York
Rite Masonry
Saint Paul, Minnesota
My Masonic Patriotism
By Ray Hayward, Braden Lodge #168
It only seems fitting on the eve of Memorial Day as I sit to write this, that I dedicate this article to those who served, fought, and died to preserve my physical, spiritual, and political freedom.
I hated my country. I often thought of moving to another country to find something better. I did not come to this opinion immediately, but it developed over a thirty-year period. Let me explain.
I was born in 1960, at the end of the baby boom, and was a child of the 60s. One of my earliest memories was watching John F. Kennedy’s funeral on television and seeing my parents cry. When I was a little older I overheard my mother ordering my brother to take my sister and me out for the day, because it might be the last time we saw each other. It was then that I found out my brother was going to a place called Vietnam to fight in a war. Although I was excited to be hanging out with my big brother, I had a lump in my throat all that day thinking he might get killed. My brother was the all-American hometown hero, football star, hockey legend, surfer, hot rod racer—you name it. After he left, I found myself paying attention to the news when I heard the word “Vietnam”.
My brother went to war and I went to first grade. In second grade, my class was not only interrupted once, but twice. The first was to announce the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the second, Bobby Kennedy. I remember hiding my tears from the other kids.
The hippy movement was in full swing and there were many tense meals at my house, at which my father and older sister argued over the issues of the day. Politics, change, social consciousness, racism, injustice, and the war were all argued over heatedly, while my mother and I glanced at each other and tried to eat with clenched jaws and knotted stomachs. Did I mention Rock-and-Roll? Turn that crap off!
My brother returned to America after two tours of duty during the heaviest fighting. He joined in 1966 and in 1970 he returned, nothing like the beach boy who left. One incident I remember vividly was at the first New Year’s Eve party after he had come home. My brother was sitting with a group of older men from the neighborhood, all World War II veterans. They were immersed in war-talk and I was all-ears. At one point, probably alcohol fueled, the older men began to criticize my brother and accused him of losing the war. One of the statements I will always remember was, “If a bunch of us old Joes had gone over, we’d have gone right straight through Vietnam to China.” My brother stormed out, hurt and humiliated. Happy New Year.
The 70s saw Watergate, Woodstock, Kent State, and an over abundance of sex, drugs, and Rock-and-Roll. The hippies were selling out and the Bicentennial showed me I had no pride in my country. Disco and high-class drugs only fueled my contempt.
The 80s hit and the nails of my patriotic coffin were being driven home. John Lennon’s assassination, my brother’s drug addictions and failed marriages, AIDS, Iran Contra, Generation X, double incomes, my father’s death, and my own failed marriage, left me bitter toward the American Dream.
The 90s saw the Gulf War, Rwanda, Waco disaster, Bosnia, Oklahoma City bombing and a whole host of scandals and disasters. I also spent the better part of the 90s in an ultra-orthodox spiritual group, whose views gradually narrowed and whose focus changed from spirituality to politics. I was remarried and my new son’s arrival made me want to take him to a place to escape the rot that was America. With the appearance of the year 2000 and the specter of Armageddon, something quite unlooked for and amazing happened to turn my outlook around. I became a Mason.
I am one of the millions who can say my Grandfather was a Mason. I knew little of Masonry and when I overheard a friend of mine who was a Mason speaking about it, I had an uncontrollable urge to ask him what it was all about and could he recommend a book. He lent me a copy of Born in Blood, by John Robinson. I read of men like me who were upset at the unfairness and oppression and who struggled to change the system. I was hooked and started reading everything I could get my hands on and the message came back clearly that the founding fathers set up a system based on Masonic teachings that could change, for better or worse, by the people, for the people. After asking around and a little more research, I joined a Lodge.
I recall my first Lodge meeting as a Master Mason. My then Worshipful Master, Bruce Mitchell, asked us to join him in the Pledge of Allegiance. My first thought was, “You gotta be kidding. I haven’t done this in thirty years.” As I made my pledge, it was as if it was the first time I had ever heard these words, and the meanings rang out with truth. As I pledged allegiance, I had the overwhelming feeling that I was renewing my patriotism. With a tear in my eye, I made a silent vow to stop looking at the shortcomings and start seeing the greatness of my country.
Coincidentally, my son who is homeschooled has become interested in the American Revolution. We are both learning—he for the first time and I as a new lover of this country. We both beam with pride as we read about the struggles of the Boston Tea Party, Patrick Henry, the Minutemen and all the battles. My son has a deep appreciation when he goes to the Masonic Museum and sees portraits of George Washington and Benjamin Franklin. I do too.
And so I leave you with this, I now love my country as the greatest place on earth. It’s the greatest because it has the potential to be the greatest. There is nowhere else I want to be or to raise my family. I am still disappointed in the workings of my government, but I choose now to take an active role instead of running away. After thirty-five years of bitterness, I can now say with pride, “I am an American!” All this, thanks to Masonry.
UPDATE; This article was written in May of 2001. What happened on September 11th of the same year changed life for most of us. My guess is that people used to recollect where they were when JFK was assassinated , but now we remember where we were when we heard , or saw, the World Trade Towers came down. I know where I was the night of September 11th, 2001, I was in the cast of Damascus Commandery conferring the Order of the Red Cross . Of course, not all the candidates came that night, some of the officers were missing as well. After the talk, the comments, and the venting, we got down to Masonic business and put on a great Order. I felt like myself and my fellow Sir Knight were making the first counter-attack, right in St. Paul!