On April, 6 of 2000 I was raised to the sublime degree of Master Mason. That happy occasion occurred inside of Beautiful, East Texas Lodge No. 1. I have been a Master Mason nearly but not quite, half my life, and for the great majority of my adulthood.
Does it matter? To the greater world, not at all. To me, it matters a great deal.
Some of you listening, having experienced it and then lived it understand. Others of you may find yourself wondering, “What’s the big deal, why Masonry?”
If you will sit with me a while, I’d like to talk about that.
Many times I’ve talked about the shabby little dilapidated Lodge building that sat right at the edge of the school grounds there in Beautiful when I was a kid. Its still there as it goes and has benefited from a greater degree of pride in ownership than it did in those days. When I was last in Beautiful, that once tiny sort of pitiful little building that had always had great patches of paint peeling off and flapping in the wind but that nevertheless remained standing and stalwart, was both expanded, perhaps entirely rebuilt, obviously cared for in a way that I’d never seen it cared for previously and was, finally not only a reminder of what once was in Beautiful but a beacon of what could be!
Day after day, week in and week out, as months turned into years and childhood faded into adulthood, I saw the tiny little Lodge on the edge of the school grounds. The square and compass, while I had no idea what they represented or meant, daily in my sight began to be planted in my thoughts.
For most of twelve years I saw them almost everyday at least twice a day. The thing is, when I saw them, the building was always empty. There were no cars. There was no activity. There were no banners, no flags, no indication of the good works that Masons across the nation regularly engage in. It was just a truly pitiful looking little, even tiny, building that was not well cared for – except for the square and compasses, which were, despite the building’s otherwise obvious neglect, keep sanded and freshly painted.
Imagine the impression that might have been made on the minds of young boys if, instead of neglect and emptiness, there had been occasions where the building could be obviously seen receiving the love and care that it deserved and frankly, should have been getting all that while.
Imagine the wonder that might have been inspired in a generation of young men if that little Masonic Lodge – the only building next to the only school in the county, an opportunity that should have been coveted and exploited but, was apparently, never properly understood or appreciated in those days (again to their credit, things are much different now – or were last time I was there and good for those good Brothers) imagine what might have been had they used proximity and visibility to greatest advantage.
As a note to those with ears to hear: Every organization that is blessed with a building, should do its very best to make that building an important part of its public relations effort and calling card. This is particularly true for Masons who do not actively recruit. Your buildings could, if you care for them properly and use them in a way that brings them into the community’s spotlight, do a great deal to plant seeds in the minds of men and boys.
That’s all well and good but back to the topic at hand, “Why Masonry?”
Twenty four years ago, I joined the ranks of my Brother Master Masons. For years, more than a decade even, prior to doing so, Masonry was on my mind. I saw the little Lodge at the edge of the school ground each day coming to school and going home then later, after I graduated and took on adult responsibilities I saw it twice a day going to work and returning home. At some point, I am unsure when exactly, I began to notice that some men in our community wore rings, had pins on their suit coats, or even hat pins with the same square and compass that I saw on the front of that dilapidated little Lodge building.
These men tended to be men that were well thought of in Beautiful. I knew some of them, though not well enough to ask personal questions, but well enough to know that I liked and respected them. Eventually, I don’t remember now how this came to be but, eventually I began to understand that these men were Freemasons and that the tiny little building at the edge of the school grounds was a Masonic Lodge.
I recall an occasion, I was visiting my Great Uncle Carl. He was a man who was great, truly great in every sense of the word that I cared about. He wanted me to help him work on some things around the farm. We spent hours replacing fence posts, stretching barbed wire, patching up the smoke house, and making other repairs around his place.
“I think I’m starting to get hungry,” the old man said. “How about you?”
“Yes sir, I am a little hungry.” The fact is, I was quite a bit more than a ‘little hungry.’ I’d been looking at the horse apples on the bois d’arc trees for the last hour wondering just how poisonous they really were.
“Okay then, lets get back up to the house, put the tools away, and fix something for our supper.”
I wiped the running sweat from my eyes and face, felt the cool drip of it on the back of my neck, and wished it weren’t so terribly hot. My neck was burned as were my arms and face. I knew I’d peel terribly and hated the thought. There was a girl I had a crush on. My peeling arms, neck, and face were not the way I wanted her to see me.
“Why the long sigh?”
“What? Oh, uh, nothing, sorry.”
“Uh huh. Well then, why don’t you put these tools and the roll of barbed wire up then come inside and wash your face and don’t worry, once all that red peels off, the girls will think you are handsome as ever.”
As I did as I’d been instructed, I considered that if there were a benefit to being sunburned it was the my blush would be less obvious.
In the house Uncle Carl was frying potatoes and onions along with two thin, breakfast style pork chops. Pork chops and fried potatoes was a regular feature at Casa de Tio Carl and one greatly appreciated by any whom he loved enough to prepare it for.
While my Great Uncle cooked the man on the radio spoke from the analogue clock radio that rested on the shelf built years ago when I was just a little feller. Uncle Carl never changed the radio station from 1230 on the am dial. Thanks to its height from the floor neither I nor my brothers did either. Having grown, I would never consider such a thing as a matter of respect.
The smell of frying pork chops, potatoes, and onions made waiting for supper difficult. I really was very hungry. The man on the radio continued talking. We listened to the weather report, local news, several advertisements, and then a series of announcements about goings on in the greater community…
For the full episode listen by clicking on the link above!
Much Love,HankYou’ve Been Hanked!
Photograph: Stained Glass in the Corinthian Room of The Grand Lodge of Ancient Free & Accepted Masons of Maryland, by Hank Griffin. Some Rights Reserved. Photo may be used with credit and a link to this podcast: hankgriffin.substack.com.
