Worshipful Master, Part 4

Earlier this month, before we even planned our visit to the GWMT, I listened to an episode of the History Channel podcast History This Week titled "The Freemasons Get Away with Murder (Probably)." My primary interest in that particular episode was that the events described took place in Western New York, near where Heidi grew up. 

The show told the story of Captain William Morgan's disappearance in 1826. He was a former Mason who threatened to publish a book exposing Freemasonry's secret rituals, handshakes, and oaths. Soon after, he was arrested on minor charges, bailed out by a group of Freemasons, and vanished. Some claimed that a body that washed up on the shores of Lake Ontario a year later was him, but it could not be definitively proven, so there were never any charges of murder, although the Freemasons were convicted of misdemeanor kidnapping.

Throughout the investigation and litigation, the Freemason brotherhood was accused of systematic obstruction of justice, jury-rigging, and non-cooperation with the law. The matter sparked an intense anti-Freemason backlash, and opposition to the society spread throughout the country. Freemasons lost almost half their membership in the next five years and barely survived by rebranding.

Before the Morgan affair, Freemasonry was an elite institution with immense backroom political influence. To survive, the group publicly pivoted to focus on public charity, community fundraising, and open social events. They even renamed their meeting spaces from the grand and mysterious "temple" to the more prosaic "hall."

And all to protect their secrets.

Worshipful Master, Part 3

The tour took us up the elevator, which was actually an inclinator, ascending to the top level at a seven-and-a-half-degree angle. Although I didn't notice until the guide mentioned it, at each stop, the two elevator cars on either side of the building moved closer together, from 61 feet at the bottom to just 4.5 feet at the observation deck level. 

Our first stop was a gallery with a lot of words about the Freemasons and several of their costumes and other regalia, too. The guide gave us a quick overview of who can be a Freemason (male, religious, upstanding) as well as the three levels of membership (apprentice, fellow craft, and master mason). Conspicuously missing were any specific details, and I noticed that the more I read, the less I understood. Even so, it was hard to formulate questions that fit within the scope of this casual tour, especially since my fundamental knowledge was so slight. Short of saying, "I don't get it," I quietly examined the artifacts and read their accompanying signs, but I didn't get it. 

In addition to the three degrees of Freemasonry, master masons could also pursue optional degrees. These include the Shriners, the Knights Templar, the Scottish Rite, the Tall Cedars of Lebanon, and the Order of the Eastern Star (which women can join), and a few others, too. I have no idea what they do or how you join, but I did see some fancy dresses and little cars the Shriners drive in parades.

The next stop was all about George Washington, and I was on more familiar ground there. At the library on the next floor, our guide told us we could come back as registered researchers should we choose. "What type of materials are here?" I asked.

"Blah, blah, blah, I'm not a Mason," he answered.

After a stop in the chapel of the Knights Templar, where a couple of mannikins were decked out in chain mail and the familiar chivalric regalia often seen in movies. "Do they actually wear that when they're here?" I asked.

"Probably not the chain mail," he answered noncommittally.

Worshipful Master, Part 2

As we pushed through the heavy bronze doors, our footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall. Huge, brightly colored murals of men in ornate aprons decorated the side walls, and an enormous statue of George Washington, all decked out in his Freemason kit, was the focal point of the space. 

"I do know they wear aprons," Mary said as we wandered the level, waiting for our tour to begin. 

In a side hall there was a gallery of photos, mostly from the 20th century, of middle-aged white guys and a few busts of the same type of subject. We peeked into the grand theater, which we later learned was used in the early scenes of National Treasure 2, and then crossed to the gallery on the other side, where artifacts of war were displayed in glass cases. It was interesting, but not very edifying. 

Fortunately, our tour guide joined us then and led our tiny group consisting of me, Mary, and a couple from Long Island back into the Grand Masonic Hall. Finally! We were going to learn something about the Freemasons.

Worshipful Master, Part 1

"I don't know anything about the Freemasons," Mary said this afternoon as we drove to our latest field trip, a tour of the George Washington Masonic Temple. "I guess I'll find out today!"

The temple is a local landmark; built in the 1920s on a hill just west of Old Town Alexandria, its 333-foot-tall tower is visible from all over our neighborhoods. Anyone who lives in the area has passed it dozens, if not hundreds, of times on their way to Old Town, or the train station, or the parkway, or the Wilson Bridge, but I don't know anyone who has ever been inside. "We should go there!" Mary had pointed as we whizzed by it on our way home from Topgolf and Oxon Hill Farm, and so a plan was hatched.

We arrived early for our scheduled tour, and paused on the steps to admire the view of the west end of Old Town and the sun shining on the river beyond. As we stood, a train hissed into the station, and a plane flew low in its landing pattern, destined for National Airport. Across the river, we could see the MGM casino, the nets of Topgolf, and the hill of Oxon Hill Farm. 

"The patent office is right over there," Mary waved to the right, referring to our first field trip.

"And Planet Word is over there," I pointed to the left. "All of our former field trips have led us here. This is worth it already," I laughed as we headed inside. 

Maturity

Now that cooler weather is here, I'm in the midst of organizing the attic and getting rid of stuff we don't need. 

Today, it was a lot of sporting equipment. I gave away 2 kites, one I've had since college; 2 fishing poles we bought for Josh's 8th birthday, which we spent at a Lake House (he's 31 now); some racquetball and tennis rackets (we prefer pickleball); and a couple of wiffle bats. The hardest choice I made today, though, was to let go of my roller blades. 

I've had them since 1990, and I love them. They are as cool today as they were then, with their steel gray exterior and multicolor ratchet buckles. I can't say when I last skated; after I took that spill on the basketball court while playing roller hockey and gave myself a fat lip, it wasn't quite as fun anymore. 

Even so, I could still picture myself ratcheting those buckles, putting on my palm guards ('cause that's all I wore), and I briefly considered holding on to them for at least one more skate. But then I realized that it might be time to be done with a few things, particularly the ones that could result in broken bones that might not knit as quickly as they did 35 years ago. So I put them in the car with a sigh and dropped them off with the other donations. 

It was the right decision, but I like to think of it as growing up rather than growing old. Or maybe we can just leave it as growing wise.

Mr. T.

In all the media coverage leading up to next Tuesday's midterm elections, I somehow missed that James Talarico, the Texas Democrat running for the Senate, was once a sixth-grade English teacher. Given my history, you can imagine how keenly interested I was as I read about his experience this morning. First, I was hooked by the headline, How James Talarico’s Years Teaching Middle School Prepared Him for Politics, and only slightly disdainful when it was revealed early on that those "years" numbered two. 

The article also linked to the Facebook page he created in 2011 to document his class, and as I scrolled through, I saw solid examples of engaging assignments, a welcoming environment with aspirational language, and pictures of students who looked happily immersed in the activities. For a young, inexperienced teacher, he seemed to be hitting all the right notes.

As I read on, though, I was profoundly disappointed by what some of his former students said.

“He was too good for the school,” one was quoted as saying. “ You could tell that he wasn’t going to be a teacher in a sense that he would be more. I knew he would have no ceiling.”

Another added, “I always felt like he was going to be more than a teacher.”

To me, these sentiments reveal some of public education's biggest problems today. First, they implicitly state that being a teacher is less than; that it's a career someone would settle for, or that some are too good for. The article leaves these ideas unquestioned and certainly unrebutted. Another thing that bothers me is that those former students feel like they and other kids don't deserve a teacher of such caliber, which is sad.

So in closing, I've got a little shade of my own to throw: given the sorry state of the U.S. Senate today, even if he's elected? Talarico probably would have had a much greater impact if he had stayed in the classroom.

Rain Check!

I've been expecting it.

Since the catastrophic flash flood swept through the Grand Canyon in late August, many trails, both main bridges across the Colorado River, and all park accommodations have been closed until further notice. Even so, my coveted reservation for two nights in a cabin at Phantom Ranch, the only place to stay at the bottom of the canyon, which I won by lottery last November for a stay in January, was still on the books.

Until today. And although I was prepared for the notification, I was surprised by the number of exclamation points the message used.

What can I do but match their attempt to focus on the upside? 

At least I have more time to train!