16 superheroes on streets of Britain
Originally posted: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/3443305/Britain-has-16-superheroes-patrolling-the-streets.html
The Statesman … Scott Cooke
By Chris Pollard
A WHOLE army of masked crusaders is fighting crime on Britain’s streets at night, The Sun can reveal.
At least 16 amateur super-heroes have been identified.
They have names such as Vague, Swift, Black Arrow, Lionheart and Terrorvision. But researcher Tea Krulos said many more operated in the shadows. He said: “Britain has more amateur superheroes than you’d guess.”
We told last month how chubby bank worker Scott Cooke, 26 – known as The Statesman but dubbed The Phan-tum by The Sun – secretly dons a Union Jack outfit to fight crime in Birmingham.
US author Krulos has investigated such comic-style heroes for years in the States. And he said: “In America we have many, but they tend to seek publicity.
“In Britain it is a very secretive underground society. They do all they can to avoid publicity and communicate online. Whole forums are set up and often they operate in groups. I have spoken extensively to The Statesman, and he takes what he does very seriously.”
Krulos – writing a book on superheroes – said he had spoken to six UK crusaders, and was trailing ten more. He said: “These are normal people wanting adventure and to improve communities. They achieve more than you’d think.”
[email protected]
Real-Life Superheroes – out of the comics onto the streets
There is a growing number of people serving their community. They dress and act like superheroes even though they don’t have any superpowers, they have one advantage over their comic-book idols, they are real!
These low-profile but visually arresting altruists go by such names as Fox Fire, Black Arrow, Polar Man, Civitron, and Knight Owl. They design their own costumes, ranging from outlandish all-in-one latex suits to motorcycle gear. They call themselves Real Life Superheroes, or Reals for short and they are united by a goal to make the world a better, safer place.
According to Chaim Lazaros, a film student by day and a Real-Life Superhero by the name of ‘Life’ by night, the movement is not entirely new: “We’ve seen several waves of activity among people calling themselves Real Life Superheroes for almost thirty years. I personally know some who have been doing it for twenty years. After the September 11 attacks and thanks to social networking sites on the internet there has been a resurgence of the superhero movement. There are currently about 250 active Reals all over the world.”
The enthusiasm for the US-based movement knows no borders and the causes the Reals adopt are as varied as the personas they assume. Super Barrio hails from Mexico where, rather than fight crime, he uses his image of red tights and matching wrestler’s mask to organise labour rallies, protests and file petitions. Ireland’s Captain Ozone conducts his environmental activism while dressed in a light blue body suit, complete with cape, while Canada’s Polar Man concerns himself with shovelling snow from the old people’s driveways, entertaining children and prowling the streets at nights keeping an eye out for vandals.
It may not exactly be glamourous work but it is conducted with a sense of style and panache that lifts the hearts of those being helped. In these times of economic hardship, when the world is looking at new leaders like heroes the Real-Life Superheroes are quietly but colourfully going about their business. They are helping stranded motorists, volunteering at soup kitchens and homeless shelters, participating in blood drives and fighting crime when the opportunity arises.
Chaim Lazaros was trying to organise the first ever meeting of all the active Reals two years ago when he got his calling: “I was trying to find as many Reals as possible to get them all together in one place. Originally, I was just wanted to make a movie and tell their story. It was an awful lot of hard work and once, in a moment of prayer, I realised through all my actions I was doing something that was aiding the community. I fell under what ‘Entomo the Insect-Man’ classifies as a community crusader, I realised that it was true and on the day the gathering finally happened I declared myself as Life and I dawned my mask for the first time.”
Since that day, Chaim has been making nightly patrols in his New York neighbourhood as Life. His uniform is street friendly: black trousers, black waistcoat, hat and eye mask. He freely admits his work is not exactly the stuff of comic-book storylines, there is no fighting villains and capturing criminals: “I realised that walking around in a uniform you don’t get to see bank robbers running out of banks with the alarms going off and purse snatchers that you have to punch in the face. But you do see a lot of homeless people. I started stocking up on water-bottles, grain bars, socks, vitamins and blankets. I would go out and interact with the homeless, bringing them things they may need and offering them a kind word.”
Chaim’s voluntary community work is not the only super-Samaritan endeavour carried out by the Real-Life Superheroes. In fact, the majority of what they do is community based. Chaim was part of a group that included Reals named Civitron and The Black Ghost that organised a trip to New Orleans to help with the fall out of Hurricane Katrina. They cleaned out, painted and repaired a school gym that was being used as a donations warehouse for victims of Katrina. Their work was noticed and duly rewarded by authorities when October 13 was declared ‘Day of Superheroes’.
If there is one thing we can learn from the comic-book legends, it’s that Superheroes usually have one weakness. For Chaim that weakness is a lack of defence training. He has had a couple of hairy moments while out patrolling, including an incident where he was held up with a broken bottle, that could have turned out worse. It makes his nightly patrols all the more dangerous for him. However, one Real that isn’t an issue for is Dark Guardian.
Chris Pollak, aka Dark Guardian, is a martial arts teacher by day and a black and red leather-clad Real by night. He explains his reason for becoming a Real-Life Superhero: “I’ve been doing this around six years. I started off without a costume, just going out doing a neighbourhood patrol, making sure everything was safe and everyone was good, it kind of evolved as it went along. I decided to pick up a costume and become a symbol, to try to become a really vibrant person to get a message to people that there is a hero in everyone and you can go out and make a difference.”
“I was always into comic books,” he continues. “I loved superheroes in my childhood and I never had real role models in my life. I always looked up to these characters and their ideals and I decided one day to make these ideals a reality. Now, I’m out doing it!”
Dark Guardian is also mostly concerned with homeless outreach and helping those that need it most. Along with Life, he also visits hospitals, in character, to bring presents to the sick children there. You would think that the work is laudable but sometimes some people don’t see it the same way.
“A lot of times you get mixed reactions. If I actually get the chance to talk to someone about it they are very receptive. Some love it, some think the costumes are a bit much but generally they understand we are doing good. People who don’t know about us or have bad misconceptions just think we are crazy!”
It’s a shame to think that in some quarters, including the media, the wrong perception of these do-gooders is portrayed. The Reals do their good work in their own time and at their own risk. It’s generally thankless work and if they want to dress up while doing it then that should be their prerogative.
Both Life and Dark Guardian hope their message of community work gets across. They hope that the number of Reals worldwide grows as more people are inspired by their acts.
“All it takes to be a Real-Life Superhero is to take on an iconic persona and go out and do some public good,” says Dark Guardian.
“We continue to inspire others to become Real Life Superheroes or get involved in their communities in other ways,” is the message from Life.
Community service has never been alluring. Voluntary work, by its very nature, usually attracts only the most altruistic people. The Real-Life Superheroes may raise eyes or generate sneers with the costumes they wear and the names they answer to, but their decency and hard work cannot be ignored, rather, it should be embraced. In a world where superheroes like Batman and Spiderman only exist on movie screens or in books these guys are the next best thing.
Ciaran Walsh for RT
http://www.russiatoday.com/Top_News/2009-02-17/Real-Life_Superheroes___out_of_the_comics_onto_the_streets.html?fullstory
Since that day, Chaim has been making nightly patrols in his New York neighbourhood as Life. His uniform is street friendly: black trousers, black waistcoat, hat and eye mask. He freely admits his work is not exactly the stuff of comic-book storylines, there is no fighting villains and capturing criminals: “I realised that walking around in a uniform you don’t get to see bank robbers running out of banks with the alarms going off and purse snatchers that you have to punch in the face. But you do see a lot of homeless people. I started stocking up on water-bottles, grain bars, socks, vitamins and blankets. I would go out and interact with the homeless, bringing them things they may need and offering them a kind word.”
Chaim’s voluntary community work is not the only super-Samaritan endeavour carried out by the Real-Life Superheroes. In fact, the majority of what they do is community based. Chaim was part of a group that included Reals named Civitron and The Black Ghost that organised a trip to New Orleans to help with the fall out of Hurricane Katrina. They cleaned out, painted and repaired a school gym that was being used as a donations warehouse for victims of Katrina. Their work was noticed and duly rewarded by authorities when October 13 was declared ‘Day of Superheroes’.
If there is one thing we can learn from the comic-book legends, it’s that Superheroes usually have one weakness. For Chaim that weakness is a lack of defence training. He has had a couple of hairy moments while out patrolling, including an incident where he was held up with a broken bottle, that could have turned out worse. It makes his nightly patrols all the more dangerous for him. However, one Real that isn’t an issue for is Dark Guardian.
Chris Pollak, aka Dark Guardian, is a martial arts teacher by day and a black and red leather-clad Real by night. He explains his reason for becoming a Real-Life Superhero: “I’ve been doing this around six years. I started off without a costume, just going out doing a neighbourhood patrol, making sure everything was safe and everyone was good, it kind of evolved as it went along. I decided to pick up a costume and become a symbol, to try to become a really vibrant person to get a message to people that there is a hero in everyone and you can go out and make a difference.”
“I was always into comic books,” he continues. “I loved superheroes in my childhood and I never had real role models in my life. I always looked up to these characters and their ideals and I decided one day to make these ideals a reality. Now, I’m out doing it!”
Dark Guardian is also mostly concerned with homeless outreach and helping those that need it most. Along with Life, he also visits hospitals, in character, to bring presents to the sick children there. You would think that the work is laudable but sometimes some people don’t see it the same way.
“A lot of times you get mixed reactions. If I actually get the chance to talk to someone about it they are very receptive. Some love it, some think the costumes are a bit much but generally they understand we are doing good. People who don’t know about us or have bad misconceptions just think we are crazy!”
It’s a shame to think that in some quarters, including the media, the wrong perception of these do-gooders is portrayed. The Reals do their good work in their own time and at their own risk. It’s generally thankless work and if they want to dress up while doing it then that should be their prerogative.
Both Life and Dark Guardian hope their message of community work gets across. They hope that the number of Reals worldwide grows as more people are inspired by their acts.
“All it takes to be a Real-Life Superhero is to take on an iconic persona and go out and do some public good,” says Dark Guardian.
“We continue to inspire others to become Real Life Superheroes or get involved in their communities in other ways,” is the message from Life.
Community service has never been alluring. Voluntary work, by its very nature, usually attracts only the most altruistic people. The Real-Life Superheroes may raise eyes or generate sneers with the costumes they wear and the names they answer to, but their decency and hard work cannot be ignored, rather, it should be embraced. In a world where superheroes like Batman and Spiderman only exist on movie screens or in books these guys are the next best thing.
Ciaran Walsh for RT
http://www.russiatoday.com/Top_News/2009-02-17/Real-Life_Superheroes___out_of_the_comics_onto_the_streets.html?fullstory
Capeless crusaders
HAYLEY MICK
From Friday’s Globe and Mail
His transformation into Vancouver’s dark knight begins in the shadows, after a long day’s work and when his 12-year-old daughter is asleep.
First he puts on the knee pads and protective vest; last is the skeleton mask. Before stepping out the door, he grabs a bag of marbles to trip a foe in hot pursuit. “Old martial-arts trick,” he says.
Clad in all black, cape billowing as he prowls the streets looking for trouble, he is no longer a 60-year-old father and husband who fought in Vietnam before becoming a delivery man with a college degree.
He is Thanatos: sworn enemy of drug dealers, gangsters and thieves, and one of a growing number of real-life superheroes.
“We are out there for the people to do good,” he says. “And we’re real.”
A year ago, Thanatos donned his mask for the first time and joined a network of crusaders patrolling their towns and cities across Canada and the United States. He posted his photo on MySpace and introduced himself: “I am fighting a war for good against evil,” he wrote. Soon he was on regular nighttime reconnaissance missions, he says, tailing bad guys, gathering evidence and passing tidbits on to police.
Like most real-life superheroes, Thanatos keeps his true identity a secret. What he will say: “I’m not a fat kid in his mom’s basement or some geek living out a fantasy.”
Hundreds more similarly caped crusaders are listed on the World Superhero Registry, a roster assembled about five years ago that includes the names of more than 200 crime fighters from Hong Kong to Michigan, even Nunavut.
This new breed of superheroes adore graphic novels, can’t wait for Watchmen to hit theatres and are mostly men. Among them are friends of the homeless (Shadow Hare), animal activists (Black Arrow), sworn enemies of Osama bin Laden (Tohian) and one who shovels the front walks of Nunavut’s seniors (Polar Man).
Most patrol the streets alone, but they have vibrant social lives on the Internet. On website forums such as the Heroes Network, they swap tactics on uniforms (should I wear ballistic protection?), patrolling tips (how should I respond to a casual drug user?) and what to wear. “I don’t wear spandex, for a variety of reasons,” says Chaim Lazaros, 24, a superhero called Life from New York.
They are united in a mission to fight criminals and make the world a better place. The growing community is divided, however, over how that mission should be accomplished.
Some want to fight bad guys vigilante-style, remaining in the shadows and adding a caped wing to their city’s law-enforcement ranks. “I’m prepared to make citizen’s arrests if necessary,” writes Geist, a superhero from Minnesota, on his Web page. But others advocate a high-profile existence, helping the less fortunate through established non-profit organizations.
The difference in philosophies often results in heated arguments, says Phantom Zero – also known as a 32-year-old call-centre worker from Lindenhurst, N.Y.
“There are people who hate me online. Because they pretty much think they’re psychic. Or they have superpowers. They think they’re hard-core vigilantes and they don’t like people who do charitable acts.”
Thanatos has seen arguments erupt over whether real-life superheroes should carry weapons, which he is against. “This is not the movies,” Thanatos says. “You can’t leave the guy tied up on the police’s doorstep like Batman. That will not hold up in court.”
When Phantom Zero first went out on patrol, he kept an open mind. Inspired by what he had read about the superhero movement online, he donned a black outfit, a hood and white mask, then set out looking for trouble. He wasn’t prepared to “punch someone in the face,” he says, but had his cellphone ready to take pictures or call police.
“I never came across crimes worse than public drunkenness and urination,” he says. It got worse when he took a job in the peaceful suburbs.
Phantom Zero concluded that “vigilantism is moot.” After that he connected with a group of superheroes who focus on things such as helping the homeless and raising money for children’s hospitals.
One of the more high-profile proponents of this type of work is Mr. Lazaros, co-founder of a group called Superheroes Anonymous. Their coming-out moment happened in October, 2007, when he summoned a group to New York. Decked out in masks and capes, they picked up trash in Times Square and handed out crime-prevention literature. “It was awesome,” he said.
Last year, his league of heroes took a road trip to New Orleans to participate in a Habitat for Humanity project, hammering away in their costumes. Mr. Lazaros plans to make Superheroes Anonymous a registered charity.
Thanatos says he falls somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. He raises money for groups such as the Easter Seals, and every month distributes care packages stuffed with flashlights, food and plastic sheeting to homeless people, which makes his daughter proud.
But he also wants to bring “wrongdoers” to justice by acting as an extra set of eyes and ears for police. Using tools in his “crime kit,” he picks up evidence with tweezers and stores it in sterilized plastic containers. His wife, who goes by the name Lady Catacomb, trails behind with a video camera to document any scuffles (there haven’t been any to date).
Staff Sgt. Ruben Sorge, who heads up the division that covers the downtown Eastside where Thanatos often patrols, says he’s never heard of the superhero. But any citizen who’s willing to dole out food and supplies to the homeless is welcome on his beat, he said. And he encourages reports of violence or crime, “no matter what the person’s wearing.”
Real-life superheroes are often asked why they don’t just do good deeds without the costume or masks, and each has his own answer.
Phantom Zero says anyone can help the homeless, but in a costume you attract attention.
Mr. Lazaros agrees, adding it makes him feel more responsible. “It’s like, okay, now I’m a superhero,” he says. “Now I have to embody these ideals.”
For Thanatos, his identity should be irrelevant. “What I do is much more important than who I am.”
If you could have a superpower…
Come on. You know you’ve thought about it. Would you scale buildings? Soar the skies? Turn invisible? Read minds? Exude super charisma? Which power do you covet most? Weigh in here .
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/article968643.ece
First he puts on the knee pads and protective vest; last is the skeleton mask. Before stepping out the door, he grabs a bag of marbles to trip a foe in hot pursuit. “Old martial-arts trick,” he says.
Clad in all black, cape billowing as he prowls the streets looking for trouble, he is no longer a 60-year-old father and husband who fought in Vietnam before becoming a delivery man with a college degree.
He is Thanatos: sworn enemy of drug dealers, gangsters and thieves, and one of a growing number of real-life superheroes.
“We are out there for the people to do good,” he says. “And we’re real.”
A year ago, Thanatos donned his mask for the first time and joined a network of crusaders patrolling their towns and cities across Canada and the United States. He posted his photo on MySpace and introduced himself: “I am fighting a war for good against evil,” he wrote. Soon he was on regular nighttime reconnaissance missions, he says, tailing bad guys, gathering evidence and passing tidbits on to police.
Like most real-life superheroes, Thanatos keeps his true identity a secret. What he will say: “I’m not a fat kid in his mom’s basement or some geek living out a fantasy.”
Hundreds more similarly caped crusaders are listed on the World Superhero Registry, a roster assembled about five years ago that includes the names of more than 200 crime fighters from Hong Kong to Michigan, even Nunavut.
This new breed of superheroes adore graphic novels, can’t wait for Watchmen to hit theatres and are mostly men. Among them are friends of the homeless (Shadow Hare), animal activists (Black Arrow), sworn enemies of Osama bin Laden (Tohian) and one who shovels the front walks of Nunavut’s seniors (Polar Man).
Most patrol the streets alone, but they have vibrant social lives on the Internet. On website forums such as the Heroes Network, they swap tactics on uniforms (should I wear ballistic protection?), patrolling tips (how should I respond to a casual drug user?) and what to wear. “I don’t wear spandex, for a variety of reasons,” says Chaim Lazaros, 24, a superhero called Life from New York.
They are united in a mission to fight criminals and make the world a better place. The growing community is divided, however, over how that mission should be accomplished.
Some want to fight bad guys vigilante-style, remaining in the shadows and adding a caped wing to their city’s law-enforcement ranks. “I’m prepared to make citizen’s arrests if necessary,” writes Geist, a superhero from Minnesota, on his Web page. But others advocate a high-profile existence, helping the less fortunate through established non-profit organizations.
The difference in philosophies often results in heated arguments, says Phantom Zero – also known as a 32-year-old call-centre worker from Lindenhurst, N.Y.
“There are people who hate me online. Because they pretty much think they’re psychic. Or they have superpowers. They think they’re hard-core vigilantes and they don’t like people who do charitable acts.”
Thanatos has seen arguments erupt over whether real-life superheroes should carry weapons, which he is against. “This is not the movies,” Thanatos says. “You can’t leave the guy tied up on the police’s doorstep like Batman. That will not hold up in court.”
When Phantom Zero first went out on patrol, he kept an open mind. Inspired by what he had read about the superhero movement online, he donned a black outfit, a hood and white mask, then set out looking for trouble. He wasn’t prepared to “punch someone in the face,” he says, but had his cellphone ready to take pictures or call police.
“I never came across crimes worse than public drunkenness and urination,” he says. It got worse when he took a job in the peaceful suburbs.
Phantom Zero concluded that “vigilantism is moot.” After that he connected with a group of superheroes who focus on things such as helping the homeless and raising money for children’s hospitals.
One of the more high-profile proponents of this type of work is Mr. Lazaros, co-founder of a group called Superheroes Anonymous. Their coming-out moment happened in October, 2007, when he summoned a group to New York. Decked out in masks and capes, they picked up trash in Times Square and handed out crime-prevention literature. “It was awesome,” he said.
Last year, his league of heroes took a road trip to New Orleans to participate in a Habitat for Humanity project, hammering away in their costumes. Mr. Lazaros plans to make Superheroes Anonymous a registered charity.
Thanatos says he falls somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. He raises money for groups such as the Easter Seals, and every month distributes care packages stuffed with flashlights, food and plastic sheeting to homeless people, which makes his daughter proud.
But he also wants to bring “wrongdoers” to justice by acting as an extra set of eyes and ears for police. Using tools in his “crime kit,” he picks up evidence with tweezers and stores it in sterilized plastic containers. His wife, who goes by the name Lady Catacomb, trails behind with a video camera to document any scuffles (there haven’t been any to date).
Staff Sgt. Ruben Sorge, who heads up the division that covers the downtown Eastside where Thanatos often patrols, says he’s never heard of the superhero. But any citizen who’s willing to dole out food and supplies to the homeless is welcome on his beat, he said. And he encourages reports of violence or crime, “no matter what the person’s wearing.”
Real-life superheroes are often asked why they don’t just do good deeds without the costume or masks, and each has his own answer.
Phantom Zero says anyone can help the homeless, but in a costume you attract attention.
Mr. Lazaros agrees, adding it makes him feel more responsible. “It’s like, okay, now I’m a superhero,” he says. “Now I have to embody these ideals.”
For Thanatos, his identity should be irrelevant. “What I do is much more important than who I am.”
If you could have a superpower…
Come on. You know you’ve thought about it. Would you scale buildings? Soar the skies? Turn invisible? Read minds? Exude super charisma? Which power do you covet most? Weigh in here .
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/article968643.ece
Sul web, in lotta contro il crimine
di BENEDETTA PERILLI
FOX Fire indossa una maschera da volpe, un lungo cappotto di pelle nera e insieme ai Nameless Few protegge dalla violenza le strade del Michigan. Ha 26 anni, è una donna, e di notte diventa una supereroina. Come Wonder Woman. Senza superpoteri, però. La sua forza sta in alcune nozioni di magia e in un buon allenamento fisico. Come lei, in giro per il mondo, centinai di altri supereroi della vita reale, che si dividono tra professioni normali e lotta al crimine.
Quella dei supereroi della vita reale è un’esperienza nata dopo l’11 settembre e rafforzata dalla recente politica dell’active citizenship promossa da Barack Obama. Negli anni recenti la loro comunità è cresciuta intorno al sito World Superhero Registry, l’anagrafe dei “difensori dell’umanità” che a oggi registra trenta iscritti e due aspiranti. Ognuno con un nome, uno stile, un “costume” e un’area d’azione. Il resto è nelle mani della loro fantasia. A eccezione di tre regole, alle quali ogni supereroe, che ambisca a entrare nel registro mondiale, deve sottostare.
La prima riguarda il costume. Non un semplice travestimento per tutelarsi da eventuali ritorsioni, ma un segno di rispetto nei confronti dell’umanità. L’abito è il biglietto da visita con cui presentarsi al mondo, e dal quale dipende la propria credibilità. La seconda regola definisce l’attività del supereroe, che deve agire per il bene dell’umanità, mantenendo però un livello d’azione più attivo e partecipativo del semplice comportamento quotidiano. In caso di inattività o di inadempienza, il registro segnala nella scheda l’eventuale ritiro dall’anagrafe mondiale.
Infine, l’ultima regola, quella che riguarda la motivazione personale e definisce i doveri del paladino. Essere supereroi non ha niente a che fare con campagne di promozione personale o trovate pubblicitarie. La vocazione deve venire dal singolo individuo, che non può ricevere denaro per la sua attività né lavorare come rappresentante, stipendiato o volontario che sia, di un’organizzazione.
Detto questo, non resta che scorrere il registro per scoprire travestimenti e crociate di questi paladini che molto devono al mondo dei fumetti ma dal quale non possono prendere neanche un nome, pena l’infrazione del copyright. E allora l’ispirazione arriva dalla fantasia. A New York lavora Terrifica, in Inghilterra c’è Black Arrow, in Florida opera Amazonia mentre la Regina di Cuori è del Michigan. Ultima limitazione all’operato di questi eroi incompresi – che in questi giorni grazie ad alcuni articoli su The Sunday Times e Rolling Stones vivono momenti di gloria – è l’utilizzo di pistole e coltelli. Ben vengano quelli in plastica, che fanno da complemento all’abito. La loro vera arma non è metallica, ma virtuale.
Dalle pagine dei loro siti, i supereroi lanciano le loro minacce al mondo del crimine. Ed è sempre online, con l’iscrizione al registro ufficiale, che l’attività trova definitiva consacrazione. Inutile fare pressioni per entrare nel registro: la nomina deve essere promossa da parte del registro stesso in seguito a una comprovata carriera da supereroe.
I capostipiti sono i quattro più celebri iscritti che a oggi, tuttavia, risultano in pensione. C’è Terrifica, paladina della sicurezza femminile che per anni ha tutelato le donne newyorkesi da uomini violenti e pericolosi. C’è Angle-Grinder Man, il vigilante inglese degli automobilisti che, operando tra Londra e il Kent, ha liberato centinaia di automobili dalle ganasce applicate dalla polizia municipale. Ci sono anche Mr. Silent, angelo delle notti dell’Illinois, e Crime Fighter Girl, ragazzina in maschera gialla impegnata in attività di volontariato e assistenza sociale nella contea di Jackson.
A loro si ispirano gli attuali supereroi, tra i quali spiccano per notorietà, con tanto di interviste a Cnn o Fox, SuperBarrio e Shadow Hare. Il primo, costume in lycra rosso, mutandoni e mantello dorati, difende i diritti dei lavoratori e dei poveri messicani. Il secondo, maschera nera, aiuta i senzatetto di Cincinnati. C’è anche chi difende il mondo dall’inquinamento, come Black Harrow – cappuccio nero, capelli rossi e amore per gli animali – o Entomo: quest’ultimo è l’unico supereroe italiano ammesso nel registro. Il fiorentino Superataf è in attesa che la sua candidatura venga valutata.
Entomo è un uomo insetto che opera a Napoli per promuovere una più ampia coscienza ambientalista. E dalla sua pagina MySpace lancia una testimonianza: “Essere un supereroe è il gesto più importante che si possa realizzare in un mondo arretrato come il nostro. Utilizzo le mie capacità salvando quel che resta da salvare e distruggendo quel che non rientra nel grande schema dell’equilibrio”.
http://www.repubblica.it/2008/12/sezioni/esteri/supereroi-vita-reale/supereroi-vita-reale/supereroi-vita-reale.html?ref=hpspr1
Superheroes in Real Life
By Ward Rubrecht
Geist’s breath fogs the winter air as he surveys the frozen Minneapolis skyline, searching for signs of trouble. His long duster flaps in the breeze as his eyes flick behind reflective sunglasses; a wide-brim hat and green iridescent mask shroud his identity from those who might wish him harm.
Should a villain attack, the Emerald Enforcer carries a small arsenal to defend himself: smoke grenades, pepper spray, a slingshot, and a pair of six-inch fighting sticks tucked into sturdy leather boots. Leather guards protect Geist’s arms; his signature weapon, an Argentinean cattle-snare called bolos, hangs from a belt-holster.
A mission awaits and time is of the essence, so Geist eases his solid frame, honed from martial arts training, into his trusty patrol vehicle—a salt-covered beige sedan. Unfamiliar with the transportation tangle of downtown, he pulls a MapQuest printout from his pocket, discovering his goal is but a short cruise down Washington Avenue.
Soon Geist faces his first obstacle: parking on the left side of a one-way street. “Usually one of my superpowers is parallel parking,” he chuckles as he eases his car into the spot, emerging victorious with a foot and a half between curb and tire. He feeds a gauntleted fistful of quarters into the parking meter, and then pops the trunk on the Geistmobile to retrieve his precious cargo. On the street, he encounters businesspeople on lunch break—some stare openly; others don’t even notice his garish attire. “It’s easier in winter,” Geist says with a laugh. “Winter in Minnesota, everybody’s dressed weird.”
Finally, his destination is in sight: People Serving People, a local homeless shelter. Geist strides boldly into the lobby—a cramped, noisy room where kids and adults mill about chatting—and heaves his stuffed paper bags onto the counter. “I have some groceries to donate,” he tells Dean, the blond-bearded security guard on duty, whose placid expression suggests superheroes pop in on a regular basis. “And I have an hour on the meter if there’s anything I can do to help out.”
Wendy Darst, the volunteer coordinator, looks taken aback but gladly puts the superhero to work. Soon the Jade Justice finds himself hip-deep in a supply closet, piling books into a red Radio Flyer wagon. He wheels it back to the lobby, entreating the children to select a text. But the kids seem more interested in peppering him with questions. “So are you a cowboy or something?” one boy asks.
Geist kneels down to reply with a camera-ready grin, “Maybe a super-secret, space-cowboy detective!”
Another kid, awed by the uniform, just stares silently. “Hi,” Geist says with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. “I’m a real-life superhero.”
The kid grabs Geist’s leather-clad mitt and grins back. “I’m four!”
Such is the life of Minnesota’s only superhero—a man in his mid-40s who sold off his comic book collection to fund a dream borne of those very pages. Unlike his fictional inspirations, he hasn’t yet found any villains to apprehend in Rochester, a sleepy city of 95,000 about 80 miles south of Minneapolis. But that doesn’t mean he’s wasting his time, he says. “When you put on this costume and you do something for someone, it’s like, ‘Wow, I am being a hero,’ and that is a great feeling.”
BY MOST OBSERVERS’ RECKONING, between 150 and 200 real-life superheroes, or “Reals” as some call themselves, operate in the United States, with another 50 or so donning the cowl internationally. These crusaders range in age from 15 to 50 and patrol cities from Indianapolis to Cambridgeshire, England. They create heroic identities with names like Black Arrow, Green Scorpion, and Mr. Silent, and wear bright Superman spandex or black ninja suits. Almost all share two traits in common: a love of comic books and a desire to improve their communities.
It’s rare to find more than a few superheroes operating in the same area, so as with all hobbies, a community has sprung up online. In February, a burly, black-and-green-clad New Jersey-based Real named Tothian started Heroes Network, a website he says functions “like the UN for the real-life superhero community.”
The foremost designer of real-life superhero costumes lives in New Brighton, Minnesota. His given name is Michael Brinatte, but he pro wrestles under the name Jack T. Ripper. At 6’2″, with bulldog shoulders, he looks more likely to suplex you than shake your hand. It’s hard to imagine him behind a sewing machine, carefully splicing together bits of shiny spandex, but when the 39-year-old father of three needed to give his wrestling persona a visual boost, that’s just where he found himself, drawing on his only formal tailoring education: seventh-grade home economics. He discovered he had a talent for it, and before long was sewing uniforms and masks for fellow wrestlers, learning techniques to make his work durable enough to withstand the rigors of hand-to-hand combat.
After he posted photos of his masks on the internet, he met his first real-life superhero: Entomo the Insect Man, a crimefighter and “masked detective” based in Naples, Italy. Entomo wanted Brinatte to make him a mask to incorporate into his black-and-olive uniform. A lifelong comic fan, Brinatte took the assignment seriously, and it showed in the stitching. When Entomo showed off his new mask to the community of Reals, Brinatte started getting more orders: a green-and-black bodysuit for Hardwire, a blue-and-white Z-emblazoned uniform for Zetaman. Eventually, Brinatte started a website, www.hero-gear.net, to formalize his business, and now spends 10 to 15 hours each week making superhero uniforms. “They have a good heart and believe in what they’re doing, and they’re a lot of fun to talk to,” Brinatte says.
His super friends are starting to get publicity. Last October, an organization called Superheroes Anonymous issued an invitation to any and all real-life superheroes: Come to Times Square to meet other Reals face-to-face and discuss the future of the movement. The community roiled with discussion of the invitation—was it a trap by an as-yet-unknown real-life super villain? In the end, only a dozen Reals attended, but the gathering attracted the notice of the New York Times and the BBC, which gave the budding league of justice worldwide ink.
“We’re basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good,” Geist says. “Once you get suited up, you’re a hero and you’ve got to act like one.”
SO YOU’VE DECIDED to become a real-life superhero. Like Wolverine, you’ve chosen a secret identity and a uniform. But unlike the X-Man, you don’t have retractable claws or a mutant healing factor. How do you make up the difference?
Most Reals use a combination of martial arts and weaponry. The Eye is a 49-year-old crimebuster from Mountain View, California, who wears a Green Hornet-inspired fedora and trench coat. Though he focuses mainly on detective work and crime-tip reporting, he prepares himself for hand-to-hand combat by studying kung fu and wielding an arsenal of light-based weapons designed to dazzle enemies.
“In movies, a ninja will have some powder or smoke to throw at you to distract,” he explains. “That’s essentially what I’m trying to do.”
All superheroes have origins, and The Eye is no exception. He grew up tinkering with electronic gadgetry, first with his dad, then in the employ of a Silicon Valley company (he’s reluctant to say which one). The Eye considers himself “on-duty” at all times, so when a co-worker started pimping fake Rolex watches to others in his office, the Paragon of Perception sprang into action. He went into work early, snuck into the watch-monger’s office to locate the stash of counterfeit merchandise, and then dropped a dime to Crimestoppers. Ultimately, police wouldn’t prosecute unless The Eye revealed his secret identity—a concession he was unwilling to make—but he nonetheless chalks it up as a victory. “We stopped him from doing this,” The Eye says. “He knows someone’s watching.”
For sheer investment in gadgetry, none top Superhero, an ex-Navy powerlifter from Clearwater, Florida. His patrol vehicle is a burgundy 1975 Corvette Stingray with a souped-up 425-horsepower engine. He wears a flight helmet installed with a police scanner and video camera, and carries an extendable Cobra tactical baton, a flash gun, sonic grenades, and a canister of bear mace. Topping off the one-man armory is an Arma 100 stun cannon, a 37mm nitrogen-powered projectile device. His ammo of choice? Sandwiches. “Nothing stops them in their tracks like peanut butter and jelly,” he explains in a video demonstration posted online.
Once you’ve honed your body and strapped on your utility belt, it’s time to decide how to focus your heroic efforts. Within the community of Reals, there’s a buffet of choices. Some choose mundane tasks—The Cleanser strolls around picking up trash, while Direction Man helps lost tourists find where they’re going. Most Reals also lend their personages to charities, donating to food banks or organizing clothing drives.
Other Reals scoff at the idea of being a glorified Salvation Army bell-ringer and instead go looking for action. “I fight evil,” says Tothian, the New Jersey crimefighter who founded Heroes Network. “I don’t think picking up garbage is superheroic.”
Master Legend, a chrome-suited 41-year-old from Winter Park, Florida, patrols the streets looking for crimes in progress, and claims his efforts have paid off. “I’ve dumped garbage cans over crackheads’ heads, I slam their heads against the wall, whatever it takes,” the Silver Slugger says with bravado. “They try to hit me first, and then it’s time for Steel Toe City.”
IN 1986, ALAN MOORE RELEASED his magnum opus, Watchmen, a 12-issue comic series whose conceit was built on a simple premise: What would it be like if superheroes existed in real life? Besides helping to usher in a new age of “mature” graphic novels, the series foreshadowed some of the complications facing real-life superheroes today.
For instance: How to balance crime fighting with family life? Zetaman, a goateed, black-and-blue-clad Real hailing from Portland, Oregon, got married seven years go, but only recently started his career as a costumed crusader. He says his wife’s reaction to his new hobby was lukewarm—she made him promise not to go out at night, and told him to focus on charity work instead of fisticuffs. “She thinks it’s a phase,” he says with a laugh.
The media can be even less charitable, as Captain Jackson, a gray-and-yellow-suited hero from Michigan, discovered in October 2005. That’s when a headline appeared in the Jackson Citizen Patriot that could’ve been penned by J. Jonah Jameson himself: “Crime Fighter Busted for Drunk Driving.” The article unmasked Captain Jackson as Thomas Frankini, a 49-year-old factory worker who’d been arrested for driving with a blood-alcohol level of 0.135 percent. The story was picked up by the Detroit Free Press and Fox News. Frankini was devastated. “My patrol days are over, I’m afraid,” he said.
Unlike in the comics, real-life Commissioner Gordons rarely express gratitude for superheroes’ help. One evening when Master Legend was on patrol, he heard a woman scream and ran to investigate. But when he located the damsel in distress, she thought he was attacking her and called the cops. “They wanted to know if I was some kind of insane man, a 41-year-old man running around in a costume,” he recounts. “Apparently, they had never heard of me.”
Bernard, a sharp-featured, 33-year-old police detective from suburban Philadelphia who asked that his last name be withheld, has become something of a rabbi to the online community of Reals. When he first stumbled upon the phenomenon, he thought, “These people are nuts.” But as he learned more, he saw how the costumed do-gooders could make a difference. “They’re definitely committed, and their heart is in the right place.”
Most Reals are harmless enough, but Bernard worries about the bloodlust displayed by a small segment of the community. A recent thread on Heroes Network debated whether it was appropriate for a Real to carry a shotgun in his patrol vehicle. These aggressive Reals don’t realize how difficult it is to apprehend criminals in the real world, Bernard says. “It’s not like drug dealers stand around with quarter ounces of cocaine, throwing them in the air and saying ‘Here’s drugs for sale,'” he says. “Let’s imagine that one of them does come across a drug dealer, gives them a roundhouse kick to the head, and finds a whole bag of pot in his pocket. Nobody’s going to celebrate that. If anything, now you’re going to have a huge fiasco. Let’s face it—the world is complicated. You don’t solve anything by punching somebody.”
Rumor has it that a Real named Nostrum recently lost an eye in the line of duty, and some wonder if it will take a fatality to jolt the community out of its four-color fantasy. Wall Creeper, a 19-year-old who fights crime in Colorado, even seems to welcome the possibility. “To die doing something so noble would be the best thing to happen,” he says.
JIM WAYNE KEPT HIS EYE OUT in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona—and the bald 40-year-old didn’t like what he saw. “Somewhere along the line we’ve stopped caring about each other and started caring about ourselves,” he says.
Two years ago, Wayne saw a commercial for Who Wants to Be a Superhero?—a reality show in which costumed contestants compete for the honor of starring in their own comic book—and something inside him clicked.
“Ever since I was a kid, if you asked any of my friends or family who they knew that should be a superhero, they’d probably say me,” he says.
Wayne dreamed up Citizen Prime, a persona patterned after his favorite comic book character, Captain America. “He, even more than Superman or Batman, epitomizes what a hero is: someone who stands up for their principles and goes out there to help people,” Wayne says. To bring his alter ego to life, Wayne spent $4,000 on custom-made armor—everything from a shiny chest plate to a bright yellow cape and a sloping steel helmet. “I made a commitment to make this and wear it and create this presence and see where that takes me,” he says.
Initially, it didn’t take him far. “There’s a reason why police are always coming after crimes,” he says. “It’s one of those fictions in comics when superheroes are walking down the street and hear a scream. I found out real quickly that patrolling for patrolling’s sake seems like a lost effort.”
That realization sparked a change in how he thought about his role. “I think even though there’s some fun to be had in the kick-ass aspect of comics, it’s fiction and fantasy and we know it,” he says. “As you translate those icons over to the real world, you have to face truths, such as violence begets violence.”
So Prime hung up the bulletproof vest and tactical baton and began volunteering for charity work. He teamed with Kids Defense, an organization aimed at protecting kids from internet predators, and allied with the Banner Desert Hospital pediatrics wing, offering to personally pick up toys from anyone who wanted to donate to the holiday drive. “I want to get people out there to create a presence in the community,” he says. “You make a presence of good in the community and the darker elements retreat.”
Recently, he started his own nonprofit called the League of Citizen Heroes. The organization, as he envisions it, will draw on an army of volunteers—both masked and unmasked—to contribute to the greater good. “That’s the level of sophistication that I think the movement’s moving towards,” he says, “We don’t have to just be patrolling the dark streets.”
Superhero, one of the first recruits to the League, shares Wayne’s dream, but is less philosophical when it comes to why, when all is said and done, he decided to put on a costume.
“I horse-shitted myself into thinking I was being a symbol for people and all that,” Superhero says. “But then I just faced the truth and admitted I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”
http://www.citypages.com/content/printVersion/361255
Superheroes in Real Life
By Ward Rubrecht
Geist’s breath fogs the winter air as he surveys the frozen Minneapolis skyline, searching for signs of trouble. His long duster flaps in the breeze as his eyes flick behind reflective sunglasses; a wide-brim hat and green iridescent mask shroud his identity from those who might wish him harm.
Should a villain attack, the Emerald Enforcer carries a small arsenal to defend himself: smoke grenades, pepper spray, a slingshot, and a pair of six-inch fighting sticks tucked into sturdy leather boots. Leather guards protect Geist’s arms; his signature weapon, an Argentinean cattle-snare called bolos, hangs from a belt-holster.
A mission awaits and time is of the essence, so Geist eases his solid frame, honed from martial arts training, into his trusty patrol vehicle—a salt-covered beige sedan. Unfamiliar with the transportation tangle of downtown, he pulls a MapQuest printout from his pocket, discovering his goal is but a short cruise down Washington Avenue.
Soon Geist faces his first obstacle: parking on the left side of a one-way street. “Usually one of my superpowers is parallel parking,” he chuckles as he eases his car into the spot, emerging victorious with a foot and a half between curb and tire. He feeds a gauntleted fistful of quarters into the parking meter, and then pops the trunk on the Geistmobile to retrieve his precious cargo. On the street, he encounters businesspeople on lunch break—some stare openly; others don’t even notice his garish attire. “It’s easier in winter,” Geist says with a laugh. “Winter in Minnesota, everybody’s dressed weird.”
Finally, his destination is in sight: People Serving People, a local homeless shelter. Geist strides boldly into the lobby—a cramped, noisy room where kids and adults mill about chatting—and heaves his stuffed paper bags onto the counter. “I have some groceries to donate,” he tells Dean, the blond-bearded security guard on duty, whose placid expression suggests superheroes pop in on a regular basis. “And I have an hour on the meter if there’s anything I can do to help out.”
Wendy Darst, the volunteer coordinator, looks taken aback but gladly puts the superhero to work. Soon the Jade Justice finds himself hip-deep in a supply closet, piling books into a red Radio Flyer wagon. He wheels it back to the lobby, entreating the children to select a text. But the kids seem more interested in peppering him with questions. “So are you a cowboy or something?” one boy asks.
Geist kneels down to reply with a camera-ready grin, “Maybe a super-secret, space-cowboy detective!”
Another kid, awed by the uniform, just stares silently. “Hi,” Geist says with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. “I’m a real-life superhero.”
The kid grabs Geist’s leather-clad mitt and grins back. “I’m four!”
Such is the life of Minnesota’s only superhero—a man in his mid-40s who sold off his comic book collection to fund a dream borne of those very pages. Unlike his fictional inspirations, he hasn’t yet found any villains to apprehend in Rochester, a sleepy city of 95,000 about 80 miles south of Minneapolis. But that doesn’t mean he’s wasting his time, he says. “When you put on this costume and you do something for someone, it’s like, ‘Wow, I am being a hero,’ and that is a great feeling.”
BY MOST OBSERVERS’ RECKONING, between 150 and 200 real-life superheroes, or “Reals” as some call themselves, operate in the United States, with another 50 or so donning the cowl internationally. These crusaders range in age from 15 to 50 and patrol cities from Indianapolis to Cambridgeshire, England. They create heroic identities with names like Black Arrow, Green Scorpion, and Mr. Silent, and wear bright Superman spandex or black ninja suits. Almost all share two traits in common: a love of comic books and a desire to improve their communities.
It’s rare to find more than a few superheroes operating in the same area, so as with all hobbies, a community has sprung up online. In February, a burly, black-and-green-clad New Jersey-based Real named Tothian started Heroes Network, a website he says functions “like the UN for the real-life superhero community.”
The foremost designer of real-life superhero costumes lives in New Brighton, Minnesota. His given name is Michael Brinatte, but he pro wrestles under the name Jack T. Ripper. At 6’2″, with bulldog shoulders, he looks more likely to suplex you than shake your hand. It’s hard to imagine him behind a sewing machine, carefully splicing together bits of shiny spandex, but when the 39-year-old father of three needed to give his wrestling persona a visual boost, that’s just where he found himself, drawing on his only formal tailoring education: seventh-grade home economics. He discovered he had a talent for it, and before long was sewing uniforms and masks for fellow wrestlers, learning techniques to make his work durable enough to withstand the rigors of hand-to-hand combat.
After he posted photos of his masks on the internet, he met his first real-life superhero: Entomo the Insect Man, a crimefighter and “masked detective” based in Naples, Italy. Entomo wanted Brinatte to make him a mask to incorporate into his black-and-olive uniform. A lifelong comic fan, Brinatte took the assignment seriously, and it showed in the stitching. When Entomo showed off his new mask to the community of Reals, Brinatte started getting more orders: a green-and-black bodysuit for Hardwire, a blue-and-white Z-emblazoned uniform for Zetaman. Eventually, Brinatte started a website, www.hero-gear.net, to formalize his business, and now spends 10 to 15 hours each week making superhero uniforms. “They have a good heart and believe in what they’re doing, and they’re a lot of fun to talk to,” Brinatte says.
His super friends are starting to get publicity. Last October, an organization called Superheroes Anonymous issued an invitation to any and all real-life superheroes: Come to Times Square to meet other Reals face-to-face and discuss the future of the movement. The community roiled with discussion of the invitation—was it a trap by an as-yet-unknown real-life super villain? In the end, only a dozen Reals attended, but the gathering attracted the notice of the New York Times and the BBC, which gave the budding league of justice worldwide ink.
“We’re basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good,” Geist says. “Once you get suited up, you’re a hero and you’ve got to act like one.”
SO YOU’VE DECIDED to become a real-life superhero. Like Wolverine, you’ve chosen a secret identity and a uniform. But unlike the X-Man, you don’t have retractable claws or a mutant healing factor. How do you make up the difference?
Most Reals use a combination of martial arts and weaponry. The Eye is a 49-year-old crimebuster from Mountain View, California, who wears a Green Hornet-inspired fedora and trench coat. Though he focuses mainly on detective work and crime-tip reporting, he prepares himself for hand-to-hand combat by studying kung fu and wielding an arsenal of light-based weapons designed to dazzle enemies.
“In movies, a ninja will have some powder or smoke to throw at you to distract,” he explains. “That’s essentially what I’m trying to do.”
All superheroes have origins, and The Eye is no exception. He grew up tinkering with electronic gadgetry, first with his dad, then in the employ of a Silicon Valley company (he’s reluctant to say which one). The Eye considers himself “on-duty” at all times, so when a co-worker started pimping fake Rolex watches to others in his office, the Paragon of Perception sprang into action. He went into work early, snuck into the watch-monger’s office to locate the stash of counterfeit merchandise, and then dropped a dime to Crimestoppers. Ultimately, police wouldn’t prosecute unless The Eye revealed his secret identity—a concession he was unwilling to make—but he nonetheless chalks it up as a victory. “We stopped him from doing this,” The Eye says. “He knows someone’s watching.”
For sheer investment in gadgetry, none top Superhero, an ex-Navy powerlifter from Clearwater, Florida. His patrol vehicle is a burgundy 1975 Corvette Stingray with a souped-up 425-horsepower engine. He wears a flight helmet installed with a police scanner and video camera, and carries an extendable Cobra tactical baton, a flash gun, sonic grenades, and a canister of bear mace. Topping off the one-man armory is an Arma 100 stun cannon, a 37mm nitrogen-powered projectile device. His ammo of choice? Sandwiches. “Nothing stops them in their tracks like peanut butter and jelly,” he explains in a video demonstration posted online.
Once you’ve honed your body and strapped on your utility belt, it’s time to decide how to focus your heroic efforts. Within the community of Reals, there’s a buffet of choices. Some choose mundane tasks—The Cleanser strolls around picking up trash, while Direction Man helps lost tourists find where they’re going. Most Reals also lend their personages to charities, donating to food banks or organizing clothing drives.
Other Reals scoff at the idea of being a glorified Salvation Army bell-ringer and instead go looking for action. “I fight evil,” says Tothian, the New Jersey crimefighter who founded Heroes Network. “I don’t think picking up garbage is superheroic.”
Master Legend, a chrome-suited 41-year-old from Winter Park, Florida, patrols the streets looking for crimes in progress, and claims his efforts have paid off. “I’ve dumped garbage cans over crackheads’ heads, I slam their heads against the wall, whatever it takes,” the Silver Slugger says with bravado. “They try to hit me first, and then it’s time for Steel Toe City.”
IN 1986, ALAN MOORE RELEASED his magnum opus, Watchmen, a 12-issue comic series whose conceit was built on a simple premise: What would it be like if superheroes existed in real life? Besides helping to usher in a new age of “mature” graphic novels, the series foreshadowed some of the complications facing real-life superheroes today.
For instance: How to balance crime fighting with family life? Zetaman, a goateed, black-and-blue-clad Real hailing from Portland, Oregon, got married seven years go, but only recently started his career as a costumed crusader. He says his wife’s reaction to his new hobby was lukewarm—she made him promise not to go out at night, and told him to focus on charity work instead of fisticuffs. “She thinks it’s a phase,” he says with a laugh.
The media can be even less charitable, as Captain Jackson, a gray-and-yellow-suited hero from Michigan, discovered in October 2005. That’s when a headline appeared in the Jackson Citizen Patriot that could’ve been penned by J. Jonah Jameson himself: “Crime Fighter Busted for Drunk Driving.” The article unmasked Captain Jackson as Thomas Frankini, a 49-year-old factory worker who’d been arrested for driving with a blood-alcohol level of 0.135 percent. The story was picked up by the Detroit Free Press and Fox News. Frankini was devastated. “My patrol days are over, I’m afraid,” he said.
Unlike in the comics, real-life Commissioner Gordons rarely express gratitude for superheroes’ help. One evening when Master Legend was on patrol, he heard a woman scream and ran to investigate. But when he located the damsel in distress, she thought he was attacking her and called the cops. “They wanted to know if I was some kind of insane man, a 41-year-old man running around in a costume,” he recounts. “Apparently, they had never heard of me.”
Bernard, a sharp-featured, 33-year-old police detective from suburban Philadelphia who asked that his last name be withheld, has become something of a rabbi to the online community of Reals. When he first stumbled upon the phenomenon, he thought, “These people are nuts.” But as he learned more, he saw how the costumed do-gooders could make a difference. “They’re definitely committed, and their heart is in the right place.”
Most Reals are harmless enough, but Bernard worries about the bloodlust displayed by a small segment of the community. A recent thread on Heroes Network debated whether it was appropriate for a Real to carry a shotgun in his patrol vehicle. These aggressive Reals don’t realize how difficult it is to apprehend criminals in the real world, Bernard says. “It’s not like drug dealers stand around with quarter ounces of cocaine, throwing them in the air and saying ‘Here’s drugs for sale,'” he says. “Let’s imagine that one of them does come across a drug dealer, gives them a roundhouse kick to the head, and finds a whole bag of pot in his pocket. Nobody’s going to celebrate that. If anything, now you’re going to have a huge fiasco. Let’s face it—the world is complicated. You don’t solve anything by punching somebody.”
Rumor has it that a Real named Nostrum recently lost an eye in the line of duty, and some wonder if it will take a fatality to jolt the community out of its four-color fantasy. Wall Creeper, a 19-year-old who fights crime in Colorado, even seems to welcome the possibility. “To die doing something so noble would be the best thing to happen,” he says.
JIM WAYNE KEPT HIS EYE OUT in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona—and the bald 40-year-old didn’t like what he saw. “Somewhere along the line we’ve stopped caring about each other and started caring about ourselves,” he says.
Two years ago, Wayne saw a commercial for Who Wants to Be a Superhero?—a reality show in which costumed contestants compete for the honor of starring in their own comic book—and something inside him clicked.
“Ever since I was a kid, if you asked any of my friends or family who they knew that should be a superhero, they’d probably say me,” he says.
Wayne dreamed up Citizen Prime, a persona patterned after his favorite comic book character, Captain America. “He, even more than Superman or Batman, epitomizes what a hero is: someone who stands up for their principles and goes out there to help people,” Wayne says. To bring his alter ego to life, Wayne spent $4,000 on custom-made armor—everything from a shiny chest plate to a bright yellow cape and a sloping steel helmet. “I made a commitment to make this and wear it and create this presence and see where that takes me,” he says.
Initially, it didn’t take him far. “There’s a reason why police are always coming after crimes,” he says. “It’s one of those fictions in comics when superheroes are walking down the street and hear a scream. I found out real quickly that patrolling for patrolling’s sake seems like a lost effort.”
That realization sparked a change in how he thought about his role. “I think even though there’s some fun to be had in the kick-ass aspect of comics, it’s fiction and fantasy and we know it,” he says. “As you translate those icons over to the real world, you have to face truths, such as violence begets violence.”
So Prime hung up the bulletproof vest and tactical baton and began volunteering for charity work. He teamed with Kids Defense, an organization aimed at protecting kids from internet predators, and allied with the Banner Desert Hospital pediatrics wing, offering to personally pick up toys from anyone who wanted to donate to the holiday drive. “I want to get people out there to create a presence in the community,” he says. “You make a presence of good in the community and the darker elements retreat.”
Recently, he started his own nonprofit called the League of Citizen Heroes. The organization, as he envisions it, will draw on an army of volunteers—both masked and unmasked—to contribute to the greater good. “That’s the level of sophistication that I think the movement’s moving towards,” he says, “We don’t have to just be patrolling the dark streets.”
Superhero, one of the first recruits to the League, shares Wayne’s dream, but is less philosophical when it comes to why, when all is said and done, he decided to put on a costume.
“I horse-shitted myself into thinking I was being a symbol for people and all that,” Superhero says. “But then I just faced the truth and admitted I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”
http://www.citypages.com/content/printVersion/361255