It Was His Cross to Bear

It started out as a birthday promise to myself.

I was driving home from work on my 32nd birthday feeling like a selfish jerk. Every thought I had, word I said or decision I made was for my benefit. I needed to do something--just once--for somebody else.

It was nightfall as I drove down Glassell Street toward the Old Towne Orange traffic circle.

The trio of blinking yellow crosswalk warning lights pulsed. A pair of neon signs outside a flower shop and corner market glowed. The neon cross atop the Calvary Temple sign slept.

The old burned-out church sign was a landmark--both literally and figuratively. I’d tell friends coming to my house to “turn right at the yellow neon cross.” Longtime locals recalled the clever sayings the pastor posted on the reader board.

Somebody ought to fix the sign, I thought to myself. As I turned the corner, I decided, I’m going to be that somebody.

After all, I was on a new kick--as birthdays and new years are bound to inspire. Instead of thinking and talking about things, I resolved to start doing them.

The next morning I headed over to the church to find the pastor, figure out what was wrong with the neon sign and get it turned back on.

The church had fixed and refixed the aging sign a dozen times over the last half-century, the Rev. Mark Armstrong told me. Finally, he decided, the small congregation could no longer afford the seemingly never-ending sign repairs. Armstrong had the neon tubing removed and the electrical innards extracted--rendering the sign lightless.

Though uncommon, eye-catching crosses and neon lighting are not new to churches.

Biola University sat for more than half of its 90 years under a neon “Jesus Saves” sign in downtown Los Angeles at the Church of the Open Door, the school’s first home.

Incorporated into the official seal of Los Angeles County, the lighted 33-foot-tall cross erected in 1923 atop a ridge in Cahuenga Pass has caught the eye of Hollywood Bowl audiences and Hollywood Freeway commuters since they appeared below.

And with its 11-foot purple neon heart, the Superet Light Church in Los Angeles is a city historic landmark.

The Calvary Temple neon cross draws attention to the church in a unique yet appropriate way, said Eddie Gibbs of Fuller Theological Seminary.

“The church has to be visible in urban society,” said Gibbs, a professor of church growth at the Pasadena seminary. “It’s a world of signs and images, and what better sign than a cross? The church has to have its place in the marketplace.”

Installed in 1960 for $525, the sign has become a local landmark in a historic district obsessed with all things old.

“People know us as the little church with the neon cross,” Pastor Armstrong said. “We’re a small congregation and we don’t have a lot of money. We depend on our little sign for advertising.”

After meeting with Armstrong, I was depressed but motivated.

I called a few electricians until I found a kindred soul in Mike Willis of Sign-a-rama in Orange. He had offered to restore the sign--at cost, roughly $500--about five or six years ago. The church passed on the deal as too expensive.

If I raised the money, Willis said, he’d make the sign shine like new. I started the “Save the Neon Cross” campaign that week.

At the Old Towne Preservation Assn. board meeting, president Fred Gillett dubbed my efforts “Relight the Blight.” The group voted not to support the fledgling drive, calling it nonhistoric and pro-religious.

Despite his protests, Gillett grudgingly pledged $5. His wife, Karen, winked and told me to check with her later. She wanted to help and promised to up the ante. Others pitched in as well--to the tune of $85.

Suddenly, I was on my way. Only $415 to go.

I told my friends and co-workers about my cause. Everybody wanted to help. I took my drive to the streets, going door-to-door in my neighborhood. No one passed on the chance to save the sign.

I had my one-minute spiel that I’d practiced on the dog down pat. People handed over money without question.

I was shocked by the trust inherent in the mounting pile of cash and checks.

During the Orange International Street Fair during Labor Day weekend, I stood on the corner underneath the darkened sign with a can in my hand and collected small bills and change from people leaving the beer and food fest.

“A down payment on heaven,” one guy said.

Pretty soon, I was down to my last $25.

Jack Robinson, Orange County religion editor for The Times, heard about the campaign and asked if I’d write about my experience. “For $25 I will,” I told him. He broke out his checkbook. Finally, $500.

As promised, the electrician restored the sign to perfect working condition and a small relighting ceremony followed a few days later.

When I first started, I had set out to help someone, anyone, other than me. But in the end, I was the one who felt better--about all the unselfish people I met.