By L.L. Walker, Jr; P.M.
Anson Jones Lodge; Fellow in Masonic Research, Texas Lodge of Research
Published in THE TRACING BOARD; GRS (Saskatchewan) December, 1972 and January 1973

Once there was a little lodge. It wasn't always little. It was little when it was started years ago, and then it grew some and then it got little again.

The members - those who came to meetings - were all good fellows. There wasn't a bad thing to be said about any of them. Some of them came regularly (they liked to think of themselves as the "faithful few"). Coming to Lodge was a pleasant way to spend an evening. The coffee was good, you sat in the same seat, and you always knew how things were going to come out. You never had to worry about surprises, or strange ideas, or strange people for that matter. Of course, a lot of the members had moved away, and there were names on the roll that only those with the longest memories could remember. But these folks paid their dues and that helped keep the Lodge going.

There wasn't much work any more because petitions were few and far between. There had been some black-balling one time, some of the members had demitted because they didn't like it, and after that the petitions fell off. Even when there was work, there wasn't always a full crew of experienced men to fill the stations, but the old heads who didn't work were full of comments about those who did.

When it came to the stated meetings, the main topic was how to avoid spending money. A couple of times over the years the question of relief of a brother came up. Each time the Lodge decided that what the brother needed the Lodge couldn't provide, and what they could provide wasn't really enough to do any good, so they didn't do anything. Another time the Lodges in the district decided to have a picnic on a Sunday. But, the brethren here decided that it wasn't right to have it on Sunday and they couldn't have a part in it. Well, it was the fact that nobody was really interested. So they didn't make it.

There was one thing about this lodge though. The Worshipful Master never had to worry too much about actually running the lodge. The secretary and some of the Past Masters saw to that, and all the Master had to do was fill the station. That way, anybody who could learn to make good coffee as a Junior Steward and was willing to persevere through "the line", would get to sit in the East. If he was wrong, he could count on some experienced brother to set him right - right before the lodge. Some real nice fellows got to be Master this way.

Well, this is the way it went. The lodge used to conduct a good Masonic funeral, but it got to the point that the brethren were too busy and they couldn't make it. They decided that some of the retired brothers ought to look after this anyway since they had nothing better to do. It wasn't too many years before there was nobody left to deliver the funeral service, and then one day the lodge was asked to bury a brother and had to say that it couldn't.

The years went by and nothing changed and nothing happened. The coffee was still good, but there were more vacant seats at every meeting. The faithful few regularly rose and deplored the fact that Masonry was no longer like it used to be in its golden age; the young men aren't interested and the old men no longer care, but the lodge - thank God - remains the same forever!

Then one day the members awoke to the fact that their once genteel neighborhood had become a slum, and there was much talk about selling the old property and re-locating. But there were those who noted in quavering voices that the lodge had met in this place for all these years past: to move would somehow violate tradition. So no decision was made and the lodge didn't move because it couldn't. Finally, the dwindling membership, the lack of petitioners, the lack of funds forced the lodge to the point of painful decision. And there were among the few who came to decide the lodge's fate some who solemnly wagged their heads and said, "We can't make it."

And sure enough, they couldn't.