A reflection on gratitude, mentorship, and the gift of Freemasonry
October 30, 2025
By Adam C. Marks, Past and Presiding Master of Alpha Lodge, 32° Scottish Rite Mason, Degree Worker in the Consistory
Fifteen years ago today, I was accepted into the Ancient Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry, and that moment continues to shape my journey—and I remain deeply grateful that it did. Even before I was made a Freemason, I had spoken with Melissa’s grandfather, Art Crapo, about joining, but both Melissa and I had learned about him being a Freemason quite by accident.
I had spent just under two years studying—obsessing, really—over this thing called Freemasonry. It was mysterious: deeply spiritual, deeply philosophical, esoteric, but also practical, supportive, a brotherhood. I knew a few friends who had Masonic symbols on their cars or wore rings with symbols, but I was afraid to ask about them. I didn’t know if you were allowed to ask. When we were kids, my older brother used to tease me whenever we drove past a Masonic Lodge:
“You see that building over there? You know what goes on in there?” “No,” I’d answer. “That's right, because nobody knows,” he’d whisper, half-grinning but serious. “They say once you get in, you can never get out.” He'd lower his voice to a whisper, as if just talking about it invited physical risk or possibly cosmic danger. My brother's words were already affecting me psychologically, “It's the most secretive organization in the world.”
Nearly two years of reading everything I could find about Freemasonry. Nearly two years of research, magazines, archives, bookstores, podcasts, youtube videos. Nearly two years of getting thoroughly spooked by what I found online. Was it an enlightened society? Was it like the mafia? Was it an intellectual society or an ancient brotherhood? Was it a new-age cult? A philosophical club? Would I be beaten in? Could it be worse than Rugby Football? If I tried to leave, would I be disappeared? I'd never been a joiner, but I was drawn to this. I was searching for something deeper out of my life.
Finally two pivotal events occurred within the same time period.
The first came when my best friend phoned me.
“Hey Adam, guess what—I just petitioned to join the Freemasons.” “What? You did?” I asked, stunned. He had no idea I’d been quietly obsessed with the subject for years. I didn't tell anyone but Melissa. “What do you know about the Freemasons?” I asked. “Nothing,” he laughed. “But I’ll let you know when I’m on the other side.”
It took time, of course, a long time. Too long, and Don was very patient with my constant questions. “Are you in yet?” “What do you know?” “Do you know what’s going on?” “Not yet,” he’d reply, always patient. “But I’ll let you know, Adam. Just be patient.”
Finally, several months later, I got the answer I’d been waiting for, sort of. “Do you know anything yet, Don?” “Yes, I do.” “You do? Tell me! What’s going on in there?” He paused, “I can’t tell you,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “But you’re going to love it.” “I’ll bring you in here, at Alpha,” he said.
I was still concerned about joining, but I realized I'd at least be in the same group with my best friend, and I'd get to see him more often. If they asked us to do something nefarious, maybe we could “take them.” Or maybe we'd just be “disappeared together.” (No, we wouldn't be disappeared and, no, we couldn't “take them.”)
Shortly after that, the second event occurred. Melissa and I were visiting her grandfather, Art, who was recovering from a fall and was in rehab facility. The conversation was light until he grew quiet and said softly, “Melissa, I suppose I should let someone know, so I'll let you know that when I pass, I’d like to have a Masonic service. I just wanted someone to know.”
Melissa and I looked at each completely shocked. For me, it was like the world just stopped for a second as I tried to understand what Melissa's grandpa just revealed.
Melissa said in disbelief, almost stammering, “Grandpa? Masonic? Like—the Freemasons?” “Ya.” “You’re a Freemason?” she asked. “Yup.” I repeated it, astonished. “Grandpa, you’re a Freemason?” “Yes, I am, Adam.” I almost couldn't speak. “I’ve been looking into the Freemasons,” I said, “and I’ve been thinking about joining.”
He looked up sharply, sat straighter, and for a moment it felt as though the room filled with energy. Grandpa certainly did.
“Well,” he said, smiling, “I think you’d make a fine Freemason, Adam.” “You do? Would you be a reference for me?” I asked. “Of course I will. I’ll even sponsor you in—though I don’t think I can make it to lodge anymore. I haven’t been able to get around for some time. I didn’t think the Masonic line would continue in our family, but I think you’d make a fine Freemason, and they’d be fortunate to have you.”
I still had reservations, but I knew that if Melissa's grandfather was a Freemason, there wasn't anything sinister going on. From that day forward, our conversations changed. We were going to be Brothers, and he would share with me what he knew about Freemasonry—and about life. I still had personal reservations--it was a pretty big unknown--but I had a deep respect for Art and he presented and carried himself as an honest gentlemen and patriot.
I'd start to learn from my then frequent solo visits to talk to Grandpa about Freemasonry in rehab, he had top-secret clearance for things he'd worked on for the government during World War II. Due to his poor eyesight, he couldn't enlist like his father did when he left Harvard University to join the military, but he found a way to serve his country just the same. I learned he knew how to keep secrets secret. I learned that Masonry ran deep in the Crapo family, that Melissa's great grandfather had been a Freemason. I learned that a famous New York Judge was also a Freemason, and I would eventially be gifted his Trestleboard from 1856 by Melissa's mother. Before I left that day, he gave me one final piece of advice.
“Once you’re in—and I have no doubt you’ll be accepted—once you’re a Freemason, I want you to join the Scottish Rite. Join the Scottish Rite and go to the Consistory. They’ll put you to work. Go to the Consistory.”
I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded fascinating—and Art’s words always carried weight. Frankly, the Scottish Rite It sounded important. It sounded cool. Besides, I already played the bagpipes. Did they have swords? (Yes, they have swords.)
When I finally joined Freemasonry and took my first three degrees, my life was changed. Don was right, I loved it. I found what I'd hoped I'd find and more. Soon after being made a Master Mason, which is the third degree in Freemasonry, everyone in my lodge told me, “Don’t rush to join anything else right away. Take your time. There’s plenty of time for that. You have a lot to learn, so take your time and learn the things you need to learn here first, and then move on.” On the one hand, they were absolutely right--there's a lifetime of learning and living the life. On the other hand, the Scottish Rite is affectionately called “The College of Freemasonry,” and it was calling me. They were right to caution me—it’s easy to take on too much too soon in Freemasonry—it can become overwhelming, but Art’s words echoed in my mind, “Go to the Scottish Rite; go to the Consistory.” So, within one year of becoming a Mason, I petitioned to join and was accepted into the Scottish Rite.
Fifteen years ago, today (October 30, 2025), I took my first degrees in the Scottish Rite. It was something like a week after that I received a call from one of my new Scottish Rite Brothers: “We want to invite you to come out to Lexington because we're having a little get together.” Melissa and I were invited to a formal event at the Supreme Council in Lexington—an event that was hosted by the Consistory itself, though I didn’t know it at the time. As we were being introduced to people at the event, someone asked,
“So what got you interested in the Scottish Rite?”
“It was Melissa's Grandfather, he told me to come straight to the Scottish Rite and he told me to go to the Consistory. Do you know who I could speak to about that?”
“You're here. We're the Consistory. Who was Melissa's Grandfather?” “Arthur Crapo,” Melissa said. “He said he was part of the Consistory Guard.” “How is your Grandfather? We haven't seen him in some time.” They started calling over others: “This is Arthur Crapo's granddaughter.”
Art had been a longtime member of the Consistory Guard for many years. The Consistory Guard functions much like an honor guard or corps. Its members—uniformed, disciplined, and well-drilled—serve at major Valley events and Scottish Rite reunions. Their role is to embody decorum and precision befitting the Consistory. Their title evokes medieval chivalric orders: they are “guards of the Consistory,” meaning defenders of the moral and ritual integrity of the highest degrees. Members are selected for reliability, bearing, and service—symbolizing vigilance, loyalty, and honor. Art was a long-standing member of that unit, and they remembered who he was even though his physical challenges had prevented him from attending for probably as many years as Melissa had been alive.
The men that evening asked me to consider doing some work for the Consistory, which I would later learn would be participating in degree work putting on morality plays that conveyed and communicated the teachings of the Scottish Rite. Art had told me that he had always wanted to take part in the degree work as well as serving in the guard but that he couldn’t because of his poor vision. When I joined, I reported for duty the following Spring; it was working on stage for the Consistory.
Each year, the Consistory’s fall degree work coincides with my birthday season—sometimes even falling on the day itself. When it does, I consider it my own special birthday gift from the universe. Every year, I give thanks for this convergence, and today I give thanks to the Supreme Architect of the Universe again. I believe that this path was laid out for me.
And so, in celebration of my upcoming work in the Consistory as a “Knight of St. Andrew,” in celebration of my 15 years in Scottish Rite and with the Consistory, in celebration of my upcoming birthday, and in remembrance of a fine man and dear Brother, Arthur Chester Crapo, I tip my hat and say:
“Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you, Brother, for bringing me to the door of the Scottish Rite. Your influence is still felt.”
Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to sponsor a considerable number of men into the Scottish Rite—just as Art did for me. So, to bring it full circle: if you’re a Mason who has thought about joining but hasn’t yet taken that step, reach out to me. I’d love to help you begin that deeper journey, just as Art helped me.
The next degree work will be held on November 8, 2025, in the Valley of Boston.
Fiat Lux.
