Home - Guardian Angels Home Perv Busters Who We Are The Guardian Angels have become integrated into the fabric of the community. Since 1979, the non-profit, New York City based group, has been responsible for creating hundreds of safety patrols chapters throughout the United States and worldwide. Formed by Curtis Sliwa and 12 dedicated volunteers in New York City, the “Magnificent 13” rode the subways to conduct safety patrol. For 37 years, thousands of people have joined the Guardian Angels and created chapters in over 130 cities in 13 countries to protect their communities and improve substantially the quality of life. Guardian Angels are role models in the community and lead by example. They understand that problems of any community cannot be solved single-handedly and requires the cooperation of all its members. They recognize the need to foster community pride and civic mindedness to help remove many of the societal ills making safety patrol necessary. This attitude runs throughout the multitude of community programs and services volunteers administer. The Guardian Angels recognize that by thinking solely in terms of protection instead of prevention we are throwing up the white flag and surrendering to the inevitability of crime.

What We Do Safety Patrols have been the heart and soul of the Guardian Angels since its inception. Patrol Volunteers are thoroughly trained in protection of self and others while regularly patrolling their communities. Their efforts help combat the terrifying disease of street crime by uniting citizens together to respond to the ever-changing elements of community problems. They address criminal activity where it is needed most and go beyond the defensive to empower the collective community by teaching practical skills, initiating community programs and emphasizing cooperation to solve problems. The Guardian Angels empower people by teaching practical skills and a full spectrum of “self-help” skills in schools, at their local chapter facilities and community centers. Their programs are enabling people to take action without relying on government, a key principle of The Guardian Angels. Chapter Volunteers use their hard-earned experience to teach self-defense courses and “street smarts” skills to seniors, women and community groups, schools and university students around the country. From community defense classes, to training of life skills to adults and youth programs for at risk youth, the Guardian Angels have the ability to see the big picture in how to respond to community issues from their very core.

Fostering the self-reliance inherent in us all and understanding why local residents are most capable of solving their unique problems, Guardian Angels are there to lend a helping hand as long as others are willing to Dare To Care with them! Why It Matters The war we fight as Guardian Angels trying to prevent crime is one we wage on multiple levels. And while we are honest in regards to the realities we face we also revel in every victory we can achieve. It motivates us and inspires us to carry on. We can not end crime all on our own, but with the support of the communities we serve, we are making a positive difference each and every day. Each potential crime we prevent improves life for all of us. Every mugging, robbery, rape, or murder we help stop is one more person and one more family that is spared the trauma that could have happened. Every time a senior is out for a walk and sees the Red Beret volunteers and feels a little safer we, the concerned citizens win a little victory. Each boy or girl that comes through our youth program doors is a another chance for a child to reach his or her own potential and for a neighborhood to keep another future contributor to society from falling victim to the streets.

We promise to continue to do our part, like we have for all these years. All we ask of you is simply that if you support our goals, if you agree with our efforts and if you can, then please contribute. Direct support from members of our community’s will allow us to maintain and increase our safety patrols making sure they are always properly equipped and trained to respond to the many situations they face on the streets. And while the safety patrols are out there doing their job your contribution will also allow us to serve the children through our youth outreach and mentoring programs. These programs may not get the press attention like the patrols however a firsthand look at them shows you what a direct and lasting impact they have. We have done much over the years with very little. We promise to put every gift we are fortunate enough to receive to good use and to make continue to make a difference. New Posts New York City’s Real-Life Superhero Civil War - The Daily Beast BY DAY, I AM BRUCE WAYNE… New York City’s Real-Life Superhero Civil War New York City’s real-life superhero scene has family feuds, too.

Kelly Weill 05.16.16 5:13 AM ET UPDATE: The New York Initiative reached out to The Daily Beast to dispute Chris Pollak's characterization of their group and provided the following statement via Krystal Marx, aka "Temper" (her alias within the Initiative/Real-Life Superhero world): "The New York Initiative (NYI) is not only operational, it is a growing branch of the international Initiative Collective - a grassroots volunteer organization with branches in California, Illinois, Tennessee, Washington state, Virginia, Massachusetts and the U.K. Christopher 'Dark Guardian' Pollack is a former NYI member who left on bad terms, but we wish him well." A supporter of the New York Initiative, who asked to remain anonymous, added in an email to The Daily Beast, "I work with the NYI, who unlike the article inaccurately states are NOT disbanded.

The NYI is part of a larger effort and is currently run by a two-time Iraqi veteran." He also noted that "there IS no war" and added that the NYI "is obviously trying to to good in the world." It was an overcast afternoon on a gray street in Manhattan’s Financial District , and the Dark Guardian was out to recruit more superheros for his new justice league . Dark Guardian—the alter-ego of Chris Pollak, martial arts instructor by day, civilian watchdog by night—has a flair for the dramatic. He was dolled up in red nylon pants, a utility belt (contents: red flashlight, first aid kit), and a red bulletproof vest with his personal insignia: the letters “DG” in Superman-style font. Pollak/Dark Guardian is a so-called real-life superhero, a community crime-fighter who has spent years patrolling New York’s streets in his unorthodox uniform. His current super-crew is a team of four or five superheroes, though he used to run with the New York Initiative —you might know them from the HBO documentary Superheroes, which followed the loosely organized vigilante network as they patrolled their cities for scofflaws.

But recently Pollack became disenchanted with his former pals. “There was a bunch of them and I had to split off from the larger team—it’s a lot of weird stuff,” Pollak told The Daily Beast about his decision to go rogue. “I don’t want anything to do with them. They do some good stuff, I have no problem with them, but I’m splitting off and doing my own thing.” So now he’s canvassing for members for his superhero splinter group, The New York Ronins. (The name, Pollak said, meant “masterless warrior” in ancient Japan.) The Ronins will “keep doing the same work I’ve always done,” Pollack said. He doesn’t see much competition from the New York Initiative, which he claims has mostly disbanded or moved on. “Most of the Initiative people are gone, or doing their own thing,” he said. Such is the lifespan of civilian policing groups, according to Curtis Sliwa, who founded one of New York City’s oldest volunteer patrol groups, the Guardian Angels, in 1979. Sarah Rogers/The Daily Beast The Dark Guardian poses near the South Street Seaport in New York City. “I’ve seen many of those superhero groups pop up.

I think the first I became aware of was in San Diego, then Seattle, few other locations. Some can maintain their consistency, others have faded. I think that’s true of all volunteer patrols,” Sliwa told The Daily Beast. “I’ve always encouraged people, whether they wear pink shower caps, red berets, or cowboy hats to get out there and patrol their neighborhoods. If the glue in this case is this superhero motif—which is obviously very popular these days when you see people flooding to the movies—then I see it no different than what was the motivation for us in the late ’70s when vigilante movies were the rage.” Sliwa warned that civilian crime-fighters should know how to physically fight if they want to be successful on the job. “The only caution I would give any group, regardless of who they are, but especially if you have a superhero motif, is be prepared to get challenged, physically,” he said.

“There are always going to be wise guys who are gonna want to see if you really are Batman, Superman, if you really are one of the Fantastic Four.” igilante groups have to worry about more than just “wise guys.” Civilian police outfits are hugely controversial in New York, as some unofficial patrol groups act more like undercover gangs. The Shomrim , a Brooklyn-based group of volunteer police from the Hasidic Jewish community, stands accused of beating at least one black man, and faces other allegations of police bribery. Other volunteer groups like the Howard Beach Civilian Observation Patrol have drawn skepticism from criminal justice experts who fear they might overstep civilian boundaries. One New York City police union even sued Sliwa and his Guardian Angels, after it was revealed that they faked crimes to generate publicity for the group—in 1980, Sliwa claimed to have escaped a kidnapping by three off-duty members of the city’s police force. Sarah Rogers/The Daily Beast Pollak and his teammates’ relationship with the police is “whatever,” he says. “We’ll phone some stuff in. Sometimes they’re cool with it, sometimes they don’t care.” Meanwhile, back in the Financial District, turnout was low for Pollack’s recruitment drive.

Perhaps most superheroes prefer the cover of darkness to a midday meetup. But the few men who did show up said they were inspired by a perceived spike in city crime, and disorder in the city’s police department, which is undergoing a corruption probe. “My friend Chico—it was all over the news —he was shot in the head, and no one’s done anything about it. Everything’s just piling up,” Noel Caban, a 19-year-old from East Harlem, told The Daily Beast at Sunday’s recruitment effort. Caban has not invented a superhero persona yet, although he has the makings of young comic book hero: The teenager is an aspiring MMA star, trained in “muay thai and a little bit of jiu jitsu.” He made his amateur fighting debut in February, but his big dream is UFC stardom. Sarah Rogers/The Daily Beast Chaim "Life" Lazaros has been working with The Dark Guardian for several years, he says. Primarily Life's mission is to help the homeless. To be clear, fighting experience is not a prerequisite in New York’s superhero leagues. Caban and Pollak were the only attendees at Sunday’s event with martial arts experience. Get The Beast In Your Inbox!

Daily DigestStart and finish your day with the top stories from The Daily Beast. Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know (and nothing you don't). This Guardian Angel Bleeds Red | Westword This Guardian Angel Bleeds Red Remember Me Or sign in with a social account: FACEBOOK GOOGLE + TWITTER YAHOO! Don't have an account yet? Sign Up › Connect. Discover. Share. Get the most out of your experience with a personalized all-access pass to everything local on events, music, restaurants, news and more. Enter your email or sign up with a social account to get started FACEBOOK TWITTER GOOGLE+ YAHOO! Don't have an account yet? Sign Up › This Guardian Angel Bleeds Red Thursday, May 8, 2008 at 4 a.m. Sebastian Metz before his surgery (left) and today. Mark Manger Print Article Four Guardian Angels meet in the 1400 block of Ogden Street at dusk for their weekly march up and around Colfax Avenue, where they patrol the streets and alleys, looking to deter gang activity and other crimes — and to search for new recruits.

Three wear the recognizable Angels uniform: red berets, red and white T-shirts, black pants tucked into combat boots. They pat each other down for weapons, then sniff each other's breath to check for alcohol and peer into each other's eyes, looking for a drug haze — a ritual that Angels across the country perform. A 24-year-old skater in a black ball cap and sunglasses falls off his board when he sees the trio a few minutes later, standing straight with their arms crossed. He remembers a visit the group paid to his junior high school a dozen years earlier and walks over to talk. He tells them he's been jumped before and wishes there were more people around to help — people like the Guardian Angels. Info Guardian Angels The fourth Angel stands in the background, listening. He doesn't wear a uniform anymore, and although his speech is slightly slurred and he occasionally stumbles and forgets things, he isn't drunk or stoned. When it comes time to close the deal with the skater, who looks like a good recruit, it's this man who gets his phone number. Sebastian "Iron" Metz founded the Guardian Angels' Denver chapter in 1993.

An energetic character who talked a mile a minute and felt a duty to help those around him, Sebastian built the group into a visible force on Capitol Hill in the 1990s and early 2000s. He loved the excitement and adrenaline of guarding neighborhood streets, intervening in fights, sometimes detaining criminals and waiting for the cops. But in 2005, Sebastian underwent a rare and complicated heart operation that caused him to suffer several strokes. The resulting damage to his brain left him a different man physically and mentally, with little short-term memory and an unreliable long-term one. His family came apart and he could no longer hold a full-time job. "'Brain damage' is derogatory," Sebastian says with a matter-of-fact demeanor. "I prefer to say 'a slight case of brain death.'" While Sebastian fought to keep himself together, the Angels began to disintegrate, losing their office space, their headquarters and their clout on Colfax. But now Sebastian is back. On Ogden, the other three Angels take the lead as they continue their "safety patrol" up to Colfax and then west.

A woman in front of their former headquarters at 620 East Colfax pushes a shopping cart full of old newspapers and struggles for her words. "Angels do exist," she tells Sebastian. "They're not created beings to be worshipped." Three cops in a police cruiser honk and wave as they pass. A big, bald bouncer in front of the Roslyn Grill who goes by the name of "Tiny" asks one of the Angels what the hell he's going to do with the flashlight he carries if he runs into some real shit out on these streets. The Angel, Carl "Doc" Webster, just smiles, flips on his light and shines it into Tiny's eyes. Founded in 1979 by a New York City McDonald's manager named Curtis Sliwa, the Angels originally patrolled that city's crime-ridden subways. An almost entirely volunteer organization, there are now Angel chapters nationwide and in ten countries. Uniformed members, who travel in groups of two or three, look for trouble and try to stop it. They are trained in basic first aid, self-defense, conflict resolution and how to make citizens' arrests, but they are prohibited from carrying guns.

A woman smoking a cigarette outside the Roslyn wants to know what happened to the free self-defense classes the Angels used to host. The group's leader, Ryan "Arch Angel" Warren, promises her they will return — just like the Angels. They march westward, toward the Capitol. Sebastian jokes that the group looks like a bunch of old men who are on patrol because they can't find a good bowling league. But at least the other three are in uniform. Sebastian is on blood thinners that keep him from intervening if something goes down — one good stab or slice and he'd be a goner. Since the red beret immediately marks someone who is ready for physical confrontation, Sebastian can't wear it in public. "It guts me that I can't patrol in uniform," Sebastian says, "but I can still help with the recruiting." A man on a bike with long dark hair rides by slowly. "You guys are still around?" he asks with surprise. "You betcha," Doc says. Sebastian Metz was born in New York City in 1964, but by the time he was five, his hippie parents were ready to escape city life.

So they bought a cheap milk truck, painted it red, packed up their three kids and two dogs and explored the country, all the way down to Mexico. The Vietnam War was raging, and when the family got back to New York, there was no end in sight. Conscientious objectors, Sebastian's parents sold their belongings, took the dogs to a shelter and left again — this time for "Drop City," the infamous hippie commune near Trinidad. After that, the family resettled in Canada. In the early 1970s, they lived in an abandoned log cabin near an artist community, about three hours north of Vancouver. The families that lived there grew their own food, chopped wood for fuel, baked bread and carried well water. Meals were eaten under the light of kerosene lamps. The communal atmosphere gave Sebastian compassion for his fellow man, remembers his mother, Sue Scott. The families would all pile into a fishing boat and travel to Vancouver to pick up bags of grains. But the crop Sebastian says he became most familiar with was marijuana.

He was still just a kid when he got his first job harvesting pot plants, a job for which he was also paid in pot — until he quit smoking at thirteen in an act of rebellion against his parents. The Metz family was one of artists (Sebastian's father was a writer and editor), not athletes, not warriors. But Sebastian fell in love with hockey the summer before high school, after the family moved to Vancouver, playing on the concrete with homemade pads from the time he woke up in the morning until the sun went down. At age sixteen, he was out on the ice, skating until his ankles bled in hockey boot camps, then skating some more. Months after graduating from high school in 1982, Sebastian met a female Guardian Angel from Portland who was in Canada trying to start a Vancouver chapter. Several high-profile crimes had captured the attention of Canada's national press, and many Canadians were panicking that they had imported American crime. Sebastian went to a meeting and loved it. He enrolled in the training session — which reminded him of hockey camp — and walked with the first graduating Vancouver class of 42 people, Canada's largest chapter at the time.

Sebastian remembers splitting up fights while on patrol, but he says the Angels were also targets for people who didn't like their do-gooder image. On one occasion, a rocker in motorcycle boots and a jean jacket started hitting Sebastian in the face over and over for no apparent reason. "Calm down, calm down, calm down, sir," was all that Sebastian could utter before his fellow Angels pulled his assaulter off him. The pain wasn't as bad as Sebastian thought it would be, but the fear sank in shortly thereafter. Sebastian had to resurrect his nerve, which took a couple of weeks. Back on patrol, he was jumpy for a while, but he went on to become the chapter's leader. In 1987, Sebastian flew to New York to be trained for six weeks as a regional director. But the Angels were also checking him out to see how he'd measure up in the big city. "When I first met Sebastian, he was like Don Quixote, swinging at the windmills, talking in run-on sentences. He made no sense at all. He was a hippie kid," remembers Sliwa. "At first he was hopelessly naive, always willing to give the bad guy the benefit of the doubt.

He'd get clocked from time to time, he'd get snuckered, a thug would get up on him, but he maintained his idealist way, always pleasant and polite. He was what we called a trouper; he could survive on air sandwiches and unsweetened Kool-Aid because of his communal upbringing. Most Guardian Angels don't react well to that, but he actually adapted better than anticipated. Very few other Guardian Angels had that kind of determination and that kind of what we call moxie." When a city is in its most dire need, the Guardian Angels respond with a 24-hours-a-day, seven-days-a-week program, constantly watching the streets for trouble. Three things are necessary to run 24/7: donated food, space and a leader. Sebastian's personality helped him tolerate the Angels' space, above a porno theater in Times Square. The place had no toilet, so the Angels had to go across the street to the Port Authority; for showers, they had keys to an abandoned theater that had a sink but no lights. But that same personality also hurt him. Sebastian was a chatterbox, Sliwa remembers, which was sometimes perceived as a weakness on the streets.

Sebastian believes the Angels attract two kinds of people: crime fighters and peacekeepers. He considered himself a peacekeeper, and in New York he was in a chapter full of crime fighters, many of whom had lived around violence all their lives. "I have always been a romantic at heart when it comes to right and wrong, good and bad and doing the right thing," he says. When he returned to Vancouver as a regional director, Sebastian got a job as a stage hand at a theater company. After the shows were over, he and a co-worker whom he'd recruited into the Angels would patrol the alleys from midnight until early morning. He later set up a chapter in the suburbs of Vancouver, then restarted chapters in Seattle and Portland. Sliwa remembers paying a visit to Seattle when that city was infested with gangs in the late '80s. The whole chapter was living off of watermelon, and Sebastian was the only guy not complaining, he says. In Seattle, Sebastian was shot with a pellet gun and suffered his worst beating, from a broken bottle. It sent him to the emergency room, but it didn't deter him. "As an Angel, you get people who give you lip, who don't like you, who don't understand.

They say you risk your life for nothing, but it's not for nothing. People appreciate you, they thank you," he says. "I was always attracted to being a hero, and I always enjoyed helping people. It's the best...and if people experienced it, they'd want to get a lot more of it. Maybe something is wrong with my ego, but I just need that, I love it. If you can get that from it, that's the best paycheck." Of the four Guardian Angels walking Colfax, Sebastian isn't the oldest. Two are twenty-somethings, but sixty-year-old Doc has been an Angel as long as they've been in Denver. It's Doc who spots two kids sitting on their skateboards on a bench outside the Capitol and jumps on the recruitment opportunity. "What are you guys?" one of the kids asks. "We're Guardian Angels," Doc tells him. "What do you do?" "We help people." Doc tells them that they can bring in their older brothers and sisters or their parents to the Angels headquarters for free self-defense classes. "Will it help you to get into the cops or something?" the kid asks.

As the Angels approach a bus stop at Lincoln and Colfax and begin handing out fliers, Sebastian eyes potential members, but not as hard as some of the people at the bus stop are looking at him. Before the heart surgery, Doc says, Sebastian was one of the best recruiters the Angels had. But while the words used to roll right off his tongue, these days he struggles for them. His hands tremble. He forgets to watch where he's walking, takes a couple of steps and collides with a man on the corner. "Arch Angel is a good recruiter and Doc is a good recruiter, and I'm probably just embarrassing them," Sebastian says. "Sometimes you feel like recruiting when you're out and sometimes you don't; it's like that Almond Joy commercial. But a bunch of guys walking around looking like candy canes? I mean, come on, it's laughable — if it wasn't so serious." In 1989, Sebastian moved back to New York, where his life was a constant foot chase of purse-snatchers and window-breakers, fights and near-fights. On one patrol, a hooker sliced him with a box knife.

In between the action, the Angels passed out fliers on the trains, even though security would harass them. At the end of the day, they'd be lucky to get a donated slice of pizza or a piece of Popeye's chicken with a stale biscuit. It was a different kind of life for Sebastian, but one he took to. He spent part of his time on the road, starting or restarting chapters in Boston, New Haven, Bridgeport, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, D.C. He also helped create a chapter in Toronto and was the first Angel to take the cause overseas — to London and Manchester, Berlin, Stockholm, Sydney and Brisbane. Sebastian was the best man for the job, partly due to his Canadian background and his ability to adapt to any living situation, Sliwa says. Plus, he didn't drink or party, he was a good trainer, and he was one of the most media-savvy people in the group. The call to Denver came in 1993, after gang-related shootings led to the deaths of several innocent people, including a six-year-old boy shot in a drive-by in Park Hill and a schoolteacher on her way home from work.

The Summer of Violence, as it was called, led to national media headlines and a special legislative session. Sebastian, who hadn't been to Colorado since his family left Drop City, set up shop on East Colfax with the help of Dave Walstrom, who was executive director of Colfax on the Hill and the Colfax Business Improvement District at the time. Residents, business owners and community groups in Capitol Hill were looking for solutions, so Walstrom cordinated a series of public meetings and conversations with Sebastian. "We were so impressed with this young man; he was so persuasive and such a great salesperson," Walstrom remembers. Sebastian met with the police and the Denver City Council. Denver police officer Snow White remembers Sebastian was always happy to help with Halloween parties hosted by the police department for inner-city kids. "He was a total go-to person," she says. "If you needed anything, you could call him." By March 1994, Denver had a graduating class of 31 Angels, and the chapter launched right into the 24/7 program using an office space on 14th Avenue as a crash pad, with two bunk beds for the four volunteers; training took place at Rude Recreation Center.

Although there was some opposition to the Angels, the atmosphere in Denver was more welcoming than in most places, Sebastian says. In a city full of unique neighborhoods, residents are used to getting involved, he explains. They also have that Old West mentality of minding other people's business for the safety of everyone. Sebastian remembers when a woman came into the Angels' office with a flier that had a picture of her runaway daughter. That same day, Sebastian found the girl on the 16th Street Mall. The mother and daughter later attended a Guardian Angels function to thank them for helping. "Having eyes and ears on the street late at night — anecdotally, it was something we could see was having an impact," Walstrom says. "I think with everything that went on, in terms of the two premises of redevelopment of an urban corridor — safe and clean — the Angels definitely made a contribution with their presence." Holly Brooks, the owner of Capitol Hill Books, at Colfax and Grant, remembers when a group of Angels first came into her store to explain their program. They wanted to seem paramilitary, she says, and they lockstepped up the street. "They gave us a number to call if we needed help.

I can't remember ever having used that," she says. "But anything would have had some kind of an impact, because it can be pretty wild here, especially a few years ago, when I would walk to my car and people would offer me drugs — and I have white hair! But you sort of get the feeling that once [the Angels] are half a block away, things go back to normal." The chapter relocated to a storefront on Colfax at Lafayette, then to another spot in the Ramada Inn. They lived in the abandoned Brick Oven Beanery at Colfax and Ogden until it was torn down. Some of the members had full-time jobs, patrolling in the evenings or on weekends. But others stayed on duty 24 hours a day, keeping expenses to a minimum and surviving on small donations. The space that they used was donated, as was much of their food — coming from places like Taki's Japanese Restaurant. "Colfax is much better with the Angels," says Hisashi Takimoto, owner of Taki's, at 341 East Colfax. "There are lots of homeless people around here, also lots of drunk people.

They help with that." Still a regional director at the time, Sebastian split his time between Denver and San Francisco until 1998, when he settled here permanently and paid the rent by doing weekend radio talk shows on 850 KOA and KTLK 760, covering topical events. That same year, the Angels landed a contract to guard a church lot where Fillmore Auditorium concert-goers parked during shows. They used the money to rent a building on Colfax and Pearl, big enough to sleep four and hold self-defense training sessions. Although the kitchen was more like a break room, they had a refrigerator and an electric stove. Plus, it had a functioning shower. Doc Webster was the chapter leader at the time. An Army veteran who did a short stint in Vietnam, he and his wife had graduated in the Angels' first class. Because of his day job as a nurse at the Denver VA Medical Center, Doc already had a rapport with a lot of the people he'd run into while patrolling Capitol Hill. The chapter had about twenty Angels whom Doc could count on each weekend. Meanwhile, Sebastian handled the books and fundraising, wrote newsletters and networked.

"Sebastian was just an amazing leader," says Robert "Jag" McClintick, another Denver founding member who went on to help start other chapters across the country. "Very dedicated, a guy you could definitely depend on and count on, who throughout his time as a Guardian Angel was very heroic in many instances, too many to try to detail," he adds. "There were so many times when he was the guy in the middle of the heat of the battle and stood up and said, 'Hey, follow me.'" The Martin Luther King Jr. Day parade had already become a Guardian Angel tradition when Shauna Strecker met Sebastian there in 2001. Shauna, then 38, was in a band that had just moved back to Denver from England, and an artist friend who knew Sebastian from San Francisco invited her to the march. Meeting Sebastian was a visceral moment, she says. He was one of the happiest souls she had ever seen. She noticed that he would look at her eyes and meet her gaze when speaking. Shauna already knew of him from his radio show, but by then Sebastian was also working for the non-profit Capitol Hill United Neighbors.

On their second date, Sebastian and Shauna were walking across a bridge over West Sixth Avenue when they saw a woman who was threatening to jump. She had just had a baby and was suffering from postpartum depression, Shauna remembers. The husband was hysterical, shouting. Sebastian spoke with the man; Shauna spoke with the woman until nearly sunrise. The couples exchanged phone numbers, and Shauna remembers a grateful followup. Over the ensuing months, Sebastian wrote Shauna odes and poems. They took walks in the park and picked up litter. It wasn't long before they moved in together in a Tennyson Street duplex. Just a couple of months into their new digs, Shauna was woken up at 3 a.m. by yelling outside. Sebastian's little black Geo Metro was on fire, and firefighters were trying to extinguish the blaze. Afterward, the police suggested that it may have been intentional — retaliation against the Guardian Angels. But Shauna loved Sebastian's ethic, his heroics and his willingness to do anything to keep the Angels strong (one time, he dove in a dumpster to replace an old toilet at the Angels headquarters, she says).

And she saw that he was just as fearless on the ice and on the soccer field in the various sports leagues he participated in. The couple married on February 9, 2003, and moved into a larger house. The next year, Sebastian became the first person west of New York to draw a full-time salary, albeit a modest one, from the Angels, as the organization's western region director. When Shauna got pregnant, she made Sebastian, who hated going to the doctor, get checked out as well. Another physician had noticed a heart murmur a few months earlier but decided it was nothing more than high blood pressure. The second doctor heard the murmur, too, and after some tests, another physician shocked the Metzes by telling them Sebastian needed surgery as soon as possible. He had a congenital heart defect that blocked his aorta, which kept the blood from getting down to the rest of his body. The blockage actually kills most people by the time they are seven years old. The doctor was amazed that Sebastian had lived as long as he had and said there was no time to waste. Without the surgery, he wouldn't make it another five years. Actor John Ritter was killed by the same defect.

"He had the most fucked-up plumbing around his heart that he could possibly have, and no doctor in the whole state of Colorado would touch him," Shauna remembers. So Sebastian was scheduled for surgery at Stanford University in California. He had to choose between a pig valve that would've lasted ten years in his body before he'll need another surgery or an artificial valve that would require him to take blood thinners but wouldn't necessarily require a replacement. He chose the latter. Death was certainly a possibility, although it was one that Sebastian refused to accept. His son, Rooks, was born in October 2004, and in January 2005, Sebastian flew to California for his operation. He and his wife went out for a nice Italian dinner before — a memory that didn't come back to him until nearly a year later. The complicated procedure to put an artificial metal valve and add tubing to replace his descending aorta lasted more than eighteen hours, and Sebastian flatlined three times. The doctors had to massage his heart to keep it beating, and he suffered multiple strokes. By the time it was over, Sebastian was in a coma.

Tubes ran in and out of almost every hole in his body, keeping him alive, and the doctors told Sebastian's family that he'd be a vegetable if he ever pulled out of it. But Shauna and friends and family and a couple of Angels on hand, including Sliwa, told the doctors that they just didn't know Sebastian. On the fourth day of his coma, Sebastian's left arm and right leg started to swell up, and his fingernails and toenails turned black. He had an allergic reaction to the blood thinner, and his blood clotted instead of thinning. He ran a high fever, and they had to put his shaking body on an ice bed. The reaction also could have caused the brain injury, Shauna suspects, though they'll never know for sure. (Cardiovascular surgeon Craig Miller, who led the procedure, couldn't be reached for comment.) While Sebastian fought for life, his wife battled the insurance company as the costs associated with the surgery and an around-the-clock nurse in the intensive care unit soared.

Shauna says the company wanted to put Sebastian in a nursing home, but it couldn't do anything until she signed to get him out of the intensive care unit; the insurance company then tried to fly him to Denver without her, but she wanted to be on the plane, monitoring his condition. In the end, it went her way, and Sebastian returned to Denver on February 7, where he was taken to St. Joseph Hospital and, later, to Craig Hospital. Six weeks after the surgery, Sebastian began to emerge from the coma. But his memories are jagged. He remembers being wheeled out of the hospital on a gurney with a nurse rolling an oxygen tank alongside him. His wife and son were there. He remembers being in the airplane, although he says he couldn't think normal thoughts. "I knew pretty quickly that I was damaged, and I was bitter about that," he says. Sebastian recalls being at St. Joseph, trying to walk again. His stepfather and one of his sisters were there with Shauna and Rooks. "I remember walking around with the walker, and I wasn't clear what had happened. I thought I had fallen down and hit my head or something, because I couldn't remember the surgery," he says.

Over the next few months, Sebastian had to relearn how to eat, to walk, to tie his shoes. His speech was slurred and not as commanding; he struggled for his words. But the most difficult part for him and for everyone around him was the short-term memory loss. He couldn't remember left. He couldn't remember right. Eventually he came home, but the insurance company said the house they lived in wasn't suitable for his condition — too many stairs and no railings — so they had to move to a smaller place. A little more than a year after he cheated death, Sebastian was well enough to attend the ceremonies for Denver's Martin Luther King Jr. Day. He stood up in full Angel uniform and accepted a warm welcome back and thank you. "It felt amazing," he says. "I have got nothing but love from the city of Denver, and I love 'em back. I mean, come on, people standing up there cheering you for the effort you made and the things you've done...I was just really, really touched," he says. Shauna couldn't keep up with the calls and e-mails about Sebastian. She started a daily blog to keep people up to date and says she got 40,000 hits.

But Sebastian's development was slow. He snapped and swore at Shauna and was quick to fly off the handle. To give her a break, Sebastian flew to Vancouver Island in Canada to spend some time with his mother and family. "He's reclaiming his life," his mother says. "I've been watching, and people with brain injuries, it's like they've lost a piece of themselves. They go through a process of remembering themselves, rediscovering their life, and it seems to me that he's been moving through the different stages of his life from childhood right through adulthood and replaying them, finishing up each one and moving to the next one." But on his return to Denver, Shauna became more of a parent figure to Sebastian. Twice he dropped Rooks. After the second time, Shauna expressed more concern. "That was three fucking months ago," he screamed. "That was three days ago," she told him. Shauna knew his memory loss and his anger were a result of the injury, but she felt Sebastian needed more attention than she could give him with their infant child to tend to as well. They decided Sebastian should go back to Canada for a while. An Angels power struggle erupted during Sebastian's absence.

Doc, who'd led the chapter for ten years until he became the Colorado coordinator in 2004, didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things with the new Denver leader, 54-year-old Ted "Brimstone" Noyes, a retired chemist. In the past, Sebastian had been there to smooth things out. Sebastian's best friend, Ted "Oriton" Fowler, who had spent much of the previous year by Sebastian's side, had taken over the regional director job, but he couldn't keep things cool between Doc and Brimstone, partly because he traveled a lot. In 2005, the Angels lost their parking contract and their major source of funding. A few months later, Brimstone moved the Angels' headquarters from their historic stamping grounds on Colfax to a place on Santa Fe — a decision that upset some of the members and hurt recruiting. In early 2007, after returning from Vancouver, Sebastian decided it was time for him to return to the Angels to help rebuild. The move was hard on Oriton because Sebastian critiqued his decisions, acting like a backseat driver, but one without sufficient short-term memory to know the directions.

Eventually, Sebastian says, it became too much for Oriton to bear, and the two had a falling out. Oriton left the Angels. He didn't return phone calls or e-mails seeking comment for this story. "I don't know what I could've done differently," Sebastian says. "I was injured. I wasn't myself in many ways. I had to grow back into my own ability to do my own life, let alone the Guardian Angels. So I did some damage to the group in that way." After Oriton left, Jag was enlisted to lead the western region, but he was also in charge of dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, so he had to manage Denver business from afar. Neither Doc nor Brimstone liked Jag's style, which they considered too aggressive for Denver, and both left shortly thereafter. Soon the Denver chapter was down to just two or three members. After Sebastian's return to Denver, Shauna decided to take Rooks to Nashville, where she could pursue her music career. She asked Sebastian to go with her, but he insisted on getting his own apartment in Capitol Hill and taking care of himself.

"There's a lot of layers of difficulty: There is the difficulty of losing a partner and losing a father for your kid and your confidant and your best friend," Shauna says. "And on top of that, he changed very much. His behaviors were different than they used to be. He would never yell or have a hair-triggered temper, and after the brain injury, he did." Although she knows that's normal for someone with a brain injury, "after a year and a half, I couldn't do it anymore," she adds. "I didn't want to raise Rooks in that environment, and I had no idea what the future held. I still don't. We don't have a fairy-tale ending here, and that's okay with both of us; we'll deal with it. But we're not going to stop loving each other and having love for our child, pretending what happened to us didn't, because it did, and what happened sucked, and I wish I could change it every day." "This injury has affected me. It's made me do things I'm not proud of. I was moody and angry, and I snapped at people, and I snapped at my wife," Sebastian says.

"I was behaving more like some kind of degenerate than Sebastian Metz, Guardian Angel, this guy that my wife had married that was pure of heart." But he's also gained an appreciation for things he didn't have before. "I reconnected with my family," he continues. "I know I will not abuse time the way I did — time is precious. I'll never work as long as I once did, I'll work as hard, but I'm not going to spend my whole life working. That's what I did before. I did the job all the time; 24/7 was the deal. I spent all my time working, coming home late, going in early, skipping lunch.... The Angels are important, but my wife and son, it's not even close." The Angels still pay Sebastian a small stipend, and he still does regional work, recruiting and helping to develop new chapters. He plans to get the newsletter back out. Under the leadership of Arch Angel, who took over in January, the chapter has moved back to Capitol Hill, and membership stands at about ten Angels. At Sebastian's request, even Doc has returned to help.

Outside of New York, where Sliwa has always held things together, every chapter in the country has gone through something like this, Sebastian says. And Sebastian was usually the one who revived them. So before he moves to Nashville, which he plans to do, he hopes to pull one more Angels chapter back together. "The Sebastian you deal with now, he's brick," Sliwa says. "That's the highest compliment we can give to a Guardian Angel.He's been to hell and back, and he's ready to do it again — there's no stopping him.... He's a living, walking, breathing example that somebody can make a difference. "We're in 102 cities and ten countries, and I've dealt with tens of thousands of Guardian Angels over the years, and there is nobody that can come close to this guy. We need him now more than ever before in Denver." Sebastian's small apartment has a kitchen and a bathroom and a bedroom that doubles as a living room and office. Inside the lone closet, he keeps a couple of big boxes filled with old newspaper clippings about the Angels from Europe and Australia and Denver and New York.

When he's not walking the streets, he spends much of his time writing about growing up, about the Angels and life after surgery, choosing a topic depending on his mood. One day he hopes to publish his work, to get it all out, but right now it's more like therapy for him. It helps with his memory. All of his income goes to insurance, medication, rent and food. His sister pays for him to have a cell phone, and Shauna helps him out, too. "In the future, I hope to be smarter with my time," he says. "I want to make sure that what I do has a bigger impact on things and on the community. I think the stuff with the Angels is a good program, but I think the world is changing.... The need for patrols is still there, but I think there's a growing need for working with young guys before they turn into the criminals.... I'm more interested in preventative work. Intervening was an immediate feeling, gratifying, but now I can no longer do that.

I want to turn my efforts to those things that can have long-term impact on people." Like the impact he had a dozen years ago on the kid who fell off the skateboard that Sebastian hopes will be Denver's newest Angel. Follow: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter - Page 2 - Stormfront Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter User Name Newslinks & Articles All news of interest to White Nationalists. Do not post the full text of copyrighted articles without permission of the owner. Limit "fair use" excerpts to 65 words. Listen live to Stormfront Radio with Don Black & Roy co-hosts Paul Fromm and Don Advo. Followed by Dr. David Duke. Weekdays 9:00-11:00am ET | Archives Location: jew infested Catskill Mountains, Upstate NY Posts: 5,147 Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by Baldy A few minutes later, a G.A. walked by me. He looked way pumped with his beret, combat boots and walkie-talkie. As a goof, I told him about the drug deal. He talked into his radio and trotted off around the corner after the dopers.

A few more minutes passed and all hell broke out in typical L.A. fashion: G.A.s, motorcycle cops, helicopters, plain clothes, and the press swarmed the block. Way cool, right? To this day, Iï¿½m impressed by the G.A.s. If we could get it together like thatï¿½. G.A.'s are mostly non-White. Our media LOVE making "heroes" out of non-Whites so the young White girls have someone to look up to. A "White" organization would NEVER be able to "get it together" like the Guardian Angels. We'd NEVER have the support of "our" media. White people have become very sick during the past 50-60 years or so. -Jim Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by YANKEE_JIM G.A.'s are mostly non-White. Our media LOVE making "heroes" out of non-Whites so the young White girls have someone to look up to. A "White" organization would NEVER be able to "get it together" like the Guardian Angels. We'd NEVER have the support of "our" media.

White people have become very sick during the past 50-60 years or so. -Jim I was trying to remember the kid's race....looked like an East Coast brown of some sort. Yeah, we get it together like that and they call it "Nazi-ism". oh wait... Location: jew infested Catskill Mountains, Upstate NY Posts: 5,147 Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by Baldy I was trying to remember the kid's race....looked like an East Coast brown of some sort. You mean like the ones in the above picture? THIS is who Whites want "watching over" their kids? Whites have truly become a SICK PEOPLE! It says right in the Scriptures that '"others" shall not live among, nor rule over you.' White people are SICK! Location: jew infested Catskill Mountains, Upstate NY Posts: 5,147 Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by Baldy I was trying to remember the kid's race....looked like an East Coast brown of some sort. Yeah, we get it together like that and they call it "Nazi-ism".

oh wait... I think the dead negro lawyer Johnnie Cochran said it best when he said something along the lines of this: "When you put a night watchman's cap on OJ Simpson...whay do you have? You've got OJ Simpson with a night watchman's cap!" When you put red berets on a bunch of non-Whites what do you have? You've still got a bunch of non-Whites with red berets on! FOUND IT! Quote: This is a knit cap. Let me put this knit cap on (Indicating). You have seen me for a year. If I put this knit cap on, who am I? I'm still Johnnie Cochran with a knit cap. And if you looked at O.J. Simpson over there--and he has a rather large head--O.J. Simpson in a knit cap from two blocks away is still O.J. Simpson. It's no disguise. It's no disguise. It makes no sense. It doesn't fit. If it doesn't fit, you must acquit. I LOVE IT! Basically, what he's saying is a negro is a negro no matter what type of hat they decide to wear!

-Yankee Jim Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by vajo jr The idea of having NSM people patroling the streets just would'nt work, because they would say that these people are racists, and they just won't have anything to do with that. The Guardian Angels are angels, the NSM people are, well you get the idea. I'll bet there's a lawyer or two out there who's be willing to make a name for him/herself though with a landmark case! Basically, I guess the point I was trying to make is this...just WHO is going to decide who CAN, and who CAN NOT "patrol" our streets in this country. If non-Whites with red satin baseball jackets and berets can do it...then brownshirts with Swastikas should be able to do it too. I don't know if I'm right when I say segregation is the answer, (actually...I KNOW I'm right!) but I have a right to that opinion, just as the diversity lovers have the right to their opinion. This whole thing is more smoke and mirrors. We ALL KNOW what the problem is!

We NEVER had racial problems with a segregated school system...PLAIN AND SIMPLE! -Jim Re: Guardian Angels may form Kingston, NY chapter Quote: Originally Posted by Son of the Mist I don't know if anyone has suggested this yet but since Charles Bronson is apparently retired, maybe we can draft Dick Cheney to patrol Kingston? Guardian Angels leader due in Kingston today KINGSTON - Guardian Angels founder Curtis Sliwa is to meet with city and school district officials today about the possibility of the unarmed crime-fighting group establishing a chapter in Kingston. The meeting - scheduled for 2 p.m. at the school district's Crown Street office and closed to both the public and press - is to include Sliwa, Kingston Mayor James Sottile, city Police Chief Gerald Keller, Kingston school district Superintendent Gerard Gretzinger and school board President Daniel Gartenstein. Two other members of the Guardian Angels also may attend, Sottile and Gretzinger said. The meeting comes five days after Kingston Alderman Leonard Walker was kicked out of the Crown Street building while trying to hold a press conference there about bringing the New York City-based Guardian Angels to town.

If the group establishes a chapter here, its members, who would be Kingston residents, would work as crime fighters in the city and offer counseling services in the school district. 'Thugs have Caernarfon by the throat and they're squeezing' - Daily Post News 'Thugs have Caernarfon by the throat and they're squeezing' One of the founders of New York City's famous crime-fighters, the Guardian Angels, has spent a week patrolling a very different urban beat - Caernarfon. Share Get daily updates directly to your inbox + Subscribe Thank you for subscribing! Could not subscribe, try again laterInvalid Email One of the founders of New York City's famous crime-fighters, the Guardian Angels, has spent a week patrolling a very different urban beat - Caernarfon. John Tannerfinds out what brought him here, and what he discovered. HE'S a coffee-coloured Hispanic American wearing red, military-style beret and a red satin bomber jacket the size of a small yacht sail. On the streets of Caernarfon, he stands out somewhat. And that's fine with him. That's what he's here for. Arnaldo Salinas's mission is to see and be seen.

He's here to clean up the town. A sort of Clint Eastwood minus guns and poncho. Twenty-four years ago he was one of the founders of the Guardian Angels, an unarmed, unofficial volunteer force who patrolled the New York Subway hoping to deter violent muggers. Now the organisation is international with 19,000 members and Arnaldo, 41, is its senior director. He's in Caernarfon for a week at the invitation of BBC Wales who are producing a documentary on the town's youth crime problem. They've asked Arnaldo to evaluate the situation. We meet in a pleasant caf&#xE9;-bar on the Maes. Respectable, middle-aged customers come and go. After the mean streets of the South Bronx, don't the mean streets of Caernarfon seem a little well, tame? He can't disagree. Inner city North Wales is not inner city USA. "In Los Angeles, kids of 12 or 13 will carry automatic weapons," he says. "In the early years, six US Angels were killed." Caernarfon can't claim that level of murderous villainy but Arnaldo has seen enough to warn against complacency.

He talks of "the fear that's gripping elderly people here." Gangs of youngsters hang around the streets at night, getting into trouble or actively looking for it. Pre-teens openly drink cans of lager in the street. "These young thugs have got Caernarfon by the throat and they're squeezing," he says. "But if people band together, there are more of them than the thugs." Which is why he has taken the first steps to setting up an Angels' Chapter in Caernarfon. He claims 25 applications from locals after only two days putting out the word. After interview, he has whittled these down to 15 possibles for training - including four women. If they come through, Caernarfon will have Wales' first Chapter of Guardian Angels. All week, Arnaldo has been patrolling the streets, talking to kids, trades people, policemen ...anybody. He jokes that he'd talk to a lamppost if that was the only conversational choice available. Talking to kids can persuade them to keep out of trouble. He sees this pro-active approach as an advantage his people have over an over-stretched, reactive police force. "I've had an excellent response from people locally," he says.

But also - not surprisingly - some strange looks as he strolls the streets in his Angels' uniform. And some abuse. His response to kids who jeer at him is to walk over and chat to them. Some run for it. Arnaldo isn't tall but he has what you might call presence. One kid who didn't run asked him: "Are you going to bring New Yorkers here to handle us? Because no-one here can do it." The answer is "no." Local Chapters are made up of local people. Arnaldo says: "I've run into so many people who have been beaten up by these kids, mostly on Friday or Saturday nights - but even in broad daylight." He knows what it's like to be a victim. In his early days on patrol in New York he was hit, shot at and stabbed. An ice-pick attack put him in hospital with a collapsed lung. When the patrols began he was a skinny, 5ft 8ins tall and 17 years old. What made him think he could face down armed muggers? He shrugs. "We deterred people because they thought we were crazy. We were crazy kids. Pig-headed. Stupid.

We didn't think so much about taking care of ourselves as taking care of our community." There were 13 of them. All races. They worked at a McDonald's outlet and were sick of their neighbourhood being turned into a war zone and the Subway into an extension of it. They called themselves the Magnificent 13. The Magnificent 7 had been the original idea, after the film, but too many people signed up. The police were hostile at first. They feared vigilante-ism and didn't like the implication that their own efforts were inadequate. Arnaldo remembers being hit with a police night stick and being arrested. Gradually, the attitude softened. The Magnificent 13 grew to 800 and the name changed to Guardian Angels. Now, the Subway is no more haunted by violence than the London Underground or Paris Metro. Arnaldo says New York itself has become the safest big city in the world. He believes the Angels have helped this change-around. As they grew in numbers, they were able to patrol ghetto streets as well as Subway trains. The Angels now have Chapters in 27 American cities. Non-US off-shoots include Canada, Sweden and the UK (London and Nottingham).

All share the beret/bomber jacket/T-shirt uniform, each item carrying the Angels' winged logo; unless the area is particularly tough - then they wear battle fatigues. Angels are unarmed, must be trained to defend themselves, can only use violence for protection of themselves or others and must not be motivated by revenge or the love of a good punch-up. The aim is to deter crime or else to make citizens' arrests. They're eager to work with local police. In the US, some Angels even work out of police precincts. Many go on to become police officers. The organisation depends on donations. Arnaldo himself relies on the understanding of the security company for whom he is an executive - and, no doubt, on that of his wife and five children. Could Caernarfon really benefit from the Angels? Arnaldo sees a role. He's travelled the world setting up Chapters and says: "No matter where I've gone there's been a turnaround." People lose control of their own communities. The Angels, he believes, help them take it back. "Community betterment is our goal," he says. The day after we meet he's flying back to New York.

In a month or so he hopes to be able to check on the progress of local recruits and decide if a Caernarfon Chapter is viable. So, like Arnie Schwarzenegger, he'll be back. nThe Guardian Angels in Caernarfon can be seen on Wednesday night's Welsh current affairs programme Taro Naw on S4C at 9.30pm. Like us on Facebook Angels no godsend - NOW Magazine Angels no godsend NNNNN The Guardian Angels: heroes or colour-coordinated thugs with a political agenda? It's hard to tell, given events at the William Dennison seniors residence at Sherbourne and Dundas last Tuesday (July 11). Like a bunch of pushy kids, the Angels, wearing their trademark red berets and bomber jackets, marched into the building flanked by supporters. The Angels say they were invited to hold a graduation ceremony for new recruits by tenants fed up with crime in the area. The Toronto Community Housing Corporation, which operates the building, says the group was trespassing, since the Angels didn't have permission to hold their meeting. Keiko Nakamura, TCHC's chief operating officer, sent the group a letter to that effect earlier in the day.

"Unfortunately," he says, "it's being staged that we kicked them out." Indeed. Enough television and newspaper outlets were tipped off to leave that impression in the news the next day. After failed attempts to establish a foothold here in the 80s and 90s, it seems the Angels have been trying to insinuate their way into Toronto ever since the high-profile shooting of Jane Creba in front of a Footlocker on Boxing Day offered the perfect in. The summer of gun violence that followed only made the modern-day vigilantes harder to ignore. There's been no end to the fundraising and, yes, publicity stunts in recent months, including beer-soaked comedy nights at the Brunswick. Given the most recent spate of gun violence - eight shootings in the last two weeks alone - and the support of law-and-order mayoral wannabe Jane Pitfield (who's looking for any issue to ignite a moribund campaign) - it's looking less and less likely that the Angels will just disappear this time around. That's a scary proposition for police Chief Bill Blair and Mayor David Miller, who have both refused to meet with the group, insisting on the need for police to do the policing.

Every time someone gets shot, both have found themselves having to respond to questions about why the cops aren't doing more to curb the violence. The specifics of community-based crime prevention efforts are often lost on a public (and media) more interested in quick fixes. If hiring more cops, as the city has already done (450 new officers, to be exact), is not the answer, then where does that leave the Angels? Some residents of the William Dennison apartments hope they'll be nearby on the street or patrolling the lobby. To hear one frightened resident tell it, seniors in the building have gotten little response from police about their concerns about crime in the neighbourhood. "We've had old ladies assaulted," he says. The Angels claim more and more people are calling and e-mailing them, asking them to take on Toronto's problems. Councillor and police services board vice-chair Pam McConnell, in whose ward William Dennison is located, suggests that the Angels "prey" on people's worst fears to boost their own fundraising efforts. "It's very typical of them to come into confrontation with communities," McConnell says. Angels supporters contend the criticism is all part of the city's attempt to keep a headlock on power.

"There are people who oppose that because perhaps it threatens their leadership abilities or their existence," says charismatic radio host Spider Jones, a regular at Angels events. Angels founder Curtis Sliwa, a former McDonald's manager, started the group in the violent landscape of late-70s Brooklyn, first with a walk-home program and subway patrol. They met with mixed success in the beginning. Within a few years, two of their members had been killed in confrontations on the street. Sliwa, who claims the group was vital in cleaning up New York's murderous streets, garnered an award from former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani. But Sliwa admits to winning media attention by cooking up fictitious criminal activities in the early years. He says some 76 arrests of the group's members over the years have been politically motivated. Nowadays, the Angels style themselves as more of an educational posse south of the border, "devoted to personal safety, civic contribution, value development and cyber-security." Sliwa spends most of his time on the public speaking circuit.

On a February 19 trip to Toronto to speak to a Brunswick House packed with potential recruits, the firebrand Sliwa spoke to the fact that some don't want his group patrolling our streets. "Rather than just be blamers, moaners and groaners and finger-pointers, like so many of our fellow citizens, we have decided to scrape the barnacles off our backsides, get off of the couch, stop eating the Lay's potato chips, vegetating in front of the boob tube, and get our rears in gear and do something about the problem [of crime]." Riding the reaction to recent high-profile gun crimes, ex-cop Lou Hoffer emerged as head of the Angels' Canadian wing. He has teamed up with another ex-cop, Stephen Paquette. It's been the job of Hoffer, to make some noise for the Angels here, only it hasn't always been the right kind. The group's patrols in Parkdale, less a high-crime area than a haunt of the homeless and mentally ill, weren't well received by some, who said the Angels didn't understand the area's unique problems and accused them of taking too blunt and heavy-handed an approach.

"Parkdale was being used for them to grandstand, get some exposure in the media," says Craig Peskett of the Parkdale Residents Association. "Meanwhile, there was no need for them to be on the streets. We'd like to work with Toronto Police Services to bring some innovative change to the way our communities are policed," he adds. Says Bart Poesiat of the Parkdale Tenants Association, "I know about incidents where these guys - and they're usually big, burly guys - pick on a psychiatric survivor who might be acting strangely because he or she is on legitimate psychotropic drugs." Hoffer, meanwhile, continues his attempts to convince people his band of red patrolmen and patrolwomen are more like social workers. "There are still misconceptions that we're some crimefighting quasi-policing organization," Hoffer said at a public forum at the Parliament Street Library on June 1. "We have to get the message out that 90 per cent of what we're doing is acting like a social agency. Of course, 10 per cent is left for acting as police lite. "It's not protecting," Hoffer continued. "It's being proactive. I think we're going to act as a deterrent against crime.

It's just another line of defence." Judging by the attendance at that June 1 forum, however, the community isn't too interested. The press release indicated that Hoffer expected both Mayor Miller and Chief Blair to attend - both of whom were nowhere to be seen. In fact, if you subtracted media reps and Angels, only two people at the meeting actually wanted to take in the preaching. Jacob Morning-Glory was one. "I saw one of their posters up in a bus station. I'm definitely joining." "In this neighbourhood you only have to stand on one of the main streets for 15 minutes to know who's selling, who's using and everything that's wrong," said Olly Reilly, the other attendee. The two never did become Guardian Angels. They were missing from last week's graduation. Nor was there a single black grad among the 16 who did receive their colours. A virtual para-military organization of white citizens patrolling Jane and Finch might not go over very well.

Many of the grads chose not to use their given names, instead going by American Gladiatoresque nicknames like Moondog, Towman, Spartacus, Red, TNT and J-Guy, highlighting a lack of transparency at a time when police will be required in the near future to wear name tags identifying them. One grad, Holly Weisflock, an administrative assistant and one of a handful who offered up their full names, outlined the training the group underwent: about an hour and a half a week of self-defence training for three months; 16 hours of CPR; and six or seven hours going over the Criminal Code and other legalities. Back at the William Dennison apartments, Peter Kent, the former journalist who ran for the Tories in the last federal election - and a main law-and-order proponent during last summer's gun violence - was on hand to show his support. "Public safety is not a matter of ideological turf warfare. Public safety is not a matter of cheap municipal power politics." Pitfield, meanwhile, whose eye is on the mayor's office, met with Sliwa in New York and, not surprisingly, says the chilly reception the Angels have received from officialdom in Toronto has been deplorable.

Says Pitfield, who arranged the proper paperwork for the Angels' backup graduation spot in Allan Gardens: "In our city we need to be open-minded about anything that has worked to provide safety and security in other cities." Hopefully, nobody will get hurt in the process. Sign up to receive the latest from nowtoronto.com and to win incredible prizes! This Week in NOW

Question: What colour berets do the New York City crime-fighters the 'Guardian Angels' wear?
Answer: Red