Tag: Superheroes Anonymous

Yearly meeting of Real-Life Superheroes.

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By Ward Rubrecht

http://www.citypages.com/content/printVersion/361255

Geist’s breath fogs the winter air as he surveys the frozen Minneapolis skyline, searching for signs of trouble. His long duster flaps in the breeze as his eyes flick behind reflective sunglasses; a wide-brim hat and green iridescent mask shroud his identity from those who might wish him harm.

Should a villain attack, the Emerald Enforcer carries a small arsenal to defend himself: smoke grenades, pepper spray, a slingshot, and a pair of six-inch fighting sticks tucked into sturdy leather boots. Leather guards protect Geist’s arms; his signature weapon, an Argentinean cattle-snare called bolos, hangs from a belt-holster.

A mission awaits and time is of the essence, so Geist eases his solid frame, honed from martial arts training, into his trusty patrol vehicle—a salt-covered beige sedan. Unfamiliar with the transportation tangle of downtown, he pulls a MapQuest printout from his pocket, discovering his goal is but a short cruise down Washington Avenue.

Soon Geist faces his first obstacle: parking on the left side of a one-way street. “Usually one of my superpowers is parallel parking,” he chuckles as he eases his car into the spot, emerging victorious with a foot and a half between curb and tire. He feeds a gauntleted fistful of quarters into the parking meter, and then pops the trunk on the Geistmobile to retrieve his precious cargo. On the street, he encounters businesspeople on lunch break—some stare openly; others don’t even notice his garish attire. “It’s easier in winter,” Geist says with a laugh. “Winter in Minnesota, everybody’s dressed weird.”

Finally, his destination is in sight: People Serving People, a local homeless shelter. Geist strides boldly into the lobby—a cramped, noisy room where kids and adults mill about chatting—and heaves his stuffed paper bags onto the counter. “I have some groceries to donate,” he tells Dean, the blond-bearded security guard on duty, whose placid expression suggests superheroes pop in on a regular basis. “And I have an hour on the meter if there’s anything I can do to help out.”

Wendy Darst, the volunteer coordinator, looks taken aback but gladly puts the superhero to work. Soon the Jade Justice finds himself hip-deep in a supply closet, piling books into a red Radio Flyer wagon. He wheels it back to the lobby, entreating the children to select a text. But the kids seem more interested in peppering him with questions. “So are you a cowboy or something?” one boy asks.

Geist kneels down to reply with a camera-ready grin, “Maybe a super-secret, space-cowboy detective!”

Another kid, awed by the uniform, just stares silently. “Hi,” Geist says with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. “I’m a real-life superhero.”

The kid grabs Geist’s leather-clad mitt and grins back. “I’m four!”

Such is the life of Minnesota’s only superhero—a man in his mid-40s who sold off his comic book collection to fund a dream borne of those very pages. Unlike his fictional inspirations, he hasn’t yet found any villains to apprehend in Rochester, a sleepy city of 95,000 about 80 miles south of Minneapolis. But that doesn’t mean he’s wasting his time, he says. “When you put on this costume and you do something for someone, it’s like, ‘Wow, I am being a hero,’ and that is a great feeling.”

BY MOST OBSERVERS’ RECKONING, between 150 and 200 real-life superheroes, or “Reals” as some call themselves, operate in the United States, with another 50 or so donning the cowl internationally. These crusaders range in age from 15 to 50 and patrol cities from Indianapolis to Cambridgeshire, England. They create heroic identities with names like Black Arrow, Green Scorpion, and Mr. Silent, and wear bright Superman spandex or black ninja suits. Almost all share two traits in common: a love of comic books and a desire to improve their communities.

It’s rare to find more than a few superheroes operating in the same area, so as with all hobbies, a community has sprung up online. In February, a burly, black-and-green-clad New Jersey-based Real named Tothian started Heroes Network, a website he says functions “like the UN for the real-life superhero community.”

The foremost designer of real-life superhero costumes lives in New Brighton, Minnesota. His given name is Michael Brinatte, but he pro wrestles under the name Jack T. Ripper. At 6’2″, with bulldog shoulders, he looks more likely to suplex you than shake your hand. It’s hard to imagine him behind a sewing machine, carefully splicing together bits of shiny spandex, but when the 39-year-old father of three needed to give his wrestling persona a visual boost, that’s just where he found himself, drawing on his only formal tailoring education: seventh-grade home economics. He discovered he had a talent for it, and before long was sewing uniforms and masks for fellow wrestlers, learning techniques to make his work durable enough to withstand the rigors of hand-to-hand combat.

After he posted photos of his masks on the internet, he met his first real-life superhero: Entomo the Insect Man, a crimefighter and “masked detective” based in Naples, Italy. Entomo wanted Brinatte to make him a mask to incorporate into his black-and-olive uniform. A lifelong comic fan, Brinatte took the assignment seriously, and it showed in the stitching. When Entomo showed off his new mask to the community of Reals, Brinatte started getting more orders: a green-and-black bodysuit for Hardwire, a blue-and-white Z-emblazoned uniform for Zetaman. Eventually, Brinatte started a website, www.hero-gear.net, to formalize his business, and now spends 10 to 15 hours each week making superhero uniforms. “They have a good heart and believe in what they’re doing, and they’re a lot of fun to talk to,” Brinatte says.

His super friends are starting to get publicity. Last October, an organization called Superheroes Anonymous issued an invitation to any and all real-life superheroes: Come to Times Square to meet other Reals face-to-face and discuss the future of the movement. The community roiled with discussion of the invitation—was it a trap by an as-yet-unknown real-life super villain? In the end, only a dozen Reals attended, but the gathering attracted the notice of the New York Times and the BBC, which gave the budding league of justice worldwide ink.

“We’re basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good,” Geist says. “Once you get suited up, you’re a hero and you’ve got to act like one.”

SO YOU’VE DECIDED to become a real-life superhero. Like Wolverine, you’ve chosen a secret identity and a uniform. But unlike the X-Man, you don’t have retractable claws or a mutant healing factor. How do you make up the difference?

Most Reals use a combination of martial arts and weaponry. The Eye is a 49-year-old crimebuster from Mountain View, California, who wears a Green Hornet-inspired fedora and trench coat. Though he focuses mainly on detective work and crime-tip reporting, he prepares himself for hand-to-hand combat by studying kung fu and wielding an arsenal of light-based weapons designed to dazzle enemies.

“In movies, a ninja will have some powder or smoke to throw at you to distract,” he explains. “That’s essentially what I’m trying to do.”

All superheroes have origins, and The Eye is no exception. He grew up tinkering with electronic gadgetry, first with his dad, then in the employ of a Silicon Valley company (he’s reluctant to say which one). The Eye considers himself “on-duty” at all times, so when a co-worker started pimping fake Rolex watches to others in his office, the Paragon of Perception sprang into action. He went into work early, snuck into the watch-monger’s office to locate the stash of counterfeit merchandise, and then dropped a dime to Crimestoppers. Ultimately, police wouldn’t prosecute unless The Eye revealed his secret identity—a concession he was unwilling to make—but he nonetheless chalks it up as a victory. “We stopped him from doing this,” The Eye says. “He knows someone’s watching.”

For sheer investment in gadgetry, none top Superhero, an ex-Navy powerlifter from Clearwater, Florida. His patrol vehicle is a burgundy 1975 Corvette Stingray with a souped-up 425-horsepower engine. He wears a flight helmet installed with a police scanner and video camera, and carries an extendable Cobra tactical baton, a flash gun, sonic grenades, and a canister of bear mace. Topping off the one-man armory is an Arma 100 stun cannon, a 37mm nitrogen-powered projectile device. His ammo of choice? Sandwiches. “Nothing stops them in their tracks like peanut butter and jelly,” he explains in a video demonstration posted online.

Once you’ve honed your body and strapped on your utility belt, it’s time to decide how to focus your heroic efforts. Within the community of Reals, there’s a buffet of choices. Some choose mundane tasks—The Cleanser strolls around picking up trash, while Direction Man helps lost tourists find where they’re going. Most Reals also lend their personages to charities, donating to food banks or organizing clothing drives.

Other Reals scoff at the idea of being a glorified Salvation Army bell-ringer and instead go looking for action. “I fight evil,” says Tothian, the New Jersey crimefighter who founded Heroes Network. “I don’t think picking up garbage is superheroic.”

Master Legend, a chrome-suited 41-year-old from Winter Park, Florida, patrols the streets looking for crimes in progress, and claims his efforts have paid off. “I’ve dumped garbage cans over crackheads’ heads, I slam their heads against the wall, whatever it takes,” the Silver Slugger says with bravado. “They try to hit me first, and then it’s time for Steel Toe City.”

IN 1986, ALAN MOORE RELEASED his magnum opus, Watchmen, a 12-issue comic series whose conceit was built on a simple premise: What would it be like if superheroes existed in real life? Besides helping to usher in a new age of “mature” graphic novels, the series foreshadowed some of the complications facing real-life superheroes today.

For instance: How to balance crime fighting with family life? Zetaman, a goateed, black-and-blue-clad Real hailing from Portland, Oregon, got married seven years go, but only recently started his career as a costumed crusader. He says his wife’s reaction to his new hobby was lukewarm—she made him promise not to go out at night, and told him to focus on charity work instead of fisticuffs. “She thinks it’s a phase,” he says with a laugh.

The media can be even less charitable, as Captain Jackson, a gray-and-yellow-suited hero from Michigan, discovered in October 2005. That’s when a headline appeared in the Jackson Citizen Patriot that could’ve been penned by J. Jonah Jameson himself: “Crime Fighter Busted for Drunk Driving.” The article unmasked Captain Jackson as Thomas Frankini, a 49-year-old factory worker who’d been arrested for driving with a blood-alcohol level of 0.135 percent. The story was picked up by the Detroit Free Press and Fox News. Frankini was devastated. “My patrol days are over, I’m afraid,” he said.

Unlike in the comics, real-life Commissioner Gordons rarely express gratitude for superheroes’ help. One evening when Master Legend was on patrol, he heard a woman scream and ran to investigate. But when he located the damsel in distress, she thought he was attacking her and called the cops. “They wanted to know if I was some kind of insane man, a 41-year-old man running around in a costume,” he recounts. “Apparently, they had never heard of me.”

Bernard, a sharp-featured, 33-year-old police detective from suburban Philadelphia who asked that his last name be withheld, has become something of a rabbi to the online community of Reals. When he first stumbled upon the phenomenon, he thought, “These people are nuts.” But as he learned more, he saw how the costumed do-gooders could make a difference. “They’re definitely committed, and their heart is in the right place.”

Most Reals are harmless enough, but Bernard worries about the bloodlust displayed by a small segment of the community. A recent thread on Heroes Network debated whether it was appropriate for a Real to carry a shotgun in his patrol vehicle. These aggressive Reals don’t realize how difficult it is to apprehend criminals in the real world, Bernard says. “It’s not like drug dealers stand around with quarter ounces of cocaine, throwing them in the air and saying ‘Here’s drugs for sale,'” he says. “Let’s imagine that one of them does come across a drug dealer, gives them a roundhouse kick to the head, and finds a whole bag of pot in his pocket. Nobody’s going to celebrate that. If anything, now you’re going to have a huge fiasco. Let’s face it—the world is complicated. You don’t solve anything by punching somebody.”

Rumor has it that a Real named Nostrum recently lost an eye in the line of duty, and some wonder if it will take a fatality to jolt the community out of its four-color fantasy. Wall Creeper, a 19-year-old who fights crime in Colorado, even seems to welcome the possibility. “To die doing something so noble would be the best thing to happen,” he says.

JIM WAYNE KEPT HIS EYE OUT in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona—and the bald 40-year-old didn’t like what he saw. “Somewhere along the line we’ve stopped caring about each other and started caring about ourselves,” he says.

Two years ago, Wayne saw a commercial for Who Wants to Be a Superhero?—a reality show in which costumed contestants compete for the honor of starring in their own comic book—and something inside him clicked.

“Ever since I was a kid, if you asked any of my friends or family who they knew that should be a superhero, they’d probably say me,” he says.

Wayne dreamed up Citizen Prime, a persona patterned after his favorite comic book character, Captain America. “He, even more than Superman or Batman, epitomizes what a hero is: someone who stands up for their principles and goes out there to help people,” Wayne says. To bring his alter ego to life, Wayne spent $4,000 on custom-made armor—everything from a shiny chest plate to a bright yellow cape and a sloping steel helmet. “I made a commitment to make this and wear it and create this presence and see where that takes me,” he says.

Initially, it didn’t take him far. “There’s a reason why police are always coming after crimes,” he says. “It’s one of those fictions in comics when superheroes are walking down the street and hear a scream. I found out real quickly that patrolling for patrolling’s sake seems like a lost effort.”

That realization sparked a change in how he thought about his role. “I think even though there’s some fun to be had in the kick-ass aspect of comics, it’s fiction and fantasy and we know it,” he says. “As you translate those icons over to the real world, you have to face truths, such as violence begets violence.”

So Prime hung up the bulletproof vest and tactical baton and began volunteering for charity work. He teamed with Kids Defense, an organization aimed at protecting kids from internet predators, and allied with the Banner Desert Hospital pediatrics wing, offering to personally pick up toys from anyone who wanted to donate to the holiday drive. “I want to get people out there to create a presence in the community,” he says. “You make a presence of good in the community and the darker elements retreat.”

Recently, he started his own nonprofit called the League of Citizen Heroes. The organization, as he envisions it, will draw on an army of volunteers—both masked and unmasked—to contribute to the greater good. “That’s the level of sophistication that I think the movement’s moving towards,” he says, “We don’t have to just be patrolling the dark streets.”

Superhero, one of the first recruits to the League, shares Wayne’s dream, but is less philosophical when it comes to why, when all is said and done, he decided to put on a costume.

“I horse-shitted myself into thinking I was being a symbol for people and all that,” Superhero says. “But then I just faced the truth and admitted I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”

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Originally posted: http://www.rnw.nl/pt-pt/node/27694

Twenty-eight-year-old David “Civitron” Civatarese is a Boston-based real-life super hero. In his day job he works with adults with autism but in his free time, Civitron dons his home-made super hero disguise – a burgundy and orange jumpsuit – and takes to the sidewalk, assisting his community however he can by cleaning up the streets, helping out the homeless or families in need.

He’s part of a growing collective of ordinary citizens across America who have transformed themselves into something – and someone – else, made themselves larger than life. Going under the banner ‘Superheroes Anonymous’, the collective is dedicated to inspiring the super hero spirit in everyone.

Original persona
According to Civitron, it’s about finding out what your individual powers are and finding out how you can use those powers to help your community.

“Many of us dress up as an original super hero persona – and that’s part of the personal journey of going out and changing your life, of becoming the change that you want to see in the world [to quote Gandhi]. We take a look at ourselves, take a moral inventory – and see what we can change. With the persona we provide a template for ourselves to live by.”

The costumes – and the reasons for wearing them – are different for everyone, says Civitron.

“It’s about becoming a living example, not only for others but also yourself. You put on the costume to remind yourself you are out there specifically for the purpose of helping and for living your cause. For others, it’s more about fun.”

Whether it’s Life Lazaros, a New York hipster who wears a black mask and works on the street with runaways and homeless people, or Zeta Man, who coordinates fundraisers in his local hip hop community, the growth of the real life super hero has been exponential in recent years, with close to 200 members across the United States.

Health and safety
But it’s not a question of vigilantism, Civitron is keen to point out. Superheroes Anonymous members act within the boundaries of safety and the law and liase with the police to build upon existing mechanism within society, rather than working alone. They aim to take responsibility within their own community.

Whether you wear a costume or not, Civitron says the guidelines to becoming a real-life super hero are simple:

“Know the law and know what the legal boundaries are. Always be safe… and for anybody looking to become a real life super hero – they should explore themselves, know what they believe to be true, set out to be that ambassador to the world and always stay true to their message.”

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Originally posted at http://thephoenix.com/Boston/Life/94281-Super-friends/

Move over, Clark Kent. All over New England, mild-mannered citizens are suiting up and doing their part to play the hero.

By TEA KRULOS

THWAK! I swing with my right fist, trying to connect with my opponent’s face. In a smooth motion, he deflects my punch with his forearm, which is protected with a black and metallic-plastic arm gauntlet. I swing with my left fist, and am again knocked away effortlessly. I can see my reflection in his sunglasses, framed in white. He smiles and smoothes out his red and white spandex shirt — adorned with a letter “C,” a flame shooting out of the top — and then crouches into a fighting stance.

“Oh, no,” I think. “I’m about to get my ass kicked by a Lycra-wearing superhero.”

This non-caped crusader goes by the name of Civitron, and lucky for me, our combat is not a battle royale to the death. Rather, we are sparring at Rebelo’s Kenpo Karate, in New Bedford, where Civitron has trained under sensei Joseph “Kenpo Joe” Rebelo on and off for more than 10 years. We aren’t alone.

Twelve other “real-life superheroes,” striking and grappling, are crowded into the dojo for a martial-arts workshop led by Rebelo (who, despite his superhero-sounding last name, is not a member of this tribe). The heroes have flown in — by plane — from all over the country to take part in a three-day conference called “Superheroes Anonymous,” which is akin to a modern-day Justice League confab. They are wearing a multi-hued rainbow of spandex costumes, but there is also an emphasis on “real.” These aren’t the chiseled matinee-idol muscle men and women of the comics pages — more like the people with whom you ride the bus. Yes, some are athletic and tall, but some are short with pot bellies. It’s doubtful these heroes will put the fear of God into real-life hoodlums, let alone the Penguin or Dr. Octopus.

“We come in all shapes, sizes, backgrounds, and beliefs,” says Civitron. (In the tradition of protecting a superhero’s alter ego, these heroes agreed to speak with the Phoenix as long as we could assure them their secret identities would be safe.) There is Nyx, a curvy New Jersey woman, dressed in gray leotards with a red dust mask covering her lower face. She is sparring against Zimmer, who has just arrived from Austin. Zimmer, short and wiry, wears a spandex shirt, the binary code for the letter “Z” streaming down one side. Zetaman traveled from Portland, Oregon, with a suitcase full of bulky blue plastic armor (superheroes of other eras never had to get their costumes through airport security). Scavenger has on a black mask and corset; black plastic streamers hang from her arms. Her main focus, superhero-wise, is picking up litter in Waterbury, Connecticut, where she has traveled from with her friend, the mountainous Runebringer. He is wrapped in a large gray coat with runic characters decorating his chest.

A lifelong superhero fan, Rebelo, 48, is clearly relishing his surreal position as instructor to a class whose students look as if they had stepped out of a stack of his comic books. As he yells out instructions, his colorful combatants block and counter strike, a Roy Lichtenstein–like comic panel of goggles, masks, combat boots, homemade utility belts, and capes come to life.

After training for a few days in the superhero arts, these mortals will return home and watch over their cities — maybe in a neighborhood near you.

Superheroes in real life
The real-life superhero (RLSH) scene is, believe it or not, a growing movement of people who adopt a superhero persona of their own creation, then perform small-scale heroic deeds, such as donating to charities or watching their streets for criminal behavior. Some can acquit themselves admirably in the fighting arena, whereas others make do by carrying pepper spray and Tasers, but most stress that their best weapon is a cell phone to call the police.

If the image of mere mortals walking the streets in homemade costumes is strange, consider that our vicarious culture has increasingly catered to our fantasy lives. We’re assuming the lives of rock stars, soldiers, and athletes in video games, and immersing ourselves completely in characters created in World of Warcraft, Second Life, and other online role-playing games. We watch artificial realities on TV, and read celebrity blogs on MySpace and Twitter.

Combine this with the grand American tradition of the superhero comic book, which took its first BAM! and POW! steps into the pop-culture pantheon more than 70 years ago. In the last several years, the Spider-Man, X-Men, and Batman franchises, among others, have smashed box-office records like the Hulk on a rampage. Add to that hit TV shows like Heroes and the popularity of graphic novels, and it’s easy to see the yearning of your everyday Clark Kent to be something, well, more super.

The spreading of the RLSH philosophy has been as simple as a click of the mouse. Internet chat rooms and YouTube videos connected new superheroes from city to city. Inevitably, regionalized teams formed and events like Superheroes Anonymous were set up so that like-minded heroes could meet, mask to mask.

First-time filmmakers Ben Goldman and Chaim Lazaros founded the annual conference three years ago, to capture heroes uniting to work together in New York City, with additional footage shot the next year in New Orleans. (Their documentary is currently in post-production.) Civitron volunteered to host this year’s conference in the “Secret City” of New Bedford. (Not exactly the Fortress of Solitude, but it will do in a pinch.)

Originally a premise to get quirky, compelling footage, Superheroes Anonymous has evolved. Besides the annual conference, it has recently been rethought of as a nonprofit organization, with chapters in New Bedford; New York; Raleigh, North Carolina; and Portland, Oregon.

“We’ve already met with lawyers to go over nonprofit paperwork,” says Civitron. “The funny thing is, they were really disappointed that they wouldn’t be representing crazy people who thought they had super powers.”

New England heroes
“New England has a long history of people looking for justice, and I think it’s been passed down generation to generation,” says Civitron, who was born in Boston and moved to New Bedford in sixth grade. He says the history, and even the East Coast’s Gotham City–like architecture, makes New England a great place to hang a superhero shingle.

Perhaps that’s why the region is damn near overrun with superheroes.

Recluse also calls New Bedford home. Clad in a studded rubber mask and a shirt with the white outline of a spider, he is a mysterious and elusive figure, true to his name. He does, however, agree to speak briefly with the Phoenix.

“When I first started,” recalls Recluse, “I was doing patrols in one of [New Bedford’s] worst neighborhoods, the South End. A lot of drug dealers, a lot of gangs, and I got injured doing that. . . . I thought it was like the comic books, apparently. I don’t know what I was thinking. I tried to stop three people from breaking into a house and I got thrown off the porch and landed on my shoulder, so I learned a lesson there.”

Since then, he says, he has taken a more careful approach, hitting the streets as a dynamic duo with a trained martial artist who calls himself Bushido (Japanese for “way of the warrior,” and the name of the moral code the samurai lived by). While combing the streets for crime, he wears street clothes — and a ballistics vest.

Recluse, too, has been donning plainclothes of late, “trying to observe and report more,” he says. “I knew Bushido way before I ever donned my Recluse mask; he saw what I was doing and he wanted to do it as well. We patrol from a vehicle with a video camera and only get involved if it’s an immediate danger to someone or someone’s property.”

Basilisk, inspired by Batman, cruises around the Taunton area. You’ll recognize him as the guy wearing a trench coat, goggles, a hood, and gloves. He met Civitron online, and the two now meet regularly to get coffee and discuss life, or to go look for wrongs to right.

Basilisk says he views himself as “a servant of the people. I take this goal very seriously,” he says. “Basically I want to be myself and I want to make a difference.”

If any bad dudes venture farther north, specifically in the Lewiston and Auburn area of Maine, they’ll be entering Slapjack’s turf. Slapjack says he first adopted his persona for the online role-playing game City of Heroes. But after hearing about other real-life superheroes, he decided it was time for his character to move from the virtual world to the real streets to watch for crime and help with charity work.

His look is inspired by the classic comic-noir hero The Shadow. They both wear a fedora and trench coat, and Slapjack has a mask with a spade and a diamond over the eyes. He sometimes carries metal-framed playing cards that can be tossed like throwing knives.

“Slapjack is the complete opposite of who I am,” he says, reflecting on his costumed persona. “I’m a really happy-go-lucky type of guy. I am very social and open, and Slapjack is like the darker personality. He is more secretive, more opinionated, he’s let his mind go and it really is like a Clark Kent/Superman or Bruce Wayne/Batman type of thing.”

There are numerous other heroes in the region. Among them: The Beetle of Portland, Maine, who couldn’t be reached for comment; someone calling themselves “Samaritan” from Providence, who recently contacted Civitron, and said he had been walking his beat for the last couple years, unaware of the larger RLSH movement; and the retired Ms. Kismet of New Bedford, whose MySpace page notes that “I carry a backpack, which hold[s] a great number of useful superhero things, like . . . alcohol-based hand sanitizer (it does the trick without promoting bacteria resistance).”

Instrument of the people
Civitron’s heroic name comes from the Roman civi (of the people) and the Greek suffix tron (instrument), and describes how he sees himself. He is of Puerto Rican and Italian decent, with the build of a runner and someone who takes his martial-arts training seriously.

“Something I say all the time is that I’m not really Civitron alone,” he tells me later by phone, as he watches over his neighborhood. “Civitron is a creation of everybody in my life who helped me get to this point.”

This eclectic hero-forming collective includes Civitron’s mom, whom he credits with teaching him to be a strong person, but not a “tough guy.” “He’s always wanted to save the world,” she says.

Civitron’s partner, Jennifer, is also supportive of him. Their six-year-old son has even adopted his own superhero persona, Mad Owl, complete with a brown-and-gold owl costume.

But other than the father and son having secret identities, the three actually seem like a pretty normal family. Jennifer goes to school for biology. Civitron — who has a very warm, Zen-like personality, almost constantly smiling — has worked as a counselor, and currently is involved with a day program for autistic patients.

Whereas many comic-book superheroes are reviled in their communities, Civitron has legions of fans. They include the former RLSH Green Sage, a friend from New Bedford who has retired his own hero costume but still supports Civitron’s efforts, and Tem Blessed, a positive-message rapper from Providence who has collaborated with Civitron on a food drive. The two plan to work on projects together in the future.

Civitron says his first meeting with his sensei, Rebelo, was in a comic-book store. Rebelo is proud of Civitron and his colleagues.

“His actions make others aware that they can act heroically, too,” says Rebelo. “Helping a food pantry, picking up litter, distributing food and clothes to the poor — these are actions that so many people have given up on. You hear so much about not being a snitch, about not getting involved. There’s a famous quote from Charles Barkley, ‘I’m not a role model.’ Civitron is saying the opposite of all that — that he is a role model. He wants to be involved and do something positive.”

Don’t expect the New Bedford Police Department to build a bat-signal anytime soon, though.

“We prefer to be the only costumed crime fighters out there,” says Lieutenant Jeffrey Silva, a police spokesman. He says the department is aware of real-life superheroes, but they have yet to cross paths with them.

“Although they might be well-intentioned, we don’t endorse citizen patrols, because we don’t know the level of training,” says Silva. Even so, he concedes that any help to police is welcome.

“Anytime someone wants to get involved and help police, we see it as a good thing, so long as they don’t work without police participation. We prefer people to be the eyes and ears of the police.”

But what about the strange costumes?

“Well, fortunately, we’re not the fashion police,” states Silva.

So what is the payoff for dressing as a superhero and running through dark and dangerous alleyways in the moonlight? Slapjack says that the realization that he is trying to do something positive is his reward.

“Knowing that you are going out there and being proactive and helping makes you feel good about accomplishing something,” says Slapjack. “My father always said, ‘No matter how bad your life, no matter how hard, there is always someone a lot worse off than you are.’ I always took that to heart, and use that as motivation to be better and do good.”

“I just see myself as someone trying to make things better,” agrees Recluse, “and I hope that people see me as that.” As for Civitron, he says being a father is a reason he wants to make the world a better place.

“I’ll be satisfied in the end if I’m just perceived as doing my part,” he says, “contributing to society and making my community better. I like being real and living my truth.”

For more information, visit the Web sites superheroesanonymous.com and reallifesuperheroes.org. Tea Krulos is a freelance writer from Milwaukee. He can be reached at teakrulos@gmail.com.

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Originally posted: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturepicturegalleries/7973066/The-Real-Life-Super-Hero-Project-by-Peter-Tangen.html

These costumed heroes may look like they have jumped out of a comic book or Hollywood blockbuster, but they are all ordinary people who don’t have one special ability between them – just a super human need to help fix our broken society. Captured by American photographer Peter Tangen, these normal, but anonymous, people make up his ambitious Real Life Super Hero Project. The photos give a revealing insight into a small but growing niche in unusual altruistic behaviour

“I work as a freelance photographer in the film marketing sector and as such I have done photo shoots for films such as Spider-Man and the first of the Batman series starring Christian Bale,” said LA-based photographer Peter, aged 50.”I became interested in the growing phenomenon of normal everyday people adopting superhero personas. However, as I researched more I was struck by the irreverent and almost insulting tone of some of the reporting into these altruistic people, who devote their time and effort into helping others. It isn’t about their costumes or their own personal mythology or mission, it is about the fact that they help people less well off than themselves

Standing just 5ft 6in tall the Crimson Fist is Atlanta’s night guardian. On the night of his inaugural patrol, he happened upon two men attacking another in a dark alley. Without giving a second thought to the situation, he went to intervene. The two men stopped, and apparently freaked out at the sudden appearance of this white-and-red clad, mask-wearing man. Amusingly, the man The Crimson Fist rescued ran away too

“I wanted to produce a full blown movie poster series about the super heroes across North America to highlight the real reasons that these people do what they do,” explained Peter

Contacting Thanatos, a long-standing and respected member of the super hero community, Peter travelled to Vancouver to conduct his first photo shoot. “Getting Thanatos onboard in the late summer of 2009 was an important first step, because the community is known for being guarded after some of the negative publicity they have received,” said Peter. “After I met such a stalwart, other heroes came on board and relatively quickly we had planned and organised a massive shoot in LA at the end of September for 19 other superheroes”

Thanatos, also known as the The Dark Avenger, patrols the streets of Vancouver, Canada providing help to the needy and homeless

A poster featuring Thanatos, who takes his name from the ancient Greek for the personification of death itself

In a real-life superhero world filled with men, Nyx works her mission in and around New York City to help the homeless and those in need of rescue from drugs

Poster featuring Nyx, who began her involvement in the superhero world at the age of 16

Citizen Prime is one of the most respected members of the superhero community. Recently retired, he is still sought out by other superheroes keen to hear his thoughts on their mission and how to develop their mythology

A poster featuring Citizen Prime, who wears a suit of armour designed by a medieval jousting club in California

Dressed as a snazzy New Yorker, Life’s superhero mission is to provide help to the homeless, especially in the freezing cold New York winters. Setting out during the week dressed in mask, waistcoat and jacket, Life has a backpack brimming with toothbrushes, soaps, food and candy bars

As the co-founder of New York’s Superheroes Anonymous, Life wants to help those who need it

KnightVigil: Patroling the Tampa Bay area of Florida, KnightVigil is the medieval-themed guardian of America’s sunshine state

With two batons to protect himself, KnightVigil looks to help the homeless and to catch perpetrators on the run

Helping out in the city of Portland, Oregon, Zetaman is an internet-savvy superhero. He launched ‘The Real Adventures of Zetaman’ online; this was the first broadcast length reality series of superheroes available on the web

Poster featuring Zetaman, so called because he “wanted a name that would look cool in bold italics”. “I try to help the hungry homeless in Portland, Oregon, ” said Zetaman, who is happy to give his real name of Illya King and his real age, 31. “I haven’t ever deterred any crimes on the street, but I am trained in the martial art of Akido”

Covered in a uniform that displays the stars of the original 13 states of America, DC Guardian’s mission is to roam the streets of Washington DC with copies of the nation’s constitution, Bill of Rights and Declaration of Independence. Explaining to passers-by the importance of their nation’s democracy, DC’s Guardian never reveals his face. He says the reason behind this is to allow black, white, Asian or Hispanic people to see themselves behind the mask

Fighting against what he feels is the ‘Bystander Effect’ in society, Super Hero operates in Clearwater, Florida

An ex-professional wrestler, Super Hero is the co-founder of Team Justice Inc, the first non-profit organisation for Real Life Superheroes in the United States

Geist patrols the streets of Minneapolis, correcting gangland graffiti

Describing himself as wearing ‘green Space-Cowboy chic’, superhero Geist patrols the streets of Rochester, Minnesota deterring petty crime, graffiti artists and helping the hungry and homeless. He carries a slingshot and electrified baton, which are legal in Minnesota, but Geist has never had to use them in self defence

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Story of VinylFluidRecords.com have asked the SA4 team to donate some time to help out at Ozone’s Hip Hop Showcase event, Hot Nights/Warm Coat BBQ. This event is a donation point for coats for the Homeless in the Portland area. For more information, check out their Facebook event page at http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=124501007599588.
www.ozoneshiphopshowcase.com

Also, a reminder that there is still plenty of time to help out the Superheroes Anonymous 4 team by donating to our Susan G. Komen page at http://race.saportland.info (this is a redirect domain name). We’ve raised $75 thus far. Our goal is $500. So please consider donating to your team and help us stomp out Breast Cancer.

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Originally posted: http://www.komonews.com/younews/103489809.html

Posted on: Sep 21, 2010 at 5:37 PM PDT
Channel: Off the Wall
Location: Portland, OR
Tags: superhero Race for the Cure real-life superheroes Zetaman Civitron charity award
A.J. Roberts of Edmonds, WA received the Civic Hero Award from the Committee for Real Life Superheroes. He was awarded it at Superheroes Anonymous 4, an annual meeting of real-life superheroes, for his “Exceptional contribution for the Susan G. Komen ‘Race for the Cure’ 2010.” The award is signed by Zetaman of Portland and Civitron of New Bedford, Massachusetts.

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Originally posted: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/united-states/real-life-superheroes-strive-for-the-greater-good-256549.html

Dark Guardian patrols the parks in Brooklyn after the sun sets. He targets drug dealers peddling their goods where kids play. His approach is simple: He finds people selling drugs and tells them to leave—usually along the lines of “I know what you’re doing here. Get out, or I’m calling the police.” And they often do, grumbling and cursing as they go.

Things don’t always go so smoothly though, and Dark Guardian knows the people he’s dealing with. Sometimes shouts turn to threats, and at those moments, courage becomes a necessity. As a martial arts instructor by day, he knows how to defend himself, but punches and kicks can do little against bullets and knives.

“I’ve dealt with a whole bunch out there,” Dark Guardian said, but to him it’s worth the risk. He remembers the impact comic books had when he was growing up, and wants to pass the feeling on.

“I think it’s good for kids to look up and say, ‘This is someone who stands up for what is right. This is someone who helps others,’” he said.

Dark Guardian isn’t alone. There are hundreds of other Real-Life Superheroes across the country, although not all of them fight crime. Their roles range from bringing food, blankets, and clothing to homeless people; to visiting children’s hospitals so kids can meet a real superhero; to patrolling streets at night.

“I believe in the idea that every person has the potential to be Superman,” said Zetaman, a Real-Life Superhero who patrols in downtown Portland. “Despite any situation or financial woes, or anything else, it doesn’t exclude you from wanting to be a better person,” he said.

And he says that from his heart. As Zetaman admits, “I’m not exactly rich,” but he often buys food and supplies for homeless people. He and a team of other Real-Life Superheroes also held “Operation Treehouse” to buy toys for foster kids.

Zetaman is known for his blue costume—painted riot gear with a large white “Z” on the front. He goes out without a mask, which he believes makes his actions a bit easier for others to understand
Becoming Superman

Just like in the realm of fictional superheroes, Real-Life Superheroes are defined by their costumes. Dark Guardian is more discreet, wearing what looks like leather biker clothes—only with a bulletproof vest with stab plating underneath. Costumes typically have utility belts to top it off, often with first-aid kits and pepper spray.

Their costumes get mixed reactions. This ranges from news anchors giggling about the guy wearing tights and a cape, to homeless people who had a visiting superhero help them stay warm through the winter.

But the costumes are important to what they do.

“The persona that you present is a tool,” said Night Owl, who often patrols with Zetaman. Night Owl said that while you can still do respectable and heroic things wearing a tee shirt, when you put on a costume, “It’s to draw attention to your actions.”

“What we’re trying to accomplish, outside tangible results, is to create a larger shift in the mindset in not only America, but the world—toward taking up the mission and the cause of saying we are responsible for our home, where we live, and the people around us,” he said.

Night Owl is a trained EMT and works as a firefighter, and spent time in Iraq working as a firefighter contractor.

He said that being a Real-Life Superhero isn’t nearly as exciting as being overseas. “The truth is, it’s actually kind of boring,” he said, noting that it’s not very often someone witnesses a crime taking place. When he and his team go out, they often research ahead of time where there are homeless people or where citizen patrols are needed.

People often ask him why he doesn’t just join law enforcement, which makes him laugh, since he already works in the field. “This was a way to raise the bar,” he said, noting that “you don’t have to go out there and become a professional law enforcement officer to do something that is good for your community.”

Night Owl said that with Real-Life Superheroes as a whole, “At a deeper level, what rests behind their masks and bulletproof vests is a belief that people can become something more.”

Uniting the Superheroes

Bringing the community together is Life—the Real-Life Superhero equivalent of Nick Fury, head of the fictional superhero group, The Avengers. Life and his friend, Cameraman, founded Superheroes Anonymous in 2007. The nonprofit organization finds and unites Real-Life Superheroes around the world. The two joined the movement when they were film students making a film about Real-Life Superheroes.

“What I saw was a bunch of great people who were very dispersed throughout America and the world. They never had one gathering or meeting to inspire or support one-another,” said Life, who often holds Real-Life Superhero workshops in Brooklyn.

He noted that Real-Life Superheroes usually only get recognized by the press and police as individuals, “and they would kind of write it off as ‘and here’s a guy who thinks he’s a superhero.’” They needed a face, and a way of showing there are many like them.

Although it wasn’t his intention, Life has become the face of the movement—and he does this well. He’s one of the more dapper fellows of the bunch. He typically wears dress clothes with a tie, vest, and fedora; and with a domino mask to top it off. His superhero name is based off his real name, Chaim, which is derived from “L’Chaim,” a Hebrew toast meaning “to life.”

Being a nonprofit enables the group to get donations when they go to help homeless people or raise money to donate toys to kids, and he notes, “People are actually recognizing Real-Life Superheroes as a movement.”