WALKING WITH THE ANGELS

With These Guardians Setting Their Sights On Ottawa, Jon Willing Tags
Along For A Patrol In T.O., And Finds Out They're Far From Vigilantes

TORONTO -- Dundas Square is a colourful mass of organized commotion,
even on a weekday.

On this day, the busy area in downtown Toronto is packed. People find
a place to sit and catch what's left of the after-work sun. Their
attention is focused on a rally outside the Eaton Centre, where about
100 members of the Lebanese community have gathered, and on massive
video screens flashing headlines and weather.

Then the Angels walk in.

Fourteen men and one woman march shoulder-to-shoulder through the
square. Who they are is hardly a mystery, but for some in the crowd,
it's obvious it's the first they've seen of the Guardian Angels.
Gazes turn to the street ambassadors in red berets.

Of all the Angels, Lou Hoffer is the least likely guess as their
national leader. He's not the biggest or most tattooed of the lot.
Without his goatee, he looks 30 (he turned 40 this week). His ear is
glued to his cellphone as the Angels huddle up.

When the call is done, he gives the signal and the crew hoofs it up
Yonge St. to applause and cheers from the crowd. This instant
outpouring of support is just the beginning of a night full of the
same for the Angels.

The night patrol zig-zags through the Regent Park area, one of
Toronto's poorest communities. At the front is Edd Scorpio, the
Angels' training director who wears a phone earpiece.

Stephen Paquette, the assistant national director, moves through the
pack, stopping at various locations -- like shelters and community
centres -- to train the Angels on important landmarks.

The Toronto chapter has only been running for about a week and soon
the Angels will patrol in smaller groups, rather than the larger
flock out this night.

Hoffer, Scorpio and Paquette are the only three who use their full
names. The rest go by code names, like Red and Big Daddy. Hoffer says
it's for their own protection.

'Love The Police'

Early in the evening, it becomes clear that Hoffer is savvy when it
comes to speaking about the organization.

"We come out on the street acting as the eyes and ears," he says,
glancing around and rarely looking at the person to whom he's
speaking. "We love the police, but they don't have the resources to
do it alone. We're making a tangible difference."

Twenty minutes into the patrol, Hoffer stops at a Isabella St. corner
store to get water for his troops. The sun goes down, the air remains
hot, but many Angels keep on their red, nylon jackets.

While Hoffer is in the store, a group of Angels gathers around a
garbage can recently used as a makeshift marijuana rolling station.
One Angel scrapes crumpled weed into the trash.

Until this patrol, the Angels haven't been called into action. Hoffer
says 90% of their responses have nothing to do with criminal
activity. Besides, the Angels can't deal with hard-core crimes. They
aren't cops and have no extra powers.

So when a man approaches the Angels about a crack problem, they can
only take the information and make a note to watch the area.

"It's important to recognize the limits," Paquette says. "We don't
want to step on the toes of the police." Some people expect too much
from the Angels, he says.

The expectations are written on the faces of people who clap. People
cheer from balconies, walkers stop and applaud, kids holler from
corners, streetcar drivers honk and give the thumbs up.

The Angels, in this community, are like living comic-book superheroes.

No Celebrity

"I didn't expect that much positive attention," says 43-year-old
Rose, who joined the Angels because she was tired of downtown being a
threatening place.

"I don't consider myself a celebrity," she says. "I was just someone
who was getting at the end of my rope."

Although Toronto Mayor David Miller and Police Chief Bill Blair have
given the Angels a cold reception, some rank-and-file cops don't seem
to mind the new patrollers.

"I know our (police) chief and mayor don't approve," says a officer
sitting in a cruiser in a Church St. lot as a couple of Angels come
over to say hi, "but we can use all the help we can get."

Later that night, an unmarked police car speeds up to the Angels and
two detectives hand out flyers about a wanted sex predator. The
Angels study the information closely. After the detectives leave,
Hoffer beams with pride over the fact the cops are enlisting their help.

It's a good feeling for Hoffer, especially since he just finished
defending his crew from a verbal attack. A man accused the Angels of
being "vigilantes" and pressed Hoffer on the point for five minutes
at the corner of Dundas and Sherbourne streets. "I hope you guys
don't f--- things up," the man mumbled as he left the corner.

"You're going to get people like that," Hoffer says. "They have been
fed misinformation." Just as the words roll off his tongue, a man
driving past rolls down his window. "Keep up the good work," the man
says. "Don't let them bulls--- you."

The streets around here can be intimidating at night, but the Angels
are ready. Each received three months of free training for first aid,
self-defence and use of force.

Adventure Every Night

"I run 5 km every day, but after the physical training, I was dying
the next day," says an Angel known as Captain Hook -- a 33-year-old
business owner and father whose flame tattoos are covered by a
kilometre-counter on his wrist.

"I may be covered in tattoos, but I don't have a criminal record," Hook quips.

While each Angel's background is different, there are common threads
in the crew. Some are business owners. Many are parents. Hoffer and
Paquette are former city cops. They all live busy lives.

Before heading out on patrol, Big Daddy came home from his real
estate job and took the training wheels off his children's bikes.

"It's a good feeling," the 45-year-old says as he chomps on a piece
of gum. "Every night is like an adventure." The gum assault in Big
Daddy's mouth could be because he's an occasional smoker. The
Guardian Angels aren't allowed to smoke in uniform.

Then there's Red. He came to Canada from Sri Lanka in 1990 and now
has two young children. The 36-year-old says he's "used to always
being in danger" from living in Sri Lanka, so the streets of Toronto
pose no threat.

Red proves to be a knowledgeable guy to hang around.

"This is where you have to watch yourself," he says as the Angels
step over broken glass in a dark alley. "Make sure you don't have
anything thrown at you."

These Angels hardly seem like the avengers some claim they are. While
their demeanour at times seems paramilitary -- they guard corners as
they cross roads, they occasionally walk down sidewalks in two
parallel lines and they wear berets -- they're really just a mobile
version of Neighbourhood Watch.

Paquette describes them as peacekeepers, not law enforcers.

"There's a lot of different ways to help your community than having a
badge or gun," he says during a washroom break at a McDonald's on Bloor St.

After walking nearly 9 km over four hours, the Angels congregate on
Gould St. Hoffer comes over to shake hands and says they'll be having
a private debriefing.

They quickly disappear down the dark street, and if it wasn't for the
sound of some scattered clapping, it would have seemed the Angels had
vanished into thin air.

INSIDE THE ANGELS

Facts about the Guardian Angels:

- - Founded in New York City in 1979 by Curtis Sliwa, who was the night
manager at a McDonald's in the Bronx.

- - 27 years later, there are chapters in more than 60 communities in
nine countries.

- - Members must be at least 16 years old. They do not carry weapons.

- - The organization is funded by donations from individuals and corporations.

- - The Guardian Angels attempted on two previous occasions, once in
the mid-1980s and again in the early 1990s, to establish a chapter in Toronto.