The Superman House on Kimberly Ave in Cleveland. Joshua Gunter, cleveland.com

CLEVELAND, Ohio — Given the hype surrounding director James Gunn’s new “Superman” movie blockbuster, it’s easy to forget the Man of Steel’s humble origins in Depression-era Cleveland. Before he was “Truth, Justice and the American Way” — and a global media property worth billions of dollars — Superman was just a wild idea bouncing around the minds of two shy teenagers from Cleveland — kids who walked the same Glenville High School halls tread by thousands of everyday Clevelanders.

Where it all began. This is the house on Kimberley Avenue in Cleveland where Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster created Superman, launching a billion dollar industry in 1938.

That’s where it started: a city knocked sideways by the Great Depression; two Jewish kids dreaming of something larger than their world could offer, and a yearning to rewrite the rules of power and justice.

The Spark: Glenville, 1933

Jerry Siegel, whose parents fled antisemitic violence in Lithuania, was scribbling furiously in his bedroom in Glenville when he came up with “The Reign of the Superman,” a short story about a telepathic villain with world-conquering ambitions.

Superman played by David Corenswet prepares a scene where he takes flight on Public Square during the filming of Superman movie in Cleveland.

But the seed wasn’t quite right. He and his friend Joe Shuster — Canadian-born, raised in Cleveland, a fellow outsider with poor eyesight and a gift for drawing — kept refining the idea.

What they ultimately built wasn’t just a character. It was full-blown mythology.

They transformed Superman into a heroic alien refugee, a last son from a doomed planet sent to Earth, raised by Kansas farmers, blessed with powers beyond comprehension, and burdened with the responsibility to help others.

He was the ultimate immigrant success story—rooted in fear, trauma, and hope. He wore a cape like a circus performer, flew like a dream and punched like an underdog fighter in the ring who’d had enough.

Knocked Down, Never Out

The two spent years trying to get anyone to care about Superman. Nobody did. Until “Action Comics #1″ hit in 1938. Then suddenly, readers couldn’t get enough. Superman could leap buildings, stop locomotives, and toss corrupt politicians like rag dolls.

He was strength channeled into morality—power wielded for people without any.

Siegel and Shuster sold Superman outright for $130. They were kids, and the industry didn’t value creators. While Superman blew up—radio, newspaper strips, toys, cereal boxes, even short films—Jerry and Joe sat in Cleveland, watching their creation become a global icon while they got left behind.

They fought back. They lost. DC Comics fired them and erased them. Shuster went blind and broke. Siegel spent years scraping by. The guys who invented the American superhero—our first true folk hero of the modern age—were ghosts in his story for decades.

The Ages of Superman

Even without his creators, Superman evolved.

In the Silver Age (1950s–60s), he became a godlike figure—aloof, sometimes impossibly perfect.

In the Bronze Age (70s–80s), writers tried to give him flaws, dilemmas, even heartbreak.

“Superman: The Movie” in 1978, with Christopher Reeve’s earnest performance, restored some of his humanity and humor.

But it wasn’t until fans and fellow artists—like Neal Adams—pushed DC that Siegel and Shuster got even partial credit.

In 1975, DC finally awarded them a small pension and finally put their names back where they belonged.

Modern Recognition and Legal Battles (1980s–2000s)

In the 1980s, John Byrne rebooted Superman in the comics for the post-“Crisis on Infinite Earths” continuity, softening his power set and deepening his relationships. The 1990s saw huge storylines like “The Death of Superman,” which captured global attention.

But the legal saga was far from over.

In the 1990s and 2000s, Siegel’s heirs and (later) Shuster’s family launched legal efforts to regain rights or royalties. A complex and protracted legal battle ensued, with partial victories and setbacks.

Courts acknowledged that Siegel’s heirs had successfully recaptured some rights in 1999, but DC (by then a Warner Bros. subsidiary) retained core control of the character.

The 21st Century Superman

In the modern era, Superman has been every version of ourselves.

Sometimes, he’s the blunt-force symbol of American might in an anti-hero era (“Man of Steel”), all dark edges and existential dread. Fans of that Zach Snyder movie version have taken to the internet with that same force — decrying the new film before they’ve even seen it.

Perhaps it’s because that generation has yet to see the world around them change. It has been one global crisis after another, after all.

Sometimes, Supe’s the boy scout in blue (“Superman & Lois” TV show), trying to be a good dad and a decent man.

In the comics, Superman has been split into many different versions—violent, compassionate, alien, deeply human—mirroring our fractured culture and society.

In the “All-Star Superman” story, which James Gunn’s new film seems to be taking some cues from, he’s graceful and godlike; in the “Kingdom Come” narrative (another Gunn inspiration, we hear) Supe is weary, disillusioned. Gunn’s new vision could prove an interesting combo.

Superman is a canvas we project ourselves onto. He’s been queer-coded, immigrant-coded, messiah-coded and decidedly anti-fascist. He’s fought for laborers, stood beside the oppressed and faced off against authoritarianism, sometimes even in the same issue.

He is infinitely relatable and transcends all that is ordinary, while also symbolizing power and superiority — a man-god, if you will.

In a world full of cynicism and reboots, Superman remains, somehow, earnest. That’s his defiance now.

In the 21st century, he’s less of a savior and more of an ideal — not someone who solves all the world’s problems, but someone who tries, no matter how impossible it seems.

Legacy, Ownership, and a City That Remembers

Though the Supreme Court shut the door on full restoration of rights to their families in 2023, Siegel and Shuster changed how comics credit and compensate creators. Their names are now stamped on every Superman story.

Cleveland remembers deeper. That Gunn chose to film here? Brilliant. That we got to be a part of it? A thrill.

The city honors them with a historical marker in Glenville at the “Birthplace of Superman.” The Siegel & Shuster Society is trying to get a statue of the Man of Steel erected here — something that should have happened generations ago. Stories are passed down among Clevelanders like urban legends: “Did you know Superman was born here?”

Because he was. In a cluttered bedroom. Between library books and job rejections. With pulp magazines strewn about the floor and a need for someone bigger, stronger, faster and more powerful to show up and fix things. Leaping problems in a single bound.

Superman is the American myth, but he’s a Cleveland story first — a symbolic reminder of so many other people who have come from here and soared to great heights since then.

Even when you’re broken, invisible and ignored, your ideas can leap continents. He was drawn by a nearly blind kid. Written by a stutterer. Birthed in a neighborhood most people never think twice about.

And he flew.

What two Glenville teens imagined, the world believed in. And still does.

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