Every morning between 4 and 6 a.m. while most students lie dormant, Doug Signmann, also known as Jesus Guy, begins his day.
He wakes up, recites a prayer, grabs a fresh cup of Starbucks coffee and heads for campus.
At 7 a.m. Signmann parks his bike on the corner of the elongated bike rack near the EMU.
It’s the first one there.
Signmann grew up in Northern California. Upon graduation he faced an ultimatum: either enlist in the Army en route to Vietnam, or hit the books. Signmann enrolled in community college that fall.
The 1960s and 1970s brought Signmann a life riddled with drugs and alcohol. “I was a hippie, young and wandering about,” he said.
He experimented with everything from cocaine to heroin while exploring seemingly every inch of the United States.
Walking to the center of campus toting his signs, Signmann drops off his black backpack, green grocery bag and signs at a cement medium. He pulls a black watch from his right jean pocket. It is almost ten ’til.
1971 marked the end of an era for Signmann: he was invited to an evangelist church by a friend and was convinced to be saved. Our beloved Jesus Guy continued bouncing around state to state: attempting to settle down in Salt Lake City, San Francisco, Seattle and Eugene.
“(I’ve) been goofing off for the last 30 years,” chuckles a well-traveled Signmann, eyes gleaming with renewal and satisfaction.
A Eugenean for 13 years now, Jesus Guy makes ends meet through donations and small contracting jobs here and there.
“I want to be wherever the Lord has me,” the sign-waiving spectacle
continued, “and he wants me here” Signmann explains. And for almost 30 years Signmann has carried signs with him wherever he goes.
Signmann — his last name says it all.
Jesus Guy proudly holds his signs up while herds of students pass. His presence is familiar to most of us, but new students gawk at him in awe as they stroll by.
Atheists, who have responded to his signs by waving one similarly painted, saying, “AHA loves you.”
But Signmann continues to hold up his beloved signs, unscathed.
“I don’t pray with people to receive Christ,” Signmann said. “I’m here for guidance and for people who want to look into something … I am soft-celled, and I don’t like to get involved in arguments.”
Sixteen years ago Signmann found himself cut wide open on an operating table. Diagnosed with a heart condition, which he blames on his poor diet, Signmann battles his biggest enemy day in and day out.
His medication? Prayer: “The lord provides … I live day by day, and I ask the Lord to help me.”
“It’s not in my control,” Signmann notes as a hint of a smile creeps up into the left corner of his mouth.
Around five o’clock, when lectures cease and students return home, Jesus Guy rides his bike decorated with vibrant flowers, more signs and a yellow smiley face created with various materials to the Autzen Footbridge. There he once again sets up camp, and watches as the sun drops in the horizon.
During the interview, Signmann couldn’t escape a delightful tangent about a friend he knew and their story. He also couldn’t escape greeting a familiar face: whether it was a professor, student or custodial worker.
I watched in awe as he interacted personably with whomever he encountered. The laugh lines on his face told a story of happiness and of friendship. We finally ventured outside so I could examine his daily routine. As I stood beside him he handed me a sign.
I was hesitant at first, but something inside of me urged me to reach for that sign and hold it out for everyone to see. And that’s precisely what I did.
I could feel every pair of eyes glued on me and that crimson red sign— all I could do was smile.
