VALDOSTA — Dozens of cars stopped at the traffic light at the corner of St. Augustine Road and Norman Drive. Windows are rolled down for a beautiful Friday afternoon, sunny, warm. School’s out. People are leaving work. The line of cars grows longer, waiting on this light to turn green.

“Poor” Penny Carson walks along this line of cars. A placard strapped to his back proclaims to be the word of God, claims President Ronald Wilson Reagan was the first coming of the Antichrist — six letters in each of Reagan’s three names: 666, the sign of the beast.

Carson says similar things as he walks on the grassy berm beside St. Augustine Road.

He preaches the theory on Reagan, talks about how he believed one of the presidents after Reagan would represent the second sign of the beast, but none have so far, though maybe Barack Obama, he says, too early to know yet. Carson preaches that Wall Street will fall and people should keep their money out of the banks.

Bits and pieces of his sermon can be heard as he walks past one car to the next. His voice rises as he passes an open car window, then blends into the snarl of idling motors, the thump-thump-thump of bass from a car stereo, of cars honking at his passing, of the occasional person yelling something at him.

The whole time “Poor” Penny Carson spreads his sermon, the heavy wood placard strapped to his back, he carries a homemade ventriloquist puppet. Carson works the puppet’s mouth, up and down, the whole time he’s sharing the word. The puppet’s mouth moves. Carson’s mouth moves. But it is the puppet and God that keep Carson preaching.

The puppet attracts the most attention, more than a man preaching along the roadside, more than the six-lettered names of a past president, more than the hand-lettered placard. It is the sight of a man walking along the side of a street with a puppet, which Carson calls Sweetpea Johnson.

For the past couple weeks, “Poor” Penny Carson and Sweetpea Johnson have been a regular sight around Valdosta. They have been spotted by the street corners of the mall, walking past downtown stores, preaching near Perimeter Road. He’s been staying in his camper at a Wal-Mart parking lot.

Carson doesn’t ask for money; however, if money or a meal are offered, he accepts: “The Lord provides.” He doesn’t push himself too much on people. If you walk past him, he will continue preaching, walking behind you for a few steps, his fingers working the gadget that keeps Sweetpea Johnson’s mouth moving.

Asked for an interview, Carson agrees. He and Sweetpea step away from the street into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant. He tells the story of being an entertainer, a ventriloquist act, in Los Angeles in the 1970s.

Sitting in his house in 1976, he felt a calling to preach using his puppet. “Man may listen to this dummy,” Carson says of God’s words concerning his puppet. “‘Man may believe My word through this dummy because man don’t believe man.’”

Yet Carson remained uncertain of the words. He wanted a sign. Moments later, he used a hatchet for a household chore. The hatchet bounced back toward Carson’s chest.

“That hatchet touched me right here,” Carson says, bringing a flat hand toward his heart. “Then it stopped and it was like that hatchet was torn from my hand and was flung from me.” Carson swings his arm away from his chest.

God spoke to Carson: “He told me, ‘Do My work through that dummy.’ ... God is original. The Lord told Noah to build it. People laughed at Noah, but Noah knew God’s truth. And that’s what it’s all about, telling the Lord’s truth. God said, ‘Let that dummy tell them.’”

For 32 years, and through every state except for Alaska and Hawaii, “Poor” Penny Carson and Sweetpea Johnson having been following that instruction. Carson is not married. He has no children. He has relatives in Oklahoma. He has God and Sweetpea.

Carson used a professional ventriloquist puppet until it fell apart. He built a second one that lasted several years. He’s holding another homemade Sweetpea, the third puppet in his minsitry, which he’s used for the past 15 years.

Carson passes Sweetpea over for a moment. The puppet is heavier than it looks, a weight that comes to bear on the graying “Poor” Penny Carson as he spends hours walking with the placard on his back and Sweetpea Johnson in his arms.

Sweetpea is Carson’s cross to bear, though, and he takes the puppet back.

Carson and Sweetpea are on their winter tour of the South. They were in Homerville a few days before arriving in Valdosta. Carson’s preparing to leave Valdosta for Florida, then Alabama before heading north.

Asked if Valdosta has treated him better or worse than other towns in his travels, Carson looks down, smiles, then looks you dead in the eye.

“No, it’s just been another town,” Carson says, sharing how in each town, some folks treat him well while other people cuss him, how many laugh at him while others offer him a meal or a few dollars, how some places don’t mind him preaching while others have the cops move him along. No one’s pushed him here, or hit him, which has happened in other towns, or grabbed Sweetpea from him in an effort to tear, break, or kick the puppet.

“Yeah, just another town,” “Poor” Penny Carson says, moving back to the street corner. His preaching starts again as a car speeds past, horn honking, kids screaming and laughing at him, a tossed cup landing at his feet, as Carson keeps walking, keeps talking. Sweetpea Johnson’s mouth moves up and down, up and down.