Esoteric Woodworking and Bridges

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

RWB Spencer Hamann

What is a bridge? For many the term “bridge” conjures imagery of architecture: a structure, perhaps a grand triumph of engineering and design or simple lash up of ropes and boards, spanning a body of water, canyon, or some other difficult geographic feature. Taking a step back abstractly, a bridge is something that connects. A bridge allows one to move from one place to another place that would have otherwise been unreachable or at least difficult to reach. In this way, a bridge can also represent unification. This imagery also arises when we sever ties (“burn bridges”), prioritize planning (“cross that bridge when we come to it”), overreach (“a bridge too far”), and resolve conflict (“bridge the gap” leading to “water under the bridge”).

A bridge is also the name given to a critical component of many musical instruments, including bowed orchestral strings. Violins, violas, celli, and double basses all rely on a component called a bridge for their functionality, playability, and sound production. As the instrument’s strings pass over the top of the bridge, the bridge holds the strings in a particular alignment, in a carefully calculated position, and in a precisely fitted union with the instrument itself. What appears on the surface to be a fussily carved slip of wood actually contains far more mystery and complexity than first meets the eye.

To begin with, not just any piece of wood is suitable to become an orchestral string bridge. The traditional timber of choice is maple, specifically maple from particular species of old-growth trees which have grown in such climate, region, and situation to have even grain, solid density, and clear consistency. But the selection process goes further than that. The tree itself must be felled, prepared, and cut in a careful and mindful way as not to damage the timber. Only some parts of the tree trunk itself are of the quality required to become a stable and acoustically fine bridge, and this wood must be further cut and prepared specifically with consideration to grain orientation to become a bridge.

All of this material harvesting usually contains the additional element of time. Raw maple cut from the tree is aged for years, often decades, to allow for the gradual and controlled release of moisture from when the tree was alive. Without this drying, aging, and stabilizing, the maple will be too flimsy to support the load of the instrument’s strings and will buckle under the pressure. It is a rather curiously poetic aspect of the luthier’s art that depending on his age or the aging requirements of the material, the person putting in the work to prepare the raw wood for a specific purpose may confront the fact that he himself will never get to make use of it in his own lifetime: his preparation work becomes an act of selflessness and hope for a future craftsman and the craft he loves.

Having finally obtained the piece of wood specially prepared and destined to become a violin’s bridge, the luthier needs to establish the general parameters of the bridge itself. Each bridge is an individual: like a fingerprint, no two will be exactly alike. However, there are some traditional conventions for how bridges are formed. The bridge itself will be carved to have several distinct features, most of which carry anatomical names within the luthier’s craft. To name but a few of these features, from the bottom up, we have feet, ankles, kidneys, arms, and moustache. Establishing these features requires the careful and strategic removal of material using fine tools including drills, saws, knives, and chisels. When the piece has been carefully divested of these base superfluities, it resembles the finished shape, but is not yet a true bridge. A luthier would call this piece a “blank”, and it contains within it the potential to become a functional bridge.

The luthier next turns his attention to the instrument that is to receive the bridge, as the parameters required to further refine the blank bridge rest within the instrument itself. There is much to prepare, and fitting a bridge is one of the final culminating steps in the process of giving an instrument a voice. Before the bridge can meet the instrument, a slender spruce rod must be meticulously fit within the instrument, connecting the top and back plates from within. This piece is called the soundpost, or “anima” in Italian: the soul. Although the soundpost is tucked away inside the instrument, all fitting and preparation work on this piece is done from outside of the instrument. The contact points of the soundpost must match exactly the curvatures and contours of the INSIDE of the instrument’s top and back, and it is only through careful work, concentration, and patient trial work that a luthier brings it into perfect upright fit and positioning within the instrument.

The soundpost is what makes a violin family instrument fundamentally different from other stringed instruments such as, say, a guitar. The strings of a guitar vibrate primarily only the top of the instrument, and the back of the “box” which forms the guitar’s body serves to primarily reflect the vibrations up and out of the instrument. On a violin, the soundpost transfers the vibrations of the instrument’s top to the back as well, causing the entire instrument to vibrate together. This effect can be imagined as the difference between having one speaker playing alone, or two speakers playing together.

Returning to the bridge from this digression, the soundpost influences the shape of the instrument’s top, which in turn influences the shape of the bridge. The location of the bridge on the instrument’s top is determined by what is called the “mensur”, which is a 2:3 ratio calculated between the length of the instrument’s neck and the resting position of the bridge on the top of the instrument. With this location established, the bottoms of the bridge’s feet are carved to perfectly match the complex contours of the instrument’s top, creating a positive and stable foundational stance and excellent transfer of vibration.

Next to be considered is the height the bridge will need to be. A bridge must lift the strings above the instrument’s fingerboard, the part where the musician’s fingers interact with the strings to produce different notes, which must also be specially prepared to be smooth, true, and of the proper angle relative to the instrument’s top. If the bridge is too tall, the strings may play more loudly but be difficult or even uncomfortable for the player to control. If the bridge is too short, the instrument may feel very easy to play, but have limited depth or even a choked sound. If the space between the strings is not carefully established, precision and articulation can suffer. Balance is key.

Additionally, the height at which the bridge holds the strings is different for each string. Each string has a different diameter, is made from different materials, will tune up to different tensions, and as such, require different amounts of space to vibrate. If all strings were fit equally to the same height, the instrument could still play but not all strings would be able to speak clearly, and the result would be imbalance with favor toward particular tones while others are drowned out.

At this stage, the bridge has been prepared, and it has even been mechanically introduced and fit to the world around it. But the bridge is still not finished. The final steps in the process are the fine tuning and carving which strategically remove excess material, artistically distinguish the bridge’s shape, and acoustically fine-tune the way the bridge will vibrate. It is not enough for the bridge to simply be of the correct material, or the correct mechanical fit: only skilled adjustment stemming from the luthier’s years of trial, error, triumph, failure, and refinement can allow it to reach its potential. As these methods of adjustment are internalized and refined, so is the instrument’s voice.

It is also of particular interest to note that an orchestral string instrument’s bridge literally stands on its own two feet. There is no mechanical connection between the strings, bridge, and instrument: the pressure of the strings hold the bridge upright on the top of the instrument. If the bridge has been made from well prepared material, and further patiently and knowledgably fit, it will be able to withstand the tension and purpose placed upon it as it bridges the body of the instrument to the pure vibrating strings above it.

These pure vibrations are the ultimate purpose of a violin, but the bridge must undergo considerable transformative work in order to realize them. From a rough and raw state, the bridge is prepared for the great work to come as it is hewn from the superfluous material around it using tools designed to properly establish its foundation and form. From here, the bridge undergoes precise refinement to shape it and equip it for its eventual purpose. Yet even after considerable time spent and skill invested, the bridge is still only a piece of material. It is the final transmutation, when it is fit to the instrument, that the bridge ceases to become just a piece of wood, and sheds its pervious identity to experience rebirth in unity with the sublime vibrations of the musical instrument.

In the great cosmic scheme, each individual is but one small manifestation. In and of itself, a violin’s bridge is but one component of the instrument. The bridge does not alone define the macrocosm of instrument, but it does allow an instrument to exemplify itself only if the microcosm of the bridge (and each of the instrument’s other components) is in order. A musical instrument is a magical thing in that it can be used to reach far more people than can physically see it. That is, the vibrations it produces through its use in making music can transcend language, country, creed, and even time and space. Quantum physics is ever expanding our understanding of how vibration is at the core of all matter, and music distilled is nothing but a collection of vibrations.

Vast as the implications and applications of producing sound are, they only come with work. Knowledge of how to guide a tool counts for very little if it is not applied in a constructive way, and no one can hold the tool for you. Willingness to learn, adjust, practice, and correct our own vibrations is the first step in bridging the expanses between ourselves and those around us. It is inevitable that we will occasionally fall short, but this may be the will of something far greater than ourselves at play guiding us to where we are meant to be. This work can be painful as we are divested of what is unnecessary, but mastery starts within, and often silently. It is not until we are able to master the art of crafting ourselves that we can hope to build true bridges between the things that divide us, and realize that we are all notes in the same grand transcendent symphony.

~SAH

RWB Spencer Hamann is a luthier and musicologist working in northern Illinois. He is an avid woodworker and artificer, and enjoys antique restorations and custom commissions.Curatorship and adding value are core to his personal philosophies. Spencer was Raised in 2013, and served Libertyville Lodge No. 492 as Worshipful Master from 2017-2018. He is the Senior Warden of Spes Novum Lodge No. 1183, and serves the Grand Lodge of Illinois as their Grand Representative to Wisconsin, District Education officer for the 1st NE District, and is a Certified Lodge Instructor (CLI). He can be contacted at spencer@sahamann.com

Having Been Tried, Never Denied

What That Line Means and Why It Is So Valid In Our Ritual

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

Bro. Michael Arce

"Having been tried, never denied, and ready to be tried again." Those words have fascinated me from when I first studied ritual to earn proficiency. Why do we say them? What do they mean? And how does that phrase make me a Freemason? I asked so many questions. In the examination, the position of that answer comes as part of the supporting evidence of your identity as a Mason. If you trace the steps of our ritual in your mind, you can recall the direction your route took to confirm that you were qualified to enter our fraternity. As a man in your community, you showed an interest in Freemasonry. You contacted a Lodge, maybe came to a few dinners, met the Brothers and at some point, asked to join. It's at that moment that you completed a petition, answered essential questions about your beliefs and values, sought out a Brother to attest for you, and listed some references. What I described is the typical application process that most gentleman experience in joining a Lodge. But that's not really where your Masonic journey begins. We are told that we are first made a Mason in our hearts, then in a Lodge. What does that mean? That you are born with the search for Light impressed in your soul, that you live a life full of experiences, and that a certain point your heart syncs with your mind - directing your steps to a Masonic Lodge.

Having been tried, never denied

Countless songs and stories have been written on the experience we call life. I was shopping for a new winter coat for my girlfriend when The Mighty Mighty Bosstones song, "The Impression That I Get" played on the speakers overhead. I recognized it instantly because it was one of my favorite "SKA" songs from the '90s. I laughed to myself when the song hit the first line in the chorus. I'll let you listen to it, see if you get the inside joke. "The Impression That I Get" covers a wide range of daunting experiences in life. Tests, you might say. The song starts with a series of situations; odds stacked up high, needing strength you didn't possess, rising above the rest. As each challenge is presented, the singer poses the question, "it makes me wonder if I could?" By the time we hit the song's bridge, the lyrics change from wondering if one could pass the test to believing that, "If I was, I would pass." Why the change? As the song goes, "'Cause I know someone who has." The debate has continued since 1997 on the meaning behind the song. Did Dickie Barrett (songwriter/lead singer) write it for a friend who's brother died of leukemia? Was it a statement about the AIDS testing that was happening at the end of the 90s epidemic? Perhaps he wrote it after going through some unthinkable tragedy? In the 22 years following the song's release, it is safe to bet that we will never really know the story behind the song. We know this; the questions posed in "The Impression That I Get," reinforce the lesson of persistence through life's challenges stemming from a belief in ourselves and something larger than yourself.

Ready to be tried again

We understand that you were born a Mason in your heart. That your experiences in life shape your perspectives, your values, your beliefs. Our ritual evolved from ancient methods of worship that now provide learning opportunities with each degree building upon the preceding lesson. As you work on completing the three degrees of Freemasonry, you submit to situations, mentally and physically, that test your knowledge of what you have learned. You must pass these tests to advance. By participating in each degree, men acknowledge this trial as they prepare to obligate themselves to something much larger than himself. Throughout our degrees and study of the lessons found in the ritual, we are paired with a faithful friend, a fellow Brother who guides us with his words and steps. We don't have to know how to navigate through each situation or lesson - we must trust "someone who has." Having been tried, never denied, and ready to be tried again prepares one for the lifetime of learning as a Freemason. As Master Masons, we are presented Working Tools to use in our everyday lives, each with its own specific purpose for the unique daily challenges we face. PM Bill Hosler reminds us of the explanation of the ashlars in Lodge rooms, how that lesson encompasses the repetitious cycle of life. "Masonry takes that Ashland and helps shape it for the builders use. You continue through life, raking everything it tries to hand you, and the whole time your Ashland continues to get smoother and not cracking from defects of the constant work from life’s working tools. You made it through being never denied. You continue to become a better man, one who is 'willing to be tried again.'"

~MA

Brother Michael Arce is the Junior Warden of St. George’s #6, Schenectady and a member of Mt. Zion #311, Troy New York. When not in Lodge, Bro. Arce is the Marketing Manager for Capital Cardiology Associates in Albany, New York. He enjoys meeting new Brothers and hearing how the Craft has enriched their lives. He can be reached at: michael.arce@me.com

Before I Forget

By Midnight Freemason Contributor

WB Adam Thayer & Guest WB David Bloomquist

Not too long ago, while listening to the radio, a song made me start contemplating the three stages of man. The three stages that we recognize are very ancient, going back at least as far as the Riddle of the Sphinx. As Freemasons, we are taught that the three stages allude to the three degrees of Freemasonry.

Like most Freemasons, I have a lot of Slipknot songs in my iTunes account. ;) The song that prompted this discussion was “Before I Forget”, and the chorus specifically says:

“I am a world before I am a man

I was a creature before I could stand

I will remember before I forget.”

While the three stages may be slightly out of chronological order for musical necessity (music being one of the seven liberal arts), I was still struck by the allusion presented.

First (chronologically), he states “I was a creature before I could stand.” This is the beginning of the first stage of man, the age of the profane. This is the newborn who has not yet learned to reason. He is dependent on others for every basic need, not yet a man, just a creature living by instinct.

The next line states “I am a world before I am a man.” Anyone who has raised a child can probably see where I am going with this; at this stage, just moving into manhood, the boy believes that not only does the world revolve around him, but that he IS the whole world. While this stage is amazingly annoying to others, it is still necessary as part of the learning process. As Pike often reminds us, we must learn ourselves before we can hope to know God.

The final line reminds us “I will remember before I forget” and represents man in age. Anyone who lives long enough will experience the curse of memory loss, but before this happens it is a blessing to remember what you have learned, and to pass it on.

This reminds me of how surgeons are taught a new procedure: watch one, do one , teach one. Freemasonry has a similar allusion: see it, do it, pass it on. This not only applies to ritual, but to the values and teachings of the order; as important as it is to learn our values, it is equally important to pass them on to the next generation.

The divisions of the three levels are not distinct; I can say that sometimes I feel like I am in different stages in the same day. We progress and regress through them all the time.As Master Masons, we must often go back to the lessons we were supposed to have learned in the Entered Apprentice degree. A Fellowcraft still has much to teach.

Apprentices are given an overview of the tools they will use, Fellowcrafts are taught how to use the tools, and the Master is taught how to make his own tools. However, just because the Master knows how to use and make the tools, his education isn’t truly complete until he has passed his knowledge on to an Apprentice. A pianist may practice his entire life, becoming proficient at playing all of the classic compositions, however if he never shares it, never contributes anything new, can he truly be said to be a master of the instrument? No. He has achieved old age, believing himself to be a master, but he never truly learned all of the lessons of an apprentice.

One final line from the song that strikes me as an apropos lesson for the Master Mason: “All I ever do is delay. My every attempt to evade the end of the road is my end.” As Master Masons were are taught to face death bravely, not cower before it. The end of our road approaches, and there is nothing we can do to delay the inevitable; take this time, then, to practice these lessons and pass your own knowledge on.

~AT & DB

WB. Bro. Adam Thayer is the Senior Warden of Lancaster Lodge No. 54 in Lincoln (NE) and a past master of Oliver Lodge No. 38 in Seward (NE). He’s an active member in the Knights of Saint Andrew, and on occasion remembers to visit the Scottish and York Rites as well. He continues to be reappointed to the Grand Lodge of Nebraska Education Committee, and serves with fervency and zeal. He is a sub-host on The Whence Came You podcast, and may be reached at adam@wcypodcast.com. He will not help you get your whites whiter or your brights brighter, but he does enjoy conversing with brothers from around the world!

WB. David is a member of Lancaster Lodge #54 in Lincoln, Nebraska where he served as Worshipful Master in 2007 and has since served as Tyler. He is also a member of the York Rite and Scottish Rite where he is one of the founding members of the valley's Knights of St. Andrew. He is one of 13 living people who enjoy reading Albert Pike.

In Search Of The Perfect Album

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

WB Adam Thayer

Lately, I’ve taken to going on early morning walks, in an effort to shed some of the pounds that being an active Mason has put on my waist. To keep at a good pace, and keep myself from falling asleep while walking (did I mention that it is EARLY in the morning?), I’ve taken to listening to music, and it has gotten me thinking about perfect albums.

Of course, the first thing I attempted to do is define what MAKES a perfect album. I know you’ll have your own definitions, but here are my criteria:

1) The album has to tell a story. This knocks out many of my favorite albums, but for it to be a PERFECT album, it needs to have a complete theme that is supported by both the lyrics and the melody. While there are many fantastic albums that are just collections of songs, they don’t meet the qualifications.

2) Every song has to stand on its own, even though it also contributes to the story. That was a very tough rule, because it knocks out most Pink Floyd albums (does anybody really just listen to “Bring The Boys Back Home” on its own?), but for the album to be PERFECT, each song has to be individual.

3) The album has to make me feel something. It can be happy, or sad, or anger, but it has to be moving. If your art isn’t moving, is it really art?

So, with those three rules in mind, I was only able to come up with a few perfect albums, which I’ll list later on for those of you who are interested. However, since this is obviously a Masonic blog, you must have realized that there is a Masonic connection here.

One of my Masonic mentors was discussing the issues he was having with memorizing ritual, when he made the comment “I know the lyrics to every single Beatles song ever released, why can’t I remember a few sentences?” The point he made is incredibly valid: why do we all have such an issue remembering our lines of ritual when we have no issue remembering trivial things such as song lyrics?

The answer, of course, is a combination of simple repetition and an emotional connection. Our favorite songs are those that we have listened to thousands of times, mumbling along to the words until we’ve heard them so many times that we know them by heart. In this way, we have literally rewritten part of our long term memory to contain the lyrics, so that they can be instantly recalled when needed. Strengthening this memory bond even further, those songs that move us the most form an emotional bond, where the song evokes further memories of friends we heard the song with, where we were, and what we were doing.

What if we were to apply this same mentality to our ritual work? What if we were to listen to the ritual being performed so many times that we had no choice BUT to learn it? Even more, what if we were to form emotional connections to the ritual work? What if we were to know it as intimately as we know our favorite songs, and every time we heard it we couldn’t help but sing along, and be flooded with the emotions of when we first heard it?

Our ancient brethren understood this. The most effective form of memorization is through something called a memory palace, where you place your memories in a visual place, and then cement them in place by using sounds, smells, and emotions to keep them firmly in our memory. Once memorized in this way, they knew that it could be instantly recalled, repeated, and analyzed for further understanding.

How well do memory palaces work? I have no idea. Honestly, I’m just now learning how they work, and it will probably be years before I have a good enough understanding to make use of them in ritual. Hopefully you will begin this journey too, and together we can search for perfection in our ritual work.

Further, ritual work (when done well) would fit my definition of a perfect album: each degree tells a story (and all three, combined, also tell a story), each lecture stands on its own, and most importantly, the ritual itself is incredibly moving.

As promised, here is my list of “perfect albums”. Bear in mind that your taste in music almost assuredly differs from mine, so please feel free to add any perfect albums in the comments. They’re listed in release order so that it doesn’t appear that I’m ranking them…


The Beatles, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

Uriah Heep, The Magician’s Birthday

David Bowie, The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars

Alice Cooper, The Last Temptation

The Smashing Pumpkins, Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness

Everclear, Songs From An American Movie Volume 1 and 2 (I know, this is cheating because it’s two albums, but it was clearly meant to be one)

My Chemical Romance, The Black Parade

~AT

WB. Bro. Adam Thayer is the Senior Warden of Lancaster Lodge No. 54 in Lincoln (NE) and a past master of Oliver Lodge No. 38 in Seward (NE). He’s an active member in the Knights of Saint Andrew, and on occasion remembers to visit the Scottish and York Rites as well. He continues to be reappointed to the Grand Lodge of Nebraska Education Committee, and serves with fervency and zeal. He is a sub-host on The Whence Came You podcast, and may be reached at adam@wcypodcast.com. He will not help you get your whites whiter or your brights brighter, but he does enjoy conversing with brothers from around the world!

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

Ira Gilbert, PM, PDDGM

“Auld Lang Syne”, the song usually sung at New Years, that says,”we will drink a cup of kindness dear, for Auld Lang Syne”. The lyrics of the song celebrate the use of intoxicating beverages. Just how does this relate to Freemasonry, one might ask? The song lyrics are from the poem written by Bro. Robert Burns, the renowned Scottish poet. Robert Burns was initiated into St. David Tarbolton Lodge in Scotland on July 4, 1781. 

The history of the use of intoxicating liquor and freemasonry is fascinating. The use of intoxicating liquor in a lodge hall is covered by Code 485 in the Book of Constitution and By-Laws of our Illinois Grand Lodge. This Code states, “A lodge shall not on any pretense, introduce intoxicating 

Liquors at any official lodge function in the building where the lodge is meeting during such an event”. Code 486 goes further, stating, “Masons are prohibited from appearing in drinking saloons in their Masonic clothing and any Mason thus offending shall be disciplined”. This is the state of the current Masonic law regarding intoxicating liquors in Illinois. 

But it was not always thus. When I became a Mason, anyone in the business of dealing with intoxicating liquors could not become a Mason. Thus, tavern or bar owners, liquor store owners, distributors, etc., were forbidden from petitioning a Masonic lodge. However, the history of our fraternity discloses that in earlier times this prohibition of intoxicating liquors and the holding of Masonic meetings in establishments that sold these beverages was not only tolerated, but it was the rule. 

Prior to the year 1717 groups of operative, and later speculative Masons met together as individual lodges. On St, John the Baptist Day, June 24, 1717 four lodges got together in the City of London, to form the first Grand Lodge. These four lodges met at, The Goose and Gridiron Ale House in St. Paul’s Churchyard, The Crown Ale House in Parker Lane near Drury Lane, The Apple Tree Tavern in St, Charles Street, Covent Garden, and at The Rummer and Grapes Tavern in Channel Row, Westminster. As it can be seen, all four of the original lodges that formed the Grand Lodge of England meet in venues that served alcoholic liquor. Three of these lodges are reported to be still in I

In the year 1716, these four lodges along with some other “old Brothers” met at the Apple Tree Tavern and formed the Grand Lodge pro tempore, placing the oldest Master Mason in the chair. These brethren resolved to hold an Annual Assembly and feast. This culminated in the formation of a Grand Lodge as set forth in the preceding paragraph. The meeting on June 24, 1717 took place at the Goose and Gridiron Ale House. These facts were set forth by Dr. James Anderson who wrote the Anderson Constitution in the year 1723.   

When the fraternity of Freemasons emigrated to the United States, the first lodges were lodges formed as Provincial Lodges in the colonies. Some of these lodges were loyal to the King, and others were formed of patriots who were some of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and writers of our United States Constitution. 

Prior to becoming a Mason, Benjamin Franklin wrote, in his Philadelphia Gazette, for December 8, 1730, “that there were several lodges of Freemasons in this Province ….”. Franklin became a Mason about two months after this article appeared. This fact in our Masonic history was recorded in Libre B, the oldest Masonic document for this county still preserved. Libre B also recorded, in June, 1731, that there was a lodge that met at the Tun Tavern in Philadelphia. This lodge met at the Tun Tavern monthly from June 24, 1731 until June 1737. After a year passed, the final meeting at Tun Tavern was in June, 1738. 

The only lodge remaining today of the approximately 100 of the early lodges is St. Andrew’s Lodge of Boston. Among the brethren of St. Andrew’s Lodge were Paul Revere, John Hancock, along with others who were signatories to our founding documents. St. Andrew’s Lodge met at the Green Dragon Tavern, another establishment serving intoxicating liquors. In fact, the minutes of St. Andrew’s Lodge for one meeting in 1773 states that, “the consignees of Tea took up the brethrens’ time”. On December 16, 1773 the minutes of St. Andrew’s Lodge are filled only large capital “Ts”. This happened to be the date of the Boston Tea Party.   

The history of Freemasonry in the United States is silent as to its association with drinking establishment until it was re-established as a result of the Morgan Affair. The disappearance of Captain William Morgan resulted in an anti Masonic sentiment in the United States. For many years anti Masonic feeling was strong in the United States. An anti Masonic political party was formed which actually ran candidates for public office. 

But the desire for banding together in fraternal organizations did not go away. Freemasonry was still present, although it could successfully re-establish itself. It was the result of this re-establishment that the Grand Lodges did not wish to anger the anti Masonic populace. During the 1840s, in an effort to rebuild the image and public confidence in the fraternity, that Grand Lodges passed regulations prohibiting the use of alcoholic beverages in Masonic buildings and meeting in order to diminish the possibility of boisterous behavior that often took place in the lodge meetings prior to the Morgan affair. 

During the early 1800s there was also a growing temperance movement in the United States. Temperance associations were formed and the populace produced a growing animosity against the use of alcoholic liquor. This reached its zenith when the 18^th Amendment to the Constitution was passed in 1920, ending in 1933. Use of alcoholic beverages was not only banned in lodge halls by order of the many Grand Lodges, it was illegal throughout the United States. This prohibition against the use of intoxicating liquors has existed to the present time in various forms throughout Freemasonry in our country. 

The Auld (old) Acquaintance with intoxicating liquors has, indeed, “been forgot” in the United States. The Codes cited at the beginning of this paper are still in existence.  The words, "auld lang syne”, translated from the old Scotch, literally means, from times long ago. We, in Freemasonry, have forgotten the times long ago when the use of intoxicating liquor was not only condoned, but also our lodges met in drinking establishments. 

~IG

Bro. Ira Gilbert was raised on January 8, 1968 in Isaac Cutter Lodge #1073 and was Master in 1972. Isaac Cutter Lodge merged with Chicago Lodge #437 and he is now now a member of Chicago Lodge. Bro Gilbert is a member of A. O. Fay Lodge #676 as well. He is also a member of the Valley of Chicago Scottish rite. Bro. Ira's dedication to Masonic Education has afforded him the ability to serve on the Grand Lodge Committee on Masonic Education and the Grand Lodge Committee on Jurisprudence. Bro. Ira comes from a Masonic family, his father being Master of Universal Lodge #985, now a part of Decalogue Lodge through a series of mergers. His father was also a Grand Lecturer. His main interest in our fraternity lies in the philosophy and history of our ritual and in Masonic Jurisprudence. Bro. Ira was a DDGM twice, once in the 1980's and once four years ago. He is also a fellow of the Illinois Lodge of Research and the ILOR awarded him the Andrew Torok Medal as well.

For Every Boy Who's On The Level...

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

Steven L. Harrison, PM, FLMR

      

I found myself wandering through an antique shop in Creve Coeur, Missouri a while back with my wife Carolyn.  It's not my favorite thing to do but... not a problem, since she was having enough fun for both of us.  My mind was about to implode when I suddenly saw something that set me back a bit.  It was a somewhat nondescript piece of sheet music featuring a drawing of a young woman on its cover.  That's standard enough, but it was the title of the song that struck me: "For Every Boy Who's On The Level There's A Girl Who's On The Square."

"You've got to be kidding me," I thought.

      Closer inspection confirmed the title.  It turns out this was a popular song in the 1920s, with lyrics and music by Harry Pease, Edward G. Nelson and Gilbert Dodge.  I happen to be one of those guys who does believe in coincidences but, face it, one or all of those guys was a Freemason.  None of them have a listing in Denslow's 10,000 Famous Freemasons, however, and I can't otherwise confirm any link to the fraternity.  

      Edward G. Nelson (1885-1969) was an early 20^th century songwriter with credits in several movies and television shows, most recently a rendition of his composition "Pretty Kitty Kelly" in a 2010 episode of HBO's Boardwalk Empire.  Dodge was also a composer of the same period who primarily worked with Nelson. Pease was the Lyricist in the group.

The words don't have much to do with Freemasonry:

I was a pal to my daddy, and Dad was a pal to me.
This is the story he told me one day,
And it lingers through my memory.

(Refrain) For every boy who's on the level,
There's a girl who's just the same.
When you gamble with a heart
Remember from the start,
It always pays to play an honest game.
Everyone was meant for someone,
And they'll meet that someone sometime, somewhere.
For every boy who's on the level,
There's a girl who's on the square.

Each one was meant to be happy
To have and to hold and to love
Follow the straight road and keep to the right
And abide in our Maker above. 

(Ending) Dear old girl, of loving things above you,
Dear old girl, It speaks of how I love you.

      Perhaps the song's title speaks to a greater prevalence of Masonry in society in the 1920s than today.  It may be that people in general back then would recognize its Masonic connection, or maybe it reflects the fact that Masons of the era comprised a larger percentage of the population.  Today, the song's title would probably only have significance to our Brothers.  I have a feeling the origin of the terms "on the level" and "on the square" was more familiar to people nearly a century ago than today.  Perhaps a century or so from now, people looking back at our time will have lost the connections in our cultural references to Star Wars, James Bond and countless Internet memes in the same manner.

      A recording of the song as released in 1921 is available on the YouTube website at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcScgDqzMAQ — or just search for "For every boy who's on the level."  Sung by Victor Herbert and the Harmonizers Quartet, it is, by our musical standards of today, a listening experience for only the most adventurous among us.

~SLH

Steve Harrison, 32° KCCH, is a Past Master of Liberty Lodge #31, Liberty, Missouri.  He is the editor of the Missouri Freemason magazine, author of the book Freemasonry Crosses the Mississippi, a Fellow of the Missouri Lodge of Research and also its Senior Warden.  He is a dual member of Kearney Lodge #311, St. Joseph Missouri Valley of the Scottish Rite, Liberty York Rite, Moila Shrine and is a member of the DeMolay Legion of Honor.