Returning to the Fold

There are times when members stop coming to lodge meetings. In some cases they move. In others, they change jobs. In others, they start families and that takes up their time. There are unfortunate cases where a brother disagrees with another brother and walks away.

Then there are times when, happily for all concerned, a member comes back to the lodge.

I heard about two situations the same day last week.

One involves a new Master Mason. He is a younger guy who expressed an interest in joining the fraternity, though he knew nobody in it. He stuck around through COVID when lodges were prohibited by government law from meeting. He finally got his degrees when the virus subsided enough and took a minor office in the lodge.

Then his job changed. Suddenly, he was expected to do a lot of work in the evenings and couldn’t attend meetings. The lodge didn’t see him any more. You get a little concerned when this happens and you don’t hear from the member.

However, after a year away, he sent a note to the lodge saying his job had changed again and he was no longer working into the evening and could attend again. He came to the last lodge meeting, agreed to take part in the coming installation ceremony and resume his old office.

The other situation involves a Past Master of another lodge. He had been part of a group 20-plus years ago that affiliated with a dying lodge to revitalise it (that lodge is functioning today with a small but growing group with excellent young members). He rose through the Wardens chairs to the East but left soon afterward due to distance and joined a lodge closer to where he lived.

Unfortunately, he and a “high ranking Mason” got into a disagreement that ballooned and he quit. He remained demitted for a number of years. He has now retired and moved to a small town halfway across the country. He’s looking for a pleasant social outlet. Time has healed some wounds and he has put in an application to rejoin the fraternity in a nearby lodge. He was an excellent Master (and First Principal), extremely well organised, and enjoyed doing the longer lectures. He’ll be a fine addition to their ranks.

I have to laugh at anti-Masons who claim the fraternity is a cult. If so, we’re the only one that suspends members for non payment of dues. We also don’t force people to show up. If they can’t, or they don’t want to, they don’t. But it’s good to hear when members do want to be part of our friendly fellowship, especially when they decide to return.

The Grand Secretary Has Been Shot

As a Past Grand Historian in the Craft and Grand Historian in the Royal Arch, I enjoy digging around and finding out things about brethren of long ago.

Back in the time 100-plus years ago when fraternal and benefit orders were part of the social fabric in North America, newspapers kept readers informed about Freemasons and Freemasonry, depending on the story (I’ve had my fill of coverage of Lodge dances in the 1920s where everyone attending was listed). One of the Washington D.C. papers offered a full page on Sundays with lodge news from across the country.

Among the odd tales I’ve stumbled upon by accident is the one involving the shooting of a Grand Secretary. Let’s face it. Grand Secretaries aren’t shot every day.

This is a wire service story republished in the Seattle Post-Intellegencer of Dec. 28, 1900. R.W. Bro. William Henry Smythe was born on a farm in Putnam County, Indiana, on July 2, 1846, was wed on Oct. 4, 1870 and became Grand Secretary in 1878.

PROMINENT MASON SERIOUSLY SHOT.
WAS FOUND IN A POOL OF BLOOD IN HIS OFFICE.
Stated That a Blonde Woman Had Fired the Shots Upon Being Refused Use of Victim’s Telephone—Theory of Attempted Suicide
INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., Dec. 27.—William H. Smythe, secretary of the Grand Masonic lodge of this state, was shot in the head in his office, in the Masonic building shortly after noon today.
Mr. Smythe says a woman did the shooting, but the police have been unable so far to locate her. It is thought he cannot live.
Lewis A. Coleman, an attorney, found Mr. Smythe shortly after he was shot. He went to Mr. Smythe’s office, in the Masonic building, and found Mr. Smythe lying in a pool of blood on the floor. Mr. Coleman said he detected the smell of gunpowder the moment he stepped into the room.
The wounded man was in a semi-conscious condition, but was able at intervals to utter a few coherent words. The police asked Mr. Smythe to tell who did the shooting, and he told them his son would give them the information. He was able to say, however, that he was seated at his desk when a blonde woman entered his office and asked to use the telephone. He said she had been in several times before, and that the last call irritated him and he refused her request. He claimed that after he refused her the use of the telephone she drew a revolver from the bosom of her dress, and fired.
Woman Seems a Myth.
Shortly after the tragedy Dr. Elmer Smythe, the son referred to, came in. He insisted that he knew nothing of the woman or the shooting.
A surgeon was called immediately after the shooting, and when he arrived he began probing for the bullet. The wound was directly behind the right ear, and in a short time pieces of the bullet were found and extricated, Soon after the shooting Mr. Smythe asked for his son Elmer and requested that all leave the room for a few minutes, which was done. Later he said his son would give them the name of the woman and all about her. The son persisted in his statement that he knew nothing of her.
An attempt was made to locate the woman at the Lorraine, hut inquiry developed the fact that there was or had been no woman connected with the hotel who could have done the shooting.
Suicide Theory Advanced.
When a search for the woman who is said to have done the shooting failed to reveal any trace of her, the theory was advanced that Mr. Smythe had attempted to take his own life. The persons who advanced the theory say it is strengthened by the fact that within the last year Mr. Smythe had threatened to take his own life.
His son said that while his father would be very despondent at times during the past year, he was unwilling to believe that he had attempted his own life.
At the home of Mr. Smythe it was impossible to find any clue to the woman who he said did the shooting.
Mr. Smythe is widely known in Indianapolis. He came to this city twenty-five years ago, from Greencastle, to take the position of the secretary of the Masonic Grand lodge of Indiana, a position which he filled to the present time. He is one of the best-known Masons in the state, and is highly esteemed.
Early in the summer Mr. Smythe received a sunstroke which incapacitated him from work. In fact, he has never recovered.

R.W. Bro. Smythe survived the shooting but did not live much longer. He died on August 5, 1902. As you can see by his death certificate, the shooting didn’t kill him. The Indianapolis Journal reports he had resigned as Grand Secretary in February 1901. One of the wire services spread word that the mystery woman in the shooting case had been arrested but was unidentified. I’ve found no evidence that happened, and the Journal’s obituary story said the case remained unsolved.

Did Your Lodge Have One of Those Nights?

Frederick Opper was known for his Happy Hooligan cartoons a century ago. The comic's name underwent a number of name changes. At one time, the Sunday full-page strip was called "Down on the Farm."

Here is his Sunday (Saturday in Canada) strip for the weekend of May 6-7, 1922. The satiristic fraternal group featured in this one has plumed hats like the American Knights Templar. I don't know if Opper was a Mason, but the scenario here is amusing.

You can click on it to enlarge it.

What Are We? Why Are We?

Occasionally, I hear brethren moaning about Masonic papers given in Lodge, and not really for the right reason.
The problems with Masonic papers are these:
● Static. A paper is an extremely dull presentation. Someone just stands there and reads. The audience is passive and not actively involved. They’re just listening.
● Length. While the topic itself may be interesting, listeners can easily zone out if the presentation goes too long. Even Shakespeare didn’t have half-hour soliloquies.
● Delivery. Not everyone is a singer; some people are monotones. Not everyone is an actor; watch the performances of ‘50s low-budget sci-fi films for proof. And not everyone is a narrator. They may not realise they sound like they’re reading, or that they blandly drone on. Even worse is when the person mispronounces words. It’s not easy getting a message across if it sounds like you know don’t what you’re talking about.

But that isn’t the problem some moan about. Instead, they gripe about the age of the paper. “Why aren’t there any new papers? Who wants to hear that old stuff?” they grumble.

Such an attitude seems somewhat odd, given these same members come to meetings and sit (or take part in) ceremonies that are at least 200 years old. Why, if the thoughts in the paper are well-formulated, or provocative, and relevant, does it matter when they were written? Let’s face it. Freemasonry has been around a long time and our forefathers must have contemplated on our Craft the same as we do today.

With that it mind, I stumbled across a paper I posted on a Masonic mailing list in 1998. It’s a portion of an address given in 1926 by the Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of British Columbia, Alex Manson. Alex was a country lawyer who became a Member of the Legislature and, later, Attorney General. He was well-respected and liked in his day, which is more than can be said about some politicians and/or lawyers today.

Not only are Alex’s thoughts worth reading again, his language is elegant but simple, which is certainly a lost art in this age.

Grand Master’s Address

There is a convincing proof that within Freemasonry, there is "something" that will not let us go. One asks what is that "something" and one recalls that historically Freemasonry is "an ancient and honourable institution." True, indeed, from an historical and a literary standpoint one may find that Freemasonry has contributed much in the affairs of men. But it is not for us to boast of the ancient and honourable character of our Institution unless we can say with truth that Freemasonry today as we live it and know it is honourable and worthy of the lineage of which it is sprung. It is for us to see to it that Freemasonry of our time is of consequence. One has no respect for the loose and idle son who boasts of his blood. We rather feel he should blush in shame for his unworthiness. By worthy life and worthy life alone can one justify a boast of his noble forbears. And so with us as Freemasons.

In thinking of our institution, we recall that it is a "beautiful system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols". How apt and delightful a definition and yet sometimes misinterpreted by the Brethren. There are those who say of Freemasonry that it is their creed, their religion, that the Lodge is their Church. There is nothing in Freemasonry which warrants any such statement. Freemasonry, beyond all questions, is religious. It cannot be otherwise - found as it upon the Volume of the Sacred Law. But it is not a creed nor is the Lodge a substitute for the Church. Freemasonry should not countenance the flying of false colours. It is indeed a beautiful system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols - and hidden away in the heart of its teachings and tenets there is something that draws the Brethren to it.

What is that something? Let us search for it.

In searching, let us consider: why do Lodges meet? It is for the purpose of merely making in a mechanical way Freemasons — of adding to the numerical strength of the Craft? Surely not. It is for a far nobler purpose. A rap comes upon the outer door, a stranger seeks admission to our Lodge. If it be that the stranger has gained admittance, then the Lodge has in hand its greatest duty — the moulding of the Masonic character of the stranger; the duty of taking the warp and woof of the stranger's character and weaving it into those silken threads which, when the rest are all falling away in decay, will still stand out unbroken — the silken threads of kindly thoughts, of noble deeds.

The stranger is, to the Master, the gentle twig which he may bend, and as he bends the twig, the bough will grow in afteryears. The stranger, if he is the man he ought to be, kneels in awe and reverence, with heart laid bare, and it is to the Master to inscribe on his heart faithfully, quietly, indelibly those great moral principles which are the fabric of our teachings. The Brethren within the Lodge room, too, have their part. They can create the atmosphere for the Master to labour in. So much depends on atmosphere. There is not a single member who cannot add to the solemnity of the occasion. What is there in life greater than the opportunity to mould for the better the character of our fellow men.

The stranger having become one of us, let us again consider the Freemasonry which we live. Is it a Freemasonry of the Lodge room, something that we take off as a garment and leave with the Tyler when the Lodge is closed? Something for tonight and again of a night two weeks or a month from now? If so, then Freemasonry is a hypocrisy and a humbug, the grossest waste of time. If it is something just by the way of social contact, then why all the frills and frumpery? Social contact has its place in our Fraternity, but it is not the heart of the matter. It is only part of greater things.

If Freemasonry then is not of the Lodge room alone, what is its extent? What of outside the Lodge room; what is Freemasonry then? Tomorrow, I stand behind the counter in my shop — one comes in the door — I recognise him, I have sat in Lodge with him, he is a Brother in the Craft. I know that with him there must be square dealing. I shall not cheat, wrong or defraud a Brother. A second one comes in — I know him not — have never sat with him in Lodge. He is not of the Craft. How shall I deal with him? May I, with smirking countenance, rub my hands and say "I owe no special duty to this passing stranger. 'Caveat emptor', shall I say, and if I can make anan extra penny it is my privilege." Brethren, this ought not to be. There are not two codes of morality in Freemasonry. There is but one. Fair dealing and square conduct should be the code of Freemasons toward all mankind.

Brethren, Freemasonry is a wonderful thing — it has a great and rare opportunity. Let our Freemasonry not be of the Lodge room alone, but let it be of today and tomorrow, even to the setting of the sun.

Freemasonry and Christmas

The observance of Christmas doesn't seem to bring satisfaction to some people. On one hand, many say it’s too religious, and thus don’t want Christmas trees in public buildings and nativity scenes within a shepherd’s-crook length of government lawns. On the other hand, many say it’s not religious enough; it’s too commercial. They’ve been saying it for years — it’s the central theme behind the charming animated cartoon A Charlie Brown Christmas which was made some 40 years ago.

Setting that aside, what does Christmas mean to the Freemason?

Certainly Freemasonry is not a religion, Christian or otherwise. It leaves the determination on spiritual matters to each individual Mason, so long as he believes in the Almighty Creator. But there are certain messages from the story of Christmas that are applicable to all Masons, not just those who celebrate a certain birth on December 25th.

Many Christians feel God gave his greatest gift to mankind, and that Gift’s birth is marked on Christmas Day. And the spirit of giving is also outlined in our Masonic ceremonies. The new Entered Apprentice is reminded in the northeast corner of charity, and to practice it whenever possible. There’s the monetary charity of that portion of our ceremony. And there’s another kind. The one referred to in the Charge in the same degree which admonishes “to relieve his necessities, soothe his afflictions, and do to him as you would that he, under similar circumstances, should do until you.” In other words, the Golden Rule, from the Sermon on the Mount.

Christmas is a time of faith for our Christian brethren. But all Masons are reminded in the different degrees of the principle of faith. In the explanation of the First Degree Tracing Board, we hear “How ready and willing ought we to be to adore the Almighty Creator.” Therefore, let this time of year serve as a reminder to all Masons to practice their faith, whatever it may be.

Faith and Charity are names of principal staves or rounds on the Ladder you see every meeting on that Tracing Board. But there is another round, and that is Hope in Salvation. While Salvation has a particular connotation to those who believe in the story of the virgin birth, the concept of some kind of reward for following Masonic principles during our lives winds its way through the various degrees, as those of you familiar with the working tools explanations of the Second and Third Degrees well know.

So let this season of the year remind all Masons, no matter what their religious beliefs, to follow those universal tenets of the Craft — faith, hope and charity. Doing so should bring satisfaction to you at Christmas-time.

Rising Above Hate

This was a home.



This was a home to several Masonic Lodges, a Royal Arch Chapter, a Cryptic Rite Council, a Preceptory, the York Rite College, a chapel of St. Thomas of Acon and the third-oldest Chapter of the Order of the Eastern Star in the jurisdiction.

This was the North Vancouver Masonic Temple in Canada, one of three Masonic buildings struck by an arsonist yesterday morning.



This was a home, too. This is a different Masonic building, the Lynn Valley Masonic Hall. An arsonist got in there, too.

And this is yet another Masonic building.



This is the Park Lodge Hall in east Vancouver. The arsonist got inside this home, too. It reeks of gasoline. Fortunately, you can see there was vandalism but no major fire. The carpet is fire resistant.

Vancouver Police are reporting the arrest of a man known to them, though not for arson. They didn't reveal specifics.

Picture what it would be like if someone came into your home and destroyed it for some deluded reason. That's what the Masons and the dear ladies of the Eastern Star in North Vancouver are going through.

No Masonic groups are meeting due to Provincial Health regulations to deal with the coronavirus, so no one was hurt. But at the North Vancouver Temple, regalia, warrants, minute books, a museum with artifacts are all gone, never to return.

The Job's Daughters met in what is a now charred pile of wood. The Bethel has been gone for some time, but the members today are reminiscing about their teenage years and all the lifelong friends they made. Masons are reliving old memories.

How do you combat hate? Irrational, ridiculous hate?

There are many in the Craft wondering if there's an answer.

In the meantime, my heart goes out of my many Masonic friends on the North Shore. I trust they will unite and build, just as Masons of yore did, so they can create a new generation of memories.

The Gift of Yourself

“It’s another waste of the Lodge funds that your forefathers built up over the years!”

Yes, the crotchety old Past Master was wagging his finger yet again at the room awash with light blue aprons and dark hair. It had almost become a tradition since a wave of younger men had joined several years earlier and revived a sparsely-populated and sad old Lodge on the verge of reluctantly handing the warrant back to Grand Lodge. Whenever a motion came onto the floor, you could be sure Alec Sampson—or “Worshipful Brother Grumpy”, as they called him—would be automatically opposed. Especially when it came to the Lodge treasury.

“You want to give yourselves free dinner and drinks on the Lodge’s dime using Christmas as an excuse,” he exclaimed, as he stated his lack of enthusiasm for the Junior Warden’s plan for a Christmas Party on Saturday night. “And besides, who’s going to be in the mood for Christmas? It’s going to rain that night,” was his parting shot as he sat down to raucous laughter of the Lodge, though he didn’t understand what they found amusing.

The Past Master ignored any further discussion as he sat and mumbled to no one in particular and stewed before the brethren voted in favour of the festive gathering.

“Now, remember,” the Worshipful Master gently reminded, “Make sure you bring a present that we can put under the tree. But nothing too expensive so it looks like we’re giving better gifts to some than others.”

“Hmmpf,” grunted Sampson to himself. “I’ve been on a pension for 20 years. I don’t have the money these young guys with their gas-guzzlers and big-screen TVs have. And they want me to buy something for them?” Then he ‘hmmpf’ed again.

After the meeting, one of Lodge’s new members, a keen Fellow Craft who had attended everything since his initiation several months earlier, innocently went up to the Past Master.

“So, Worshipful Brother Sampson, are you going to the party?” he quietly asked.

“Going?” he said, shocked. “Johnny, do you know why we stopped having them parties years ago? We used to spend all kinds of money on a hall, decorations, a band—we even had a church choir come in one year—and no one showed up. Oh, the brethren said ‘Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll come’ but then they’d make some excuse and stiff the Lodge. That was back in the ’70s. We’d be left with a big, empty room and bills to pay. If a few of us hadn’t donated money to the Lodge we would have been broke.

“The last one I went to was in 1959. One of the guys got liquored up beforehand—probably was at a Shriners do, or something like that—and fell into a huge cake Bro. Wallace’s wife baked. Ruined the whole night. Nope, I’ve had enough of Lodge Christmas Parties,” he added with an air of finality. With that, he went to get his coat and hat and headed for the door.

“Nice young fellow,” admitted Sampson to himself, as he drove away from the hall to his little home not far away, “He means well, and he does good work in the Lodge, but he has the damndest ideas some times.”

Saturday night came, and the grouchy Past Master got set to spend it as he always did: watching some old movies on the TV. So it was a shock after he turned on the set and settled down into his chair that his wife stood in an arched doorway and said:

“So, are you all set to go?”

“Go where, Martha?” he demanded. “A Western with Jimmy Stewart is about to come on.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. “You’ll see,” said the little grey-haired woman as she slowly made her way to the front door and found a young man clutching an open umbrella over his head. It was the Fellow Craft.

“Ohhhh, no!” exclaimed the Past Master, waving his finger in the air just like he did in Lodge all the time. “I see what this is. I’m not going!”

“Now, Alec,” Martha chided, “Johnny called today to see if we wanted a ride to the Christmas Party. I told him my feet still aren’t feeling right, so I can’t go. But you can. He came all the way into town from out in the valley 45 miles away to pick you up.”

“But I’m not dressed for it,” he insisted.

“That’s okay,” said the Fellow Craft, “The guys won’t mind.”

“And I don’t have a present like you guys voted I should have,” he sputtered.

“But you do, Worshipful Brother Sampson,” replied Johnny.

The grumpy Past Master was puzzled by that remark. But then he thought for a moment. Johnny was a good young man and dedicated to the Lodge and, after all, had made an effort to come get him.

“Well, okay, I guess,” he reluctantly and sullenly agreed. “Besides, I know how ‘The Man From Laramie’ turns out anyhow.”

Martha handed him his rumpled coat and a fedora that had seen better days then cracked open the front door. Sampson peered into the damp and menacing sky. “See? I told you it was going to rain. None of you ever listen to me!”

Cheery music with sleigh bells filled the banquet room of the old hall. Brushing the tall ceiling was a healthy Douglas fir, glistening with tinsel, sitting watch in the corner over a mound of presents around its trunk. But the tree isn’t what shocked Sampson. It was the people. The 90-year-old room, big enough to fit 250 when the Hall was built and the Lodge was initiating dozens every year, was packed.

“Where did all these people come from?” Sampson demanded. “A lot of them are friends of the members,” the Fellow Craft replied. “They brought their wives and kids and other friends.”

“Well, the hall certainly looks nice,” said the Past Master, looking around.

“A bunch of us got together and decided to paint the downstairs,” Johnny answered, then pointed. “Dave over there donated the paint. Don brought the rollers and the brushes. We all chipped in to save the Lodge a bit of money.”

At that moment, a well-dressed man in his early 20s, came up to the pair. The Fellow Craft spoke.

“Rob, this is Worshipful Brother Alec Sampson. He was Master of the Lodge in 1957. He’s been a Mason a very long time.”

“That’s great,” smiled the young man. “I’ve read a lot about Freemasonry and it’s the kind of thing I’d like to join. It believes in helping your fellow man and helping the world. And my grandfather was a Mason. He died when I was little but he was great to me and my sister and he used to bring over cookies that grandma baked for us. I think he was a member of this Lodge.”

“Oh?” Sampson’s left eyebrow went up. “Do you know his name?”

“Sure,” laughed the young man. “It’s Alan Wallace.”

Sampson stood stunned as if Santa himself had just bounded down the chimney.

“Alan Wallace was my sponsor into the Lodge,” Sampson said in a low voice. And his wife Emily used to bake things for our functions all the time.”

The young man brightened some more. “Do you want to see her? I brought her,” he asked.

“What? She’s still alive?” Sampson asked, astounded.

“She was when I left her by the punch bowl three minutes ago,” he chuckled. And with that, the young man manoeuvred the old Past Master through the crowded room of revellers over to a little table where a small woman sat primly, wearing a light blue dress and a neat hat that wasn’t too out of style. She looked wide-eyed at her guest for a second or two, then stood up.

“Well, if it isn’t Worshipful Brother Grumpy!” she grinned. “Merry Christmas, Alec. How have you been?”

“I’m doing fine, Emily. I haven’t seen you for years.”

“The Lodge hasn’t had one of these for years,” the widow observed. The young members of the Lodge are really wonderful. They put together a list of all us old-timers and started calling. They offered to bring us to the party and even buy us a little gift. It’s very thoughtful. They want to do something for us on Valentine’s Day, too. Alan would be so proud of them.”

The old Past Master realised now he had not been paying attention to all the discussion during the Lodge meeting about the party. The gifts were for the widows. Not the members.

“I asked one of the young ones if you were coming, but I was told you’re always busy doing something. That’s retirement, isn’t it? You become busier than when you were working.”

Sampson offered a sheepish smile.

“All of us used to have such fun at these years ago. Stanley Phillips and Ted Barnham and John Lee. Ah, they’re all gone now. And Dick Moody. Everyone thought he was drunk but he had a trick leg with a mind of its own sometimes. Remember the Christmas Party his leg gave out and he landed right in the middle of the cake I baked? Alan and I never laughed so hard!”

The widow laughed heartily at the memory. “Well, I’m going to get some more punch. One of the wives of one of the new members brought it. See you in a bit!” And, with that, Emily Wallace spryly made her way into the crowd.

It was then Sampson realised that all the bad feelings he had built up about some of the things the younger members had planned were for naught. They were keeping an eye on the Lodge’s small funds. And they were following the principles of the fraternity by extending a hand of friendship and assistance to widows and senior brethren. And he had made some wrong assumptions about that Christmas Party so many years ago that caused him to stop coming. His thoughts were interrupted.

“So was it nice to see Mrs. Wallace again?” It was the new Fellow Craft.

“You know, Johnny,” he started slowly, “you brothers have done such a wonderful job here. I really have to apologise to you. The Worshipful Master asked everyone to bring a gift and I didn’t bring anything.”

“But, it’s like I said before, you did bring one. Mrs. Wallace told me the one thing that makes her sad is just about all the people she knew in the Lodge when her husband joined are dead. She doesn’t know anyone any more. Except you.

“Worshipful Brother Sampson, you brought a gift no one else could bring. You brought the gift of yourself.”

“Well, I had a little help doing that,” he chuckled. “And because of that, I’ve been given a Christmas gift, too.”

Note: This was posted on the original version of this blog in 2010.