Category Articles 2008

Originally posted: http://www.minnesotacity.org/?q=node/157
Superhero Geist visited the LaCanne Park Celebration of Flood Recovery event. He is one of between one hundred and fifty and two hundred ‘real life superheroes’ who operate in the United Sates, distributing general merriment in a variety of situations. They range in age from 15 to 50, create heroic identities and wear costumes. Almost all have two traits—a love of comics and a desire to improve their communities (from City Pages, 2008). Sunday’s Superhero Geist had words of encouragement for the crowd as he mingled with attendees. He effectively communicated his upbeat attitude.

By Loy Williams
The world has always had superheroes, revealed especially after 9/11. After all, who hasn’t heard of your friendly neighborhood fireman, policeman or paramedic? This article, however, isn’t about them. Today I want to talk about the men and women who dress up in colorful (or not so colorful) outfits and go out and patrol the streets without the sanction of city, state or federal governments. Today I want to talk about the Real Life Superheroes.
Real Life Superheroes are men and women who dress up like their comic book namesakes. At times they have been given the distinction by the local news or by people they’ve helped. Other times they’ve given the title to themselves. Real Life Superheroes, inspired by the adventures of the comic book variation take to streets when they can, out to help those who need help.
They are not always on the lookout for a fight. Many Real Life Superheroes only get involved in stopping an individual crime if someone’s life is in danger. Often they report crime to the local police and perform community outreach tasks such as helping the homeless or escorting defenseless women home. One RLSH, known as “SuperBarrio,” based in Mexico City, rarely uses violence at all. Instead he is known for organizing protests and filing petitions.
In fact, one thing that can be gained from Real Life Superheroes is that it’s not necessary to punch out a bad guy to be a hero. In Washington DC, a heroine named Metrowoman uses her superhero costume to let the public know the benefits of mass transit and public transportation. The aptly named “Superhero” based out of Clearwater, FL provides roadside assistance in his Corvette Stingray, possibly the coolest form of rlsh transportation so far. Portland, Oregon’s Zetaman gives food and clothing to that city’s homeless population.
One thing we can learn from these crimefighters… they’re not going away anytime soon. While so far there are only a limited number of real life superheroes operating in the United States and even fewer in Europe, we can be assured that in the years to come more will be revealed.
There are more questions than answers when it comes to the Real Life Superhero. For instance, where do they get their costumes? Why did they start doing this superhero thing in the first place? Where are all the Real Life Supervillains? Don’t fret, reader. I’m sure that there will be answers to these questions in the future. In the meantime, be on the lookout for these costumed crimefighters to be out protecting the public from evil.
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/745989/real_life_superheroes.html?cat=49

By Paul Constant
They hide their true identities behind elaborate masks and costumes, patrolling the streets of downtown Salt Lake City in groups of two and three. People react to them in various ways: Older folks tend to ignore them. Drunken young adults want to pose with them for photos. Teenagers tend to hiss, growl and shout in their general direction, while children walk right up to them and ask what they are doing. Despite the masks and secret identities, they’re completely open about their purpose.
“Inferno,” one of the newest members of the group, is unfazed by the evening chill. He passes by a group of teens. One of them shouts: “Halloween’s not over!” Inferno winces, rolls his eyes, and responds, in the bored tone of someone who’s tired of hearing the same joke over and over again, “Nope, it’s not.” A girl of about 14 breaks from the mass of tittering boys and bravely approaches Inferno. He’s wearing a red hood and tunic, thigh-high pleather boots, and a matching black pleather mask that covers his eyes and nose. She breaks the awkward silence: “Can I ask about your costume?”
Inferno nods, unconsciously touches his red goatee and answers: “I’m part of the Black Monday Society.”
The girl cocks her head. “The Black Monday Society?”
“Yeah,” Inferno begins, a little more comfortable now, getting into a well-worn groove, “We just walk around, you know, patrol the streets.”
“Like Citizens on Patrol?” adds the girl, invoking the title of the fourth Police Academy movie. Her friends seem to get the reference and break into laughter.
Inferno brightens. “Yeah. “Citizens on patrol.”
“Cool!” says the girl, and despite the fact that her male friends are still hanging back—way back—and giggling, she seems to be genuinely happy about the idea. Inferno smiles and hands her a business card.
“We have a Website,” he says. “Look us up, it’ll tell you more about what we do. That’s pretty much what it’s about. It’s a lot of fun.”
“OK,” she says, waving goodbye with the card and running back to her friends, “Have fun!”
“You, too,” Inferno says. “Bye.”
And then he goes back to patrolling the streets, keeping his eye out for danger, wherever it lurks.
We Need Another Hero

The Black Monday Society started five years ago, when a Salt Lake City-area tattoo artist and lifelong comic-book fan named Dave went exploring on MySpace. “I always told my wife, even before we got married, that if I ever see a real superhero, I’m so going to be one,” he says. “Come on, just the idea of wearing a mask, going out, doing something good? Being somebody else for a little bit? Doesn’t that sound a little enthralling to you?”
After doing a search for comic-book-related fan groups, Dave happened upon the Web pages of two Indianapolis men who go by the names “Mr. Silent” and “Doktor DiscorD.” They called themselves Real Life Superheroes, and they went on patrol on the Indianapolis streets searching for wrongs to right.
“So,” Dave says, “I set up a MySpace page, made an identity for myself, just to talk to them, and it kind of evolved from there. It was really inspiring.”
Dave couldn’t believe this was happening, that his childhood obsession was taking shape, and that people all over the world were a part of it. “I went home to my wife and told her about it and she said, ‘Wow,’ and then she said, ‘Is this for real?’ and I said, ‘Yeah,’ and she said, ‘So, when do you go out?’ and I said, ‘As soon as possible.’”
Like all Real Life Superheroes, Dave, 37, uses only his first name, and he’d rather go by his character’s name anyway. His first superhero identity was “The American Corpse.” He dressed in an Israeli army gas mask, fedora and a suit and tie, much like classic DC Comics superhero The Sandman. Dave’s good friend, a very tall man with a lazy Johnny Cash drawl, says he’s “always been fascinated by ghosts and goblins and demons and things of that nature,” so he decided to call himself “Ghost.” He made a costume of a rubber Halloween skeleton mask adorned with a shock of white hair and a matching ribcage on his chest. Ghost is 32 and works in real life as a concrete finisher. Quiet and unassuming, he explains his unusual hobby by saying, “It’s every little boy’s fantasy to be a real life superhero.”
Ghost sums up his passion for the street with a comment on his blog: “Doesn’t matter how many people snicker at us. What matters is we are out there doin’ our duty for justice.”
Recounting their first night out on patrol in 2001, American Corpse and Ghost say they were standing by their car on a city street having a smoke. A Salt Lake City cop on patrol approached them and pulled over. American Corpse says he decided to slowly approach her to explain their costumes and superheroic intent. She firmly told them, “Please stand by the hood of the car.” American Corpse kept walking toward the officer, then reached into his jacket to pull out his wallet and identification. Reacting to Corpse’s decision to keep moving, the officer put her hand on her revolver and shouted, “Stand by the hood of the car, now!” American Corpse says he wasn’t even really thinking but decided to try and calm the situation by saying, “It’s OK, ma’am, don’t worry. Relax; I’m a superhero.”
The cop eventually let them move on, but the heroes claim the Black Monday Society is on the Salt Lake City Police Department’s official list of street gangs. A spokesman for the SLCPD would not confirm that statement.
When Flats Need Fixing

If a healthy number of Websites and blogs are any indication, there are hundreds of Real Life Superheroes around the world, mainly operating out of urban areas. One of the best known is “Citizen Prime,” an RLS from Phoenix. Prime is a husband, father and office worker who puts on a costume (or uniform, as the RLS community prefers) with intent to fight crime. Though Prime does carry a pair of intriguingly named “stun-knuckles” in case he has to protect himself or others, most of the work he does fits neatly within the category of good Samaritanism—flat-tire repair and making speeches to elementary-school students about the dangers of drug use. But in the past year, buoyed by increased media attention, Prime has also started a successful toy drive to help needy children.
Prime, an office worker in his 40s, has a certain charisma, the kind usually seen in community organizers and old-fashioned politicians. In conversations, he’s prone to wholesome expressions like, “Oh, my gosh,” and “Gee,” sounding like a real-life Jimmy Stewart. He vouches for the Black Monday Society, implicitly. “They’re really good guys. I’ve had contact with them for a while now, and they seem like the real deal.” Prime visited the Black Monday Society over the long winter, but—human as they were—the heroes decided it was too cold to patrol. Still, one hero wrote on his blog that “we did suit up and take some photos,” and that “more team-ups will happen when it gets a little warmer.”
New Real Life Superheroes seem to appear every day. They add their photos and biographies to Websites like RealLifeSuperheroes.com and share their thoughts on weaponry, good deeds and other topics on blogs such as Heroes Network. There’s the Justice Society of Justice, based in Indianapolis; The Boise Brigade, and, from Washington, D.C., the Capitol City Super Squad. “Zetaman” patrols the streets of Portland, Ore., wearing a utility belt loaded with a first-aid kit, a baton and a Taser, among other gadgets.
Polarman shovels the snow-covered sidewalks of Iqalulit, the capital city of Canada’s youngest province, Nunavut—located north of Quebec on Baffin Island. Entomo the Insect Man claims to protect Naples, Italy, and frequents superhero message boards with hilariously Roberto Benigni-esque broken English comments. His MySpace page boasts a mission statement: “To be a Real Life Superhero is truly the greatest deed a man can accomplish in a backwards world like this, where fiction is truer to reality than reality itself. On the other hand, the chance to fight for such a stunning planet is too significant to be turned down. Hear my buzz, fear my bite,” and it ends, as all his posts do, with his tagline: “I inject justice!”
Whole businesses have sprung up around the RLS life. Hero-Gear.net deals in costumes for Real Life Superheroes. Armories that produce chain mail and weapons for Renaissance fair actors have started to sell to the RLS community, as well. Dressing up like a superhero and going on patrol seems to be looking less like a bizarre pastime than it does a lifestyle choice, according to some of the heroes. Think teenagers going goth or animal-rights activists fervently volunteering for PETA.
The media is giddily spreading the word about RLS. Some television stations have struck a gold mine in covering regional “superteams,” packing their reports with references to Batmobiles and “Pow! Bang! Boom!” sound effects. A reporter from Rolling Stone went on patrol with the Black Monday Society last fall (though the magazine has yet to publish the story) and several filmmakers are rushing to finish documentaries about the Real Life Superhero movement. Members of The Black Monday Society claim one documentary maker told them that, to be featured in his film, they’d have to sign the rights to their superhero identities away to him. They declined. Another filmmaker and his subjects hosted a Times Square publicity stunt covered in The New York Times last October. Your Friendly Neighborhood Superhero, a recently completed documentary, is scheduled for various film festivals this spring. See RealLifeSuperhero.com for a snippet of the film.
Internet reaction to the RLS movement is mixed. RLS and superhero fans are continuously posting words of encouragement on each other’s blogs. But, as soon as a non-RLS site notices them, the general public, hidden securely behind a guise of anonymity, tears them to shreds. After a story about Silent and DiscorD appeared on comic-book writer Warren Ellis’s blog, the posters unanimously decided that RLSs were endangering themselves, if not others. One commenter, Monk Eastman, summed up the feelings this way: “I predict the following headline: ‘Oddly Dressed Virgin Found Shot 1,123 Times.’”
“A Little Gimmicky?”

Dave quickly dropped the American Corpse persona for another identity: a tights-wearing street fighter named Ferox. Ferox is reserved for Dave’s patrols farther north in Ogden. When in Salt Lake City, Dave is Insignis, a robed figure with a giant white cross across his chest. “The most easily recognizable symbol in the world is the cross,” he explains, “So what better symbol to have?” (The two names are derived from a large tattoo across his back that reads “Insignis Ferox,” Latin for “Mark of the Wild One.”)
After those first few patrols with Ghost, Insignis’ friends were quick to join them. The team grew to 13 members strong in a matter of months. The group originally patrolled on Mondays—hence the name—but “things are much more likely to happen on Fridays and Saturdays, so the Monday thing didn’t last long,” Insignis says. They stuck with the name primarily because “it sounds cool.”
New identities are common with the Black Monday Society: Inferno took his name because of a fiery temper he admits used to get him in trouble before becoming a RLS. But the 33-year-old recently decided to focus on his sense of humor by becoming “Ha!,” a clown-themed superhero.
Oni, 36, based his identity on a Japanese demon. He’s married to a woman the team calls “Mother One.” She creates most of their costumes by hand. “She’s very supportive of this,” Oni says. Most of the team, including 38-year-old occasional member “Silver Dragon,” a thin man with a thick Southern accent, are married. They say their wives are proud of them but balked at a reporter’s request to speak with the women. Earlier this year, Oni went on his first patrol with his daughter, who will take the name “Frost” as soon as she has a costume. “I was very nervous and excited at the same time;” he wrote on his blog. “I hoped that nothing would happen on her first time out. I am proud that she wants to give back to the community and help people that need it.”
The heroes say they have been spending more time in Ogden lately because of what they perceive as increased gang activity. Ogden Mayor Matthew Godfrey takes issue with that claim: “We have had a seven-year decline of crime in Ogden and one of the keys to that is getting the community involved. Having neighbors be vigilant and engaged is a critical ingredient to safer neighborhoods.” Godfrey adds that the Black Monday Society “fits in” with this push for community involvement. Although he finds them “a little gimmicky,” Godfrey allows that, “We will take their participation any way we can get it.” The Salt Lake City Police Department had no comment on the Black Monday Society. Lt. Paul Jaroscak, spokesman for the Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Department, says he has “no knowledge or comment” regarding the group.
If the local cops are sketchy on their knowledge of the superheroes, it might be due to the group’s lack of clarity. What, exactly, does the Black Monday Society do? They talk about “helping people” and “helping the homeless.” But, on one evening this past November, the patrol’s big events included a photo session with a gaggle of drunken college students, some heckling from passersby and a thumbs-up from an enthusiastic tourist from Minneapolis, who wished there was something like this “back home.” The patrol also handed out a couple of dollars to a homeless man with the telltale facial scabs of heavy meth use.
The team contends the patrols are its work, and that members curb crime simply by being seen. And Silver Dragon says there’s proof: “I’ve heard from friends that, after we patrol a particular neighborhood, there’s no crime there for the rest of the night.” That November patrol was one of the last crime-fighting excursions of 2007. The team has laid low for the winter, declaring Salt Lake City’s long, harsh winter too cold to patrol. But they plan on taking to the streets again, now that spring has arrived.
Oni, the only member of the Black Monday Society with extensive martial-arts training, recalls one time when he confronted a drug-addled man who was abusing his mother in a city park. “The first thing we do is call the cops,” he says, “in any situation.” Most superheroes will, in fact, say the same thing. They strongly advise against getting directly involved in police calls.
After calling 911, Oni and Ghost approached the man. They say he promptly relented when confronted with men dressed as demons. Insignis also recalls a time they chased after a drunk man who was standing by the side of the road, trying to punch passing cars. The man got away, but Insignis says, laughing, “He probably won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”
Outside Salt Lake City, the superhero action is getting a little more feverish and a lot less law abiding. Rumors have spread in the RLS community that one of their own, a man known as “Nostrum,” based in Louisiana, has lost an eye doing battle with a criminal. An RLS from Florida known as “Master Legend” claims to attack evildoers, bashing garbage cans over the heads of crack fiends and kicking others with his steel-toe boots. Another man, known as “Hero,” has quit fighting crime and is taking up ultimate fighting. “There is only one thing I can always count on, one thing that will always be there and that is the fight. The fight is all I have,” he recently blogged.
The Black Monday Society has set up an office, and Oni says they are working to gain legal status as a non-profit organization. “As soon as we do that, it’ll open up a lot more doorways for us so we can start receiving money and we can help more people,” he says, adding that “I’d like to do more than just help the homeless. I’d like to start helping abused and battered women. Things like that.”
In a parking lot after the patrol, the team gathers to smoke cigarettes and share a laugh or two. Inferno refers to Insignis as “Father O’Malley,” and asks him if his sidekick’s name is “Altar Boy.” Insignis laughs it off but then snaps back on message, insisting that the Black Monday Society is seeking more than fun and fame: “Instead of being the guy on the couch saying ‘God, I wish somebody would do something,’ I get to be the guy on the couch who says, ‘Yeah, I did something!’ or, ‘At least I tried.’ No regrets, no nothing. Just pure do.”
http://www.cityweekly.net/utah/article-6056-feature-slc-superheroes-the-black-monday-society-keeps-an-eye-out-for-street-crime-so-you-donrst-have-to.htm

ORTLAND, Ore.- It’s another dark, damp night in Portland, and for many homeless people, the bloom is off the City of Roses as they shiver out another night of unseasonably cold temperatures under bridges, in doorways and on park benches
In what many consider the bad part of town, one man steps from the shadows, armed with a stun gun, a collapsible baton, an ear-piercing air horn and pepper spray. A large white “Z” covers his tight-fitting shirt, and he steps through puddles in thick black boots.
A full-length black overcoat, fingerless black gloves, skull and crossbones belt buckle and dark goggles complete his “intimidating” outfit.
His name is Zetaman, and he’s looking for homeless people.
When he spots a group of transients, he makes his move.
“Do any of you folks need extra gloves or anything,” Zetaman asks the group as he pulls items from a backpack.
To homeless people, Zetaman is not a threat. He’s a hero, maybe even a superhero. And his fame is spreading.
Zetaman, whose real identity is a secret, is packing gloves, sandwiches and other items that will give some homeless Portland residents a degree of comfort on a cold night. The other items are for self-defense. Every superhero needs a utility belt.
Zetaman says he is not really a superhero, but he does take his cues from the superheroes in the comic books he loves.
“I like Superman and I like Zorro so I thought, ‘Wow, combine the two,’ ” Zetaman told KATU News on a night when we tagged along as he handed out food and clothing items to the homeless.
He has also given up buying his beloved comics in order to finance his good works on Portland’s streets. Some of the money goes directly into the hands of the homeless.
“I want to help because I grew up poor and I grew up starving and stuff,” Zetaman said. “I’m an adult now, I have a job and I just want to help where I can.”
One homeless man received a pair of gloves to ward off the cold. Others gratefully accepted chicken sandwiches. More and more, Zetaman is receiving recognition. He has an audio blog, MySpace page and several videos of his exploits have turned up on YouTube.
Citizens pose for cell phone camera photos with Zetaman, and homeless people reach out to shake his hand and thank him.
“I think anyone who wants to go in this community and do good work, more power to them.” says one man who gives Zetaman a hearty high-five. “I love you, Zetaman, you rock,” he says.
The costume didn’t seem unusual to another admirer. “Looks like a normal every-day goth so it’s kind of cool,” the man said. In a city known for “weird,” Zetaman doesn’t turn too many heads, at least not any more.
“I don’t wear a mask or a cape. I tried that the first time and got in trouble with police so as of that, never again,” Zetaman says of his initial foray into citizen crime fighting.
“I really don’t want to die or anything,” he says, explaining how he shifted to helping the homeless. Now, he’s becoming part of Portland lore.
Zetaman is not alone in his endeavors. In other cities across the nation, other self-made superheroes have stepped up to fight crime, help the homeless or contribute their own special brand of civic improvement.
They have names like Apocalypse Meow, Phantom Zero and Agent Null.
Zetaman says he’s met with some of these other solo civic social fighters and an alliance may be in the works.
“I’m not really a superhero because I don’t have any powers or anything,” Zetaman says as he continues his rounds, looking for more people to help.
The buzz on the meaner streets of Portland says otherwise.
Perhaps, one day, there may even be a Zetaman comic book.
http://www.katu.com/news/specialreports/18335494.html

Orignially posted: http://technology.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/tech_and_web/article3652004.ece
Worried that the world is going to hell? Why not slip on a pair of tights and a mask and do something about it?
By Michael Moran
April 5, 2008
Many of us bemoan the weakening of social cohesion that has led to an explosion of petty crime on our streets. Very few complainants, though, are inspired to don a superhero costume and patrol our cities to combat the burgeoning unpleasantness.
However, that might be about to change, with the advent of the real-life superheroes. Citizen Prime (above) is the most convincing of the bunch, patrolling the streets of Phoenix, Arizona, in his impressive custom-made armour. Further down the budgetary scale come Terrifica, who offers safe-sex advice to tipsy female clubgoers in New York, and the Big O, from Tunbridge Wells, who stops hooligans vandalising hanging baskets or defacing tea-shop frontages.
Hundreds of costumed crime fighters are listed on The World Heroics Database and the World Superhero Registry – but their biggest problem is that not one of them currently has an arch-enemy listed on their profile.
Sadly, without a stock of supervillains, real-life superheroes are little more than a particularly flamboyant Neighbourhood Watch
 

Examiner 01 PDF
Examiner 02 PDF
April 04, 2008
By Dan Rafter
Holy Batman! People are taking a page from the Caped Crusader’s comic book and turning themselves into superheroes- even though they don’t have any special powers!
Donning eye-catching costumes, real-life superheroes with names like Squeegeeman, Dark Guardian and Entomo the Insect Man have begun appearing across the United States and around the globe- in a movement to make the world a better place. But these crusaders for justice- estimated at 225 around the world, include about 175 in the United States- are often less concerned with bashing heads than feeding the homeless, saving the environment or just doing good.
Squeegeeman has vowed to clean up New York City, one windshied or city block at a time. New Yorkers who don’t get mugged while walking n a clean street should probably praise the caped cleaner.
Martial arts expert Geist of Rochester, Minn., confronts evildoers with a wide-brimmed hat, reflective sunglasses, a scarf-like mask and a array of non-lethal weapons, including smoke grenades and a 6-inch fighting stick.
Citizen Prime of Phoenix spent $4,000 on a custom-made costume- including a steel helmet and breast-plate and yellow cape. And when his foot patrols don’t find enough crime, he volunteers for crime-prevention causes and children’s charities.
A secretive martial arts instructor patrols New York City’s Staten Island as Dark Guardian, while wearing spandex fit for a professional wrestler. The 23-year-old hero recently held a convenience store robber at bay until the cops arrived.
Hardwire, 20 of Greensboro-Durham, N.C., describes himself as a “tech hero, like Batman with the attitude,” while Entomo the Insect Man give Spider-Man a run for his bugged-out reputation in Naples, Italy, declaring: “I inject justice.”
In Portland, Ore., the needy can count on Zetaman to make regular rounds distributing free food and clothing. To protect himself and those he serves, Zetaman carries pepper spray, an extendable steel baton and a Taser packing 30,000 volts.

CHULA VISTA, Calif. — Two men are putting on their superhero costumes Thursday in response to a string of sexual assaults in the South Bay.
The men aren’t faster than any speeding bullet, but they are making their presence felt.
They said their sworn enemy is the man connected to at least three attacks on teenage girls in the Eastlake area of Chula Vista.
Members of the so-called Xtreme Justice League took to the streets of Eastlake Thursday evening.
The men are members of a volunteer crime-fighting group that dress up like superheroes to do good.
On Thursday and Friday, the men will be passing out fliers and offering a $1,000 reward for information on the sexual assault suspect, who took off on a skateboard in three of the attacks.
A fourth attack has not been tied to the same person, police said.
The men said they hope to be a visual deterrent for crime and an inspiration.
“I think superheroes represent all that is good, and we want to act as a symbol and also empower people,” said Mr. Extreme of the Xtreme Justice League. “With our patrols, we hope to make it a safer area.”
The group’s fliers include a telephone number for tips, which the group will forward to Chula Vista police.
Police said they are not familiar with the group and don’t advocate vigilante justice.
However, they did say the more eyes and ears out there, the better.
Copyright 2008 by 10News.com. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
http://www.10news.com/news/15590312/detail.html#

It’s a tough job being Portland’s only superhero.
Once a week for the past 18 months, Zetaman has donned his costume and patrolled downtown Portland, seeking out the needy with gifts of food and clothing.
He goes armed with an extendable steel baton, pepper spray, and a Taser that delivers 30,000 volts—enough to put a man on the ground. Those tools of the trade are to defend himself or people in trouble. But he doesn’t pick fights, and so far he hasn’t been forced to draw his weapons or apprehend anybody.
Like the men under the Burnside Bridge one recent Saturday night when temperatures fell into the low 40s, most of the people Zetaman encounters are grateful for the help.
But they also fail to ask the obvious question: What possesses a stocky 29-year-old to put on a homemade costume and prowl the city streets in the dead of night?
The answers lie both in Zetaman’s own past and on the Web, where in recent years hundreds of other self-styled “real-life superheroes” have sprung into existence around the country.
Zetaman was hesitant to reveal his secrets when contacted by WW. But in the end he agreed to be interviewed and allow a reporter to spend two nights on patrol with him, in hopes that the publicity will inspire more people to become costumed heroes.
“This is not about me,” he insists. “Anyone could do this. I’m nothing special.” He doesn’t even like the term “superhero,” preferring to call himself a “man of mystery.”
But he admits being a costumed avenger is addictive after the first taste of parading in public with a “Z” on your chest.
“I couldn’t stop after that,” he says. “I feel great about myself. I’m staying active in the community. And I like comic books, I like great and noble ideas—like He-Man and Spider-Man. And they all have this thing about noble responsibility.”
On the pages of MySpace.com and in Internet chat rooms, the superheroes plan missions and exchange tips on fighting crime. That is, when they’re not sniping at each other, forming rival superteams, or weathering real-life attacks from mysterious supervillains. But more on the rivalries later.
Most heroes say they’re in the business to make a positive impact. Or just to have a good time.
“People will tell you they had a calling or a vision,” says “Superhero,” a 39-year-old former pro wrestler from Clearwater, Fla., who patrols his hometown in a souped-up ’75 Corvette. “I used to tell people I was trying to be a symbol. Then I realized it was a bunch of crap, and I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”
In a world where sci-fi has come true and flip phones are as commonplace as pencils, the Eye, a 49-year-old superhero in Mountain View, Calif., says there’s nothing left to stop people from living out their comic-book fantasies.
“Every citizen should do something of that nature,” says the Eye, who says he uses his skills as a former private eye to solve crimes. “I just use the persona to protect the identity and do it with a little style, I suppose.”
It’s easy for the casual observer to wonder what the hell Zetaman or any superhero is accomplishing when the country is dealing with serious issues like the fifth anniversary of the start of the war in Iraq or the threat of a recession. And it’s just as easy to laugh at any superhero’s MySpace page, Zetaman’s included.
If you went online right now and accused him of being a supergeek, you certainly wouldn’t be the first.
But consider this: If our life is basically a quest for identity and purpose, real-life superheroes have a huge advantage on ordinary mortals. And for that, they credit the Internet—a world where users can instantly create new personas and seek out others with the same interests.
Dr. Gordon Nagayama Hall, a University of Oregon psychology professor, says real-life superheroes probably have an inflated sense of self-worth, even as they help the innocent.
“Some of us might do those things without the costume,” he says. “The sort of bizarre nature of it suggests to me they might be looking for some kind of recognition that might stem from some narcissistic process.”
The Web merely feeds that impulse, he says. “These Internet groups create this support that actually emboldens people to go out there and act out their fantasy.”
Or as Zetaman puts it, in less academic terms: “It’s a pretty easy club to join. All you need is a costume and a MySpace page.”
It’s taboo in the superhero world to call them by their real names. But by day, Zetaman is Illya King, a married man with no kids. He makes about $40,000 a year, lives in a two-bedroom apartment in Beaverton, drives a 1998 Ford minivan with 96,000 miles on it, and has no criminal record.
Zetaman declined to reveal where he works or what he does for a living, because, he says, he’s concerned about strangers showing up and harassing him on the job.
His stated motives for being a superhero range from the quotidian (“having a cool costume, having a cool identity”) to the quixotic (“helping as many people as I can as selflessly as I can”).
He hesitated to reveal his name for this story because, he says, his true identity is inconsequential. He insists he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but to serve as an example. And there’s another, more pressing reason Zetaman hesitates to identify himself: an alarming incident last month in California.
In an unprecedented turn, Zetaman’s superhero buddy Ragensi, who patrols the town of Huntington Beach, Calif., in a black ninja costume, says he was attacked by what appeared to be an unknown supervillain.
Nothing is known of the attacker, Zetaman says, except that he wore special pads used by other superheroes and seemed to be well-prepared, lurking in wait. He used martial-arts moves against Ragensi, who managed to escape using his own fighting skills.
Ragensi did not respond to WW’s requests for an interview. But Zetaman says the unprovoked attack made him redouble his reluctance to identify himself. “We’re still pretty freaked out by the whole thing,” Zetaman says.
Crazy as it may sound to the rest of us, the superhero community has long feared the possibility that supervillains may emerge to confront them. But even after Ragensi’s run-in, Zetaman says it never occurred to him that he could be a target. His costume is more low-profile than Ragensi’s ninja garb, and on the nights WW patrolled with Zetaman, he drew no stares on the streets of downtown. Even the people he helps rarely realize he’s a superhero.
Zetaman’s origins date back to 2006, a time when he was going through a rough stretch in his personal life. Both he and his wife had temporarily lost their jobs, and at the same time they were hit with thousands of dollars in medical bills when his wife suffered a miscarriage. As the couple sank into debt, collection agencies turned nasty, filing claims against them in court for more than $5,000.
But the Portland megachurch they were attending put more of an emphasis on money than other churches they had gone to, pushing the faithful to give at least 10 percent of their pre-tax income to receive the full blessings of God. The couple couldn’t put up that kind of cash. Friends began praying for them.
“We felt like we were charity cases,” Zetaman says. He made a vow. “I’m gonna find a way to make my name for something. I’m basically gonna stick it to the man. That’s how it started off.”
A comics fan since he was a kid growing up in California, Connecticut and Vancouver, Wash., he was tooling around online and found a website for Mr. Silent, an Indianapolis-based superhero. A search brought him to others, including Dark Guardian and Squeegeeman, both in New York.
(Squeegeeman is on the campy end of the superhero spectrum. His MySpace page claims he fights “crime and grime,” and shows videos of him participating in the 2007 AIDS Walk New York and giving out water during the city’s 100-degree heat wave last summer.)
Zetaman was impressed, but his search turned up no local superheroes. “I was kind of shocked that there was nothing like this in Portland,” Zetaman recalls. “Our motto is ‘Keep Portland Weird.’ Where’s all the weird people?”
He created a Yahoo account to establish a new identity online. He started working out, dropping 10 pounds on his 5-foot-6-inch frame, bringing him down to 200 pounds. And he hit the stores to buy his first costume: a spandex shirt from Wal-Mart, leather jeans from Hot Topic and boots from cryoflesh.com, a goth website. At Party City he bought a zebra mask and remodeled it to fit his first identity: the Cat.
He made his public debut on Aug. 18, 2006, when he planned to patrol while a movie was showing on Pioneer Square. He arrived at a downtown parking garage about 10 pm, donned his Cat mask and stood gazing out over the city, when a woman got off the elevator to walk to her car and started screaming. Two bicycle cops swooped in to question him.
“I thought, this is not cool. This is not gonna work at all,” he says. “I want to be a positive force, not some kind of a thug.”
Going against the advice of other heroes, he ditched the mask altogether and switched to Zetaman—a combination of Zorro and Superman, two of his favorite heroes, riffing off the Greek name for the letter Z.
Without the mask, he no longer incited public panic. But the costume remained a work in progress. He paid $70 for a full-length spandex costume from Minneapolis-based Hero Gear, which outfits many of the Internet’s real-life superheroes. But the full-body suit didn’t fly.
“It kind of sucked,” Zetaman says. “I wasn’t feeling it.”
A $45 spandex shirt with the stylized “Z” on the chest worked out better. But his leather pants brought unwanted attention from certain men on Southwest Stark Street, so he switched to cargo pants instead. He says that cut down on the catcalls.
He keeps his identity secret from everyone but a few family members. His parents are still in the dark. “Here I am, almost 30, and I still care about what my parents think,” he says. “I have an outfit, I run around in the middle of the night, and I hang out with homeless people. So yeah, I’ve kind of avoided that conversation.”
His wife of seven years, Allison King, 30, says at first she was apprehensive because she worried about his safety. But now she fully supports him. “He’s just my hero,” she says. “One of the things I fell in love with him for, he cares about other people so much.”
Now Allison accompanies him on patrol in civilian clothes, helping him pass out food and occasionally filming video she posts on YouTube. “It’s not how I thought I would be spending time with my husband,” she says. “But it’s awesome.”
Zetaman’s not into superhero kink, but he once slipped into bed in uniform. It didn’t work out. “It just felt too stupid,” he says. “I was just laughing.”
Vigilante justice has a controversial history, from Old West posses seeking revenge against Native American tribes to today’s Minuteman Civil Defense Corps patrolling the Mexican border. But the work of Zetaman and other superheroes appears to stay within the law.
Most states allow a citizen’s arrest if a crime is being committed. No permits are needed to carry Zetaman’s chosen weapons of batons, Mace or Tasers, at least in Portland. And while it may be eccentric to do community service in spandex, no one’s been arrested for impersonating a superhero.
A nationwide community-policing group called the Guardian Angels has existed legally for decades, including a local chapter that patrols the MAX line in Portland in their trademark red berets.
Though controversial with some critics, Guardian Angels leaders insist the group is a benefit to the public. Carrying no weapons, they travel in groups, concentrating on public places where people feel menaced. Zetaman and other heroes say their mission is little different.
“I certainly applaud him,” says Curtis Sliwa, who founded the Guardian Angels in New York in 1979. “He’s not getting paid for this. He’s risking his life, and he’s helping those who can’t help themselves.”
Cops take a different view of Zetaman.
“I think he’s going to get in big trouble,” says Sgt. Doug Justus of the Portland Police Bureau’s Drugs and Vice Division. “As soon as you start interfering with a crime in progress, if the guy doesn’t identify you as a police officer, I think you’re asking to get hurt.”
The upsurge in superhero activity across the country appears to have caused no complaints elsewhere. Even in Mountain View, Calif., where the Eye claims he uses light-emitting diodes to temporarily blind people while he’s solving crimes, local police spokeswoman Liz Wylie says cops there have never heard of him.
Zetaman says he’s only once stopped a crime in progress—honking his horn to scare off a guy trying to steal cars downtown. He’s lectured a few drug dealers, but unless there was a person in immediate danger, he says he’d be more likely to call the police on his cell phone than try to stop a crime himself.
“I guess it sounds kind of less heroic, but I don’t want to die,” he says. As for taking out gangs and other organized crime, he says he simply doesn’t have the time or the resources. “I wish I had a million dollars, like Batman,” he says. “But I’m just one guy out there. I’m not strong enough.”
In the past two years, superheroes say their numbers have exploded, largely due to MySpace, the social networking site that’s grown over the same time with its M.O. of allowing users to forge a fake identity and communicate with each other while remaining completely anonymous.
Hundreds of MySpace users pose as superheroes, but Zetaman—who’s intensely involved in the superheroes’ online community and set up several of their most popular bulletin boards—estimates fewer than 30 nationwide actually go out on patrol. As Zetaman suggests, the only requirements to be a superhero seem to be a costume and a nickname, though several also claim to have psychic powers.
Master Legend, a superhero from Winter Park, Fla., claims he can sense when people are in danger. He also says he has super strength and healing powers. And he’s not afraid to beat up bad guys like crack dealers, starting out by taunting them in his superhero costume.
“They just don’t know what to think of that. It shocks them,” he says. “They can’t help themselves any longer, and they come and attack me, and it’s showtime. And you can hear from me laughing how much I love it. I love to jump into action.”
Heroes in Florida and New York claim to have no trouble finding street crime, but Portland’s darkest alleys are a safety zone by comparison. Zetaman tried patrolling in the parks around Portland State University (don’t people get mugged in parks?). Still no dice.
His 70-plus nights on the street have led him to the conclusion that in Portland, the homeless are the real people in need. Now he wears a backpack stuffed with blankets, hats, gloves and socks to give away. He lugs bags of food and soda. One night last month he gave out five double cheeseburgers and five chicken sandwiches from McDonald’s, along with a 12-pack of Shasta cola.
Despite the fact that he’s still paying off his own debts, he says he spends about $100 a month out of his own pocket helping the homeless.
Besides giving out food, blankets and clothing, he also offers help getting to a shelter, or into a drug treatment program. But few accept the offer. “It sounds bad,” he says, “but people have to want help in order to get help. It took me a while to learn that.”
Zetaman’s do-gooder philosophy has taken heat from heroes who claim to take a more vigilante approach. His critics include Tothian, a New Jersey-based hero whose MySpace page says he “destroys evil.” Tothian told WW in an email that he once beat up seven armed men while on patrol.
The two heroes tangled on Internet chat boards last April after Tothian declared himself “leader” of the superhero community. But Tothian declined to criticize Zetaman in a WW interview. “Some things are not for the public eye or the media,” Tothian says.
Like many so-called online communities (see some of Oregon’s blogs on the political left and right as examples), legitimate differences and personal attacks have gradually eroded some of the group spirit that once united superheroes. Just like heroes and villains in comic books, they’re now divided into a number of opposing teams that occasionally come into open conflict online.
The conflict deepened when some heroes began calling openly for violence. “It’s pretty bizarre, the emoed-out kids that are more into the dark side of doing this,” Superhero says. Zetaman says he regrets his role in designing one of the message boards. “Now it’s more like this mini homeland-terrorism site, and it pisses me off,” he says.
After a tiff that Zetaman dismisses as “Internet drama,” Tothian kicked Zetaman off that bulletin board, known as Heroes Network. Zetaman in turn founded the Alternates, a group that includes the Eye and Ragensi. The three are holding a secret meeting in San Jose this May to get better organized, hoping to form a new West Coast superhero squad.
Zetaman also hopes to start up a Portland-based group. “I want to move on to where it’s not just me,” he says. “I think more people should pick up a comic book and say, you know, maybe I don’t have to be so gray all the time.”
While most of the online community refer to themselves as “real-life superheroes,” Zetaman says actual real-life superheroes are police, firefighters and other first responders.Zetaman broadcasts a superhero-themed live radio show online each Thursday night at midnight. You can hear it any time at blogtalkradio.com/thealternates.
Superbarrio, a real-life superhero in Mexico City, has gained fame since 1995 by organizing labor rallies and protests and filing petitions to stop government corruption.
Find real-life superheroes online:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Real-life_superhero
freewebs.com/heroesnetwork/
thealternates.org
myspace.com/zetamanofportland
myspace.com/masterlegend
myspace.com/ragensi
myspace.com/eyewatch_24_7
myspace.com/darkguardianhero
myspace.com/squeegeerific
myspace.com/tothian

Ian McNulty
By day, Will Warner is a counselor at Delgado Community College. But at night, this 42-year-old father of two often assumes the secret identity of the Black Ghost, a New Orleans superhero on a mission to revive the values of compromise, compassion and nonviolent conflict resolution.
That secret identity is becoming better known thanks to the series of The Black Ghost programs making the rounds on the Internet. The shows follow the adventures of a local man who gains superhuman powers and the ability to stop crime.
“People my age remember the characters they grew up watching, like the Green Hornet or the Lone Ranger and they still remember what those characters stood for; good guys didn’t hurt people,” says Warner. “In 2008, who do we have embodying those values? We’re trying to go back to basics with family entertainment.”
Warner first came up with the idea for the Black Ghost while he was serving in the Navy. After witnessing the surge of street crime that has followed Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, he decided to introduce his character and see if he could make a difference for young children who might not have positive role models in their lives.
With virtually no budget but plenty of volunteer help from fellow mental health professionals and local actors, Warner has produced eight episodes of The Black Ghost, set and filmed in locations New Orleans children can identify as home turf.
“We talk about rebuilding our city after Katrina and that can come in many different forms,” says Warner. “We want to bring kids and parents into the living room together to watch a show and actually talk about the decisions that were portrayed.”
Warner proudly points out that while his character fights for justice, he doesn’t throw punches or deliver kicks. In one episode, for example, when a pair of drug dealers threatens the Black Ghost with knives our hero responds by pulling out a flute, which he uses to put his would-be assailants under mind control.
“The point for kids is that even if you have access to a weapon, you don’t have to use it. You can use your head and resolve a conflict without violence,” says Warner.
“As a counselor, I know how powerful the archetype of the superhero can be, because it inspires. Kids can look at this character and see that he gets the job done without violence.”
The show’s eighth episode should be online this month. To see episodes of The Black Ghost, visit www.theblackghost.com
http://www.myneworleans.com/New-Orleans-Magazine/March-2008/Tales-of-the-Black-Ghost/

By Ioan Grillo/Mexico City
“Leave Obama alone!” grunts the suited man, as Hillary Clinton is shown mocking her rival on the TV in this smoky bar. “Let her talk, she’s telling the truth,” his companion retorts through a bottle of beer. “Obama doesn’t know what he is doing. Hillary’s got the experience for the top job.”
Such a conversation might be commonplace in bars from Houston to Cleveland as the U.S. warms up for decisive Democratic primaries in Ohio and Texas. But this one is being conducted in Spanish, hundreds of miles south of the Rio Grande. U.S. elections grab attention around the world in ways that no other foreign election does, because the outcome of the race to lead the last economic and military superpower could have consequences everywhere.
The connection is even more pronounced in Mexico, where the government estimates that fully half of the population has family in the United States. And many of the issues being debated by the candidates — immigration, the North American Free Trade Agreement and a war in Iraq that Mexico was asked to support — have long been concerns of the Mexican public.
In 1996, a Mexican activist-wrestler who calls himself Superbarrio Gomez even declared himself a “candidate” for U.S. president, and held mock campaign rallies on both sides of the border. Wearing a superhero cape and wrestler outfit, Superbarrio promised to abolish the Border Patrol and Drug Enforcement Agency, “to deal a blow to international drug trafficking.”
But this year, Mexicans are more interested in what the American candidates are saying. The war of words between Obama and Clinton has been plastered across the front pages of Mexican newspapers and aired in prime time TV news shows. Many Mexicans are impressed that a woman or a black man could lead their powerful northern neighbor, a possibility that makes them reflect on the social hierarchies in their own country. Mexico has never had a woman president and no Mexican of pure Indian roots has headed the nation in more than a century. “When a black man arrives to be President of the United States, and even more when the child of black and white — a mulatto — it will be like the first Christian emperor of the pagan Roman Empire,” wrote columnist Paz Flores in the Mexican newspaper El Norte. “It will be the beginning of the end and the start of something new.”
Living hundreds of miles away from black-Hispanic tensions that plague some U.S. cities, many here identify with Obama as a person of color challenging a traditionally white power structure. Others like the candidate simply because he is a charismatic figure whose speeches are able to move even those for whom English is a second language.
“Obama speaks more directly and to the point than the others,” says Veronica Aguilera, 30, an architect from the Mexican capital. “You feel he is saying what he really believes.” Still, Hillary Clinton maintains a solid fan base in Mexico. Many here are still grateful for the Clinton Administration’s 1994 financial bailout of Mexico during the peso crisis. Senator Clinton’s criticism of NAFTA also finds sympathy here, where millions of corn and bean farmers say U.S. imports are destroying their livelihoods.
For some Mexicans, the issues is not Hillary or Obama, but simply getting the Democrats back into the White House. Political analyst Jose Antonio Crespo argues that either one, as President, would improve relations with Mexico, although he sees Clinton’s experience as giving her an edge. “A victory for Obama would represent more of a radical change,” he says. “But Hillary Clinton would be a more realistic leader.”
Others see the ascent of a former First Lady as worrying sign of family political power, comparing it to a recent bid for the presidency by a Mexican first lady. Marta Sahagun, wife of former President Vicente Fox, had positioned herself as a candidate to follow her husband, but eventually declared she would not run for office as her husband’s administration faced allegations of corruption over the national lottery.
Despite Mexicans’ traditional sympathy for the Democrats, Senator John McCain also has plenty of supporters south of the border, because of his track record on immigration. “There has been a lot of immigrant bashing in the campaign but McCain has not been part of it,” says Rep. Jose Jacques Medina, a leftist lawmaker who was an immigrant activist in California for more than 30 years. “It’s surprising, but the candidate with the best record on immigration is a Republican.”
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1718520,00.html?xid=site-cnn-partner