jjapitana – Page 3 – Freemason blog

For Freemasons, Death is Not the End

Masonry offers a roadmap to a better life. That’s why it pays homage to death.

Read the After Life Issue: californiafreemason.org/mementomori

By Tony Gilbert

A man is walking through a mostly deserted cemetery when he comes upon a memorial service in progress. The gathering seems different somehow. Curious, he stops to listen. Dozens of men of all ages are lined up in pairs, side by side. They march toward the casket, all dressed in dark suits and wearing simple white aprons. Upon the casket lies another apron.

The speaker’s eulogy is full of arcane terms and esoteric references. At last, he holds up a sprig of acacia, and on behalf of those present, offers the deceased a final valediction. “Thy spirit shall spring into newness of life and expand in immortal beauty, in realms beyond the skies,” he recites. “Until then, dear brother, until then, farewell!”

This is a Masonic funeral service. Apart from the cornerstone-laying ceremony, a Masonic funeral is one of the most visible public displays of Freemasonry there is.

In 2020, members performed a Masonic funeral service for the civil rights leader and congressman John Lewis at the U.S. Capitol Rotunda. Two centuries prior, George Washington received a Masonic send-off at his public memorial.

The Masonic funeral ceremony is one of the most conspicuous examples of Masonic values materialized into action. It’s also very often the prism through which outsiders first encounter the craft—a rare glimpse into the lodge life of the deceased that many know little about. That’s fitting, because the concepts of death, rebirth, and legacy are important elements to the teachings of Freemasonry.

Masonic Death—and Life

Today, these tend to be abstract ideas, jumping-off points for discussion of esoteric concepts. But historically, managing death has been one of the most important functions of the fraternity. Making sure that a departed brother received a proper burial and remembrance was traditionally one of the most important benefits of Freemasonry. Even now, the fraternity plays an important role in times of death. Masons are known to travel from miles around to attend the funeral services of their fellow members, even those belonging to other lodges.

Glenn Gordon Whiteside is one such member. Whiteside grew up in a Masonic family and began as a member of the Order of DeMolay. He estimates that he has attended at least 70 Masonic funerals. Whether or not he knew the deceased personally, Whiteside says, he considers it his duty to stand in as a representative of the fraternity, just as generations of Masons have done before. “It’s your job to let the family know that Masonry was a part of his life, that he was respected, and to show that he was our brother,” Whiteside, of Pacific-Starr King № 136 in San Francisco, says.

John Bermudez is another such member. He is general manager of Holy Cross Cemetery in Colma and a member of California № 1. “What I find most impressive about Masonic funerals is that they show that we value our members’ lives,” he says. Often in his job, he’s witnessed services where hardly any family members attend. “But with Masonry, you have all these brothers who show up to honor him. It shows that this was a person who lived and meant something. I appreciate that, and I’m sure our brothers who are no longer here appreciate it, too.”

For Masons, An Admonishment: Remember Life

Members often refer to Freemasonry as a system of morality, one intended to help guide them toward a more fulfilled life. But the context of those life lessons is often mortality. From the ritual death and rebirth that members undergo to the symbolism of the eternal soul, Masonry attempts to provide its members with “inspired vision to enable us to look with faith beyond the veil,” as is said during the funeral rite.

Perhaps the most common of these symbols is the concept of memento mori—the reminder of one’s inevitable demise—represented by the skull and crossbones. (The symbol, while not specific to Freemasonry, appears in certain Masonic contexts. Chief among them is the Knights Templar, a Christian offshoot of the fraternity.)

Though the skull has come to represent all things spooky in popular culture, for centuries memento mori has been used in art and literature as an uplifting device. That’s most evident in the 17th-century art form of the vanitas. These were still-life paintings depicting the pleasures of life juxtaposed with symbols of death or ephemerality, like bubbles or wilting flowers. By reminding us that our lifetime is short, memento mori invokes another Latin phrase—carpe diem, an admonition to live your fullest life here and now.

The skull isn’t the only visual representation of memento mori. Within Masonry, they are legion. The hourglass—sometimes shown with wings—is a reminder of the unceasing march of time. According to Albert Mackey’s Masonic encyclopedia, the hourglass “reminds us by the quick passage of its sands of the transitory nature of human life.” Similar to that is the sprig of acacia, an evergreen leaf referenced during the Masonic funeral ceremony. The acacia is described as “an emblem of our faith in the immortality of the soul” and symbolizes “perpetual renovation.”

Other Masonic symbols echo that theme: Father Time, or Saturn, is seen in Masonic contexts as a reminder that “time, patience, and perseverance will enable him to accomplish the great object of a Freemason’s labor.” That phrase is echoed in the Masonic funeral service, when the deceased is finally called from his labor. Finally, the ruler, or 24-inch gauge, symbolizes the 24 hours of the day. During the funeral ritual, the master invokes the ruler while stating, “During the brief space allotted to us here, we may wisely and usefully employ our time, and, in the mutual exchange of kind and friendly acts, promote the welfare and happiness of each other.”

Questions of Faith

Any discussion of death and the afterlife inevitably leads to an ontological reckoning. To say that one believes in life after death or in the existence of the soul is an inherently spiritual statement, an expression of faith. Even distinguishing material and spirit, for some, raises uneasy metaphysical questions. It’s not surprising that for most Americans, death can be an uncomfortable topic.

Masonry, in dealing with such questions, treads a fine line. Luis Martinez, a member of Golden Gate Speranza № 30, is an expert in comparative religion. “Freemasonry is not a religion. However, it is religious,” he explains. While Masons point out the universality of Masonry, which has always been open to candidates of all faiths, most jurisdictions (including California) specifically require candidates to express a belief in God—or at least in a higher power.

Despite Masonry’s many lessons on life and death, Martinez points out that it isn’t dogmatic about mortality and the afterlife. He, for one, is comfortable with leaving room for mystery. “If you think you know all the answers, then why bother exploring?”

That’s a sentiment shared by others in the fraternity. “If you were to ask 10 Masons about life after death, you would get 10 different opinions,” says Kyle Burch of Friendship Lodge № 210 in San Jose.

Burch is the spiritual director of the Spiritual Growth Institute and an expert on Rosicrucianism and other esoteric traditions. Masonry may demand faith from its members, he says, but the details of that faith are left to the individual.

A Masonic View of the Afterlife?

That kind of personal interpretation extends to questions of the afterlife. To some, winged cherubs playing harps might be an image of heaven. To others, reincarnation and the continuation of the cosmic life cycle is their reality. To still others, death is final, an eternal sleep. But even that view can be imbued with meaning: It may represent the soul’s reunification with its source, absorbed like a drop of water returning to the ocean.

Freemasonry can offer members a context for approaching questions of death and the afterlife often left unexplored within secular society. But those lessons are not necessarily unique to the craft. Many cultures and faiths involve stories of rebirth or resurrection. This theme was especially captivating to the adherents of the ancient mystery schools that provide a philosophical backdrop to Freemasonry. Among them are the Eleusinians, whose initiates performed a mock death and rebirth ritual in which a man was born again. “The death-before-death ritual is relatively universal across cultures and religious belief systems,” Burch says. “I think this speaks to the universal truth of this concept.”

Mackey, too, acknowledges the common themes between the Eleusinian Mysteries and Freemasonry. Both systems used allegory and a morality play to convey their message. He interprets that message as “the restoration from death to eternal life.” That restoration culminates when “the initiate ceased to be a mystes, or blind man, and was thenceforth called an epopt, a word signifying he who beholds.”

In facing one’s death, even if only as an act, the hope is that one will confront the fear of mortality and live with courage and intention.

Saying Farewell

“Our brother has reached the end of his earthly toils,” state the words of the California Masonic funeral ritual. It continues, “the brittle thread which bound him to earth has been severed and the liberated spirit has winged its flight to the unknown world. The silver cord is loosed … the spirit has returned to God who gave it.”

These words echo Ecclesiastes 12:6. There are layers of meaning in the symbols of the thread and the cord, both of which carry significance in Freemasonry. Heaven, in the Masonic service, is described as the “celestial lodge above.” George Whitmore is perhaps the Mason in this state who’s best-acquainted with that particular lodge. A past assistant grand lecturer, Whitmore, of Victorville № 634, is tasked with certifying Masons to lead Masonic funerals. As such, he’s performed the ritual at plenty of them. In each instance, he says, he’s reminded of the solemnity of the occasion and makes a point of ensuring each service is performed word-perfect. “He’s my brother,” Whitmore says of the deceased. “I want to afford him every dignity and honor.”

Masonic concepts of the soul, immortality, and reincarnation may seem heady for most. But as technology increasingly forces more philosophical reckoning with questions of humanism, there’s still room for a spiritual framework for approaching our mortal end. And for the lessons it holds for our time on earth.

Even Einstein understood that. Michelle Thaller, a physicist with NASA, summarized his theory this way: “Time is a landscape. If you had the right perspective on the universe, you would see all of it laid out in front of you. All past, present, and future as a whole thing.”

What Masons are left with, then, is the notion of what might be called the infinite present. The writer Joseph Campbell may have captured that sentiment best. “Eternity is that dimension of here and now that all thinking in temporal terms cuts off,” he wrote. “The experience of eternity right here and now, in all things, whether thought of as good or as evil, is the function of life.”

California Freemason Magazine: The After Life Issue

“Our brother has reached the end of his earthly toils. The brittle thread which bound him to earth has been severed and the liberated spirit has winged its flight to the unknown world. The silver cord is loosed … the spirit has returned to God who gave it.”

Those are the words of the California Masonic funeral rite, one of the most powerful and moving traditions of Freemasonry. In the words of one cemetery manager and California Mason, it “shows that we value our members’ lives. It shows that this was a person who lived and meant something.”

For the spring 2022 issue of California Freemason magazine, we’re taking a deep dive—like six feet deep—on the Masonic customs and traditions related to mortality, death, and whatever comes next. From unpacking Masonry’s memento morisymbolism to revisiting the clearing of the state’s largest Masonic cemetery almost a century ago, it’s our attempt to “look with faith beyond the veil.”

But it’s not all doom and gloom! We’ll meet several members whose work brings them into close proximity to the other side to learn what lessons death holds for life—from an MCYAF psychologist and near-death expert to a group of Mason-morticiansto a gravedigger-turned-folk singer, an emergency medical technician, and Hollywood’s go-to medium. There’s also our typical grab-bag of stories about California Masonry today: A budding collector of Masonic ephemera; a former lodge hall in a Hollywood Cemetery reborn as a top-flight music venue; a Master Mason and Taekwondo master; and so much more.

In the end, the issue isn’t a lament for our inevitable demise, but rather a celebration of life, and an admonition that (in the words of yet another Mason-mortician), “You have today. Do the things you enjoy, and tell the people close to you that you love them.”

Words to live by.

READ THE NEW ISSUE NOW!

The Mayor of Dub

Read the Music Issue: californiafreemason.org/goodman

When Marshall Goodman was 17, his mom gave him a pep talk. He was heading into his senior year at Woodrow Wilson High School in Long Beach. He had friends and loved to play drums, but there was also a “heavy energy” to him, his mother said, that made him seem wise beyond his years. “Marshall, I want you to know: You’re going to be a very important leader someday,” she told him.

Stirred by her words, Goodman decided to run for student body president. He won with a call-and-response campaign speech inspired by Martin Luther King Jr., Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, and The Autobiography of Malcolm X. And so for that final year of high school, the self-described introvert balanced his nascent political career with his true passion, music. The same year, Goodman joined a local ska-punk band making its name at backyard ragers around Long Beach. They called themselves Sublime. Within a few years, they’d be one of the biggest bands in the country.

More than 30 years later, it’s still hard to reconcile the earnest student-politician with the MC freestyling on Sublime’s early, rowdy demos. But talk to him long enough, and the contradiction of Marshall Goodman—better known in the music industry as Ras MG, and in the city of La Palma as Mayor Goodman—starts to make sense. That final year of high school, it turns out, was a fitting prelude. Even now, he happily refuses to pick a lane.

If Long Beach had an official anthem, it’s a good bet Marshall Goodman would have had a role in making it. As an early member of Sublime and a founding member of the Long Beach Dub Allstars, Goodman’s influence is all over the sound that emerged from the area in the early 1990s. The melding of reggae, ska, punk, hip-hop, and Latin music that characterized the region—evidenced by musicians as varied as War, Snoop Dogg, and Zack de la Rocha calling it home—unmistakably reflects the community’s diversity, and all these years later is still synonymous with the place itself.

Goodman moved to Long Beach at age 5 from Chicago, where his parents met in the 1960s. From a young age, he connected to the melting-pot nature of working-class Southern California. (Goodman’s mother is of Irish descent and his father is Black.) “My friends were Black, white, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Latino,” he says. “That’s Long Beach. It’s an international city. There’s so much culture and music and food that comes out of different types of people being together.”

A diverse blend of music found its way into his home, too. Goodman listened to Eric Clapton, Fleetwood Mac, Afrika Bambaataa, Run-DMC. He got into breakdancing. His mother sang in the church choir. His father, a gigging musician, introduced the kids to jazz and the blues, playing them bass lines on his electric guitar. Marshall’s older sister, Ruth, was an exceptionally talented saxophonist who played in bands throughout high school and went to UCLA on a jazz band scholarship.

It’s Ruth who Goodman names as his real musical mentor, and it was through her that he met the future frontman of Sublime, Bradley Nowell. Ruth was actually in a band with Nowell first, a ska outfit called Sloppy Seconds that rehearsed at the Goodman house. A few years Goodman’s senior, Nowell was barely out of high school and already known for his mischievous charisma. His lyrics tended toward the crass—a stark contrast to the serious-minded Goodman—but over time, the two bonded over deeper topics. “He was very sensitive, an extraordinary writer, a genius when it came to getting his thoughts down on paper,” Goodman says of Nowell. “A deep, deep thinker.”

Goodman was officially Sublime’s drummer for two years, 1990 to 1991, during which he enrolled in and dropped out of Cal State Long Beach. At that time, the band grew from being the town’s most popular backyard party band to headlining tours. Goodman has writing credits peppered throughout Sublime’s 1992 debut album, 40 oz. to Freedom, and later efforts including the George Gershwin-sampling radio hit “Doin’ Time.” But as the band took off, so did the drugs. “They were all heavy partiers,” Goodman says. “When it started interfering with the music and we couldn’t perform for people who had paid money to see us, that’s when I said, ‘I don’t think I want to be a part of this.’”

“The music was great, the brotherhood was great, but the partying—I just couldn’t buy into it.”

Their paths diverged from there. Still much in demand as a drummer, Goodman returned home and played with several outfits, from a reggae band to a steel drum orchestra to a group visiting from Africa that toured up to Stanford. He got married and had children. And for the next five years, he watched as Sublime blew up, in every sense of the term. Nowell died from a heroin overdose in 1996, at the peak of the band’s success, two months before their major-label debut, which would go on to sell more than 5 million copies in the U.S.. According to those close to him, Nowell’s overdose followed a year of sobriety. He left behind a wife and an infant son. “I never say I lost anybody,“ Goodman says. “When Bradley passed, the sadness was more like, ‘Damn it, he lost the battle.’ He was fighting this thing, he was winning, and then boom—he’s gone.”

In the wake of his passing, Goodman and a crew of former Sublime members and collaborators formed the supergroup the Long Beach Dub Allstars. “We had to keep moving forward with that energy,” Goodman says. “I think we did a lot of good by taking that music out there for people to hear.”

Musing on the forces that kept him from getting swept up in substance abuse, Goodman attributes his inner strength to his father. “I didn’t need drugs because I had the ability to be entertained by life,” he says. The elder Goodman died of pancreatic cancer in 1985, when Goodman was just 13. Or as Goodman says: He went on to glory. His son is still learning the lessons he left behind.

In 2009, nearly two decades after leaving Cal State Long Beach, Goodman decided to go back to school. Since 1997, he’d been a pivotal member of the Long Beach Dub Allstars, and he’d also been working as a songwriter, percussionist, and producer for other artists. He had four kids and coached their sports teams. He didn’t have a ton of time on his hands.

But he did have an insatiable intellectual appetite. He’d always been a voracious reader. The music industry had been good to him, but it never quite satisfied his curiosities about history, literature, religion, and mythology. So he went back and got his bachelor’s degree. He joined La Palma’s Community Activity and Beautification Committee as a way to help throw events in the community where he’d lived, at that point, for 15 years. Noting his natural leadership abilities, the other members nearly demanded he run for city council. He won, of course.

And then, in 2019, as City Councilmembers all do at some point in La Palma, he served a term as mayor. For the M.C. famously referred to as “well-qualified to represent the LBC,” it was a fitting title.

It was around that same time that Goodman began thinking about Freemasonry. He first became interested around 2013, but a negative experience with the first lodge he visited turned him off. Still, something pulled him toward it again, despite his apprehensions. “My mom was a born-again Christian, and I asked her, What do you think about Masonry?” he recalls. “Your father was a Mason,” she told him “I was an Eastern Star.” Goodman got goosebumps.

He decided to follow in his father’s footsteps. Goodman petitioned to join Lakewood Lodge No. 728 in 2015. “I saw Masonry as a place to fix the ills of the world. You have people coming together outside race, religion, politics, all these things that are separating us. I want to be a part of that.” He realized his father had raised him according to the tenets of Masonry without ever naming it aloud.

Chad Goyette was master of the lodge when Goodman first expressed interest, and he still remembers their first meeting. “We immediately made a connection—intellectually, emotionally, morally,” Goyette says, noting that membership was down at the time and they needed some fresh ideas. “He’s extremely intelligent, of course, and he’s brought such a unique perspective to the lodge. But the root of it all, for me, is his integrity.”

That rings true for others, as well. “I call Marshall when I’m going crazy,” says Chad Wanke, mayor pro tem of Placentia, a small community northeast of Disneyland. “Or I call when I need someone to give me a different perspective, or to just vent to.” On paper, Wanke and Goodman make an odd couple: Wanke is a Republican, Goodman a Democrat. They find themselves on different sides of the aisle all the time. But in 2016, the pair met at a political event, and Goodman noticed Wanke’s Masonic ring. The musician struck up a conversation.

They’ve been friends ever since, their conversations careening from questions of Masonic esoterica to their respective roles in city government. “He’s particularly helpful when I need someone I can trust who doesn’t agree with me, so I’m not in an echo chamber,” Wanke says. “Being a Mason and sharing the responsibility that comes with means we have this baseline. We can get together and have conversations about things we disagree on in a civil, brotherly way.”

In the summer of 2020, as protests following the murder of George Floyd spread across the country, the pair had long, tough conversations about how to respond to their constituents, and what it meant to keep people safe. “We talked about: Do you kneel with protestors? Do you have your police at protests right off the bat?” Wanke recalls. He largely attributes Placentia’s peaceful marches in 2020 to ideas he got out of their talks. “He’s made me a better mayor.”

On a recent Monday morning, Goodman is juggling a dozen roles, as usual. At 50, he’s now a grandfather twice over. His position as vice chair of the housing, community, and economic development policy committee for the League of California Cities means he can talk land use in his sleep.

Meanwhile, the Long Beach Dub Allstars have just released a record and begun playing live shows again. Goodman runs the band’s business, though these days he sometimes subs out of his drumming duties. His more important role in the group is as a mentor, ensuring the band remains a fertile ground for up-and-coming talent.

He also just completed a graduate degree in public administration and has begun thinking about teaching ethnic studies. “I love talking about the dichotomy in society between black and white,” he says. “It has impacted my family my entire life, and I have a lot to share. I think I can bridge gaps.”

Meanwhile, Sublime’s legacy only continues to grow: The 25th anniversary of their self-titled record brought with it a slew of coverage, while bands made up of former Sublime members and tribute bands continue to perform the group’s music to adoring crowds. (Goodman thinks Nowell would be amused at the nostalgia that attends the band today, but also touched. “He would’ve wanted to meet the people playing his music—to sit with them with no shoes on and talk about life. He was just a pure soul. And he’s loving it. I feel his energy all the time.”)

As for Goodman’s role in all of it, he’s grateful. He feels a responsibility to keep telling Sublime’s story. And he’s learned there’s no use trying to keep that part of his life separate from the others.

That became clear early on, when California State Assemblymember Sharon Quirk-Silva would make a point of highlighting Goodman’s musical bona fides at political events. “Every opportunity she got, she would bring it up,” he says with a laugh. “She would be like, ‘By the way, we have a member of Sublime here. Marshall Goodman, stand up.’ So at some point I told her, you can choose to not mention it, too.”

The lawmaker chastised him. “She said, ‘Marshall, this is who you are. You’re not going to do what you’re meant to do in life by being shy.‘

“And you know,” he says, “she was right.”

String Theory

Read the Music Issue: californiafreemason.org/stringtheory

Behind the music, there’s the instrument. And behind the instrument, there’s the maker. Meet three Masonic craftsmen combining technical and artistic wondery to create, repair, and restore musical instruments—making moments of harmonic brilliance possible.

Juan Soto

Panamericana No. 513
String-Instrument Restorer

There are your simple repairs, of course— cracks in the body, a broken bridge. But what Juan Soto really loves is a full-on violin restoration job. As a luthier, or string-instrument restorer, he says the best part of his job is taking a dusty old instrument—usually a violin, viola, or cello—that has been sitting in an attic for decades, pulling it apart, and then slowly and lovingly putting it back together again. “We don’t make much money on it, but I love to do those jobs,” Soto says. “It’s fulfilling to bring something to life and then see it again in a performance.”

Growing up in Guatemala City, Soto didn’t get his start as a musical protégé. Rather, he began as a carpenter and furniture maker. Years later, after moving to Los Angeles, he found work in a violin repair shop because of his ability to match varnishes—a key part of instrument restoration. In 2012, he pulled up stakes and moved to Las Vegas, where he now runs his own shop. In recent years, he’s become a specialist in mariachi instruments including the guitar, guitarrón, and vihuela.

Moving to the desert hasn’t stopped Soto from maintaining a connection to California Masonry. He is a past master of the former Tujunga Lodge No. 592, where he was given the Hiram Award, as well as a longtime inspector for District No. 533. In 2006, he helped lead a merger with Panamericana Lodge No. 513, which became just the second Spanish-language lodge in Southern California. He remains a candidate coach there and a member of the advisory committee, as well as an affiliate of Las Vegas’s Mount Moriah No. 39.

As a master craftsman, Soto says that he appreciates the symbolism of the Masonic working tools. “Masonry helps you develop perseverance and patience,” he says. “That’s something you definitely need to do the work I do.”

Rafael Barajas

Home No. 721
Guitar Maker

When it came time to get serious about pursuing a career in the music business, Rafael Barajas was pragmatic. “I live in L.A.,” he says. “If you throw a rock anywhere, you’ll hit a guitarist. Maybe a better choice for me is to work on all those guitars.”

So it was that Barajas set out on a successful career as a custom guitar builder. Today he’s both the lead builder for Yamaha Guitar Development and owner of Barajas Custom Guitars, where he’s supplied instruments for axmen associated with several prominent acts, from J. Balvin and Jennifer Lopez to Julio Iglesias and the Smashing Pumpkins.

Building top-flight electric guitars requires a range of skills, making Barajas a rarity as a one-man shop. “Usually, guys specialize in something specific, like paint or electronic work,” he says. “But I do my own paint, I can work the [computer numerical control] machine and pin routers, wire the electronics, everything.” Then there are the soft skills, like working with temperamental artists and handling the marketing.

It’s in that last capacity, he says, that he’s benefitted from his membership in Freemasonry. Barajas’s grandfather, Gilberto Gamboa, was a member in Tijuana, where Barajas was raised. But it was an uncle in San Diego who inspired him to join Home No. 721. “Honestly, it was a way to make some new friends,” he says. “I knew that when you meet a Mason, you know he’s a good guy, you can trust him.”

Occasionally, his two worlds overlap. Barajas recalls a recent conversation he had with the guitarist Michael Herring (stage name Fish), who has toured with the likes of Christina Aguilera and Prince. “He was at the shop, and he asked me who had the Masonic symbol on their car. I was like, That’s me,” Barajas says. “And he said, Wow, I just did my Fellow Craft degree at Burbank No. 406. So I told him when he has his Master Mason degree, I’ll be there. I guess we became a little more than friends that day.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

Robert Casper

Gateway No. 339
Piano Tuner and Repairman

It might seem like transitioning from the role of corporate executive to that of a piano tuner would represent a total U-turn. But for Robert Casper, a past master of Gateway No. 339, the late-career switch wasn’t as out-of-left-field as it looks. “I was always pretty handy and interested in mechanical things, so that came pretty naturally to me,” he says.

Still, it was a considerable change for Casper, who’d owned an electronics manufacturing firm for years before getting into piano repairs. But approaching retirement, he figured he needed a new pastime—and piano tuning spoke to him. As his wife is a children’s piano instructor, he already had a built-in clientele.

So Casper immersed himself in piano tuning and repair courses and programs to learn the trade. He even joined the local piano-tuning guild—a sort of Masonic lodge for those in the trade. “We meet once a month and share our experiences and tricks and tools,” he says. “It’s a very sharing, helping group.”

With thatsupport, Casper learned enough to tune, repair, and rebuild about every kind of piano there is—even some that aren’t technically pianos. Twice now, Casper has been asked to rebuild a harpsichord, the instrument’s diminutive, Bach-era predecessor, which uses internal picks rather than hammers to make its signature sound. “That was harder because I didn’t have any mentors. I had to do a lot of learning in different ways,” he says. Of the two instrunents, “I ended up buying both, and sold the first one to a movie studio.”

Somewhat more familiar, he’s rebuilt antique grand pianos from the 19th century manufacturers Chickering and Sons and Wm. Knabe & Co., instruments that can fetch more than $30,000 once restored. Not bad for a second career.

Photos by Willy Branlund. Text by Ian A. Stewart

A Masonic Whodunnit

In September, NBC’s streaming service, Peacock, debuted a new television adaptation of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol, based on the follow-up novel to the smash hit The Da Vinci Code. One of the most anticipated novels of all time, The Lost Symbol sold a million copies the first day it was released in 2009 and stayed on the bestseller list for 29 weeks.

Pictured from left to right, Ashley Zukerman as Robert Langdon, Sumalee Montano as Agent Sato, Rick Gonzalez as Nunez.

The novel also touched off a sudden explosion of interest in Freemasonry, which provides a mysterious backdrop to the plot of the story. In fact, the term “Freemason” ended 2009 among the top 10 search terms on Yahoo, and during one six-week period, was the subject of 127 major-media stories, including from NBC’s Dateline and Today shows.

The new television series stars Ashley Zuckerman as the Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon and Eddie Izzard as the Mason-historian Peter Solomon. Just don’t expect it to kick up as much controversy for Masonry as The Da Vinci Code did for its mysterious fraternal orders: “I have enormous respect for the Masons,” Brown told the Associated Press. “Here is a worldwide organization that essentially says, `We don’t care what you call God, or what you think about God, only that you believe in a god and let’s all stand together as brothers and look in the same direction.’”

Pictured left to right: Ashley Zukerman as Robert Langdon, Eddie Izzard as Peter Solomon

Read the Spotlight on Freemasonry issue of California Freemason magazine here. Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol is streaming now on Peacock, with new episodes released each Thursday.

California Freemason: The Music Issue

It’s the hiss of the needle finding the record’s groove. It’s the feeling in your chest as the organ’s bass rumbles to life. It’s the drone of the bagpipe filling with air. It’s the sound of anticipation, of the hair on your arms rising to life. Music isn’t just entertainment. It’s a sensation, a celebration of metaphysical connections that finds extra resonance within the mystical realm of Freemasonry.

In this special issue of California Freemason Magazine, we delve into the unique power of music—the power to heighten the ritual, to find and make meaning, and to bring people together. From world-touring hip-hop acts to amateur organists to master instrument craftsmen, it’s a surround-sound deep dive into the invisible force that animates so much of our lives.

READ NOW

Worth the Trip

Between the traffic and the sprawl, pretty much every Southern Californian is resigned to spending several hours per week in a car. “That’s just the price we pay,” says Miguel Vazquez, who lives in the heart of Los Angeles near LAX. Vazquez is an extreme case: As master of his not-so-nearby lodge, Barstow Boron No. 682, he makes the more-than-two-hour trip into the Inland Empire numerous times each week to sit in the East.

Still, you won’t hear Vazquez complain. Neither will the other members of the 122-person Masonic lodge, which has distinguished itself in part by just how far its members are willing to travel to sit together each week. After visiting the out-of-the-way temple one day with friends, Vazquez knew immediately that the trip was one worth repeating. “Right when I stepped foot inside the lodge, I knew it was something special,” Vazquez says.

Other members of Barstow Boron No. 682 agree. “You’re only a stranger once,” says Darrell Kemp, a past master. “We take fellowship very seriously here.”

That takes the form of a jam-packed lodge calendar. With about 30 active members, the lodge devotes much of its time to participating in local parades and fundraisers, and hosting dinners for lodge widows and special guests. But it’s the unofficial lodge events that really bring members together.

“No matter what you’re looking for, there’s a good chance another member wants to do that too,” Vazquez says. He points to a weekly lodge lunch that’s been going on for more than 40 years. “It’s a chance for four or five of us retirees to check in with each other,” says Ed Hignett, lodge treasurer and a 50-year member.

Others can join the “Wrecking Crew,” wherein members descend on lodge secretary Bob Smith’s garage to work on cars or other mechanical projects. “It started out as some members coming over to use my car hoist, but now we’ve got a group of guys who are good at welding and other mechanical work,” Smith says. Then there’s the lodge’s fight night for watching pay-per-view boxing matches on TV.

The specifics of these gatherings can change, Vazquez says. In the end, it’s the group’s eagerness to incorporate one another into their lives away from the lodge that’s created such a tight-knit community—and that keeps members driving all that way week after week. “We have some great men in our lodge,” says Jim Fourr, a founding member of Boron No. 822, and still an active member of the consolidated Barstow Boron No. 682. “That’s why I’m still willing to drive the 45 minutes to lodge each time,” he says—“which is a pretty big effort, considering I’m 94.”

Eye of the Beholder

Read the full article at: californiafreemason.org/lodgeharmony

No matter how many times Will Maynez looks over the massive Diego Rivera mural known as Pan American Unity, he’s always struck by something new. Maynez is the conservator in charge of maintaining the 74-foot-long, five-panel work, which this summer was relocated, in a feat of engineering, from its home at San Francisco City College to the first-floor atrium at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, where it will be on display until 2023. Lately, though, when Maynez looks over the piece, he’s been struck by a less obvious motif: Freemasonry.

While Rivera, the revolutionary artist and Communist champion, is not often associated with Masonry, Maynez says there are hints and suggestions of the craft aplenty in Pan American Unity—if you know where to look. As Maynez, who is not a Mason, began studying the work, Freemasonry provided him with several important clues.

The Masonic reference that requires the least unpacking is near the bottom-right of the mural, where an interlocked square and compass can be seen behind Samuel Morse. That’s no accident, Maynez says. Morse is one of eight Masons depicted in the work. In fact, Pan American Unity isn’t Rivera’s only work to include the working tools: His mural at the Secretaría de Educación Pública in Mexico City also features a square and compass.

MASONRY IN THE AIR

So what’s behind these nods to the craft?

There’s no evidence that Rivera was ever a Mason, though he was certainly familiar with the fraternity. Rivera’s father, Don Diego de Rivera Acosta, was a 33º Mason in Guanajuato, and Rivera’s grandfather may have also been a member. Even the doctor who delivered Rivera as a baby was a Mason.

More importantly, Masonry would simply have been in the air for Rivera, who came of age during the Mexican Revolution. Freemasonry was considered an important influence among the professional class of the time and would have represented a liberal, egalitarian ideal for a democratic nation. Rivera’s antagonism toward the Catholic church would also have given him a common cause with many Mexican Masons.

Diego Rivera shaking hands with Timothy Pflueger, 1940. Courtesy San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.

Plus, it’s no secret that Rivera was drawn to mysticism and esoterica. Many of his works, including Pan American Unity, draw parallels between mathematical equations and the natural order. Juan Coronel Rivera, the painter’s grandson, told the New York Times, “Diego was looking for knowledge first, the great knowledge of the human being, the notions of space and time.” In 1926, Rivera joined the Quetzalcoatl Lodge of the Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis, where his mural La Serpiente Emplumada still hangs.

During Rivera’s two visits to San Francisco, the artist was surrounded by Masons. Foremost among them was Timothy Pflueger, the architect behind many of the city’s Beaux Arts and Art Deco treasures, including the Pacific Telephone and Telegraph Building on Montgomery Street. Pflueger commissioned Rivera’s fresco Allegory of California at the Pacific Stock Exchange in 1931, and then Pan American Unity for the 1940 Golden Gate International Exposition. Pflueger was made a Mason in 1922 at Amity Lodge No. 370 (now Columbia–Brotherhood No. 370), and was also part of the Scottish Rite and the Shrine. Pflueger, a close friend of Rivera’s, is depicted in Pan American Unity holding blueprints of City College’s main library.

LOOKING DEEPER

In a painting that pays homage to the mysticism and indigenous traditions of Latin America and the industrial pioneers of the United States, it makes sense that Masonry would be represented.

How clear that representation was meant to be is, well, unclear. Maynez points out that the square and compass insignia wasn’t included in Rivera’s initial drawings for the mural, meaning that it was a late addition to the piece, perhaps even painted spontaneously. “There are so many Masons in the mural,” Maynez says, among them George Washington, Simón Bolívar, and Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the leader of the Mexican War of Independence. “As he was painting, I think this idea of Masonic influence became a much more conscious theme.”

But the Masonic allusions run even deeper, he says, at least for those willing to bend their minds in that direction.

The mural is framed by two large, vertical columns—at left a Toltec stela and at right a wooden screw and press. In them, Maynez sees a visual echo of the twin columns of Solomon’s Temple. Between the fourth and fifth panel of the mural is another, unfinished column. To one familiar with the Master Mason degree, there’s a visual echo there of the broken column symbolizing mortality. Taken together, the three columns have a parallel in Masonry, representing wisdom, strength, and beauty.

There’s more: A single human eye, in the massive form of the Aztec deity Coatlicue, calls to mind the all-seeing eye; while the figure of Morse, standing directly beside the square and compass, is pointing to his ear in a gesture similar to one of the signs of the Mark Master Degree of the Royal Arch.

From there, the clues begin to spiral into a sort of feverish speculation: Workers holding Masonic tools including the hammer and chisel. An apron adorning a wooden Indian. A five-pointed star. The helical shape made by Native porters circling a mountain. The rabbit hole goes deeper. “These are big ideas about how the world works,” Maynez says. “What I’m really looking forward to is people seeing it and saying, Well, here’s something new—something that hasn’t been obvious to me at all.”

Pan American Unity is on display until 2023. Visit sfmoma.org for more information.

Spanning the Divide

Read the full article at: californiafreemason.org/lodgeharmony

Past Grand Master Russ Charvonia remembers exactly where he was on Highway 101 when he decided to pick up the phone and apologize. “My heart was beating fast as I dialed,” says Charvonia, who at the time was still coming up the fraternity’s ranks. “I thought, Is this the right thing to do? It’s going to make me look like a fool.”

A recent conflict at his lodge, Channel Islands No. 214, had been eating at him. To be fair, it was more like a one-sided war than a conflict, with Charvonia an army of one. Not long before, during a turbulent time, a new master had stepped in to lead the lodge. Right away, something about him set Charvonia off. To put it bluntly, Charvonia says, “I had made my mind up: This guy is a real jerk.”

This went on for months. Until one day, Charvonia witnessed an interaction between him and another member. It ran against everything he’d been telling himself. “He was treating this brother with such care and compassion,” he says. The old narrative crumbled. Charvonia realized that if there was any jerk in the lodge, it was him.

Now, speeding along Highway 101, he knew he wanted to do something about it.

When his fellow lodge member picked up the phone, Charvonia didn’t waste any time. “Worshipful, I owe you an apology,” he said. “I judged you when I shouldn’t have.”

On the other end of the line, the member listened. He gave Charvonia all the time he needed to say his piece. When Charvonia was done, he forgave him. And then he did him one better. He went on to become one of Charvonia’s most trusted advisers. It’s a lesson Charvonia thinks about whenever he sees members struggling with conflict. What if he hadn’t swallowed his pride and picked up the phone that day? What if he’d just let things take their course? “That phone call didn’t just preserve a relationship,” he says. “It built a foundation.”

Fixing the Cracks

In any building’s foundation, minor cracks can eventually lead to major problems. It starts any number of ways—a mistake during construction, a catastrophic event, the simple wear and tear of time. If you spot a crack early, you might be able to repair it yourself. Let it go too long and the damage will almost certainly get worse. After enough time, it can bring down the whole structure.

That’s the case with Masonic lodges, too.

“You can usually sense the minute you walk into a lodge if there’s conflict,” says Gary Silverman, past master of Saddleback Laguna Lodge No. 672. “It’s almost palpable. There’s a fracture. You can see it in the dining room. There’s a group over here and a group over there, and never the twain shall meet.”

Silverman should know. As a crisis management consultant, he’s made a career out of conflict resolution. He intervenes with businesses experiencing explosive growth or about to go under, helping CEOs and other leaders work through their issues to build healthier teams.

He now takes the same lessons for struggling businesses and applies them to lodges. At Masonic leadership retreats, he often gathers lodge leaders in candid, confidential discussions about the problems keeping them up at night. Over the years, he’s visited many of their lodges to facilitate conflict resolution.

As a result, he’s been around more lodge discord than most. He’s seen conflicts that started as innocent misunderstandings harden into grudges. He’s seen conflicts caused by the pressure a lodge experiences during a time of growth or change. He’s seen conflicts about money and status and personality clashes. More than that, he’s seen them start with someone who simply wants to be heard. “Interpersonal conflicts usually come from a common issue: Somebody has a desire to contribute and they’re not being allowed to,” he says. “Often all the person wants is to be listened to and have their opinion valued.”

Whatever the circumstances, take it from Silverman: Conflicts don’t just flare up at troubled lodges or growing lodges, old lodges or new. They happen everywhere.

No matter what the cause of such problems is, learning to address them is one of the most important issues a lodge faces. In membership surveys, Masons consistently say that issues related to lodge harmony—interpersonal relationships, politicking, bickering—are the greatest contributor to their overall feelings toward the fraternity. Those who feel heard and respected remain active; those who don’t tend to drift away.

For many lodge leaders, navigating the tangle of intralodge beefs isn’t just challenging—it can feel totally outside their skill set. Yet a lodge master’s greatest responsibility isn’t just balancing the books or organizing events; it’s maintaining lodge harmony. Luckily, Silverman says, the tools they need are all available within the context of Masonic teaching.

When Silverman meets with members who are at odds, he usually begins with a question: Why did you join? If members can focus on that shared experience, they might find the motivation to stick around and talk. “Both parties must be invested in a resolution,” Silverman says. In other words, they have to care enough about the relationship to begin the hard work of fixing it. For that to happen, they often need to recognize that they share a common goal. “That gets the focus where it needs to be.”

Once they agree to that, it’s a matter of following the lessons every candidate learns in the first degree: Meet each other on the level. Part on the square. Walk uprightly.

Of course, like most of Masonry’s lessons, this is easier said than done.

Hard Talks

To mend a damaged relationship, a lodge needs the courage to sit down and talk about the problem. And for that to be successful, it might need some help from a skilled facilitator—or, at the very least, some practice with difficult conversations.

So in 2014, when he became grand master, Charvonia made difficult conversations something of a mission. He was troubled by the increasingly divisive rhetoric in the news and on social media; he knew that Masons could do better. So he devoted his grand master’s term to forming and launching the Masonic Family Civility Project, hosting discussion forums and sharing resources for promoting respectful, productive discourse between Masons and non-Masons alike.

The discussion model takes Masonic concepts like equality, tolerance, and brotherly love and puts them through their paces. It typically features a group of five seated in a half-circle, representing different viewpoints on a hot-button issue. The goal at the end of the 45-minute discussion isn’t to solve a problem or change anyone’s mind. It’s simply to practice hearing one another and responding with respect, even on a topic that makes everyone see red.

Charvonia applies the same strategies to help lodges navigate personal conflict. When he visits a lodge to talk through a problem, he begins by asking everyone to make a commitment to remaining civil. Then he opens up the floor. In the ensuing discussion, he chimes in occasionally, but only to keep things on track. He reminds members to restate what they’ve heard before rushing to respond. He coaches them to use “I” statements instead of sweeping declarations about others (or “you” statements).

Crucially, he asks everyone to allow for the possibility that they might be wrong. “How many times, with our kids, our partners, our lodges, does it become a battle to be right?” he says. “That’s not conducive to harmonious relationships. So much of getting along with one another is giving people the grace to be wrong.”

Many times, by the end of these conversations, Charvonia senses a shift. The more people feel heard, the more they’re willing to listen. The more they feel acknowledged, the less they care about winning. Charvonia sees members genuinely try to put themselves in one another’s shoes. Perhaps best of all, he watches their mutual respect deepen, even among those who remain on opposite sides of an issue. These changes may be subtle; reconciliation takes time. But for many, even a small course correction can point the way back to harmony. Oftentimes, the lodge may wind up stronger than it started.

“As Masons, we make a commitment to each other to do what it takes to build rewarding, productive relationships,” Charvonia says. “That’s all Masonry is. It’s how we can be more intertwined to achieve greater good for this world. It’s about relationships.”

Back to Basics

Masonry talks a lot about how to build a lodge. It talks less about how to fix one. But the same tools for building are used to make repairs. Take the square and the plumb. They remind Masons to treat one another fairly and with respect. That’s the way out of almost any conflict. In times of turmoil, they’re more important than ever. “I’ve heard it said: ‘A lodge should be a place where armor is neither required nor rewarded,’” says Chris Smith, a district inspector and member of Peninsula No. 168. To Smith, that gets at the whole point of Masonic harmony. “For us to really be able to focus on improving ourselves and on the principles of the fraternity, we need the lodge to be a safe space,” he says.

When a lodge fractures, it’s hard to feel safe. Members’ instincts turn to fight or flight. Instead of opening up, they withdraw. For a time, they lose their safe space. But more than most, Masons have the tools to repair something that’s broken—including themselves. In these moments, Smith turns to the symbol of the rough and perfect ashlars, that lifelong work in progress. “There are so many lofty ideals for us to struggle toward,” he says. “Everyone has their own ashlar that they’re working with, trying to knock off all the pointy edges that cause injury to others.”

Basically, when it’s time to repair a relationship, it takes both sides admitting that they still have some rough edges. And that they care enough about the future of the lodge to keep chipping away. “Harmony isn’t a passive act,” Smith says. “It requires diligence. You have to try. Brotherly love is not a secret sauce. It takes work.”

But then, that’s the point of Masonry: to tackle the work together.

Past Present

Read the full article at: californiafreemason.org/pastpresent

HOW A MOTHBALLED PAINTING TAUGHT ONE LODGE ABOUT ITS EARLIEST DAYS.

When Bob Sachs first peered inside the vault in the basement of his lodge hall, he wasn’t totally sure what he was looking at. But he did know who he was looking at: There, wrapped in canvas, was a five-foot-tall oil painting of George Washington dressed in a Masonic apron.

It’s the kind of discovery that fans of Antiques Roadshow live for. For Sachs, a past master of King David’s Lodge No. 209 in San Luis Obispo, it was the beginning of what is now practically a full-time hobby. “I’ve become like a dog with a bone,” Sachs says with a laugh.

It’s a common story. In 2018, workers at the California Masonic Memorial Temple discovered a series of officer portraits and a quite-valuable antique lithograph of King Solomon’s temple in a crawl space. Appraisers determined that the paintings were made by D. T. Blakiston, an important 19th-century San Francisco artist. The lithograph was credited to John Senex, the 18th-century engraver of the frontispiece of James Anderson’s Constitutions of the Free-Masons.

For Sachs, the Washington painting—dated 1870, the year King David’s was founded—represented a window into the past. He asked an old friend, Jim Moore, a former director of the Albuquerque Museum of Art, to come see the piece. Moore recognized the inscription of Léon Trousset, a French-born painter of the American Southwest. Moore told Sachs that the painting was historically significant, though physically it was in bad shape. He began to research the painter and prepare notes.

Above:
Under ultraviolet lights, hidden imperfections are made visible in an antique portrait of George Washington belonging to King David’s Lodge No. 209.

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST

Never a household name, Trousset nevertheless carved out a successful career as an itinerant painter in the late 19th century, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Jules Tavernier, founder of the Bohemian Club. Trousset moved often, painting views of California, Mexico, and Texas. His works are kept in several collections today, including the Smithsonian American Art Museum. “Trousset’s style is his personal mixture of naïve and romantic,” wrote art historian Frederick Kluck.

The artist’s identity wasn’t the only interesting thing Sachs learned. Representatives at the George Washington Masonic Memorial in Virginia explained that very few original images of Washington in Masonic regalia exist, and urged him to have the painting professionally restored.

As ubiquitous as Washington’s image is today, they explained, few paintings of him were made during his lifetime. Most pictures of Washington are facsimiles of Gilbert Stuart’s famous Landsdowne portrait, the basis for his image on the dollar bill. That rendering was subsequently engraved, copied, and distributed hundreds of times. Sometimes it was embellished, as on the 19th-century engraving by A.B. Walter entitled Washington as a Mason, which gave him a Masonic collar, jewel, and apron.

Curiously, the San Luis Obispo painting appeared not to draw from any single direct source. And what of the apron? Moore speculated that its design might have local roots—perhaps it was modeled by an original member of the lodge. “If that could be determined, then this painting would carry yet another level of meaning,” Moore wrote.

Meanwhile, other lodge members pitched in. Past master Dave Chesebro was able to connect with descendents of Trousset’s, while another lodge member recalled finding a contract for the painting for $178, an extraordinary amount at the time. The bill was signed by Walter Murray, the first master of the lodge, whose brother Alexander owned a locally famous tavern.

Above:
Art restorer Scott Haskins carefully retouches the Washington portrait.

THE STORY EMERGES

From those facts, combined with biographical details of Trousset’s life, a picture began to emerge of the painting’s origin. An article on Trousset by art historian Roy B. Brown in 2006 noted the artist’s affinity for hanging out in local taverns. “Since bars, saloons, and cantinas have always been popular places for people to congregate and dispose of their excess cash, it is not surprising that León Trousset saw them as fitting venues to sell his paintings,” Brown wrote.

Moore and Sachs reasoned that Trousset might have met Murray in his brother’s bar. There, they guessed, he’d offered or been asked to make a portrait of America’s most famous Mason.

With that basic sketch of the painting’s provenance, Sachs brought the matter up for a vote: Would the lodge be willing to pay to have it professionally restored? Resoundingly, members said yes. “The painting might not have as much value as we’re putting into it, but it was a gift to the fraternity, and it’s our job to keep it and take care of it,” Chesebro says.

So last fall, Sachs and past master Peter Champion carefully drove the painting to the laboratory of Scott Haskins, an art restorer in Santa Barbara. Haskins examined the painting and determined that it was in need of a cleaning to stop deteriorating. The work had also been torn near the bottom and was fraying at the edges. “All those things create a number of problems,” he says.

Not insurmountable problems, though: Haskins placed new lining on the back of the painting, undid an earlier botched repair job, and, under a microscope, fused the torn fibers of the canvas back together. Using chemical solvents, he was able to bring the original colors back to life. “This is a super important historical painting,” Haskins says. “It’s part of our national history.”

As he puts the final touches on the painting, the lodge is preparing to welcome it home. A ceremony is planned for September that will include its unveiling along with talks by Haskins, representatives of the Trousset estate, and Washington Masonic Memorial president Mark Taggert.

And while the book may be closed on this mystery, it’s not quite the end of Sachs’s quest. “There are nooks and crannies in our lodge that people haven’t looked at in years,” he says. “There’s supposed to be a Bible signed by William McKinley, but no one can find it. So it’s time to start digging around.”