Where the Hell is Scott Summers?
The final line in New X-Men’s recent Murder in the Mansion arc: “Now where the hell is Scott Summers?”
Good question. I’ve been asking that one for months.
Down through the last forty or so years, one could easily make the argument that none of the X-Men have led as fascinating a life as the man called Cyclops. Originally introduced in 1963’s X-Men #1 as “Slim” Summers, a quiet young man with a gangly build, Cyclops seemed to be an outcast among outcasts. While his classmates Angel, Iceman, and the Beast laughed, joked, and competed for the affections of Marvel Girl, Cyclops usually stood off to the side, aloof and quiet. While the other X-Men reveled in the use and development of their powers, Cyclops alone hated the fact that he was a mutant. Only Cyclops, of those original X-Men, had powers that were a burden and curse, instead of a fantastic and useful ability.
There were a lot of readers in the 70’s and 80’s that complained that Scott Summers was often too stereotypical of a leader. What they didn’t realize was that Cyclops was purposely built that way by creator Stan Lee. After all, for the first forty-two issues of X-Men, Scott wasn’t the leader; Professor X was. Sure, one could argue that Scott was the “field leader” or the second-in-command, but there was absolutely no doubt in those days: it was Professor X who actively led the team (even in battle; back then, Professor X was able to project his thoughts to currently-undreamed-of distances, a feat he is no longer capable of thanks to an atmospheric psychic scrambler laid by Magneto). The Professor gave the team orders, planned tactics, and handled overall strategy. Yes, Cyclops may have made a few quick decisions, but it was pretty clear that Professor X was the one who was really in charge.
With that model in mind, Stan Lee purposely created Scott and the Professor to break paradigms of superhero leadership. The stereotype of the superhero team leader was (and still is, mostly) a tall, strong, powerful man, actively involved with his team, a successful role model for the others to emulate. For early examples of this mindset, just look at the way Lee wrote Reed Richards in Fantastic Four, or Captain America in Avengers. So it was that in X-Men, Lee created a leader who was not tall, strong, or powerful; he was handicapped. The leader was not actively involved with his team; he was sidelined from active duty. The leader was not immediately seen as a role model; his status as a solitary cripple immediately gave him the impression of weakness (especially in the less enlightened sixties).
Similarly, since Lee had always planned for Cyclops to be the X-Men’s second-in-command, Scott was imagined to contrast the stereotypes of the happy-go-lucky, battle-eager second (check the Thing’s behavior in early Fantastic Four for an example of this). Scott had more traits that you’d imagine a leader as having, with the Angel exemplifying more of what you’d expect from a team’s vice-chairman. These juxtapositions differentiated X-Men from every other superhero team book on the market in those days, and made for some fantastic (if, admittedly, poorly selling) stories.
When Len Wein, Dave Cockrum, and Chris Claremont revived the X-Men franchise in 1975, it was known from the start that of the old field team, Cyclops alone would be returning. He would remain in his role as squad leader, a role that would expand when Magneto later blocked the Professor’s mental abilities, as mentioned earlier. In the first few issues of these new X-Men, it was a real joy to read the difficulties Scott had in working with the completely different team. He was basically only used to working with his high-school buddies; now leading a squad of both teenagers and adults, experienced people from different cultural backgrounds, gave the poor guy a lot of trouble. Especially in the early issues before Jean Grey rejoined the team as Phoenix, Scott was particularly withdrawn, seeming to open up only to one teammate: fellow “my powers are a curse” mutant Nightcrawler.
As time went on, a new vision for “The All-New, All-Different X-Men” began to take shape, created by the brilliant Chris Claremont (later joined by his artistic partner John Byrne). In this new concept, the book revolved mostly around Cyclops, in his role as the withdrawn but supremely effective team leader, and Wolverine, in his role as the mysterious rebel. Scott Summers had never been more fascinating than he was in these early issues (say Uncanny X-Men #100-150), and in this writer’s opinion, he’s never been that interesting since. Whether their fights were over Jean, battle tactics, or what to have for breakfast (and they were always fighting about something), the rivalry between Scott and Logan was consistently intense, adding an energy to the book that many comics tried to emulate in the years that followed. Indeed, Mark Millar has been heavily playing up that original friction between the two in his Ultimate X-Men, but his attempts, as good as they are, can’t compare to the great stories that Claremont first gave us.
A core component of Scott’s character seemed to arise during this era: the idea that although Scott is a solitary man, he can’t bear the idea of truly being alone. Cyclops seemed to spend more and more time with Jean when Claremont took over, and as time progressed Scott’s thoughts were increasingly monopolized by her (even more so than in his classic Lee “Jean-pining” days of the sixties). However, when Phoenix was thought dead after a battle in Magneto’s Antarctic refuge (in X-Men #113, the last issue before the book’s title would be changed to Uncanny X-Men), it doesn’t take Scott long to start flirting again. Just nine issues later (which, bear in mind, is like three weeks in Marvel time!) Cyclops hooked up with a young lady named Colleen Wing… a relationship that gets so serious that she soon gives him a key to her apartment!