From 2009 or thereabouts comes this column about real-life superheroes. I tried to find an update about Master Legend, but the only information out there was a 2011 story from the Orlando Sentinel (linked below).
Master Legend may be the world’s best-known Real-Life Superhero.
Featured in a December Rolling Stone article by Joshua Bearman, Legend has shot to semi-fame and full notoriety for his dedication to a way of life that hitherto existed only in comic books: He puts on a costume to fight crime, cruising around the streets near Orlando, Fla., in a 1986 Nissan pickup dubbed the Battle Truck.
And Legend, who is exactly one bullet or concussion away from becoming Myth, isn’t the only one. A visit to the World Superhero Registry online reveals dozens of similar folks who have decided the day of costumed vigilantes has dawned. Perhaps they’ve been inspired by glum headlines of late, by political and economic misfeasance and malfeasance, or CGI-enhanced movies where Bat suits and armor look less like four-color gimmickry and more like something one could wear in the real world.
Whatever the reason, the registry is filled with folks like Queen of Hearts in Jackson, Mich., whose laudable goal is to “quell domestic violence by teaching our youth and others how to recognize and prevent it”; Nostrum in Louisiana, who is “a firm believer in moral absolutism and will fight for the greater good of society as I have done in secret for several years now”; and Geist in Rochester, Minn., who targets the plight of the homeless and is “prepared to make citizen’s arrests if necessary.”
Most of the heroes have links to MySpace and Facebook pages where they are shown in costume and with their various accouterments – painted elbow and knee pads, snow shovels (Polar Man in Canada shovels for the elderly) and rabbit tails (Cincinnati’s Shadow Hare claims to have fought off “crazy hobos with pipes”).
Maybe they’re onto something, even if most seem to be unemployed and at least as big a menace as the evildoers they claim to fight. Twenty-first-century life is annoying, and we could use a few costumed do-gooders to set people straight.
To wit: Where is Arid Man, whose job is to hose down people whose body odor and breath are repellant? Or his trusty sidekick, Perfuma, whose task is to ask those who wear excessive cologne or body spray to tone it down a little? What about Hy-Genie, who pours antibacterial soap on the villains who don’t wash their hands in public restrooms?
We also need Captain Civics, dressed entirely in spandex shaped like the Constitution, whose job is to buffet non-voters smartly about the head and shoulders whenever they complain about government or elected officials. Courtesy Kid could get lots of work by confiscating cell phones when people use them in movies, in line at the sub shop, or anywhere else where their attention is better focused on the situation at hand.
And Ear Plug Pal, who makes a citizen’s arrest each time complete strangers interpret “How are you?” as an invitation to actually tell you all their woes. Or Mort U. Weary, who shoots embalming fluid from a squirt gun every time some wide-eyed voyeur breathlessly asks, “Didja see who died today?”
We mustn’t forget the Traffic Terror, who flattens the tires of anybody who doesn’t know how to make a right turn on red or how to turn on their headlights in fog or snow. And the Volumizer, who hunts down people who keep library materials after the due date, especially the ones that you really want or need. Kill O. Watt could give grief to folks who are still displaying Christmas decorations, even though the holiday is long over, and Anticipatory Man could take retailers to task for already selling Cadbury Crème Eggs when Easter is 94 shopping days away.
I myself live in dread of the Printer’s Devil, a little guy who whaps columnists over the head with a rolled-up newspaper when they’ve overstayed their welcome.
I’ll be right back. Somebody’s knocking at the door.
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