You've seen him, perhaps. On your morning commute, bleary-eyed in front of the US Bank branch on South 27th. Stopped on red — if you aren't tuning the radio, or checking your
Posted: Friday, March 21, 2008 7:00 pm
You’ve seen him, perhaps.
On your morning commute, bleary-eyed in front of the US Bank branch on South 27th.
On your way home, passing the bank on L Street.
Or leaving Edgewood.
Hour after hour, week after week, US Bank Guy is there, wearing his sign.
Here he is at 56th and O, Arby’s on one side, Eyeglass World on the other, traffic lumbering by.
It’s windows-down weather and nearly every driver does a double take.
This is not a stranger in an Uncle Sam suit luring customers, or a Ron Paul supporter who can’t let it go.
Just an ordinary-looking man in brown corduroy and a sandwich board.
Behind the wheel, eyebrows raise, brows furrow.
What’s up with that guy?
Stopped on red — if you aren’t tuning the radio, or checking your Blackberry — you get your first clue, reading the back of his sign: “USBank 4Closes Illegal.”
And on the green, when US Bank Guy turns your way, the sign’s front side: “Honk if USBank Sucks.”
Those two hand-written messages are the driving public’s best explanation for why Kerry Donovan, 52, with his tinted glasses and tidy ponytail, has become US Bank Guy.
US Bank Guy.
More symbol than man.
But symbol of what?
Perseverance? Pig-headedness? Powerlessness?
Donovan’s tale is a long and complicated one.
A story of financial and personal woe, snaking back to a failed used car business and theft by deception conviction in 1997.
Followed by bankruptcy, divorce, a hefty IRS tax-lien.
And beginning in 2004, a house in foreclosure, court dates, motions and appeals.
Donovan claims the bank didn’t give proper legal notification of the foreclosure.
The bank claims it did.
Judge Jeffre Cheuvront ruled in the bank’s favor.
And in November, the district court case was closed.
Two months later, the disabled father of two got up, put on his sign and became US Bank Guy.
“I just got fed up,” he says. “I’m not very good with the Internet and I didn’t know what to do to contact the rest of the world.”
Which brings us here, on the cusp of spring, one man exercising his right to free speech on a public sidewalk.
Police say as long as Donovan doesn’t infringe on the rights of others, he is free to picket.
US Bank agrees.
“We respect his right to be there,” says Fern Spencer, vice president of marketing. “Of course, we’d rather he wasn’t.“
On a recent Thursday, most cars glide by the man and his sign. But dozens accept the invitation.
Every time the light changes, the day perks up.
An uneven symphony of sound erupts, more Midtown Manhattan than Midtown Lincoln.
And for each half-hearted toot, each passionate prolonged blare, US Bank Guy gives the same response.
He lifts a fist. The thumb pops up.
He double pumps gently, like a juggler balancing an egg.
His expression never changes. He just watches the light, turning to face oncoming traffic, optimum face time for the honk.
He’s met a lot of frustrated people in the three months he’s been picketing, he says.
“I have teenagers yelling out the window, ‘Give it to the man!’ And even older people hollering … “Keep it up!”
Come out on a Friday night, he offers, when the honking “goes nuts” with the 18-35 crowd.
The Lincoln man has back pain and takes nine kinds of prescription medication.
Some days he pickets three or four hours, hopping from branch to branch. Some days, he says, the pain keeps him in bed all day.
Today, two police officers approach, asking to see his pills.
He produces a black bottle. Someone reported seeing him take pills from the black bottle, the officers explain, and state statute requires medication be kept in the original container.
“You’re really digging deep now,” Donovan says, riffling through his backpack to find the original prescription labels.
When someone complains, the officers say, they’re required to respond.
Satisfied, they leave — reminding Donovan to store his pills properly.
US Bank Guy zips up his backpack. Usually, he says, he is left alone on his section of sidewalk.
The police don’t bother him.
It’s one man and the wind and all those cars whizzing by, leaving a honking trail of affirmation, day after day after day.
You can’t help but wonder if Donovan might elicit a similar response if he changed the name on his sign.
To Wells Fargo or TierOne.
To Alltel. Or Sprint. Or Time Warner.x
Or one of any number of giant corporations who pepper us with late fees and surcharges, who say they care while we hold for customer service.
Perhaps people honk out of empathy for a guy desperate enough to stand on a street corner, suffering the whims of weather, the ridicule of the raised eyebrow, the occasional middle finger.
When I introduce myself that Thursday, Donovan shakes my hand.
He recognizes the name, he says, but still, he’d like to see some identification.
Out of business cards, I pull out the first piece of plastic in my wallet.
My US Bank debit card.
I like my bank just fine, I tell him.
Then I go home.
While US Bank Guy — who has taken his case to the Nebraska Court of Appeals — stands in the sun with his sign.
Listening for the next honk.
Then holding a thumb up, like a juggler balancing an egg.
Reach Cindy Lange-Kubick at 473-7218 or clangekubick@journalstar.com.