Archives August 2011

Articles 2011

The Challengers

by Webmaster
August 10, 2011
by Jerry Luterman
altruism: the principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others
Near midnight I stand alone in the parking lot of Gordon Park in Milwaukee.  Some time passes and then a car pulls up next to me.  From a darkened window a voice asks, “ Are you waiting for a certain group of people?”  Eyes cast downward, I answer that yes, I am.  There is anonymity at work here, and I mean to respect it.  I point to a spot in the distance and tell them to meet me there when they are ready.  I’m photographing them as part of the Portfolio section of the Wisconsin Trails September/October issue.  In a few minutes five men approach in the darkness.    Their names are the Watchman, Blackbird, Charade, the Crimson Crusader, and Electron. They are all in costume.  They are all Real Life Super Heroes.  Collectively the group is known as the Challengers.    They stand against what might be man’s most virulent kryptonite: apathy.  While most of us are falling asleep to the blue flicker of a television, the Challengers patrol the neighborhoods of Milwaukee and Madison, serving as an extra set of eyes and ears for the police while their presence acts as a deterrent to crime. They also bring food and other supplies to homeless people throughout the city and help out some local charities.  Before you scoff at the idea of men dressed up as super heroes, ask yourself this question: What have I done to better my street, my community, or for people less fortunate than me? “  I know that when I asked that question of myself, my answer fell far short of where I would have liked it to be.
Here are some answers to questions I asked of the Challengers.
The Challengers

Challengers photo by Jerry Luterman

What inspired you to do this?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               “There are two things I have always loved, superheroes and helping people, I think doing this was natural evolution of self for me. At some point I just decided the world really needs superheroes, and although I may never actually be a superhero, I figured I could at least try. “  -The Watchman

“I have friends on every side of politics and work in a kind of place where people bitch about politics and race issues and all the things that people think they can’t control and make them upset.  I see this as an active approach to making your world better or doing your part.  It’s one thing to get mad about someone breaking into a car on your block, it’s another to go out and look out for this. Who does that? ” -Blackbird

Blackbird

Blackbird


The Watchman

The Watchman


Electron

Electron


” A while back, one of my best friends got robbed through his car and shot in the face. He lived, but suffered extensive damage including the loss of one eye. I’ve always pondered the idea of making non-lethal weaponry and defensive technology, but it wasn’t until then that I realized I had to do something more than just draw and wish I could make a difference. It was then that I discovered Electron, the hero I’ve always wanted to be. However, since then there have been a number of reasons to continue my work and I’m sure a number of reasons yet to be discovered. “  -Electron
” I had ideas of donning a mask and patroling the streets for around seven years now, but it didn’t seem like a realistic idea until I heard about the Real Life Superheroes. Even before the mask, I was often told that I have a “hero complex.” I’ve always admired guys like Robin Hood, Zorro, and Batman; the guys without any superpowers that still try to make the world around them a better place. And that’s exactly what I’m hoping to do.” – The Crimson Crusader

What do you typically do on patrol?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              ” Patrols have changed, we used to ‘nest’ a lot and watch for things going on by just staying still and paying attention to high traffic areas.  We do a lot on mobile patrols now and mix it up.  Checking the homeless areas that we’re aware of is a high priority too, the cops don’t know about them and they’re working hard to survive so we help them with food and supplies that we imagine they need when we observe their site. “  -Blackbird

Charade

Charade


” I typically just walk around and keep an eye out for trouble. I talk to people when approached. I focus on teens since I am only recently turned 18, I can understand them better than most of the other heroes. “ -Charade
” We first look and listen to get a feel for the general atmosphere of the location we’re patrolling that night. We are looking to see how much traffic there is, both foot and vehicle, and listen to determine the general mood
people seem to be in. That gives us a good idea of what we can expect the night to be like.  As we patrol, we look for signs of any problems, such as evidence of break-ins or vandalism, and we listen for sounds that could be arguing, screeching tires, banging, breaking glass, or calls for help.  As we walk, we also talk to people and explain to them what we are doing in hopes it it may inspire others to do more to help others. “ -The Watchman
Best memory of being a Real Life Superhero?
 ”I have a gigantic portrait hanging in a French airport right now, Watchman has a huge one hanging in France at a movie theater.  That’s pretty cool, we’re just a couple of guys in Wiscons
in, but our alter-egos are nationally known. ” -Blackbird
“  Every time I suit up. It’s a great feeling to get together with like-minded people and trying to make things better in the world.” – The Crimson Crusader
Crimson Crusader

Crimson Crusader

Advice for others who might want to go down the same road?

” I think people need to do it for the right reason, there’s a fine line between an rlsh ( Real Life Super Hero ) wanting to do right and a sociopath that want’s to make up for their personal shortcomings with aggressive behavior towards people. “ -Blackbird

The Challengers are part of the Portfolio section called ” The Guardians ” within the September/October issue of Wisconsin Trails magazine.  Featured within it are portraits and stories of Wisconsin people who are making a difference.
Articles 2011

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's…Some Dude?!

by Webmaster
Originally posted: http://www.gq.com/news-politics/newsmakers/201108/real-life-superheroes-phoenix-jones

They are ordinary men in extraordinary costumes, and they have risen from the ashes of our troubled republic to ensure the safety of their fellow citizens. Jon Ronson goes on patrol with Urban Avenger, Mr. Xtreme, Pitch Black, Knight Owl, Ghost, and the baddest-ass “real-life superhero” of them all, Phoenix Jones

August 2011

I am rushing to the emergency room to meet a real-life superhero called Phoenix Jones, who has fought one crime too many and is currently peeing a lot of blood. Five nights a week, Phoenix dresses in a superhero outfit of his own invention and chases car thieves and breaks up bar fights and changes the tires of stranded strangers. I’ve flown to Seattle to join him on patrol. I landed only a few minutes ago, at midnight on a Friday in early March, and in the arrivals lounge I phoned his friend and spokesman, Peter Tangen, who told me the news.
“Hospital?” I said. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” said Peter. He sounded worried. “The thing you have to remember about Phoenix is that he’s not impervious to pain.” He paused. “You should get a taxi straight from the airport to there.”
At 1 a.m. I arrive at the ER and am led into Phoenix’s room. And there he is: a young and extremely muscular black man lying in bed in a hospital smock, strapped to an IV, tubes attached to his body. Most disconcertingly, he’s wearing a full-face black-and-gold rubber superhero mask.
“Good to meet you!” he hollers enthusiastically through the mouth hole. He gives me the thumbs-up, which makes the IV needle tear his skin slightly. “Ow,” he says.
His 2-year-old son and 4-year-old stepson run fractiously around the room. “Daddy was out fighting bad guys in his super suit, and now he has to wait here,” he tells them. Then he makes me promise to identify neither them nor his girlfriend, to protect his secret identity.
He looks frustrated, hemmed in, fizzing with restless energy. “We break up two or three acts of violence a night,” he says. “Two or three people are being hurt right now, and I’m stuck here. It bothers me.”
By “we” he means his ten-strong Seattle crew, the Rain City Superheroes. A few hours ago, they were patrolling when they saw a guy swinging a baseball bat at another guy outside a bar. “I ran across the street, and he jabbed me in the stomach,” he says, pointing at a spot just below his belly button. “Right under my armor.”
Unfortunately the head of the bat landed exactly where he’d been punched a week earlier by another bar brawler holding a car key in his fist. That attack had burst a hole right through Phoenix’s skin.
“A few hours ago I went to use the bathroom and I started peeing blood,” he says. “A lot of it.”
I glance over at Phoenix’s girlfriend. “There’s no point worrying about it,” she says with a shrug.
Finally the doctor arrives with the test results. “The good news is there’s no serious damage,” he says. “You’re bruised. Rest. It’s very important that you go home and rest. By the way, why do you name a pediatrician as your doctor?” “You’re allowed to stay with your pediatrician until you’re 22,” Phoenix explains.
We both look surprised: This big masked man, six feet one and 205 pounds, is barely out of boyhood.
“Go home and rest,” says the doctor, leaving the room.
Phoenix watches him go. There’s a short silence. “Let’s hit the streets!” he hollers. “My crew is out there somewhere. I’ll get suited up!”
···

Phoenix didn’t know this when he first donned the suit about a year ago, but he’s one of around 200 real-life superheroes currently patrolling America’s streets, looking for wrongs to right. There’s DC’s Guardian, in Washington, who wears a full-body stars-and-stripes outfit and wanders the troubled areas behind the Capitol building. There’s RazorHawk, from Minneapolis, who was a pro wrestler for fifteen years before joining the RLSH movement. There’s New York City’s Dark Guardian, who specializes in chasing pot dealers out of Washington Square Park by creeping up to them, shining a light in their eyes, and yelling, “This is a drug-free park!” And there are dozens and dozens more. Few, if any, are as daring as Phoenix. Most undertake basically safe community work: helping the homeless, telling kids to stay off drugs, etc. They’re regular men with jobs and families and responsibilities who somehow have enough energy at the end of the day to journey into America’s neediest neighborhoods to do what they can.Every superhero has his origin story, and as we drive from the hospital to his apartment, Phoenix tells me his. His life, he says, hasn’t been a breeze. He lived for a time in a Texas orphanage, was adopted by a Seattle family around age 9, and now spends his days working with autistic kids. One night last summer, someone broke into his car. There was shattered glass on the floor, and his stepson gashed his knee on it.
“I got tired of people doing things that are morally questionable,” he says. “Everyone’s afraid. It just takes one person to say, ‘I’m not afraid.’ And I guess I’m that guy.”
The robber had left his mask in the car, so Phoenix picked it up and made his own mask from it. “He used the mask to conceal his identity,” he says. “I used the mask to become an identity.”
He called himself Phoenix Jones because the Phoenix rises from the ashes and Jones is one of America’s most common surnames: He was the common man rising from society’s ashes.
It’s 2:30 a.m. by the time we reach his very messy apartment, where he quickly changes into his full superhero costume: a black-and-gold rubber suit complete with stab plates and a pouch for his Taser and Mace. “It’s bulletproof,” he tells me.
We head downtown and park in the business district, a bunch of empty office buildings in a nice part of Seattle. Other than some junkies and drunks wandering around like zombies, the place is deserted. We see neither his crew nor any crime.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I’m in a lot of pain,” he says. “The cut’s still bleeding, internally and externally. A couple of my old injuries are flaring up, like some broken ribs. I’m having a rough night.”
“Maybe you’re going too hard,” I say.
“Crime doesn’t care how I feel,” he replies.
Just then a young man approaches us. He’s sweating, looking distressed. “I’ve been crying, dude!” he yells.
He’s here on vacation, he explains. His parents live a two-hour bus ride away, in central Washington, and he’s only $9.40 short for the fare home. “I’ve asked sixty people,” he pleads. “Will you touch my heart, save my life, and give me $9.40?”
Phoenix turns to me. “You down for a car-ride adventure?” he says excitedly. “We’re going to drive the guy back to his parents!”
The young man looks panicked. “Honestly, $9.40 is fine…,” he says, backing away slightly.
“No, no!” says Phoenix. “We’re going to drive you home! Where’s your luggage?”
“Um, in storage at the train station…,” he says.
“We’ll meet you there in ten minutes!” says Phoenix.
Thirty minutes later: the train station. The man hasn’t showed up. Phoenix narrows his eyes. “I think he was trying to scam us,” he says, looking genuinely surprised.
Does this guilelessness make him delightfully naive, I wonder, or disturbingly naive? He is, after all, planning to lead me into some hazardous situations this weekend.
At 4 a.m. we finally locate his crew on a corner near the station. Tonight there’s Pitch Black, Ghost, and Red Dragon. They’re all costumed and masked and, although in good shape, smaller and stockier than Phoenix. He stands tall among them and does most of the talking, too. They’re monosyllabic, as if deferring to their leader.

They have a visitor—a superhero from Oregon named Knight Owl. He’s been fighting crime since January 2008 and is in town for a comic-book convention. He’s tall, masked, and muscular, in his late twenties, and dressed in a black-and-yellow costume. It is similar to, but less awesome than, Phoenix’s sculpted and buffed one. The crew briefs Phoenix on a group of crack addicts and dealers loitering at a nearby bus stop. A plan is formed. They’ll just walk slowly past them to show who’s boss. No confrontation. Just an intimidating walk-by.We spot them right away. There are ten of them, clustered in a tight group, looking old and wired, talking animatedly. When they see us, they fall silent and shoot us wary glances, probably wondering what the superheroes are talking about.
This is what the superheroes are talking about:

Knight Owl: I’ve discovered a maskmaker who does these really awesome owl masks. They’re made out of old gas masks.
Phoenix: Like what Urban Avenger’s got?
Knight Owl: Sort of, but owl-themed. I’m going to ask her if she’ll put my logo on it in brass.
Phoenix: That’s awesome. By the way, I really like your color scheme.
Knight Owl: Thank you. I think the yellow really pops.

We’re ten feet away now. The superhero chatter ceases, and the only sound is the squeak of my luggage wheels as I roll them down the street. Up close, these dealers and addicts look exhausted, burnt-out.
Leave them alone, I think. Haven’t they got enough to deal with? They’ll be gone by the time any daytime people wake up. Why can’t they have their hour at the bus stop? Plus, aren’t we prodding a hornet’s nest? Couldn’t this be like the Taco Incident times a thousand?
The Taco Incident. Ever since Phoenix appeared on CNN in January in a short segment extolling his acts of derring-do, the superhero community has been rife with grumbling. Many of them, evidently jealous of Phoenix’s stunning rise, have been spreading rumors. The chief gossips have been N.Y.C.’s Dark Guardian and Seattle’s Mr. Raven Blade. They say Phoenix is not as brave as he likes people to believe, that he’s in it for personal gain, and that his presence on the streets only serves to escalate matters. To support this last criticism, they cite the Taco Incident.
Phoenix sighs. “It was a drunk driver. He was getting into his car, so I tried to give him a taco and some water to sober him up. He didn’t want it. Eventually he got kind of violent. He tried to shove me. So I pulled out my Taser, and I fired some warning shots. Then the police showed up….”
“I didn’t realize he was a drunk driver,” I said. “The other superheroes implied it was just a regular random guy you were trying to force a taco onto. But still—” I gesture at the nearby crack dealers—”the Taco Incident surely demonstrates how things can inadvertently spiral.”
“They’re in my house,” he resolutely replies. “Any corner where people go, that’s my corner. And I’m going to defend it.”
We walk slowly past the bus stop. Nothing happens. Everyone just mutters angrily at one another.
It is now 5 a.m. Our first night’s patrolling together ends. I’m glad, as I found that last part a little frightening. I am not a naturally confrontational person, and I’d really like to check into my hotel and go to bed.
···The real-life-superhero movement began, the folklore goes, back in 1980, when someone by the name of the Night Rider published a book called How to Be a Superhero. But the phenomenon really took hold a few years later when a young man from New Orleans (whose true identity is still a closely guarded secret) built a silver suit, called himself Master Legend, and stepped out onto the streets. He was an influential if erratic inspiration to those that followed.
“Ninety percent of us think Master Legend is crazy,” Phoenix told me. “He’s always drinking. He believes he was born wearing a purple veil and has died three times. But he does great deeds of heroism. He once saw someone try to rape a girl, and he beat the guy so severely he ended up in a hospital for almost a month. He’s an enigma.”
So what happened next? How did the RLSH movement grow from one visionary in Louisiana to 200 crusaders and counting? Well, the rise of the mega-comic conventions has certainly helped. I remember a friend, the film director Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World), returning from his first San Diego Comic Con saucer-eyed with tales of hitherto reclusive geeks wandering around in elaborate homemade costumes, their heads held high. “It was like Geek Pride,” he said.
The community continued to blossom post-September 11 and especially during the recession of the past few years. Inspired by real-life-superhero comic books like Watchmen and Kick-Ass, both of which became movies, RLSHs have been cropping up all over the place. There’s no national convention or gathering, but Peter Tangen is doing all he can to make them a cohesive community with a robust online presence.

Tangen’s origin story is as remarkable as any of the RLSHs’. By day he’s a Hollywood studio photographer, responsible for a great many movie posters—Spider-Man, Batman Begins, Thor, Hellboy, Fantastic Four. But he’s always felt like a cog in the machine. “I’m one of those guys who toils in obscurity,” he says. “Nobody knows my name, because you don’t get credit on a movie poster.”When he learned there were people doing in real life what the likes of Tobey Maguire and Christian Bale pretend to do on a film set, it inspired him. So he approached the RLSHs, offering to photograph them in heroic, unironic poses. His hope is to make them seem valiant and worthy of respect, not just the goofy story about the crazy nerd at the end of the local newscast. His portraits are all displayed on his website, The Real Life Super Hero Project. The site has become Peter’s calling in life—his attempt to be, like the men he celebrates, exceptional.
···The morning after my first night with Phoenix, I have coffee at a downtown Seattle café with Knight Owl, a former graphic designer who joined the movement because “I wanted something more with my life.” He tells me about common rookie mistakes, such as adopting a superhero name that’s already in use. “It’s a general faux pas—anything with the words night, shadow, phantom… Those dark-vigilante-type-sounding names tend to get snapped up pretty fast.”
“Have there been any other Knight Owls?” I ask.
“There was an Owl,” he says. “The Owl. But he ended up changing his name to Scar Heart, since he’d had a heart transplant.”
He says he chose his name before he knew there was a Nite Owl in the Watchmen comic, so when people online tell him, “You’re a fucking pussy, and by the way, Knight Owl’s taken—haven’t you seen Watchmen?” they don’t know what they’re talking about.
The second rookie mistake is to “get caught up in the paraphernalia. People should think more about the functionality.”
“I assume capes aren’t functional,” I say, “because they can get snagged on things.”
“If you’re going to do some serious crime fighting, there’d better be a good reason for a cape,” he nods. “And grappling hooks—no, no, no, no, no! What? You think you’re going to scale a building? What are you going to do when you get up there? Swoop down? Parachute down? You’re not going to have enough distance for the parachute to even open.”
Knight Owl seems to regard Phoenix as the real thing in a community rife with wannabes. That’s how Phoenix sees himself, too. When I asked him why he seems to be capturing the public’s imagination in a way that the other RLSHs haven’t, he attributes it to his bravery. Others, he says, talk the talk but in reality just hand out food to the homeless and would probably run shrieking from danger if they ever chanced upon it.
“When you wake up one day and decide to put on spandex and give out sandwiches, something’s a little off,” Phoenix says. “I call them real-life sandwich handlers.”

I want to see another superhero operation to compare to Phoenix, so I fly to San Diego to meet Mr. Xtreme. He’s been patrolling since 2006, the past eight months with his protégé, Urban Avenger. They pick me up at 9 p.m. outside my hotel. Both are heavily costumed. Mr. Xtreme is a thickset man—a security guard by day—wearing a green-and-black cape, a bulletproof vest, a green helmet, and a visor upon which fake eyes have been eerily painted. His outfit is covered with stickers of a woman’s face: Kitty Genovese. In March 1964, in an infamous incident that shamed New York City, Genovese was stabbed near her apartment in Kew Gardens, Queens. Her attacker ran away. During the next half hour, several of her neighbors saw her or heard her screaming and did nothing. Then her attacker returned and killed her. She has become a talisman for the RLSH movement.

You cannot see an inch of Urban Avenger’s body. He’s wearing a weird customized gas mask, green-tinted sunglasses, a red full-length hoodie, and long black leather gloves. Underneath it all he looks quite small and skinny. He says he’s in his late twenties, has children, and works “in the food-service industry.” That’s all he’ll reveal to me.He says he loves being covered from head to toe. “When I wear this, I don’t have to react to you in any way. Nobody knows what I’m thinking or feeling. It’s great. I can be in my own little world in here.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. “I was once at a Halloween party and I didn’t take off my mask all night. It completely eliminated all social anxiety.” “Sometimes I wish I never had to take the mask off,” says Urban Avenger.
We begin our patrol through the clean, well-to-do streets of downtown San Diego. We pass bars and clubs filled with polite-looking young drinkers. A few take pictures of the superheroes on their phones. Others yell, “It isn’t Halloween anymore!” from car windows. Urban Avenger says he doesn’t understand how Phoenix is forever chancing upon crimes being committed. He’s just lucky.
“What are the odds?” he sighs. “I almost never see anything.” He pauses. “Last October we got involved in breaking up some street fights.”
“Five months ago?”
“It’s been really quiet around here ever since.”
He says Phoenix is fortunate to have the scary district of Belltown on his doorstep. “Google ‘gunshots in Belltown’ and you’ll come up with a hundred stories of gunshots being fired in, like, the last year,” he says wistfully.
Some boys pass us. “Want some reefer? Ganga? Weed?” they say, sotto voce.
“No,” says Urban Avenger, walking quickly on. The boys shrug and continue on their way.
“Good thing I got all that on video,” Urban Avenger eventually calls after them, indicating a small camera attached to his shoulder.
“Crack? Heroin? PCP?” the boys call back.
“Did you really film it?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“I noticed you didn’t attempt a citizen’s arrest,” I say.
“We didn’t have probable cause,” explains Mr. Xtreme. “All they did is say something. If they’d shown us crack rocks or marijuana, it might have been a different story.”
“You could have said you wanted to buy some, and then they’d have produced the drugs and you could have arrested them,” I say.
There’s a short silence. “That’s true,” says Urban Avenger.
···Back in Seattle, we start our second patrol at 1 a.m. on Saturday night. Phoenix is in a bad way. He’s still ailing from the key-punching and the baseball-bat incidents and has now developed a fever of 102.5.
“I found out this morning I have tetanus,” he tells me.
“You have to sleep,” I say.
“No sleeping for us,” says Phoenix.
I’m starting to like Phoenix a lot. For all his naïveté, there’s something infectiously upbeat about him. He’s forever cheerful and positive and energetic. I ask him if he’s addicted to crime fighting, and he says, “I guess you could put it in the addiction category. It’s the highlight of my day. Addictions are normally detrimental to health. This is detrimental to my health.”
He puts his positive spirit down to a stable home life: “I’ve been with my girlfriend since I was 16. I make my own money. To be a successful superhero, you’ve got to have your life in line.”
We begin in Pioneer Square. We’re a small team tonight; Pitch Black and Ghost are Phoenix’s only companions. The bars are closing, and drunk kids are piling onto the streets, but there’s still a frustrating absence of crime. But then, from somewhere up the street, we hear a shout: “I’m going to fuck you, bitch.”

“Let’s go!” yells Phoenix. He, Ghost, Pitch Black, and I start to run frantically toward the mystery commotion.”It’s the YouTube guy!” a nearby teenager shouts delightedly. “Can I get a picture?”
Phoenix screeches to a halt. “I’ll be right with you guys!” he calls to us. He poses for the girl.
“Phoenix!” I sigh.
The real-life superheroes like to portray their motives as wholly benevolent, but if they were driven purely by altruism, they’d have become police officers or firefighters or charity volunteers. Something else is evidently propelling them—a touch of narcissism. It’s an odd sort of narcissism, of course, when the narcissist disguises his face, but the lust for fame and glory is unmistakable. By the time Phoenix has had his picture taken, the potential criminal and victim are nowhere to be seen.
Two uneventful hours pass. By 3 a.m. we are losing hope. Phoenix is reduced to suggesting we rent a hotel room, phone some prostitutes, and ask them on their arrival if they need help escaping the web of prostitution.
“I think the problem with the plan,” I say, “is if a prostitute turns up at a hotel room and sees three men in masks, she’s not going to immediately think ‘superhero.’ Plus, she may have to travel all the way across Seattle. It’ll be an hour out of her night.” They agree to abandon the idea.
Suddenly we notice a man across the street drop a small, clear bag on the ground at the feet of another man.
“Yahtzee!” yells Phoenix. He rushes across the road. “What did you just drop?”
“Pretzels,” says the man, picking the bag up and showing it to us.
There’s a silence. “Good,” says Phoenix.
···Our very last hope is Belltown. When we turn the corner into the district, everything changes. By day this place is nice: art galleries, bars, restaurants. It’s just down the road from the famous Pike Place Market. But now, at 4 a.m., the two or three blocks in front of me look as menacing and desperate as the projects from The Wire. The dealers staring at us look nothing like the exhausted old crackheads from the bus stop. These are large gangs of wiry young men. They stand on every block. The police are nowhere to be seen. I take in the scene and instinctively take a small step backward.
“There’s a possibility we could get into a fight,” whispers Pitch Black. “If that happens, back off, okay?”
“What are you doing?” a man calls from across the street, outside a shuttered-up liquor store.
“Patrolling,” Phoenix calls back. “What are you doing?”
He, Pitch Black, and Ghost walk toward him. He’s with eight other men.
“You’ve got to respect people’s block, man,” the guy is saying. “You don’t come down here with your ski masks on. What are you doing, getting yourselves entwined in people’s lives? You guys are going to get hurt. You understand? You want to see our burners?”
“I don’t care,” says Phoenix.
“You don’t care?”
“Not really. I’ve already been shot once.”
“I’ve been shot three times!” another guy says, looking weirdly proud. “One motherfucker round here got shot in the nighttime. Innocent bystanders get shot here. Think about the bigger picture. You’re putting your lives on the line. If you guys are in a casket, your mamas are going to be like, ‘For what?‘ ”
“Don’t be a hero,” a third man adds. “That superhero shit? You’re going to get hurt, fucking around. How you feed your family is not how we feed our family. We’re not out here for the fun and the show-and-tell. This is real life.”
I am finding myself ostentatiously nodding at everything the crack dealers are saying, I suppose in the hope that if the shooting starts, they’ll remember my nods and make an effort to shoot around me.
“I appreciate the info,” says Phoenix.
Suddenly the first guy takes a step forward and peers at Phoenix through his mask.
“You’re a brother?” he says. “You’re a BROTHER and you’re out here looking like THIS? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind, man.”
And then it all changes. “I feel threatened right now,” the guy says. “You’ve got ski masks on. I don’t know if you’re trying to rob me. A guy got shot last Friday in Belltown by somebody with a mask on. Is that you?”
“You don’t have to be here,” says Phoenix. “You’ve got choices.”
“I’ve been in the system since I was 10 years old!” he yells. “I haven’t got no choices! When your kids get older, this is going to be the same shit.”
“I disagree,” says Phoenix.
“It can’t be better!” the man yells. “This is it!”
The dealers withdraw up the block to decide what to do next.
“Have a good night,” calls Phoenix. “Good meeting you.”
···They’re watching us, murmuring to one another. Their problem is that nobody wants to buy crack in front of three men dressed as superheroes. While Phoenix and his crew stand here, they’re losing all their business.
Phoenix points to two packs of cigarettes under the windshield wiper of a nearby car.
“Those are indications that you can buy here,” he says. “So I’m going to take them off and annoy the crap out of them.”
He scrunches the packets up and throws them onto the sidewalk.
At this, one of the gang heads toward us. If you were watching from across the road, it would seem as if he just wanders past, but in fact he whispers something as he does: “You keep staying on our block, we gonna have to show you what the burner do.”
“Thank you, it’s great meeting you,” says Phoenix.
The man loops and rejoins the others.
The streets are deserted, and it’s starting to feel exceedingly dangerous. It’s just the dealers and their guns and us. But then, miraculously, a taxi passes. I flag it. The superheroes all have (supposedly) bulletproof vests. I have a cardigan. “I’ll give you $20 to just stay here,” I say to the driver.
He looks around. “No,” he says.
“Thirty dollars?”
And then, suddenly, the whole gang, all nine of them, some with their hands down their trousers as if they’re holding guns just under their waistlines, walk toward us. I can’t see much of Phoenix under the suit, but I can see by the way his hands are shaking that he is terrified.
“My shift is over,” calls the taxi driver. “I need to go home now.”
“Forty dollars!” I yell. “Just stay there!”
“I don’t care about the money!” the driver yells. But he doesn’t move.
The men get closer.
“Are we leaving or are we standing?” says Phoenix.
“We’re standing,” says Ghost.
“We’re standing,” says Pitch Black.
“You’re willing to die for this shit?” the first guy, who seems to be the leader, is yelling. “You’re willing to DIE for this shit? You guys are dumb motherfuckers. I don’t even know what to say. You guys are fucking stupid.” He stares at Phoenix. A moment passes. This is what I imagine a standoff feels like the instant before the shooting starts. But then his voice softens. “If you guys are going to stand here and die for it, I guess we’re going to have to walk home. We should shoot your ass, but I guess we’ve got to go home.”
And they do. They disperse. They go home.
Stunned, I look at Phoenix. He suddenly seems smaller than six feet one, lighter than 205 pounds, younger than twentysomething. “You won!” I tell him.
“They had the weapons, the numbers, but they backed down to the image of Phoenix Jones,” he says.
I feel an impulse to celebrate with him, but suddenly the full weight of the evening comes crashing down on me.
“I’m going to bed,” I say.
“We’ll stand here for ten minutes and solidify the corner,” he replies. “You don’t want to stand with us?”
“Definitely not,” I say.
I jump into the taxi. And when I arrive back at the hotel, my legs buckle and I almost fall onto the floor.
···Five a.m. My phone rings. It’s Phoenix, shrieking with laughter, babbling, hyperventilating, releasing all the adrenaline.
“That was ridiculously intense! In a few hours, I’ve got to be a day-care worker!”
···It’s the next afternoon. There’s a comic convention in town, at the Washington State Convention Center in the business district. There are something like 30,000 people here, families and costumed comic fans, packing the modern glass building. I spot Knight Owl and another Seattle superhero named Skyman. He is only semicostumed. He’s unmasked and goateed, and he’s wearing a white T-shirt with a Skyman logo of his own design.

“Ooh, look, the Rocketeer!” he says at a passing costumed attendee. “You never see Rocketeer costumes! That is priceless! I gotta get me a photo of that! Ooh! Lady Riddler! Nice!”Skyman approaches a Batman. “Is that a real bulletproof outfit?” he asks him. “No,” Batman replies a little apologetically.
“This place,” I tell Knight Owl, “is full of costumed people who would never confront drug dealers in the middle of the night. You and Phoenix and Skyman exist in some shadow world between fantasy and reality.”
“Yeah,” Knight Owl replies. “What we do is hyperreality!”
And then there are cheers and gasps and applause: Phoenix Jones has arrived. He is a superstar here. He sees me and we hug—two brave warriors who have been through a great adventure together.
“Thank you for making our city safe!” a woman in the crowd calls out to him.
“You’re a very cool man!” someone else shouts.
I tell Phoenix it is time for me to leave.
“When you write this, be sure to tell everyone that what we do is dangerous,” he says.
“I think you’re great,” I say. “But I’m worried you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Well, don’t make it seem like I’d be dying for a choice,” he replies. “I couldn’t quit if I wanted. You know how many people in this city look up to me? I haven’t paid for my own coffee in six months.”
And I suddenly realize I feel about Phoenix the same way everyone here does. I think he is an awesome superhero.
As I walk out, I hear a father whisper to his young son, “That’s a real superhero.”
“Are you a real superhero?” the little boy asks Phoenix.
Phoenix looks down at him and smiles.
“I’m as real as you can get.”
Articles 2011

HBO’s real-life ‘Superheroes’ are gallant yet unsettlingly goofy

by Webmaster

Originally posted: http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/hbos-real-life-superheroes-are-gallant-yet-unsettlingly-goofy/2011/08/05/gIQAnjyz0I_story.html

By , Published: August 7

Here they come to save the .?.?. well, that’s the problem with adopting the secret lifestyle and ethical codes of a “real-life superhero”: Nobody requires your services nearly as much as you’re hoping to provide them.Ultimately, as we learn in Michael Barnett’s compelling yet conflicted HBO documentary “Superheroes,” today’s supermen (and the occasional wonder woman) wind up handing out rolls of toilet paper to homeless people.
In “Superheroes,” which airs Monday night, Barnett travels the country to profile a handful of the 300 or so self-styled characters who are attempting to live a comic-book ideal. These are not the people you’ve seen at amusement parks and Comic-Con and along Hollywood Boulevard, who are simply playing dress-up for photo-ops. Something in the comics lore has spoken to real-life superheroes on a personal level, and they are serious — if perhaps a touch delusional. They see society as troubled, and they are especially disenchanted with law enforcement. “The N.Y.P.D., even the government is completely unreliable,” says Lucid, a Brooklyn-based superhero.Mr. Xtreme, a lonely San Diego bach­elor and frustrated jujitsu student, works by day as a security guard and spends his evenings wearing padded green-and-yellow regalia (including a limp polyester cape and a bug-eyed helmet), prowling the streets, searching for a sexual predator the TV news stations have dubbed “the Chula Vista Groper.”Meanwhile, in Orlando, the eccentric Master Legend drives around in a beat-up van and offers his services to the downtrodden, stopping frequently to treat himself to a can of beer from the ice chest he keeps in the back.Back in Brooklyn, Lucid and his more edgy clutch of masked avengers — they go by Z, Zimmer and a heroine named T.S.A.F. (which she says stands for “The Silenced and Forgotten”) — like to skateboard the city’s streets in the wee hours, hoping to attract muggers.Barnett employs an appealing style of comic-book panel animation to enliven the narrative transitions and give viewers a heightened sense of the ad­ven­ture that the heroes imagine themselves having — even if none of their adventures necessarily pan out.
Zimmer, a gay man who chooses not to wear a mask or use a hero name because it reminds him of being in the closet, glams himself up in hopes of luring nighttime gay-bashers. Lucid and the others wait in the shadows to come to his aid. When that doesn’t work, T.S.A.F. dons a miniskirt and lipstick and tries her luck at baiting rapists.
This tendency toward entrapment is where things get creepy, despite the tender care “Superheroes” takes to understand its subjects without mocking them. Many superheroes exhibit depressingly sour feelings about the larger world. They like to keep photos of Kitty Genovese on their walls and refrigerators for inspiration. She was the New York woman stabbed to death 47 years ago as dozens of witnesses overheard (and ignored) her screams. Genovese’s murder set off a popular and lasting notion of an uncaring, indifferent society.
What the superheroes in “Super­heroes” seem to willfully ignore is the remarkable drop in violent crime statistics over the past two decades — to say nothing of the post-Sept. 11 Homeland Security era that lit up our nights with security cameras and deputized every smartphone owner with the ability to upload crimes in progress to YouTube, which has helped catch miscreants of all kinds.
Yet things get darker (and dorkier) during a montage scene in which super­heroes proudly show Barnett the assorted weapons they’ve incorporated into their spandex ensemble: knives, nunchucks, sharp spikes, Tasers, retractable batons, maces, pepper sprays, blinding spotlights and lasers.
They’re all dying for some action, which has a way of making them seem more marginal, and embittered. A San Diego police lieutenant worries that these self-anointed vigilantes are going to hurt themselves (or hurt someone else); a psychologist wonders about their depend­ence on an alter ego.
Although the movie ends on a somewhat brighter note — following the heroes as they look after the homeless in their communities — even Stan Lee, the father of the Marvel Comics universe, expresses bafflement at these wannabes. If Stan Lee thinks you’re extreme, you might want to chill.
Superheroes
(83 minutes) airs Monday at 9 p.m. on HBO.

Artisteroi, RLSH blogs

Enlighten Me

by Webmaster

An Interview with Captain Illumination
Some people think that I am the only gadgeteer in the RLSH community. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am not the first, nor even the best. Maybe I am just the most vocal. Whatever that counts for.
There are many Gadgeteers with varying degrees of expertise and specialties. Some are on the street crime fighters, bringing their gadgets to the field with them for testing and fine tuning. Some host builder’s workshops for the improvisation of tools weapons and armour. And some are highly specialized technicians.

 One such highly specialized member is Captain Illumination. The good Captain is a street level crime fighter with an arsenal of home built light based equipment. Seeing his assortment of lights, and talking to him about his abilities it is easy to be overwhelmed by the amount of knowledge Captain Illumination has about battery powered light output.

 I wanted to bring some of that knowledge to light. Hehe. So I put together some interview questions for him. If you are looking for a good patrol light or just want to understand the nomenclature better, read on as I pick the brain of Captain Illumination!
1. First off, if you don’t mind,.. Please tell us where you have acquired your background in all things lighting.
Ever since I was very young I have been deeply fascinated by light, my parents kept a journal as I grew up, they said as soon as I could walk I would run around the house turing lights on and off for hours at a time.
I have never been able to leave things good enough alone, If they could be modified or improved upon I would do so. Flashlights were no exception. It all started with my first 4-D Maglite, ever since then I knew I needed more power.
As far as options for lighting goes, there are just so many routs one can take. Someone could just buy the biggest Maglite they can find put a Xenon bulb in it and be done. They could also buy any one of the thousands of cheap “but effective” Chinese made LED flashlights from eBay etc. For the true professional, company’s such as SureFire and Streamlight offer the performance and reliability out of the box that no other brand can match. The last rout of course is total custom built lights. Either based on a production flashlight or made entirely from scratch, these lights allow the end user to have the most control over just what they want their light to do.
What ever your choice start off small and work your way up. The experience you gain from working your way up will later allow you to build your own lights form scratch.
2. You seem to prefer incandescent lights as opposed to the more modern LED lights. Why is that?
Simply put, LED’s ARE the future. The truth is as simple as that. Soon all standard lighting sources will be LED. Just as car headlights are transiting over too LEDs, street lamps, movie projectors, searchlights, everything will be LED I estimate in the next 20 years or so.
That being said while LEDs do offer the ability to make custom lighting projects, nothing today can surpass the utter simplicity and cost effectiveness of incandescent lighting for home made lights. One simply can not match a home made Incan for the same price of a LED modded light. $15 will pick up a Par36- 50 watt bulb which will make over 1,200 lumens easily. In order to make that many lumens in LEDs (regardless of what anyone has seen for sale on eBay, etc) would cost hundreds of dollars invested in driver boards, heat sinks, Multiple LEDs, optics, Li-ion batteries, and even more.
Also Incan’s offer full color rendition. Meaning, everything you see with a incandescent light would look the same as if it was viewed during the day under sun-light. Even while using the purest white LED, one might expect to loose massive amounts of depth perception and the ability to discern one object from another at longer ranges. Lastly, it is MUCH harder for an LED to really throw it’s light down range for spotting objects in the distance. It can be done, but it all comes down to surface brightness when one wants to make a spot-light and Incans have that area covered.
 
3. What is the difference between Lumens and LUX? Which is better for seeing? Which is better for a weapon?
LUX, the forgotten sibling of Lumens, is overlooked by so many who need it. Today Lumens have almost became a house hold name, anyone who knows anything about flashlights, knows this magic word describes “just” how bright the light is, the higher the number, the better right? Well sort of.
First off I’d say at least 90% of flashlight companies who put lumens on packages are over exaggerating to say the least. Most imported Chinese made lights “while cheap” demonstrate massive amounts of over exaggeration. In fact a lot of them advertise an amount of lumens that it’s LED could never even physically produce.
Next time you read lumens on a flashlight try cutting the number in half. That would make it much more realistic. That being said don’t feel bad if you bought one of those “900” lumen flashlights, you still should have at least 300 “hopefully” that is a lot of light, once upon a time that would have been unheard of for even a large multi hundred dollar light.
Lux, however, is in fact even more important then lumens and there isn’t even over exaggerated claims made on packaging for it. It is as if it didn’t even exist! Lux describes the intensity of light at one meter. So Lumens = how much light, Lux = how intense. Think, Lumens is like how many gallons a second a hose or stream would discharge, Lux would be the pressure or speed at which it was moving. That being said one can now hopefully understand just how important Lux truly is if one is going for a “weapon” type light.
“First I must point out that like the proverbial grapple gun, a light which can be used by it’s self to stop an attacker is simply unrealistic, and near impossible to make, that being said lights can be used offensively and defensively to give a major upper hand in a fight” Anyway, if you think of a flashlight like water, which would you rather be hit by? 10 gallons dumped over your head from a bucket, or half a gallon focused into a water jet that could cut through steel? I think we all know the answer!
Thus if you want to disorientate an attacker by shinning light in his eyes you want the light hitting him in the face to be as powerful as possible. It doesn’t matter if you are only using 50 lumens if all 50 lumens go into his eyes. VS a 300 lumens light and only 15 lumens goes into his eyes and all the rest of the light goes around him.
The best comparison is a laser. A laser is light just like a flashlight, that being said a 10 lumen laser can reach out 2 miles easily, because it has super high Lux “over a million”. How does one get tons of Lux? Well you can either use very high power LED lights form some of the more high end companies or a cheaper incandescent with a large reflector.
A good comparison is that a typical 2-D flashlight makes 20 lumens and 3,500 Lux, and one of those $3, 7 LED lights that take 3x AAA cells makes more lumens “24” but only offer a dismal 800 Lux. A 900 lumen “true 350” Chinese tactical light, will make about 5,500 Lux, but a big old 4-D Maglite will make 18,000 LUX! With only 48 Lumens. The ultimate debunk of flashlights blinding people is that even the most powerful SureFire M6 $400+ flashlight will only make around 28,000 Lux when sunlight it’s self makes between 75,000 and 100,000 Lux.
Don’t belive me? Get your brightest flashlight then go outside during noon time stand in a patch of sunlights hold your flashlight next to your head and see if you can see the beam on the ground. Chances are you won’t. Is it possible to beat out the Sun? Yes, but it will cost quite a bit of money. If you’ve got the money, try a Polarion.
 
4. If we were looking for a good RLSH patrol flashlight, what price range should we be looking at? Can you recommend a light that would work well for us right out of the box?
Really the price range is up to the user, if one is willing to bet their life on their light I wouldn’t want the cheapest light I could find. Most RLSH’s are on a budget though, and $45 should easily be enough for almost any scenario.
An excellent starting light is the Maglite XL50. It’s cheap $30 and very strong and bright. Unlike most companies Maglite shows true lumens and at around 100 this lights is very bright for it’s small size. The best part is it’s reliability unlike most no name brands this light will last for years of use.
Want something a bit more unique? Get a $16 Streamlight ProPolymer 4AA flashlight from a dive shop, replace the bulb with a HPR 53 Halogen bulb, use 4x high quality rechargeable batteries and you’ve got a super bright almost indestructible low budget flashlight. Even if you don’t want to mod this light is works great for the price.
If you can still find one at your local hardware store, the Dorcy rechargeable 190 lumen flashlight has a super high LUX beam for it’s price and it’s standard rechargeability is very practical.
The Lowes 2-C Task Force flashlight was one of my first every day carry [EDC] lights for over a year. It’s cheap “under $30” and has 150 lumens with a very high lux beam “around 7,500”. The current generation uses a different LED then my original. I have no experience with it, but I assume it is even better then the original.
There are many other flashlights I could have suggested, however all of the above flashlights can be bought in local stores, free form shipping and have a good trade off between reliability, brightness, and run-time.
That’s all from Captain Illumination. I Hope this added to your knowledge of lighting for patrols and general usage. RLSH can use your new knowledge of lights to try to make the world a brighter place.
Groan, .. That was a horrible pun…
 

RLSH blogs, The Ded Beat

RLSH Metal Band Laundry Mat Video Interview

by Webmaster

JACK [email protected] W METAL ZONE PART 1.mpgJACK [email protected] W METAL ZONE PART 2.mpg                                                                                                                                                                                               Hey this is The Ded Beat from Jack Havoc telling you to Check us out on The N W Metal Zone Radio Show, this is a video of it recorded on the above link by our Roadie  from the 80″s J.A. Lee.

NWCZRadio.com
www.facebook.com/jackhavocsuperheroes

 
 

RLSH blogs, The Rook

The Rook: Origin Story

by Webmaster

He was my cousin and at the time, my best friend. Almost a year older than me, and infinitely more confident, I looked up to and admired him. We differed greatly in many ways.  He was militant, where I was more of a pacifist. We were both interested in the martial arts, however.  He was much more skilled than I was, having achieved a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do by the time we were thirteen. We were both conversant with comics, but not as interested in them as many of our friends.  He was more interested in science fiction movies and I was a fan of mystery novels.
Nonetheless, like many adolescents, we decided to adopt superhero personas.  An avid–though not very skilled–chess player, I always had a chessboard set up in my room to take on anyone willing to play a game.  There weren’t many chess aficionados in my social circle with the exception of my father, which may account for my mediocre abilities.  Nonetheless, the board maintained a prominent position in my room—if only as mostly décor.
It was the chessboard that provided the initial structure for our superselves.  He took a seat behind the white side of the board and picked up a horse-shaped piece.
“I’ll be The Knight.”
“Man,” I grumbled.  “You got the cool-sounding one.”
“No problem,” he grinned.  “you can always be the Queen.”
I made a face, a rude comment unfit for this blog and muttered “Not likely.”  Though fairly liberal in my attitudes of that day and place, there was no way I–as a barely teenaged heterosexual boy–was going to allow myself to be saddled with that moniker.
It did get me thinking, however.  Although the Knight was probably the most “super” sounding chess piece, it wasn’t my favorite.  I picked up the rook from my side of the board and considered it.
More advanced players than I had critiqued my over reliance on this piece, though I found it terribly useful.  Also, the general shape made it easy to use in various super-devices.  The hilt of a sword and the handlebars of the motorcycle could easily be fashioned into the shape of the rook.  It was also an easy figure to draw.
I placed the black rook next to the white knight on the board.  “This one’s me.”
Over the next several months, we drew pictures and designed fantasy weapons and vehicles incorporating our symbols.  All the while the Knight told stories of the adventures he had with his faithful sidekick, the Rook.  Though cast as a sort of assistant, these stories didn’t keep Rook in the shadows dependent on the Knight.  Rook was quick, strong, and powerful, often taking adventures on his own.  Although I was none of these, I found the stories liberating and empowering.
Eventually, my family moved and the Knight and I fell out of touch.  I understand that he joined the military as I went off to college.  The Rook paced nervously, penned up on the back burner of my psyche, while I found myself busily earning a Ph.D., raising a family, and eventually securing a job as a research scientist.
The Rook ground his teeth in frustration as my career waxed, waned, and turned while I became a professor and then left the lab to work in a small clinical practice. The Rook experienced some reprieve as I managed a bit of free time to resume my pursuit in the study of martial arts, the occult, private investigation, and other fields of study that struck my fancy.  My family was growing, my career was developing nicely, and I was developing personally.  Things seemed to be going rather well and the Rook stood alone and almost forgotten, occasionally practicing katas.
That’s when I was diagnosed.
It started out innocently enough…a large lymph node in a non-smoking, non-drinking, relatively youthful and otherwise healthy individual.  None of my doctors could believe that it was anything other than a node that was reacting to some otherwise minor infection.
No one expected me to have stage 4 cancer.  Least of all, myself.
Radiation and chemotherapy have a relatively similar objective.  Try to kill the patient, hope they survive and that the cancer cells die instead.  As such, a cancer patient undergoing such treatment has three adversaries attempting to kill him:  Chemicals, Radiation, and Disease.
I often told my students “We’re all terminal.  We all have an expiration date, we just don’t think much about it. The big difference is that those who have an identified terminal illness know ‘how’ and have a better idea than most of us as to ‘when’.  Having the illusions of immortality stripped from us in this fashion leaves a person with a distinct existential crisis:  ‘What does my life–and death–mean?”
What I failed to tell them is that your disease need not necessarily be terminal to have this effect.  While I attempted to recover and heal from the onslaught of cancer treatment, on the hope that I will survive the disease, the fact that I may easily die became increasingly evident.
What, really, had I done with my life?
I managed to carve out a pretty decent career and my family seemed happy and well cared for.  These were pretty much the end of my goals.  However, was the world really that much better off for my having been here or was my existence as consequential as a wisp of smoke?
Someone pointed out my wife, children, students and clientele in an answer to that question and, although I value each of them very highly, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was enough.
“Perhaps,” a familiar voice echoed in the back of my mind.  “But you could do more.”
The Rook was waiting, ever-vigilant, in the dark recesses for his opening.  He is now the symbol of my attempts to improve the world, bit by bit, beyond the confines of my immediate sphere of influence (family, career, etc) with the time that I have left.
However long that may be.
 

Captain Black, RLSH blogs

Capt. Black Video Interview.

by Webmaster

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6p9OL5_Ewc
Interview with Capt. Black on New Orleans world famous Canal Street about being a member of the ” real life superhero (RLSH ) ” community and why major problems are no excuse not to help the the community.
-NADRA ENZI AKA CAPT BLACK promotes finding your “super” through creative crime prevention; homeless outreach and political advocacy. ” Find Your Super!: Become A Creative Activist Through Comic Book Themes ” is his latest presentation. (504) 214-3082