THE ANGELS HAVE LANDED

Following Toronto's 'Year Of The Gun,' The Guardian Angels Are Again
Trying To Make Inroads In Canadian Crime-Fighting

The bakery in the suburban strip mall around the corner from Lou
Hoffer's home office has a large sign advertising kosher sushi.
Toyotas dot the parking lot. There isn't a wayward youth in sight.

Three blocks away, inside the office he built in one side of his
two-car garage, Mr. Hoffer stares nervously at his computer screen.

"Look at this. I mean, can you believe this?" he asks a visiting
reporter, motioning to an online newspaper article.

The renovation is skillfully done. Small windows have been added, the
concrete floor is carpeted and a powder room, no larger than the
average broom closet, has been carved out in the corner.

A security camera encased in a dark glass bubble, like the kind you'd
find in a casino, hangs from one wall. Pictures of himself are spread
across the three others, some from Mr. Hoffer's five-year stint on
the Toronto police force, several more part of a growing collection
of news stories on his latest venture.

It is easy to forget that, when seated at his narrow desk, Mr. Hoffer
is literally only a couple of years' and a $4,500 renovation away
from sitting in the same spot where his wife's car used to sit.

It is from this spot that Mr. Hoffer hopes to oversee the launch of
chapters of the crime-fighting group the Guardian Angels across
Canada, in cities like Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver, Montreal, and,
yes, Ottawa.

On this day, however, it is clear that there will be barriers to the
group's success.

Mr. Hoffer has just received by e-mail an unfavourable editorial that
appeared in a major Toronto newspaper this week.

Titled 'Angels we don't need,' the editorial labels the group
"vigilante volunteers" who, the newspaper posits, are more likely to
offer anarchy than a remedy to the city's current gun crime epidemic.

The piece also repeats recent comments by Toronto police chief Bill
Blair accusing the Angels of exploiting the city's current angst over
the record 54 gun killings in 2005 to "make a buck" through fundraising.

Mr. Hoffer holds his hands questioningly towards the computer screen
in a prolonged pause. The expression on the 39-year-old's face is incredulous.

"It's so unfair. Ninety per cent of what we do is being good
neighbours, helping with social issues, medical emergencies," he
says, raising the pitch of his voice to a near whine. "It's very sad,
because all we want to do is make a positive difference."

He is clearly wounded by the frosty reception the group has received thus far.

And with good reason.

The Angels' current push represents the group's third foray into
Toronto (in 1982 and again in 1992) and a fifth into Canada (the
other two were in Vancouver in 1984 and Montreal in the mid 1980s).
After establishing initial patrols numbering no larger than 38, those
attempts all ended in failure.

The organization's founder, Curtis Sliwa, blames a lack of police
support for the Angels' inability to take hold in Canada. He believes
street cops in Toronto were ordered not to follow up on "citizens
arrests" made by Angel patrollers. The tactic is one favoured by the group.

"You would grab drugs and paraphanelia that was being used by crack
dealers and crackheads, the police would refuse to do anything with
that," he said in a recent telephone interview from New York City.
"And that would emasculate you out in the streets. That made you ineffective."

That history probably explains Mr. Hoffer's unyielding desire to make
believers out of Toronto's finest. It also explains Mr. Sliwa's
enthusiasm at having an ex-cop lead the Canadian branch of the organization.

Mr. Hoffer certainly has his work cut out for him. Chief Blair has
refused to meet with Mr. Hoffer despite several attempts and the
force is clearly deeply suspicious of the group.

"There are many questions ... about the Angels for which there don't
appear to be answers," says Mark Pugash, spokesman for the Toronto
Police Service.

"Police officers are accountable to a number of institutions and
there's legislation that governs what they do. There doesn't appear
to be anything similar in place (for the Guardian Angels)."

Mr. Pugash says the group is exploiting a high profile crime for
their own interests and denies suggestions the police are interested
in guarding their monopoly on the streets. He questions whether
Torontonians really want the group here in the first place.

"The chief, a couple weeks ago, was at a major police conference in
the States and talked to a number of his colleagues about the
Guardian Angels and there does appear to be a similar way of doing
business, a pattern," he says.

"They almost always arrive in the wake of a high-profile crime. They
tend to sort of launch a media onslaught in which they claim that the
mayor and the police chief won't talk to them. There are press
conferences and photo-ops and certainly the feedback we got was, in
many cases in the States, they disappeared shortly thereafter."

"I've spoken to the Chief and at this time, he does not feel the need
to meet with you about the Angels program," Staff Sgt. Stu Eley wrote
Mr. Hoffer in an e-mail dated Feb. 1. "Thanks for your interest."

The service's attitude is shared by other groups as well.

"If they want to make a meaningful contribution to community safety
they should be encouraging people to get involved in mentoring
programs and support programs for at-risk youth," says David
Mitchell, spokesman for the Association of Black Law Enforcers. "And
leave policing to professional peace officers."

At a meeting last month, the group received about 75 applications for
potential Guardian Angels. They say patrols will begin in Toronto as
soon as July, with or without police support.

Undeterred by the reaction of Toronto's ruling classes, Mr. Hoffer
and his deputy, Steven Paquette, will head out West on a roadtrip
sometime after the Jewish holiday of Passover (Mr. Hoffer is
observant) in order to try their luck in those cities. They say
support from municipal and police officials there, especially in
Calgary, is stronger than in Toronto.

Mr. Hoffer first heard of Curtis Sliwa when the latter appeared on
the popular Phil Donahue show in the mid-1980s. He became an instant hero.

It wasn't until March 2004, however, that Mr. Hoffer finally decided
to "reach out," in the idiom of the organization, and give Mr. Sliwa a call.

Mr. Hoffer, like many Torontonians, was outraged at a spate of crimes
committed by anti-Semitic vandals in an area of the city heavily
populated by Jews. Swastikas had been spraypainted on houses,
synagogue windows broken and tombstones at the local cemetery were toppled.

A majority of the incidents occurred in the vicinity of Bathurst
Street and Steeles Avenue, at Toronto's northern border with York
Region, just blocks south of Mr. Hoffer's house.

As Mr. Sliwa mulled the possibility of a Toronto chapter, police
arrested and charged three teens in relation to the incident. Within
weeks, the spate of anti-Semitic incidents had come and gone.

Perhaps not so ironically, it was diligent police work that prevented
the Angels from piggy-backing the hate crimes into Toronto.

"That never came about because the problem subsided," Mr. Sliwa says.

But another problem was entering Toronto's collective conscience at
about the same time. News of gangs and guns became a regular
appearance on nightly newscasts.

The rise in gun violence culminated with the Boxing Day slaying of
15-year-old Jane Creba, an innocent bystander killed when a gunfight
broke out between rival gangs in the middle of Toronto's busiest
street. In Toronto's media, 2005 was the year of the gun.

Bingo.

Guns and gangs are, according to Mr. Sliwa, the surest indicator of
social decay, an "evil potion, like the mixing of ammonia and
bleach." As with the crack epidemic of the early 1990s, the Guardian
Angels would ride into Toronto in 2006 on the tails of the gun epidemic.

The Creba killing mobilized the city (some critics believed it was
because she was white) and prompted Mr. Hoffer to place another call
to Mr. Sliwa. He was critical of Mayor David Miller and Chief Blair.
Mr. Sliwa, who hosts an AM radio talk show five days a week, decided
to make the trip up to Canada to meet Mr. Hoffer in person.

Mr. Sliwa decided: The time was right. The Guardian Angels would move in.

Mr. Hoffer's sprawling middle-class neighbourhood couldn't be further
away from the Bronx streets that spawned the Guardian Angels in 1979.

Then, Mr. Sliwa was working as a night manager at a Bronx McDonald's.

"You had to be street smart, because your employees were robbing you
out the back door, some of your customers were robbing you out of the
front door."

In a bid to recapture the streets from thieves and drug dealers, Mr.
Sliwa persuaded 12 friends and co-workers to patrol New York's No. 4
subway line, nicknamed The Muggers Express.

Those initial 13-person patrols grew bigger as the organization
gained recognition, winning supporters like former New York mayor
Rudolph Giuliani.

Along the way, Mr. Sliwa has also made enemies. John A. Gotti, son of
the notorious New York mob boss, is alleged to have ordered a 1992
hit on Mr. Sliwa for his on-air rants against his father. Mr. Sliwa
was shot twice at close range in the incident, which is the subject
of an ongoing trial.

Mr. Hoffer says the modern Canadian incarnation of the Angels will
vary little from its original New York model. Patrols of six to 10
volunteers with three months' training in a smattering of related
fields like martial arts, first aid and basic law, will begin walking
through the city's worst neighbourhoods, reporting drug dealers and
engaging potential gangbangers in an attempt to convince them to lead
virtuous lives.

"We bring them over to the good side," he says, adding a line he
borrowed from Mr. Sliwa: "We (also) love ratting out the shitheads
and the bandits."

Mr. Sliwa says the Guardian Angels represent an "American solution
for an American problem."

"If we just look at (Toronto), Calgary and Vancouver, their problems
are similar to what we have in the States," he says.

Moments later, he seems to contradict himself.

"I would never compare Toronto's crime problems to what I've seen in
urban America. But I think what a lot of people don't understand is
we're in 60 cities around the world, we're in a place like Green Bay,
Wisconsin, Springfield, Missouri, Peoria, Illinois. That's the
heartland of America.

"They never had any of these crime problems before. They're cities
with populations of 100,000. But because of gangs and guns they're
starting to have those problems."

"Lou Hoffer, ex-copper," as he refers to himself, says he wants to
make an active contribution to the moral fibre of his home town. More
and more people are shutting themselves into their homes and taking
less responsibility for the well-being of the community, he says.

A father of three children ages 3, 5 and 8, Mr. Hoffer left policing
10 years ago to start a small contracting business specializing in
indoor renovations. He says he earns less money from his new job, but
it allows him more flexible hours.

The Angels will allow the former cop to once again don a uniform and
act as a visual deterrent to crime. It is something he looks forward to.

"Neighbourhood Watch is a great organization, but it doesn't allow
the average person to get out and make a difference," he says,
swimming in the fleece-lined, custom-embroidered Angels jacket he
received as a gift from Sliwa. He is, of course, wearing the
organization's ubiquitous red beret.

At 5-foot-six, 165 pounds, Mr. Hoffer is smaller than one would
expect. He is an ebullient, talkative man. It is clear he1s on a
mission, trying to sell the Angels.

During the course of an interview, he returns to several key talking
points with the ease of a seasoned politician. Other areas are taboo.

His deputy, another former Toronto police officer, Stephen Paquette,
is a favourite topic. Mr. Paquette was a troubled youth in 1982 when,
Mr. Hoffer says, he was rescued by the Guardian Angels. A poster boy
for the organization.

Mr. Hoffer never mentions his brother Newton, on the other hand, a
major part of the effort who also happens to own a fund-raising
company. The group is planning to raise $200,000, in part so they can
rent "actual" offices.

"I mean we're not going to run things out of my (garage) office," he says.

He says he doesn't have a clue how much his organization has raised so far.

"I don't know, because I don't take care of that," he says. "We have
a public relations company that handles that for us."

He has no interest in publicly criticizing the job police and city
hall are doing to battle crime, as he apparently did privately with
Mr. Sliwa. Asked if crime in Toronto is worse than when he grew up,
he says: "I have no idea.

"I'm not a crime analyst. I'm not a social worker."

His voice trails off and he lowers his head. When he looks up again,
the computer screen catches his eye. That day's editorial, a reminder
of the daunting task in front of him, is still there.

"It's so unfair," he says.