Ancient Camels and Classic Cars: A Memorable Visit to Redlands

Our recent day trip to the San Bernardino County Museum in Redlands turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable and educational experience. Although the museum is relatively small and clearly designed with children and families in mind, there was still plenty to fascinate adults as well. Combined with a visit to downtown Redlands and the unexpected discovery of a major car show, the trip became a memorable and affordable outing.

The San Bernardino County Museum offers a wide variety of exhibits focused on the natural and cultural history of the region. One of the most interesting areas was the Hall of Earth Sciences located on the lower ground floor. The exhibit featured impressive displays of stuffed wildlife, including wolves, along with massive recreations of prehistoric creatures such as a mastodon and a mammoth. The fossil displays were especially fascinating because they connected visitors to the ancient history of Southern California.

One exhibit that stood out involved prehistoric desert camels. The museum displayed fossilized camel legs that showed evidence of fractures. According to the exhibit information, the camels had become trapped in mud and struggled desperately to pull themselves free. Their efforts caused their legs to break, and over time those remains became fossilized. Seeing the physical evidence of an event that occurred thousands of years ago made history feel very real and immediate.

The museum also does an excellent job creating hands-on activities for children. There was a special area where kids could dig for fossils and brush them clean like archaeologists working at an excavation site. Upstairs, another interactive display allowed visitors to press buttons that illuminated the locations of caves, springs, and fault lines throughout San Bernardino County. Considering that San Bernardino County is the largest county in the United States by area, it was interesting to see the geography and geology displayed in such a visual way.

Outside the museum, there was a native plant garden where visitors could walk around and enjoy the landscaping. The museum also featured a dedicated children’s activity room where kids could participate in crafts and educational projects for short sessions throughout the day. The museum clearly succeeds at making science and history accessible and fun for younger visitors while still remaining interesting for adults.

After spending about an hour and a half at the museum, we headed into downtown Redlands for lunch. What we did not realize beforehand was that the city was hosting the 27th Annual Redlands Firefighters Car Show. The downtown area was packed with people and lined with classic cars, custom vehicles, and restored automobiles of every kind imaginable. It was by far the largest car show I had ever seen. We spent another hour and a half walking through the streets admiring the cars and enjoying the atmosphere.

Originally, we planned to eat at one of the restaurants downtown, but the crowds were so large that we eventually decided to leave and keep things simple by stopping at In-N-Out instead. Even so, the experience of walking around downtown Redlands was enjoyable because the city has beautiful architecture and a welcoming atmosphere. During this time of year, the weather was perfect for strolling through the area, although the summer heat would probably make it less comfortable.

Overall, the trip was an excellent and inexpensive day getaway. Between senior citizen museum passes, lunch at In-N-Out, and gasoline, the total cost was only about twenty dollars each. The San Bernardino County Museum is highly recommended, especially for families with children who enjoy science, fossils, and hands-on learning. Downtown Redlands is also worth visiting for its historic charm, walkable streets, and community events. Altogether, it made for a relaxing and rewarding day trip.

Standing Between Past and Future: The I Ching and the Fellow Craft Degree

Within the Fellow Craft degree, the initiate encounters the symbolism of the winding staircase, traditionally composed of three, five, and seven steps. Among the most philosophically rich portions of this ascent are the first three steps. Across Masonic history, these three steps have received numerous interpretations. They have been associated with the three principal officers of the lodge, the three theological virtues, the stages of human life, and the progressive development of moral understanding. Like much of Masonic symbolism, their meaning is intentionally layered rather than fixed.

One particularly compelling interpretation understands the three steps as representations of the past, present, and future. In this reading, the Fellow Craft stands upon the middle step—the present—able to look behind him toward the lessons of the past while imagining the possibilities of the future. The symbolism presents man as a being suspended within time, shaped by memory, action, and aspiration.

This interpretation finds remarkable philosophical harmony with one of the world’s oldest wisdom traditions: the I Ching, or Book of Changes. The I Ching has influenced Chinese philosophy, ethics, spirituality, and governance for over two thousand years and centers upon the principle that life is characterized by perpetual transformation (Smith, 2008). Among its most famous teachings is the statement:

“The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character” (Wilhelm & Baynes, 1967, p. 104).

Though originating in vastly different cultural worlds, the I Ching and the Fellow Craft degree converge upon a common lesson: wisdom arises when man studies the past, acts consciously in the present, and labors deliberately toward the future.

The I Ching and the Philosophy of Change

The I Ching is among the oldest surviving texts in human civilization. Its title is commonly translated as The Book of Changes, reflecting its central concern with the changing nature of existence (Huang, 1998). Rather than viewing change as disorderly or random, the text presents transformation as patterned and meaningful.

The I Ching is structured around sixty-four hexagrams composed of combinations of broken and unbroken lines representing the interaction of yin and yang. These complementary forces symbolize dualities present throughout existence: activity and receptivity, light and darkness, firmness and yielding (Wilhelm & Baynes, 1967).

At the ethical center of the I Ching stands the concept of the “superior man,” derived from the Confucian idea of the junzi. The superior man is not morally flawless, but he is committed to continual self-cultivation through study, reflection, discipline, and proper conduct (Yao, 2000).

Unlike systems that emphasize abstract dogma alone, the I Ching focuses upon practical wisdom. It asks how one should conduct oneself amid the ever-changing conditions of life. Wisdom is demonstrated not through withdrawal from the world, but through proper action within it.

Learning from Antiquity

The famous passage from Hexagram 26 captures this philosophy clearly:

“The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character” (Wilhelm & Baynes, 1967, p. 104).

This statement reveals that the study of history and tradition serves a moral purpose. The superior man examines the past not for nostalgia, but for instruction. Ancient sayings and historical deeds become tools for self-improvement.

Classical Chinese philosophy repeatedly treated historical knowledge as essential to ethical cultivation. According to Adler (2014), Confucian traditions viewed the study of antiquity as a means of refining personal virtue and social harmony. The past served as a mirror through which present conduct could be evaluated.

Most importantly, the purpose of this study is “to strengthen his character.” Knowledge is not an end in itself. Wisdom must transform conduct.

This emphasis resonates strongly with initiatic traditions such as Freemasonry, where symbols, allegories, and inherited teachings are intended not merely to preserve information but to refine the individual. Masonic ritual similarly presents ancient forms and symbolic instruction as instruments of moral development.

The Three Steps of the Fellow Craft

The symbolism of the three steps at the beginning of the winding staircase offers a strikingly similar framework for understanding human existence.

The first step may be understood as the past. It symbolizes origins, foundations, inherited lessons, and accumulated experience. Every individual stands upon knowledge and conditions shaped by those who came before him. In Masonry, reverence for tradition, ancient landmarks, and transmitted teachings reflects the importance of this symbolic first step.

The second step represents the present. This is where the Fellow Craft symbolically stands. The significance of this position cannot be overstated. The past cannot be changed, and the future cannot yet be possessed. Only the present allows for labor, discipline, and conscious action.

The third step symbolizes the future. It represents aspiration, hope, possibility, and the unfinished work of becoming. The future is not fixed but emerges from present conduct informed by past wisdom.

This interpretation aligns closely with the philosophy of the I Ching. The superior man studies antiquity in order to guide his present actions and shape the future wisely.

Standing Upon the Middle Step

The symbolism becomes especially profound when one considers that the Fellow Craft stands upon the middle step rather than the first or third. He exists between memory and possibility.

This position reflects a universal philosophical truth. Human beings live within time, yet meaningful action occurs only in the present moment. The Roman Stoic Marcus Aurelius similarly emphasized that man possesses only the present and must therefore govern it wisely (Aurelius, trans. 2002).

The I Ching consistently emphasizes responsiveness to changing circumstances. Wisdom is not passive contemplation but disciplined action appropriate to one’s conditions (Lynn, 1994). The superior man reflects deeply, observes patterns, and acts intentionally.

Freemasonry teaches a comparable lesson. The rough ashlar is not perfected merely through thought or aspiration. It must be worked. The labor of self-improvement occurs through repeated acts of discipline, reflection, and ethical conduct within daily life.

The Fellow Craft therefore faces forward. He studies the past without remaining trapped within it. He imagines the future without escaping into fantasy. His work belongs to the present.

Time and Self-Cultivation

Both the I Ching and Freemasonry reject passive existence. The inferior man drifts through life unconsciously, ruled by appetite, habit, or circumstance. The superior man cultivates intentionality.

Confucian philosophy repeatedly emphasizes self-cultivation as a lifelong process requiring ritual discipline, moral reflection, and education (Tu, 1985). Similarly, Masonic symbolism presents moral improvement as gradual labor performed over the course of one’s life.

The symbolism of the three steps reflects this developmental journey:

• the past provides instruction,

• the present provides opportunity,

• and the future provides direction.

In this sense, the Fellow Craft and the superior man of the I Ching are engaged in the same labor. Both seek to strengthen character through conscious living.

The staircase itself reinforces this symbolism. The ascent is not instantaneous. Wisdom and refinement are achieved step by step. The initiate rises gradually through effort, reflection, and perseverance.

Conclusion

Though separated by culture, geography, and historical period, the I Ching and the Fellow Craft degree arrive at remarkably similar insights regarding time, character, and human development. Both traditions teach that wisdom requires reflection upon the past, disciplined action in the present, and deliberate movement toward the future.

The famous I Ching passage concerning the superior man studying antiquity “to strengthen his character” finds profound symbolic expression in the three steps at the beginning of the winding staircase. The Fellow Craft stands upon the middle step because the present is where the work of transformation occurs.

The past offers instruction. The future offers aspiration. But character is built in the present moment through conscious labor.

Ultimately, both systems teach that man is not merely carried through time. He is shaped by how deliberately he moves through it. Standing between memory and possibility, the Fellow Craft ascends step by step, strengthening his character through wisdom, reflection, and intentional action.

References

Adler, J. A. (2014). Confucianism as a religious tradition: Linguistic and methodological problems. Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 41(1–2), 5–21.

Ames, R. T., & Hall, D. L. (2003). Dao de jing: Making this life significant. Ballantine Books.

Aurelius, M. (2002). Meditations (G. Hays, Trans.). Modern Library. (Original work published ca. 180 CE)

Cleary, T. (1986). The Taoist I Ching. Shambhala.

Hall, D. L., & Ames, R. T. (1998). Thinking through Confucius. State University of New York Press.

Huang, A. (1998). The complete I Ching: The definitive translation. Inner Traditions.

Legge, J. (1882). The Yi King. Oxford University Press.

Lynn, R. J. (1994). The classic of changes: A new translation of the I Ching as interpreted by Wang Bi. Columbia University Press.

Needham, J. (1956). Science and civilisation in China (Vol. 2). Cambridge University Press.

Smith, R. J. (2008). Fathoming the cosmos and ordering the world: The Yijing (I Ching, or Classic of Changes) and its evolution in China. University of Virginia Press.

Tu, W. (1985). Confucian thought: Selfhood as creative transformation. State University of New York Press.

Wilhelm, R., & Baynes, C. F. (1967). The I Ching or Book of Changes (3rd ed.). Princeton University Press.

Yao, X. (2000). An introduction to Confucianism. Cambridge University Press.

Riding the Rails to the Fair: A Better Way to Visit the L.A. County Fair

This past Saturday, we decided to spend the day at the Los Angeles County Fair. Like many people, we have gone before and dealt with the usual hassles—traffic, crowded parking lots, long walks to the entrance, and expensive parking fees. General parking at the fairgrounds costs $25, and even then, depending on where you park, you can end up hiking across what feels like half of Pomona before reaching the gate. Preferred parking at the Sheraton is closer and more convenient, but that jumps the price to $40.

This time, however, we decided to try something different, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions of the day.

We parked at the A Line station parking lot in San Dimas. Currently, weekend parking there is free, though I do not know if that policy will continue permanently. From there, we took the train to the La Verne/Fairplex Station. The ride itself was only a single stop and took just a few minutes, making it surprisingly easy and convenient.

It was also one of those perfect Southern California fair days: cool, overcast, and comfortable. Honestly, it was probably the best kind of weather for spending hours walking around the fairgrounds without the usual heat and exhaustion.

Once we arrived at the station, the next step could not have been easier. Right in the station’s roundabout area, Foothill Transit’s Route 67 bus was waiting. The Route 67 line is dedicated specifically to serving the fair, and there were clear signs posted explaining the pickup frequency and operating times. Even near the Red Gate drop-off area at the fairgrounds, temporary signs helped direct passengers where to wait for the return trip.

The bus ride itself was quick and direct. It simply picked up passengers at the station and transported them straight to the Fairplex Red Gate entrance near the Sheraton without making additional stops.

That convenience alone made the trip worthwhile.

We had already purchased our fair tickets online and stored them on our phones. When we arrived at the Red Gate, we scanned our tickets and walked straight in with virtually no waiting. The walk from the bus drop-off point to the gate itself was short and easy.

By taking the train and bus, we saved a little money and probably only a small amount of time overall, but what we really avoided was a great deal of potential frustration. There was no stress about navigating crowded parking lots, no long walk back to the car at the end of the night, and no sitting impatiently in traffic trying to leave the fairgrounds. Instead, the train and bus became part of the Saturday afternoon adventure itself.

Inside the fair, we spent the day exploring the exhibit halls, admiring contest entries, viewing award-winning crafts and home goods, and simply enjoying the atmosphere. The fair always offers something interesting around every corner. But the highlight of the day was easily the blacksmith demonstration.

We sat comfortably watching the blacksmith work metal in the traditional way—heating, hammering, shaping, and explaining the craft as they worked. In a world dominated by technology and automation, there was something fascinating about watching a centuries-old skill performed live. It was authentic, educational, and surprisingly captivating. We ended up staying there for nearly forty-five minutes just taking it all in.

Afterward, we wandered through the entertainment areas, sampled classic fair food, and continued enjoying the sights and sounds that make the L.A. County Fair such a unique experience.

When we were ready to leave, the return trip proved just as easy. The Route 67 bus arrived within about ten minutes and quickly transported us back to the train station. We had just missed a departing train, so we waited for the next one, but even that delay was minor.

One thing we noticed on the ride back was how many other fairgoers were also using the train. Normally, stations like San Dimas, Glendora, and La Verne are not especially crowded, but this time there were plenty of riders returning from the fair. Many likely came from communities much farther away, which speaks to how practical this transportation option has become.

Overall, the experience was smooth, affordable, and stress-free. Between the train and Foothill Transit Route 67, getting to the fair was easier than driving ourselves. We saved some money, avoided a great deal of aggravation, reduced wear and tear on the car, and added a little extra adventure to the day.

For anyone planning a trip to the Los Angeles County Fair, I strongly recommend considering the train and Foothill Transit Route 67. Sometimes the best part of an outing is discovering a smarter—and more enjoyable—way to get there.

Tales from the Pavilion

This was my third trip to Dodger Stadium this season, but the first time in decades I’d ventured back into what is now called “the pavilion.” The last time I sat out there, it wasn’t even really the pavilion yet. It was the bleachers. Wooden bleachers, at least in my memory. Whether they were actually wood or whether nostalgia has varnished them over the years, I can’t say for certain. But I remember sitting there in 1965 or 1966 with my grandfather during the golden era of promotional giveaways: Bat Night, Ball Night, Helmet Night. Back then, a trip to Dodger Stadium meant coming home with enough free merchandise to open a sporting goods store.

This time, the pavilion seats were surprisingly good. Far away, yes, but with a clean panoramic view of the whole game. From out there, you can actually see baseball unfold. You see the defensive shifts, the outfielders cheating toward the line, the way a rally develops before the television cameras even notice it. And every home run looks like it’s headed directly toward your forehead, which adds a nice survival element to the evening.

But the pavilion has its own ecosystem.

Around the second or third inning, I got up to grab something and found the corridor blocked by a medical emergency. Gurney. Paramedics. Security guards creating a human wall. It was handled professionally, though the sight of emergency personnel weaving through a stadium crowd always carries a strange combination of seriousness and inconvenience. Everyone slows down just enough to stare while pretending not to stare.

The pavilion concourse itself is fascinating anthropology. There are these huge aisleways dividing sections, and near the entrances from the main concourse are clusters of people who appear to have purchased tickets primarily so they could stand in circles drinking beer and discussing matters entirely unrelated to baseball.

At any given moment there were probably thirty or forty people gathered there, talking loudly, laughing, occasionally glancing toward the field as if surprised to discover a game was in progress. Navigating through them became a tactical exercise. I eventually adopted the safer strategy of climbing back up the stairs, walking around the crowd, and descending again like some sort of baseball stadium mountain goat.

And then came the seventh inning.

Two security guards appeared near our section. They stood on the walkway, quietly talking into radios while looking toward someone several rows below. Then two more arrived. Then four more. Suddenly there were seventeen security personnel converging on one man like the Dodgers were attempting a bullpen game with ushers.

They finally moved in, took the guy into custody, and put him in handcuffs. Right on cue, two LAPD officers showed up, including a sergeant with the old-school rocker chevrons on his sleeve—the kind of detail only former cops and people who watch too many crime shows notice.

But the true beauty of the moment was the crowd reaction.

As security escorted the man out, somewhere in the pavilion one brave soul began singing:

“Na na na na…
Na na na na…
Hey hey hey… goodbye…”

And suddenly four hundred people joined in.

The entire pavilion serenaded this poor guy as he was marched up the stairs in handcuffs. It was equal parts cruel, hilarious, and oddly harmonious. For one shining moment, the pavilion became a drunken community choir.

Honestly, it was kind of magnificent.

The crowd out there definitely skews younger. Not necessarily rowdier—Dodger Stadium has always had its moments—but younger, louder, and more social. Yet nobody blocked my view during the game, the wave originated near us several times, and the section itself never felt overcrowded.

And perhaps best of all, because attendance wasn’t packed, the trip home was easy.

The Dodger Stadium Express bus back to Union Station moved quickly, the late-night train ride was calm, and the entire public transit adventure took almost exactly the same amount of time as driving would have—except I didn’t have to fight traffic or pay forty-five dollars to park. Public transportation after a Dodger game feels slightly post-apocalyptic at 11:30 p.m., but efficient.

So yes, I’ll buy pavilion tickets again. Probably for one of the June day games.

Good sightlines. Better stories.

And apparently, free musical performances.

The Masonic Trial of George Washington

The Masonic Trial of George Washington is not an attempt to rewrite history, but to examine it through the lens of alternative history. By imagining a world in which the American colonies failed in their rebellion against the British Crown and George Washington was brought before a Lodge of Freemasons to answer charges of unmasonic conduct, the essay seeks to explore a question that has lingered quietly within Masonic history for more than two centuries: Were the Freemasons who took part in the American Revolution acting in violation of their obligations as Masons?

The question is neither simple nor merely political. Masonic charges and constitutions long instructed a Mason to be “a peaceable subject to the civil powers,” “not to be concerned in plots or conspiracies against government,” and “not to countenance disloyalty or rebellion.” Yet many of the leading figures of the American Revolution—including George Washington and several signers of the Declaration of Independence—were themselves Freemasons. To Loyalist Masons of the eighteenth century, the Revolution could appear a direct violation of Masonic duty; to Patriot Masons, resistance to tyranny could be understood as fidelity to justice, liberty, and conscience.

This essay intentionally places those competing principles into direct conflict. It does not seek to condemn nor vindicate the men of 1776, but rather to examine the enduring tension between obedience and liberty, order and justice, law and moral conscience. Through the imagined defense of George Washington before a Masonic tribunal, the reader is invited to consider not only how Freemasons of the era may have understood their obligations, but also whether the moral duties of a Mason are owed solely to established authority, or to higher principles believed to stand above it.

The Stage 

In the autumn of 1784, the rebellion of the American colonies had long since collapsed beneath the restored authority of the Crown. General George Washington, having surrendered what remained of the Continental Army after the disastrous winter at Morristown and the subsequent fall of Philadelphia, had withdrawn from public life beneath a cloud of ruin and suspicion. Yet the judgment now before him was not that of Parliament, nor of any royal court, but of his brethren. Convened under dispensation in New York City, a Lodge composed largely of Loyalist Masons assembled to hear charges of unmasonic conduct preferred against Brother Washington, formerly Master of Alexandria Lodge. The accusations rested upon the ancient duties of the Craft itself: that a Mason is “a peaceable subject to the civil powers,” that he is “not to be concerned in plots or conspiracies against government,” and that he is “not to countenance disloyalty or rebellion.” Having heard the testimony and arguments of the prosecution, the Worshipful Master at length granted the accused brother leave to deliver his final summation before the Lodge retired for deliberation.

Brother Washington's Defense 

“Worshipful Master, Wardens, and Brethren:

In rising to address this Lodge upon a matter involving not only my own character, but the principles by which I have endeavored to govern my conduct through life, I confess sensations more difficult to subdue than any which attended me amidst the tumults of war. Before the world, a man may defend his actions by appeals to necessity, to fortune, or to the uncertain judgments of posterity. But before brethren, seated beneath the solemn obligations of our ancient institution, no subterfuge can avail, nor would I insult this honorable body by attempting any.

I shall not deny that I took up arms against the authority of the Crown. The fact is known to all mankind. I shall not deny that, in consequence of that unhappy contest, blood was shed, homes desolated, and the peace of society violently interrupted. These truths are written already in tears and graves, and no argument of mine can erase them.

The question before this Lodge, however, is of another and more solemn nature. It is whether, by those acts, I violated the duties of a Mason.

Brethren, I have listened with the attention due both to the wisdom of this Lodge and to the gravity of the charges preferred against me. I have heard recited those ancient admonitions which instruct a Mason to be a peaceable subject, obedient to the civil powers, and not concerned in conspiracies against lawful government. I acknowledge those principles. I have ever acknowledged them. Order is the safeguard of society; obedience to just authority is among the first duties of civilized man; and he who lightly excites rebellion for purposes of ambition or private gain deserves equally the condemnation of the state and the reproach of Masonry.

Had the contest in which I engaged arisen from personal resentment, from restless ambition, or from a desire to overturn government itself, I should stand before you not only without excuse, but without hope of deserving your charity.

Yet I ask this Lodge to consider whether submission is, under all circumstances, the highest duty of a Mason. We are taught within these walls that justice is the cement and support of civil society. We are instructed to walk uprightly before God and man. We are admonished to act not merely with obedience, but with virtue. If government itself departs from the great ends for which government is instituted; if the rights secured by long inheritance and constitutional compact are systematically violated; if petitions are answered only with punishments, and remonstrances only with force; then the unhappy subject is compelled to inquire whether passive submission remains a virtue, or whether it becomes participation in injustice itself.

I do not pretend, brethren, that such questions admit of easy resolution. Wise and good men have differed upon them in every age. Many worthy brethren, whose integrity I neither question nor diminish, remained faithful to the Crown and believed resistance unlawful. I honor the sincerity with which they acted, though they cannot approve the course which I pursued.

But I must answer according to the dictates of my own conscience, before which every man must finally stand alone.

I believed the liberties of these colonies to be invaded contrary to the constitutional rights of Englishmen. I believed that repeated injuries, endured with patience and answered with humble petitions, had left no reasonable expectation of redress. I believed that the object sought was not anarchy, nor the destruction of law, but the preservation of those principles of lawful liberty without which government itself degenerates into mere power.

If these judgments were erroneous, then I have erred honestly and without selfish intent. If they were criminal, then my crime proceeded not from disloyalty to justice, but from too fervent a conviction of its necessity.

Brethren, Masonry has survived kingdoms, factions, and revolutions because it was never intended to be the servant of temporary powers alone. It binds men together not merely in obedience, but in the pursuit of virtue, truth, and moral improvement. The square teaches rectitude; the compasses teach restraint; but the Great Light itself instructs us that there exists a law above all human institutions, to which rulers and subjects alike are accountable.

I ask no indulgence for failure. Providence has rendered its verdict upon our undertaking. The cause for which I contended lies defeated, and I stand before you stripped alike of command, of influence, and perhaps soon of reputation itself. But I cannot confess that I acted from motives unworthy of a Mason; nor can I declare that resistance to what one sincerely believes destructive of liberty and justice must forever constitute rebellion in the moral sense.

Should this Lodge determine that my conduct has violated the obligations of our fraternity, I shall submit to its judgment with the same composure with which I have endeavored to meet the other reverses allotted me by Divine Providence. But before you retire to deliberate, I entreat you to consider well the precedent now to be established: whether the duty of a Mason consists solely in submission to existing authority, whatever its character may become, or whether there yet remains within our institution some sacred regard for conscience, justice, and the natural rights of mankind.

Upon that question, brethren, not my fate alone, but the moral meaning of our ancient Craft, may well depend.”

Riding the A Line to Chavez Ravine: A Dodger Game Journey from San Dimas

There’s something uniquely Los Angeles about deciding, on a whim, to go to a Dodger game—and actually pulling it off with ease. No gridlocked freeways, no overpriced parking, no stress. Just a tap of a transit card, a train ride into the city, and the slow swell of Dodger blue building with every stop. That’s exactly how the journey began on a warm afternoon in San Dimas.

At around 4:30 p.m., I boarded the Metro A Line—what many still call the Gold Line—heading west toward Union Station. Though the line technically runs from Pomona North all the way to Long Beach, picking it up in San Dimas felt like stepping into a current already flowing toward Chavez Ravine. The train ride itself was smooth, efficient, and—at 54 minutes—remarkably predictable by Los Angeles standards.

At first, it was just another weekday ride. But somewhere around Arcadia, the tone shifted. A few jerseys appeared. Then caps. Then entire families dressed head-to-toe in Dodger blue. By the time we passed through Pasadena, the train had transformed into a rolling pregame rally. You didn’t need an announcement to know where everyone was headed.

Union Station answered the one question I hadn’t quite figured out: where to catch the Dodger Express. It turns out, you don’t need a map—you just follow the crowd. Fifty, maybe seventy-five people from my train alone streamed off and moved as one through the station, out the front doors, and straight to the buses. The system worked not because it was clearly labeled, but because it was obvious. The “blue wave” knew the way.

Boarding the Dodger Express was the most physically crowded part of the trip. These buses are run like standard city buses, which typically hold around 60 seated passengers with room for 20–30 more standing. This one felt like it pushed that limit. Shoulder to shoulder, aisle filled, every inch occupied. I managed to get a seat, but many stood packed in tight as we made the roughly 20-minute climb up Vin Scully Avenue toward the stadium. Every pothole along Sunset made its presence known.

Still, the payoff was immediate. The bus dropped us right at Dodger Stadium, and within minutes—after a short walk and an easy pass through security—I was inside.

My seat that night: Section 166LG, Row G, Seat 15 in the Loge Level.

For the price, it was hard to beat. The Loge Level is often considered one of the best values in Dodger Stadium, and this seat proved why. Elevated just enough to take in the full geometry of the field, but close enough to track the pitch-to-contact rhythm of the game. From this angle, you see everything—the defensive shifts, the outfield gaps, the pitcher’s tempo. It’s the kind of seat where baseball makes sense.

It was also Women’s Night, and the stadium buzzed with energy—groups from organizations, friends out for the evening, a different kind of crowd dynamic that added to the atmosphere.

On the field, the Dodgers faced the Miami Marlins. The final score: a tight 2–1 loss. Shohei Ohtani took the mound, and watching him pitch live was worth the trip alone. There’s a different appreciation when you see his command and movement in person. But the Dodger bats were quiet that night—just enough offense missing to turn a win into a narrow defeat.

Still, the game wasn’t the challenge. The return trip was.

Because the score stayed close, few fans left early. That meant when the final out was recorded, tens of thousands moved at once. Finding the correct Dodger Express line became its own adventure. There were multiple loading areas, and confusion sent people into the wrong queues. What formed was a massive, zigzagging line—hundreds deep, snaking across the pavement in organized chaos.

It took about 45 minutes just to board a bus.

By sheer timing, I ended up being the last person allowed on one of them—called forward as they looked for “one more.” I squeezed in at the front, standing beside the driver, packed tightly among fellow fans replaying the game in conversation.

The ride back didn’t go as planned.

An apparent accident blocked the usual freeway transition from the 110 to the 101, forcing a detour deeper into downtown Los Angeles. What followed was a winding, improvised route—off the freeway, onto surface streets, weaving through traffic, with the driver coordinating over the radio. It wasn’t lost exactly, but it felt uncertain. Streets blurred together—3rd Street, Bixel, turns and merges—until eventually we climbed back toward Union Station from an unexpected direction.

That leg alone took another 30 to 35 minutes.

By the time I reached the train platform, the A Line was crowded again—but this time with tired fans heading home. No tension, no issues—just shared fatigue. As the train pushed east, it gradually emptied. Stops passed. Conversations quieted. The energy of the game gave way to the rhythm of the rails.

At 12:04 a.m., I stepped off at San Dimas.

From a spontaneous ticket purchase at 4:00 p.m. to being home just after midnight, the entire experience felt both effortless and eventful. The cost? Minimal. A few dollars for the train, $3 for parking—far less than what stadium parking alone would have been.

The verdict is simple: I’ll do it again.

Because beyond the logistics, beyond the crowds and detours, there’s something satisfying about letting the city carry you to the game. About watching Dodger blue fill a train car. About following a crowd that doesn’t need directions.

It’s not just a trip to the stadium.

It’s part of the experience.

Brotherhood and Revolution: How Freemasonry Quietly Shaped the Sons of Liberty

Before the Revolution took shape in the streets, it was quietly prepared in the bonds of brotherhood.

The American Revolution is often remembered through its most visible expressions—crowds gathered beneath liberty trees, pamphlets denouncing tyranny, and acts of defiance against British authority. These images form the public face of resistance. Yet beneath these moments of action existed a quieter, less visible framework: networks of trust, shared ideals, and moral commitments that made coordinated resistance possible. Among the institutions that contributed to this framework, Freemasonry occupies a unique place. While not a political organization, Freemasonry helped cultivate the intellectual climate, social relationships, and symbolic language that shaped the environment in which groups like the Sons of Liberty emerged and operated.

Shared Enlightenment Foundations

Both Freemasonry and the Sons of Liberty were products of the Enlightenment, a movement that emphasized reason, individual liberty, and skepticism toward absolute authority. The philosophical underpinnings of the American Revolution did not arise spontaneously; they developed within a transatlantic exchange of ideas that questioned traditional hierarchies and promoted the rights of individuals. Bernard Bailyn argues that the ideology of the American Revolution was deeply influenced by “radical libertarian ideas” drawn from English opposition thought, which emphasized vigilance against corruption and the abuse of power (Bailyn, 1967).

Freemasonry served as one of the vehicles through which these ideas circulated. Margaret Jacob notes that Masonic lodges in the eighteenth century functioned as spaces where Enlightenment values were practiced and reinforced, particularly those related to equality, rationality, and tolerance (Jacob, 1991). Within the lodge, men encountered a system of thought that encouraged reflection on moral duty and the nature of just authority. Although Freemasonry itself avoided direct political engagement, its emphasis on moral reasoning and the equality of its members aligned closely with the ideological foundations of revolutionary thought.

The Sons of Liberty, by contrast, translated these ideas into political action. They protested taxation without representation, organized resistance to British policies, and mobilized colonial sentiment. The connection between the two groups lies not in direct coordination, but in their shared intellectual environment. Freemasonry helped normalize the values that the Sons of Liberty would later defend in more overt and confrontational ways.

Networks of Trust and Brotherhood

Revolutionary movements require more than ideas; they require trust. Coordinated resistance depends on relationships strong enough to withstand risk, uncertainty, and potential consequences. In this regard, Freemasonry provided an important social infrastructure. Masonic lodges created environments in which men could meet regularly, establish bonds of mutual respect, and develop a sense of shared identity.

Steven Bullock describes Freemasonry as a “voluntary association” that fostered new forms of social interaction in colonial America, allowing men of different backgrounds to engage with one another on terms of relative equality (Bullock, 1996). This principle—meeting “on the level”—encouraged the formation of relationships that transcended traditional social divisions. Such interactions were not merely symbolic; they had practical implications for the development of trust.

Many individuals associated with the Sons of Liberty were also Freemasons, including figures such as Paul Revere and John Hancock. While their Masonic membership does not imply that Freemasonry directed revolutionary activity, it does suggest that lodges provided spaces where relationships could form and strengthen. David Hackett Fischer notes that Revere’s extensive network of associations, including his Masonic connections, contributed to his effectiveness as a communicator and organizer during the revolutionary period (Fischer, 1994).

These networks of trust were essential. Before resistance could be organized, individuals needed confidence in one another’s character and intentions. Freemasonry, with its emphasis on moral conduct and brotherhood, helped cultivate that confidence. In this way, it contributed indirectly to the capacity for collective action.

Symbolism, Ritual, and Communication

Another area of similarity between Freemasonry and the Sons of Liberty lies in their use of symbolism and ritual. Freemasonry is fundamentally a symbolic system, employing allegory and ritual to convey moral lessons. Its teachings are not delivered through direct instruction alone but through structured experiences designed to engage both intellect and emotion.

The Sons of Liberty also relied heavily on symbolic acts to communicate their message. Public demonstrations, such as the use of liberty trees, effigies, and staged protests, were not random expressions of anger; they were carefully constructed events intended to convey meaning and rally support. Alfred Young emphasizes that these actions were “ritualized forms of protest” that communicated political ideas in ways that were accessible and compelling to a broad audience (Young, 2006).

The parallel here is not accidental. Both groups understood that ideas gain power when they are embodied in symbols and actions. Symbolism creates a shared language that can unify individuals and reinforce collective identity. For Freemasonry, symbols serve as tools for personal reflection and moral development. For the Sons of Liberty, they served as instruments of political mobilization. In both cases, symbolism functioned as a means of shaping perception and fostering cohesion.

Secrecy, Discipline, and Moral Purpose

Secrecy is another feature that connects Freemasonry and the Sons of Liberty, though it served different purposes in each context. In Freemasonry, secrecy is tied to its initiatic structure and symbolic teachings. It creates a sense of distinction and commitment among members, reinforcing the seriousness of the moral lessons conveyed within the lodge.

For the Sons of Liberty, secrecy was more pragmatic. Operating under the watchful eye of British authorities, they relied on private meetings and controlled communication to plan their activities and avoid suppression. Bailyn notes that revolutionary groups often depended on “informal, often concealed networks” to coordinate their efforts (Bailyn, 1967).

Despite these differences, secrecy in both contexts contributed to discipline and cohesion. It established boundaries, defined membership, and reinforced commitment. It also required individuals to exercise judgment and restraint, qualities that were essential in both moral development and political resistance.

Underlying these structural similarities was a shared sense of moral purpose. Freemasonry sought to cultivate virtuous individuals, emphasizing integrity, responsibility, and the pursuit of truth. Jacob describes it as an institution concerned with forming “morally upright and socially responsible individuals” (Jacob, 1991). The Sons of Liberty framed their resistance in moral terms as well, presenting their actions as a defense of rights and liberties rather than mere opposition to authority.

This moral framing was critical. It transformed resistance from an act of defiance into an expression of principle. It provided justification for risk and sacrifice, grounding political action in a broader ethical context.

Freemasonry did not organize the American Revolution, nor did it direct the actions of the Sons of Liberty. To suggest otherwise would be to misunderstand both institutions. Yet it would be equally incomplete to ignore the ways in which Freemasonry contributed to the environment in which revolutionary ideas and actions took shape.

By promoting Enlightenment values, fostering networks of trust, utilizing symbolism, and emphasizing moral development, Freemasonry helped create the conditions necessary for collective resistance. The Sons of Liberty operated within this environment, drawing upon its intellectual and social resources as they pursued their political objectives.

The Revolution was not only a series of events; it was the culmination of ideas, relationships, and shared commitments that developed over time. Some of these elements were visible, expressed in public acts of defiance. Others were less apparent, embedded in the bonds of brotherhood and the quiet work of moral formation. Together, they formed the foundation upon which revolutionary action became possible.

References

Bailyn, B. (1967). The ideological origins of the American Revolution. Harvard University Press.

Bullock, S. C. (1996). Revolutionary brotherhood: Freemasonry and the transformation of the American social order, 1730–1840. University of North Carolina Press.

Fischer, D. H. (1994). Paul Revere’s ride. Oxford University Press.

Jacob, M. C. (1991). Living the Enlightenment: Freemasonry and politics in eighteenth-century Europe. Oxford University Press.

Young, A. F. (2006). Liberty tree: Ordinary people and the American Revolution. New York University Press.