Omar Call Preaches Atheism on Tempe's Mill Avenue

Nevertheless, he and Amina planned to continue attending church; she'd agreed to accompany him to one Sunday service a week. They went the first two Sundays after their wedding ceremony. On the third Sunday, the alarm went off and Amina asked Call if they were going to get up and go to church.

He rolled over and said, "Nah. Let's sleep in."

Kyle Jacobson

Call's friend Jimmy Curley dresses well in an effort to improve his credibility.

Kyle Jacobson

One of Call's signs is co-opted by a Mill Avenue passerby.

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More About

• Omar Call
• Halloween Omar
• Secular Free Thought Society
• Religion
• Mormon Church

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Easter Sunday 2007 was a dramatic day for the Call family.

Call's parents were visiting his sister in Tucson. Omar and Amina joined them, and the whole family went out to see what he calls "a pretty avant-garde" Easter play called The Last Days of Judas Iscariot that "had some nudity and cursing in it." They knew the play was going to be unorthodox, but didn't realize how much. The play took place at an inconspicuous art gallery/performance space off Congress Street. Call doesn't remember the name of the venue, but he does remember that the theme of the play was "honesty versus loyalty."

Afterward, Call took his already-jarred parents and his sister out for ice cream. He asked his parents what was more important — honesty or loyalty. His mother said both were equally important. His father said he believed honesty was more important than loyalty.

Call said he agreed with his father, and on that note, over waffle cones and sprinkles, he announced that he'd had his name removed from the LDS church records.

His mother was devastated. "I wish you'd never told me this," her son recalls her saying. "Why did you do this?"

Call says that, to this day, they've never discussed it again. They get together on holidays and talk about everything else.

"My mother's father was a military man — very stoic, and an atheist," he says. "Sometimes I think my mother's devotion to religion is a rebellion against her father's atheism. My mom once said to me, 'I'm not going to let your atheism destroy this family the way it did mine!'"

Call's admission that he was an atheist was difficult for his family to accept, but his compulsion to publicly and skillfully debate preachers on Mill doesn't surprise them. When he and Jimmy Curley started coming down to Mill to debate, Call says, he approached it with the same zeal he showed as a Mormon missionary, and he hasn't lost it yet. What he has lost enthusiasm for is the Secular Free Thought Society always being on the same corner he's on.

It started with a few SFTS members handing out their own tracts on Mill, which said things like "Is this your God?" and quoted the Bible story, from the book of Kings, in which God sends bears to eat small children who mocked the prophet Elisha. Call found the tracts amusing and was happy to meet people who shared his views. But then the SFTS started bringing a microphone and more members, each one adamant about bringing his or her own philosophies to the debates.

Now things are getting out of control. On a recent Saturday night, a discussion between Call and the Christians disintegrated into anarchy when some of the atheists screamed at the preachers about how creationism is a lie and grabbed at Call's microphone. The mic ended up being commandeered by an inebriated blond woman who was just passing by. She then was provoked by the excited crowd to deliver an impromptu, slurred sermon.

The Friday after the incident, Call and Jimmy Curley — both dressed in suits and ties — sat down with SFTS founder Shawn Esplin in front of the Slices pizza joint, off Mill. Call had been in front of the post office earlier with his "RIP GOD" sign, and the SFTS was hanging out behind him in jeans and black T-shirts, eating Dunkin' Donuts and blasting the music of black-metal band Dimmu Borgir through a speaker. Nobody would approach Call, and when somebody finally did, a couple of SFTS members stood in front of his sign and talked over him.

Call explains to Esplin that he moved because "my message was being diluted." He and Curley clarify that they're not members of the SFTS. They say they're doing their own thing, but they'd like for the group to be more effective. They should dress so that they appear respectable and approachable, have a couple people on each corner instead of one big gaggle, and respect other people enough to not talk over them or shout.

Esplin agrees with most of the points, but says he's not sure what to do. What's important to him, he says, is that there are voices opposing the Christians on Mill, and that the SFTS brings as many people around to "their side" as they can.

"Maybe we should figure out why we all come down here and what we're trying to accomplish," he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Curley explains that he and Call aren't trying to convert people to atheism; all they want is to make people think, to have respectful and stimulating discussions when they come down to Mill.