(Originally published shortly after Martino’s death. This detailed obit proved to be the most popular story I ever published in the Chattanooga Fax.)
Infamous Chattanooga street preacher Dan Martino died this week. He was a legend.
Martino spent nearly the entire 1980’s on Chattanooga’s streets holding signs and preaching against abortion, pornography and homosexuality, becoming one of the most visible figures in the city. In 1988 he earned his first 15 minutes of fame for a sign at the GOP convention in Atlanta that said, “God is a Republican.” A few weeks later, he held a sign at the Democrat Convention in New Orleans: “AIDS is a Cure, Not a Disease,” and was quoted in the national media saying, “Like capital punishment, it is 100% effective.”
But he lost all credibility in 1992 when he admitted to 45 homosexual encounters the previous two years.
So the legend was an enigma. While partly sincere, he was mostly hypocritical. While capable of the greatest sensitivities, he was generally rude, self-centered, obnoxious, cruel, ungrateful, and a first-class jerk. He was also my friend.
I knew Dan probably as well as anyone. He was loathed by most people, including the Christian and pro-family community, and rightly so. He ignored them and shamed them, long before his outing. But I really loved the guy. There was something of the genius in him (the close relative of insanity). His keen acumen with words and ideas emerged through the bitterness, once in a while, in the form of a very sharp wit. He may be the most complex person I’ve ever known—and also the most screwed up.
He left Chattanooga in the 90s to become the self-appointed “Missionary to the Supreme Court.” But years after leaving town, he was still the hands-down winner on talk radio in a poll for the most colorful character in Chattanooga. He enjoyed more name and face I.D. then any elected official.
Every town doesn’t have a guy like this. He had a knack for visual antics in front of the Court with dolls and baby carriages. His image made the AP Wire several times, the front page of USA (twice), and all the major networks. Andy Rooney even featured him on ‘60 Minutes.’ After confronting Justice Harry Blackman in the Court cafeteria (“A woman’s exclusive right to abortion ends where the placenta begins,” he instructed the author of Roe v. Wade), a guard told him, “You’re the talk of the Supreme Court.”
In fact, a spokesman at the Supreme Court, who asked not to be named, told me this week that Dan was a fixture there. When The West Wing came to tape an episode about a new justice, he kept meddling with their background view. “He ended up being amenable,” the spokesman told me, “ and he ended up posing with Martin Sheen for a picture.”
Though it can be argued that he did more harm than good, he did accomplish a few things. When the District Attorney here wouldn’t prosecute adult bookstores, he visited the grand jury and presented evidence for them to indict the D.A. for failing to carry out his constitutional duties. (He had a certain genius for such schemes.) Under the grand jury’s pressure and a growing citywide anti-porn campaign, the D.A. shut down eleven bookstores.
Dan was also instrumental in a boycott that caused Erlanger Hospital to stop performing abortions. Regarding the Supreme Court, he sensed the need for someone, somewhere, to confront the justices, admitting to me that he himself was hardly the best candidate and only “partially healed” of his sexual struggles. “Do you realize there’s no one in front of the court? There’s no one else doing this,” he said passionately. Sincerity seemed to be a part of his motives, at least.
Dan had physical challenges. He was very short with a limp and sizable humpback. He was also deeply ashamed of his teeth which were in horrible shape. He was writing his autobiography, he said. He titled it, ‘Sentenced to Live.’ There was that biting wit hidden by anger and rage.
I had a tough Christmas two years ago. Then I decided to be proactive and help someone less fortunate. Who’s the loneliest person I know, I asked. I called Dan.
I have two favorite Dan Martino stories. One took place while he ran for sheriff of Hamilton County, just after losing a $20 million lawsuit against the city for violating his free speech rights. (He let the ALCU attorney defend him and the adult bookstore owner finance it.) While candidating for sheriff, he bought a can of coke which seemed to have been tampered with and called in the bomb squad to protect him from what he thought might be an attempt to ruin his candidacy. Investigators opened the can and a $10 bill tumbled out, part of a national promotion for CocaCola. Dan, claiming distress, attempted to sue Coke.
The other story has never been made public. I knew about his sexual struggles (he was so jealous that I was attracted to women, he often said), and one day a few people met at Dan’s apartment to pray for him. He was desperate for help.
It wasn’t your usual gathering. Evil spirits were identified, including one associated with suicide, and what I believe to be an exorcism took place. He shrieked and convulsed and exhibited other behaviors appropriate for such a moment.
When he came to, he looked better and felt better. Knowing that he was likely to have a relapse, he then told me to “take the stuff out of my top dresser drawer.” I opened it and found three loaded guns.
Sure enough, he called me two weeks later demanding I return them. I told him no, and left the office to figure out what to do with three loaded guns in a bag in my trunk. I threw them off the Market Street Bridge into the river.
When he called me again, I assured him I did not have them. The next day I received a letter from an attorney demanding that I return “Mr. Martino’s property.”
Fortunately, a few days later, Dan had another spiritual surge and we got together for dinner. He came by my office and I told him I needed a favor—he was going to sign a letter I just drafted absolving me of any liability for the guns. We both laughed as he signed, because we both knew he’d be calling soon to demand them back. He did. But I had the letter.
I think one of the reasons I cared for Dan was that part of him truly wanted help. In certain moments, he knew the wretchednesss of his problems and the level of his hypocrisy. But at the end of his life he starting to heed that easy-to-forget teaching: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” And that applies to us as well. Who always practices exactly what he preaches? If Dan Martino can get mercy, all of us can get mercy.
In 1996, he returned to Chattanooga after a few years of therapy in Kentucky and presented each city councilman with a plaque that read, “Life is all about living mercy to everyone without exception.” It was an awkward moment.
He was never completely consistent with that mantra. He later roamed the halls of Congress preaching from “Sinners in the hands of an angry God.” But he also held a sign in his final years saying, “Lord Jesus, please heal all people with HIV.”
The obituary said he died at age 55 “after a long illness.” I called the coroner but was unable to learn the cause of death. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t by gunshot. And for that, I’m very thankful.
Originally published Nov. 3, 2003.