Return Johnathan Meigs

 

He was the he first Chief Justice of the Ohio State Supreme Court, a United States Senator, the fourth Governor of Ohio, the fifth United States Postmaster General, and he was a member of American Union Lodge 1 in Ohio. Born in 1774, his unusual name was Return Johnathan Meigs, Jr. In addition to serving in each of these important positions, Brother Meigs was a Brevet Colonel in the United States Army. Future President William Henry Harrison considered him to be so distinguished, he named Fort Meigs in Ohio in his honor during the War of 1812 and Meigs County in Ohio is also named for him; yet the very mention of him begs the question, where did Brother Return get such a unique first name?

The first step in the long journey to solve that mystery is an easy one. He was named after his father, Return Johnathan Meigs, Sr. The senior Return Meigs was born in 1740 and served as a colonel in the Army during the American Revolution. In May, 1777, he led what is now known as the Meigs Raid and, greatly outnumbered, defeated the British in a sea battle. In 1779, he put down a mutiny of Army troops and received a written thanks from General George Washington. Like his son, he was a member of American Union Lodge 1 in Ohio and served as Worshipful Master in 1801. Later, he became an Indian Agent in Tennessee, where Meigs County and Meigs Mountain are named for him; and, like his son, the mention of him begs the question, where did Brother Return senior get such a unique first name?

Well, like his son, Return Sr. Got his name from his father, Lieutenant Return Meigs, who was born in Guilford, Connecticut in 1707. He died in 1782 at the age of 75 and other than the fact he served in the military, not much is known about him. It is unlikely he was a Freemason.

Lieutenant Return Meigs was the fifth child of Janna and Hannah Willard Meigs. Hannah was a Puritan who refused to marry Janna on many occasions. Janna gave it one final try and upon being refused again, gave up and mounted his horse and rode off. At that, Hannah, realizing she was losing him forever, called out, "Return, Janna, return!" Janna did return and the couple was married May 16, 1698. Janna said when she cried out to him, "Return," it was the sweetest word he had ever heard, and named his son Return in honor of it; and his son, Lieutenant Return named his son, Return Johnathan, who named his son Return Johnathan, Jr., and the family has continued to pass the name down through more generations ever since. Return Johnathan Meigs. It's a love story.

Heaven and Earth Will Pass Away

 "Geometry, the first and noblest of sciences is the basis on which the superstructure of Freemasonry is erected. By Geometry, we may curiously trace nature through her various windings to her most concealed recesses. By it, we discover the wisdom, power and goodness of the Grand Architect of the Universe and view with delight the proportions which connect this vast machine. By it we discover how the planets move in their respective orbits and demonstrate their various revolutions."

We, as Freemasons, see a close and direct relationship between the functioning of the physical universe and God. After all, we do, in fact, refer to Him as "the Grand Architect of the Universe." He created it, constructed it, runs it, and that's all there is to it. In fact, you don't have to be a Freemason to hold that belief. We are so in awe of this creation that we ask, "When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained, what is man that You are mindful of him?"

This belief doesn't just come out of thin air. We see so many things around us that tend to confirm there is something intelligent – perhaps divine – that is in control. In the classic "double slit" experiment, for example, we find electrons that behave one way if someone is watching and differently without an observer. Or, any scientist will tell you we know there is a "force" holding galaxies together. We have no idea about its nature and call it "dark matter."

If we draw a line in the sand, as some do, and say those paranoid electrons behaving that way indicate a form of divine intelligence, or buy into the common claim "dark matter" is in fact God holding the universe together, we set ourselves up.

There are plenty of examples where those lines have been drawn only to be erased by scientific discoveries. In the 17^th century people saw the heavenly bodies moving around the earth and said they do that because God put the earth and mankind at the center of everything. Then a couple of guys named Galileo and Copernicus came along and burst that bubble. If we think those electrons and "dark matter" prove God exists, what will we do when a modern-day Copernicus finds a scientific causation? It's easy to fall into that trap.

If we keep doing that, and then back off on our definition and understanding of God with every scientific discovery, we seemingly wind up with what astrophysicist Neil DeGrasse Tyson calls "an ever-receding God."

Maybe it should be the other way around.

In other words, if we discover some phenomenon is not caused by a mysterious action of God, does that not also teach us a little more about what God is? The Second Degree lecture teaches us we should embrace the sciences. As those discoveries come to light the fact is God isn't receding. With each new discovery we learn more, not less, about the true nature of God: the spiritual, not the physical is what's important. Read our ritual carefully. It says By Geometry... science... we discover God's wisdom, power and goodness, not that we use it to discover God Himself.

Scientists have proven the universe is expanding at an ever-increasing rate. This has led to a theory about its end which says it will just keep expanding until the stars all burn out and the universe will die a dark and cold death. If you're looking for an area where science and religion… or spirituality… are in agreement, look to Matthew 24:35: "Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will not pass away." Don't get hung up about the physical universe. Both God and the scientists say it won't be around forever; but God's words – those spiritual lessons – will be.

Let's not worry over the fact that God didn't put the Earth at the center of the universe, or he may or may not be manifest in a bunch of shy electrons. Let's use His spiritual teachings to learn how to live our lives, improve them, and the lives of others.

Wild Bill Hickok

 

For eight seasons back in the 1950s kids were captivated by The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, a shoot-'em-up western starring the dashing Guy Madison. The show brought Hickok, already a wild-west legend, to life as a buckskin-and-white-hat-clad US Marshall, fighting for law and order in the dusty untamed Midwest. The opening of every episode showed his 300-pound comic-relief sidekick Jingles, played by Andy Devine, riding his galloping horse far behind Bill screaming, "Hey, Wild Bill, wait for me." Ahead of him Hickok rode his trusty snow-white steed full-tilt as he fired his six-shooter repeatedly at an unknown target ahead of him. What kid could turn the TV off after seeing action like that?

The production almost certainly did more to shape our perceptions of Hickok than any history book. Like so many of the westerns back then – Wyatt Earp, Kit Carson, Bat Masterson and others – the show didn't exactly portray an accurate depiction of its real-life legendary hero.

James Butler Hickok was born May 27, 1837, in Homer, Illinois, to William Alonzo Hickok, and his wife, Polly Butler. "Wild Bill" was one of his many nicknames and most likely has its derivation from his father's name. The TV series was accurate in that he did, in fact, serve as deputy US Marshall in Hayes, Kansas and eventually city Marshall there and in Abilene. He also served as Sheriff of Ellis County, Kansas for a few months in 1869.

In addition to his career as a lawman, Hickok at various times was a soldier, a scout, a wagon master, and a professional gambler. He put together his own wild west show and later teamed up with Buffalo Bill Cody. He even tried his hand at acting but… well… the reviews were not good.

His exploits as a lawman contrasted with his TV persona and were not exactly squeaky clean. While in office he reportedly killed Bill Mulvey, Samuel Strawhun, John Kyle, Phil Coe and others, all under suspicious circumstances hardly construed as self-defense. When, in 1871, he accidentally killed Abilene Special Deputy Marshal Mike Williams the town summarily fired him.

His reputation as a gunfighter was part of the reason he became a frontier legend and folk hero. The details of his gun fighting exploits are sketchy but Hickok claimed dozens of victories. In contrast, one of his biographers pointed out, "Wild Bill may have only killed six or seven men in gunfights." Even that number would be enough to convince anyone he was a legitimate gunfighter.

On August 1, 1876 he played in a poker game in Deadwood, South Dakota, where a drunken Jack McCall suffered heavy losses. Hickok encouraged him to leave the game and gave him money for breakfast. McCall took the money, but considered Hickok's offer an insult.

The following day Hickok joined another game. As a gunfighter it was his custom to sit with his back to a wall where he could see the room, but only a chair facing away from the room was available. During the game McCall walked in, shouted, "take that," and shot him in the head, killing him instantly. When onlookers checked his cards they reportedly found him to be holding two aces and two eights, now infamously known as "the dead man's hand." McCall was hanged for the crime and, when his body was moved in 1881, the noose was found to be still around his neck.

Hickok's murder and McCall's capture are reenacted annually at the Deadwood Masonic Temple. So was Wild Bill Hickok a Freemason? It would not be out of the question to think the wild west legend, folk hero and lawman would have been a member of the fraternity. A check of Denslow's 10,000 Famous Freemasons, however, comes up empty. With the amount of time Hickok spent in Eastern Kansas and Western Missouri, it would be unlikely Denslow would overlook his membership. Also, no other records exist to indicate he ever joined or even petitioned for membership. So, perhaps even regrettably, we would have to conclude James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok was not a Freemason.

For the Whence Came You podcast, this is… uh… uh oh… wait a minute. I forgot to tell you something.

There is a simple chair encased in plexiglass in the Masonic Museum in Columbia, Missouri. It has a tan wicker seat, a basic wooden frame and three slats running across its back. Except for the seat, the chair is painted black. Presented by the Brothers of Savannah Lodge 71, it is said to be one of the chairs Wild Bill Hickok may have sat in during one of the frequent times he attended Lodge meetings there.

Imagine that.

Mordecai Brown

 

You may never have heard of this Brother but he is ranked among the greats. He stands beside the likes of Sandy Kofax, Cy Young, Christy Mathewson, Lefty Grove, Roger Clemens and a handful of others whose skill at throwing a baseball seemed to be supernatural. He was so good, the annual Cy Young Award for the best pitcher in baseball might well have been named the Mordecai Brown Award.

Born in 1876 in Nyesville, Indiana, a small town about 40 miles west of Indianapolis, Brown was a member of Edward Dobbins Lodge No. 164, in Lawrenceville, Illinois. He was a standout Chicago Cubs pitcher who won 20 or more games for six straight seasons. In 1908 as a fielding pitcher he did not commit a single error and pitched a record four shutout games in a row. Against the great Christy Matthewson, considered by some to be the best pitcher in baseball, he won 13 games out of the 24 times they met. Overall he won 239 games against 130 losses and struck out 1,375 batters. His spectacular 2.06 earned run average today remains the best of any pitcher who won over 200 games.

There is more to his story as a Freemason. There was a time in the Craft in some jurisdictions when a physical deformity disqualified a man from becoming a member. As a young man, Brown lost the index finger on his right hand in a farming accident. While still healing from that injury he fell and broke several bones in his remaining fingers. Doctors reset his middle finger improperly further mangling his hand. When he petitioned to become a Freemason, he was rejected due to his mutilated hand. Only the intervention of a District Deputy Grand Master won him dispensation and allowed him to join.

Brown's disfigured pitching hand forced him to grip a baseball in an unorthodox way. There has never been any doubt that his grip made the ball travel in a way that made his pitches extremely difficult to hit, and contributed to his success as a pitcher, earning him the name by which he became famous, Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown.

He won games on two World-Series winning teams in 1907 and 1908 – the last time the Cubs won the Series for over a century. He retired from the majors in 1916 and moved to Terre Haute, Indiana, where he continued to play and coach in minor league games. In 1928, a friend asked him to play in an exhibition game as a favor. It was the last time he played and in that game the 51-year-old Brown pitched three innings, striking out all nine batters he faced.

I personally share something in common with Brother Mordecai: just before becoming a Freemason, I suffered a similar injury. I didn't lose any fingers, but the little finger on my right hand was permanently disfigured. Most people don't notice but, let's put it this way… I'll never be a hand model.

Brown passed away in 1948 at the age of 71. A year later he was posthumously elected to the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame. If it were not for the fact that Freemasonry gave up on its barbaric, backward, Neanderthal practice of rejecting men with deformities as members, the great Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown would never have become a Freemason, along with others like him, including myself.

Peggy Sue and the Freemasons

 In the 1986 movie Peggy Sue Got Married, Kathleen Turner plays an adult who attends her high school reunion, suffers from a major case of the vapors, and is transported back in time. She lands back in 1960, when she was a high school senior, with a chance to start anew, correct old mistakes, and perhaps make a few new ones.

 During the ensuing do-wop-laced couple of hours, Peggy Sue reassesses her early relationship with her boyfriend-become-husband/ex-husband Charlie, played by Nicholas Cage. She forms a friendship with an ostracized high school geek and plants his turbocharged brain with coming attractions like the moon landing and gizmos such as microwave ovens, pocket calculators, and digital watches he could invent to become rich and famous. Then, as an inspired young inventor herself, she manufactures the world's first pair of pantyhose.

After her requisite fling with a laconic motorcycle-riding rebel-with-a-cause-poet, she runs off to visit her time-warp resurrected grandparents. There, she comes clean about her time-traveling escapade. The understanding Gram and Gramps believe her. Sort of. She confesses she misses her children and wants to go back.

So, what's a gal to do in order to time-hop back to the future without a DeLorean? I'm glad you asked. Grandpa has the solution. He'll hustle her off to his Lodge where they have just the ceremony for that.

They arrive at the Lodge building which on the outside is a conical structure resembling a Crazy Cup Ice Cream stand, but on the inside is almost certainly a genuine Masonic Lodge, replete with dozens of grayscale portraits of real-life Past Masters… just like the ones in your Lodge.

"What does Grandma think you do at these meetings," asks the wide-eyed Peggy Sue.

"Stag parties and poker games," quips Gramps. Well, there goes one of our secrets.

The Brothers are suited in royal-purple robes with gold-colored fringe and embroidery. Accessories include a cornucopia of hats. What appear to be more lower-ranking Brothers wear black drooping Renaissance hats while others have elaborate royal-purple pyramid shaped headgear. Gramps, probably being something like a Past Poo-Bah, has a purple rectangular block-shaped headpiece with what appear to be four doorknobs on the top corners.

Peggy Sue gasps, "Grandpa, do you have to wear that hat?"

Gramps adjusts the hat moving it to the perfect position, "Wouldn't be a Lodge without hats." Another secret revealed.

Inside the Lodge room, the head Muckety-Muck sits in a familiar setting behind a podium elevated to a level three steps up. Opposite him, we see the customary sight of two columns. Not surprisingly, an altar stands in the center of the room.

A Brother informs Peggy Sue the Lodge was founded by a time-traveler (as was my own Lodge, but I digress). The ceremony begins with the resident musician playing Beautiful Dreamer on a mandolin. A black-hatted Brother steps to the altar, breaks an egg into a chalice, and completes the concoction with an elixir of red goop. He follows this with the sign of the degree which is thus made: the hands are crossed palm-inward in front of the face with the thumbs touching the nose. The hands are then flapped vigorously with the Brother staring upward, symbolic of a prospective time-traveler flying off to a new epoch. The gesture draws a snicker from Peggy Sue – a reaction we may all have seen from our wives during open ceremonies. Three raps from the symbolic East brings the already standing Brothers to order as he enjoins the "Lord of the Universe, Ruler of Light, King of the Sun" to guide Peggy Sue, clad in a gold robe, forward in time.

Chaos reigns as the scene fills with thunder and lightning. The Lodge goes dark, Peggy Sue disappears and when the light returns a Brother yells, "Let's play cards!"

Any well-educated Mason would recognize the faults in this rendition of the Time Travel Ceremony – something I cannot discuss in this public forum. That would lead the Brother to recognize it would not have worked as presented. Instead, when the Lodge was dark Charlie (remember Charlie?) swept in, grabbed Peggy Sue, and whisked her away.

The adventure culminates with Peggy Sue waking up from her fainting spell, securely returned to 1986. In an "aaaawwwwwwwwww" moment Peggy and her ex-husband reconcile leaving the door open for Charlie… a.k.a. Nick Cage… a.k.a. Benjamin Franklin Gates… to go off on his own quest where he discovers the Freemasons are the stewards of a great National Treasure.

The World's Smallest Presidential Library – A Pictorial

 

Out in my neck o’ the woods, nestled between two iconic presidential libraries – Truman’s in Independence and Eisenhower’s in Abilene – is a third presidential library you may not be familiar with. It is the world’s smallest presidential library.

As you, the reader, skim through your mental database of American presidents and come up empty, let me suggest you may have overlooked the presidential term and accomplishments of Brother David Rice Atchison. That's right. President David Rice Atchison; the man for whom Atchison, Kansas and the Atchison-Topeka-Santa Fe railroad are named.

The account of his presidency goes like this: In 1849, inauguration day, March 4, fell on a Sunday. President-elect Zachary Taylor refused to be inaugurated on the Lord's day of rest and Vice-President-elect Millard Fillmore followed suit, both delaying their inauguration until Monday, March 5. Constitutionally, this left the presidency vacant on March 4. Back then, second in line of succession fell to the Senate President Pro-Temporary, the position Atchison held. Realizing there was technically no president, North Carolina Senator Willie Magum and a group of Atchison's friends descended on his house and woke him up in the early hours of March 4. Magum administered the oath of office and asked Atchison to name him Secretary of State. With that the crowd left and "President" Atchison went back to bed. Later, Atchison reported he spent the bulk of his presidency napping and reading.

To commemorate this auspicious event, Atchison, Kansas, his namesake, has established the "world's smallest presidential library" in his honor. Located in a former AT&SF terminal, the Atchison Library shares space with another Atchison historical figure, Amelia Earhart. Also featured in the museum are Brothers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, who set up a base camp in the area.

Upon entering the museum a visitor first encounters a model of a statue commemorating Lewis and Clark's 1804 Voyage of Discovery. The full-size statue sits on the banks of the Missouri River down in Kansas City.

A little farther in, the visitor can see the Amelia Earhart display featuring pictures and artifacts of the aviatrix' life.

The world's smallest presidential library lies beyond those exhibits. One first encounters the "Hall of Presidents." Over the years the Marx Toy Company has produced a miniature statue of American Presidents in which it has included Atchison, who stands directly in front of George Washington in the display.

A Daily National Intelligencer article from March 10, 1849 told the story of his presidency. The museum has an article from another paper which recaps the Intelligencer account and notes Atchison's Salary for that day was $68.50.

Regrettably, Atchison was a supporter of slavery and, in fact, a slave owner himself. When Kansas came into the Union as a free state, Atchison led a pro-slavery militia into the state and was present at a battle that resulted in the burning of the Free State Hotel. A display in the museum offers both sides of the story speculating on Atchison's role in the uprising, showing conflicting accounts and wondering if he was an instigator or a peacemaker.

Among the artifacts of his life, the museum displays Atchison's Whitney Navy, six-shot .36 caliber revolver, which he most likely had with him during the Kansas Raid.

A gargantuan Atchison-Topeka-Santa Fe locomotive sits outside the museum.

David Rice Atchison was a member of Platte Lodge 56, now defunct, and his grave marker in Plattsburg proclaims his status as president. Most historians agree Atchison was not President of the United States. Perhaps agreeing he was the ex-officio president can serve as a compromise as to his status.

Or, perhaps, given today's growing sentiment against those who supported the United States' ghastly "original sin" – slavery, it is best to mark Atchison's auspicious day as an interesting story and otherwise let sleeping dogs lie.

The Bizarre Story of William Wirt

He was a Fellowcraft and perhaps even a Master Mason; an enigma of a 19th century man whose strange story even spills over into the twenty-first century. Born in 1772, William Wirt became an attorney practicing in Richmond, Virginia. In 1807, President Jefferson appointed him prosecutor in Aaron Burr's treason trial. There, he gained a reputation as a great orator and the high profile event greatly extended his fame. Back in Richmond, his political career began in 1808 as a member of the Virginia House of Delegates, and later he served as a district attorney. In 1817 US President James Monroe, a Freemason, appointed him as Attorney General of the United States. He served in that position for over eleven years, into the term of John Quincy Adams, a notorious opponent of the Craft. History credits him with greatly increasing the significance of that office.

The infamous Morgan Affair of 1826 spawned sentiment against Freemasonry that grew to a nationwide level, and in 1832, it led to the formation of the country's first third political party... the Anti-Masonic party. The party approached Brother Henry Clay to be its presidential candidate. Clay turned them down with his famous quote, "I would not denounce or renounce Freemasonry even in order to become President of the United States." With Clay's rejection, the Anti-Masons turned to Wirt, who accepted. Wirt was initiated and passed in 1801 in Richmond's Jerusalem Lodge No. 54. He claimed never to have been raised, but the records of Virginia's Stevensburg Lodge 40 list a William Wirt as a Master Mason in 1803. At the nominating convention, Wirt surprised delegates by refusing to condemn the fraternity, telling them, "I was myself initiated into the mysteries of Freemasonry. I never took the Master's degree, but it proceeded from no suspicion on my part that there was anything criminal in the institution, or anything that placed its members in the slightest degree in collision with their allegiance to their country and its laws. I have thought and repeatedly said that I considered Masonry as having nothing to do with politics, and nothing has surprised me more than to see it blown into consequence..." In other words, at the convention where the Anti-Masonic party nominated him as its presidential candidate, he spoke in defense of Freemasonry.

The incumbent president, Brother Andrew Jackson, won the election, with Wirt winning the state of Vermont and its seven electoral votes.

So in a twist, we learn William Wirt, who ran for president on the Anti-Masonic ticket, was in fact a member of the Fraternity who spoke in defense of his experience as a Mason. That alone is baffling and strange; but Wirt's story isn't over. Before it's all over, the account of William Wirt goes from the strange to the downright bizarre.

* * *

William Wirt… a man who was a Freemason yet not only ran for president on the Anti-Masonic ticket, he also defended the fraternity in his nominating speech; but Wirt's strange and mystifying actions don't tell his full story. Years after his death, the tale of William Wirt becomes downright bizarre.

In December 2003, the phone rang in the office of William Fecke, manager of Washington's Congressional Cemetery. Fecke answered and an unidentified voice asked, "Would you be interested in getting William Wirt's head back?" The man, who has never been identified, explained he was in possession of articles a collector had accumulated over the years. The caller claimed Wirt's family tomb was robbed in the mid-1980s, and that is how he came in possession of the skull. The man called a few more times but never produced the skull. In the meantime, Fecke had Wirt's tomb inspected, found the contents to be in disarray and concluded it had been robbed.

A month later, Fecke received his second mysterious inquiry about the skull with the caller asking a question he had heard before, "Are you missing William Wirt's head?" This time the caller identified himself as DC Council member Jim Graham, who said he had Wirt's skull in his office, "Or, at least," he said, "I have a skull in an old metal box painted with gold letters reading 'The Honorable William Wirt.'" Apparently the anonymous caller had contacted Graham and told him the cemetery might be interested in getting it back or at least in determining if it really was Wirt's skull. It took the cemetery's plodding bureaucracy over a year to investigate but in May 2005, a task force again opened the tomb and inspected the bodies inside.

A thorough scientific study eventually determined the skull was in fact that of William Wirt. Graham revealed the names of the man who had given him the skull and the collector, but it was never determined who robbed the tomb or who the original anonymous caller was. Adding to the mystery, the task force discovered the remains of an infant inside the tomb and determined they were placed in there after the 1980s break-in. No one knows the identity of the infant, who put it there or why.

In the very unlikely event he would have been elected president, Wirt would have died in office two years later at the age of 61. The Freemason who ran for president on the Anti-Masonic ticket but defended Freemasonry leaves us with unanswered questions nearly two centuries after his death. But with his skull now returned to its rightful place, he now rests in peace while the rest of us ponder the enigma that is William Wirt.

Clasped Hands

Francis Rawdon Hastings, the 2nd Earl of Moira (1754-1826) was a British soldier and colonial administrator. From 1790 until 1813, he was Acting Grand Master to H.R.H. George, Prince of Wales, who later became King George IV and, in 1806-1807, he served as Grand Master of Scotland. At the end of the eighteenth century, he tirelessly and nearly single-handedly worked to defeat the Unlawful Societies act of 1799, which would have effectively outlawed Freemasonry. Aside from a few provisions which had little effect on the craft, he was successful in his efforts, and in a very real sense, saved Freemasonry in Great Britain.

On July 12, 1804, He married Flora Mure-Campbell, the 6th Countess of Loudoun. Together, from 1806-1812, they had no less than six children, one of whom died in infancy.

In 1813, George III appointed him Governor-General of India. His country calling, he accepted the position, but it was deemed inadvisable for his wife to accompany him with five children ranging in age from one to seven. He made the trip to India alone and served for nearly a decade. He resigned in 1823, and returned home to his family. Then, in 1824 George IV appointed him Governor of Malta, separating him from his family once again.

It is not known how often Hastings and his wife were able to be together after the appointments that took him far from home. However, an unusual request in his will indicates his dedication to her. On a sea voyage in 1826, perhaps returning for a visit home, he fell ill and died. His body was returned to Malta where his grave is located today. The unusual provision in his will, however, was that his right hand be cut from his body and buried with his wife at her death. His wish was granted. Lady Flora died in 1840 and eternally his hand rests clasped in hers, buried in the family vault in the Old Kirk Church of Loudoun.

We Forgive You

 I stood curbside at Chicago's O'Hare Airport waiting for my ride. I was there to speak at a Masonic event and another one of the speakers walked up to me and introduced himself as a Brother from Tennessee. I told him I was from Missouri. As we shook hands he said, "Steve, we forgive you."

I knew exactly what he meant. The story, the Missouri side of it, anyway, had come to me in a sort of bull session I had with the Grand Secretary of Missouri at the time, RWB Ron Miller:

Back about 200 years ago… in fact, exactly 200 years ago, the territory that would soon become the state of Missouri had about 100 Brothers who were members of three Lodges spearheading an effort to form a Grand Lodge. The three Lodges were Missouri Lodge 12, Joachim Lodge 25, and St. Charles Lodge 28, all chartered through the Grand Lodge of Tennessee.

Today, the process of creating a new Grand Lodge might be a formal event accompanied by pomp and circumstance. Back then, however, when communication was a lot slower, things were different. The Brothers from those three Lodges got together, decided the time was right, and, presto chango, declared themselves to be a Grand Lodge. No pomp, no circumstance, no muss, no fuss.

When you stop to think about it, any group today could do the same thing; just get together and announce to the world, "Hey, guys, look at us… we're a new Grand Lodge!" There is one catch. The key to becoming a Grand Lodge is not declaration. It's recognition.

Missouri's uppity declaration did not sit well with the Grand Lodge of Tennessee. It responded to Missouri's claim with a resounding, "Oh, no, you're not a Grand Lodge." It seems the three Lodges combined owed their mother Grand Lodge a total of $17, and it refused to recognize them until the debt was paid. Missouri disputed the claim.

In the meantime, other Grand Lodges granted recognition to Missouri, which ultimately settled the issue and gave Missouri the backing to respond to Tennessee, "Oh, yes we are a Grand Lodge." Subsequent correspondence indicates Missouri did not follow its response with, "Nyah, nyah, na nyah, nyah," but the urge to do so may have been strong.

So at least between me and my new friend from Tennessee this two centuries old dispute now appears to have been settled and the Grand Lodge of Missouri and Grand Lodge of Tennessee can let bygones be bygones.

We're still not paying the $17, though.

The Great Moon Hoax

 

Long before Percival Lowell claimed to have discovered evidence of civilization on Mars, or before Orson Wells frightened the country with a mock Martian invasion, legitimate scientists in the 1830s were concocting extravagant claims of the existence of a civilization on the moon. In response to what he felt were the ridiculous assertions, Brother Richard A. Locke (Benevolent Lodge 28, New York) fabricated a story about the discovery of lunar inhabitants so plausible many scientists of the day endorsed it. Using the byline "Dr. Andrew Grant," In 1835, Locke published the "discovery" in a series of articles in the New York Sun (where he was a reporter), causing a national sensation.

Locke portrayed Dr. Grant as an associate of Sir John Herschel, a noted and well-respected astronomer of the era credited with many important inventions and discoveries. Herschel, in fact, named the four known moons of Uranus and built a ten-inch reflecting telescope, one of the largest at the time. Locke attributed quotes and claims in his article to Herschel, an act that in our litigious society would at the very least generate lawsuits of (pun intended) astronomical proportions.

In his articles, Locke claimed Herschel had developed a new kind of telescope so powerful that looking through it was like, in his words, "walking on the moon." With that impressive tool, Locke's fictional Herschel described a moon replete with lush vegetation, running rivers, mountains and chasms rivaling the Grand Canyon. He also discovered two-legged beavers, unicorns and, most impressive of all, flying humanoid bat creatures.

Locke or Grant – take your pick – published six articles in all, claiming they were reprints from the prestigious but long defunct Edinburgh Journal of Science. The public devoured them until Brother Locke finally let the moon-cat out of the bag and revealed the story was fiction.

Hell hath no fury like a duped public, which turned on Locke claiming his motive was to increase the New York Sun's circulation, which indeed, happened. The incorrigible Locke made a couple more attempts at publishing satire-cloaked hoaxes but accomplished nothing so spectacular. He died in 1871 at the age of 70, forever branded as the perpetrator of the Great Moon Hoax of 1835.

Thomas Alfred Smyth

 

On a crisp spring Sunday, April 9, 1865, defeated Confederate General Robert E. Lee met with Union commander Ulysses S. Grant to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia. The occasion effectively ended the bloody American Civil War. After four long years the troops, North and South, could return home to rebuild their lives. The death and destruction were over… almost.

Born in Ireland on Christmas Day in 1832, Thomas Alfred Smyth emigrated to Philadelphia at the age of 22. He was a woodworker and carriage maker by trade. At the onset of the Civil War, Smyth enlisted in the Union army as a captain. He was quickly commissioned as a major and after distinguishing himself in several battles, promoted to lieutenant colonel, then full colonel. He commanded troops at Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and the Siege of Petersburg where he was promoted to brigadier general.

Smyth was raised a Master Mason on March 6, 1865, as a member of Washington Lodge No. 1 of Wilmington, Delaware.

Increasingly distinguishing himself, Smyth became commander of a division of the famed Gibraltar Brigade, so named to signify its tenacity in combat and its steadfastness like the Rock of Gibraltar. On April 7, 1865, a Confederate soldier spied Smyth in his General's uniform, which made him an appealing target. The sniper's shot shattered Brother Smyth's cervical vertebra, paralyzing him.

Troops moved the wounded general to a local tavern to care for him.

Two days later as Grant and Lee sat signing documents just 30 miles away General Smyth passed to that House Not Made By Hands eternal in the heavens. Having been a Master Mason a mere 33 days, Brother Smyth had the unfortunate distinction of being the last Union General to lose his life in that awful conflict,

The Napron

 

When you arose from the altar as a newly initiated Entered Apprentice, the Senior Deacon instructed you to salute the Junior and Senior Wardens and then he turned you to the East and said, "You now behold the Worshipful Master approaching you from the East a second time."

With that, the Worshipful Master presented you with your first Masonic gift, something you would, in one form or another, carry with you through your Masonic journey, even through the remainder of your life and into eternity. It is your Masonic Apron.

The apron, with a few exceptions is an ever-present item, your constant companion in the Masonic degrees. In the first three degrees you are taught to wear it as an Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft and Master Mason, and are given the purpose for such and any accompanying symbolism.

In subsequent degrees, most have their own apron in varying colors and even different shapes, most bearing designs representing the symbolism of the degree. In the Blue Lodge, officers' aprons carry the design or insignia of each office. Those who have served in the East will usually wear a Past Master's apron showing the compasses above a quadrant with the sun in the center.

The Chapter or Royal Arch apron is red-bordered on a white background and displays a Triple Tau bordered by a triangle and a circle. The York Rite Council usually wears an apron bordered in royal purple with a triangle enclosing a trowel and sword. Likewise, most of the Scottish Rite degrees have aprons in a range of colors with symbols representing the content of the degrees.

Masons generally are familiar with all of this but may not realize it was not originally called an apron. The word derives from an old French word, "naperon," a similar sounding word preceded by the letter "n," a term stone guild members would have used. As the word crept into English and became napron, a quirk of the English language caused the dropping of the first letter. In English, nouns beginning with a vowel are preceded by the indefinite article "an" and those beginning with consonants are preceded by the word "a." The slurring of the phrase a napron was heard as "an apron" and the "n" was quickly dropped. The English word "napkin" also derives from napron but has retained the "n."

Whatever your thoughts on the "napron" and all its accompanying symbolism in all the degrees, perhaps the best and simplest way to characterize it is the very first thing you heard about it when you were presented with your very own white leathern apron: "It is an emblem of innocence and the badge of a Freemason, more ancient than the Golden Fleece or Roman Eagle, more honorable than the Star and Garter or any other order that could be conferred upon you at this or any future period by king, prince, potentate, or any other person, except he be a Freemason. I hope you indeed wear yours with pleasure to yourself and honor to the fraternity.

That Infamous Period

 

Brother Harry S. Truman had no middle name. He explained his parents gave him the middle initial "S" to honor his grandfathers, and was a combination of the names Solomon and Shipp. On occasion he joked that "S" was his middle name, omitting the reference to his grandfathers; and, when you're the President of the US, people take you seriously, even when you may be joking. From that offhand remark some have contended there should be no period after the "S" and occasionally become smug and adamant about that fact and are quick to point out the ghastly mistake when an author inserts the period. Others will point out it remains an abbreviation for his grandfathers' names, that his middle name was not "S", and as a matter of style, the name should contain a period.

Is there no end to this controversy? Well, Harry S Truman college in Illinois says there is no period. As you go through its website and literature, you will never find a period after that S. The US government, on the other hand, says there is a period after the S and so states in its printing office style manual. Almost all newspapers today, from the New York Times to Truman's hometown Independence newspaper, use the period. But, wait, not the Chicago Tribune that once announced, "Dewey Defeats Truman."

Is there no final authority? Where do you go for guidance to settle this earthshaking controversy? Here's a suggestion… let's go to Harry Truman himself.

My home is just a few miles from the Truman Presidential Library. I am a registered researcher there, have been there many times and gone through hundreds… no make that thousands… of documents. In all of those documents, I have never seen a single Truman signature that does not have a period after the S; Truman also had a signature stamp. It has a period after the S. Any time his secretary typed his full name in a document, there was a period after the S; and the header on his White House stationary has… you guessed it… a period.

Still not convinced? Most Worshipful Brother Truman's final resting place is in the courtyard of that library. As you visit that spot and study the gravestone, you will find there is, indeed, a period after the S – That's pretty good evidence that the period belongs there. It's literally carved in stone.

And now that we've addressed that critical controversy, let's consider another one of equal significance. That Masonic ring on your finger… should the compasses point in or out?

The Attic

In 1816, General William Clark (of the Lewis and Clark Expedition) built what was one of only a few brick houses in St. Louis. Clark used the lower floor for business. Missouri Lodge 12, with its Tennessee charter, met in a room on the second story there from the time Clark completed the house until late 1817. Masons described the house as "poorly adapted for Masonic purposes and inconveniently located." They approached Brother Thompson Douglass, who was constructing a two-story building in the center of town, and persuaded him to add an attic, which the Masons could use. Were that building standing today where it stood in 1817, at its spot in the center of old St. Louis, it would be directly under the gleaming Gateway to the West monument, better known as the St. Louis Arch.

Upon its completion, the Masons moved into the thirty-eight square foot room to conduct their business. There they also founded Missouri Royal Arch Chapter No. 1, and, in 1821, organized the Grand Lodge of Missouri, chartering what today is St. Louis Missouri Lodge 1.

Frederick L. Billon was raised at the age of twenty-two in that very room. Born in 1801, Billon lived to be 94 years of age in a life that spanned virtually all of the 19th century. He served as Missouri's Grand Secretary for many years and thoroughly chronicled Missouri Masonry during that time. In his memoirs, he talks about one particular meeting in that third-story room which he attended on Friday April 29, 1825.

That evening, the young Brother, still a relatively new Mason, ascended the creaky wooden stairs and as he entered the Lodge room, he discovered two visitors. In Billon's words, "we were honored by a visit from our Nation's distinguished guest, our illustrious Brother General Lafayette, on the occasion of his visit to St. Louis, accompanied by his son George Washington Lafayette, on which occasion they were both duly elected Honorary members of our Grand Lodge." The United States had invited the 68-year-old French aristocrat, who had supported our country and commanded American troops in the Revolution, to tour the country.

Billon writes, "This room was used for Masonic purposes… until the close of the year 1833, when Missouri Lodge No. 1, under the pressure of circumstances, ceased her labors for a time, and the Grand Lodge was removed to Columbia Boone County." The so-called "pressure of circumstances" he mentions is a euphemism for the brutal aftermath of the Morgan affair.

For sixteen years that nondescript room provided an auspicious venue for the formation of the Grand Lodge of Missouri and served as its Grand Lodge offices. It also saw the formation of Missouri's first Lodge, the first Missouri Royal Arch Chapter, was a reception room for the great Lafayette, hosted the ceremony honoring him, and saw countless other Masonic ceremonies and events – all this in an attic that was conceived as an afterthought.

It's graphic proof that it doesn't matter where Brothers meet; rather it matters how they meet, act and part.

Anti-Masonic Apron

Have you ever heard of an "Anti-Masonic Apron?" Hold your horses before you get too upset at that nomenclature.

The aftermath of the set of events in 1826 known as the "Morgan Affair," was a trying time for the Masonic Fraternity. Feelings against the Masons became so intense it led to the formation of the first political third-party in the US, actually called the Anti-Masonic party. The Masons resisted the movement as best they could but anti-Masonic sentiment was intense.

One of the tools the Masons used to fight back was something called the "Anti-Masonic apron. It wasn't an apron per se, but a depiction of one in ads and flyers. Printed by William Cammeyer of Albany, New York during the 1832 presidential election campaign, the apron symbolically contrasts Masons and anti-Masons.

The left side of the apron shows a three-headed anti-Masonic hydra and the sandy foundation of the movement. The structure of anti-Masonry, shown collapsed in ruins, is built on broken planks of baseless fabrication and rottenness with associations to Benedict Arnold and even the likes of Judas. Spewing from the mouths of the serpentine hydra are the anti-Masonic traits of Vice, Perjury, Collusion, Slavery, Cowardice, Ignorance, Anarchy, Perfidy, Intolerance, and a host of other insipid characteristics billowing into a cloud called the "blackness of darkness."

The apron's right side illustrates a stone pyramid of Freemasonry built on the Rock of Ages. The pyramid's steps include Universal Benevolence, Equal Rights, Science, Sincerity, Fortitude, Charity, Honor and other Masonic characteristics. An eagle of victory sits atop the pyramid and, above that a Just and True square and compasses and the beacon of Perfect Light.

It's difficult to gauge the effectiveness of the Anti-Masonic apron. In that 1932 election Andrew Jackson, former Grand Master of Kentucky, defeated Henry Clay, also a Freemason. William Wirt, the Anti-Masonic Party candidate, oddly, was also a Mason. He garnered only 3 electoral votes. Wirt's Anti-Masonic party dissolved eight years later, but the anti-Masonic sentiment of the Morgan Affair lingered on.

Perhaps one of the interesting aspects of the apron is that we can see, even as far back as the early 19^th century, Freemasonry, as a whole, stood against slavery. It also promoted Equal Rights and Tolerance, subjects at the forefront today, nearly two centuries later.

Anne Boleyn and Freemasonry

Anne Boleyn was Queen consort of England from 1533-1536, and the second of Henry VIII's six wives. Her time in the King's court was tumultuous and, as most know, did not end well… unless you were King Henry who probably thought the ending was just peachy. The events of her reign and demise are filled with swirling speculation and likely no one will ever know the full story. But there is one thing about it that may be easier to conclude: she may have had a significant and lasting effect on our gentle craft.

Anne was born in about 1504, to well-to-do parents in Kent, a seacoast county southeast of London. When she was about 18 she parlayed her family's status into securing a position as a lady-in-waiting to Catherine of Aragon, Henry's first wife.

King Henry, a man with a roving eye and a stable of mistresses to prove it, chased after her but the crafty gal put a stop to his advances telling him, "I will be nothing less than queen." This caused a problem for Henry because… he already had a queen… and you're only allowed one, especially under the strict rules of the Catholic Church, with its pesky rule against divorce.

Henry became increasingly infatuated with the forbidden fruit that was young Anne and was upset by the fact that, in 24 years of marriage, Catherine had not given him a male heir. How to solve what many were calling "the king's problem?" Well, he decided his marriage to Catherine, who happened to be his brother's former wife, was "blighted by God," and he petitioned Pope Clement VII for an annulment.

Long story short, the pope said no. So Henry formed the Church of England and, not surprisingly, appointed himself to be its Supreme Head. The pope excommunicated Henry but – no problem – he had his own church. This paved the way for dumping Catherine and in 1533 the 42-year-old king finally married Anne who by now was in her mid-to-late twenties. Anne quickly had a child. Unfortunately for her, a girl… Elizabeth… who eventually became queen.

Anne, like Catherine, was male-child-challenged, which dampened King Henry's infatuation with her. On top of that, a guy named Henry Norris became smitten with the queen, who was overheard telling him, "Look to dead men's shoes for if ought came to the king but good you would look to have me."

Speaking of the king's death was considered treason. Henry accused Anne of being a traitor and used other innuendo and rumors to pile on charges of incest and adultery. After three years of marriage, he had Anne executed and moved on to Jane Seymour in his unsuccessful quest for a male heir.

So what does all this have to do with the Freemasons? Well, when Henry formed the Church of England, the Catholic church obviously stopped expanding there. Henry stopped building or expanding cathedrals, convents and monasteries. The market for stone masons dried up. Under those circumstances, what's a skilled stone mason to do? You're either out of work or you, "travel in foreign countries, receive Master's wages, and be thereby the better enabled to support yourself and family, and contribute to the relief of distressed worthy Brother Master Masons, their widows and orphans."

This put operative lodges in an uncomfortable position. Some think this situation may have contributed to the lodges, for survival, to begin opening their doors to speculative Freemasonry.

It is possible then, had Anne Boleyn never come along, and the Reformation never happened or been delayed, the movement to speculative Freemasonry would also have been delayed.

Now, this is just food for thought. Don't overthink it. And for God's sake, don't lose your head over it… like Anne did.

The 50 Year Jewel

Sometime last year Midnight Freemason founder Todd Creason wrote a piece about a Brother who had objected to being called "Bro." It brought to mind a somewhat similar experience I had when I was editor of the Missouri Freemason magazine.

As do many Masonic magazines, ours included a section in the back containing news and events from Lodges around the state. Many of these were stories about Lodges which had recognized Brothers for 50 years of service.

On one occasion I got a rather scathing letter from a Brother with an intense objection to the fact I had called the award a "50-year pin." In his letter, he was adamant about the significance of the award and insisted it should always be called a "50-year jewel." He made impassioned points about how Brothers receiving that award had served the fraternity for nearly a lifetime and deserved more respect than having the award called a "pin."

The fact is I agreed with everything he said about the 50-year members. They were, in fact, among our most esteemed Brothers and they had served the fraternity well. They deserved every bit of the respect the author of the letter called for.

So I wrote him back and told him that; but I added that I didn't see the word "pin" as derogatory, and said I didn't think it detracted from the significance of the award. I noted it is the term Brothers commonly use when they talk about or present it. I also pointed out I didn't write those articles. Rather, the members of the Lodges themselves wrote them and sent them in. The articles almost always referred to the award as a "50-year pin," confirming how common that terminology was. I might also note Ray Denslow, one of our most prolific and respected Masonic authors, called it a "50-year button."

So, in the magazine, I continued to allow authors to use the terminology, "50-year pin;" but that isn’t the end of the story.

Todd's article eloquently talked about respect within the Craft. While I still believe calling the award a "50-year pin" is not disrespectful, I can't help thinking about that Brother's letter almost every time I see the award presented. I am persuaded that the word "jewel" may elevate its status, or the meaning behind it, just a bit. That pin and the Brother who wears it certainly deserve respect for his service to this fraternity. So, I find myself more and more referring to it as a jewel. That letter I received years ago was caustic in tone, but I am increasingly grateful to the Brother who wrote it. He gave me something to think about.

I might add, just a few months ago, I became eligible to receive my 20-year… jewel.

Freemasonry's Back Hole

You have made your journey to the East. Planning for this milestone consumed you. It saturated your life. Thoughts of budgets and programs bloated your brain until there was room for nothing else; and, oh yes, there was that big part you had to memorize. Then you got there. You brought those programs to life. You managed the budget. You were gut-punched by the unexpected. You punched back. You won.

Now your year is coming to an end. Where, you wonder, did the time go? It all went by so quickly. Suddenly you realize you are traveling near lightspeed toward the event horizon… that point of no return… of the great black hole of Freemasonry: life after being Master of your Lodge.

Maybe it doesn't hit you right away. Oh, those first few weeks after your term is over… that sweet era when the responsibility void hits, when the burdens of leadership rest on someone else's shoulders, when you get to go to meetings, plan nothing, do nothing, and wear that sporty new Past Master's apron… is a nirvana reserved for a precious few… the newly minted junior Past Master.

But it's an illusion. You eventually realize you've been sucked into the great void. Oblivion awaits. You can't sit on the north heckling the ritual performance forever. You can only take so much listening to debates about the menu at the next dinner, reading of the minutes and grousing about the outrageous bill to fix the air conditioner. You realize they can do all of this without you. Weeks ago you were the most important guy in the Lodge. Now you are, by your standard, irrelevant. You're not even the top-dog of all the Past Masters. You're at the bottom of the barrel. And like anything that reaches singularity in a black hole, you disappear. Experience shows us it happens to many, possibly the majority of Past Masters. They gradually stop coming to meetings, fade away, and leave us wondering whatever happened to them.

As you try to fight this trend instead of "whence came you," a new question pops up: "whence go you," or more simply, "now what?" The fact is most of us don't want to sit around doing nothing. We need relevance, something to do, a goal, a project, a responsibility, a raison d'être.

Part of your planning as you approach the east should be to figure out what you will do when it's all over. Your Lodge has many needs you can fill: maybe it needs a new Lodge Education Officer, an appointed office filled, a mentor for new initiates, a Lodge historian, someone to take the helm of a civic project or, God forbid, a new Secretary. There are also appendant bodies to consider. The York and Scottish Rites especially offer more opportunities for the Masonic education, fellowship and community service we crave. Grand Lodge committees always need staffing. You might even put together an article for the Midnight Freemasons.

Whatever you do, vow to stay active; and the activities you choose should include those that keep you coming back the foundation of our Fraternity – your Lodge.

A Similar Crisis

It's not at all uncommon to hear someone on a news broadcast say, "I've never seen anything like this before," even when, in many cases, the event is not quite as unique as the news makes it out to be.

So along comes Coronavirus; and I've heard it said about a thousand times on news reports… say it with me... "I've never seen anything like this before." Maybe with a single exception… the AIDS epidemic… most of us actually never have seen something like this. There remain, however, a few centenarians who have experienced a similar crisis: the great Influenza epidemic of 1918, 102 years ago. In fact, I even saw a report of a 103 year-old woman in Italy who has now survived being stricken with both the 1918 flu and today's COVID-19 virus. I'm not sure if that makes her the luckiest person ever or the unluckiest.

The similarities between the two pandemics made me wonder how Masons reacted to the 1918 event. The documentation is spotty, but there are enough examples to indicate Freemasonry played a role in the relief effort.

In 1918, very few people had a telephone and even fewer towns had access to a radio station. Mass media and social media were from a single source: newspapers. As the virus spread the reaction from the press was surprisingly similar to things we are seeing in our current crisis. The United States Health Service issued guidelines that would be good advice even today. Newspapers printed that advice and issued calls for help to mitigate the fact public health facilities were being taxed to the limit. Sound familiar?

In similar fashion as today, Lodges and Grand Lodges alike suspended normal activities. Lacking email, Twitter, Facebook and other communications tools, those Lodges also posted notifications in their local newspapers.

Freemasons rallied across the country. In lieu of meetings, Lodges did what they were equipped to do. Masons opened their kitchens and made food for victims and health workers alike. Many other Lodges made their dining facilities available to the public and served meals. In Pennsylvania, the Grand Lodge moved healthy elderly residents of a retirement home into a Lodge where they could be segregated from those in the residence already stricken with the flu.

Far and away the main thing Freemasons did during the pandemic was to convert their Lodge buildings into hospitals, many in towns that had no hospital at all.

In short, the country was knee deep in a crisis and Freemasons were there to help. That begs the question, what are we doing today?

In spite of the similarities between the two pandemics, our response, or anyone's response for that matter, would have to be different. While hospital beds are in short supply in many areas, Masonic Lodges are not well-suited to be hospitals. Other large facilities such as arenas, hotels, and even temporary buildings are filling that gap.

We can't open our Lodges to serve as eating places given the quarantine regulations, and many Lodges are not equipped to cook and deliver meals. Besides, restaurants have taken over that function by delivering carry-out meals, sometimes at no charge.

Things are further complicated by the fact that in virtually all jurisdictions, Lodges can't meet. In my jurisdiction that means we can't vote on any distribution of funds or other activities that would require the Lodge's consent. Also, today, as opposed to 1918, there are far more large and coordinated relief efforts taking charge and providing assistance. Still, there are areas of need where Grand Lodges or individual members can step in.

The Grand Lodge of Ohio issued a report that enumerates some of its activities on the local and state levels. There, individual Lodge Brothers are delivering food and supplies to those who can't get out. They are also deferring payment for those items if the recipients are unable to pay. One Brother has set up an online audio books library using his own collection of books for members, their families and widows to access and enjoy. Still another Lodge is calling not only its members, but others in the community to do wellness checks. Another Brother with access to Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) he has accumulated in his job through the years is donating it to the medical community.

Any one of these ideas or something similar (like individual donations to food banks) would be something a Lodge can do as a grassroots effort by its members, without requiring a vote in a stated meeting. We are Masons and one of our great tenets is relief. We don't always need formal votes and large-scale programs to pitch in. We need Brothers who will do it because… that's what we do.

A century ago, Masons stepped up to be among those in the forefront during a devastating pandemic. A century from now, what will they say about the Masonic effort in this crisis?

* * *

Note: The author's grandfather, Cord Harrison, died in the 1918 pandemic. He was a druggist, likely infected by a customer. He died early in the crisis, before its impact was fully understood.