Dylan was speechless. He sat in the station of the Senior Warden,
unsure of whether he should scream, laugh, or try to wake himself from this
terrible dream. He glanced to his right and caught Henry’s eye. He seemed
shocked, too.
Fine, he thought. If the
Lodge wants to elect the Junior Warden ahead of me, they can have him. He sure
isn’t getting my help.
Henry could see the
disappointment on Dylan’s face. The tellers were still tidying up from the
ballot, so he took advantage of the distraction and approached Dylan.
“Smile. Be gracious
and accept the Senior Warden’s chair again when the election continues,” he
whispered.
“Are you kidding me?
I’m done. They can have him,” Dylan hissed back.
“Trust me. Stay
where you are. The Lodge needs you, just not right now. Chin up. Be classy, and
we’ll talk after the meeting,” he concluded with a pat on the shoulder before
he returned to his chair.
After the meeting,
Henry took a seat in the corner of the fellowship hall at what he considered a
safe distance from the rest of the brethren. When Dylan entered, Henry held two
cups of coffee in the air as a signal to join him, which Dylan did.
“If he thinks for
one second that I’m helping him, he’s lost his mind,” Dylan spat. “In fact, I’m
going to do everything I can to make it miserable for him. Did you hear him? A
Mardi Gras party? Yeah, right. Oh, and a night at the theater? Gimme a break.
He’s going to bankrupt the Lodge. And for what? No one is going to come.”
Henry said nothing.
“Oh, I have so many
ideas,” he said, imitating the Worshipful Master elect. “I’m going to do this,
that, and the other. Ha!”
Henry said nothing.
“He wants to invite
the families of all the Past Masters. Are you kidding me? How are we paying for
that?”
Henry said nothing.
“Yeah, and more
money to grow the charity fund. Dream on.”
“Remind you of
anyone?” Henry asked with his eyebrow raised.
“What? Who? Not me.”
“Yes, you. Let me
remind you how we met. You were that kid who wanted to change strawberry
night.”
“Yeah, but. . .”
“Don’t interrupt me.
You wanted surf and turf,” Henry continued. “And what did I say?”
“You objected.
Strenuously. You insisted that it was strawberry night. But that’s not the
same. I’m . . .”
“Quiet. I haven’t
finished. You’re so quick to talk. I wish you were quicker to listen,” Henry
joked.
He was used to
Henry’s snark - loved it, actually. Dylan rolled his eyes, but didn’t open his
mouth.
“You wanted surf and
turf. I grumbled, but I gave in. Do you know why? Don’t answer, that was rhetorical,”
he added quickly, smiling. “Because you were eager and I could see you believed
in it. Not only that, but we never know what will work until we try it. Your
surf and turf idea was one of the best. Eva still talks about that night, and
if I had been a stubborn fool and tried to undermine you, it never would have
happened. Understand?”
Dylan was silent.
“That was a real
question. You can talk now,” Henry said, taking another sip of his coffee.
“I don’t think they
are quite the same, but I see your point,” Dylan admitted. “The bigger problem
for me is that I deserved to be Worshipful Master. It was my turn.”
“There’s no such
thing as your turn, at least not in the sense of it being your God-given
right,” Henry said. “It’s your turn when you have the most votes, or no one
opposes you. I voted for you. I’m disappointed that you didn’t win. If I’m
honest though, I think you’re only going to get better the longer you’re
involved. Maybe this extra year as Senior Warden will make you an even stronger
Master.”
“Still, I did a lot
of work,” Dylan said.
“You did. And none
of it will go to waste. Your plans will keep. They will get better if you pay
close attention to the things that work and the things that don’t this coming
year. Learn from his mistakes, but also learn from his successes. You want to
know my philosophy?” Henry asked.
“Isn’t that what
you’ve been yammering at me for the last ten minutes?” Dylan quipped back with
a grin.
“No matter what your
current or past rank, your biggest achievement, or your strongest opinion
regarding the Fraternity, you owe your complete loyalty to those in charge.
Whether it’s the Master, District Deputy, the Grand Master, or the
Commander-in-Chief, your duty as a Mason is to help make his vision a success.
You don’t have to like everything, you don’t have to understand everything, but
it’s your responsibility to carry it out to the best of your ability.
“Cathedrals had one
set of plans,” he continued. Dylan could see that Henry was on his soapbox and
knew better than to interrupt. He also sensed he was learning something
profound. “One set. Not a set for the laborers to gripe about, another for the
quarrymen to debate, and yet another for the artificers to question. Chartres
would look more like something from an Escher print if that were the case. One
set of plans - drawn by the Master and followed by all. That’s how Masons
should work.”
Dylan was
speechless. He knew Henry was right. He just stared at Henry and the fire in
his eyes.
“That’s it,” Henry
said. “Here endeth the sermon.”
“I never thought of
it that way. And your one hundred percent right. I’ll be right back,” Dylan
said. “I’m going to go offer to head up the Mardi Gras committee.”
Henry simply smiled.