In the summer of 1939, when I was approaching my eighth birthday, kids across the country were taken up with a string of superheroes — known now as Action Heroes. The comic books and afternoon radio were alive with such names as The Green Lantern, The Shadow, The Human Torch, The Blue Beetle, and many more. We would talk about the latest episode while sitting on the curb eating newly-ripened apples.
And then, the craze hit. In our neighborhood at least. Every boy in our age group wanted to mimic the heroes and “ride” after dark through the area, sneaking up on imaginary bad people. We had our own hero names. Actually, I got into it a couple of weeks late, and good names like The Target, accompanied by a homemade cape and mask, had already been taken. But undeterred, I told Mom that I had a name, and I wanted a mask that covered my head and a matching cape. She asked what my name was and I told her: The Blue Panthom. Of course, it was “Phantom,” but what did I know. She smiled and said OK.
My outfit was the greatest. All blue, including dark overalls (in those days, all overalls and jeans were of very dark blue; what we called overalls were actually jeans), blue shirt, blue cape, and blue head-covering mask. So immediately after dark, the Blue Panthom rode! Around the back alley, through the Bowyers’ yard, down the side street — you get it; I was RIDING.
Just as it was getting good, it was decided that Alice and I would go to Alderson and spend some time with our grandparents. I was a little disheartened about that — I had just established the Blue Panthom as a bona fide neighborhood night rider, bumping into The Target, The Dart (The Target’s brother), The White Mask, as we roamed the streets. But we were going to Alderson. I asked Mom if I could take my mask and cape with me, and she relented. I stuffed them into my bag and off we went.
We’re in Alderson. Quiet country town with sidewalks, a short walk from the Farley house to downtown — John Alderson’s furniture store, Mick or Mack grocery, the drug store and so on. Sitting on the front porch all day. Boring doesn’t come close. So without any mention to anyone, even Alice, I went to work on a great idea: I would RIDE!! I would be a complete unknown in Alderson, fighting bad guys and being a hero with people wondering “who is that guy?”
The next afternoon all was quiet at the house. Alice was in the kitchen with Nanny, Granddad was out of town, and my moment had arrived. I sneaked upstairs, put on the jeans and shirt, went out the front door, hid behind a tree and donned my cape and mask. The Blue Panthom was riding. (I need to say this: I actually remember vividly my excitement and my feeling of invincibility as I went chest-first through yards and behind hedges, crossing sidewalks and arriving downtown. I was in a world of my own; a state of absolute fantasy.) The Blue Panthom entered Mick or Mack Grocery, crept through couple of aisles, left with a couple of people staring behind me.
Bursting with pride, I rounded the corner and was just getting ready to go into the hardware store when I heard a voice: “ALAN KEITH FARLEY!! Come here this minute!” I died. The Blue Panthom had been unmasked, in public. My embarrassment was unbearable. Nanny. Not Granddad, who would have protected my identity and played along until he got me home, who would have understood the horror of my feelings. No, it had to be Nanny — tall, severe, unsmiling, unknowing as to the value of fantasy, unable to relate to a kid’s world, jerking off my mask, whipping off my cape, grinding her fingers into my shoulder and marching me home. She had discovered that I wasn’t at the house, and both angry and worried, had set out to find me.
I guess Nanny had the mistaken notion that a superhero in her home was an affront to her southern gentility; that the masked kid in a downtown store had destroyed the family reputation. And maybe prepared to say to the church ladies, “Child in a mask? Certainly no grandson of mine!”
Not a word was spoken at supper or after. Granddad knew that it was too late to console me, and I knew that he understood — had probably been a hero himself way back in the 1890s. Needless to say, the remainder of our visit was strained, and Alice and I were more than happy to get back to Sycamore Street.
Following my adventure, I really wondered whether I’d ever wear the cape and mask again. Somehow, there was doubt about that. I had been outed. So after being back home for a day or so, pondering, the matter was settled. Late that evening, around dark, a shadowy figure crept outside and down the sidewalk, eyes shifting, dodging behind parked cars, creeping past doorways. The Blue Panthom had returned, and it was a night for riding! He Rides Again!
Note: Several years later, Mom told me Nanny had talked with her about the incident, and that Mom, my own superhero, had told Nanny what was what.
Additional Note: For many years, I remembered being the Blue Panthom, but I remembered it properly as the Blue Phantom. I guess I was forty or so when Mom recounted the story, telling me I had invented a new word (panthom). Funny thing, not one person ever laughed at me or teased me about my mispronunciation. I never went through the embarrassment of being corrected. Goes to show you that good families take care of their own. Finally: I must say here that Nanny Farley, following the death of her husband Fred, came to share her time among her children: Paul (and Rook), Ruth (and Dick), and Dad (and Mom), all of whom lived in the South Charleston/St. Albans area. She was a lonely widow with no home; only the homes of her children who accepted her gladly. She would rotate every few weeks from one home to the next for about eight years, and when she stayed at our house all was well. Her treatment of the Blue Panthom was long forgotten, and she and I were great friends during her final years. The event itself, happily, never came up. If it had we would both had laughed and laughed.