It began like the triple crown of off-color jokes. A group of Japanese monks run a Mexican restaurant through a Catholic church.

Only Mormons aren't big on dirty jokes. Ray Moore was recounting a story from his missionary days in the mid-'80s when the restaurant refused to serve him because of his "strange" religion.

"It was my only chance to be denied a meal," the Pleasant Prairie man told me last week.

The presidential race shows that particular religion is still eyed with suspicion. Polls suggest Republican candidate Mitt Romney will lose a sizable minority of voters simply because he's Mormon.

Moore helped arrange a visit to the local church so I could see what it's really like. I've picked up enough crumbs over the years to know I wouldn't find members sporting wives on each arm, but I carried few other expectations as I programmed the imaginary GPS for Kenosha.

With 359 worshipers in the territory known as the Racine ward and slightly more in Kenosha's, they can't all gather at once. The Racinians have the run of the place on Sunday afternoon.

"Our goal is to have our own building up in the Racine area," said Jerry Kirkland, bishop for the Racine ward, who converted more than two decades ago.

Minus cross and altar, the setting felt more like a government meeting hall. In fact, they call them meetings, not services. Apparently the real spiritual connection comes when they visit a temple, and that happened to be the theme of the day's talks.

Nobody wandering in would have mistaken the informal speakers for revival tent preachers, but that way their own tears seemed more genuine and less Tammy Faye.

Where my church passes the wine, they stick to mini-cups of water. All part of what makes Mormons, as Moore put it, "the squarest of the squares - really Clark Kent kind of stuff."

Afterward, as the others separated into smaller groups, Kirkland and a couple of members sat down with me. I asked if they resent those polls dismissing their faith. Not exactly.

"I feel they're uninformed," said Lynn Jenkins, who serves on the High Council for the area. "They have so many concepts that are nowhere near the truth."

As the Mormons still have to remind people, they're Christians too. (Hint: Notice who's mentioned in their formal name, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.) Most of what we believe, they believe.

But they had to walk me through some of the beliefs a recent PBS special pinpointed as unique to them. Like the Mormon emphasis on baptizing the dead by proxy. They said it was possible my dad, a lifelong Catholic, could be on that list. Not sure I'm comfy with that.

Takes some doing just to bridge the differences in terminology. The priesthood I know is reserved for a handful of guys. Theirs is for pretty much any male from middle school on up.

And, though some have fancy titles, they're all volunteers with day jobs. Kirkland is an aviation manager for SC Johnson. Jenkins is a doctor.

Kerri Allen is a full-time mom and president of the "primary," a sort of breakout session for children. Since moving here, she said, people have been respectful in their curiosity about her faith.

"I enjoy being away from the mainstream," Allen said, "so I can stick up for my beliefs."

Could be a while before their church's name translates to election gold rather than a liability. With Mormons pushing 13 million members worldwide, though, Kirkland said Americans shouldn't stuff them in the same category as cults.

"We came here under religious freedom," he said, "and now sometimes are our own worst enemies when it comes to religious freedom."

Mike Moore can be reached at (262) 631-1724 or

mike.moore@lee.net