Tag captain jackson

Originally posted: http://atalanta77.blogspot.com/2011/04/superheroes-de-barrio.html
Me gusta leer periódicos antiguos. Cuando hojeas un artículo de hace tres, cuatro, cinco años, eres consciente de que estás leyendo mejor libro de historia. Es sumamente sorprendente en qué derivaron ciertos personajes o acontecimientos. Por no hablar de las noticias de índole económica anteriores a la crisis. La perspectiva del tiempo hace que ciertos artículos hoy asusten.
Dedicándome a este menester, encontré un reportaje que daba cuenta de un fenómeno para mí por completo sorprendente, el de los “superhéroes de la vida real”. Ya os imagináis el percal. Siguiendo la tradición más ortodoxa de los cánones de tebeo, repartidos por el mundo viven unos tipos “normales” que, a tiempo parcial, se han creado otra identidad a la que acompaña el pertinente disfraz y tras la cual, se dedican a combatir el mal en las calles de su ciudad.

Originally posted: http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/64194
Real World Superheroes of the Midwest
by Miss Cellania – August 19, 2010 – 10:33 AM
There are everyday folks who spend their free time anonymously helping their communities -anonymous because they are costumed superheroes! We already met some of these superheroes in the southern US; here are some who protect the cities of the Midwest.

Shadow Hare

Cincinnati. Ohio

Shadow Hare patrols the streets of Cincinnati and attends large public events to watch for crime in progress, sometimes even making citizen’s arrests. He is trained in martial arts and has occasionally been injured in the line of duty. The local police force doesn’t officially encourage Shadow Hare’s activities, as they don’t want a civilian to be hurt, but they don’t condemn his behavior, either. The masked man has inspired other Cincinnati costumed heroes who form the group Allegiance of Heroes. Shadow Hare says he was an abused child and grew up in foster homes and therefore wants to make his community a better place for others. He is often seen lending aid to the homeless in addition to fighting crime and injustice. See Shadow Hare in a news report at YouTube.

Geist

Rochester, Minnesota

Geist patrols the streets of Rochester and Minneapolis to deter crime and works with many charities. In 2007, he stepped in to help flood victims in St. Charles, Lewiston, Rushford and Stockton, Minnesota. Hisfavorite causes are Paws and Claws animal shelter and the Ronald McDonald House. Geist is a leader in the Great Lakes Heroes Guild.

Foxfire

Royal Oak, Michigan

Foxfire is a female superhero who promotes the use of the supernatural to fight crime and injustice. From her MySpace page:

I am dedicated to helping those in need, preserving our natural resources, and, most importantly, teaching anyone who will listen about the hidden world, the more interesting stuff that goes on beneath the surface of their humdrum little lives. My goal is to itegrate magic, mystery, wonder and awe back into the modern American’s psyche–which is, at most, a slim chance. Still, it must be done!

Doctor DiscorD

Indianapolis, Indiana

Doctor DiscorD is a member of the Justice Society of Justice, which began as a joke, “a sort of street theater”. The Doctor and his compatriots found there were real problems in the city that they could help alleviate, and the mission became serious. He works to protect the city of Indianapolis from crime, but wonders if the publicity that comes with being a superhero might inhibit a hero’s effectiveness.

Mr. Silent

Indianapolis, Indiana

Mr. Silent is Doctor DiscorD’s crimefighting partner and works to protect Indianapolis. He is an Asian superhero who wears a bowler hat and carries a cane. His name was born of his inherent shyness, but the mask enables him to take action when needed. When not fighting crime, Mr. Silent does what he can to help the homeless. See an interview with Mr. Silent at YouTube.

Razorhawk

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Razorhawk refers to himself as a masked adventurer rather than a superhero because he has no supernatural powers. He does safety patrols in Minneapolis and his hometown of St. Anthony Village, Minnesota. Razorhawk is one of the leaders of the Great Lakes Heroes Guild. He spends a lot of his time working with various local charities.

Captain Jackson

Jackson, Michigan

Captain Jackson has been in the superhero business since 1999 as the leader of the Crimefighter Corps in Jackson, Michigan. He works with local authorities to instill civic pride and good citizenship. Keep up with Captain Jackson’s activities on his blog.

Queen of Hearts

Jackson, Michigan

The Queen of Hearts is a superhero compatriot of Captain Jackson. She works to fight domestic violence by teaching young people how to recognize and prevent it. Her favorite side projects are the Pleasant Lake Playground project and the Michigan Theatre.

The Watchman

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

The Watchman does safety patrols and charity work in Milwaukee, and is a member of the Great Lakes Heroes Guild. His sidekicks are the Watchdog and Wonder Boy, who sometimes appear at charity events. See a video of the Watchman in this post.
Coming soon: more real world superheroes of the US and around the world.

Originally posted: http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2865968/real_life_super_heroes_everywhere.html?cat=7
Kick Ass – Not Just a Movie
By Carol Rucker
Sometimes life imitates art and sometimes it’s the other way around, just like in Kick Ass, an upcoming movie that’s based on a Marvel comic book but also reflects a national Super Hero trend. If you know the story or

 have seen the movie trailers, you already know it’s a tale about a youthful team of unlikely crime fighting citizens.
These heroes can’t fly like Superman nor can they scale tall buildings like Spiderman. The heroes in Kick Ass have no super powers at all, nor any of the traditional caped crusader traits going for them…… but they can “kick….” Well you know. That’s where the movie title comes from.
More Than Just A Screenplay
The movie is based on a comic book drama that plays to the hearts of regular guys, those every day men and women who decide they’ve had enough with crime in the streets. When the regular guys and gals in Kick Ass decide to take it beyond mere talk, they take to the city streets fully adorned in super hero garb. They challenge bad guys and fight crime, a great idea for a comic book or a movie, right?
Except it’s more than just a screenplay. Kick Ass is art imitating life. In case you haven’t noticed, real life super heroes are everywhere, not just the stranger who fixes your flat tire or the volunteer who delivers food to seniors. Those people are everyday heroes indeed; but there are also genuine costumed and caped heroes in many cities; and you don’t have to go to the movies to see them.
Cincinnati’s Super Heroes
“Some scoff at me, others take me seriously,” Shadow Hare said in a 2009 interview. Despite what people have to say, Cincinnati, Ohio’s super hero has been fighting crime on the streets for nearly 5 years. If your timing is right, you might find Shadow Hare at his headquarters, The Ionosphere. (the Cincinnati Segway Dealership at Central Parkway and Vine) But you are more likely to see him gliding along the Downtown city streets on a Segway with his lady companion, Silver Moon, nearby. Together they seek out crime and do what they can to stop it.
Super Heroes Everywhere
You can find details about Shadow Hare on his MySpace page and on The World Super Hero Registry. There you will also find profiles on many more of the nation’s true life knights in shining armor. Here are just a few.
Utah – Like most super heroes, Insignis wishes to keep his identity a secret. Masked and costumed in black and white, Insignis patrols the streets of Salt Lake City. There he fights

 crime and does good deeds with help from the The Black Monday Society.
Arizona – Wearing black from head to toe, topped off with a gold cape, Citizen Prime patrols Arizona streets. He not only fights crime, but also strives to promote good citizenship in his home state.
Florida – Dressed in black from head to toe, Amazonia does double duty, working the streets in both Ocala, Florida and Lowell Massachusetts. As a founding member of the organization, Vixens of Valor, she is sworn to protect the innocent.
Michigan – You will recognize The Queen Of Hearts by her black tights and the big heart adorning her chest. She does volunteer work, assists local charities and patrols the streets of Jackson, Michigan with her cohorts, Captain Jackson and Crimefighter Girl. She also teaches Jackson, Michigan youth how to recognize and prevent domestic violence.
The movie, Kickass is coming out soon; and if you decide to see it, remember, it’s more than just a movie. It’s real life.
Source: Shadow Hare/Silver Moon Interview June 5, 2009
http://www.worldsuperheroregistry.com/world_superhero_registry_gallery.htm
More resources

• http://www.associatedcontent.com/video/355205/superheroes_in_the_city_shadow_hare.html?cat=2
• http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1820895/shadow_hare_silver_moon_cincinnatis.html?
• http://www.associatedcontent.com/video/355207/superheroes_in_the_city_part_2_shadow.html?cat=2

Captain Jackson, Michigan’s Real-Life Superhero

by Josh Ellingson on March 8, 2010
Real-life superheroes may be this year’s Hollywood darling, but Michigan has had their very own masked vigilante, Captain Jackson for years. The Captain has been patrolling the streets of Downtown Jackson since 1999, spreading his message of civic duty while keeping an eye out for crooks and super-villains. He keeps a website with a schedule of community appearances, safety tips, and even a roster of his allied costume heroes, The Crimefighter Corps. Always ahead of the curve, Captain Jackson has been maintaining a blog since May 2000 called The Captain’s Corner with brilliant entries such as, CALLING ALL GOOD DEED DOERS!, BEING AWARE, and HOW TO BE A CRIMEFIGHTER. In addition, the blog features ground chuck-centric recipes in a section called “Cooking with the Captain”.
Captain Jackson’s career ran into a snag in 2004 when he was charged with “impaired driving”. The local newspaper subsequently ran an article about the incident and published the Captains real life identity. The toll that the  media coverage took on our hero is best outlined in the blog entry, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.  After a two-year hiatus, it seemed that he was back in active-duty at community events and online. In the past year though, there seems to be little to report on this masked man, but we may not have seen the last of Michigan’s own, Captain Jackson.

The Real Life Superhero story starts a few years ago..
There were a few people who dressed up as superheroes in order to promote public safety (Captain Jackson, Super Barrio, etc) Mr. Silent and I thought it was time someone dressed up like a superhero and actually FOUGHT CRIME. We started doing semi-nightly patrols in Indianapolis in full costume, helping break up fights, handing out food to the homeless, and doing generally all we could to help out those in need.
After a while, we decided to reveal what we were doing to the rest of the world.
I went to Warren Ellis hoping to give him a bit of a shock/laugh/whatever. (http://www.warrenellis.com/?p=1712)
I told him the story of how Mr. Silent and I were real life superheroes protecting the citizens of Indianapolis from crime. He posted our story on his site, and almost immediately, his story was reposted EVERYWHERE on the internet. We had become “viral”. (great)
All these years later, I wonder if we should have went public. The massive amount of press has been nice because it helped inspire others to make a stand against fear and HELP OUT THEIR OWN COMMUNITIES.
Alternately, the press is mostly laughing. Hardly anyone takes it seriously at all. While I understand this, I also think it may cause danger for other real life superheroes. How hard will it be to help others when you yourself are the center of attention and you’re being followed around by gawking onlookers? How do you stay in the shadows when all the lights are on you? It only ended up harming our patrols. Mr. Silent and I stopped doing interviews and started patroling the streets in plain clothes just so people wouldn’t notice us as “those guys from the internet”.
This is TROUBLE. Also, I have a big problem with the so called “real life superheroes” who have turned this into some bullshit “FIGHT CLUB” sort of mentality. We’re helping people who need it, NOT just walking around looking for fights. This has happened too much as of late, and it’s going to get someone seriously hurt.
Maybe it will take one of us being killed for the world to take notice that this shit is REAL and it’s NOT GOING AWAY.
Whatever your take on this, we need to be smart. We need to watch our backs, and we MOST DEFINITELY need to DO WHAT’S RIGHT TO HELP PROTECT OUR STREETS.
Stay brave, people. It’s OUR DUTY to HELP THOSE WHO NEED IT THE MOST!
Peace on the streets,
Dok Discord
Comments:
Dark Guardian
Long time no talk. Glad you and Mr S are still around. I like where you are coming from and have been right there with you all these years. We should talk sometime soon.
The Prowler
The Prowler Great to see you back. You were one of my biggest influences to protect and help people as a superhero, ever since I first read about yo and Mr. Silent, I think it was in INTake.
Daisy Hibbard
Daisy Hibbard I respect you guys so much! I think it’s brilliant what you do, but it must be hard trying to actually protect our city while people try and follow you around. I know if I ever saw you and Mr. Silent downtown I would probably stop walking and just think, “WOW. I just saw superheroes!” and I would be filled with some sort of Indy pride. 😀
Amazonia
Amazonia Thanks for those words. I had not gone public back when I started because I was afraid of what people would think of me. I had started back in May ’02 and I had no idea there were any others out there. Not until ’06 when I finally looked it up online. Your right, there has been a change in mentality from people doing this since I first started and came online. A lot of them just want to go around and bash heads in and fight crime period. There is more to this than that and I have been lucky enough to be exposed to most of the other things you can do to make a difference in the world. Mostly I do patrols and help people where ever I can. But I don’t go looking for a fight, but if one comes to me, I am ready for it.
Master Legend
Master Legend i been at this for like 25 years and was so happy to find out i wasn’t alone and i owe it all to you and MR Silent.thank you very much and so you know Team Justice has helped thousands and we aren’t stopping there.
Optimyst
Optimyst I agree with everything you said my good docktor. I am glad that you posted this. I really missed your blogs. O

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

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

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
 

Kristen Mueller Utne Reader
In Jackson, Michigan, police are turning to a surprising ally in the fight against crime: a trio of spandex-clad crusaders armed with Mace and known as the Crimefighter Corps. The group’s de facto leader goes by the name Captain Jackson and keeps his true identity a closely guarded secret. He prefers to call his getup a uniform–picture Batman in yellow gloves and a purple cape–and explains that he’s been prowling the streets with his 17-year-old daughter, Crimefighter Girl, since 1999, when he noticed that ‘there were no beat cops around.’ They were soon joined by Queen of Hearts, an anti-domestic violence activist, and the threesome became regulars at community events, feted by local law enforcement. ‘By definition, we’re superheroes,’ says the Captain.
Nationwide, Captain Jackson and his crew have plenty of company. ‘An entire community of real-life superheroes patrols the streets from Los Angeles to Boise, Chicago to Phoenix,’ reports Punk Planet (March/April 2007). They gather on MySpace and WorldSuperheroRegistry .com to discuss morals (‘Is it ever OK for a superhero to kill?’), gadgets (Jackalope asks for advice on building spring-loaded boots), and defense gear (like arm guards forged from PVC piping). Some attempt to take law enforcement into their own gloved hands, but most just try to make the world worth living in and inspire hope in the rest of us. ‘It’s all about standing up for what’s right,’ New York City’s Dark Guardian told Punk Planet. ‘It’s about not throwing garbage on the floor. It’s about not walking by homeless people and totally ignoring them.’
These real-life superheroes pursue missions as diverse as the logos flaunted on their chests: In Seattle, reports Rivet (#16), Transit Man rides buses and encourages commuters to ditch their cars. England’s Angle-grinder Man made international headlines back in 2003 for helping drivers dismantle wheel clamps on their illegally parked vehicles. And in St. Louis, the 26-year-old art student Glitterous battles the mundane, sticking sparkly magnets onto street signs in an attempt to beautify the city, according to an April Riverfront Times article.
Mediamakers have also latched onto the phenomenon: Last year’s The Superman Handbook (Quirk) and Does This Cape Make Me Look Fat? (Chronicle) offer advice on leaping between tall buildings and overcoming your personal kryptonite; the Sci Fi channel’s reality show Who Wants to Be a Superhero? enters its second season this summer; and four new superhero-themed blockbusters (one spoofing the genre) will be released next year.
During the Cold War, Americans sought solace in Westerns, in which the cowboys always whupped the ‘red’ Indians. Today, with diabolical masterminds plotting terrorist attacks from caves and underground bunkers (while weenie politicians wring their hands), the appeal of superpowerful and superethical saviors is strong. Take 22-year-old Tothian, who launched the online Heroes Network and scours the New York/New Jersey area in combat boots, a homemade supershirt, and sometimes a cape (he ditched his mask because it posed ‘tactical disadvantages’) searching for thieves, rapists, and muggers. Tothian graduated from military school at 16 and now serves in the Marine Corps. He says being a superhero is not much different: ‘I’m pretty much fighting the bad guys, saving the world, that kind of stuff.’
When it comes to actually fighting crime, however, most real-life superheroes are more pfftzzz than kraack. Captain Jackson has brandished the Mace tucked into his utility belt only twice, both times against dogs. He and his fearsome trio typically make sure business doors are locked after hours and alert cops to teen vandals. ‘In reality, what we are is pretty much neighborhood watch,’ says Jackson. Still, police in the town rely on the Corps for backup when they’re short-staffed, Jackson says, and he’s a
regular at local chamber of commerce meetings. Even after Jackson was nailed in 2005 by a real-life cop for drunken driving, he only hung up his cape for 12 days before ‘bigwig officials’ begged him not to quit, he says.
Thirty-nine-year-old Kevlex, named for the supermaterials Kevlar and spandex, runs the online World Superhero Registry from his home in Arizona, and he occasionally patrols Flagstaff. He has yet to foil a felon, though he once attempted to nab a shoplifter who was chucking groceries into a bush. ‘Any one cop is probably a hundred times more effective than anyone in our group,’ he says. ‘Real-life superheroes are law enforcement hobbyists, at best.’
Instead, the superhero community, which is dominated by white males in their teens and 20s–nerdy sci-fi fans and former military types–see themselves as symbols of hope in a world where terrorists hijack planes and genocide is overlooked. They’re trying to prove that anyone can provoke change, as Kevlex puts it, by ‘taking a stand for your version of the world, and doing it in a very public way.’
But that’s not to underestimate the sheer glee of prancing down the sidewalk in a mask and a leotard. ‘Walking around in a cape with the wind blowing through it is just really cool,’ Kevlex says. ‘It’s kind of an ego boost.’ Pilgrims travel thousands of miles to shake hands with the Crimefighter Corps in Michigan. ‘People all over the globe utterly go nuts over the opportunity to meet us,’ the trio’s Queen of Hearts says. ‘It’s a positive endorphin high. Not even sex can touch the high you get off this.’
http://www.utne.com/2007-07-01/Politics/Geek-Squads.aspx