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A big bowl of beliefs

USF's weekly Bull Market is free speech on steroids. Got a view? Get a booth. Some students will stop and engage. Others will go out of their way to avoid the flurry of fliers.

By STEPHANIE HAYES
Published April 7, 2006

"What is the purpose of life? What is the true nature of God? Can families be together forever?"

Christians, Muslims, Jews, Mormons, even an atheist, all with a message to share, and a crowd full of meandering students to share it with.

"You are invited to a fascinating and interesting lecture by Rabbi Yehuda Peretz."

It's a balmy Wednesday afternoon at the Bull Market, an open-air mall on the University of South Florida's Tampa campus.

Vendors sell T-shirts, handbags and incense to college students with a few bucks to spare. Military recruiters and credit card companies court passers-by.

Tucked among the retail booths are the religious tables, dealing in business of the soul.

"Join us every Thursday at 8 p.m. - An uplifting weekly event: Live band! Free Pizza! Invite Friends!"

This is Kathryn Stinson's flier. Stinson, 22, is with Christian Challenge, a Baptist ministry that invites people to listen to speakers, pray, eat pizza and just hang out together.

Someone from another Christian group comes up to Stinson. Come to our event, he says, and hands off an orange flier. But his group meets the same night as Christian Challenge. Stinson hands back the flier.

Religious tug-of-war? No, she says.

"There are a few other Christian organizations," Stinson says. "We're here with the same purpose. We're letting people know that this is available to them."

n n n

Every Wednesday at 9 a.m., the booths pop up along a stretch of sidewalk between USF's Arts and Sciences building and the school gym.

It's the campus Panama Canal, a bustling passageway linking Subway, Burger King, the Education building, library, bus stops and the Sun Dome parking lot.

The Bull Market has been a USF tradition for about 30 years. It was originally designed to raise money and help student groups increase membership.

Official student organizations can set up for free. Student vendors can grab a booth for $6. All others pay $15.

It's cheap. It's easy. And it's a surefire way to get attention.

"It's a great way for us to share our beliefs in a nonthreatening way," says Alex Ungerman, a 20-year-old missionary with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Mormons.

Ungerman has traveled from Utah to spread his faith. At the Mormon booth, he offers students a survey.

"Do you believe in God? Do you believe the Bible to be the word of God? Do you believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God and Savior of the World?"

The bottom of the survey includes lines where you can write your name, address and phone number.

Across the sidewalk, the Muslim Student Association offers information on the crisis in Darfur, Sudan. It's a typical display for the MSA, says 20-year-old Jassim Al-Deen. The group always tries to teach about different worldly topics.

"Our purpose is not to convert anyone, but just to share information," Al-Deen says.

That practice holds at the Hillel Jewish Student Center of Tampa Bay's table. On this day, Hillel has an informational display about the Jewish holiday Purim.

Most of Hillel's traffic comes in the form of friends stopping by or new Jewish students looking for campus activity.

"We don't evangelize, because it's not part of Jewish faith to do so," says David Brunell, a 23-year-old Hillel staff member. "Most of the students that come by come up and take a gander. They just kind of chill out."

n n n

The fliers come from all directions.

Some students are skilled in avoidance. Sunglasses on. Head down. Cell phone to ear.

It's hard to get hurried students to stop and chat, no matter who you are. They have to get to class, or to work, or to anywhere but here.

Justin Hall has to get to the gym. The 19-year-old accounting major passes the military's booth near the beginning of the market and makes a swift sidestep to the outside walkway.

"It's kind of bothersome," Hall says. "They really do just bombard you. That's why I walk around."

Even David Brunell from Hillel admits that when he was a student at USF, he avoided the Bull Market.

"There were times, definitely, I would walk around the outside," he said.

Still, he adds, those who come through the thick of things shouldn't be surprised if they're talked to.

"People that walk down here know full well that they're probably going to be approached by someone."

Vendors can come up to students and talk to them, they just can't touch anyone, says Denise Darby, who has organized the Bull Market for 12 years.

Most students aren't offended by the Bull Market, says James Cavendish, a USF sociology and religion professor who was the lead investigator on USF's Campus Climate Survey, which gauges how students feel about things such as diversity and free speech. They're more offended by a handful of extreme preachers who occasionally stand in grassy areas and shout.

"The booths in the Bull Market, I think they're more passive," he says. "When a preacher sets up, they seem to be more aggressive."

Being too aggressive isn't worth it, says Christian Challenge's Stinson. Enough students are already looking for a way to get involved and will approach the booths on their own.

"I'm not going to chase anybody down," she says. "I'm just here to say, 'We're here.' "

Michael Uglialoro wants you to know he's here, too. Uglialoro is with a group called the Beef Studs - those guys who paint themselves with school colors during games.

Today, he's wearing a horned Viking helmet and a grass skirt. He's tall, energetic and he's trying to rally school spirit for sporting events. He has his own flier promoting a basketball game.

He's also a bit of a marketing strategist.

"Any market is going to draw foot traffic, and these booths are free," says Uglialoro, 24. "This is Stone Age media."

n n n

Everyone points to "the Atheist."

"It's just a bold statement to say, 'Jesus isn't coming,' " Stinson says.

She's talking about James Young, a 59-year-old ex-minister turned nonbeliever. He sits at a table each week at the Bull Market, surrounded by signs and literature that challenge the notion of God.

Debate is bound to happen in a veritable religious stew, and Young is ready. His table is a big draw for people wishing to wither and dither over the technicalities of faith.

He knows Scripture like the back of his hand.

"I think that's why you have to be prepared in talking to him," Stinson says.

Young is not out to embarrass anyone, he says. He's there to provide an alternative point of view.

"I'm just saying to the students to think for themselves," he said. "Not to be spoon-fed."

It doesn't sit well with everyone.

"There's only one booth that makes me feel down," says Stephanie Ruiz, a 20-year-old architecture major and Beef Babe, the female equivalent of a Beef Stud. She points to Young. "That always just makes me sad."

At other booths, people pepper each other with questions about faith, culture and lifestyle. Political climate tends to dictate interest.

Uriel Rivkin, a 30-year-old Hasidic Jewish rabbi, welcomes the questions with open arms.

"What could be wrong with that? That breeds intellectual stimulation."

n n n

Uglialoro, the Beef Stud in the Viking helmet and grass skirt, waves his hands. He has been watching the scene at the Bull Market through his shiny black shades, paying closer attention.

He has another theory.

"College is a very formative time in people's lives," he says. "So you get to them while they're at that crossroads in life. We're all finding ourselves."

He traipses back to the Beef Stud table to pass out more fliers.

Stephanie Hayes can be reached at 813 269-5303 or shayes@sptimes.com.

[Last modified April 7, 2006, 07:50:53]