Tag mr. silent

John Harlow in Los Angeles
For Mr Invisible, the first and last blow to his burgeoning career as a superhero was an unexpected punch that flattened his nose.
“After months of designing my costume, getting my street moves just right, it was my first week out as a Real Life Superhero – and probably my last. This tiny, tiny girl did not like me trying to calm down her screaming boyfriend. She blindsided me, I’m still bruised. It’s dangerous out there,” said the deflated would-be crime fighter last week.
Mr Invisible is cheered that at least his grey one-piece “invisibility suit” works, proven when a drunk urinated on him in an alley. But he is weary of lurking in dark, down-town Los Angeles after dark.
The 29-year-old graduate is “refocusing” on his day job as an insurance salesman. His farewell appearance will be at a New Year’s Eve party.
Mr Invisible may be living up to his name but his spray-painted “supershoes” will quickly be filled by another Real Life Superhero eager to save America from itself. There are, according to the recently launched World Superhero Registry, more than 200 men and a few women who are willing to dress up as comic book heroes and patrol the urban streets in search of, if not super-villains, then pickpockets and bullies.
They may look wacky, but the superhero community was born in the embers of the 9/11 terrorist attacks when ordinary people wanted to do something short of enlisting. They were boosted by a glut of Hollywood superhero movies.
In recent weeks, prompted by heady buzz words such as “active citizenry” during the Barack Obama campaign, the pace of enrolment has speeded up. Up to 20 new “Reals”, as they call themselves, have materialised in the past month.
The Real rules are simple. They must stand for unambiguous and unsponsored good. They must create their own Spandex and rubber costumes without infringing Marvel or DC Comics copyrights, but match them with exotic names – Green Scorpion in Arizona, Terrifica in New York, Mr Xtreme in San Diego and Mr Silent in Indianapolis.
They must shun guns or knives to avoid being arrested as vigilantes, even if their nemeses may be armed. Their best weapon is not muscle but the internet – an essential tool in their war on crime is a homepage stating the message of doom for super-villains.
This is more than bravado, say veterans. It may help as evidence after a Real has been arrested or even committed to a mental health hospital for evaluation. That happened to Mr Invisible’s equally short-lived predecessor, Black Owl, who last summer had to be sprung from a psychiatric ward by his teenage daughter who told doctors: “Dad forgot for a moment, when faced with police, just for a moment, that he did not have real superpowers. He could not just fly away.”
“This is a more serious business than it looks,” said Citizen Prime, whose $4,000 (£2,700) costume disguises an Arizona businessman and father of a toddler who thinks his cape, mask and stun-gun are cool.
Prime patrols some of the most dangerous streets in Phoenix but, like most Reals, is reluctant to speak about the villains he has dispatched with a blow from his martial arts-honed forearm. He does admit helping a motorist change a flat tyre.
“Kids love the costume, so I seek to keep them out of the gangs today rather than take them on tomorrow,” said Prime who, at 41, regards himself as on the mature wing of the Real community.
He is worried about lunatics and hotheads. He says he would never act like the Black Monday Society in Salt Lake City who interrupt drug deals in public parks and face off against armed thugs.
Utah police officers say they appreciate Ghost, a 33-year-old concrete worker, and his colourfully costumed cohorts Insignis, Oni, Ha! and Silver Dragon. But other police departments recall that America’s most feared gangs, the Crips and the Bloods, were also born as idealistic “community defenders”.
It can be dangerous. Master Legend of Florida, who arms himself with a pepper-spraying cannon powered by cans of antiperspirant, was attacked by a man with a hammer.
There is a high burn-out rate. Terrifica, a 5ft 9in redcaped superheroine, who would manhandle drunken girls away from heavy-handed dates in nocturnal New York, spoke about how she despised her “weak, needy and dumped” alter-ego Sarah.
Artemis of San Diego reported on his blog that he had heard a woman screaming outside his home but by the time he had dressed up in his costume the police were already there. Kevlex, 47, who runs the Superhero Registry, says he patrols more in winter than summer in Arizona, when his Kevlar and Spandex kit itches. But the deadliest kryptonite against a superhero is boredom.
“I was out every night, 8pm until 2am, hanging about all the bad corners and nothing happened, nada, zip,” recalled Mr Invisible. “It was raining: even the drug dealers were at home. And often cops are just too good at their jobs.”
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/us_and_americas/article5404186.ece

so tonight is the first night in a new era here in indianapolis.
the dawn of the age of superheroes.
after realizing the total lack of justice in the world,my friends and i have decided to become superheroes in order to balance this fracturing planet of ours.
tonight,with my partner in crime fighting “Mr. Silent”,we went around the city helping people and stopping fights,drunk drivers,and a group of young dumb kids hitting an old woman’s car.
we met the mayor of the bums here named ronald whom i will refer to now as Mayor McCheese..he said we have the bums support and that they have some weapons to protect themselves.we’re going to make shirts with pics of our superhero group and hand them out to the city’s homeless..they will state something along the lines of “our heroes”
for the most part,people accepted us right away,and many saluted us as we would walk by.we got a lot of support from the fair people of this city,and that is the kind of positive reinforcement i needed to help me fight crime all night.
the sad thing is this,while trying to stop a fight between two drunken latinos,the police pulled up..they watched them fighting,and us trying to break it up,and after about 2 minutes,they just left.
no help or anything.we were in front of the greyhound station at the time and people said things like “the police here don’t do anything,do they?”..to which we replied “of course not!which is why this city is in such dire need of us!”..there the cops were,getting paid to fight crime,and they just drove by,but us poor superheroes get nothing,yet we’re the ones making a difference..you know,i really dont care though,i dont need money to do this…fighting crime is the cherry on top of my sundae of justice,and i’ll eat those cherries until i get sick.
and then i’ll eat some more.
…that’s just the type of crime fighter i am.
i think the idea of superheroes are so ingrained in the collective unconscious of america,that people just accept the idea that people are doing it..and once they see that we’re doing something they’ve always wanted to do,they will follow suit.
we’ve already amassed a rather formable team under the name
The Justice Society of Justice (now offering twice as much justice as the competitors!).
Our roster so far is: team leader Captain Glory,Mr. Silent,myself (as both The Human Robot,Mr. Geisha and very rarely i break out the german kung fu stylings of Doktor Deutschland),The Apostolic Avenger,Absurdo,The Plunisher,The Hamburger Helper,our jewish rapper friend Dr.Dreidel and his sidekick the Kosher Kid,plus help from our newest comrade,the gynecological justice of The Green Discharge!
..we have affiliate super heroes around the midwest like Cap’n Whiskey in chicago, and Liquid Courage (m.i.a. last seen picking on huge jocks in a bar,downtown louisville)
..separate from the JSJ,but still equally worthy of praise are the michigan based crime fighting family of Captain Jackson,The Queen of Hearts and Crime Fighter Girl.(yeah,i know her name sucks,but come on..she’s only 15)
slowly but surely we as superheroes will help bring this fallen nation of corruption to it’s full glorious potential!
you know what im saying is true!..stand up,fight for justice,put on a mask and cape,and get mad at bad!we have nothing to lose but our identities.we have a world to win!
while doing our rounds,various security guards all over town gave us thumbs up and many citizens waved and wished us well in our non stop fight against tyranny…well,maybe not “nonstop”,because i need to recoup for tomorrow night’s patrol.
so it’s time for bed.
everything i’ve told you is true.this is not satire.
god speed.
and remember
if you’re not sure if you’re super yet,
and you see a crime…….please report it.
leave crime fighting to the professionals.

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

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

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

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

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
 

well,another night of patrolling the city.
word is starting to spread about the justice society of justice’s exploits..someone even came up tonight and said “hey,aren’t you those superheroes?”..ahh,the curiousness of it all.
we only ran with a 3 man patrol group this evening,which is kind of dangerous,but we did it anyway (it’s tuesday for chrissake)…Captain Whiskey,instead of fighting along side of us,decided to sleep..(crime doesn’t sleep!)..the Apostolic Avenger,and his wife the Green Discharge had to stay home and study for college exams.Redundo was busy at his job wrangling tards,and Powerful Man had to get up early to do a 12 hour security shift..*sigh*
come on guys…a little more professionalism,ooook?seriously though..good hereos are hard to find nowadays,so i’ll let it slide.
tonight we were fortunate enough to have a surprise visit from Doom Bunny..his military training is always a good thing to have on your side,but fortunately,we didn’t have to use any of our might. (besides almost getting into a impromptu kung fu fight with some mexicans)
i see it this way..
if the streets are quiet and there’s no crime to stop,then that just means we’re doing our jobs well.
the popularity of this thing is going thru the roof..everyone who hears about it instantly wants to suit up and come along with their own moronic character ideas and ridiculous costumes..a good friend of mine who is overly busty has come up with a great cliche patriotic female superhero identity…The TWIN TOWERS.she’s planning on having images of tower one and two over her crime fighting busoms of hope.
Cap’n America would be proud,lord knows i am.
things have gotten strange since i started fighting crime,everything seems so primary.so black and white…
i’m hoping that when supervillains start coming out of the woodwork,we’ll be prepared…i’m hoping for more joker style villains than say,lex luthor style…the lex type villain would have lots of money and gadgets at his disposal to further his sinister ends,while the joker type would just be a clown.
and i’ll kick a fuckin clown’s ass anyday.
peace in the streets
DoktorDiscorD

by Dan Rafter
Be worried, people of Boise. Be very worried.
You are not protected.
Sure, the police are still there to handle your pickpockets, muggers, thieves and robbers. But what if a supervillain drops out of the sky, shooting lightning bolts from his fingertips? What if a nuclear bomb comes rushing through downtown? Who’s going to stop it now that the Boise Brigade is out of action?
Yes, the news is true: The Boise Brigade is on hiatus, at the very least. When will they return to patrol the city’s streets? No one knows. The Boise Brigade, that team of real-life superheroes who vowed to protect the city, is officially in training.
Wait. You don’t know what the Boise Brigade is? You’ve never heard of Nightfall or Exemplar or Freya? The Boise Brigade is a team of real-life superheroes.
The Brigade’s members can’t fly, turn invisible, lift battleships over their heads or spit fire. But they still consider themselves superheroes. And they’re far from alone. An entire community of adventurers, located everywhere from Wisconsin to Phoenix, from Los Angeles to New York City, call themselves real-life superheroes. With names like Dark Guardian, Citizen Prime, Ferox and Mr. Silent, they dress in costumes–using masks and capes and body armor, silver canes, bowler hats, whatever’s around–and patrol the streets of their cities, looking for crimes to stop and people to help.
It sounds like fiction, but it’s real. Just log on to the World Superhero Registry at www.worldsuperheroregistry.com, to find a list.
Here’s how Nightfall describes himself on his MySpace page: “To the bad people, I’m that thing that hides in the shadows that we’re all afraid of, and to the good people I’m the protector that looks over them when they walk home alone at night.”
But, where are they? What are these real-life heroes doing to protect the citizens of Boise?
Who knows? The Brigade declined the opportunity to be interviewed for this story. In an e-mail message, Nightfall reported that the team may not yet be ready to tackle its lofty mission. He cited the group members’ ages–they are all fairly young–and the fact that they are still training to be superheroes. They are also questioning, Nightfall says, whether Boise even needs real-life superheroes.
Does this mean that Boise is on its own? It’s hard to tell; Nightfall did not respond to an e-mail message asking for more information. There is some hope, though, that the brigade is not on a permanent break: Nightfall promised an interview with BW in the future, when the group is more certain of how it will operate or if it is even needed.
If the group is interested in learning the challenges and rewards of being a real-life superhero, they can always speak with more veteran members of the community.
Mr. Silent and Doktor DiscorD have been patrolling the streets of Indianapolis, sometimes together, sometimes alone, for more than a year. They’ve become local celebrities, with Mr. Silent and his silver mask, black bowler hat, white gloves and trademark cane, becoming an especially common sight in Indianapolis’ magazines and newspapers and on local TV stations.
“Most people my age, when boredom comes on, they decide to hang out with friends, go drinking, see a show or something like that,” Doktor DiscorD says. “I felt like doing something different. Not only could I alleviate my boredom in a novel way, I could also help people.”
Just because he’s a superhero doesn’t mean Doktor DiscorD is a saint. He admits this: Early in a phone interview, he needs to take a quick break to find and light a cigarette.
“Yeah, I’m no Superman,” he says.
That applies to busting up criminals, too. Like most of the real-life superheroes out there–the sane ones, at least–Doktor DiscorD would rather help than fight. To see the truth in this, check out the blogs written by most real-life supeheroes. Most are clustered on MySpace. Most patrols consist of little more than superheroes chatting with residents, helping people who are lost or even refilling the plastic baggies in those doggie-doo boxes in public parks.
But while 99 percent of patrols are quiet, there are exceptions. Mr. Silent, for example, earlier this year stopped a domestic violence situation from getting out of hand. He spotted a man and woman arguing outside a bar on a busy September night. The man angrily threw the woman against a brick wall. That was all Mr. Silent needed to see.
He leapt between the man and woman, brandishing his silver cane. The man screamed at him to leave. Mr. Silent didn’t budge. The man got angrier. Mr. Silent still didn’t flinch.
That’s when the cops showed up, and carted the angry man away.
On his blog, Mr. Silent wrote about shaking with adrenaline as he left the scene. He also wrote about how unimpressed the police were with his mask and outfit. They thanked him for his help and then went about their business.
“They acted as though they always see superheroes,” Mr. Silent wrote.
Supherhero, from Clearwater, Florida, agrees that a real-life superhero should concentrate on public service, not crime fighting. Superhero is far more interested in doing good deeds–while wearing his red-and-blue costume, complete with a yellow belt emblazoned with the initials “SH” on it–than he is in jumping in the middle of gang fights. This December, he donated 200 toys to a children’s hospital.
“This is an exciting life,” Superhero says. “You can’t tell me it’s not. And I’m lucky that my girlfriend thinks it’s great, too. She zips up my suit and sends me out the door when I’m ready to patrol.”
There is hope, then, for the Boise Brigade. Once they finish their training and figure out their place in the city, maybe you’ll see them in the shadows, watching for trouble, for people in need.
If you can’t wait, move to Canada. You might run into Polar Man, a real-life superhero whose mission includes shoveling snow from the sidewalks of the elderly. You can go to New York City, too, where you might meet Terrifica, dressed in pink with a flowing blonde wig. She sits in New York City bars, usually drinking Shirley Temples, and does her best to prevent tipsy women from entering into regrettable one-night stands. She’s known among some people in the superhero community as a “super cockblocker.”
In the words of Citizen Prime, a real-life hero based in Phoenix, Arizona, it doesn’t take anything more powerful than conviction to don the superhero title:
“My biggest gripe on how we remade our world after September 11 is that we’re now always wondering what shade of afraid we are today,” Prime says. “We might have lost track of how to enjoy living. That’s one thing we can focus on as citizens and superheroes. Enjoy the time we’re given here. You might exist living your house and watching the 10 o’clock news afraid there’s going to be a shootings as soon as you drive the Buick out of the driveway. But life isn’t drab and dreary and boring. It’s exciting and bold and fun. We want to inspire our fellow citizens by engaging in good deeds. That’s what it’s about.”
http://www.boiseweekly.com/boise/an-unprotected-city/Content?oid=930551

another busy night.
circle city classic.
a massive gathering of african americans from across the midwest.
60,000+ people within 10 square blocks.
cops everywhere with riot gear and horses.
while investigating some trouble outside of a parking garage,we were asked to stand back from the entrance as the police went in with shot guns..i still have no idea what happened,but i heard no gun shots..another citizen was trying to get into the garage,and we began talking..within seconds he said..”hey,are you justin?”…i played it off and told him i wasn’t,of course….it was some kid i haven’t seen for years who remembered me from the performance art stuff i’d do downtown.
fuck!
well,anywho
tonight our squad got some help from the newest member of the JSJ,Kid Christ..
some guy said “oh,thank you jesus for putting all them big ass hos in my building”..we said amen and walked on..
man..one thing i’ve noticed is,black girls LOVE Mr. Silent.
he got 3 different phone numbers tonight and some girl said “i bet you tha bomb in bed”..
i about shat.
yeah bebe.
so 1nce again
peace on tha streets,dawg.
Doktor DiscorD

i got my first super-groupie tonight too..she loved my outfit,and told me she’d help me fight the crack dealers downtown while making googly eyes at me..but i realized she doesn’t love me,just the suit and the idea of me..and to make things worse, some random woman at the bus stop tried to get Mr. Silent to strip…but none of that on the job!please ladies,we’re trying to do the city a service,and we’re very flattered at the intentions and sexual attention,but please..not while we’re on patrol,ok?

by Cameron Lawrence
Supposedly art imitates life, but all evidence suggests a more cyclical relationship. Live-action role playing (LARPing), where fantasy enthusiasts live out their favorite stories and characters — medieval, vampire, “Lord of the Rings,” or something else — is one thing. With LARPing the fantasy is restricted to a controlled environment governed by rules. In short, live-action role playing is a game. Even superhero-based LARP groups subject themselves to specific rules and limitations, drawing a clear line between play and everyday living. But what happens when real-life superheroes emerge in our cities, fighting crime in full costumes with bona fide (in most cases) super hero names?
According to INtake Weekly, super heroes are emerging in cities all over the world, and a life of reading comics aside, these fledgling super personalities got their inspiration from one place: Indianapolis, Indiana. Mr. Silent, named for his abilities to traverse the crime-ridden streets of Indianapolis with absolute stealth, and Doktor DiscorD (3D for short), have been patrolling the city’s streets for over a year — their faces covered in masks and adorned in full costumes. Mr. Silent sports a black derby, a pin-striped suit sans the jacket, and a silver tie. What tops it off is a menacing silver cane he carries in the name of Lady Justice. Doktor DiscorD also carries a cane and wears a pair of large goggles with one red and one blue lens to compliment his mostly-black ensemble.