then move on – more Run For Your Life or The Fugitive than The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

At times Converse was like a guest on his own show. Michael Alden gains a British sidekick (Brian Bedford) and in one episode – I’m guessing Converse had a commitment to do Shakespeare in the Park that week – it’s Bedford’s character stumbling into a stranger’s life, interacting a bit, then moving on.

Converse and Bedford are joined by an impressive roster of youngish actors about to make their name, like Jon Voight, Candice Bergen, Hal Holbrook, Alan Alda, Sally Kellerman and Brenda Vaccaro. Dick Clark makes a rare appearance on CBS (he was always synonymous with ABC) sharing screen time with another perennial teenager, Murray the K. Watching them together, it’s easy to figure who had a TV career and who stayed on the radio.

The series wound down with no resolution to Michael Alden’s true identity, but the show’s creator, Larry Cohen (he also created The Rifleman, The Invaders and the 1966 Robert Goulet spy vehicle Blue Light), who had no input into Coronet Blue once filming began, later disclosed that his original concept had Alden turning out to be a Russian double agent.

The idea of a TV program revolving around a search to “find one’s self,” was probably first explored by Tod and Buz on Route 66. While their quest for identity and meaning was more philosophical, Michael Alden’s is literal. Coronet Blue was filmed during the summer of 1965 (and shelved for two years), no doubt at the same time Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone” was climbing the charts. I wonder if anyone made the connection back then that Alden was a “complete unknown, with no direction home?” Or am I just retrofitting a pop culture mash-up for my own amusement?

Anyway, here is what I remembered best about Coronet Blue, its dynamite opening and groovy theme song sung by Lenny Welch, who had a big hit in 1961 with “Since I Fell For You.”

 

The taste of freedom

When my friends and I were turning 16, we pooled our money and bought a six pack. We knocked it down quickly, while it was still warm, and belched our way through the afternoon. Little did we know it was the only time we’d score cans of Afro-Kola, “The Soul Drink.”

Afro-Kola was an unspectacular generic soda, like RC or C&C Cola, but the thrill was in the colorful can, with its great graphic of the African continent set against a blue background as if it were a map and the idea that we were indulging in something cool and “black.”

While the Afro-Kola radio jingle doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the internet, here are the lyrics, an evocative and minimalist haiku:

Afro-Kola

The taste of freedom

The soul drink

Right on

The soul drink

Afro-Kola

Right on 

Three black cultural icons were involved with the production of the radio ad. The music was written by one of the great jazz drummers and bandleaders, Max Roach, no doubt as a favor to Frank Mabry, Jr., a friend of Roach’s who owned Afro-American Distributors, makers of Afro-Kola. The singer was Brock Peters, who had a long career on stage, movies and TV, including playing Tom Robinson in To Kill A Mockingbird. The advertising company working to get media buys (in New York City the jingle ran on black radio stations WWRL, WLIB and WADO) was owned by Abbey Lincoln, the slyly named singer and civil rights activist, and Max Roach’s wife.

We found our Afro-Kola at the IGA grocery store in Maywood, ironically at the time one of the whitest towns in Bergen County. We should have bought more, as the brand seemed to vanish quickly. Afro-American Distributors was ambitious, also selling Afro-Orange and Afro-Grape sodas, but there was only so much shelf space available and marketing a new soda brand from scratch, regardless of the company behind it, is an uphill struggle in the face of national and regional competition. From what I’ve seen on the internet, it’s possible that Coca-Cola bought the brand and buried it.

As the realization of black-owned company, Afro-Kola didn’t become the household name that Frank Mabry had hoped for, except in my room where I proudly kept an empty can atop my dresser for years, using it as a coin/pen holder. Someone on the internet has a complete six-pack for sale, still in its plastic rings, although the contents have evaporated over the past 50 or so years. He’s asking $800, which probably eclipses Afro-Kola’s total sales while it could still be found in stores. 

 

A history of popular music, as told by 100 one-hit wonders (the top ten) 

 

10. Shirley Bassey –•– Goldfinger — (Peaked: March 27, 1965 at # 8)                    

Dr. No and From Russia With Love were relatively low-key affairs, with little in the way of special effects, explosions and gimmicks. With Goldfinger, however, the producers delivered the over-the-top formula that has fueled the franchise ever since – the Aston Martin, Oddjob and his bowler hat, Bond handcuffed to a ticking nuclear device as a private army attacked Fort Knox. Shirley Bassey’s glass-shattering vocals, coupled with George Martin’s bombastic arrangement, were perfect for the new Bond. If singing over the racy opening titles in a Bond movie is some sort of career milestone, Bassey is the clear leader, having also delivered the themes to Diamonds Are Forever (1971) and Moonraker (1979). 

9. Mungo Jerry –•– In the Summertime — (Peaked: September 12, 1971 at # 3)

There aren’t many songs that celebrate July and August like "In The Summertime" – “when the weather is high.” I always heard it as “hot,” but “high” is what gets sung and it’s a much better fit – high pressure, the corn as high as an elephant’s eye. More than a decade before the “human beatbox” concept, the “ch-ch-ch-uh” sets the rhythm like the summer night drone of the cicadas, Unlike the Beach Boys’ “All Summer Long” or Sly’s “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” this always seemed like a much more adult view of summer – drinking, driving fast and having “women on your mind.” 

8. MARRS –•– Pump Up the Volume — (Peaked: February 20, 1988 at # 13) 

7. Manu Dibango –•– Soul Makossa — (Peaked: July 28, 1973 at # 35)                     

Two records that seemed to drop to Earth from somewhere in space. "Pump Up The Volume" supposedly samples more than two dozen records, although I can only identify two. The song still holds up pretty well after more than 30 years. The James Brown goes to Africa sound of "Soul Makossa" was an underground dance club hit for months before radio stations got hold of it. Sung/rapped by Cameroon musician Manu Dibango in his native language; he also blows a mean saxophone.  

6. Napoleon XIV –•– They’re Coming to Take Me Away — (Peaked: August 13, 1966 at # 3)

For a song withdrawn from New York City radio after only a few weeks, "They're Coming To Take Me Away" left a major impression on us kids. Banned by WABC and WMCA in response to complaints from mental health organizations and rarely, if ever, heard on the radio since, the song (and its unsettling B-side of the song played backwards) quickly faded into the annals of childhood myth, like the disappearance of Chinese Cherry Funny Face drink mix; the abrupt, mid-season replacement of Joseph Kearns, the original Mr. Wilson on Dennis the Menace, following his sudden death; and any of a dozen Soupy Sales sketches that everybody was aware of, but nobody ever seemed to actually see (like when he told everyone to take the green paper out of their father’s wallets and mail it to him). “They’re Coming to Take Me Away” was #1 for one week on the Cashbox chart which was based on sales; Billboard surveys figured sales and airplay. 

5. Barry McGuire –•– Eve of Destruction — (Peaked: September 25, 1965 at # 1)             

You could argue that the summer of 1965 was when rock music began to truly transcend 16 Magazine and American Bandstand. Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone,” and to a lesser extent the Byrds’ and Turtles’ covers of his “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “It Ain’t Me Babe,” felt different and “relevant,” which was probably how Newsweek described what was then being called “folk rock.” "Eve of Destruction" was a bleak and raspy-voiced reading of newspaper headlines that knocked the Beatles’ “Help” (another folk-rocky tune) out of the #1 spot. The song was written by 19-year old PF Sloan, an unsung hero of rock who also wrote the Turtles’ "You Baby," Herman’s Hermits’ “A Must to Avoid" and Johnny Rivers’ "Secret Agent Man,” on which he plays the instantly recognizable guitar riff. Sloan also came up with and played the memorable acoustic guitar introduction to the Mamas and the Papas’ “California Dreamin’.” 

4. The Jaynetts –•– Sally Go ‘Round the Roses — (Peaked: September 28, 1963 at # 2)  

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that "Sally Go Round the Roses" was the mothership that “Ode to Billy Joe” and “Society’s Child” beamed down from four years later. “Sally” and “Billy Joe” share lyrics that hint at a mystery, an unrevealed secret. “Society’s Child” has the same girl group sound as “Sally,” based around keyboards. At a time when most records were being made in a single afternoon, the recording sessions for “Sally Go “Round the Roses” took more than a week and ran up costs of $60,000, at the time an exorbitant amount for a single track. It stayed at #2 for two weeks, blocked from the top by Bobby Vinton’s sappy “Blue Velvet.” 

3. Richard Harris –•– MacArthur Park — (Peaked: June 22, 1968 at # 2)               

Conventional wisdom claimed pop music was about brevity and a single timing in at anything more than three minutes would never get played on the radio (longer songs equals fewer commercials plus less ad revenue). “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” ran for nearly four minutes. Phil Spector refused to cut it shorter, so he solved the problem by having the time of the record printed on the label as 3:05. Radio was hesitant about “Like A Rolling Stone,” which clocked in at nearly six minutes – some stations played only the first two verses, then faded the record down. MacArthur Park" arrived at 7:21, but never seems to drag as the song works through several movements. (“Hey Jude,” released that same year, ran ten seconds shorter). After Richard Harris performed a couple of musical numbers in Camelot, he got the singing bug and looked to record a pop album. Jim Webb auditioned a couple of songs for him, including the ambitious “MacArthur Park,” which felt more like a suite than a pop song. The ham in Harris no doubt sensed the theatricality of the lyrics and recognized his ability to chew them up. He wound up recording an underrated album of original baroque Webb material, with “MacArthur Park” its centerpiece. 

2. Carl Douglas –•– Kung Fu Fighting — (Peaked: December 7, 1974 at # 1)         

Thank you to my parents for meeting when they did, allowing me to grow up with The Man From UNCLE, the original Marvel Comics universe, the Beatles and Sean Connery as James Bond. Born a few years later and my childhood memories might be of the Six Million Dollar Man, Roger Moore as 007, KISS and the kung fu craze. The story is that Carl Douglas, journeyman R&B artist, booked a recording session and, with 20 minutes or so of time left, knocked out "Kung Fu Fighting" as the B-side of his next single. With kung fu flicks imported from Hong Kong opening weekly in the US and Bruce Lee about to become an international star, curious deejays flipped the single over and found a soundtrack to accompany the fad. Douglas tried to keep it going, but his next single, “Do the Kung Fu,” was a left jab that caught only air. 

1. Norman Greenbaum –•– Spirit in the Sky — (Peaked: April 18, 1970 at # 3)   

On paper, this shouldn’t have worked: an electric boogie about Jesus sung by a guy with a name like an Allan Sherman punchline. While it sold two million copies, Norman Greenbaum (his real name) couldn’t sustain the momentum and pretty much disappeared. Fittingly for a song about the afterlife, "Spirit in the Sky" has been used in enough films, television shows and commercials that Greenbaum has led a comfortable life off its royalties. When one song can support you for the rest of your life, it truly is a one-hit wonder.

 

A history of popular music, as told by 100 one-hit wonders (part 9) 

19. Warren Zevon --•-- Werewolves of London --- (Peaked: May 13, 1978 at # 21)

18. The Marcels --•-- Blue Moon --- (Peaked: April 9, 1961 at # 21)

The marriage of pop music in mainstream movies started, I think, during the opening credits of "Easy Rider" with Steppenwolf’s “Born To Be Wild.” Sometimes the concept works really well ("Mean Streets" or Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck In the Middle” to drown out the nasty business taking place in the warehouse in "Reservoir Dogs"). Other times it feels random, obvious or overdone (see "Casino," with a soundtrack 58 songs long; watching the movie is like having a radio on in the same room). "An American Werewolf in London" used three different covers of “Blue Moon” on its soundtrack; the Marcels’ doo-wop version playing over the closing credits is a sigh of relief coming at the end of a scary and intense movie. The song "Werewolves of London" was recorded and released three years before the movie and aside from the titles, there's no connection. It marked Warren Zevon’s only Top 40 hit in a long career. 

17. Focus –•– Hocus Pocus — (Peaked: June 2, 1973 at # 9)                                      

Like “Tubular Bells” and “In-A-Gadda-Da Vida,” another marathon listen edited down for AM radio, featuring a stupidly memorable guitar riff that playing air guitar was invented for, whistling and a verse “sung” in a yodel reminiscent of Popeye’s voice from the old Fleischer cartoons. 

16. Astrud Gilberto –•– The Girl from Ipanema — (Peaked: July 18, 1964 at # 5)             

America’s brief flirtation with bossa nova started here (and pretty much ended by 1969 with Sergio Mendes’ samba covers of pop hits). Winner of the Record of the Year Grammy in 1965 and said to be the second-most covered song in pop, behind “Yesterday.” 

15. Lou Reed –•– Walk on the Wild Side — (Peaked: April 28, 1973 at # 16)        

14. Patti Smith Group –•– Because the Night — (Peaked: June 24, 1978 at # 13)

Two of the unlikeliest visitors ever to Top 40 radio. Reed’s Warhol fairy tale had the offensively nonchalant hipster reference to “colored girls,” that also served as the song’s hook (along with the slippery bassline). "Because The Night," written by Bruce Springsteen and left off “Darkness on the Edge of Town,” was more conventional, with thundering drums and a heroic guitar solo. One of the all-time surreal radio experiences was hearing these bohemian rhapsodies on AM radio, concluding with the “WABC!” chime-time jingle.  

13. The Chantays –•– Pipeline — (Peaked: May 4, 1963 at # 4)                                

Understated surf instrumental with enough reverb echo to make it sound like it was recorded underwater. One of the few surf bands to include an electric piano. 

12. Count Five –•– Psychotic Reaction — (Peaked: October 15, 1966 at # 5) 

11. The Music Machine –•– Talk Talk — (Peaked: January 14, 1967 at # 15)      

The mid-60s was ripe with bands made of teenagers who’d finally figured out how to play the guitars they begged their parents for after seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Some were lucky enough to cut a single or two for a local record label before going off to college or getting drafted. The Count Five’s "Psychotic Reaction" was a Yardbirds homage, from the wailing harmonica to the freak-out instrumental section. "Talk Talk" clocks in at only 1:59, a dizzying rollercoaster ride of teenage angst, until the singer finally confesses, “Can't seem to talk about the things that bother me/Seems to be what everybody has against me.” In some alternate reality, "Talk Talk" tops every listener poll as the greatest song ever. And maybe because it just looked cool, the Music Machine each wore a black glove on their left hand.  

 

The last word

Never would have guessed it was the BeeGees from more than 50 years ago who'd capture this moment in history so well. 

I don’t care if I ever get back

If you’re counting musician deaths, 2016 was a miserable year. It started with David Bowie in early January, followed by (deep breath) Prince, George Martin, George Michael, Leonard Cohen, Merle Haggard, Glen Frey, Paul Kantner, Maurice White, Greg Lake, Keith Emerson and Leon Russell, and I guess we can throw Frank Sinatra Jr. in as well.

It seemed like an onslaught at the time, but insurance actuary charts which measure mortality rates of a sample population will likely validate that 2016 – given the ages of the performers and for some, their bad habits and general health backgrounds – was not an outlier. But numbers aside, it’s quite a list. The horror show that was 2020 gave us a similar Grim Reaper appointment book – this time for seven members of the Baseball Hall of Fame – all but one icons of 70s era baseball.

Second baseman Joe Morgan, the driving force behind Cincinnati Big Red Machine, was twice voted MVP. Bob Gibson of the St. Louis Cardinals was for many years the most dominant pitcher in baseball. His teammate Lou Brock was a speedy leadoff hitter who stole more than 900 bases. Al Kaline, Mr. Tiger, was an American League All-Star 18 times. Knuckleball master Phil Niekro pitched from 1964 to 1987. Whitey Ford started 22 World Series games for the Yankees. Tom Seaver, one of history’s greatest pitchers, won three Cy Young Awards.

Dick Allen

And let’s not forget others who passed on without making the Hall. Mighty mite Jim Wynn hit more than 30 home runs three times. Don Larsen pitched a perfect game in the 1956 World Series. Journeyman infielder Horace Clarke unjustly symbolized the futility of the Yankees in the late 60s and early 70s. And my personal fave, the ultra-cool Dick Allen, with his muttonchop sideburns and reputation for being “difficult” – actually just the easy interpretation back then of an outspoken black man playing in a generally racist northern city (Philadelphia). Allen was an amazing home run hitter and will likely be voted into the Hall later this year.

I don’t watch much baseball anymore. The games are too long. Game strategy is dictated by empirical analysis. Teams are owned by conglomerates and private equity groups looking to practice McKinsey-styled business tactics like slashing payroll and closing down minor league teams. And don’t get me started on those stupid pajama pants. For me, major league baseball’s past is the anchor that’s kept it from drifting into irrelevancy. These days, that anchor is feeling a lot lighter.