Tag citizen prime

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
 

If you can give a gift to a child, I want to shake your hand!

That’s right, this year’s Annual Toy Drop has a special twist to it. If you donate even a single toy befor December 10th, Citizen Prime will come out and pick up the toy personally in full dress uniform!
And remember, every donation goes to benefit the Phoenix Children’s Hospital kids.
(Phoenix or surrounding areas only, folks)
 

Step By Step: How to Participate
Every child deserves a toy on Christmas and we wouldn’t be heroes if we didn’t make that happen.  Your help is needed across the country and its easy to do.  Here’s how:

1. Read what the kids need on this page
2. Contact Citizen Prime and let him know what you can donate
3. Coordinate a place and time of your choosing to drop off the gifts.
4. Check the website for pictures of the kids after Christmas.

Most importantly, tell us how you’d like to help!  We’re always happy to have Citizen Heroes, like yourself, assist in the Toy Drop.  Let us know what you’d like to do and we’ll help you be the best hero you can.

Toy Drop Guidelines

Due to hospital regulations, we have to abide by the following guidelines to get the toys in kids hands:

• All gifts must be new and unwrapped.
• Donations need to be received by Dec. 12,.
  
• Hospital volunteers will wrap the gifts.  Nice, huh?
• Access may be restricted to protect the patients health in the winter months.

Wish List
We are in need of items in all age groups.  We are most in need of items listed under “Infants,” “Toddlers,” and “Adolescents” as well as gift cards, holiday wrapping paper, tape, and ribbons.  The most requested items for each age group are in bold.  I goes without saying that we greatly appreciate every donation.
To make a donation, please contact Jim Wayne at ..:NAMESPACE PREFIX = SKYPE />..:NAMESPACE PREFIX = SKYPE />(866) 369-3395 to arrange pick up or drop off.

Infants

• Infant Rattles/ Teething Toys (Sassy, First Years, Gerber, etc)
• Crib Mobiles (Sassy Music in Motion Mobile, Fisher Price Aquarium Mobile, Fisher Price Flutter Dreams Baby Bird Mobile, Baby Einstein Color and Shape Mobile, Manhattan Baby Dev Stimulation Mobile)
• Musical and Light-up toys
• Books (Board and vinyl)
• Infant Stimulation Toys (black, red, and white)
• Infant Mirrors
• Fisher Price Crib Aquariums
• Infant Kick and Play’s/ Activity Gyms
• Swings/Bouncers
• Bumbo Baby seat (Infant Chair)

Toddlers

• Shape Sorters and stacking toys
• Pop-up toys/ cause and effect toys
• Musical and Light-up toys
• Books (touch & feel, pop-up, musical)
• One-piece Activity Toys
• Fisher Price Little People / Little Tikes play sets
• Plastic Cars, Trucks, Trains, etc.
• Large blocks
• Vinyl Play/Tumbling Floor Mats (No larger than 5×5)
• DVD Movies (Newer releases, G rated)

Pre School Age

• Popular action figures (Sponge Bob, Dora, Diego, Spiderman, Superman, etc.)
• Dolls (plastic, babies, Disney Princesses, Dora the Explorer, etc.)
• Large electronic interactive toys (Leapfrog, etc.)
• Plastic Cars and Trucks
• Magna Doodles and drawing boards
• Hot Wheels and Match Box cars
• Books (interactive, musical, pop-up books)
• Fisher Price Little People / Little Tikes play sets
• Lego’s (small and large) and Lego people
• View Masters with Disks
• Bubbles
• Play-Doh
• Remote Control Cars/Trucks (rechargeable)
• DVD Movies (Newer releases, G and PG rated)

School Age

• Balls of all types (basketball, football, Nerf toys, toss games, etc.)
• Small Lego Sets (Star Wars, Harry Potter, Bionical’s, etc.)
• Craft/Art kits (beading, sewing, model airplanes, model cars, etc)
• Any toys with Hannah Montana, High School Musical, That’s So Raven, or Sponge Bob theme
• Books (I Spy, story, and chapter books)
• Beading kits
• Gift Cards in all price ranges (Target, Wal-Mart, Toys’R’Us, Blockbuster, Movie Tickets, Sports Authority, Best Buy, etc.)
• Hand Held Electronic Games (20 Questions, Bop-it, Connect 4, etc.)
• Walkie Talkies
• Stress Squeeze Toys
• Paint-By-Number Sets
• Black Velvet Fuzzy Posters coloring sets
• DVD Movies (Newer releases, up to PG-13, NO rated R)

DVD Movies (Newer releases, up to PG-13, NO rated R)

• Bath gels, Lotions, Nail Polish and Nail Polish Remover
• Craft/Art kits (Beading, sewing, Model airplanes, Model cars)
• Gift Cards in all price ranges (Target, Wal-Mart, Toys’R’Us, Blockbuster, Movie Tickets, Sports Authority, Best Buy, etc.)
• T-Shirts/Hats with Cartoon/Sports Logos and athletic shorts
• Activity Books, Word Searches, Cross Word Puzzles, and Sodoku
• Nerf Toys, such as basketball, football, sets, toss games
• Photo Albums and Scrap-booking Supplies
• Playing and UNO cards, UNO Attack
• Diaries/Journals
• Nerf Toys, such as basketball, football, sets, toss games
• Craft/Art kits (Beading, Model airplanes, Model cars)
• Photo Albums and Scrap-booking Supplies
• Playing cards / Magic sets
• UNO cards and UNO Attack
• Black Velvet Fuzzy Poster coloring sets
• Game boy Advance Game Systems
• Game boy Advance Games (Rated E)
• Game Cube Games (Rated E)
• PS2 Games (Rated E)
• X-Box 360 Games (Rated E)
• Portable/personal DVD players
• Discman/Walkman
• No More Tangles Spray
• Music CD’s (Teen music; no explicit lyrics, nature, relaxation, classical)

Arts and Craft and Creative Items

• Boxes/Photo Frames to decorate
• Beads/ individual beading kits
• Individual craft kits
• Markers (washable, fabric, Sharpie, etc.)
• Acrylic Paints
• Glue (tacky, Elmer’s, glue sticks, glitter)
• Wiggly Eyes, Rhinestones, Sequin Decorations-Large Containers
• Self Stick Foam Pieces
• Lanyard String
• Wiggly Eyes, Rhinestones, Sequin Decorations-Large Containers
• Self Stick Foam Pieces
• Lanyard String
• Gel Pens
• Sketch Books and Pencils
• White and Colored Poster Board
• Model Magic clay
• Water color paper

1 Darn Cool School

• Dora the Explorer books and items
• Dora the Explorer CD-ROM computer game
• Sponge Bob CD-ROM computer game
• Sponge Bob books and items
• Chicken Soup Book
• Trivial Pursuit Jr.
• Guinness World Records books 2000 and up
• 500 Polaroid film
• Klutz kits
• Smithsonian motor-works engine building sets (Wal-mart)
• Tonka Hasbro 5-10 wood kits, cars, planes, trucks
• Bionicle Lego Sets
• Dinosaurs Kits, Hard Cardboard or Wood
• Prismacolor Markers
• Nickelodeon Movie Theater by Readers Digest

Miscellaneous

• Portable DVD players
• Digital camera (Kodak Easy Share)
• Gift Cards in all price ranges (Target, Wal-Mart, Toys’R’Us, Blockbuster, Movie tickets, Sports Authority, Best Buy, etc.)
• Hair Clips and Hair Ties
• Hairbrushes
• 500 Polaroid Film
• Disposable Cameras
• Wall Posters (Character, Sports, Bright colors for kids and teens)
• Mini Dry Erase Boards and Markers
• Kodak Printer Paper Kit G600

Special Holiday/Birthday Donation Needs

• Christmas wrapping paper (non-religious)
• Scotch tape
• Ribbon
• Bows
• Large (heavy duty) White Trash Bags
• Handled Gift Bags (solid and patterns for all holidays) both medium and large size

 

Scanned copy of National Enquirer article
LOOK! Up in the sky! It′s a bird… it′s a plane… HOLD IT!
You no longer have to crane your neck to spot Superman or Spider-Man. Dozens of real-life superheroes now spend their nights patrolling the mean streets of some of America’s largest cities.
Are they crazy? Maybe. Eccentric? Definitely.
And because they lack the super-powers of their comic book counterparts, they mostly serve as a kind of colorful citizen′s watch patrol. But there′s no doubt they cut down on crime.
“What started as beloved comic book fantasies have become a reality in many places in America- and that′s a good thing for everyone,” declares Citizen Prime, a self-styled superhero, who for nearly two years have patrolled the streets of Phoenix in a Batman-like outfit.
“As a child, I always loved Captain American, and now I hope to bring what inspired me to the real world and do some good,” said Prime, a 40-year-old business executive, who in true super-hero tradition, keeps his real identity secret.
PRIME PATROLS ON FOOT or in a white Nissan Xterra. But in Clearwater, Fla., his 38-year-old friend, who simply calls himself Superhero, patrols in a flashy red 1975 Corvette with a police scanner.
“Mostly I provide help for people- roadside assistance. But if necessary I can do more,” Superhero, a former professional wrestler, told the ENQUIRER.
“My message to people is to do whatever you can help people. You don′t have to be a superhero to help an old lady across the street or deliver food to a homeless person.”
New York City has many active superheroes, including Chris Guardian and Squeegeman.
Chris Guardian, 23, a martial arts instructor, patrols dangerous New York neighborhoods helping anybody who is frightened or needs assistance.
“Over the past three years, I′ve stopped several fights, beatings and a robbery,” he said.
“But I′ve also been able to do a lot of community service ‾ spending time with sick children in hospitals, cleaning up graffiti, and helping the homeless.”
Squeegeman, 27, gets involved with food drives, street cleaning and charity projects.
About 100 superheroes are hard at work across America. For a comprehensive list, with links to individual Web sites, visit the Heroes Network at: www.freewebs.com/heroesnetwork/index.htm

Article removed from Source Website.
Apr. 30, 2007 07:37 PM
By Joe Dana
12 News
His bat mobile is a Nissan X-Terra.
His weapon of choice is a cell phone.
He is Citizen Prime, an anti-crime activist on a mission reminiscent of The Guardian Angels, but with a comic book flair. A couple of nights a week, this valley business executive named Jim (I agreed to conceal his last name) dresses up as his invented superhero character, and patrols valley streets. When you meet him, you can’t help but notice his sincere enthusiasm and his incredibly well-crafted costume. Half embarrased, he admits the outfit cost about 4,000 dollars to create. It includes a silk cape, leather mask, and a steel-plated upper body shield designed by a professional armor maker.
On a Tuesday night in April, I followed Prime on a shift. As part of a recent effort to interact with the community more often, he spent a couple hours in the late evening strolling Mill Avenue in Tempe, mingling with the crowds.
While he introduces himself to passerby’s, he distributes a homemade pamphlet that describes his mission. His message can seem very simplistic.
“What would you do if you saw somebody fall in the street?” he asks a trio of college co-eds. “I’d help him out,” says one of them. “Exactly,” says Prime. “And that’s what heroes should do. They should be ready to help someone in need,” he says.
I wonder: Does he need to go through all of this work just to tell us that?
Prime points out that there is more. His pamphlet discusses ways to become involved in the community. He invites people to e-mail or call him if they “have a problem, or need help,” he says, (he’s quick to add that he doesn’t lend money.)
The other half of Citizen Prime’s mission involves driving in his car and looking for potential trouble. On this particular night, he trolls a neighborhood in the west valley near 51st Ave. and Indian School. The area is prone to property crime, prostitution and occasional robberies. “I’ve found that my mere presence in these areas, I’m hoping, makes a difference,” he says, as he drives slowly, surveying both sides of the street.
While on patrol, he has called police if he saw something or someone suspiscious. He’s also prepared take photos. He once guided police by phone to a drunk driver he spotted on the freeway. He also helped someone change a tire once. Prime admits his exact role in the community is still a work in progress. He’s trying to get into schools and hospitals to give inspirational messages to children.
In case Prime ever does see an actual crime or violence, his car is equipped with an electric stun gun, a police baton and a bean bag stun gun among other non-lethal gadgets. He’s never used them and says he hopes he never has to.
Our night on the streets ended quietly. No phone calls, photos or tazers needed.
The next morning, Prime sent me an E-mail. In it, he wrote that police pulled him over on the way home. The irony was not lost on him. A self-proclaimed superhero is caught speeding. You have to wonder if the body armor and cape helped him or hurt him in that moment.
Fortunately for Prime, he only received a warning. However, the officer advised the man in yellow to become certified by police for a citizen volunteer program. Something tells me, for Citizen Prime, that would be much too conventional.
Mayor Phil Gordon’s response to Citizen Prime
Apr. 30, 2007 07:47 PM
“Since becoming Mayor, I have given out over 3,000 front porch benches (not at taxpayer expense, by the way) to encourage people to be aware of what is going on in their neighborhoods. We can all help the police by being the “eyes and ears” of our community, but we should all be careful to do it smartly. Never purposefully put yourself in a dangerous situation. If you see something suspicious, don’t confront “the bad guys”. Call the police. That’s being hero enough.”

John Soltes
2007/04/24
It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s people who call themselves real-life superheroes. They dress up, fight for justice and keep their identities secret.
It started out as a normal night. That is, until the bad guy started dancing like the devil in the pale moonlight.
Chris was minding his own business on the streets of Staten Island, N.Y., when he saw a man dash into a convenience store. The man sprinted through the aisles, trashing the place, then broke a glass bottle on the floor and brandished the shards as a makeshift knife.
Chris, coming to the rescue, cornered him in the aisle. While Chris kept the villain at bay, customers called the police.
That night, one of the most dangerous nights in his career, Chris truly earned the right to be called Chris Guardian.
Guardian, 23, who patrols the sidewalks and alleyways of New York City, is one of a small group of people around the world who call themselves real-life superheroes. Some do it for fun, as if Halloween were a yearlong celebration. But others, like Guardian, are dead serious about protecting life.
“I’ve always had something inside of me that made me want to really make a difference and just make the world a better place,” Guardian said recently during a discreet nighttime interview in a park in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. “I always loved comic books and the idea of heroes out there. And I just said, ‘What the hell is stopping somebody from doing it?’”
When Guardian, a martial arts teacher who would not give his real name, first began patrolling New York at night, he was known as Dark Guardian. But recently he shed his old costume of a black mask with a painted-on smiley face and changed his name to Chris Guardian. He said the old costume was too weird for some people, while others didn’t pay attention.
“This is New York, so half the people didn’t even look,” said Guardian, who is having a new costume made up with the letters C.G. emblazoned on the front.
Guardian, like most superheroes, acts within the strictest sense of the law. “If I don’t have to put myself in danger, and the police can handle it, let the police handle it,” he said. “You know, I’m not going to do something stupid.”
Citizen Prime, a superhero based in Phoenix and a friend of Guardian, said there were many degrees of what a real-life superhero could do. A few stray into the vigilante role, taking the law into their own hands. But most, in the spirit of truth, justice and the American way, patrol the streets looking to help women and children.
“You don’t want to be standing on top of a building with your grappling hook ready to jump down on crack dealers,” Prime said. “That’s actually against the law.”
Prime, a 40-year-old married man whose first name is Jim, has been protecting the streets of Phoenix for a year. He became a superhero to spread the message that people don’t have to be fearful of crime. “Are you going to sit inside scared that a terrorist might attack your city, or are you going to go out and live your life?” he asked.
But Prime, who patrols once or twice a week in a black, blue and yellow costume, found one chink in his armor. He couldn’t find any crime. “The only crime I’ve ever stopped is when I was actually walking out of a sporting goods store with my wife,” he said. “A shoplifter came running past me, and I managed to throw him to the ground.”
With villains often hard to come by, superheroes fill up their time by dispensing charity as well as justice.
Many superheroes offer food to the homeless, deliver toys to sick children, rescue motorists with flat tires or spend time in their own fortresses of solitude visiting the many online superhero communities.
One such site is the World Superhero Registry, run by Phoenix-based superhero Kevlex, whose name is a combination of Kevlar and spandex.
His Web site supplies information on some of the world’s most famous superheroes: Angle Grinder Man in England, who helps free illegally parked cars from the bonds of immobilization; Terrifica, a female superhero who saves the drunk women of Brooklyn from unseemly masculine advances; and Polar Man, a Canadian superhero who, well, shovels driveways and sidewalks for the elderly.
Kevlex, 47, patrols only once or twice a week, and even less in the summer because the hot Arizona sun makes his costume uncomfortable. (Apparently, being a superhero is both a gift and a curse.)
Kevlex says that when he does go out, disguising his true identity is still necessary, even if he does nothing illegal. When he is in costume, bad guys “can’t tell which areas are protective gear and which areas their bullets would just slide right through,” he said.
Though, to be honest, Kevlex said he has never been in a situation with bullets. “The area that I’m in isn’t that dangerous,” he admitted.
Tothian, 22, a superhero who protects New Jersey and New York, is one of the more active heroes. He uses his skills as a Marine reservist and martial arts expert when patrolling the streets, and has escorted women home at night and broken up fights.
His uniform–he prefers that term to costume–is black combat boots, green cargo pants and a T-shirt. His logo, which is stitched into the middle of the T-shirt with cut-up bandanas, is made from the letters used to spell Tothian.
“That name chose me, I feel,” he said. “I am adding definition through the name, through my actions, my words and everything that I do.”
Tothian doesn’t wear a mask because it blocks his peripheral vision, and says he doesn’t wear a cape “because capes get in the way of actually doing real superhero stuff.”
Tothian says he doesn’t want to become a police officer because he doesn’t agree with every law on the book. “I’m not out to punish every single criminal,” he said. For example, he would counsel marijuana smokers, but wouldn’t apprehend them as bad guys.
Tothian said he gets some strange looks when people find out he’s a superhero. But after people realize he’s out to protect them, he says their trepidation eases somewhat.
“Heroes are real, so superheroes are just heroes who are really super at it,” he said. “The world is constantly crying out in need of superheroes, and I’m giving them one.”
E-mail: [email protected]
HOW SECRET ARE THOSE SUPERHERO IDENTITIES?
Real-life superheroes may be secretive about their identity, but they certainly welcome e-mail messages and visits to their MySpace pages. On the Web, many superheroes like Chris Guardian and Tothian show their real faces. Others, like Citizen Prime (myspace.com/paragonprime), wear elaborate masks.
Even so, meeting up with a superhero is challenging.
When setting up a rendezvous, they tend to prefer nighttime visits. You will be given a place to meet, like Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village, and told to call a cell phone number at precisely 10:30 p.m. No other details will be given. When you’re waiting for the clock to strike the half hour, you constantly check over your shoulder, knowing that the superhero has already been tracking your every move.
Once 10:30 rolls around, you call your hero, only to get a response like, “I’m walking up to you right now. I’m bald and wearing a leather jacket.”
Other superheroes avoid direct contact with the media. Squeegeeman and Captain Xavier Obvious work through their press person, Peter Magellan, who leaves messages on cell phones in an Australian accent that may or may not be authentic. When Squeegeeman himself leaves a message, the call is from a restricted number, and the superhero talks in a high-pitched voice that sounds, well, like a squeegee.
E-mails are no better. Squeegeeman’s messages are punctuated frequently by a squeegee adjective: “Have a squeegeerific day!!!”

Citizen Prime and Green Scorpion can’t stop bullets with their hands or see through walls. They don’t have archenemies, and they’re not crippled by Kryptonite. They do, however, don costumes and patrol the streets of Phoenix, looking for wrongs to right and helpless to help. Some call them freaks. Other call them heroes.
Phoenix Magazine PDF File
March 2007
By Dan Rafter
Citizen prime can’t stick to walls or shoot webs from his wrist. He can’t jump over a building or sprint faster than a locomotive. Don’t bet on him to life an elephant over his head, either.
On the plus side, Citizen Prime could juggle handfuls of green kryptonite- if such material really existed- without suffering even the hint of a stomachache. And so far, not a single super-powered villain has threatened to roast him with a fire breath or zap him with lighting bolts.
To sum it up, Citizen Prime has no superpowers, no super-villain archenemies, and no super-weaknesses- unless you count bullets, knives, baseball bats, bricks or anything else that might cause physical damage to an ordinary human.
Sounds pretty much like a regular guy, right? Not so fast, Citizen Prime is a superhero, a real-life superhero. He wears a costume- black body armor and a similarly- colored helmet with a dark visor- and patrols the night streets of Phoenix, looking for wrongs to right. He has a secret identity, too. Few people, he says, know the name of the man behind that dark visor.
Citizen Prim might seem like a strange fellow, but he’s not alone, in the Phoenix area or around the country. A growing number of people- men and women, young and old, living in big cities and small towns, are donning homemade costumes and taking to the streets of their own communities. Some are out to stop crimes. Others provide comfort- blankets, clothing and food- to the homeless. Some erase graffiti or pick up litter. Others try to stop bar fights from getting out of hand.
And that’s just the beginning of these heroes’ specialties. At least one- New York City’s Terrifica, with her blonde wig and golden mask- wears pink tights, sips Shirley Temples, in bars and tries to stop young women from tumbling into alcohol- fueled one-night stands. Another, calling himself Polar Man, grabs a shovel and clears snow from the sidewalks of the elderly. Polar Man lives up north in Canada, so you understand the heroism in his actions.
The real-life superhero community, then, is a varied lot. But Citizen Prim says its members have at least one thing in common: They’re somehow trying to make a difference.
“Anyone can be a hero,” he says. “That is what Citizen Prime is really all about. Even if you don’t ever put on a costume, you can be out there making the streets a safer place. There are so many more of us good people than there are gangsters or criminals. There are so many more of us than there are bad people. All we need is civic pride and brotherhood, and we can take back the streets. We won’t have to figure out anymore what shade of fear we are today.”
Are folks like Citizen Prime- or Green Scorpion, Dark Guardian or Mr. Silent, other members of the real-life superhero brigade- at the forefront of a new trend? Can they make a real difference in their communities? Citizen Prime thinks so. And if you disagree? He doesn’t really care.
BIRTH OF A HERO
Citizen Prime as been patrolling the Phoenix streets for about seven months. Becoming a superhero, though, wasn’t a decision he made lightly. For six months prior to his first patrols, Prime researched the real-life superhero community, logging on to sites such as the World Superhero Registry (worldsuperheroregistry.com), which list profiles of real-life masked adventurers and crime-fighting groups across the country.
Prime liked what he saw. There was something inspiring about the passion displayed by heroes like Mr. Silent and Doktor DiscorD, two real-life superheroes who have become semi-famous for their work in Indianapolis. There real-life superheroes he read about weren’t complaining about the way things were. They were trying to make a change, even if that meant simply picking up litter or helping a homeless person cross a busy street.
When Prime’s on patrol, he isn’t looking for trouble. Don’t expect to see his name in the morning papers along with photos of a foiled bank robbery. Bullets don’t bounce off his chest, so Citizen Prime isn’t likely to tackle a gang of armed criminals. He’s far more likely to hit the streets with a car stuffed full of blankets and clothing to pass out to homeless men and women. He might call the police after spotting a drunk driver weaving down the Phoenix streets, or he might stop to chat with some youngsters about the value of doing good deeds.
Fist fights and karate chops? They’re rarely on Prime’s agenda.
The way he sees it, it’s far more important to serve as a source for hope that it is to get the snot kicked out of him during a brawl in a dark alley.
“We’re not standing on the rooftops, grappling hooks at the ready. But we are trying to make a difference. We’re sort of like the Guardian Angels on steroids.” Citizen Prime says.
Not having superpowers, of course, means that superheroes such as Prime have to make do with what they have. So, while Superman soars above the skies of Metropolis and Spider-Man swings from skyscraper to skyscraper in New York City, Citizen Prime relies on his car to get around. It’s easier to cover a lot of ground that way.
A typical patrol for Prime goes something like this: Late last fall, he was driving into the Phoenix when he spotted a car weaving on the road. It looked like a drink driver, so Prime picked up his cell phone and called the highway patrol, reporting the care and its license plate number. Less than a minute later, a patrol car zipped past him and pulled the drunk driver over.
Not heroic? Maybe it is, and maybe it’s not, but how often do drivers simply ignore the signs of an impaired motorist? And if Prime hadn’t dialed those numbers, who’s to say that the erratic driver, drunk or not, wouldn’t have cause a serious accident?
Another night, Citizen Prime noticed some suspicious individuals scoping out cars in a dark parking lot. Prime pulled into the lot with his parking lights on. He remained there until the suspicious individuals fled the scene.
And, not as dramatic as defusing a bomb or tossing a mugger into a dumpster, but the way Prime sees it, his presence might have stopped a crime.
“That’s what we’re like- we are big, red sirens,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s just about being present, and not being afraid to remain present, to stop someone from even committing a crime in the first place.”
A SECRET LIFE, NOT-SO-SECRET PROBLEMS
Prime is open about his life about a superhero. He’s not as forthcoming about his true identity, however. He won’t give out his real name, and says that few people know how he spends his evenings when he’s not patrolling the streets.
He is married, though, and his wife knows all about Citizen Prime. Surprisingly, she approves of her husband’s evening adventures.
Green Scorpion, another local real-life superheroes, is even more tight-lipped about his real identity. He makes sure as few people as possible know who he really is.
“I don’t share my superhero identity much,” he writes in an e-mail message, his preferred method of communication. “Most people thing we are nuts or joking.”
The Green Scorpion, though, isn’t joking. And that’s a point he and the other men and women who call themselves real-life superheroes stress: they’re not dressing up for kicks- well maybe just a little- but to help others.
The Green Scorpion is another masked adventurer working in Phoenix. He has his own tagline- “Evildoers, beware the sting of the Green Scorpion!”- that he includes on his MySpace page and in all of his e-mail messages. And his costume is pretty impressive- a trench coat, ultra- creepy mask and wide- brimmed hat.
Green Scorpion and Citizen Prime, however, do have something in common: Sometimes superheroes’ real lives collide with their masked lives.
Take for example, Ragensi, a 23-year- old real-life superhero who works in Huntington Beach, California. On patrol early last October, he realized that his cupboards at home were bare. Like any shopper, he ducked into a nearby supermarket to pick up some last-minute groceries. Ragensi, though, had to do his shopping in full costume, and although it was October, it wasn’t close enough to Halloween for costume-party time.
To understand this fully, it’s important to picture Ragensi’s costume. It’s no happy, day-glo superhero outfit. Think Batman, not Superman. Ragensi looks much like a ninja, clad in all black with his fingerless gloves and a dark scarf-like swath of fabric hiding all of his face except his eyes. And those eyes are creepy, highlighted by dark makeup. It gives Ragensi the permanent wide-open stare of someone who’s missing a few marbles. But when Ragensi stepped into his local market, no one, surprisingly, made a peep. No pointed fingers, no gasps and not a single, “Look at that!”
On his MySpace blog, Ragensi mentions that he felt almost invisible. This story is located next to a series of photos showing the masked adventurer pushing his shopping cart though the store’s aisles. In one shot, Ragensi proudly holds in his gloved hands a bag of Johnny Cat kitty litter. The effect is both unsettling and comical.
Balancing two lives isn’t the only challenge real-life superheroes face. They also have to deal with the difficulties of designing the perfect costume- it not only has to symbolize what a hero stands for, but it also must be functional. Accomplishing both tasks isn’t as easy as it sounds.
In the comics, this looks simple. Superman slips into a phone booth. Iron Man snaps on his metal suit. But in real life, things get complicated.
Ghost, a member of the Black Monday Society, a group of real-life superheroes based in Salt Lake City, knows all about costume hassles. On a MySpace blog dedicated to the exploits of the society, Ghost’s partner, Ferox, writes that the hero is still experimenting with his mask. The Reason? It’s difficult to take a much-needed coffee break when your superhero mask covers your entire face.
Ferox, too, has had his fair share of costume problems. In a phone interview, Ferox reveals that he originally called himself American Corpse and wore a costume that featured a gas mask. Turns out, the local police didn’t appreciate the look, especially after the events of September 11, 2001.
All of which raises an obvious question: Why do real-life superheroes need a costume at all? Can’t they simply do their good deeds, or run patrols, in street clothes? Dark Guardian, a real-life superhero based out of New York City who dresses in a black-and-white costume complete with a dark mask, has an answer:
“It’s about being an icon,” he says. “When you’re walking around doing stuff as a regular guy, people won’t notice you as much. They won’t take a second look. They see a guy dressed like me and they wonder what’s going on. It helps spread our message.”
AN ONLINE HEADQUARTERS
All good superheroes need a headquarters. Batman had his Bat Cave, Superman his Fortress of Solitude. Real-life superheroes have the World Superhero Registry. The site features profiles of dozens of real-life superheroes, from New York City to Los Angeles. It includes information about superhero teams- thing Justice League or Super Friends- groups like the Moonlight Club, Black Monday Society or Boise Brigade.
And when a superhero just needs to talk, there’s an online forum. The forum has hosted discussions on the best form of martial arts for a superhero (one member suggested Krav Maga, the official self-defense system used by the Israeli Defense Forces); the feasibility and concerns of developing a jet pack capable of lifting a human into the air (it might lift a superhero, but how would the hero gain enough control over the pack to fly accurately?); the best diet for a superhero; and the possibility of developing special gloves that shoot pepper spray.
The World Superhero Registry is the brainchild of Kevlex, a part-time, real-life superhero based in Flagstaff.
Kevlex says that the site was a natural for him. He has obvious computer skills, and he’s long been fascinated by the possibility that ordinary people could perform super-heroic feats. As a high school student, Kevlex- a name that comes from the combination of Kevlar body armor and spandex- would wander the halls of his school with a mask hidden on him, in case any danger popped up. He never had the opportunity to don that mask, but, he says, he never lost his passion for real-life superheroes.
Running the World Superhero Registry and going out on patrols maybe two times a month hasn’t imposed on much on Kevlex’s real life. He won’t give out his real name, but he does offer that he’s 40 years old and does have a real job.
Like other real-life superheroes, Kevlex isn’t surprise that men and women across the country are putting on masks and capes and patrolling the streets. He’s more surprised, he says, that there aren’t more people like him.
“I was surprise initially that something like this hadn’t occurred previously,” he says. “We have everything from radical terrorists to people who live in complete silence in monasteries. We have every extreme possible out there. The superhero archetype is so in the public consciousness that you’d think there would be people out there doing this long ago.”
NO PAIN, NO GAIN?
It’s hard to think about becoming a superhero without thinking about pain. Even the most skilled heroes in the comics get beat up nearly every day. That’s not much fun. Local adventurer Green Scorpion, who won’t go into details about his escapades, says that at times he has gone home with nasty injuries following his patrols.
“I have encountered property crimes, theft and assault,” Green Scorpion writes via e-mail. “I have ended up with some wicked bruises, and have come home limping a time or two. I don’t worry about getting hurt, though. I wear protective gear, and do not let myself get backed into corners.”
While Ragensi out in California spends most of his time as a superhero delivering blankets and hot coffee to the homeless or dropping off bags of toys to a nearby children’s hospital, he has occasionally stumbled upon more serious matters. Once, he says, he stopped and attempted mugging in a part, and had to tie the mugger’s hands to a lamppost.
Is Ragensi ever worried that he might get hurt?
“The thought does cross my mind from time to time,” he says. “The way I see it, though, is that you can get hurt in a lot of professions. Physical danger is just a reality of life, even for those who do their best to avoid it. Not that I’m saying I’m going to be stupid and rush into a dangerous situation without a care in the world. I’m just not going to let fears hold me back from living my life to the fullest.”
So, how long is the lifespan of a real-life superhero? Can we expect to see Ragensi as a 50-year-old man tying muggers to street lamps? And what about Green Scorpion? Will he be willing to sustain those bumps and bruise once he’s approaching mid-life crisis time? And if these heroes retire, will other real-life heroes take their places?
That’s hard to say. But the blogs written by these masked adventurers do offer hints that nighttime patrols and costume making aren’t necessarily all fun and games.
Several heroes have written about falling into funks, when patrols don’t offer the same thrill. Others have requested that Kevlex remove their names from the World Superhero Registry, explaining that they’re taking leaves of absences.
But Citizen Prime shows no sign of retiring from the hero life. Patrols still give him a rush, and he’s even working on creating a new superhero community, WHO, which stands for Worldwide Heroes, although, at press time, this project was place on the backburner.
“I don’t find it very hard at all to do this,” says Citizen Prime. “I don have a normal life and a normal job. But this really enhances the rest my life. I am always on patrol, even when I’m not in uniform. If I see something like a guy yelling at his wife in a dark parking lot, I’ll roll down my window to see whether I can help defuse the situation.
Really, Citizen Prime is just an extension of that.” -Dan Rafter lives in St. Charles, Illinois. He can be reached at
[email protected]

For those who live in or around Phoenix, I highly recommend picking up a copy of the latest Phoenix magazine.  Inside you will find an article about real life superheroes and the great work they are doing in this pioneering effort to raise awareness.
If you live to far from Phoenix and cannot get a copy, I hope Phoenix magazine will go easy on me for presenting a copy here for the community to enjoy!
Citizen Prime
 

A costumed do-gooder’s affect on the community is like a pebble in the pond.  By yourself, you appear to help little.  But that would be a wrong assumption.  Your example expands exponentially.  People see you.  Drug dealers avoid you.  Most importantly, you give others the idea that they can be heroes too.  You don’t even have to have a costume to make a difference.  Just be willing to turn back around and check on that broken down car, or just stick around, ready to intercede if an argument goes south.  Good people everywhere have the heart of a hero, if given the chance to show it.  Its finding ways to bring that out, to join together, to show the world that we won’t allow crime and injustice to ruin our day.  That is your mission once you find The Heart of a Hero.  Be the pebble.