Heaven Sutton was killed while selling candy on her front yard
Chocolate klansmen recently murdered yet another innocent Black child, Heaven Sutton of Chicago. That this tragedy occured in President Obama’s home town hasn’t been lost on critics from the Right.
My take is slightly different on this case. When my personal chocolate klan watch zeroed in on this case I noted once again that it illustrates the limits of Obamaism.
Milliseconds after the president’s historic victory role model proponents touted it as a near-biblical paradigm shift for inner city Black families.
Filled with symbolic pride chocolate klansmen and peers would stride purposefully away from violence; drugs and career dysfunction to become solid citizens patterned after the new arrival in the Oval Office.
It didn’t quite work out that way. Obamaism failed to convert millions. That’s not the president’s job nor is ongoing urban carnage his fault.
Thinking Black male criminals are lemmings needing the right rhetorical rodent to lead them is the problem. Criminals while Black are free moral agents just like thugs of any other color.
Assuming less is archaic racism of the first order! Chocolate klansmen are murderous; larcenous vandals because they choose to be. There isn’t some White Republican in the wood pile hidden away shoving bribes and guns into their hands to occupy the inner city.
Americans while Black holding chocolate klansmen accountable will save innocents like Chicago’s Heaven Sutton, as much a  ” hate ” crime victim as the little girls murdered by classic klansmen September15, 1963 inside a Birmingham, Alabama church!!!

The four girls killed in the bombing (Clockwis...

The four girls killed in the bombing (Clockwise from top left, Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Denise McNair) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The four girls killed in the bombing (Clockwise from top left, Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Denise McNair)
It isn’t President Obama’s fault that suspect Jerrell Dorsey may have decided to be a chocolate klansman. He’s not a slave nor an indentured servant.

Heaven Sutton’s death indicts once again the slave-making myth that Obamaism will magically make thugs and other low lives mend their ways.

The president is doing his job whether some agree with it or not.

Our job as Americans while Black is legally punishing baby killers and as individuals, not becoming chocolate klansmen ourselves.

Individualism not Obamaism is what will save the next Heaven Sutton from chocolate klansmen .
NADRA ENZI AKA CAPT BLACK promotes creative crime prevention.
CAPT BLACK: (504) 214-3082
Nadra Enzi



Alton L Hayes attacked a White man in a Chicago suburb and told police anger over Trayvon Martin was the reason. He also robbed the victim.

MEMO TO CHOCOLATE KLANSMEN: Please refrain from misusing this murder victim’s name as you plunder and pounce your way through society. This case is too important to be associated with your petty crimes. I know you don’t respect Black nor other lives but for once pretend you do.

“Empty your pockets, white boy ” was his snivel rights slogan as he and an accomplice attacked the victim from behind ( typical chocolate klansman tactic )
. I guess he threw poor Trayvon Martin’s name up hoping it would justify his appalling cowardice.
Trayvon Martin supporters must verbally ( and literally where legal ) pimp slap any thug and assorted sub-species of chocolate klansman misusing his name to justify crime. Once again, these fools give aid and comfort to elements considering all Black people criminals.
This case illustrates for the millionth time how out of control a segment of Black America has become. I pray this is an isolated incident but know it probably won’t be.

He is an Emmett Till of the 21st century. His legacy becomes every good Black person’s job to defend, alongside all supporters.

Black criminals in the past have even dared to attack the late Rose Parks in her home http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19940831&a…
We cannot allow them to attack Trayvon Martin by misusing his name to justify their evil. His parents have taken the high road in this case and we who call ourselves their supporters can do no less.
Trayvon Martin shouldn’t be used by chocolate klansmen as an excuse to do what they did before his murder- make life unliveable within the inner city and elsewhere!
Keep his name out of your sorry mouths when arrested and take your punishment like men- for once.
NADRA ENZI AKA CAPT BLACK promotes creative crime prevention. (504) 214-3082

Nadra Enzi


It was windy

White BaronBy White Baron
Our unequalled [sic] friend Skyman, semi-newbie Roswell (formerly known as Brother Keeper), and latest addition to the lifestyle, Kitty-Kat went out loaded up with several bags of snack-food, and basic hygiene. More common patrols begin after hours, but we got ourselves started around prime time, finding the usual sleeping places uninhabited. In the future, I think starting later might let us find more of those in need.
Reaching the end of the viaduct, a sight-impaired fellow with a cane had just exited the Ferry, and allowed us to help him find his bus stop. Afterwards [sic], we climbed the hills of Pioneer Square to reach a large regular multiple encampment, and discovered a few sleepers, and 2 or 3 more elaborate tents. The inhabitants, who recognized Skyman and myself, informed us that the police routinely move everyone out of this area at certain times of the day, which forces them to sleep under a nearby bridge, or the nearest wooded areas, or wherever hasn’t been taken by someone else.
We checked the sloped woods near the bridge, and saw no-one. Then, upon shining a spotlight under the bridge, the few camped there waved back to us, thankfully unintimidated [sic] by our attention. The portion of the chain-link fence bent down to allow access to the level area posed a challenge, as it was directly across the street without any signage that permitted pedestrian entrance. Skyman and Kitty took admirable initiative by racing across the busy street to meet the people, who came down to the fence to accept our goods.
Going back through the downtown parks and finding no one else at the time, we wanted to be sure to give the viaduct one last sweep, as it was close to midnight. We found widower Kevin, a man with a foam plastic bed, a wool blanket, a paper grocery bag of his own food, and chapped, cracked hands that startled me a bit. He explained that one heart-attack had bankrupted him onto the street, and having given his house to his daughter and her husband before the medical issues, was simply too proud to go them for help. I asked him what he did need, to which he answered, “Can you give me a new life?” I didn’t know what to say, and waited for the others to start talking with him to cover my embarrassment. He accepted a few band-aids, and reminded us that there were Third World children who would give anything to have what he had.
Finally, back at our starting point, we found 2 people. Kristine, who needed clothes, blankets and socks, provided courtesy of Kitty; and a sleeping man, camped several paces away, who awoke during our interaction with her. She remembered us form the larger meet up a month earlier. Kristine asked us to please stay and watch over her as she slept, and I explained that we couldn’t this time. We were parked close by, and as we were just about to call it a night, we overheard an argument. The man was accusing Kristine of stealing his lighter, and she called to us to intervene. I shone my spotlight just above the man so as not to seem directly threatening. “Listen, we’re not police, but we’re more than happy to call them. Cool it, alright?” He calmed down immediately. We maintained our distance throughout, and saw Kristine move her own gear away into the night.
Update: During the final stretch, Roswell accidently [sic] lost his phone. The next morning, I received a series of calls from our friend Kevin. He had picked it up, and was good enough to offer to return it.

When Little Boys are Murdered

Years old
Too young
To die by a gun
Shames us with his loss
Challenges us with its cost
Private brutality
The inner city’s daily destiny?

It's the 20th already!?? Anyway "I'm back"

Good old SBC tech support. No phone, no internet, but I’m “back in business” (internet-wise). I got the impression from a few messages I got that some folks thought thier “friendly neighborhood stupor-hero” (dubbed by a buddy of mine who remembers my past non-stop drunken adventures) was farther away than I really was.
Maybe my INTERNET went away for a while, but The Windy City sure as hell didn’t…and neither did I >:) Bein that I have never owned a cell-phone in my life, but bein hooked on the internet for the last 10 years, it’s crazy to see how much regular social networking has changed. I had begun to take for granted how much I depend on the ‘net. Funny huh?
Somethin to think about when you’re organizing w/ your comrades.

Who is Liberator-X

Based in Chicago, IL… Liberator-X is an urban crusader who uses various legal options both on and off the street, to serve the purpose of his concise mission statement:

“To promote safety, and disrupt ongoing terrorism of citizens in key spots of the city, concentrating on family neighborhoods.”

Good Press, Archetypes, and

There’s a saying in showbusiness that there’s “no such thing as bad press” (which of course is false, look at Michael Jackson but I digress.)
Being that this is not (entirely) showbusiness, in what cases would press NOT, be “good press” in your opinions? I’m speaking outside of the obvious such as accidentally destroying public property or somethin dumb like that.
My voice is VERY easily recognizeable and I specialize in dealing with crackheads, gang officers, etc…to bring down operations that terrorize neighborhoods in key spots of Chicago. These organizations are usually spread over the Chicagoland or Illinois area, or nationwide, and in some cases WORLDwide, consisting of hundreds of members in the city limits. My “codename” being mentioned in the media someday would be one thing. But I take certain risks to get the job done that could easily put an end to my work.
I realize awareness and “spreading the word” is important. But if you play it the way I do, or anything close…you might want to consider these points and evaluate the EXTENT to which you will “draw the line” when it comes to publicity.
I have no idea how Angle Grinder Man hasn’t been caught, but he’s lucky. Should “superheroes” only be neighborhood watchmen (and women), or is there a place in this “age of heroes” for people like Terrifica, Angle-Grinder Man and others who take that extra step?
There is a hero here in Chicago who only works alone because he works much along the same lines as me. I wont even mention his name right now, but suffice to say he has hits out of him.
As I was in the chat room tonight, I got the chance to talk to a few of our fellows, and the topic of Press came up. I’m not sure, but it seemed to me that after talking for a while, my stance on personal coverage not being something that each one of us should hunt down, the conversation quickly ended. I hope this was not the reason why.
Teams AND individuals might want to consider the corny slogan “What type of hero are you?” When teams are being constructed. There are different “specialties” for us to choose from.
We COULD stick to picking up litter and helping old ladies cross the street, but personally I see the potential for “SUPER” actions from Real Life “SUPER” heros.
The first time I designed a uniform, donned a mask, started a neighborhood patrol alliance and fought urban terrorism in this city was when I was about 15. My “legend” didn’t make it past the South East side ghettos but more than 10 years later it was surprising to find out that 2 friends of mine had heard about me (my codename) wearing the uniform and fighting for good in the middle of a 3-way turf war. They had no idea it was “a kid”. I look back upon the memories of the times that my missions went exactly as planned, the times I learned from mistakes and my heart racing when I was almost spotted doing surveillance 15 feet away from a drug spot…neighborhood thugs putting out a hit on me because I became a threat to thier dirty money, and the look of hope in the eyes of citizens who were made part of the neighborhood watch.
I always realized it, but I feel that it should be addressed that there are different archetypes at work in our community, and it’s probably in everybody’s best interest to pick one if you are starting out.

Farewell to The Fox

Originally posted: http://chicagowildernessmag.org/issues/spring2002/fox.html
by David Weissman
He was a teacher and friend, environmental crusader and outlaw. He dared to expose polluters when no one else would. He was Robin Hood, Zorro and Batman all rolled into one. And even though Jim Phillips died last fall at age 70, the legend he created as “The Fox” lives on.
Jim Phillips grew up on Chicago’s West Side, but it was summers spent at his grandfather’s farm in the Fox River Valley that shaped his views on the environment. He found peace in nature and embraced the clarity and solitude of the outdoors. When he turned 10, Phillips moved to the family farm for good.
He pursued science in school and earned a biology degree from Northern Illinois University. For the next 10 years he taught environmental science at middle schools in Oak Lawn and Hillside. It was there the young science teacher got called out by one of his students.
“Mr. Jim, you say that you don’t try to cause air pollution, but you drive your truck to work every day,” the student challenged. “What are you going to do about it?”
With no public transportation available, Phillips was forced to drive. So he did the next best thing: he invited students to paint their complaints on his truck. By day’s end, students had transformed the truck into a rolling billboard: GM — CLEAN UP YOUR ACT!
In the spring of 1969 Phillips plugged a sewer drain that flowed into the Fox River from the Armour-Dial soap plant in nearby Montgomery. The company unplugged the drain, but he filled it again. Two months passed. Phillips returned to check on the river, and there, in a scene like the birth of a comic book hero, had an epiphany:
“Before me lay a mini-disaster,” Phillips wrote in his autobiography, Raising Kane: The Fox Chronicles. “Bank-to-bank soap curds filled the water from the dam back to the sewer. Looking into the pool, my heart sank.
“Floating upside down, with their orange legs relaxed in death, was the mallard hen and all of her baby ducks. The shock of seeing such carnage gave way to sorrow and then rage. Wading into the glop, I saw one tiny duckling’s foot feebly kick. Scooping it up and stripping soap waste off its partly fuzzy body, I tried to open its little beak and blow breath into its lungs. The little body went limp in my hand as the final spark of life flickered out. Everything got blurry as tears of sorrow and anger rolled down my cheeks.”
In the years that followed, Phillips would harness his anger into a new brand of environmental activism — one that applied psychological pressure to achieve results. His methods were smarter than vandalism. Instead he poked fun at polluters, exposed them to the public in ways that confused, embarrassed and, ultimately, shamed them into changing their practices.
At an aluminum foundry in Aurora, he plugged the company’s septic tank, capped smokestacks and left a dead skunk at the front door. When that didn’t work, he paid a visit to the company’s corporate headquarters in Gary, Indiana.
“I have a gift for your president from the animals and people of the Fox River Valley,” Phillips said. He then dumped five gallons of sewage from the company’s own Aurora plant onto the corporate hallway.
That got the ear of Chicago Daily News columnist Mike Royko, who used his column to champion the Fox’s cause.
“The Fox learned about the power of the media early on,” said Brock. “By getting publicity for his actions, the Fox spread the word far and wide.”
By day, he talked with reporters — incognito, from behind a bush.
The Fox’s popularity soared. He held a mock funeral for the Fox River. One article became two, then three, then four. He was featured in the pages of Time, Newsweek and Life magazines, and a television special, “Profit the Earth” — all anonymously. He spoke via telephone to the U.S. secretary of state’s Committee on Human Environment, a group preparing for the United Nations Conference on the Human Environment.
In time, The Fox became revered and feared, a modern-day Robin Hood who befuddled his enemies and befriended all others. His trademark signature, a small fox drawn as the “o” in Fox, accompanied his notes and signs. Bumper stickers that read, “Go Fox — Stop Pollution” were plastered on cars, signs and office windows of alleged polluters. His identity was leaked to a select few, who called themselves the Fox’s “Kindred Spirits.”
At night he clogged polluting drain pipes.
Phillips’ brand of civil disobedience made so much sense even the local cops started helping him out. They tipped him off to stakeouts and surveillance. They left notes for him in the knothole of a nearby tree, and kept him one step ahead of their own police chief, a man they nicknamed the Sheriff of Nottingham.
In the summer of 1971, Phillips turned to Mayor Richard J. Daley’s plan to build an airport on an island in Lake Michigan. A friend drew a cartoon depicting an outhouse in the lake, with Daley standing on the nearby Chicago shore. A U.S. Steel executive standing on the Gary side pointed to the outhouse, and said to Daley, “Feel free to use the lake, Dick — we always did.” Phillips stuck the poster-sized cartoon on the Picasso sculpture in what is now Daley Plaza, in broad daylight. And neither the Sheriff of Nottingham, nor anyone else, could catch him.
“He never wanted to be in the spotlight,” said Gary Gordon, a longtime friend. “It was his deeds he wanted to speak loud and clear.”
Phillips was no eco-terrorist. He was careful to make sure no one got hurt. When he dumped sewage at American Reduction’s headquarters, Phillips felt so bad about the shocked receptionist he sent her a half dozen roses. Another time, Phillips threw a stink bomb through the front office window of Cargill, a company that had dumped leaking cans of paint into the Fox River. Along with his trademark signature, Phillips left a money order for $36.48 to replace the glass.
“The Fox was never about violence,” said Gary Swick, another science teacher and one of the Kindred Spirits. “He chose to work at a grassroots level, to build an ethic of stewardship for the land. He took action before laws and agencies like the Environmental Protection Agency even existed. That took a lot of guts.”
In 1973 Phillips took on another role. He became Pierre Porteret, a member of the Joillet-Marquette expedition that led to the discovery of the key Chicago portage 300 years ago. Phillips and six other men, dressed in 1673 period costumes, reenacted the journey in two replica birchbark canoes. The group paddled down the western shore of Lake Michigan from the Straits of Mackinac to Green Bay, up the Fox River of Wisconsin to the Wisconsin River, then down the Mississippi to the mouth of the Arkansas. On the return journey, they paddled up the Illinois River and up Lake Michigan to Mackinac. Along the 3,000-mile trip, the expedition stopped at more than 180 communities along the route and Phillips, as the environmentalist, talked about the changes in the land.
“It was grassroots theater; overt and guerrilla; a show for the folks in the heartland with a profound and provocative message at its core,” recalled Gordon, then a young reporter who became a member of the shore party.
At Starved Rock, Illinois, on the return journey, Phillips delivered a memorable speech to a room full of high-ranking state officials:
“Three hundred years ago I came down these rivers with the rest of these men. But something has happened since the time we saw the river. The flowers came in such profusion that I cannot even describe their beauty. The five feet of topsoil, that was so rich you could turn it under and grow crops to save the starvation of the world, how did you lose it? There is not one foot of it left. What have you done with it?
“I have fished in the rivers, and I have taken the pickerel and the pike; I’ve seen the walleye and the bass. And now I cannot even drink the water. What have you done to it?
“I breathed the air that was as clear and as pure as the morning breeze, and now my eyes water as I travel past your civilized cities. Why do you do this to yourselves? … Why don’t you allow your children, that you give life to, to grow up with the type of beauty that I once saw? There is precious little of it left.”
That kind of childhood logic made Phillips hard to ignore, and inspired legions of followers to carry on his most poignant message: this land belongs to all Creation. Cherish and protect it, or it will die. When Phillips himself died last fall at age 70, his ashes were scattered in his beloved Fox River by the voyageurs from his expedition canoe. They broke his paddle signifying the end of his voyage on Earth.
“The Fox was larger than life, and his actions spoke to a higher set of laws,” said Brock. “Setbacks didn’t discourage him. They only strengthened his resolve.”
Ralph Frese, another lifelong friend, agreed. “In his lifetime, The Fox became a legend,” he said. “The legacy he left is the challenge that we carry on the work he started.”
Copies of The Fox’s manifesto, Raising Kane: The Fox Chronicles, are available from Friends of the Fox River.
E-mail [email protected] $20.

James Phillips, 70, Environmentalist Who Was Called the Fox

Note from Real Life Superheroes.org admin: It has been brought to my attention that there is an inaccuracy in the following article. Mr. Martin states that “His passion for the environment persists in a local group named for him, Friends of the Fox”, however, new information indicates this to be a false statement.
This information was provided by Pat Reese, who stated, “I am the founder of “The Friends of the Fox River,” and I can assure you our group was not named after The Fox, aka Jim Philips, and that there is no other group named “Friends of the Fox” in Illinois. However, there is a “Friends of the Fox” in Green Bay, Wisconsin, 300 miles away, also not associated with Jim.” Mr. Reese also provided official documentation supporting his information, and requested that appropriate corrections be made on this site.
-The Watchman
Originally posted: http://www.nytimes.com/2001/10/22/us/james-phillips-70-environmentalist-who-was-called-the-fox.html
October 22, 2001
James F. Phillips, an environment advocate who used flamboyant tactics like putting metal caps on top of belching smoke stacks, then leaving a note signed ”the Fox,” died on Oct. 3 in Aurora, Ill. He was 70.
The cause was complications of diabetes, his sister Dorothy Spring said.
Mr. Phillips led a dual existence as a middle school science teacher and an ecological saboteur, using techniques later refined by Greenpeace and other environmental groups. He never acknowledged that he was the Fox, although family members and friends confirmed that Mr. Phillips was.
”He carved a peculiar niche for himself,” said his friend Ralph Frese, a blacksmith and canoe maker who accompanied Mr. Phillips on a mission or two. ”He tried to disguise himself, but it was a thin disguise.”
The Fox plugged polluting sewer outlets and left skunks on the doorsteps of the executives who owned them. He collected 50 pounds of sewage that a company had spewed into Lake Michigan and dumped it in the company’s reception room.
”I got tired of watching the smoke and the filth and the little streams dying one by one,” he said in an interview with Time magazine in October 1970. ”Finally, I decided to do something — the courts weren’t doing anything to these polluters except granting continuance after continuance.”
Much of what the Fox did was against the law, and the police were hardly amused by the fox’s face, sometimes smiling, sometimes grim, that he customarily drew inside the ”o” of ”Fox” on the notes he left behind.
Robert Kollwelter, a local police sergeant, said in an interview with Newsweek in October 1970 that the authorities would charge the Fox with trespassing and criminal damage to property if they could catch him.
But they could not. ”It’s kind of hard to lift fingerprints from the inside of a sewer,” Sergeant Kollwelter explained.
At least one government official suggested that the Fox was performing a valuable service. The official, David Dominick, commissioner of the federal Water Quality Administration, said in a speech before the American Society of Civil Engineers in 1970, ”The Fox, by his deeds, challenges us all with the question: Do we, as individuals in a technological society, have the will to control and prevent the degradation of our environment.”
James Frederick Phillips was born in Aurora on Nov. 20, 1930. His grandparents were asparagus farmers, and he grew up on a farm. He earned a degree in biology from Northern Illinois University. He later taught science in middle school for 10 years.
In the late 1960’s, he was distressed to see dead ducks on the polluted Fox River, which meanders through Aurora to the Illinois River. He decided to take direct action: He stopped up a sewer pipe that was spewing sudsy wastes into the Fox River with plywood.
”Nobody ever stuck up for that poor, mistreated stream,” he told Newsweek. ”So I decided to do something in its name.”
He moved to bigger targets like United States Steel. In a 1970 column in The Chicago Daily News, Mike Royko told of his darting about Chicago putting up signs attacking the company for polluting.
For example, he posted a sign on a coffee shop window: ”Making steel is my business, murdering your environment is my sideline.”
Mr. Phillips later was a field inspector for the Kane County Environmental Department west of Chicago before retiring in 1986 to start the Fox River Conservation Foundation. ”He got a chance to do it legally,” Mr. Frese said.
The Fox’s escapades stopped after the enactment of state and federal laws to control pollution. His passion for the environment persists in a local group named for him, Friends of the Fox.
He is survived by two brothers, Herb, of Chicago, and Albert, of Verokua, Wis.; and two sisters, Dorothy Spring of Aurora and Margaret Webb of Fayetteville, Ark.
Photo: James F. Phillips