Freemasonry through the Generations
One of these days, I’ll actually catch all the “Oops!” in these missives. Last week, for those of you keeping score, the issue was tagged as “Part 16,” when it should have said “Part 17.” I think I’ve done that at least twice now. Well, at least you know these are not prepared by AI (artificial intelligence). Also, sorry for this being sent later than normal–I missed the South Central Department Conference thanks to getting the current Covid iteration as a nice “Thanks for attending our wedding” gift the weekend before.
Last week’s message on change was the first of these weekly messages that didn’t generate a reponse–positive or negative–in my email. That was a bit surprising, but at the same time, not surprising, because we all know change is tough. Let’s see what this week’s epistle brings.
I’m writing this a few hours before I jump in the car to drive the 30ish miles to Arlington, Virginia, for the Mid-Atlantic Department Conference this weekend. It looks like a good weekend to be indoors, because we have some kind of tropical weather event inbound. If you are going to be there, make sure we get a chance to chat. And, if the weather gets so bad we need an ark, I happen to Noah guy.
This week, I’d like to share a bit about me and my Masonic journey that many of you might not know. If it raises any questions, please feel free to email me.
I am a fourth-generation Freemason. My Masonic family tree starts on my mother’s side of the family with her grandfathers (my great-grandfathers), Hugh William Cotter and William Daniel Marshall, or as I was blessed to know both of them, Pop Cotter and Pop Marshall.
Pop Cotter died when I was but 5 years old, but it was also the first time I was involved in a Masonic memorial service, because I was blessed to receive his 14th Degree ring in the memorable Ring Ceremony, where this little kindergartener stood before a funeral parlor full of people had received my first Masonic lecture, sharing the exoteric story of the ring and admonitioning me not to wear it, but to keep it safe until that day when I might be so blessed to wear it myself. I can still see that funeral home in my mind, and recall exactly where I stood in awe as I was being taught something. I didn’t understand it all then, of course, but in time, my parents talked more about it and eventually I even found a copy of the lecture and read and studied it myself. I truly wishy more Scottish Rite Masons would tell their families to make sure this brief ceremony is done at the time of their passing.
Pop Marshall died in 1972, and I have a little better memory of him and his Masonic journey. He was a musician, and played trumpet in the Antioch Shrine band for many years. I even had a chance to sit with him in the trumpet section at the Greene County Fair one time (I didn’t play, just sat with him and the other Nobles). That was over 50 years ago now, and I can still remember it. He and my great-grandmother, Glenna Marshall, were past patron and matron of their OES chapter, too. Mom Marshall’s brother, Howard Pearson, was also a member of the Fraternity. Until Pop’s health started to fail, they lived on a large farm near Springfield, Ohio, and were known throughout the area as a source for great eggs and, of course, fresh chickens. What I did not know is that one of their customers’ family was also a “shirt-tail cousin” of mine and his family actually bought the farm property. (Please, do not hold it against me that MEC David Grindle is actually related to me as well as connected to the family history!) When Pop Marshall died, it marked the last time Iwould attend the Masonic funeral of a family member and not be wearing an apron and standing before a casket.
All four (well, 5 actually) of my grandparents were part of the Fraternity. On my mom’s side, Bob Cotter was active in his lodge (a long-time secretary), commandery, and Shrine–especially the Antioch Shrine Oriental Band, where he played cymbals, then musette, and then triangle when his health got to the point he couldn’t carry heavy instruments like cymbals or play wind “instruments” like the musette. He was also one of the Masons on hand when my mom’s Rainbow assembly was meeting, often tag-teaming with the husband of the Mother Advisor as the “Mason on hand” at Assembly meetings and events. Grandpa Cotter also served in OES with his wife, Dorothy (Grandma Cotter). Unfortunately, Grandma Cotter died when my mom was just 30, but as life sometimes happens, the past becomes the present, and that Mother Advisor from the 50s (a widow) became “Grandma Evelyn,” and my mom’s Rainbow sisters became my aunts. On my dad’s side, Grandpa Art Hebbeler was a 49-year member of the lodge and was active in the administrative side of the Scottish Rite and Shrine in Toledo, Ohio, where he served for many years as a trustee in the Valley and Shrine. He was also a leading figure in building the Heatherdowns Masonic Complex (now just a memory, unfortunately). Grandma Hebbeler was a 50-year member of the OES and active in the LOSNA court as well.
Fourty-one years ago, I was blessed that both of my grandfathers and one great-uncle were present when I was raised as a Master Mason. In fact, Grandpa Cotter was one of the Stewards leading me around on that final circumambulation. I couldn’t see him, but I recognized the huffing and puffing of his breathing as he walked in front of me. My dad was the Senior Deacon for all three degrees, and his work in the second section of the Master Mason is still vivid in my mind to this day (Ohio brethren, you know this work well. In my travels, I find it the “best” of the second section rituals out there). Unfortunately, less than a year later I would don a Masonic apron for the first time at the funeral of a family member when I, with his brethren, performed that last, sad duty for Grandpa Cotter.
Freemasonry and Masonic leadership is something that I have grown up with, as well as grown into. In the next couple of messages, I’ll talk more about how my parents, also Masonic leaders, helped to form me and my leadership skills and style.
Finally, there are six men, at least announced so far, who are seeking offices in our “advancing” line. I know all five of my fellow candidates for office, and I know them all to be good men and I am proud to call each of them my brother. In less than a year, about 400 (of about 1200 eligible voting members among our 65,000 members) of us will gather in Salt Lake City to address the business of the Grand Encampment and elect our officers for the coming Triennium. We will have our deliberations on the floor of the Asylum and conversations in the hallways and social rooms as well. In the process, we will set the path for our Order not only for the next three years, but for a decade or more to come. I stand before you as a candidate to serve you as your next Deputy Grand Master, and I pledge to roll up my sleeves and work with you and for you as I assist our Grand Master in developing and executing plans with your input to move us forward and continue to reconcile and strengthen each of us and our great Fraternity. To do that, I ask for your vote and support in Salt Lake City in August 2024.