The DDGL

 

It was a Lodge's nightmare… both the District Deputy Grand Lecturer and Regional Grand Lecturer were in attendance. Also a visitor at that meeting, I sat next to the two dignitaries and thought, "The officers better be on their toes. This could get ugly."

It went better than I expected but at one point during the meeting the DDGL leaned over to the RGL and whispered, "The Senior Warden said, 'You will advance to the West and communicate the password...' It should be, 'You will approach the West...' Should we stop them and say something?"

The RGL shook his head, "No… they got there."

I'm with the RGL: I am not a hard-core ritualist – and that's blasphemy in some circles. Don't get me wrong. I like a well-done ritual as much as the next guy; but I care more about whether the ceremony comes off well than if a Brother says "this" when he should say "that." I know… I'll never be a DDGL.

And don't even get me started on the guys in the "peanut gallery" who start yelling out the next line any time the speaker has more than a two-second pause. I'm not alone in that. I've been in Lodge when the Master appointed a proctor with the admonition, "I don't want to hear a word out of anyone else." I'm big on proctors.

I bring all this up because each year my Lodge tests for one of the ritual awards my Grand Lodge sponsors. The District Deputy Grand Lecturer attends and grades us on our opening and closing. The last time we did this the guys were well-practiced and the ceremony went like clockwork.

I just sat there thinking how enjoyable it is to be in any of our ceremonies – especially degree work – when things just click along. That, as opposed to the living hell of sitting through the same thing when the speakers are ill-prepared and have to be prompted on every line. Sitting through an opening like that is the only time I actually look forward to getting to the reading of the minutes.

So, congrats to my Brothers at Liberty Lodge #31. They got the award.

Oh, there were mistakes. There are ALWAYS mistakes. I knew our perfect score was gone as the Chaplain, asking God to subdue our discordant passions, prayed, "Grant that the sublime principles of Freemasonry may so subdue every insubordinate passion within us…"

See, I just let that roll right off my back. In fact, I thought it was kind of funny. Unfortunately, the DDGL – you know, the guy keeping score – was not amused.

Masonic Weddings

An interesting item crossed my desk a few years ago when I was editor of the Missouri Freemason magazine. It was an article a Brother submitted for inclusion in the magazine giving the account of a man in the St. Louis area who had a few weeks before been raised to the sublime degree of Master Mason. Then, just a few days afterward, that Brother and his fiancee were married in the same Lodge room where he received his degrees.

An ordained pastor who was a member of another Lodge in the area conducted the ceremony, which was attended by members of the families of both the bride and groom, their friends, and many of the Brethren from the Lodge.

I had been in the Lodge room where the ceremony took place and have always considered it to be one of the most attractive and well-appointed Lodge rooms I have ever seen. Just knowing that I knew it must have been an interesting and beautiful setting for a wedding.

Going through the article raised my curiosity. I wondered how rare a wedding in a Masonic Lodge might be, so I consulted that great oracle of all truth and knowledge – the internet. Seriously, my quest for information about Masonic weddings and some questions I asked at various online sources yielded some interesting information.

It turns out weddings in Lodges are not very common, but they do take place now and then. And the old Masonic Temple in Detroit bills itself as a high-end wedding venue whether or not the couple has ties to the fraternity.

Weddings in Lodges seem to have been more common in the past and also more common in Europe. French brothers who responded to my inquiries said they frequently have a "conjugal recognition" ceremony, which is not actually a wedding

I also learned some jurisdictions require dispensation before allowing such ceremonies. If they are allowed one advantage of holding a wedding in a Lodge is that it might be a much more economical venue than some of the ritzy places where I've attended weddings. Save the money for the honeymoon.

Finally, one brother sent me a the full text of a Masonic wedding or recognition ceremony from Turkey, which seemed nearly book length. Not being one for long ceremonies I decided if I'm ever invited to a Masonic wedding there, I might just skip the ceremony and head for the reception.

The Attic

 

In 2021, the Grand Lodge of Missouri celebrates its 200^th anniversary, with events throughout the year marking the milestone occasions that brought it into existence. Some of those events will be held in St. Louis, very close to the spot where our Brothers of two centuries ago gathered in a simple, unremarkable room to begin that journey.

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 room, which was thirty-eight feet on each side, 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.

That little room is graphic proof that it doesn't matter where Brothers meet whether in a small attic or the spacious Masonic Complex that now houses the Grand Lodge of Missouri; but what does matter is how how Freemasons meet, act and part.

Jimmy Doolittle

 

He was an aviation pioneer, a brilliant MIT graduate who became an expert in the development of more efficient aviation fuel, an air racing champion, an engineer who helped develop instrument flying, a war hero and much more. The name James H. "Jimmy Doolittle" is synonymous with the brand of American hero who has it all – guts, brains and, above all, character.

Born in 1896 in Alameda California, Jimmy Doolittle was a 33° Scottish Rite Mason who was raised in Hollenbeck Lodge 319 in Los Angeles on August 16, 1918. When his high school class attended an air show on a field trip in 1910, Doolittle saw his first airplane and developed a lifetime interest in flying. At the age of 21, he took a leave of absence from his studies at the University of California in Berkley and enlisted in the Signal Corps Reserve as a Flying Cadet, being commissioned as a second lieutenant the following year. He served as a flight instructor during World War I, where his performance led to a commission as a first lieutenant in the Air Service. In 1922, he made one of the first cross-country flights, for which he earned the Distinguished Flying Cross, a ticket to the Air Service Engineering School and eventually a scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

In the 1030s, Doolittle was Aviation Manager for Shell Oil company where he was instrumental in developing a 100 Octane fuel that, at the time, no aircraft needed. The fuel was expensive and some of the Shell employees called the project "Doolittle's million-dollar blunder."

He returned to active military service in 1940 and, after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, was chosen to plan a retaliatory attack. Subsequently he personally volunteered to lead that attack, taking off from the USS Hornet with several targets in Japan. The Japanese learned of the Hornet's position, forcing the Americans to initiate the attack from a location farther from Japan and jeopardizing the plane's capabilities to travel that far.

On April 18, 1942, Doolittle led sixteen B-25s to Tokyo and other Japanese cities in what is now known as the Doolittle Raid. The raid accomplished its purpose in destroying targets without doing much harm to the Japanese civilian population, but more than that, it put the Japanese on notice that the US was capable of such long-range raids and it greatly boosted US morale.

Critically low on fuel, the B-25s limped onto the Chinese mainland where most landed safely behind friendly lines. Doolittle's heroic action in leading the raid earned him a promotion to General, the Congressional Medal of Honor, and later, the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

The added distance the planes had to fly in the successful Doolittle Raid put many lives in jeopardy, and it became clear the raid would never have been successful except for the fact they carried that 100 Octane fuel Brother Doolittle had himself developed a decade earlier, before any aircraft required it, and without knowing what a significant effect it would have on his and his crews lives many years later. In the end, it seems "Doolittle's million-dollar blunder" paid off after all.

Respect

Years ago, I was working on installing a system in a large metropolitan bank's safekeeping department. The executive offices there were glass-walled and I saw a group inside one standing around something a customer had brought in for storage. I went over for a closer look and saw they were inspecting a violin — a Stradivarius violin. To date myself, this was back when employees could smoke in offices; and there stood one of the execs leaning over the priceless instrument with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Not only that, the butt had a long trail of ashes on the front which, predictably, dropped onto the violin. He brushed the ashes off and the gang continued gawking. I was stunned they could treat such an incredible piece so carelessly.

Over the years I've had occasion to see some pretty significant Masonic memorabilia. Many times when I've had "hands-on" access I think of that little scenario in the bank and remind myself to take the utmost care with the item.

I've seen many such items at the Truman Library in Independence, Missouri. The staff there "bends over backwards" to dig out documents and artifacts for researchers. White gloves are the order of the day as researchers go through the precious treasure trove of Brother Truman's life.

On one occasion I was there researching the well-documented account of the President's visit to Beech Grove Lodge in Indiana. While on his Whistle-Stop tour in 1948, Truman evaded the press and much of his traveling party to attend a meeting at that Lodge and raise a Brother who worked for him. At the close of the meeting he asked if he could keep the apron he had worn as a souvenir.

As the staff at the Truman Library gathered items relating to that visit, one of the artifacts turned out to be that apron. I was mesmerized as I looked at it. I felt as if I was in the presence of the President himself. Unable to resist, I broke one of the Library's rules. I slipped off my glove and…

I touched it.

I probably shouldn't have done it, but something inside me just wanted that connection with the historic apron. I don't think I hurt it at all. It didn't seem the same as dumping a pile of cremated tobacco onto a Stradivarius. What's more, I'm not sorry. I would do it again — guilty as charged. I didn't do it maliciously.

I did it out of respect.

The Whiskey Barrel

In today's bustling twenty-first century world, millions of people cross the country quickly, comfortably, and without giving it a second thought. During the mid 19th century, people's desire to make that crossing was no less enthusiastic, but the trip was anything but pleasant. Such was the experience of three men who had made their way across the treacherous plains to the west coast town of Oregon City.

These men, Joseph Hull, P.G. Stewart, and William P. Dougherty, Freemasons, hoped to establish a Masonic Lodge in the area. On February 5, 1846, they placed an ad in the Oregon City newspaper calling for members of the Masonic fraternity to meet on February 21, "to adopt some measures to obtain a charter for a Lodge."

On that date, seven Brothers met and crafted a request for a charter from the closest Grand Lodge which, at that time, was in St. Louis, Missouri, over 2,000 miles away. They found a Brother, Joel Palmer, who was headed back east, instructing him to deliver it to the closest Masonic Lodge, Platte City 56, in St. Joseph Missouri.  

Brother Palmer made that Journey during the summer of 1846. Platte City Lodge then delivered the request to the Grand Lodge of Missouri, which granted the charter for Multnomah Lodge 84 on October 19.

The Grand Lodge sent the charter back to Platte City Lodge but it became difficult to find a suitable person to deliver it back to Oregon. Finally, they entrusted the precious document to Pierre Barlow Cornwall, who began the westward journey on April 1, 1848, over two years after the Oregon Brothers made the request.

When Cornwall reached Fort Hall, Idaho in August 1848, he heard about the discovery of gold in California and abandoned any thought of going to Oregon. He entrusted the charter to two Masons he had met along the way, Joseph and Orrin Kellog, then headed out in an attempt to make his fortune. The Kelloggs finally delivered the charter on September 11, 1848, two years and seven months after the initial request.

After all that time with little or no news of its whereabouts, we can only imagine the thrill the Oregon Brothers must have felt receiving that document. Joseph Hull, who became the first Master, was so excited he called a meeting on that very day! The Brothers met at noon on the second floor of a building owned by Dougherty.  The improvised wardens podiums consisted of a barrel of flour in the East, a barrel of whiskey in the West and a barrel of salt pork in the South, symbolically representing corn, wine and oil.

During the next several hours, the Brothers consecrated the Lodge, elected officers, held three Entered Apprentice, three Fellowcraft, and two Master Mason degrees, wrapping things up sixteen hours later.

One cannot help but wonder if, at the end of such an epic journey capped by that auspicious day, those Brothers didn't break open that barrel of whiskey at the Senior Warden's station and toast the establishment of the first Masonic Lodge in the untamed American West.

The Herald

 

A couple years ago I joined the Red Cross of Constantine. It's a Royal Arch body with, shall we say, a bit of a complex degree structure compared to other Masonic organizations. given a year of social distancing I'm still a novice and not well-versed in its organization and practices.

Right after I joined I attended what was only my fourth or fifth meeting. We held the meeting in a local restaurant with a spacious back room well-suited for such purposes. I went in and stopped at a table to talk to the Secretary – I mean, Recorder. (I still don't have a handle on all the officers' titles). As I was talking to him, a couple other guys walked up behind me. It was a trap.

"Steve," they said in unison, "the incoming Sovereign needs a Sentinel for next year. Would you be willing to step in and help him out?"

"Oh, uh," I babbled on about being honored but having commitments and not knowing if I could do justice to the job – and basically anything else I could think of that did not involve the word "yes."

It was three against one. Before I knew what had happened I had agreed to be next year's Sentinel. "Not a big commitment," I told myself, "and I'm helping the Brothers (actually, Knight Companions) out."

That settled, we sat down to open the Chapter – I mean, Conclave. (I still have a lot to learn). It wasn't a standard opening since we were not in a Lodge room, but we went through the verbal part of the ceremony. At one point, there came a series of knocks followed by an uncomfortable silence. A friend seated next to me leaned over and whispered, "Return the knocks… you're the Sentinel."

I whispered back, "I thought that was next year."

"No," he said, "I think you're it now."

I knocked, and the remainder of the opening went off without a hitch. We had our dinner and started the business portion of the meeting. It came to light that So-and-So, the Thus-and-Such officer had to drop out of line. Discussion followed and it became obvious all officers below Thus-and-Such would move up. So I became the Herald-designate for next year. "Congratulations," said my buddy sitting next to me.

Business finished, it was time to close. The formal closing proceeded until the Eminent Viceroy (second in command) declared the Conclave closed and sealed the deal with the same series of knocks from the opening. Again, there was an uncomfortable period of silence. As before, the companion next to me stepped in, "Steve, you're the Herald. You're supposed to return the raps."

"I thought I was the Sentinel. I'm supposed to be the Herald next term."

"No," he advised, "You're the Herald now." I followed up with raps that would make any Herald proud.

So, let's recap. I went into the meeting a member with no particular duties or responsibilities. Then I became the Sentinel-designate; then I became the Sentinel; then I became the Herald-designate; then I became the Herald.

That's the way it goes sometimes in our various Masonic bodies. I'm sure similar things have happened to others. It took me five years to become Worshipful Master of my Lodge, a journey that would ordinarily take ten in my jurisdiction. One Brother I know did it in two. When membership declines, when Brothers fall out of line for one reason or another, others have to step in. We all wish it was different but Freemasonry isn't the only membership organization experiencing this in our activity-saturated lives today. So I'm glad my reluctance subsided and I am able to step in and help out. I am also honored they asked.