I never saw Walter Cronkite as a great journalist. He was a WWII war correspondent, but so was Ernest Hemingway. And so was the great Ernie Pyle. Then when old Walter took over the CBS nightly news, by that time, I didn't watch television much at all. After I left home to go to college and then to go on about my life's business, I shunned television. I felt it was beneath me.
My family got their first teevee, a Crosley, in 1953. My parents were Protestant-Ethic people, not fundamentalists but what they like to call themselves, "nondenominational." However, they still had enough of the family's past Anabaptist influence on them to not be sure whether television was a tool of Satan or a means of getting the gospel out! The gospel to my folks was a mixture of pure-dee Christianity and the work ethic (Max Weber called it "the Protestant Ethic") that led to the realization of the American Dream.
Our nextdoor neighbors got a teevee before we did. One of the big excitements for a while there was being invited by these neighbors over once a week to watch "The Liberace Show." The nextdoor neighbor woman, Zeera, and my mother loved Liberace. My father and Big Stu the nextdoor neighbor father made fun of Libby but I don't remember them making fun of him because he was gay. In fact, nobody used "gay" to mean homosexual in those days--gay was in all the popular songs--"let's have a gay old time," or "living a life so eager and gay." "Queer" was the schoolyard word for gays; yet though I had heard the words queer and pansy hurled about between schoolyard boys, I had no idea why they were derogatory words! I had no idea why a queer was called a queer or what a queer did that made him a queer in the first place. At that age, neither did I have any idea what a Lesbian was even though I had a great aunt Gus who was a woman deputy sheriff in L.A. and when she came to family renunions always brought her gal-pal along with her, a babe twice as tough-looking as great aunt Gus.
Even the schoolyard joke, "Name three fruits that begin with L" didn't make sense to me in a homosexual sense. The answer to the joke, "Lime, Lemon, and Liberace," made me laugh like a hyena; yet, here again, I didn't identify being a "fruit" with being gay. I knew my dad was always saying, "He's nuttier than a fruit cake," but I knew he meant crazy people and not gays.
Then, the nextdoor neighbor's kids, Little Stu and Big Buttski (I think his real name was Bernard), got to inviting me over on Saturday afternoons to watch the afternoon movies, usually old black and white grade Bs from the 30s, a lot of Lon Cheney Jr. movies and Tarzan movies and King Kong and shit like that. I can also remember being over there and staying up until one in the morning many a Saturday night watching the "Nightowl Movie."
It was only a few months later that my parents caved in and one day my dad came home with the Crosley. It was a huge big box of a thing--the "picture tube" (a Cathode Ray Tube) making up the bulk. My dad built a whole wall unit back on our once solarium room. Yeah, I grew up in a house with a "sun room," a half-circle (half-moon) room my dad and my one-eyed uncle built on the back of our house. It was a half-circle of all casement windows. The windows opened onto the west and the sunsets that part of the wide-open spaces was famous for. The room had a red concrete floor and was painted a light blue and when the sun was sinking, it was quite contemplative to sit in that room and experience the sensation as streaks of yellows, reds, oranges came streaming in those windows causing a prism effect in the room with the different colors dancing around the room like the Aurora Borealis. However, when my parents added my grandmother's big apartment onto the house after she got too old to live alone, it destroyed the sun room's purpose and converted it into a common old ordinary den. So my dad built this wall unit with a special set-in boxed shelf for the big new teevee. The Crosley fit perfectly in that shelf box. And soon my parents's lives revolved around that set. Even to the point my mom bought teevee trays and teevee dinners--Swanson's teevee dinners became our evening meals--my mother worked, you see, so she didn't cook when she got home. My fav Swanson teevee dinner? The Salisbury steak one. A ground round steak pattie covered in a mushroom gravy, with mashed potatoes and green beans, with a little compartment of apple pie in one corner of the little aluminum tray TV dinners came frozen in.
Soon an irony developed. My parents had never let me go to see a movie in a theater and my mother's brother ran a chain of movie theaters around Texas, too. In the mid-thirties, because she lost her second child, a boy named John, my mother turned to Jesus after blaming the loss of her precious child on her wild and heathen ways (she and my father were champion dancers; my dad smoked Lucky Strikes and wore tennis flannels and silk shirts and was a dandy and my mother was a cute little blond who was a flapper, wearing short swishy skirts, letterman sweaters, and bobbing her hair (the cutting of a woman's hair down to a man's style was considered a big SIN according to Christianity in the 1920s, the Jazz Age, and my parents were children of the Jazz Age). So after she found Jesus, she put a halt to her heathen ways, let her hair grow out, started wearing dresses that covered her knees, quit playing stride piano (and she was a really fine stride pianist), and quit doing the Charleston or the Lindy Hop or the Castle Walk or the Eagle Rock, and she STOPPED going to the movies. After we got the teevee, you see, suddenly you didn't have to go to a movie theater to see a movie. There were movies FREE on teevee. One night I saw there was a late night movie on I desired to see, so I got up my nerve and asked my mother could I watch it, and she surprisingly said yes. Then, on top of that surprise, she stayed up with me and watched it, too, for another surprise. I don't remember the movie, but I remember how into it my mother got and I know for sure after that night my mom became a staunch Betty Davis and Rita Hayworth fan.
A further irony, though I was allowed to watch movies on teevee, I still wasn't allowed to go to the downtown movie theaters. They were pits of sin to my mom; certainly my mom knew about the things that went on in the balconies of movie houses. She rationalized that at least in watching a teevee movie you were in the privacy of your own home. That way, I assumed, if the movie was leading you into temptation, you could run to the family Bible and confess your sin real quick and gain forgiveness for it fast enough you could get back and finish watching the movie.
The first movie theater I EVER went to happened one night when I spent the night with four of my high school buddies at my pal's house whose dad was a dentist and they had big bucks and a garage apartment with a pool table--it was a great place for a young boy to spend the night. On this night, one of these guys suggested we take in the midnight preview at the Majestic Theater. So the four of us sneaked off and went to the Majestic. I was scared to death I'd get caught by my parents but by then I was rebel enough to go ahead and do it, fuck the consequences.
The movie was a western: "The Buffalo Hunter," starring Victor Mature, who we called Victor Manure, and some really deliciously Injun-looking actress, a white chick smeared with walnut stain to make her look Native American. And then came the scene that was the cause of our suddenly wanting to sneak out and go to this midnight preview, the scene in the movie where Victor Manure comes upon this walnut-stained chick taking a bath in some cattails. How exciting to young boys was that!--you could barely tell she was NAKED--however you could see enough of her naked skin flashing through the cattails that you knew she was NAKED, though you couldn't see any of the essentials, like a naked breast, which would have sent us all into a masturbational frenzy!
However, after I left home and went off to college, I had no teevee, except down in the TV lounge in the Union Building or the big teevee down in the dorm day room off the lobby.
After I left home for good, I had no teevee for several years. It was my second wife who one day, we were living in New Orleans at the time, said she thought it was time we bought a teevee so we went out and bought our first television, a Philco black and white portable with a 13-inch screen. We had that teevee about a year when we up and moved to Mexico City, where there was no teevee in our hotel suite, the only teevee in the hotel being a small set in the lobby (I watched the first Clay-Liston fight on that lobby teevee). Then when that wife and I moved to New York, color television was the big new innovation and we bought our first color set, a Sony Trinitron. And for the next several years, yes, I watched teevee with my wife, though I didn't watch as much as she did as I was by then into my LP record collection and started sitting in my Eames chair with a typewriter on my lap, earphones on, jazz or classical music pumping into my skull from my stereo. As this wife and I drifted apart, I quit watching television with her; I quit doing anything with her. After we divorced, she got the Sony Trinitron and I went through another timespan without television.
From 1974 until 1977 I had no television. Then I met my third wife and man we hit it off to where we were together all the time, in spite of her having a husband, and one night she came over and brought this old television set with her. This is funny. I was unable to get a picture on that set so I simply listened to the sound when I turned it on, as if it were a radio. One night weeks later, #3 came over and said, "Let's watch teevee. Is my old set still working?" I told her that I could get sound but no picture. She said it had been working fine when she brought it to me and she couldn't imagine why it wasn't working now and she went over to the damn thing and she fiddled with one of the knobs and damn if the picture didn't come on pretty as a picture. "You had the contrast/brightness control on black screen."
I moved from that apartment in 1981 and once again I had no teevee, except for the summer when I slept on friends's couches and shit and I watched teevee with them. After I moved into where I am now, I had no teevee until around 1987 or so, when a girlfriend, I was divorced again by then, asked me if I wanted her old teevee since her on-the-side lover had bought her a new one. I took it. It was an RCA color teevee, and I set it up and turned it on and it worked fine. From then on, I've had a television. I threatened to do without television when the analog channels were sold to the business world and the tv industry forced HD teevee on us, but instead, I went on eBay and bought an HD teevee for $159 bucks, postpaid from California, and it works fine and gives me a great clear picture and it's a big enough screen that when I play my jazz DVDs on it, it's like being right fucking there, man. I've got this one DVD on the life of Oscar Peterson, and man the picture's so clear and BIG it's like you are sitting on the bench with OP as he and Ray Brown and Herbie Ellis (a Texan and North Texas University graduate) explode with swinging ferocity, opening with a god-damn tour-de-force version of "Caravan," the Juan Tizol classical jazz piece.
During all those years of off-and-on teevee in my life, I don't remember ever watching the Walter Cronkite news. My wives were into PBS, so we watched Robin McNeil and my brother's protege Jim Lehrer, the McNeil-Lehrer Report. I do remember when Barbara Walters was given one million bucks to join the ABC Evening News cast, I believe as the first woman anchor in national teevee history. I may be scary wrong about that, but I remember Barbara's elevation to TV's Power Elite, though I never watched an ABC News cast either. I remember in the 70s and 80s running around with my best friend who was a Walter Cronkite impersonator--he was always pulling that "And that's the way it is" thing while we were out cattin' around and jivin' the ladies!
I do, however, clearly and photographically remember the day of the Kennedy Assassination. I was in Dallas, Texas, that day, a young, young office manager at the County Juvenile Home, which was located up on a bluff above the Dallas Trade Center building where Kennedy was due to give a speech around 2 that afternoon. I remember just after I'd gotten back from lunch, I heard suddenly a wailing woman's scream coming from back in the juvie's television room. As I rushed back to check on it, it was a juvie full of little criminals, some of them murderers, so we were always on the alert when we heard a scream like the one I heard that afternoon, I saw this woman coming toward me running, a woman named Flo...and I see her perfectly clear as I recall this, I see her face, in the extreme crying mode, and she ran up to me and said, "They've killed him; they've fucking killed the president" and we turned and ran back to the teevee room and when I got there, Walter Cronkite was on the screen, looking down, dejected, and stone stunned. That image of Walter Cronkite has stayed with me all these years.
And that's the way it was with me and Walter Cronkite. Did I look to him for trustworthy news reporting--oh hell NO.
for The Daily Growler
As a PS: We must refer you to The Daily Growler's own highly respected and trusted reporter, Walter Crackpipe. Here's a past post from our Uncle Walter, who by the way is very much still with us, cruising along the St. Lawrence Seaway at the moment on his yacht The Triple Up Yours with fifth wife, the gorgeous Greek model, Symbolina.
A Crackpipe Blast From the Past:
Sunday, March 22, 2009Squatting in the Aisle
with The Daily Growler's Venerable Old Cuss Reporter, Walter Crackpipe
Oh boy, oh boy, already this beautiful Sunday morning--our day to the Good Lord Sun, the true and only god to me; yep, I'm a sun worshipper--the commercial teevee millionaires are bashing President Obama already this beauty of a Sunday, blaming him for everything from the current economic crisis to being a mocker of handicapped children. The latter bashing for his silly kid-like comment on the stupid numbskull jackass joking Jay Leno teevee show where the Prez said he'd bowled a 129 in the White House bowling alley (can you imagine a kid suddenly moving into a mansion with its own bowling alley!) and when Jay asked him wasn't that a good score, Obama simply replied, "Yeah, maybe in the Special Olympics...." Ohhhhhh-oooooooh, a shudder went through Jay Leno's ultraLiberal-almost-Commie audience! Obama, Obama, thou of the cursed race of Ham, thou hast committed a faux pas worse than the cartoonist who drew you as a chimp wearing a diaper laying in a pool of your own blood with two bullet holes in your chest and a couple of cops off to the side, one of them holding a gun pointed at you that is the gun this cop's just shot and killed you with, and the cop is saying, "Now who's going to write the next stimulus bill?"--Obama, Obama, thou hast ridiculed poor little helpless Special Olympic kids--poor little helpless mindless beings! The Special Olympics, by the way, was founded by that old wrinkled Joe Kennedy daughter, Eunice, Maria Shriver's mother. One assumes, and I certainly assume this, Eunice founded the Special Olympics out of guilt for the horrible deed her father, Old Bootlegger Joe, as we call him around here, did to her sister Rosemary, like turning her into a vegetable by having her lobotomized. As Sweet Saintly Mama Rose said afterward, "Well, the lobotomy did stop her violent behavior though unfortunately it also left her incapacitated...." Oh, blessed Mama Rose--surely the Catholic Nazi Pope will make her a saint--three miracles, let's see, she gave birth to three divine sons, like a Holy Trinity of Kennedy divinities: first, Bootlegger Joe's favorite son, named him after himself, Joe Kennedy--a WWII hero according to the Kennedy revised history of the world; then the miraculously born and raised precious John Fitzgerald (for old Swizzlin' Honey Fitz, the old crooked-as-hell Boston Back Bay "fightin' potato famine Irish" politician--hell he was mayor of Boston--"Sure my son Joe's a bootlegger, so what the fuck you stupid shanty Irish gonna' be doin' about it?") Kennedy, who was also a WWII hero, remember PT-109? in spite of vicious rumors that that whole thing was a staged affair (I know you're aghast now! How dare I give sarcastic disrespect to JFK, the US's Little Perfect Prince?); and last but not least, the precious and all-clean-cut-all-American boy, Bobby Kennedy, the lawman in the family. All three boys died violent deaths--though their spirits have arisen--therefore, we give high praise to the possibility of one day seeing a plastic statue of Saint Mama Rose in all her soon-to-be churches or riding on the dashboards of all the Kennedy family limos and BMW sports cars--and certainly one or two around on the Kennedy Family fleet of tax-deductible yachts and sailboats--maybe in the tax-exempt Church of the Holy Mother Rose--down there in Boston's Back Bay--or over in Roxbury! Ah, the wonderfulness of fiction and how it can so easily become reality--like this, The Daily Growler, a work of fiction that is reporting through the fictional mouths of an aged, even if still wet behind their ears staff--like the wet-behind ears of the luscious Franny&Zoe, but I'm a nasty old man when it comes to her. What I'm saying is it's an empirical staff, a mixed-bag staff of generational goofs, all tagged atheists, scoundrels, Socialists, abominations to Jesus Christ's plans for the United Snakes of America--a staff that freely believes like Fundie Nutjob US Christians (read: Holy Rollers) that the US was founded by God through his faithful Catholic son, Saint Christopher Colombo, a Jew from Genoa--whoaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Chris Colombo a Jew, nooooooo, no, Chris was a Sicilian, dammit, a member of the Cosa Nostra of those dear old days!
I am an old fuck now, folks--check me out; have you caught a glimpse of me lately on PBS? I'm as old as newsprint and soon to be just as obsolete. I've been in the reporting business since I was a young rascal war correspondent from Texas in World War II, said to be the only JUST war the US has ever started or fought in--a war started back then in defense of Mother England who was so weak and vulnerable--the cost of the burden of Mother England keeping her Empire together and fighting her blood brothers and sisters the Prussians was breaking her ass.
And, yes, I was in WWII, as was old saggy-ass Andy Rooney. After WWII I got involved in the Greek conflict started by Harry "Ass" Truman, Mr. Citizen, when he sent our Marines to Greece to keep Greece from going Commie. Harry was bent on reestablishing a royal house there, giving the Greeks a fop Brit-ass-kissing king when the seat of Western Democracy (White Democracy) unanimously wanted a Statehood (in the national sense) and not a Monarchy--but we White Americans have always craved a king ever since gout-ridden old King George the Third drove us out of Merry Olde England--proudly, his royal highass was kicking the whackos out of his empire: the Puritans, Pilgrims, Calvinists, Anabaptists, and also the anarchists, pamphleteers, and Brit debtors (who became infamous in White history as the "indentured servants"--low-caste Whites in servitude to a White bossman/patron--passage to the Colonies in return for working off their debts to the royal crown.
While Merry Olde England was kicking its weirdo religious, political, and criminal elements across the Pond to the Redman's Land, the Euro Royals were also running out their whackos, the Huguenots, the Roman Catholics--especially out of England, Germany, and France (like good old Lord Baltimore and Lord Calvert who turned Maryland into a Roman Catholic state at one gay olde Colonial time--these two Lords had a couple of good old time rotgut US whiskeys named after them, too). Ironically, Lutherans and Scandinavian Christians (Christian Socialists) also came over here by the droves--Swedenborgs, etc., Moravians, Manicheans, barbarian pagans, all being driven out of their White homelands. And look out, soon here came these boatloads of White weirdos over here, tumbling onto shore here and immediately seeking all kinds of White Western freedoms of religion, politics, and crime, coming here and declaring this their new homeland. So what this country was already occupied by a very politically organized native people, who, by the way, are now still imprisoned for the sins they committed against those invading White Men and their pale women--the White Man who rampantly developed his Aryan superiority under the Manifest Destiny and then put into practice his Christian philosophy of the only good Injun being a dead Injun--How? How Chief Wahoo! How Washington, District of Corruption, Redskins (hell there's a redskin babe on top the Capitol dome isn't there?)? How Kansas City Chiefs? How Chicago Black Hawks? I did find it a little humorous to hear a young Black man talking about sports teams using insulting Native American images as their mascots the other morning on a talk show. He started mentioning teams like the Atlanta Braves (remember the tomahawk wave?) and the D.C. Redskins...but then he said, "...and the Cincinnati Reds...." "Whoaaaa," I hollered at him, "Dude, though the city's name is Native American their baseball team's identity as the Reds has nothing to do with Native Americans." You see how separated Whites and Blacks are in this country still, even after a Black American has been elected president (legally!!!)! Whites assume they know Blacks just like Blacks claim they know Whites. Unfortunately, the fact that Whites did enslave US Blacks and did have factions that claimed they had a right from the Christian God to own slaves because under that God Blacks were the Sons of Ham and were cursed by God the Vicious Father of the Jews to be servants unto the Jews and the Gentiles!! Whites are Gentiles, according to Whites; therefore, Blacks are cursed by the White Man's god to be their servants, except servants to White people mean slaves.
And my elongated thinking took me far afield of my intended finger pointing, back paragraphs of time ago, at our vaunted Mr. Citizen, Harry "Ass" Truman. My intention back then in time was to inform you what a dumbass ignorant man the old haberdasher and horse soldier was--Jesus, I mean, this little creep Harry Truman during his time in office ordered the deaths of 300,000 innocent Japanese in Hiroshima and Nagasaki with two nuclear weapons he didn't know what the hell immediate damage they would do and certainly had no idea what future damage they would do. Harry said, "Fuck those slanty eyed bastards, drop a Fat Boy on 'em and watch 'em turn to yellow toast! Anything to save our precious troops so we can use them for cannon fodder in the next splendid little war or police action I have planned."
There were no teevee cameras there in those days. Harry didn't know how devastatingly "evil" those A-bombs were--we called them Atom Bombs in those days--and children born in that era weren't called Baby Boomers, they were called Atomic Bomb Babies--any kid born from around 1945-46-47--the era of the Atom Bomb. And Mickey Rooney played the "Atomic Kid" in the movies. And there was the Colossal Man, too, Glen was his given name--both men effected by atomic radiation, Little Mickey given superpowers and Glen given a massive body. The Atomic Bomb also gave us Godzilla, a radiated lizard.
And sure enough, after Greece, Harry came up with his Korean Police Action! Another fine little mess we got into. But Harry insisted the Korean affair was not a war. Remember, Harry said the Korean War wasn't a real war, it was simply a police action--a little mopping up of commies--a UN police action to boot--not the US's fault, hell no, the UN was in command of the Korean Police Action. Such bullshit and such a useless wasteful war--
Since before WWII, the Repugnicans have consistently tried to wreck the New Deal and prove social welfare never works--laborers have to pick themselves up by their bootstraps--George Orwell wrote about that during WWII. This hatred of the New Deal started after the Privileged Power Elite East Coast New Yorker playboy Franklin Delano Roosevelt whipped young-whipper-snapper Power Elite California Mining and Land-grabbing expert Herbert Hoover and his Stanford-educated criminal elements in 1932, after once again the Repugnicans ruined our economy--and, folks, the Repugnicans had ruined US economies many times before 1929--to the point the Repugs had more of their presidents assassinated than the Dumbocrats--up until JFK got it in '63--though those who get so frustrated they assassinate did try to rub out Ronnie "Jelly Bean for Brains" Reagan! And the Pope, too, remember! Wow, aren't guns wonderful? Notice how the recent epidemic of assassinaters--gunmen randomly killing their families or ex-employers or just randomly knocking off dozens of innocent people-- is no longer cared much about with the commercial teevee channels or what newspapers are left--wild gunmen killing roomsful of people--I mean, come on, there's so much of it going on it's now being taken for granted--no more extensive coverage like was given the Columbine affair or the Virginia Tech killing spree. I mean, mass murdering is just one of our US legends now--in fact, we get terribly excited when we watch scary movies about serial murderers for instance. The stuff you can see vividly portrayed every night on commercial-pap television--tons of ways to murder--graphic details of ways to murder without getting caught even--the truly exciting murder shows are the ones where when they fade to black with Dick Wolf's creator credits running in somber white over that black you know the most vicious serial killer in the current world has escaped from prison and swears to start knocking off the criminal investigative teams that put him in prison--just at random--SURPRISE!--oh boy, a serial killer loose--how exciting is that? Don't worry, the male actors say, these guys only kill women--so we gotta be especially guarding of our hot-babe CSI women! Yes, women are brutally murdered on teevee every night and even on daytime soap operas these days--and you can't imagine the brutality these actresses are put through! I especially enjoyed one I saw last night--two girls were involved in a car wreck, one of the girls was DOA, but the other girl survived. Now listen to this; you talk about a bizarre writer's mind: The girl who survived the wreck was terribly messed up, you know, her face ripped off, with the surgeons having to glue her face back together going by her picture on her driver's license. The girl driving the car was said by the police to be the best friend of the other girl (they looked like twins they were so much alike) who'd been DOA. The mother of the DOA girl was infuriated by the death of her daughter at the hands of this friend who the mother said was a drug addict, a drunk, a whore, and she had killed her precious daughter, her lovely saintly daughter. Well, it turns out the girls had gone out partying together and they'd gone to this swinging club where they danced and drank all night. When they left the club and went to go home, the drunkest girl, the drug addict-whore, gave the other girl, the saintly girl, her carkeys telling her she was in no condition to drive because she was wasted as well as drunk and this saintly girl was not really drunk at all. This tale ends up with the mother sneaking into the hospital and suffocating the living girl with a plastic bag. As she suffocates the living girl, the living girl looks up and says, "Mamma!" to which the grieving mother of the dead girl says, "Your mother can't help you now, you bitch," then she proceeds to suffocate this girl. Later the cops arrest Mom and during the interrogation she admits to killing the drug addict-whore bitch who killed her precious loving saintly daughter--and, she bravely says, I'm ready to serve my time in good conscience. Then the cops spring on her the fact that they'd checked the mother's DNA against the DNA of the girl she had murdered who she thought was the evil girl. Turned out, the cops told her, that after the drunken-dopehead-whore girl got to the car and told the saintly girl she had to drive them home, the saintly girl said she didn't have a driver's license--so the drunken-dopey-whore girl gave the saintly girl her driver's license. Thus, when the cops got to the wreck, one girl was dead, with no driver's license, but the one girl who lived did have a driver's license, which was the driver's license of the drunk-dopey-whore--therefore, the mother of the saintly girl assumed the living girl was the evil bitch who'd killed her daughter! "Surprise, Mom," the cops said, "our DNA tests show you killed your own daughter! She was hollering 'Mamma' at you because you were her mother!" How's that for a fucking macabre script!
I'm very surprised the Repugnican nutjobs haven't blamed President Obama for all the serial murderers there are--even the ones born before Obama was born. Poor President Obama. He's in for a tough ride. How foolish was he looking backing up Tim Geithner today? In some ways, President Obama is as foolish as a young kid with a new toy. "One never knows, do one?" as Thomas Waller used to say.
for The Daily Growler
BULLETIN: L Hat (our old pal at www.languagehat.com) has announced to triumphant cheering that his BOOK, Uglier Than a Monkey's Armpit, is finely available in the USA on amazon.com--here ya go, check it out, buy it, keep insults alive--insults for use in all languages, but especially the nastier ones!
BULLETIN #2: OH MY GOD, PRESIDENT OBAMA MAY BE A MORMON! Check Out Strange Practice of Mormon's Baptizing NonMormons, Including Jewish Holocaust Victims Into the Mormon Church! Wow! Ain't Folks Strange!