Tag superheroes anonymous

Originally posted: http://www.tesh.com/ittrium/visit/A1x97x1y1xa5x1x76y1x2455x1x9by1x245ax1y5x1bf69x5x1
By John Tesh
Who’s slower than a speeding bullet, less powerful than a locomotive, unable to leap tall buildings in a single bound, yet still doing whatever they can to save the world? According to CNN, a growing number of regular citizens are volunteering their time these days to become real-life superheroes. Some dress up in elaborate costumes, while others work anonymously. Some have fancy names – like Mr. Xtreme, Civitron or the Dark Guardian! Most real-life superheroes go by less colorful names – like Direction Man, Camera Man, and The Cleanser. While none of these people have any real super powers, they’re all finding small ways to help make their community better.
For example: Direction Man walks around the streets of New York, offering help to complete strangers who look lost. Meanwhile, The Cleanser scours city sidewalks and parks, picking up trash. Others use their superhero alter egos to help raise money for the homeless, to feed needy children, or to hand out fliers in high-crime neighborhoods. This new superhero movement began several years ago, when a handful of comic book fans bonded with each other on MySpace. Today, there are nearly 300 real-life superheroes working around the world, and the worse the economy gets, the more people want to help.
That’s the word from Ben Goldman, a self-proclaimed “superhero historian” who keeps track of all these crusaders through his website: SuperheroesAnonymous.com. He says there’s been a growing interest in becoming a real-life superhero during the economic downturn, as people start to put more value in what they can do for others, rather than in how many possessions they have. That’s very good news to Stan Lee. He’s the comic book legend who created many fictional superheroes – like Spider-Man and the X-Men. Lee says the urge to do good deeds has always been the #1 calling card for superheroes. So when all is said and done, you don’t need to fly through the air, bend steel, or have x-ray vision to make a difference. Anyone who volunteers their time to help others in their own unique way deserves to be called a super-hero.
 

Originally posted: http://www.aolnews.com/article/superheroes-need-super-support-groups/19544385
By David Moye
July 8) — Being a superhero used to be a specialized field. You either had to be the victim of a bizarre accident, like being bit by a radioactive spider, or suffer a tragic incident, i.e. being the sole survivor, blasted into outer space, from a distant planet as it was being destroyed.
But now things are different. Despite the contention of films like “The Incredibles” that some people are born super compared with the rest of us, being a superhero is a more egalitarian prospect than ever.
Yes, whereas folks used to dress up like Superman or Thor on Halloween, these days, people want to be superheroes all year long. Also, rather than piggybacking on some comic book hero, folks would rather become their own superheroes, with powers of their own choosing.

Superhero groups are popping up in cities like San Francisco; Portland, Ore.; and New York City, which is the headquarters of Superheroes Anonymous (SA), a support group of caped crusaders who run around the city doing small acts of good, like dispensing toiletries to the homeless while dressed in superhero costumes.
SA is modeled after 12-step groups like Alcoholics Anonymous, but rather than meet to help one another recover from being super, this offbeat organization tries to inspire people to become their own superheroes.
The organization has been around four years, and co-founder Ben Goldman — whose superhero identity is “Camera Man,” a documentarian to all the organization’s good works — says self-empowerment is the key to understanding the group’s mission.
“People become superheroes because they want to engage a certain degree of control in making the world a better place,” Goldman said.
Goldman’s group has been around four years and now has chapters in Portland and New Bedford, Mass.
In addition, two event organizers in San Francisco have created an annual festival designed to honor “heroes” who are doing things in their communities and to inspire people to become the heroes they’ve always been inside.
The second annual Superhero Street Fair takes place Saturday in the Bayview neighborhood and will have a few hundred folks dressed up as superheroes.
According to FlashNews, regular Joes and Janes are encouraged to wear their very own made-up superhero outfits and show off their unique superpowers, which organizer Joegh Bullock says could include singing, dancing, painting or even kissing, if that’s their forte.
Bullock says that by embracing their own special powers and looking deep inside themselves, people will realize how super they really are and “hopefully feel those powers in them throughout the year.”
He and his fellow organizer came up with the idea awhile back when they realized they wanted an event where everyone would wear the same type of costume.
“We wanted something where you wouldn’t have one person be a clown and another be a fairy,” Bullock said. “We also wanted to take the superpowers out of ‘Hollywood’ and make them things ordinary people can do.”
Bullock expects as many as 3,000 people will attend, and many of those will be coming out of the superhero closet for the first time. For those people, he offers this advice: Believe in your power. A costume isn’t just a costume, it’s an attitude.”
As Bullock sees it, everyone has an alter ego that should be embraced.
“Superman had his secret identity, but we all have a superpower we can call on at anytime. For instance, I call myself ‘Tape Man.’ It came up recently when I was putting up posters for the event at the same time other people were posting things around town. I had strips of tape all over my body and people were grabbing it off me.”
One woman who is embracing her super side Saturday is professional costume designer Sarah Boll.
Last year, she wore a magenta wig and purple bodysuit and revealed herself as Ultra Violet, whose “super sparkling powers can dazzle any enemy away.”
This year, Boll is transitioning into a “punk robot” hero but admits she is still working on the powers (“But I do like color,” she adds).
It’s fun for her, but Boll also is inspired to use her costume to help the community. She also believes that dressing up as a hero helps her connect with her inner hero.
“I do feel more like myself when I’m in costume,” she said. “Plus, it’s great whenever people embrace what they’re enthusiastic about and share it.”
Compared with Superheroes Anonymous, the Superhero Street Fair emphasizes fun and whimsy. However, Bullock sees the homemade hero trend as a very powerful one.
“People want something to believe in and empower themselves,” he said. “I know I want to live this way all the time.”

The group has maybe 30 to 40 members, and each one agrees to adopt a 12-point code that includes the following steps:

• Choosing to be better people and becoming a force of good.
• Discovering the source of one’s inner superhero.
• Opening one’s eyes to the environment without shying away from injustice and despair.
• Giving the inner superhero a name.

Because the laws of physics prevent a person from having heat-ray vision like Superman or the ability to run around Earth in a second like the Flash, SA members have to define superpowers more loosely than their comic-book counterparts.
“We believe that you should take something you love to do and transform that into an identity,” Goldman said. “For instance, I love to make documentaries, so I am the group’s historian. That comes in handy when you have a hero like Dark Guardian, who approaches drug dealers in parks and gets them to leave.”
Superheroes Anonymous – Dark Guardian confronts a drug dealer from Ben Goldman on Vimeo.
As far as the costumes are concerned, Goldman says there are two schools of thought.

“Batman created his costume to invoke fear, whereas Superman assumed his in order to be a symbol,” Goldman said. “That’s what we aspire to. It’s one thing to hand out toiletries to the homeless, but when you’re doing it wearing a costume, people are more likely to stop and ask what you’re doing and maybe get involved themselves.”
Comic books like “The Dark Knight” and “Watchmen” suggest that the negative side of being a superhero is the vigilante aspect, and that is something Goldman stresses is not allowed in his group,
“We don’t endorse vigilantism,” he said. “We don’t live in Gotham City where there is a bank robbery every weekend or supervillains trying to destroy the city. We leave those matters in the hands of the police. There are enough things to do such as dropping off toys at Children’s Hospital.”
Goldman’s group has been around four years and now has chapters in Portland and New Bedford, Mass.
In addition, two event organizers in San Francisco have created an annual festival designed to honor “heroes” who are doing things in their communities and to inspire people to become the heroes they’ve always been inside.
The second annual Superhero Street Fair takes place Saturday in the Bayview neighborhood and will have a few hundred folks dressed up as superheroes.
According to FlashNews, regular Joes and Janes are encouraged to wear their very own made-up superhero outfits and show off their unique superpowers, which organizer Joegh Bullock says could include singing, dancing, painting or even kissing, if that’s their forte.
Bullock says that by embracing their own special powers and looking deep inside themselves, people will realize how super they really are and “hopefully feel those powers in them throughout the year.”
He and his fellow organizer came up with the idea awhile back when they realized they wanted an event where everyone would wear the same type of costume.
“We wanted something where you wouldn’t have one person be a clown and another be a fairy,” Bullock said. “We also wanted to take the superpowers out of ‘Hollywood’ and make them things ordinary people can do.”
Bullock expects as many as 3,000 people will attend, and many of those will be coming out of the superhero closet for the first time. For those people, he offers this advice: Believe in your power. A costume isn’t just a costume, it’s an attitude.”
As Bullock sees it, everyone has an alter ego that should be embraced.
“Superman had his secret identity, but we all have a superpower we can call on at anytime. For instance, I call myself ‘Tape Man.’ It came up recently when I was putting up posters for the event at the same time other people were posting things around town. I had strips of tape all over my body and people were grabbing it off me.”
One woman who is embracing her super side Saturday is professional costume designer Sarah Boll.
Last year, she wore a magenta wig and purple bodysuit and revealed herself as Ultra Violet, whose “super sparkling powers can dazzle any enemy away.”
This year, Boll is transitioning into a “punk robot” hero but admits she is still working on the powers (“But I do like color,” she adds).
It’s fun for her, but Boll also is inspired to use her costume to help the community. She also believes that dressing up as a hero helps her connect with her inner hero.
“I do feel more like myself when I’m in costume,” she said. “Plus, it’s great whenever people embrace what they’re enthusiastic about and share it.”
Compared with Superheroes Anonymous, the Superhero Street Fair emphasizes fun and whimsy. However, Bullock sees the homemade hero trend as a very powerful one.
“People want something to believe in and empower themselves,” he said. “I know I want to live this way all the time.”
Filed under: Weird News, Entertainment, Crime

Orignially posted: http://www.gaugemagazine.org/_articles/superheroes/super1.html
By Even Allen
Civitron steps out of a blue Honda Civic in the dark parking lot of an old converted factory building in New Bedford. More than six feet tall, he’s wearing a skintight red spandex bodysuit with a blazing orange ‘C’ on his chest. White sunglasses. Combat boots. A utility belt and improvised arm guards—as he strides into the light of a single bulb hanging in front of the door to the factory, the Nike swoosh of a soccer shin guard is visible on his forearm. He is a Real Life Superhero, and the factory—which looks abandoned with its rough bricks and huge murky windows—contains his lair: Rebelo’s Kenpo Karate Studio. Here, surrounded by multi-colored punching dummies, he trains in Northern Style Praying Mantis Kung Fu.
To protect his civilian identity, Civitron will not allow his real name to be used. He is a twenty-nine year old husband and father, and by day, he works at a program for adults with autism. His dark hair is moussed pompadour-style, and he has a wide, easy grin, his front teeth just a little bit crooked. When he’s not fighting for truth and justice, he’s a normal guy—he even irons his superhero suit.
‘Civitron’ means ‘power of the people’—this is also his cause. His superpowers include helping the homeless, raising money for children’s charities, and distributing water bottles to people enjoying the summer sun without proper hydration. He is one of a growing number of people across America creating superhero identities, donning homemade costumes, and going out into the night to do good. “It’s about standing up for what you believe in and taking action,” he says. “It’s actually being the change you want to see in the world, to quote Ghandi.”
A Real Life Superhero starts with a fantasy from childhood. “It’s just a seed that gets planted within a lot of people,” says Civitron. “As you grow up, you lose that fantastic part of it.” But Real Life Superheroes are reclaiming that Saturday morning cartoon world, taking the myth of the superhero and putting it into action in the real world: hyper-altruism decked out in bright colors.
It’s not exactly the Pow!-Kabam!-crime fighting that Batman practiced. “You read comic books, and you see the example that’s there—this violent image of muscle-y guys and girls pounding people and jumping off rooftops—and battling aliens, which you don’t see.” Civitron laughs. “So we kinda had to invent it ourselves.”
There are about 200 Real Life Superheroes in America. Only about fifty are active—meaning that they don’t simply call themselves by a superhero name, but dress up and champion a cause in the real world. Many conduct homeless outreach, distributing food, jackets, and blankets; some focus on environmental cleanup. Terrifica, one of the early superheroes, helped drunk girls leaving the clubs in New York get home safely until her recent retirement. Foxfire in Michigan wears a black leather jacket and fox facemask—her goal is to bring “magic, mystery, wonder, and awe back into the American psyche.” Some superheroes, like Dark Guardian in New York City, patrol the streets fighting crime. “We’re watching over people,” says Civitron. “At least on a small scale.”
Until about three years ago, Real Life Superheroes existed as a loose affiliation of Myspace accounts—people with superhero identities, some of whom actually lived as superheroes, and some of whom just talked about it. But Chaim “Life” Lazaros, 25, and Ben “The Cameraman” Goldman, 23, both of New York City, brought this Internet subculture into the real world with Superheroes Anonymous—a now-annual gathering of superheroes from across America. Today, Lazaros and Goldman are working with Civitron to turn Superheroes Anonymous into a national nonprofit organization, with chapters all over the country.
When Lazaros and Goldman planned the first gathering, they were not superheroes—they were documentary makers, interested in bringing together as many superheroes as they could to interview them. On October 7, 2007, superheroes from as far away as Minnesota converged in Times Square to pick up trash and help the homeless. In the process of documenting their stories, both Lazaros and Goldman became more than just filmmakers: they joined the movement.
Lazaros was a film student at Columbia University when he began organizing the project. “I really devoted my life to [Superheroes Anonymous] for a very, very long time,” he says. “So much so that I stopped going to school, stopped eating, stopped sleeping.” He slowly realized that as he sacrificed more and more of his life and time to the Superheroes, he was becoming one. Two days before the meeting, in a moment of meditation, he saw that he was a “community crusader”—a less flashy superpower, perhaps, than X-Ray vision or flight, but the realization changed his life. “On the day of the meeting,” he says, “I declared myself as ‘Life’ and became a Real Life Superhero.”
Today, as Life, Lazaros does homeless outreach. He goes out onto the streets at least once a week in full costume—a “hipster militarized business suit” consisting of a skinny black tie, a fedora, black S.W.A.T. pants, military boots, a military jacket, and, most importantly, a backpack full of hand-warmers, heating pads, Nutrigrain bars, toothbrushes, and clothing. For Lazaros, as for all superheroes, the costume is important. Not only does it draw attention to their cause, it symbolizes a moral calling. “I believe I feel the same as when a priest puts on his collar or a police officer puts on his badge,” says Lazaros. “He’s now standing for something higher and he has to act that way.”
‘Life’ is his best self—not an alternate self. For many superheroes, the identity is not one that can be shed—It is not pretend, it is not an act. “It’s less of a Clark Kent/Superman kind of transformation, and more of a Punisher kind of thing,” explains Ben Goldman. “He’s kind of always The Punisher.”
More than three years after the first Superheroes Anonymous meet-up, Goldman is still documenting the stories of the superheroes—and they’ve given him his own superhero name: The Cameraman. In addition to making footage for his documentary, Goldman accompanies superheroes when they go out to fight crime. Dark Guardian patrols Washington Square Park in New York City, telling drug dealers to get out, and threatening to call the police. Goldman films these street patrols, both to deter and to record violence.
In one clip, Dark Guardian, who wears a bullet- and stab-proof red and black suit, confronts a man sitting on a picnic table in the park at night, who he believes is selling drugs. “You gotta go!” he yells, and the man stands up—he towers over Dark Guardian. They go back and forth—“Mind your fuckin’ business,” warns the man, shoving his hand in Dark Guardian’s face, thumb cocked and index and middle fingers pointing straight ahead in the shape of a gun. He walks away cursing as Dark Guardian calls the police, and Dark Guardian turns to the camera. “What was that like?” asks Goldman. “A little scary,” says Dark Guardian. “I was waiting for him to move towards me so I could fuckin’ nail him in the throat.” His bravado slips for just a second as his laugh cracks, high and panicky.
Many superheroes avoid crime fighting—Civitron, despite holding an Orange belt in Kung Fu, does not go out on street patrols. “The cops—that’s their job,” says Civitron.
The cops agree. New Bedford Police Leiutenant Jeffrey Silva says that civilian crime fighting actually heightens the danger in any given situation – instead of one victim, police respond to two. “It’s terrible any time there’s a crime victim,” he says. “But it would be particularly sad if someone trying to do a good thing and help others, because they’re identifiable as a crime fighter, got hurt in the process.” And if even if a superhero emerges from a fight unscathed, there is a fine line between making a citizen’s arrest and committing a crime. If a superhero punches and pins a criminal, they could be charged with assault. Advises Silva: “We would respectfully remind [any] superheroes, actual or aspiring, that, as they say in Spider Man: With great power comes great responsibility.”
Superheroes Anonymous officially discourages crime fighting. For many superheroes—including Civitron and Life—crime fighting was something they did when they were first figuring out their superhero identities. “That’s the example, you know?” says Civitron. “In the comic books.” In the early days of his superhero identity, Civitron wore grey and black and patrolled the streets from Beverly to downtown Salem every night, looking for signs of criminals—he never saw any. “I think my mission is a little different,” he says. “Injustice is not always necessarily crime.”
Civitron is a social activist and a family man. His son is six, and has a superhero identity of his own: Mad Owl, protector of woodland creatures. Together, Civitron and Mad Owl raise money for St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital in New York. St. Mary’s is a center for terminally ill children, and the fundraiser was Mad Owl’s idea: after saving $75 in pennies to go to Disney World, Mad Owl decided instead to use the money to buy toys for the children. This is Civitron’s proudest achievement: inspiring his son to join the good fight. “For me—for Civitron… It goes back to that power, that individual power.” The power to change the world—and to look flashy as hell doing it.
“I want everybody to be a superhero,” says Civitron, smiling. He turns to his karate instructor, Joe Rebelo. “Mr. Rebelo is a superhero,” he says. “I know that. Is he actively pursuing the sort of set criteria for being a superhero? No. That’s just his life, that’s who he is. We’re everywhere. That’s what I mean. Everybody has that potential. Everybody can be a superhero.”

 

Originally posted in Death + Taxes Magainze MarchApril 2010 issue
By Breena Ehrlich
Hollywood abounds with stories these days. But somewhere out there just beyond the shadows, from New York City to Mexico City to New Bedford, Massachusetts, lurks a bona fide, HONEST TO GOD NETWORK OF REAL REAL –LIFE SUPERHEROES. They are not Watchmen. They are not even Kick-Ass or Red Mist. No bullet-proof vest, no Chinese stars. These are normal people- students, bankers, what have you. They just happen to patrol over society in costume, fighting crime and doing good deeds under aliases like Life and The Dark Guardian. They are Superheroes Anonymous. For real.
What’s going on here?” Life asks, ambling up to a pair of cops as they peer though the dusty glass doors of a seemingly abandoned building. The copes turn around, take in the young man’s young face; he looks like one of the Culkin brothers- like that kind from Igby Goes Down. The kid’s fedora is set at a jaunty angle, his black cargo pants are tucked into black jungle boots, his backpack weighs down his shoulders, even though they’re thrown back confidently. He looks like a Brooklyn-dweller. A college student. A kid. Perhaps a nosy kid, the kind that watched too many cops shows as a kid. They probably don’t notice the black mask hanging from his belt loop, or the tzitzis poking out the bottom of his black winter coat.
One of the cops, a jowly man with buzzed hair and a gently swelling belly, gives Life a slight smile. “WE got a call. Some woman can’t get a hold of her husband who’s a security guard. She says she works here, but this place seems abandoned,” he answers with surprising candor and a perfectly stereotypical New York Accent.
“Yeah,” says the other cop, running his hand over his slicked-back gray hair, which still has comb tracks in it from earlier grooming. “I mean, there’s tap on the windows. That means it’s abandoned, right?”
The copes continue to peer though the darkened windows as Life jumps down to inspect a basement-level door. The radios on their belts buzz and crackle: “The missing child is approximately four feet tall, wearing a striped sweater. The suspect-“ Life joins the copes on the steps in mutual consideration of the darkened building, a gray stone apartment building near the Columbia University campus- close enough to Riverside Park that the assemblage can feel the cold air off the water buffeting their backs and faces. The jowly cop’s cheeks are red.
The men in blue bang on the door a few times and then turn to Life with equally stern brows. “Stand back,” says the gray haired cop and positions his shoulders as if to break the door down. Life hops back a little and the cops laugh. “Just Kidding,” Comb Tracks says.
“So are you a student?” Jowls inquires, apparently in no hurry to solve the mystery of the missing security guard.
“No, actually I’m a Real-Life Superhero, Life says with a slight smile, fingering the mask that hangs from his side. The cops look at each other with raised eyebrows and more than a hint of amusement.
“Oh yeah? Well, can you tell us where Columbia security is?” Jowls says with a brief smile. “Maybe they can help us figure out where this guard is
Life gives them directions and follows them to their car,” I can get in and go with you guys if you’d like…” he says, lingering near the cruiser.
“Ha, ha, nah,” says Jowls. “Thanks.” The cops drive off into the night, leaving Life and his backpack in front of the darkened building.
With the squad car disappears the glimmer of danger, the opportunity to race off in the night, the blue and red flashing. In a movie or a comic book this would be the point where our hero’s story really heats up: He discovers that the mission guard has been captured by an evil avenger with a rampant disdain for any and all authority figures- and now the poor old man is being held hostage in some fortress in the dark recesses of Governor’s Island. And because the bumbling cops neglected to adequately hunt for clues our hero is tasked with his safe return. But this is not a move. This is no adaptation- just plain old New York.  IN the realm of the real, Life watched the cruiser disappears into the night, sighs a puff of cold-etched air, and jaywalks across the street. As he hops from the sidewalk, his boots clearing the curb, he indulges a brief exclamation: “Zing!”
LIFE A.K.A. CHAIM LAZAROS is a real-life superhero- designation that would likely cause many a reader to snort in derision or laugh in abject mockery. Visions of plump, sad comic book fans in spandex leap to mind- images of computer geeks wandering around darkened streets, desperately seeking some nefarious B-level crime to debunk. That’s not Life. Life is a do-gooder. He doesn’t fight crime per se– he takes to the streets and provides aid to the poor souls who many of us outright ignore: the homeless.
In a sense, this is his superpower. Where comic superheroes might manifest their powers through a supernatural affinity for controlling the weather or assuming arachnid capabilities, Life’s chosen specialty is the homeless- although he’s the first to admit that he doesn’t actually have any special abilities. “I hate when people ask where my cape is,” Life says. “Capes are stupid and ineffective. No one flies… I don’t have any super powers,” he adds. “I’m just a person. A poor, young person in New York City- and I help a lot of people. I’m not special.” Nevertheless, as his name suggests, Life provides sustenance and, well, life, to the downtrodden, specializing in a particular realm of aid- and to do so he tapes into his two natural abilities: kindness and an aptitude for spin. Life is a natural PR man, an organizer who uses the aesthetic of the super hero, the sheer flashiness of the concept, to attract others to his cause.
Life is one of the heads of Superheroes Anonymous, a collective of citizen who have made it their mission to do good by the world. Some do it in much the same way as Coalition for the Homeless or Habitat for Humanity, and some do it with the more dangerous, risky flair of vigalantes- but they all do it in costume. Each year it holds a sizable conference during which heroes from all over the world assemble. So far there have been three conferences: one in Times Square, New York City, one in New Orleans, and the most recent in New Bedford, Massachusetts, also known as The Secret City due to its large volume of unsolved homicides.
Superheroes Anonymous, which coalesced into its current state in 2007, hardly marks the first incarnation of real-life superhero-dom, although it is probably the most organized superhero affiliation. According to a history written by Hardwire, a hero from Greensboro, North Carolina, the first real-life superhero date back to the seventeenth century- his name was William Lamport, or Zorro. The modern ideal of real-life heroes started to solidify in the seventies with Captain Sticky, a man by the name of Richard Pesta who would patrol San Diego in a bubble-topped Lincoln clad in blue tights and a cape, working to launch investigations into elder care. And then there was Rick Rojatt, a daredevil known as The Human Fly, whose entire family was killed in a car crash that left him temporarily crippled. The nineties heralded the arrival of Marco Rascon Cordova, a Mexico City resident who became Superbarrio and championed the poor and working class, and Terrifica, a New Yorker who took it upon herself to protect drunken women from unwanted advances. And then there’s Civitron, a father and former counselor for children in transition who patrols New Bedford, Massachusetts with his son, The Mad Owl, a superhero-in-the-making with a love for woodland creatures.
In short, this underground community was flourishing, the network reaching across the world. But it was a fractured connection; these do-gooders mostly communicated via Internet forums and MySpace pages, connected only through the currents of the digital age- until Life came along.
Like all superheroes, life has his own creation myth, which more closely mirrors that of the famed comic book authors that of yore than the apocryphal tales of Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne. Like the majority of old-school creators- immigrants and children of immigrants who invented heroes to battle the myriad woes of their woes- Lazaros is a Jew, the son of an Orthodox rabbi who has seven children in all. The second –oldest child, Lazaros is kind of the black sheet. “He’s a very idealistic kid and he has a lot of pity on people that are downtrodden and homeless. He’s a do-gooder and he wants to do go,” his father says, recalling how, as a child, Life took on his entire bunk at sleepaway camp when they were picking on smaller boy.  Still, he hasn’t quite taken the path that his father would like him to.” I thought it was more like a hobby,” his father says of Life’s superheroing. “But it became a very major part of his life. And obviously as a parent I think there are more important priorities. He’s just turned twenty-five. I’d like to see him get married. I’d like to see him have some kind of a vocation that earns a living. This is a nice thing to do on the side, you know, if you have another career. You have a family and you want to do something like this in your free time, that’s okay. But I don’t think it should be taking up the main part of your time.”
Before he became Life, Chaim was on a path that any proud Orthodox papa would approve of. He attended Yeshiva University- a college that focuses on Jewish scholarship- in New York for one year before deciding that he was too smart for the religious school. He also wanted to study film. He applied to NYU and got in (twice), but his family didn’t have the money to send him. So he left college and worked at one of the country’s top ad agencies, J Walter Thompson, where he executed the mindless task of paying invoices before realizing that he wasn’t going anywhere. He had been attending Brooklyn College at night and living in Crown Heights when his girlfriend suggested he apply to Columbia. He got in, they provided him with ample scholarships, and he was able to follow his chosen path: film studies. Little did he know that becoming a superhero would also be apart of his course of study.
Three years ago, Chaim’s friend Bend Goldman, a senior at New York’s New School, saw a sign reading “Real Life Superheroes” outside a comic book store. He was intrigued, so he Googled the term. The sign turned out to be an advertisement for a drawing class, but Goldman’s internet search revealed the rich history of the movement. Both film students, Lazaros and Goldman decided that the subject was ripe for documentation. “This whole project started off as a documentary,” Ben says. “It’s like a case of Gonzo Journalism where the documentarian becomes the subject, especially with Chaim, since he became a superhero through the project.”
“They’re very isolated in all these different communities and only communicate through MySpace and stuff like that,” Chaim says, “There had been a few very small meet-ups, but it was really this Internet culture. Basically we realized that if we made the first all-encompassing gathering of all the superheroes, then we would be able to shoot a documentary in a day.”
And so it began- the first meeting of Superheroes Anonymous. For Chaim, the convention became an all-consuming task. He barely slept. He lost fifteen pounds. He dedicated every moment to orchestrating a massive gathering to take place in New York’s Time Square. And then the duo hit a snag.
“There was a lot of this bullshit started by this one particular superhero that founded the biggest forum on the Internet for superheroes. He’s named Tothian,” Chaim says, “At the time he was respected just because he was a moderator of this forum he started.”
Tothian is a mysterious figure who resided in New Jersey and likes to keep his persona under wraps. On Facebook, his name is simply Tothian ApmhibiousKnight- He refuses to reveal his real name- and his burred picture shows a man with close-cropped hair, wearing what appears to be armor or a bulletproof vest. “I’ve been patrolling since I was about five years old,” Tothian says. “I knew form as early on in life as I can remember that I would be doing this, not as a game,” he adds. “When I was sixteen I graduated from a military high school. At seventeen I joined the Marine Reserves as an Infantryman. I’ve trained in various styles of martial arts for many years. I study criminology, private investigating and foreign languages.” Now Tothian, an ardent fan of Sherlock Holmes, patrols his local streets, striving to mitigate crime in hotspots like Newark, New Jersey. “I make it a point to never set patterns in times nor patrol routs,” Tothian says. “I have to keep it randomized for two reasons: One I don’t want people to work around my pattern. Two, I don’t want people to track me down.”
Tothian, naturally, takes the concept of being a superhero extremely seriously and was wary of the conference. His wariness, in turn lead a number of attendees to cancel their trips, including the emcee of the event, one of the oldest heroes around, dubbed, simply, Superhero. “We didn’t know them too well yet, nor what to expect,” Tothian explains. “But after we all got to know [Ben and Chaim] we saw that they’re great guys with sincere intentions and actually want to do something good for the world.”
Regardless, back in 2007 Chaim was in a bind- he didn’t want to have a meeting without an official superhero emcee. But Chaim had dons his research- he knew about the different types of superheroes, the “community crusader” in particular. “A community crusader is somebody who is not necessarily in a costume but works from within the community to move forward the cause of real-life superheroeism” Chaim explains.
After the debacle with Tothian, Chaim went to Columbia Chabad to think. “I hadn’t slept at all the night before,” he says. “It was a totally crazy week and I was like, praying and wondering, ‘Who is gonna run this thing?’ Then I realized that all the sacrifices I had been making, the thousands of dollars of my own money, all of my time and life spent toward making this happened made ma a community crusader, and therefore a superhero. And therefore I could be the one to lead this meeting. Son on Sunday when we had the meet up in Times Square, that was when I put on the mask for the first time and claimed myself ‘Life.’”
Ben, in turn, became “The Camera Man.”
“My role in Superheroes Anonymous has always been documenting what the superheroes do,” he says. He doesn’t wear a costume, and he sees this whole project as wholly short-term. He doesn’t go on patrols like Life does, but he does accompany heroes like  The Dark Guardian, a swarthy New Yorker who dresses in head-to-toe leather, when they set out on missions to Washington Square Part to take on drug dealers. Although he denies being a hero, guys like The Dark Guardian would be seriously screwed without Ben around- the fact that he wields a camera helps keep criminals in check, proving that you don’t need freezrays or super strength to fight evil.
Life’s own arsenal is rather limited as well, He carries a cell phone, a pocket knight and a backpack filled with water bottles, military-issue meals and ready to eat, granola bars, socks and whatever else he can scrape together for the homeless he tends to . After parting ways with Jowls and Comb Tracks at the abandoned building, Life takes off down the sidewalk, passing houses wreathed in blinking colored lights to stock up at the local RiteAid. He picks up a coupon book and surveys the deals under the deals under the glare of the florescent lights. “This is where my cheap Jewness comes in,” he says with a laugh, trying to decide between Rice Krispie Treats (cheaper, but less nutritionous) and granola bars. But Chaim isn’t being cheap, per se. He’s a recent college grad who makes a small wage working for the Ripple Project, a documentary film company that focuses on social issues. But being the child of a rabbit, Life was taught to give ten percent of his earnings to charity. At the register, he checks over the receipt with the same precision as a fussy mother, but then grabs a handful of chocolate to add it the finally tally. “I love giving people chocolate because they appreciate it. No one else gives them chocolates,” he says.
Outside in the cold again, Life passes a gaggle of college kids on winter break, decked out in hats and puffy jackets, “I was so fucking wasted last weekend,” a girl squeals as she disappears down the concrete while Life heads to St. John the Divine to pass out supplies to the homeless who huddle on the steps. This is one of his usual haunts, and he tried to get there before the Coalition for the Homeless arrives with boxed meals- usually the homeless scatter after the trucks roll away. But when he arrives he sees he’s too late. The Coalition for the Homeless have come and gone and the poor have likely been shooed away. All that greets him when he arrives are granite steps blanketed in snow and ropes stretching across the stairs. “Those assholes,” he mutters, nothing that the ropes were likely put in place to discourage the homeless from hanging out on the steps.
Back in the summer time, the church was like a regular homeless clubhouse, but right now it’s too cold for anyone to linger outside for long. The homeless are all in shelters or are hiding out somewhere in the darkness. Back in August Chaim had tramped down to St. John’s every week- since graduating, he’s been sorting his life out, moving to Harlem and setting up Superheroes Anonymous headquarters (a.k.a. his apartment). Last summer he had leapt up the stairs distributing vitamins and shampoo to a man named John, who wore a giraffe T-shirt and leaned heavily on a cane. Tonight John isn’t here. “I thought at least the Mexicans would be here,” Life says with a sigh.
The Mexicans usually assemble in the front doorway, huddled together under the granite saints that stare out into the darkness like blank-eyed sentinels. The men are likely here illegally and, as they told Chaim, they have “No worky. No casa. Lots of Mexicans. It’s bad.” This summer they have taught Chaim how to say razor (navaja) and toothbrush (cepillo dental) in Spanish. Chaim had asked where their friend Edguardo was and a man wearing a shirt emblazoned with mountain ranges- the kind of souvenir sweatshirt that you buy on vacation- had pointed up at the saints and uttered, “Jesus.”
“Jesus loves me?” Chaim asked, seeming to misunderstand the sentiment. It’s impossible to tell how many streets have unwittingly become graves.

Tonight, however, the streets seem free of the homeless. Life wanders past another church covered in blue twinkle lights. He sing-songs in the night jokingly, like the Pied Piper, “Heeere, homeless people. Oh, Hooooomelss people…”
“I have homeless vision,” he says. Just then he sees John, leaning on his cane across from the church. Chaim approaches the old man, shivering on the sidewalk, while college students stream by taking care to make a wide arc around him. Life presents John with handwarmers, a bottle of water and cigarettes. “Is there anything else you need?” Chaim asked. John whispers in a voice barely audible above the cutting wind, “Long underwear.”
“People always ask me how I know what to bring,” Chaim says, taking off once more across the nighttime streets. “I didn’t offer John a grain bar because he has bad teeth. But people tell you what they need. How would I know he needed long underwear if he didn’t tell me?”
And that’s one of Chaim’s greatest powers: He listens. He talked to people whom everyone avoids. The true Mr. and Mrs. Cellophanes. Chaim stops to talk to them all. IN the grand scheme of things, his actions are small- he won’t be clearing New York’s streets of the poor anytime soon, nor will he eradicate poverty and hunger. But he has no illusions in that regard. Life wants to start a movement- to inspire others to do as he does. And that’s the true purpose of Superheroes Anonymous. Chaim has taken a disparate group of misfits and rebels and given them a singular vision- shaping them into a symbol for doing good.
The night is wearing on toward midnight when Life hears a thin whine rising from a huddled mass in front of a corner bank. “I’m so cold!” squeals a man supported by a walker and little else. His pant leg is rolled up far above the knee and he’s shaking violently. “My leg is broken! I haven’t eating in three days!” the main cries as people walk briskly by him, staring steadfastly ahead. Life strides right up to him, “Here, take theses,” Life says, pressing a pack of handwarmers into the man’s shaking palms. Quickly, he hands the man water, cigarettes and the coveted chocolate. The man’s shaking continues, his voice rising in agony,” My hands are so cold.”
A woman pauses on the sidewalk, wrapped in a warm-looking black peacoat with a tailored collar. She notices Life and the man on the sidewalk- the water bottles and the chocolate. She steps forward and stuffs a handful of dollar bills into the man’s shaking cup.

Originally posted: http://blogs.forward.com/the-shmooze/127378/
April 19, 2010, 6:30pm
By Shoshana Olidort
Chaim Lazaros is a real-life superhero. Several nights a week he transforms into an alterego named Life. Donning a black domino mask, fedora and skinny tie, he stuffs a backpack full of drinks and snacks, and patrols the streets of New York City while distributing the life-saving goods to the homeless.
Life, 25, is one of half dozen real-life superheroes in New York, and 250-300 worldwide. In 2007, he and Ben Goldman, 23 — who goes by the moniker Cameraman and who documents the superhero movement on a video camera — founded Superheroes Anonymous, an organization that provides support for the real-life superheroes who dress up in costumes and walk the streets, protecting the vulnerable and warding off crime.
Each superhero takes on a unique role. Chris Pollak “Dark Guardian,” 25, rallies against drug dealers in Washington Square Park, while Arjuna Ladino, 42, and Shanti Owen, 50 — an engaged pair of relationship counselors known collectively as the Transformational Warriors — dress up in patriotic spandex outfits and spread the word of love.
Life, who wears tzitzit and covers his head, says he draws on the Jewish values he was raised with — his parents are Chabad emissaries in Framingham, Mass. — while performing his superhero duties. As a peyes-sporting kid in a New England suburb, Life says he learned early on to be comfortable with “looking different” and with having people look to him as “a symbol of something.”
In addition to garnering publicity, the costumes that Life and his cohorts wear serve as a reminder. Each time he puts on his costume, says Life, “I have to say to myself now I’m a superhero, I have to have higher ideals… I’m not just Chaim.”
 

Originally posted: http://www.jsonline.com/entertainment/90806899.html
By By Steve Ramos, Special to the Journal Sentinel

Shadow Hare has a catchy theme song, courtesy of an Internet radio station. He has a secret headquarters on the border of Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood – or, at least, it functions as one when shop workers aren’t busy selling Segways. He even has a pretty female sidekick named Silver Moon.
Donning black handmade tights and a lightweight ski mask and hitting the streets via a zipping Segway to fight crime, Shadow Hare, like the rest of the growing number of costumed heroes around the country from Utah to Ohio to Wisconsin, is about more than dressing up as a favorite fantasy character.
He’s a real crime-fighter. So is Watchman, who patrols Milwaukee’s Riverwest neighborhood and other parts of the city in a red mask and loose black trench coat that help hide his identity, although the bold “W” insignia on his sweatshirt and his red latex clothes identify him as a member of Real Life Superheroes, a Web-based group with the aim of supporting and inspiring street-level efforts to make a difference – in costume or not.
These costumed crime-fighters have their share of fans: A pair of news clips about Shadow Hare on YouTube each have had more than 500,000 views.

Movie version

Now, on the eve of the movie “Kick-Ass” – a violent action comedy based on a graphic novel about real people dressing up as superheroes and fighting crime, opening in theaters Friday – Shadow Hare and his real-life costumed-hero counterparts face a new threat: company from copycats.
“Based on the previous history of superhero-related movie releases, I expect a large influx of people to join the movement,” Watchman said via e-mail. “Many of them won’t stick around for long as the novelty wears off quickly. Those who stay on will be a mixture of people who think it’s cool and those truly wishing to make a difference in society.
“But the difference with ‘Kick-Ass’ is that it’s sort of being promoted as real life. Because of that, there is a general fear that some people may try to mimic the violence displayed in the movie. I think I speak for most, if not all, people within the movement when saying we do not condone those types of actions.”
Tea Krulos, a Milwaukee writer and creator of the real-life superheroes blog Heroes in the Night (heroesinthenight.blogspot.com/), has called Riverwest home since he was 18 and acts somewhat as a personal historian to Watchman and other costumed heroes. Krulos, who is working on turning his blog into a book about the real-life superhero movement, frequently travels around the country to meet with other real-life heroes.
“A director came to town shooting footage for a proposed TV reality show on real-life superheroes and called me the Jimmy Olsen to Watchman and the heroes, which I thought was cool,” Krulos said. “One of the Real-Life Superheroes told me that I should put on a costume and join them, but I think the best way I can help them is to write about them.”

Online stores, reality TV

They’re already pretty organized. The World Superhero Registry offers a 12-step guide for new heroes and advice about whether one should include a cape in one’s costume (the consensus: capes get in the way). And there are other groups, including the Heroes Network, Superheroes Anonymous and the Great Lakes Heroes Guild, that use the Web to talk shop and coordinate community and charity efforts.
One hero, Captain Ozone, sells merchandise online, including boxer shorts and a $8 thong with his logo. Razorhawk, from Minneapolis, runs the Web site Hero-Gear.net, a business where “real-life superheroes” can buy their fighting togs.

Creating a stir

And even before the hype surrounding “Kick-Ass” started surfacing, the buzz has been building around the movie’s real-life equivalents.
Ben Goldman and Chaim Lazaros are working on a documentary about real-life heroes in New York and New Orleans. Two production companies are competing to set up a reality TV series about real-life heroes. A comedy called “Super” is in postproduction, with Rainn Wilson as an average guy who becomes a superhero called The Crimson Bolt to save his wife from a drug dealer.
What’s driving art – and real life – to everyday super-herodom?
“I think the most common theme that has inspired people in this movement is the general state in which we see our world,” Watchman said. “It is all of the bad things we see repeatedly, day in and day out. We are sick of it and we no longer wish to sit by and do nothing. This is our way of making a stand.”

Finding inspiration

“As far as the costumes,” Watchman said, “it’s difficult to pinpoint specifics on inspiration for our choice of attire, but most of us have been inspired by fictional superheroes of one type or another.”
In “Kick-Ass,” the characters show little reservation – if not always skill – in using violence. In real life, the reaction isn’t so uniform.
Amateur heroes use Tasers, handcuffs and pepper spray instead of super powers.
Krulos said a couple of amateur heroes have left organizations such as the Heroes Network over disagreements about the use of violence when fighting crime.

Missing in action?

Other heroes, such as Salt Lake City’s Captain Prime, who sports an elaborate rubber suit similar to the “Kick-Ass” character Big Daddy, have retired. Shadow Hare, too, has been missing in action lately, although some speculate he hung up his tights to attend college full time.
But the biggest threat facing real-life superheroes may be that few seem to take them seriously.
By By Steve Ramos, Special to the Journal Sentinel

On a warm spring afternoon in Milford, Ohio, a small town east of Cincinnati that Shadow Hare identifies as his hometown on his Facebook page, most shopkeepers say they’ve never heard of him. If you watch news reports on him and other costumed heroes – including one by WITI-TV (Channel 6) last winter on Watchman that’s available on YouTube – they’re shown as curiosities more than crime-fighters.
The release of “Kick-Ass” could put them into a brighter spotlight.
 

Originally published: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/holy-masked-avengers-meet-the-reallife-superheroes-1932467.html
Thwack! Pow! Take that, evil agents of the clamping industry! Here’s a toothbrush, my homeless friend! As the wannabe-superhero film ‘Kick-Ass’ hits cinemas this weekend, Johnny Davis catches up with the real-life caped crusaders who are striving to do good on the mean streets of Britain and America, supported by their long-suffering families (and unforgiving spandex…)
Sunday, 4 April 2010
On a Thursday evening in New York City, Chaim “Life” Lazaros is explaining how a 25-year-old film student becomes a Real Life Superhero. “When I’m dressed the way I am, I’m standing for a higher ideal,” he says. Lazaros is wearing a domino mask, fedora and skinny black tie. From the corners of his waistcoat hang the fringes of a tsitsit – a traditional Jewish undergarment. “By becoming a Real Life Superhero, I can no longer fall to the weakness or the laziness Chaim might have. I live for a higher, stronger, ideal. I have to live up to what Life is.”
As is his wont several times a week, Lazaros has returned to his Upper West Side apartment and exchanged the clothes he wears to class for those of his alter ego. He has become Life (the English translation of the Hebrew word chaim). Now there are good deeds to be done, injustices to be fought, wrongs that must be righted. “Being a Real Life Superhero is an extremely individual calling.”
Yet Lazaros is not alone. There are, according to the recently launched World Superhero Registry, more than 200 men and a few women who dress up as comic-book heroes to patrol their city streets in search of… if not supervillains, then petty criminals and those in need of their help. “I help my community to become better,” Life tells me. “I didn’t see people running out of banks with sacks with dollar signs on them; but there is a large homeless population who need things.”
Soon he will walk half a block to the cathedral of St John the Divine, a vast gothic structure where vagrants gather on the steps. “Private property, so the police can’t chuck them off,” he explains. There, Life will hand out bottled water, toothbrushes, vitamins, chocolate and other items he carries around in his backpack. He does this without ulterior motive. “I’m not trying to convert them to Christianity,” he says, referring to other charity workers. “‘Accept Jesus Christ and I’ll give you a sandwich’ – that’s not really a help.”
For the most part, Life avoids tackling criminals. “If there is a situation and I need to intervene, I’ll certainly do it. But guys in Washington Square Park selling weed to New York University kids? It’s not so terrible. If I can show someone who’s down on their luck that somebody cares about them, that’s a lot more effective use of my talent.”

Elsewhere in the metropolis, a woman named Terrifica has been patrolling bars and parties in a gold mask, Valkyrie bra, red boots and cape, in an effort to protect inebriated women from men looking to take advantage of them. (In her utility belt, she carries pepper spray, a camera to photograph would-be predators, a journal, and Smarties for energy.) In Mexico City, meanwhile, Superbarrio dons red tights and a red-and-yellow wrestling mask, using his eye-catching image to organise labour rallies and protests, and file petitions. In Iqaluit in northern Canada, Polarman shovels snow off pavements by day, and scours the streets for criminals by night. And in Britain, Angle-Grinder Man, a self-proclaimed “wheel-clamp superhero”, uses his power (his angle-grinder) to cut clamps from vehicles in Kent and London.
You might think these people sound silly and look sillier. You’d be right. But that doesn’t mean they’re not sincere. “It takes a certain mindset not just to say, ‘OK, I want to do something good,’ but also, ‘I want to take on an alternate personality and devote myself entirely to doing good with no boundaries,'” says Life. “To put yourself in an uncomfortable situation takes a huge commitment. And a certain amount of crazy.”
Life is not a Man of Steel from the planet Krypton. He isn’t a science whizz lent superhuman powers by the bite of a radioactive spider. He doesn’t live in a Batcave. Like the growing network of caped crusaders emerging across the world, he is just an ordinary person trying to make a difference. “After 9/11, a lot of people felt very confused, that they had lost control over their world,” says Ben Goldman, founder of Superheroes Anonymous, which alongside the World Superheroes Registry and Real Life Superheroes, acts as an online network where members can swap crime- fighting tips, offer encouragement and debate the pros and cons of spandex. “That event caused them to take control of their destinies and adopt a superhero persona.”
“Right now, people need heroes,” adds Life. “Economic collapse, two wars, and a president who was elected on a platform of change – with a message we were to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps from these problems. Real Life Superheroes personify those ideas and those ideals.”
Couldn’t they help another way? Join a charity, perhaps? Do they need to dress up like Zorro at Mardi Gras? “I’m well aware of how silly the situation is,” says Civitron, aka 28-year-old David Civitarese from New Bedford, Massachusetts, who picks up litter and hands out food parcels to the poor, while wearing a red-and-blue one-piece and white shades. “But by dressing up I’m forcing myself to play a role. I have the opportunity to show off the best of me. I can’t go around partying and drinking and being a jerk.” (In his civilian hours, Civitarese works in a care home for adults with autism. His six-year-old son goes by the super-moniker The Mad Owl.)
The movement’s origins might be American, but Britain is catching up. “When I heard about Real Life Superheroes, I thought it was a bunch of crazy comic geeks. The Beano was the only comic I’d ever read,” admits Optimistica from London, whose MySpace profile reverberates to the theme of Wonder Woman. “But I was won over by the amazing positivity and creativity of the superheroes.” Optimistica adds that her mission is to “spread light and fun”. “And wearing my costume on patrol alone does that.”
“People think it’s a stupid idea and want to leave it at comic-book fantasies,” says Bristol-based Red Falcon, so named after “my fave colour and bird”. “But in a world where even the police aren’t doing their jobs, someone has to step in and help.” Norwich’s Chuck Clown was similarly galvanised into action. “I became a Real Life Superhero because petty criminals had attacked people I knew. They escaped unscathed, but people should never have to escape from an attack in the first place.” Clown’s inspirations are “the original comic-book Joker, not the new Heath Ledger one – but without being mad and evil. And Jonathan Creek.”
Naturally, every superhero needs a costume (though they prefer to say “uniform”). And suppliers such as Xtreme Design FX will knock up a custom all-in-one “battle suit”, silk-lined spandex cape and latex mask for around £160 (prosthetic adhesive not included). Other superheroes prefer to handle the design themselves – like Utah’s Citizen Prime, who spent £2,500 employing an armourer to weld a sci-fi suit out of plate metal. Meantime, “master of gadgetry” Professor Widget is a one-stop shop for wrist-mounted paintball launchers or non-lethal telescoping “bo staffs”. Not that such weaponry is everyone’s cup of tea. “A lot of the time, I just keep an eye on stuff, and if anything happens I’ll step in and give someone a bollocking – verbally – or call the police,” says Clown. “A Real Life Superhero’s most important gadget is their mobile.”
Some say the emergence of Real Life Superheroes represents the final evolution of the hero genre. “Oral traditions, legends, comic books, movies – and now Real Life Superheroes bringing it into reality,” says Civitron. Superhero movies spent decades struggling to get up, up and away; now they’re among the biggest box-office draws. And the most successful – The Dark Knight, Iron Man, Watchmen – focus not on characters with otherworldly superpowers, but ordinary citizens doing extraordinary things.
The same can be said of Kick-Ass, the new film by Matthew Vaughn – the producer of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and director of Layer Cake – which opened in cinemas this weekend. Based on the comic book of the same name, it tells the story of Dave Lizewski, an ordinary New York high-school student who fights crime in a costume he has cobbled together out of a diving suit. “How come everybody wants to be Paris Hilton, and no one wants to be Spider-Man?” ponders comics fan Lizewski, played by Aaron “Nowhere Boy” Johnson – a reasonable question, when you put it like that.
It was a comic shop that inspired the inception of Superheroes Anonymous. One afternoon, Ben Goldman spotted what he thought was a notice announcing “a meeting for superheroes”. It turned out to be an advert for drawing lessons. “But the idea stuck with me,” he says. “I decided to investigate whether there were people in the world who called themselves superheroes.” He went online, and found that there were. Thinking he had chanced upon a good subject for a documentary, he called his film-student friend Chaim. Their movie is still an ongoing project, though it’s been hit by issues both logistical (not every Real Lifer wants to be filmed) and financial (they are scattered all over the world). Yet it has already served to galvanise the cause.
Goldman and Lazaros started organising Superheroes Anonymous conferences. First, their reasons were wholly practical – getting these heroes together made them easier to film. But it wasn’t long before gathering so many altruistic people in one place turned the conferences into charity-fests. In New York, they raised $700 in gifts and distributed them to the kids at St Mary’s Children’s Hospital. In New Orleans, they rebuilt homes with Habitat For Humanity, cleaned up a school and marched against youth violence alongside Silence Is Violence. And in New Bedford, a full weekend’s programming saw them host a community food drive, working with the American Red Cross, and putting together care packages for overseas troops. (In between there was time for martial arts workouts, early-morning runs and evening meetings at the local tapas bar – in full costume, naturally.)
Superheroes Anonymous even provided Lazaros with his new identity. “Entomo the Insect-Man, an Italian Real Life Superhero, defined all the different types of hero,” he explains. “One category was ‘community crusader’; someone who furthers the goal of Real Life Superheroes.” The Insect-Man reasoned that, by “putting his all” into promoting Superheroes Anonymous, Lazaros had “become a superhero” himself. “The day I read that, I put on the mask for the first time.” Life was born.
Today, we are sat on the stoop outside Life’s apartment block. He has been joined by an acquaintance, Dayo Omotoso. Omotoso is a Real Life Superhero in training, and Life is showing him the ropes. He has got as far as his name: The Black Light. “If you want to be a hero, your name can’t be Dracula,” Life reasons. “Your name can’t be Captain Chaos.” Omotoso is still thinking about a costume.
“We gotta go,” Life announces, suddenly.
Together, we walk down to the cathedral of St John the Divine. Life tells us to hang back, and goes off to distribute his waters and vitamins among the homeless. As we watch him work, I find out more about The Black Light. He was born in Nigeria, and came to New York a few years ago. In doing so, he seems to have taken Superman’s edict about “truth, justice and the American way” on board. “In 20 years in Lagos I never called [the local equivalent of the American emergency services] 911 once,” he says. “You’re not inclined to, psychologically. I’ve been under a regime where my president passes away – it was Viagra overdoses and prostitutes [the alleged transgressions of Sani Abacha, de facto Nigerian president between 1993 and 1998]. When I came here, the Monica Lewinsky thing was still going on. My angle was, ‘Did he rape her? Did he put money into a bank account for her?’ No, he just got a blowjob. If any guy in the world deserves a blowjob, it’s Clinton.”
America sounded like somewhere he could make a difference, he said. “I’ve seen Tom Cruise, I’ve seen the Governator, I’ve seen Chuck Norris. I grew up reading The Punisher. When it comes to saving the human race, I would love a black guy to play that role.”
As anyone with a passing knowledge of Spider-Man knows, being a superhero requires great personal sacrifice. The path will be rocky, the way forward strewn with obstacles. Not everyone will make it. Take Mister Invisible from Los Angeles. He hung up his grey one-piece after the costume proved too effective – a tramp urinated on him in an alley. Another LA operative, Black Owl, suffered the ignominy of being collected from a psychiatric ward by his teenage daughter. “Dad forgot for a moment, when faced with police, that he did not have real superpowers,” she told doctors. “He could not just fly away.”
Then there are relationships. Apparently, women find it hard to relate to the higher calling. Interviewed by Rolling Stone, Master Legend – a Florida-based superhero who drives “The Battle Truck”, a 1986 Nissan pick-up with his initials spray-painted on the bonnet, the better to announce the arrival of himself plus his young crime-fighting sidekick Ace Gauge – conceded that his love life had taken a battering. His marriage had ended in divorce, while his latest girlfriend had walked out on him. “She left because she wanted to sit around on the couch and hold hands,” he explained. “Well, that’s not on the cards for Master Legend.”
Finally, there is the issue of the authorities. “I’ve been told by the police that any sort of uniformed presence is a deterrent to crime. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing the uniform of a police officer or a superhero,” explains Life. In America, even attempting a citizen’s arrest itself carries the risk of being liable for false imprisonment, or being charged with kidnapping. And that’s if you don’t get punched in the face first. (As seen in Kick-Ass, when the eponymous ‘ hero’s first criminal intervention does not go too well.) “We don’t live in a city called Gotham,” notes Goldman. “We don’t encourage people to go out and look for violent criminals.” (A spokesperson for the UK police service declined to comment on the Real Life movement here, save to say that “vigilantism is not something we encourage”.)
But perhaps the most cautionary tale of all is that of Dark Guardian. He had to resort to first a change of name, then emblazoning his initials on the front of his costume, as he had failed to make much of an impact on anyone. “This is New York,” explained the newly monikered Chris Guardian. “So half the people didn’t even look.”
Failing to make an impression is not a problem faced by Maidstone’s Captain Clean. But then, his target audience is seven years old. He is employed by Maidstone Borough Council to spread the word about littering. It is the morning-time in Ms Tanner’s class at Harrietsham primary school in Kent, but Ms Tanner is taking a back seat while Alison Sollis, education officer for the council, mans the projector. Behind her hangs a poster
of Captain Clean, who wears a purple mask and a high-visibility jacket. “Keep it Clean!” it advises, “Or I Get Mean!” Sollis kicks off the lesson by asking the children to guess how long various bits of litter (banana skins, soft-drink cans) take to decompose, and explains how the British Hedgehog Preservation Society got McDonald’s to shrink the size of its McFlurry lids; the original containers could trap the critters. Then she holds up a plastic ring holder from a four-pack.
“What do you put in here?” she asks.
“Beer!” says one boy.
“Well, cans,” confirms Sollis.
Soon it is time to meet Captain Clean. “Let’s see who’s outside,” Sollis says. In bounds Captain Clean, aka bodybuilder Tai Tokes Ayoola who speaks with an American twang and seems on a completely different scale to the classroom. The children are stunned. “I think I shocked you all!” he beams. Captain Clean asks everyone to join in with his anti-littering campaign, leads them through a rap (“Don’t drop litter on the street/It looks a mess and sticks to your feet…”) and hands out his “Keep it Clean” T-shirts. Everyone applauds.
Over coffee in the staffroom afterwards, Annika Fraser, marketing officer for Maidstone council, explains Captain Clean’s secret origin. One of her colleagues had been the original Captain Clean. “But he wasn’t muscly or anything, so I had to go out and buy a costume with muscles.” It didn’t really work. “After a year, it got quite smelly.”
“The kids were rugby-tackling him,” Ayoola chimes in. “Wearing that puffed-up old thing.”
So Ayoola was recruited. Originally from Maryland, he had a history of volunteer work – notably dressing up as a superhero to take young burns survivors on summer camp. For his troubles, he had even been invited to the White House. Anyway, he had proven a much more suitable Captain Clean. “I get a lot of questions,” Ayoola says. “Particularly ‘What’s under the mask?’ But I have never had anyone be mean to me. Kids are, like, ‘OK, I don’t want to be on Captain Clean’s bad side.’ I wouldn’t say it’s an element of fear. But you do have that element of ‘OK, he’s doing this – he’s cool.'”
Ayoola is proud to be doing good work, and is up to speed with the Real Life movement. “When people see a Real Life Superhero, they get excited and follow through with the message,” he says. He has two more classes to visit this morning, so I leave him to it. “You keep it clean!” he booms after me.
Back to New York, where Life has finished his rounds of the homeless. The Dark Light is suitably impressed; give it another month, he figures, and he’ll be active himself. Meanwhile, Life says he has big hopes for the global movement. Recruitment is on the up, and MTV has been developing a series based on their work. “I think it will become very big,” Life says. “I hope there’ll be a Real Life Superhero in every city, someone everyone knows. ‘Hey, there’s someone here who can help me.’ I’m not talking about police, fire, ambulance. But people who are standing for this higher level of altruism.”
Their next step is to get Superheroes Anonymous recognised as a non-profit organisation and a registered charity. To make it more formal. Life explains that it is part of the reason his costume is on the sober side. “I’m trying to sit down with government officials, business people, lawyers; trying to make these meetings happen. I need to look at them with a straight face and say, ‘Listen, I want to bring a whole bunch of Real Life Superheroes together in your property,’ and not get laughed out of the room.”
“You do get the occasional snigger,” he concedes. “But that’s through misunderstanding. Once you explain what you stand for, there is never a negative reaction. People are always, like, ‘Wow. That’s cool. How can I get involved?'”
Or as Kick-Ass himself puts it, “Is everyday life really so exciting? Are schools and offices so thrilling that I’m the only one who ever fantasised about this? Come on – be honest with yourself. At some point in our lives, we all wanted to be a superhero.” And what’s so funny about that?
‘Kick-Ass’ (15) is on general release

Originally posted in Death + Taxes Magainze MarchApril 2010 issue
Scanned pages:

Missing page 3- Admin
By Breena Ehrlich
Hollywood abounds with stories these days. But somewhere out there just beyond the shadows, from New York City to Mexico City to New Bedford, Massachusetts, lurks a bona fide, HONEST TO GOD NETWORK OF REAL REAL –LIFE SUPERHEROES. They are not Watchmen. They are not even Kick-Ass or Red Mist. No bullet-proof vest, no Chinese stars. These are normal people- students, bankers, what have you. They just happen to patrol over society in costume, fighting crime and doing good deeds under aliases like Life and The Dark Guardian. They are Superheroes Anonymous. For real.
What’s going on here?” Life asks, ambling up to a pair of cops as they peer though the dusty glass doors of a seemingly abandoned building. The copes turn around, take in the young man’s young face; he looks like one of the Culkin brothers- like that kind from Igby Goes Down. The kid’s fedora is set at a jaunty angle, his black cargo pants are tucked into black jungle boots, his backpack weighs down his shoulders, even though they’re thrown back confidently. He looks like a Brooklyn-dweller. A college student. A kid. Perhaps a nosy kid, the kind that watched too many cops shows as a kid. They probably don’t notice the black mask hanging from his belt loop, or the tzitzis poking out the bottom of his black winter coat.
One of the cops, a jowly man with buzzed hair and a gently swelling belly, gives Life a slight smile. “WE got a call. Some woman can’t get a hold of her husband who’s a security guard. She says she works here, but this place seems abandoned,” he answers with surprising candor and a perfectly stereotypical New York Accent.
“Yeah,” says the other cop, running his hand over his slicked-back gray hair, which still has comb tracks in it from earlier grooming. “I mean, there’s tap on the windows. That means it’s abandoned, right?”
The copes continue to peer though the darkened windows as Life jumps down to inspect a basement-level door. The radios on their belts buzz and crackle: “The missing child is approximately four feet tall, wearing a striped sweater. The suspect-“ Life joins the copes on the steps in mutual consideration of the darkened building, a gray stone apartment building near the Columbia University campus- close enough to Riverside Park that the assemblage can feel the cold air off the water buffeting their backs and faces. The jowly cop’s cheeks are red.
The men in blue bang on the door a few times and then turn to Life with equally stern brows. “Stand back,” says the gray haired cop and positions his shoulders as if to break the door down. Life hops back a little and the cops laugh. “Just Kidding,” Comb Tracks says.
“So are you a student?” Jowls inquires, apparently in no hurry to solve the mystery of the missing security guard.
“No, actually I’m a Real-Life Superhero, Life says with a slight smile, fingering the mask that hangs from his side. The cops look at each other with raised eyebrows and more than a hint of amusement.
“Oh yeah? Well, can you tell us where Columbia security is?” Jowls says with a brief smile. “Maybe they can help us figure out where this guard is
Life gives them directions and follows them to their car,” I can get in and go with you guys if you’d like…” he says, lingering near the cruiser.
“Ha, ha, nah,” says Jowls. “Thanks.” The cops drive off into the night, leaving Life and his backpack in front of the darkened building.
With the squad car disappears the glimmer of danger, the opportunity to race off in the night, the blue and red flashing. In a movie or a comic book this would be the point where our hero’s story really heats up: He discovers that the mission guard has been captured by an evil avenger with a rampant disdain for any and all authority figures- and now the poor old man is being held hostage in some fortress in the dark recesses of Governor’s Island. And because the bumbling cops neglected to adequately hunt for clues our hero is tasked with his safe return. But this is not a move. This is no adaptation- just plain old New York.  IN the realm of the real, Life watched the cruiser disappears into the night, sighs a puff of cold-etched air, and jaywalks across the street. As he hops from the sidewalk, his boots clearing the curb, he indulges a brief exclamation: “Zing!”
LIFE A.K.A. CHAIM LAZAROS is a real-life superhero- designation that would likely cause many a reader to snort in derision or laugh in abject mockery. Visions of plump, sad comic book fans in spandex leap to mind- images of computer geeks wandering around darkened streets, desperately seeking some nefarious B-level crime to debunk. That’s not Life. Life is a do-gooder. He doesn’t fight crime per se– he takes to the streets and provides aid to the poor souls who many of us outright ignore: the homeless.
In a sense, this is his superpower. Where comic superheroes might manifest their powers through a supernatural affinity for controlling the weather or assuming arachnid capabilities, Life’s chosen specialty is the homeless- although he’s the first to admit that he doesn’t actually have any special abilities. “I hate when people ask where my cape is,” Life says. “Capes are stupid and ineffective. No one flies… I don’t have any super powers,” he adds. “I’m just a person. A poor, young person in New York City- and I help a lot of people. I’m not special.” Nevertheless, as his name suggests, Life provides sustenance and, well, life, to the downtrodden, specializing in a particular realm of aid- and to do so he tapes into his two natural abilities: kindness and an aptitude for spin. Life is a natural PR man, an organizer who uses the aesthetic of the super hero, the sheer flashiness of the concept, to attract others to his cause.

Life is one of the heads of Superheroes Anonymous, a collective of citizen who have made it their mission to do good by the world. Some do it in much the same way as Coalition for the Homeless or Habitat for Humanity, and some do it with the more dangerous, risky flair of vigalantes- but they all do it in costume. Each year it holds a sizable conference during which heroes from all over the world assemble. So far there have been three conferences: one in Times Square, New York City, one in New Orleans, and the most recent in New Bedford, Massachusetts, also known as The Secret City due to its large volume of unsolved homicides.
Superheroes Anonymous, which coalesced into its current state in 2007, hardly marks the first incarnation of real-life superhero-dom, although it is probably the most organized superhero affiliation. According to a history written by Hardwire, a hero from Greensboro, North Carolina, the first real-life superhero date back to the seventeenth century- his name was William Lamport, or Zorro. The modern ideal of real-life heroes started to solidify in the seventies with Captain Sticky, a man by the name of Richard Pesta who would patrol San Diego in a bubble-topped Lincoln clad in blue tights and a cape, working to launch investigations into elder care. And then there was Rick Rojatt, a daredevil known as The Human Fly, whose entire family was killed in a car crash that left him temporarily crippled. The nineties heralded the arrival of Marco Rascon Cordova, a Mexico City resident who became Superbarrio and championed the poor and working class, and Terrifica, a New Yorker who took it upon herself to protect drunken women from unwanted advances. And then there’s Civitron, a father and former counselor for children in transition who patrols New Bedford, Massachusetts with his son, The Mad Owl, a superhero-in-the-making with a love for woodland creatures.
In short, this underground community was flourishing, the network reaching across the world. But it was a fractured connection; these do-gooders mostly communicated via Internet forums and MySpace pages, connected only through the currents of the digital age- until Life came along.
Like all superheroes, life has his own creation myth, which more closely mirrors that of the famed comic book authors that of yore than the apocryphal tales of Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne. Like the majority of old-school creators- immigrants and children of immigrants who invented heroes to battle the myriad woes of their woes- Lazaros is a Jew, the son of an Orthodox rabbi who has seven children in all. The second –oldest child, Lazaros is kind of the black sheet. “He’s a very idealistic kid and he has a lot of pity on people that are downtrodden and homeless. He’s a do-gooder and he wants to do go,” his father says, recalling how, as a child, Life took on his entire bunk at sleepaway camp when they were picking on smaller boy.  Still, he hasn’t quite taken the path that his father would like him to.” I thought it was more like a hobby,” his father says of Life’s superheroing. “But it became a very major part of his life. And obviously as a parent I think there are more important priorities. He’s just turned twenty-five. I’d like to see him get married. I’d like to see him have some kind of a vocation that earns a living. This is a nice thing to do on the side, you know, if you have another career. You have a family and you want to do something like this in your free time, that’s okay. But I don’t think it should be taking up the main part of your time.”
Before he became Life, Chaim was on a path that any proud Orthodox papa would approve of. He attended Yeshiva University- a college that focuses on Jewish scholarship- in New York for one year before deciding that he was too smart for the religious school. He also wanted to study film. He applied to NYU and got in (twice), but his family didn’t have the money to send him. So he left college and worked at one of the country’s top ad agencies, J Walter Thompson, where he executed the mindless task of paying invoices before realizing that he wasn’t going anywhere. He had been attending Brooklyn College at night and living in Crown Heights when his girlfriend suggested he apply to Columbia. He got in, they provided him with ample scholarships, and he was able to follow his chosen path: film studies. Little did he know that becoming a superhero would also be apart of his course of study.
Three years ago, Chaim’s friend Bend Goldman, a senior at New York’s New School, saw a sign reading “Real Life Superheroes” outside a comic book store. He was intrigued, so he Googled the term. The sign turned out to be an advertisement for a drawing class, but Goldman’s internet search revealed the rich history of the movement. Both film students, Lazaros and Goldman decided that the subject was ripe for documentation. “This whole project started off as a documentary,” Ben says. “It’s like a case of Gonzo Journalism where the documentarian becomes the subject, especially with Chaim, since he became a superhero through the project.”
“They’re very isolated in all these different communities and only communicate through MySpace and stuff like that,” Chaim says, “There had been a few very small meet-ups, but it was really this Internet culture. Basically we realized that if we made the first all-encompassing gathering of all the superheroes, then we would be able to shoot a documentary in a day.”
And so it began- the first meeting of Superheroes Anonymous. For Chaim, the convention became an all-consuming task. He barely slept. He lost fifteen pounds. He dedicated every moment to orchestrating a massive gathering to take place in New York’s Time Square. And then the duo hit a snag.
“There was a lot of this bullshit started by this one particular superhero that founded the biggest forum on the Internet for superheroes. He’s named Tothian,” Chaim says, “At the time he was respected just because he was a moderator of this forum he started.”
Tothian is a mysterious figure who resided in New Jersey and likes to keep his persona under wraps. On Facebook, his name is simply Tothian ApmhibiousKnight- He refuses to reveal his real name- and his burred picture shows a man with close-cropped hair, wearing what appears to be armor or a bulletproof vest. “I’ve been patrolling since I was about five years old,” Tothian says. “I knew form as early on in life as I can remember that I would be doing this, not as a game,” he adds. “When I was sixteen I graduated from a military high school. At seventeen I joined the Marine Reserves as an Infantryman. I’ve trained in various styles of martial arts for many years. I study criminology, private investigating and foreign languages.” Now Tothian, an ardent fan of Sherlock Holmes, patrols his local streets, striving to mitigate crime in hotspots like Newark, New Jersey. “I make it a point to never set patterns in times nor patrol routs,” Tothian says. “I have to keep it randomized for two reasons: One I don’t want people to work around my pattern. Two, I don’t want people to track me down.”

Tothian, naturally, takes the concept of being a superhero extremely seriously and was wary of the conference. His wariness, in turn lead a number of attendees to cancel their trips, including the emcee of the event, one of the oldest heroes around, dubbed, simply, Superhero. “We didn’t know them too well yet, nor what to expect,” Tothian explains. “But after we all got to know [Ben and Chaim] we saw that they’re great guys with sincere intentions and actually want to do something good for the world.”
Regardless, back in 2007 Chaim was in a bind- he didn’t want to have a meeting without an official superhero emcee. But Chaim had dons his research- he knew about the different types of superheroes, the “community crusader” in particular. “A community crusader is somebody who is not necessarily in a costume but works from within the community to move forward the cause of real-life superheroeism” Chaim explains.
After the debacle with Tothian, Chaim went to Columbia Chabad to think. “I hadn’t slept at all the night before,” he says. “It was a totally crazy week and I was like, praying and wondering, ‘Who is gonna run this thing?’ Then I realized that all the sacrifices I had been making, the thousands of dollars of my own money, all of my time and life spent toward making this happened made ma a community crusader, and therefore a superhero. And therefore I could be the one to lead this meeting. Son on Sunday when we had the meet up in Times Square, that was when I put on the mask for the first time and claimed myself ‘Life.’”
Ben, in turn, became “The Camera Man.”
“My role in Superheroes Anonymous has always been documenting what the superheroes do,” he says. He doesn’t wear a costume, and he sees this whole project as wholly short-term. He doesn’t go on patrols like Life does, but he does accompany heroes like  The Dark Guardian, a swarthy New Yorker who dresses in head-to-toe leather, when they set out on missions to Washington Square Part to take on drug dealers. Although he denies being a hero, guys like The Dark Guardian would be seriously screwed without Ben around- the fact that he wields a camera helps keep criminals in check, proving that you don’t need freezrays or super strength to fight evil.
Life’s own arsenal is rather limited as well, He carries a cell phone, a pocket knight and a backpack filled with water bottles, military-issue meals and ready to eat, granola bars, socks and whatever else he can scrape together for the homeless he tends to . After parting ways with Jowls and Comb Tracks at the abandoned building, Life takes off down the sidewalk, passing houses wreathed in blinking colored lights to stock up at the local RiteAid. He picks up a coupon book and surveys the deals under the deals under the glare of the florescent lights. “This is where my cheap Jewness comes in,” he says with a laugh, trying to decide between Rice Krispie Treats (cheaper, but less nutritionous) and granola bars. But Chaim isn’t being cheap, per se. He’s a recent college grad who makes a small wage working for the Ripple Project, a documentary film company that focuses on social issues. But being the child of a rabbit, Life was taught to give ten percent of his earnings to charity. At the register, he checks over the receipt with the same precision as a fussy mother, but then grabs a handful of chocolate to add it the finally tally. “I love giving people chocolate because they appreciate it. No one else gives them chocolates,” he says.
Outside in the cold again, Life passes a gaggle of college kids on winter break, decked out in hats and puffy jackets, “I was so fucking wasted last weekend,” a girl squeals as she disappears down the concrete while Life heads to St. John the Divine to pass out supplies to the homeless who huddle on the steps. This is one of his usual haunts, and he tried to get there before the Coalition for the Homeless arrives with boxed meals- usually the homeless scatter after the trucks roll away. But when he arrives he sees he’s too late. The Coalition for the Homeless have come and gone and the poor have likely been shooed away. All that greets him when he arrives are granite steps blanketed in snow and ropes stretching across the stairs. “Those assholes,” he mutters, nothing that the ropes were likely put in place to discourage the homeless from hanging out on the steps.
Back in the summer time, the church was like a regular homeless clubhouse, but right now it’s too cold for anyone to linger outside for long. The homeless are all in shelters or are hiding out somewhere in the darkness. Back in August Chaim had tramped down to St. John’s every week- since graduating, he’s been sorting his life out, moving to Harlem and setting up Superheroes Anonymous headquarters (a.k.a. his apartment). Last summer he had leapt up the stairs distributing vitamins and shampoo to a man named John, who wore a giraffe T-shirt and leaned heavily on a cane. Tonight John isn’t here. “I thought at least the Mexicans would be here,” Life says with a sigh.
The Mexicans usually assemble in the front doorway, huddled together under the granite saints that stare out into the darkness like blank-eyed sentinels. The men are likely here illegally and, as they told Chaim, they have “No worky. No casa. Lots of Mexicans. It’s bad.” This summer they have taught Chaim how to say razor (navaja) and toothbrush (cepillo dental) in Spanish. Chaim had asked where their friend Edguardo was and a man wearing a shirt emblazoned with mountain ranges- the kind of souvenir sweatshirt that you buy on vacation- had pointed up at the saints and uttered, “Jesus.”
“Jesus loves me?” Chaim asked, seeming to misunderstand the sentiment. It’s impossible to tell how many streets have unwittingly become graves.

Tonight, however, the streets seem free of the homeless. Life wanders past another church covered in blue twinkle lights. He sing-songs in the night jokingly, like the Pied Piper, “Heeere, homeless people. Oh, Hooooomelss people…”
“I have homeless vision,” he says. Just then he sees John, leaning on his cane across from the church. Chaim approaches the old man, shivering on the sidewalk, while college students stream by taking care to make a wide arc around him. Life presents John with handwarmers, a bottle of water and cigarettes. “Is there anything else you need?” Chaim asked. John whispers in a voice barely audible above the cutting wind, “Long underwear.”
“People always ask me how I know what to bring,” Chaim says, taking off once more across the nighttime streets. “I didn’t offer John a grain bar because he has bad teeth. But people tell you what they need. How would I know he needed long underwear if he didn’t tell me?”
And that’s one of Chaim’s greatest powers: He listens. He talked to people whom everyone avoids. The true Mr. and Mrs. Cellophanes. Chaim stops to talk to them all. IN the grand scheme of things, his actions are small- he won’t be clearing New York’s streets of the poor anytime soon, nor will he eradicate poverty and hunger. But he has no illusions in that regard. Life wants to start a movement- to inspire others to do as he does. And that’s the true purpose of Superheroes Anonymous. Chaim has taken a disparate group of misfits and rebels and given them a singular vision- shaping them into a symbol for doing good.
The night is wearing on toward midnight when Life hears a thin whine rising from a huddled mass in front of a corner bank. “I’m so cold!” squeals a man supported by a walker and little else. His pant leg is rolled up far above the knee and he’s shaking violently. “My leg is broken! I haven’t eating in three days!” the main cries as people walk briskly by him, staring steadfastly ahead. Life strides right up to him, “Here, take theses,” Life says, pressing a pack of handwarmers into the man’s shaking palms. Quickly, he hands the man water, cigarettes and the coveted chocolate. The man’s shaking continues, his voice rising in agony,” My hands are so cold.”
A woman pauses on the sidewalk, wrapped in a warm-looking black peacoat with a tailored collar. She notices Life and the man on the sidewalk- the water bottles and the chocolate. She steps forward and stuffs a handful of dollar bills into the man’s shaking cup.

Maybe it is due to the popularity of “Watchmen,” which featured crime-fighters with little or no super powers. Or maybe in the “Dark Knight” was a harbinger of things to come, when masked vigilantes tried to emulate Batman on their meager budgets. The Great Recession may be the single largest factor in this growing movement. Men and women are donning costumes and hitting the streets, to protect the public, across the nation, and yes, even around the world.
What is a Real Life Superhero? According to Superheroes Anonymous, the mark of a Real Life Superhero (RLSH) is someone who sees injustice in the world, and in costume, does something about it. Over the past three years Superheroes Anonymous has help validate the purpose of RLSH, ordinary people who go out of their way to help others.
Many of these latter-day Guardian Angels help feed the homeless, perform various community services, and inspire others to take positive social action. Their members are doctors, students; people from all walks of life. Some attribute their altruism to being disillusioned with chasing the almighty dollar, after being laid off from their jobs. Others are repenting for past transgressions during their youth. The one thing they have in common is an overarching desire to make the world a better place.
Some even fight crime in the literal sense, those who do usually keep their real identities a secret. Mr. Ravenblade found his calling when he prevented a mugging/rape. Mr. Xtreme, who founded the Xtreme Justice League, patrols neighborhoods to stop violent crime in San Diego. The Black Monday Society members Insignis, Ghost, and Oni help keep Salt Lake City, Utah safe. Crimson Fist may sound like a hardened crime-fighter, but he mainly helps feed the homeless.
In New York, Terrifica, a female crime-fighter, has been protecting inebriated women at bars and parties from being taken advantage of by men since the mid-1990’s. Dark Guardian, a martial arts instructor, helps keep bad elements at bay, gives inspirational speeches, and will even clean up trash or graffiti. Life not only helps the homeless, he also teams up with other superheroes to attack drug dealers. Most of these superheroes are law-abiding citizens who help police catch real criminals. On the occasions when they do cross the line, they tend to keep it very close to the chest.
RLSH say that the main reason they don masks is more to raise public awareness than to strike fear in the hearts of criminals. They are hard to ignore which helps drive their message of community activism. They also seem to prefer myspace to Facebook. Just don’t expect an up-to-date report on their sites. They are too busy keeping us safe.
If you liked this article and/or column please go to the bar under the headline and subscribe, comment, or even send an email to say you like this Science Fiction Examiner. Thanks.
Superheroes Anonymous trailer from beginnorth on Vimeo.