In Whom Do You Put Your Trust?

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

The candidate, as instructed, knelt at the altar. In front of him in the east, the Worshipful Master stood at his podium and asked a question we have all been asked, "In whom do you put your trust?"

Silence.

Having encountered similar hesitation before, the composed WM rephrased the question, "In whom do you put your spiritual trust?"

After another long pause the candidate finally answered, "I guess I put my trust in myself. If you are trying to get me to say I put my trust in God, I can't. I don't believe in God."

Another period of silence followed. Still composed and carefully assessing the situation, the Master asked, "Would you please repeat what you just said?" The candidate repeated his answer. Standing before a hushed and stunned Lodge, the veteran Master knew exactly what he had to say next, "Brother Senior Deacon, you will escort the candidate to the preparation room."

Freemasons believe in God; and we take it seriously. It's not just lip-service. We tolerate all religions, but hold a belief in Deity as the single non-negotiable requirement to becoming a member. No exceptions. And no exception was made that night, either.

Epilogue: This incident took place early in March, 2013, at Brotherhood Lodge #269 in St. Joseph, Missouri, with my good friend Dennis Vogel presiding. The Missouri petition is very clear in stating that the candidate holds a strict belief in God, but this candidate signed the petition anyway. The investigating committee covered the issue of belief in God with the candidate; and the candidate very skillfully crafted a satisfactory answer. The question in Lodge, however, "In whom do you put your trust," doesn't leave a lot of wiggle room... as the candidate discovered.

Sam Hornish: Something Amazing Was Nearly Lost

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

I grew up in Indianapolis. If you know nothing else about Indy, you know they hold a little party there every year on Memorial Day weekend. They have dances, dinners, concerts, breakfasts and a huge parade. Then, to cap it all off, several drivers strap themselves into small jets on wheels and go for a 500 mile Sunday drive. If you've only seen it on television, try it live sometime. TV can't possibly capture it. Imagine standing just a few feet away from the fastest field of race cars anywhere, three abreast — the only major race that starts that way — as they scream by at straightaway speeds nearing 230 mph. The person standing next to you can shout as loud as possible, but you won't hear. Your body vibrates in the ruckus so that, in a way, you feel like you're touching the cars. The scent of fuel hangs in the air... you can smell the start. When you are there, you are in such sensory overload you don't just watch the Indianapolis 500; you participate.

Early on, the Indy 500 carved out a place in my brain and took up residence there. It's a part of me, and this year I will see my 40^th race. I'm sometimes asked what is the best race I've seen there. I sometimes answer "all of them." There is, however, one that stands out.

That race boiled down to being a sprint to the finish. Nineteen-year-old Marco Andretti, grandson of racing great Mario Andretti, was leading in what was his first Indianapolis 500. Veteran Sam Hornish, Jr., who had started on the pole, was running second, but a long way behind. Hornish continued to close and with a bit more than a lap left, he caught Andretti and attempted a pass. It didn't work. Sam lost momentum and fell ten car-lengths behind. It was Marco's race for sure.

For about three-quarters of the final lap, Hornish stayed far behind. Then he turned on the afterburners. He came out of turn four two car lengths behind and closed in. He went right, then left and started to pull alongside. With 400 feet left in the race, Marco Andretti still led.

From my seat at the start/finish line, the two cars looked like they were fused together. Then, gradually, Hornish's car oozed out of the blur. Steadily, he continued to gain on Andretti. Then the cars roared past with Hornish ahead by a whisker.

Sam Hornish, Jr. had won what many analysts call the most exciting Indianapolis 500 ever.

But that's not what I wanted to tell you about.

Winning a great race is important; but what is more important is the character of the man. Born in Defiance, Ohio in 1979, Sam followed in the footsteps of father when he joined Omega Lodge #564 in 2001. He is also a member of Zenobia Shrine in Toledo. Brother Hornish is known on the racing circuit as a spiritual man with deep conviction, and as a fair and clean competitor. At the end of the 2006 race, he knew that pass he attempted with a lap to go was too dangerous. He knew it was likely to wreck Andretti, if not both of them and he elected to wait for a better opportunity. Asked about this in his post-race press conference, he said, "All the wins in the world don't mean anything if you can't be glad about it at the end of the day. I don't ever want to win a race like that, feeling like I cheated somebody out of the opportunity to win."

Hornish, now a popular NASCAR racer, has been an important supporter of Shriner's Hospitals for Children. His dedication to the principles of Freemasonry are reflected in the foundation he has established, which continues to support the Hospitals and other children's charities.

Something amazing was nearly lost in the breathtaking ending of his Indy win. It reflects the demeanor and Masonic background Sam Hornish demonstrates on and off the track. In addition to winning the race, he won the Scott Brayton Sportsmanship Award. In the 100-plus year history of the Indianapolis 500, it is the only time the race winner has won the sportsmanship award. Acknowledging the fact that in racing the spotlight is on the driver, he contrasted that with his work in Freemasonry, “In Lodge, it’s not about one person; it’s about working together with the whole group." He does that well.

The Conference of Grand Masters in North America

Opportunities for Business and Fellowship

by Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

     Most Brothers don't get much individual time with their Grand Masters, but as editor of the Missouri Freemason magazine, I'm fortunate to have known several.  I'll never forget, however, as a new editor, getting my first call from a Grand Master.  It might as well have been the Governor of my state.  Grand Masters are important. 

     In my experience, the ones I have known have gone out of their way to show it's the members who are important, not the Grand Masters — and they do that for good reason... but more on that later.

Inside the formal meetings, it's all business.

     With all that in mind I was thrilled to learn the Conference of Grand Masters in North America was scheduled to meet right down the road from my home.  I immediately started making plans to go.  Then, not too long ago I told a friend I was looking forward to what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  "Oh, Steve," he sighed, "I've been to that conference.  You've never seen such a collection of bombastic egos assembled in one place."  Wow.  I'd say his experience has been a bit different than mine.  I wondered if  Missouri has just been lucky to have a string of great, friendly Grand Masters lately.  I guess I really didn't know what to think as I lowered my expectations a bit and headed for the big show.

     I spent three full days at the conference, taking in everything so that I might, in a manner of speaking, see the light by which Grand Masters work.  I was also on a secret mission to locate a few of the bombastic egos my friend mentioned.  I had a great time, met so many people and took part in so many conversations by the second afternoon I had nearly lost my voice.  I must admit, it was one of the most concentrated assemblages of bigshots I have ever attended;  but my quest for bombasts went unfulfilled.  Here is what I discovered:

Outside the formal meetings the author 
and Illinois Grand Master Terry 
Seward renew acquaintances 
and share a moment of fellowship.

     The business meetings were... well... all business.  The Grand Masters took their responsibilities seriously.  On some issues their consent was unanimous, but they didn't always agree.  When they didn't, I saw spirited debate, but no pomposity or bluster.  That's just my unscientific observation, and I did not, mind you, see every minute of the business meetings.

     Outside the meetings it was a different story.  The attendees seemed to me to be outgoing, gregarious and were genuinely interested in what I and others had to say about the Craft.  None in any way seemed absorbed in his own self-importance.  And it stands to reason.  These men are the leaders of our fraternity.  They are its ambassadors and virtually by necessity have to be its promoters.  The atmosphere was friendly.  For three days I had a terrific time making new friends and acquaintances, and renewing old friendships.  I don't know if I'll ever get a chance to do it again, but I'd like to.  

     As for my friend who thought I was headed into an encounter with a lot of big egos, maybe he was just having a bad day.

The Hickiest Fellow You Ever Saw

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

A poll in the mid 1960s recognized the two most beloved Americans as Abraham Lincoln and humorist Will Rogers.  That's pretty high praise for Rogers, whom a Hollywood executive once described as  "The hickiest fellow you ever saw." Brother  Rogers was a member of  Claremore Lodge 53, McAlester Consistory and the Tulsa Shrine, all located in Oklahoma.  Here are a few things you might not know about the iconic American humorist.  Brother Rogers:



...did not do well in school and once joked, "I spent ten years in the fourth grade and knew more about McGuffy's Fourth Reader than McGuffy did."

...dated all seven of the Blake sisters before asking the youngest, Betty, to marry him in 1906.  Betty, apprehensive about a life in show business, turned him down.  A year and a half later the persistent Rogers changed her mind and they married.  Betty met Will when he was, what else, on a date with one of her older sisters.

...later in life, remarked about his marriage, "I'm different from other movie stars. I still have the wife I started out with."

...worked as a cowboy in Texas, Argentina and South Africa.

...rode broncos in a wild west show under the name "The Cherokee Kid."

...was regarded as the world's best lasso thrower, "Spinning a rope is fun, as long as your neck ain't in it."  Working in rodeos, he started slipping jokes into his act.  Soon the jokes became more popular than his lassoing skills.

...was a failure as a silent movie actor.

...ran a mock campaign for president in 1928 as the "bunkless candidate."  His only campaign promise was to resign if elected.  On election day he declared himself the winner and, true to his promise, resigned.

...gave what was described as a hilarious speech at the opening of the Coolidge Dam in 1930.  Former president Calvin Coolidge attended.  Those in attendance reported the taciturn ex-president did not so much as crack a smile.

...introduced Brother Franklin Roosevelt at the 1932 Democratic convention.  He explained why his remarks were short on that occasion, "You're just a candidate. I'm certainly wasting no oratory on a prospect."

...performed with the Ziegfeld Follies and said of the girls he worked with, "Isn't it sad to think that in 20 years all of these lovely creatures will be 5 years older?"

...interviewed Al Capone.  He said of that experience, "There was absolutely no way I could write it and not make a hero out of him.  What's the matter with our age when a gangster is our biggest national interest?"

...just to keep in touch with his roots, had a log cabin built on his Santa Monica estate.  He had a theater built in that same house explaining, "Acting is like getting drunk. If ya gotta do it, it's better to do it at home."

...wrote a daily newspaper column which became a national institution.

...traveled the world looking for new subjects to write about.  In the process he became known as America's self-made ambassador.

...was a passionate flier at a time when it was considered risky.  He wanted to be known as a "flying reporter."

...was one of the few private citizens permitted to fly in government mail planes.

...used airplanes to assist in disasters. It was said of him, "He usually got there before the Red Cross."

...after visiting the Soviet Union wrote a book entitled, "There's Not A Bathing Suit In Russia, And Other Bare Facts."  The publisher declined to put the suggestive second part of the title on the book's cover.

...was proposed for President at two national conventions.

...was the first mayor of Beverly Hills, a position which some say was honorary. His inauguration, nonetheless filled the streets and the top movie stars of the day and other dignitaries attended.  Rogers claimed, "My primary duty as mayor was to point out the location of Pickfair to tourists."

...is the only humorist whose statue is in Statuary Hall in the Capitol.

By 1935, Brother Will Rogers was a national treasure.  In August, he flew to Alaska with his friend Wiley Post to gather material for his newspaper column.  Nearing Point Barrow, the pair stopped confirm their position.  Post, 36, and Brother Rogers, 55, perished when their plane crashed on takeoff.  Congress suspended activity during his funeral and the outpouring of grief was called the greatest since Lincoln.

The Gift

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

Launch of the Freemasons' lifeboat Albert Edward at Clacton-on-Sea

The port closest to London, Clacton-on-Sea, served as a major shipping channel in 19th century England. Weather, rocks and shifting conditions made it an especially treacherous place to navigate and, as might be expected, the waters there claimed many ships and human lives. In 1875, Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of England and later King Edward VII (1901-10), voyaged to India. Thankful for his safe return eight months later at Clacton-on-Sea, the Grand Lodge of England decided to make the port safer by donating a lifeboat in his name. With more than 4,000 spectators in attendance, they dedicated and launched the Albert Edward Lifeboat on July 10, 1878, amidst pomp and circumstance fit for the future King. An unknown poet immortalized the event with an official poem which said, in part:

Built from henceforth life to save,

Manned by crew so strong and brave-

Launch the boat with ringing cheer!

Honour the name to all now dear!

Honour the dead in the living son!

Honour the love so justly won!

“ALBERT EDWARD," aye to be

The sailor’s friend on this Eastern Sea!

Honour “the Craft,” whose generous thought

So much of sterling good has wrought!

Honour the gift that they have given,

To save man’s life, if willed by Heaven!

Honour the true hearts ever found,

When storms and tempests rage around,

To leave their homes, where loved ones weep,

And brave the perils of the deep!

By the day of the dedication, the Albert Edward had already proven its worth. Delivered to Clacton prior to the official launching, the lifeboat saw its first action on May 23, when the ship Garland, on a voyage from Shields to London, ran aground and broke up. The crew rowed for three grueling hours to reach the stranded vessel and saved the lives of six men and three boys on board.

No one will ever know how many crewmen, most of whom were likely Freemasons, lost their lives in this dangerous service. However, the 1884 proceedings of the United Grand Lodge of England made note of the following:

"That the sum of 50 guineas (about $4,800 today) be granted to the family of the late James Cross and a similar sum to the family of Thomas Cattermole, two of the crew of the Albert Edward lifeboat at Clacton-on-Sea, which boat was presented to the National Life Boat Institution by Grand Lodge.

These two men, after having assisted, the first in saving 116 and the second 33 lives, having lost their own in the discharge of their duty on the night of the 23rd January last, whilst in their boat endeavouring to rescue the crew of a vessel in distress, leaving their families consisting of a widow and six children and a widow and three children entirely destitute."

For over a half century, from 1878-1929, the Albert Edward and its two successors of the same name, guarded the port of Clacton-on-Sea and saved countless lives. Today, Freemasons still take part in rescues there and at other ports. In addition the Fraternity regularly donates funds to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, which oversees the lifesaving operations throughout Great Britian.

IT IS WEIRD!

Pioneer Freemason Joshua Pilcher's Curious Return From The Dead

Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

Born in Culpeper County, Virginia in 1790, Brother Joshua Pilcher, like so many others, moved to the Louisiana territory to seek the opportunities afforded in the western frontier.  An ardent Freemason, in 1815 he was instrumental in the formation of Missouri Lodge #12 and later became its first Master.  A well-connected businessman, he was a good friend of such influential Missouri pioneers as General William Clark and Senator Thomas Hart Benton, and was a cousin of Thomas F. Riddick, who eventually became Missouri's first Grand Master.  He also held the rank of Major in the US Army.

In 1820, Pilcher co-founded the Missouri Fur Company, a trading group associated with Freemasons.  He played a key role in the founding of the Grand Lodge of Missouri and may have been one of those under consideration as its first Grand Master.  In 1838, he succeeded General Clark as the Superintendent of Indian Affairs and had such a strong friendship with Senator Benton that he served as Benton's second in his infamous duel with Charles Lucas.

Brother Pilcher passed away in early June of 1843.  The evening before his death, he attended an extravagant banquet with his friend Senator Benton, and his body was discovered the following morning in his bed.  The funeral of the founder of the Missouri Fur Company and a true pioneer of the west was an auspicious affair.  He was buried in Christ Church Cemetery in St. Louis in a special metal casket imported from Europe.

Nearly a half-century later, November 30, 1892, the good people of St. Louis woke up to read a headline in the St. Louis Dispatch, which screamed, "IT IS WEIRD!"

The article said on the previous day, men working near the old Christ Church Cemetery had discovered a highly ornamented metal casket.  The casket contained no nameplate, but it bore the trademark of an English manufacturer.  The article went on to say the remains inside the casket were surprisingly well-preserved, but "withered" a short time after being exposed.  The discovery caused a minor stir in town and subsequent research on the curious finding led to other newspaper articles and speculation about the identity of the body.  

Dispatch reporters eventually determined the body was that of Warren Pilcher, who had died following a banquet attended by Senator Thomas Hart Benton.  Reports continued to unfold and chronicle the life of Warren Pilcher.

In the meantime, Warren Pilcher himself, the grand nephew of Brother Joshua Pilcher, watched the story develop with great amusement.  He let the case of mistaken identity rage on until one report claimed Warren had at one time been a debtor and died owing back rents.  At this, Warren Pilcher appeared at the offices of The Dispatch and revealed that the body was that of his great uncle Joshua, who had founded the Missouri Fur Company.

Great speculation followed concerning the life and death of Brother Pilcher, including reports that some unnamed scoundrel may have murdered him with robbery as a motive.  Warren even reported that at his death, Joshua's servants had come forward claiming to know who was involved, but demanded to be given part of his estate before giving details of the dastardly plot.  Pilcher's relatives refused to play along with the scheme and the matter died.

Brother Pilcher's body was reburied in Bellefontaine Cemetery where it rests today after its brief, but adventurous return from the dead.

That Door At The Top Of The Stairs

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

After what seemed like an eternity of petitioning, investigation and waiting, my big day came. I was about to receive the First Degree of Freemasonry, "Apprentice... isn't that what they call it," I asked.

"Entered Apprentice," said my dad, as we got out of the car.

"Sounds strange," I thought, "Why don't they just call it 'Apprentice?'" No matter. I figured I'd find out soon enough. I didn't know a single person in the Lodge, except for the men who had investigated me and the guy who signed my petition; and none of them would be at the ceremony. My dad didn't know any of them either, except for the guy he phoned to set all this in motion. Yet, as I saw later, they all acted like he was their long-lost best buddy — once they examined him and determined he was legitimate, that is. Interesting guys, these Masons.

A gold-embossed Square and Compasses adorned the plain glass door. I opened it to reveal nothing more than a long stairway. To the right was a chair-lift. The door at the top looked as if it was a thousand yards away. I took the first step... it would be too much of a cliché to turn that into a metaphor.

I didn't know what to expect. I knew, however, Dad had done it and it seemed to be such a positive thing for him. I just told myself to enjoy every minute of it and soak it all in; and I did. My excitement grew with every step toward that door a thousand yards away. I took that trip two more times — it led me to becoming a Fellowcraft, and then to the sublime degree of Master Mason. With each trip I felt the same.

Today, the trip up those steps remains every bit as exciting. When I open that door at the top I always find friends and fellowship. I also find memories of presidents, kings and heroes; and I feel the presence of Brothers who maybe weren't so famous but did their part to make the world a better place... like my dad.

I'm sure everyone who has taken that trip up those stairs felt the same way. Yet I wonder, "Why do I — after all these years — still feel that enthusiasm and others seemingly don't?" It's a complex question and I'm sure we all know some of its answers; but if we could completely figure it out, Brothers, we'd wear out the hinges on that door at the top of the stairs.

Missouri's Unique Masonic College

By Steven L. Harrison, 33°, FMLR

From its inception Freemasonry has always been synonymous with continuing education and lifelong learning. A few institutions have organized continuing education for Freemasons; and the Scottish Rite, in fact, is sometimes called "The College of Freemasonry."

In the mid-nineteenth century Freemasons went beyond Craft education and established a series of Masonic Colleges offering a liberal arts education. These institutions were loosely connected with the common purpose of providing a variety of levels of education. One of these, Eureka Masonic College, was the birthplace of the Eastern Star. While there, in 1849, Rob Morris founded the order so that women could also participate in Freemasonry.

Perhaps the most iconic of all of these institutions was the Masonic College, which the Grand Lodge of Missouri established in 1844 in Philadelphia, Missouri. Citing inadequate facilities, the Grand Lodge moved the college to its permanent home in Lexington in 1847. Its purpose was to provide an education for the children of Masons, especially orphans, but it also admitted any child named "Mason," whether having a Masonic affiliation or not.

Among its alumni, the college boasted Missouri Congressman Thomas P. Akers, Lexington Judge John E. Burden, US Senator from New Mexico Thomas B. Catron, US Senator from West Virginia Stephen B. Elkins, Kansas City businessman Robert Keith, Missouri Governor John S. Marmaduke, Lexington industrialist James C. McGrew and Lexington judge John E. Ryland.

At various times after the college closed in 1859, it served as a classroom for other institutions. The building closed for two years during the Civil War, after which the Grand Lodge of Missouri deeded the property to the State of Missouri, which used it for a military academy. The state handed the property back to the Masons in 1871. Almost immediately, the Grand Lodge transferred ownership to the Methodist Episcopal Church, for use as Central Female College and later, Lexington College for Women.

During the Civil War, the College served as Union headquarters during the Battle of Lexington. There, Confederate troops attacked under the leadership of General Sterling Price, a member of Missouri's Warren Lodge #74. Although his troops overwhelmingly outnumbered the federal army, the Union put up a surprisingly fierce fight. Hemp was one of the major agricultural products in Lexington. At the end of the second day of the battle, Price's men found dozens of large hemp bales stored in the area and in the final Confederate push forward, used them as cover as they rolled them in toward the Union forces. This tactic proved effective as none of the Union artillery could penetrate the hemp. Completely overwhelmed, the federal army surrendered. Given the unique way in which the Confederates had advanced, the battle of Lexington is also known as "The Battle of the Hemp Bales." (Somewhat ironically, Lt. Colonel Benjamin W. Grover, former Grand Master of Freemasons in the state of Missouri, was mortally wounded fighting for the North and defending the Masonic College, which he had helped to establish.)

The building burned in 1932. Two years later the Grand Lodge of Missouri built a 40% scale replica of the original building on the site and gave it to the city of Lexington "for the perpetual enjoyment of the public."

The replica building still stands, surrounded by a garden walkway and four brick columns marking the corners of the original structure.

Above: A 40% scale replica of the original Masonic College building, which served as Union headquarters during the battle of Lexington, sits on the original site in Lexington, Missouri.