Henry
The following is a true story that was told by our own beloved Past Master, my friend, mentor, and the man who
baptized me, Bob Winterton Sr.
HENRY…, he was a shot, heavy, and frowned a lot. Some said he was a troll, others characterized him as a
leprechaun. He was irascible, irritating, and sometimes loud. He had a penchant for complaining and finding
fault. He boasted of having “taken a demit” every time the Scottish Rite raised it’s dues over the past 50 years,
but he never explained how he managed to remain a member in order to exercise his proclivity for demitting. He
once cast a vote against a dues increase, only to offer (during new business) to personally pay $15,000 to pave the
Lodge parking lot. He wasn’t stingy; he just enjoyed complaining. For 50 years he was successful at getting under
the skin of just about every Master. Then Henry was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The disease worked quickly
and soon, the Lodge was in charge of his care, a 24hr a day duty almost immediately. Henry lost weight, mobility,
and comprehension. In matter of months, he became a child of three. Delivered to the Lodge one evening too
late for a formal dinner and informed of his tardiness, he stood in the doorway weeping like a child who had
missed a birthday party. The tables and chairs had already been stacked and put away by the Stewards. Henry
stood at the door, his shoulders heaving with each breath.
Wasn’t someone going to do something? Are we a fraternity? And if so, what does that mean? Are we a
family, or do we just go through the motions? Do we stand for anything real, or do we just mouth the words? The
ghost of Masonry Past stood silent witness to the events and was ready to cast judgment.
“Get a plate of food, quick!” Someone said. It was the Master’s voice. The Senior Warden, a young man,
covered the length of the dining room in seven or eight running strides. Reaching Henry, he nearly shouted,
“How are you, Henry? Are you hungry ? It’s good to see you. Lets go eat!”
By the time Henry’s shuffling steps delivered him to the table, he was smiling like a kid at his first big
league ball game. Almost instantly, plate of steaming food was placed on a sparkling tablecloth, a napkin was
tucked in his collar, and someone was saying, “The coffee is hot, Henry. Be careful .” Then, all the officers of the
Lodge, some in full tuxedos, others with their sleeves rolled up, seated themselves around Henry’s table. An old
Past Master approached the table, “What’s going on here boys?” Surprisingly, the answer came from the youngest
one at the table, a Junior Steward in his late 20’s, “he’s our Brother, and he’s not going to eat alone.”
Well maybe it does work! Maybe we mean what we say. Maybe we really are a family of Brothers bearing
some responsibly for each other. Little events like this one will determine the truth of the matter, not the words
of a catechism.