What to my wondering eyes did appear but an LDS temple. Here in Florence, South Carolina, the garden city (how many of those are there in the country?), one of the smaller and more subtle churches is a Mormon one.
It's on the way to the new Y, hidden two blocks off Second Loop Road. In contrast, the various Baptist and seemingly randomly named from Christian buzzwords houses of tan and pastel wearing Protestants, stand in huge parking lots on the main roads. Fifty-foot white Doric columns, obscenely overreaching, competitive spires, and Lego-like stacks of off-red brick attest to their efforts to clear their throats in God's direction.
The tan LDS temple is the little old man on the park bench with his hands folded in his lap.
So, we asked about, thinking of our own helmet-haired governor, Captain Brylcreme, a.k.a. Mitt Romney. Sure enough, the same-sex marriage thing is not a problem. In another very unscientific survey, we found that the locals associate that with Yankees, liberal Yankees, and don't blame the Captain.
It becomes important, as South Carolina is one of the first presidential primary states. Romney would have to win or come in second here to slither his way into the main race.
While he may not have to worry about marriage issues, the LDS thing is another matter. Here, in Iowa and elsewhere, folks are commonly Catholic or Jewish, much less Mormon. Explaining his association with angels come to earth, golden tablets that supersede the KJV Bible, and magic underwear would be tough.
Private religion certainly should not be an issue. Ahem. Good luck in the Pee Dee, Captain.
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