‘Civil War Lodge takes Fort Monroe’

    

The Lincoln Gun, located on the grounds of Fort Monroe. Cast in 1860 and named for the president in ’62, this beast fired 300-pound projectiles more than four miles against Confederate batteries on Sewells Point.

Let me begin with the news just announced: Civil War Lodge of Research 1865 will not meet in December for elections and installation of officers as usual, but instead will meet Saturday, January 16 at 10 a.m. in the lodge room at MAHOVA.

Light turn-out for our October 10 meeting
at Monitor Lodge 197 in Hampton, Virginia.

But this edition of The Magpie Mason concerns our meeting last Saturday in Virginia, which was another great time split between the lodge communication and the extracurricular activities. We gathered at Monitor Lodge 197 in Hampton for a shorter-than-typical meeting. Some of the officers were unable to attend, so I had the privilege of serving as tyler.

(It is worth studying and appreciating the differences among grand lodges’ rituals regarding our tylers/tilers. For example, New Jersey’s Opening includes a fairly elaborate portion when the master summons the tyler, who enters, approaches the East, discusses his ritual duties with the master, receives the implement of his office and retires, and then the lodge is tyled and the Opening proceeds. Here in New York, nothing like that happens. The tiler remains outside the door and only receives news from the junior deacon. It is the JD who discusses the tiler’s duties with the master. In Virginia, there is yet a third way, one that is closer to New York’s ritual, albeit with something for the tyler to say to the junior deacon.)

Likeness of the USS Monitor displayed
in the lodge.

You probably guessed Monitor Lodge 197 was named for the U.S. Navy’s first ironclad ship, launched January 30, 1862, which famously fought the ironclad CSS Virginia in the Battle of Hampton Roads in March. The USS Monitor was lost at sea in a storm on December 31 of that same year.

Painting of the USS Monitor in the lodge.
A gift from Bro. John D. Bell.

This was a quick meeting, maybe because, unfortunately, only eleven of us were present. We balloted on two candidates, one for restoration, and one for affiliation—both clear, making our membership 332 Masons strong. (That’s a lot for a research lodge.) One petition for membership, from Ontario, was received.

212 East Mellen Street, built in 1963,
is a short walk from Ft. Monroe.

Our annual meeting in December still was in planning, and, as noted above, this will take place in January. Looking at the rest of 2027, our meetings will be:

✔ April 10 at St. John’s Lodge 3 in New Bern, North Carolina;

✔ July 10 at either somewhere in the District of Columbia or in the GWMNM in Alexandria; and

✔ October 9, hopefully in Maryland, maybe at either Philanthropic 168 or Columbia 58 (the two are only about twelve miles apart).

And December 2027? I think that will have to be figured out by the then incoming Worshipful Master.

I assume this is one of the reasons the rebels never got around to capturing this U.S. fort despite its location in Virginia.

During WM Hare’s preview of our post-meeting visit to Fort Monroe, we learned:

⭑ Ft. Monroe remained a U.S. installation throughout the Civil War. Built in the early 19th century, it is named for James Monroe.

⭑ Edgar Allan Poe had served there as a sergeant major of artillery in 1828. Hard to envision, but there you go.

⭑ Second Lieutenant Robert E. Lee, an engineer, was stationed there, 1831-34.

⭑ Harriet Tubman factors repeatedly in the fort’s Civil War story, serving as a nurse and in other capacities, 1861-65.

⭑ Jefferson Davis, having been captured in May 1865, quickly was sent to Fort Monroe for incarceration, and was released two years later. After touring the fort and its grounds, I can say there would have been zero chance of escape or forcible liberation from the site.

Outside Davis’ jail cell…

…and inside. Jefferson Davis was charged with treason, conspiring to assassinate President Lincoln, and committing atrocities against Union POWs. The murder charge didn’t stick; the other charges were dropped; he was a free man by the end of 1868. I don’t know who prosecuted, but if Jeff Davis walks on treason, you’re hopeless.

⭑ Fort Monroe became known as Freedom’s Fortress on account of its commanding officer providing sanctuary for escaped slaves.

Click to enlarge.
Didactic panels in the fort’s museum.

⭑ The Haunted Fort: Because of its four centuries of history, Fort Monroe is said to be home to spirits ranging from Davis and Poe to Abraham Lincoln and a number of lesser known local personalities.

But the proof is in the touring. We didn’t have a formal group tour so we visited independently, occasionally bumping into each other.

 

 

The 3-Inch Ordinance Rifle Model 1861 was manufactured by Phoenix Iron Co. in Pennsylvania. Weight: more than 800 pounds. Fired a nine-pound shell 2.25 miles.

Tobacciana is scarce in the fort’s Casemate Museum,
but I found this.

One of the gates to ingress and egress.
Obey the traffic light!

Quarters No. 1, where Lincoln stayed, May 1862,
while planning the attack on Norfolk, Virginia.

 

Eight, nine, and ten-inch Rodman Gun cannon balls,
recovered from the moat.

Known as the Algernourne Oak, it is named for Fort Algernourne, a 1609 English stockade where Ft. Monroe would be constructed. It is approximately 500 years old, so it is credited with seeing the first slaves brought from Africa to the New World. Its trunk’s girth spans about 288 inches, and it stands 58 feet, with a crown measuring 88 feet.

 

This tree was planted June 6, 1984 to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of D-Day in France, and is planted in soil from Omaha Beach in Normandy.

The Parade Grounds.

While driving around the fort, I espied a sign pointing to a brewery. Despite my terrible sense of direction, I found Oozlefinch Beers…

…and had a Moat Monster (the fort is ringed by a moat) Stout Ale. It’s a dark beer, of 5% ABV, not a stout. It was okay.

Has Ft. Monroe a connection to New York City? Yes. Prior to the War of 1812, the government constructed a first, then a second, system of coastal fortifications to guard major harbors and ports. These included Monroe at Chesapeake Bay; McHenry at Baltimore; Mifflin at Philadelphia; and both Fort Columbus and Castle Clinton at Manhattan.

Origins of Monitor Lodge 113/197

A few days ago, I excerpted from Edward T. Schultz’s multi-volume History of Freemasonry in Maryland, and in Vol. 3 we find:

At the Semi-annual Communication [of Grand Lodge], May 1863, Grand Master McJilton reported that he had granted a dispensation to Bro. C.W. Thomas, Past Master, and others, for the opening of a Regimental Lodge, temporarily at Fortress Monroe. He stated, that “although the Fortress is in the State of Virginia, it is the property of the United States, and as it was impossible for the Brethren residing there to obtain a dispensation from Virginia, they accordingly made application to Maryland. The Brethren desiring the Lodge privileges were not residents of Virginia, but of Maryland and other States.”

Upon the recommendation of the Committee to whom the subject was referred, a Charter was ordered to be issued for Monitor Lodge, No. 113, at same Communication.

At the Semi-annual Communication, May 1865, upon the motion of Past Grand Master Ohr, preambles and resolutions were adopted to the effect that whereas regular communications can again be held with the Grand Lodge of Virginia, the Grand Master be requested to take such steps as in his judgment shall be proper for the withdrawal of the Charter of Monitor Lodge, and its transfer to the Grand Lodge of Virginia. In accordance with which the Charter was surrendered at the conclusion of the Communication, and turned over to the Grand Lodge of Virginia, which body at its Annual Communication, December 1865, adopted the following:

WHEREAS, A charter was granted in May 1863 by the Grand Lodge of Maryland to certain Masons at Fortress Monroe, empowering them to open a Lodge under the name of Monitor Lodge;

And whereas, the Charter was surrendered to the said Grand Lodge in November 1865;

Now therefore, in consideration of the fact that these Brethren at Fortress Monroe were cut off from communication with the Grand Lodge of Virginia, and therefore could not apply to her for authority to organize, and that the Grand Lodge of Maryland has acted so honorably and fraternally, in withdrawing their authority as soon as they could communicate with this Grand Lodge; that these Brethren yielded so readily, and have shown so commendable a spirit: now therefore,

Be it resolved, That their application for a Charter be granted under the name and style of Monitor Lodge, No. 197, with such officers as may hereafter be designated to the Grand Secretary; provided, the officers and members of said Monitor Lodge, No. —, who have received the degrees in said Lodge, shall first be duly healed.

The records of Monitor Lodge, No. 113, while working under dispensation and charter from the Grand Lodge of Maryland, and under charter of Virginia, as No. 197, to the year 1879, have kindly been placed by the Master in the hands of the writer, and from them the following items are quoted:

The first meeting under the dispensation recorded is March 31st, 1863, although reference is made to prior meetings. May 14th, Bros. Robert Quynn, David Martin, Wm. J. Stowell, Thos. J. Cooper of Baltimore, and Brethren from other jurisdictions were present, when the Lodge was constituted under the Charter, and the officers installed by Bro. Quynn, of Arcana Lodge, No. 110, Baltimore. Meetings were held nearly every week and many applications were received and acted upon. In accordance with the instructions of the Grand Lodge applications for initiation were refused from everyone not connected with the army or navy of the United States. It is to be regretted that in many cases, the rank and former residence of the applicants are not stated in the records. Brig . Gen. Rufus King of Milwaukee, and many others, were elected to receive the degrees, but the exigencies of the service requiring their presence elsewhere, never received them. The last meeting held under the Maryland Charter was November 28th, 1865. The following Brethren having served as Masters: Charles W. Thomas, Ely McClellan, Joseph G. Fulton, and John Bogart. The records have been well kept by the following secretaries: Anthony E. Stocker, James M. Meade, and John Bogart. In accordance with the resolutions of the Grand Lodge of Virginia, a meeting was held under its new Charter Number, 197, January 2nd, 1866, when Worshipful Bro. J.G. Smith, by authority of D. Grand Master Samuel Seldon of District No. 1, proceeded to formally heal the officers and members of Monitor Lodge, No. 113, in accordance with the requirements of the Grand Lodge of Virginia. The Lodge under its present Charter appears to have had a prosperous existence.

     

‘Finally got to visit Masons’ Hall’

    

The view of Masons’ Hall in Richmond, Virginia from across East Franklin Street.

Last weekend, I finally got to visit Masons’ Hall in Richmond, Virginia—add it to your Masonic bucket list. As fraternal destinations go, it’s one of those places that creaks with history and embraces you in a certain atmosphere that defies description. (And long deceased lodge brethren are known to inhabit the building, if you know what I mean.) Attentive readers of The Magpie Mason have noticed a link, along the left side of the page, that has been alerting you for many years to the fundraising effort to maintain this singular historic site.

Most of the brethren present for CWLR’s communication last weekend.

Anyway, about twenty of us were in attendance for Civil War Lodge of Research 1865’s Stated Communication last Saturday, the 11th. The lodge holds its meetings around Virginia and beyond, thanks to dispensations, to pair our gatherings with visits to historic sites relevant to the U.S. Civil War. The capital city of the Commonwealth of Virginia certainly is an apt choice for such a calling, but rather than delve into the saga of that conflict, this time we celebrated this engrossing building with a detailed tour and an in-depth discussion of what has happened within its walls.

It is the home of Richmond Randolph Lodge 19. The brethren describe it as “America’s oldest continuously used Masonic lodge room in America’s oldest continuous Masonic lodge building.” Richmond Lodge 10 was chartered in 1780. Five years later, the cornerstone of Masons’ Hall was laid to become the meeting place of both the lodge and the Grand Lodge of Virginia. So, you know how, in early America, Masonic lodge buildings served their communities by doubling as town halls, court houses, post offices, schools, etc., and that was true in this case.

The Randolph in the lodge’s name memorializes Founding Father Edmund Randolph, member of Richmond Lodge 10, delegate to the Continental Congress, first U.S. Attorney General, etc. However, I think the biggest name associated with No. 19 would be John Marshall, also of Richmond 10, who was a building trustee, kept his law office inside, and presided over the court that convened there. He became Chief Justice of the United States in 1801, and served in that capacity until his death in 1835. The lodge performed his Masonic funeral service at nearby Shockoe Hill Cemetery. George Washington? There is no record of him visiting the place, although it is believed to be very likely that he, as U.S. president, had been there on government business during the 1790s.

One hero very much documented visiting was the Marquis de Lafayette, who made a stop in 1824 during his farewell tour of the country. The lodge commissioned a portrait, which normally is on display inside, but currently is on loan to the governor for exhibit as part of the America: Made in Virginia celebration. Click here.

Even Edgar Allan Poe appears in the lodge’s story. While not a Freemason, he became part of Lafayette’s entourage, so he was on hand for the dignitary’s visit. His mother, an actress, is known to have performed at the lodge shortly before her death in 1811 at age twenty-four. In 1860, the Prince of Wales—the future King Edward VII and future Freemason—toured the lodge building. You have to expect these things when you’re situated for centuries at the crux of so many notable persons and events, and the stories of the lodge’s brethren deserve their own recounting.

The East of the lodge room.

I think it was said this was acquired in the 1920s.

 

There’s a chapter room
on the second floor.

My thanks to both Bro. Joyner, for the post-meeting in-depth guided tour, and to Bro. Crocker, for the pre-meeting look around. It is an amazing place which I hope to visit again.

Apron of Thomas U. Dudley, 1834.

I have many more photos and memories, but blogging takes too much time. Civil War Lodge of Research 1865 will meet again Saturday, December 6 at our home lodge, Babcock 184, in Highland Springs to celebrate our thirtieth anniversary. See you there.

Watch this on YouTube.

     

‘You are not of the masons.’

    

Born on this date in 1809: Edgar Allan Poe.

His short story “The Cask of Amontillado,” published in 1847, makes a reference to Freemasonry that scholars have pondered for generations, and features a show of operative masonry that has chilled readers for just as long.

The Cask of Amontillado

by Edgar Allan Poe

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled—but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point—this Fortunato—although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practice imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmery, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skillful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him “My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.”

“How?” said he. “Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!”

“I have my doubts,” I replied, “and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.”  

“Amontillado!”

“I have my doubts.”

“Amontillado!”

“And I must satisfy them.”

“Amontillado!”

“As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me…”

“Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.”  

“And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.”

“Come, let us go.”

“Whither?”

“To your vaults.”

“My friend, no. I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi…”

“I have no engagement. Come.”

“My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.”

“Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.”

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honor of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to ensure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. “The pipe,” he said. “It is farther on,” said I, “but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.” He turned toward me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.

“Nitre?” he asked, at length. “Nitre,” I replied. “How long have you had that cough?” “Ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh!” My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. “It is nothing,” he said at last. “Come,” I said, with decision, “we will go back. Your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi…”  

“Enough,” he said; “the cough’s a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.” “True, true,” I replied, “and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily, but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

“Drink,” I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. “I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.” “And I to your long life.” He again took my arm, and we proceeded. “These vaults,” he said, “are extensive.” “The Montresors,” I replied, “were a great and numerous family.” “I forget your arms.” “A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.” “And the motto?” “Nemo me impune lacessit.” “Good!” he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. “The nitre!” I said, “See, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river’s bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough…" “It is nothing,” he said. “Let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc.” I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement—a grotesque one.

“You do not comprehend?” he said. “Not I,” I replied. “Then you are not of the brotherhood.”  

“How?”

“You are not of the masons.”

“Yes, yes,” I said, “yes, yes.”

“You? Impossible! A mason?”

“A mason,” I replied.

“A sign,” he said, “a sign.”

“It is this,” I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel.

“You jest,” he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. “But let us proceed to the Amontillado.”

“Be it so,” I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavored to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. “Proceed,” I said. “Herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi…”

“He is an ignoramus,” interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. “Pass your hand,” I said, “over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.”

“The Amontillado!” ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. “True,” I replied. “The Amontillado.”

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labors and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamored. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamorer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato.

The voice said “Ha! ha! ha! he! he! he! A very good joke, indeed—an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo—he! he! he!—over our wine—he! he! he!” “The Amontillado!” I said.

“He! he! he!—he! he! he!—yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.”

“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”

“For the love of God, Montresor!”

“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!” But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud “Fortunato!” No answer. I called again “Fortunato!” No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

     

‘Tonight it’s AnthroPOEsophy’

     
It’s Edgar Allan Poe night at Anthroposophy NYC. From the publicity:

Literature Alive: Edgar Allan Poe

With Lenard Petit, Daniel Kelly & Ensemble

Monday, November 10 at 7:30 p.m.

Anthroposophy NYC

138 West 15th Street in Manhattan

$10 per person

Join us for a haunting evening of dramatic reading and musical interpretation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Raven,” and “The Bells.” Lenard Petit, from the Michael Chekhov Acting Studio, and award-winning composer Daniel Kelly’s inventive chamber ensemble pull at the fabric of Poe’s textured writing. Poe’s poems and stories of suspense and terror have their place in our collective cultural psyche. Come hear these stories anew, with Petit’s powerful performance accompanied by animated and uncanny music from Kelly, whose work Time Out New York calls “powerfully moving.”

     

‘Masonic Super Bowl pick’

  
Super Bowl XLVII will be one of those forgotten contests for its improbable match-up of the San Francisco 49ers versus the Baltimore Ravens. As The Magpie Mason, my heart tells me to bet on the Ravens, but everything else compels me to go with the 49ers. But we, as Free and Accepted Masons, are obliged by our tenures to look beyond temporal indicators, and to consider the symbolic, the allegorical, the unexpected.

Analysis

The San Francisco 49ers’ name derives of course from California history. The Gold Rush populated the California territory and turned it into an economic powerhouse that helped shape the destiny of our country as a whole. Bank of America is, I suppose, the most obvious financial legacy to have survived to this day.

Gold. In alchemy, gold is that state of material perfection the ancient scientists tried to make from base metal, like lead. One of the most precious and beautiful metals, gold is linked to the element Fire and its planetary complement is the sun, unsurprisingly. Even when melted or liquefied by fire, gold retains its luster and spellbinding color. It is incorruptible, immune to tarnishing and corrosion, and has been the basis for wealth throughout recorded human history.

It's game time!

As the sun is the giver of life, so too gold has its connotations to immortality. It is believed the golden sarcophagi of ancient Egypt were meant to ensure the immortality of the souls departed from those deceased, encased earthly bodies. In Judaism, gold is, among other things, the emblem of the purity and goodness we want our own characters and behaviors to reflect. The Ark of the Covenant is laid with gold inside and out to remind us that our inner selves should be the basis of all our external characteristics. To be truly “good as gold,” and not just putting up appearances. In the New Testament, gold is one of only three gifts brought to the newborn Christ.

In spiritual alchemy, gold is emblematic of that same state of perfection, but this time the transmutation is that of mortal man to a being at one with god. (Many thousands of words could be written about this one aspect of symbolism, but it’s almost game time.) The alchemical symbol for gold is a design instantly recognizable to any Apprentice Mason.

And what is forty-nine? It equals 7x7. Seven is a holy, magic number reminding us of seven days, seven planets, seven rungs of perfection, the seven petals of the rose, seven archangels, seven steps of the Buddha, and many other signs to look for.

7 = 4 + 3. Four symbolizes earth, with its cardinal points of the compass. Three symbolizes heaven, with various trinities denoting many of humanity’s religious archetypes. A full moral life can be explained with the number seven, as the four Cardinal Virtues (Fortitude, Temperance, Prudence, and Justice) are matched to the three Theological Virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Likewise the seven Liberal Arts and Sciences consist of its quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy) and trivium (grammar, rhetoric, and logic), making for a wholly rounded education.

So, with seven squared, you’re really looking at something!

Now the Ravens.

In recent centuries, the raven has been a symbol of death and bad omens, but in the larger picture of human culture, this bird has an overall favorability. In Genesis, Noah deploys a raven to find land, making the bird a symbol of clear-sightedness. Likewise to the ancient Greeks, the raven was sacred in the Apollo cult, and served as a messenger of the gods in addition. In myths from Ireland to Scandinavia to Africa, the raven played its part as symbol of creativity and other positive meanings.

The Baltimore football team chose its name in honor of Edgar Allan Poe, the poet who lived and worked much of his life in Baltimore. And died there. In fact, the 168th anniversary of the publication of “The Raven” was only a few days ago.

Again thousands more words could be spilled on this subject, but kick-off is moments away. Enjoy the game.