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The Shriners' annual conventions are one noisy manifestation of a quiet and widespread U.S. phenomenon. Fraternal societies, which dwindled during the depression and war, have flourished anew. This year they occupy a good deal of the leisure time of almost a quarter of the country's adult population.
Week after week, in thousands of halls, in darkened rooms over Main Street drugstores, men meet, exchange mystic signs and complicated handgrips. New members are sent upon symbolic journeys through wildernesses of sawhorses and overturned chairs. Old members toll bells and simulate the groans of lost souls, solemnly chant and portentously listen as the initiate promises to keep the secrets of the order or have his throat cut and his tongue pulled out by the roots.
Freemasonry is by far the biggest, oldest and most important of the numerous orders, and the model for most of them. It has been suspiciously peered at and often "exposed." Actually, although Masonry's ritual is private, it contains no dreadful secrets. Its symbolism is commonplace (e.g., the trowel cements men in brotherly love; the white lambskin apron is for innocence). Its ceremonies are based on biblical stories. The legend of the slaying of Hiram Abif, one of the builders of Solomon's Temple, is the background of much of the ritual. The world of Hiram Abif—in which hardware dealers, druggists, lawyers like to make-believe in off-hours—is a world of pious vows and moral refreshment.
With the Gang. Masonry is an exclusively male reservation* and one of unassailable respectability. ("You can get off any time you like for a lodge meeting.") Its grand titles satisfy a yearning for rank and prestige. "I am among other things," said a degree-draped Elgin, Ill. photographer, "a Noble of the Shrine, a member of the Council of Royal and Select Masters of the York Rite, a Sublime Prince of the Royal Secret, a Knight of the East and West, a Knight of the Brazen Serpent and a Knight of the Sword. Sometimes when I go home late at night crocked and my wife raises hell, I tell her that's what I am too."
Many join because their fathers belonged. Some join because membership is good for their business or good for their political careers (this is known scornfully as "button Masonry"). More join because they meet the town's best citizens on eye level. Some, perhaps, join out of mere curiosity over the mysterious rites. The majority join just to be with the gang—and are more or less surprised to experience a quite considerable spiritual uplift after they get in. Said a Rutland, Vt. advertising salesman: "There's something gets under your skin at a lodge meeting which makes you think about God."
In the Focus. The average Mason comes close to being the average U.S. male—a hearty fellow with an inner loneliness which he cannot quite define. He is anxious to share in good works. U.S. Masonry supports some 4,500 of its aged brethren and their wives in 30 homes, also supports homes for some 1,400 orphaned and needy children.