This is the first of the Masonic Memoir Series by WM Shimkus, where he catalogs his early memories of the Lodge and shares his experiences in detail. There are many things for a energetic and enthusiastic brother to learn about Freemasonry, but the first as well as the last lesson are personal.
Forward.
In 2011, I endeavored to create the first version of this Masonic Primer for Saratoga Lodge No. 14. I started it to journal and to reflect upon my Masonic Journey, and as it developed it become my hope that it would contribute as much to others in the same light that my mentor had already – at that time – contributed to me. As the years passed on, and time tested my love for the Fraternity, I realized how much of a short coming my efforts were to those two goals. It is now 2024, and I am Master of the Lodge once again, something that I dare-say that I never considered happening again.
As Providence would have it, I have returned to the place from whence I came, and here reinvested with everything that I had been previously divested. I have had the great fortune of having my Masonic Journey guided by a well versed Mason, one who needs no introduction in our State, and one who is truly dedicated to seeing this Fraternity prosper. It is been under his strict tutelage and guidance that I have matured into the Mason that I am now. Some may argue if that is for the better or worse of their idea of Freemasonry, but I am confident that the version that I received from my mentor is the most authentic of any opinion. Over the years, I have seen the Fraternity, here and there, struggle with ebb and flow of societal norms and resets; all of which demonstrates to me that we have lost our identity and with it our purpose.
Several years ago, working in the quarries on a stone forgotten by builders, I discovered something. You can’t touch, taste, hear, see, or smell it but it was there. It was neither mystical nor occult, like some less capable brothers, might have you believe. Ancient Craft Freemasonry has none of those things inculcated into it’s teachings. I dare say that ancient, regular Freemasonry has none of those things either. Freemasonry’s mysteries are the substance of fraternal bonds between the brothers; something that you cannot sense but only experience. Men from all different walks of life, come to lodge, to find agreement in the midst of discord; yet, it has been my experience that forces external to true Freemasonry are working against her aims and designs.
Beginnings
In the spring of 2009, I met my mentor long before I ever became a Mason. I had noticed white banner with a blue Square and Compasses that hung in the front window of a downtown office after I had relocated. It was the same symbol that was on a lapel pin on Grandfather’s dresser. My grandfather and I were scheduled to discuss that symbol when I graduated college in 2004/5, but he passed away in 2001 before we had that opportunity. In the years that preceded my entrance into the Craft, I spent sometime researching that symbol and I learned that it was the symbol of a Freemason.
For weeks I drove by and stared at the banner that hung there. There were no other signs to suggest what took place inside that office, just that lonesome banner. When I business downtown, I’d stare at and wonder if the man inside knew my Grandfather and what he might have said to me. After a few months, I worked up the courage to knock on the door and introduce myself. I was greeted from a voice inside and told to come in. Greetings were exchanged, and I explained the purpose of my intrusion, and asked for forgiveness for bluntness of it all.
I was then kindly asked to sit down by this stranger, who later became a friend, a brother, a mentor and so much more to me. He had piercing blue-gray eyes, his hair had grayed, and he was retirement age, he was fit and walked with certain stride that suggested that he long rode and worked a horse. His boots were black, round-nosed, and simple in design. His clothes were neat. The office was filled with books and filing cabinets. He had been working on something, but had stopped whatever it was, and he told me his name was “Phil”. We chatted for a while, and I learned that he was an officer of the fraternity called the “Grand Secretary”.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded pretty important. It was then that I thought that I should have done my homework a little more thoroughly, because it seemed to me that I was bothering a very important Freemason. However, after that first conversation, Phil invited me to return to his office at anytime.
On my second visit he collected my Grandfather’s information from me and offered to send out a request for details on his membership if any. Phil explained that while my grandfather had the right symbol, there were many organizations that use it and not all of them are recognized, or honored, by the one that he serves. We continued our ad-hoc meetings here and there, and more often than not when I was not busy with work or the family, I was there talking with my new friend.
At one of those early visits, Phil handed me a piece of paper. It was print-out that had been mailed to him from the Grand Secretary of the Freemasons in Michigan and on it had my grandfather’s Masonic record. There was enough information contained that I was able to recall as a child when Grandpa would leave the family farm on some nights because he had “something to do.” My grandfather had kept his membership a secret from everyone in the family, including my dad and uncles, except for me. Phil noticed my solemn attitude when looking over the details, we discussed what some the line items meant, and as I was taking it in I commented, “I wish you could have met him, he was one hell of a man.”
Phil replied, “In a way, I already have.” His words and eyes were soft.
Then I took a breath and I said it, I said the words necessary to open the way for next stage in my progression as a Mason, “I like to become a Freemason,” and as I drew in another breath composing myself, “I have to know what he was going to tell me, and this is the only way that it can happen now.” I missed my Grandfather, and I felt guilty for leaving him to attend college, Grandma had passed away when I was in High School and they were lifelong partners. Grandpa might have been our stone, but grandma was the family’s cement. After they both passed the family estate was sold off and the family pursued separate paths. I ended up in Wyoming.
Phil smiled, “I was wondering if you would ever get around to that.” We laughed in that way people do after they share a private moment together. Phil and I continued our conversations, and this primer is the take-away of those early conversations that we had.
