The Geometry of Human Existence: The Level, the Plumb, and the Square

Among the many symbols presented in the Fellow Craft Degree, few receive less attention and yet possess greater philosophical depth than the Level. Most Masons learn that the Level teaches equality. The lesson is certainly true, but it may be incomplete. Equality alone does not explain why the Senior Warden answers, at the close of the lodge, that Masons should “meet upon the Level,” why the Fellow Craft is taught that all men travel upon the “Level of Time,” or why the Level is presented alongside the Plumb and the Square as one of the principal working tools of the Craft.

When viewed together, these symbols reveal a profound geometry of human existence. The Level, the Plumb, and the Square are not merely tools of construction. They are symbols of how human beings encounter reality, conduct themselves during life, and ultimately leave behind the record of their character.

The Fellow Craft is taught that the Level is used to prove horizontals, the Plumb to prove perpendiculars, and the Square to prove right angles. Operatively, these are practical tools. Speculatively, they describe three dimensions of existence. The horizontal represents the plane upon which human life unfolds. The vertical represents the relationship between humanity and transcendent standards. The right angle represents the proper ordering of relationships among human beings.

The lecture further teaches that all men travel upon the Level of Time toward “that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns.” Borrowed from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the phrase reminds the candidate that every person, regardless of station, travels the same temporal road. Kings and laborers, scholars and tradesmen, rich and poor alike move through the same succession of hours, days, and years. Mortality becomes the great equalizer.

Yet the Level appears to teach something deeper than equality. It teaches perspective.

A horizontal line neither rises above nor descends below another point on the same plane. It extends outward. It connects. It establishes relationship. To meet another person upon the Level is to encounter him without the distortions of status, wealth, power, reputation, or prejudice. It is to meet the person before the title.

This interpretation finds remarkable parallels in traditions separated by geography, language, and centuries.

The Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius repeatedly reminded himself that death eventually reduces all distinctions. He observed that Alexander the Great and his mule driver ultimately shared the same fate (Marcus Aurelius, trans. 2002). The Stoics believed that wisdom begins when one ceases to be governed by external distinctions and instead focuses on virtue, reason, and character (Hadot, 2001). In this sense, the Level frees the individual from the illusions created by social comparison.

A similar principle appears in Taoism. Lao Tzu warns that many human distinctions arise from the mind’s tendency to divide and categorize reality. High and low, success and failure, gain and loss exist in relationship to one another (Lao Tzu, trans. 1963). The sage learns to perceive reality without becoming attached to these distinctions. Such a person stands metaphorically upon the Level.

The I Ching presents a comparable ideal in the figure of the superior man, or junzi. The superior man is not superior because he dominates others. He is superior because he governs himself, remains centered amid changing circumstances, and perceives situations clearly (Wilhelm & Baynes, 1967). The superior man occupies the middle ground between reaction and passivity, between pride and despair. Like the Mason traveling upon the Level of Time, he learns to move through life without being consumed by its fluctuations.

Buddhist philosophy reaches a similar conclusion through a different route. The Buddha taught that attachment to transient things produces suffering (Rahula, 1974). Many of these attachments concern identity, status, prestige, and comparison. By recognizing the impermanence of such distinctions, the individual develops equanimity. The result is not indifference but clarity. The Buddhist no longer sees himself as above or below others. He simply sees.

The Hindu tradition expresses a related insight in the Bhagavad Gita. Krishna teaches that the wise person sees with equal vision the learned, the humble, the powerful, and the lowly (Prabhavananda & Isherwood, 1944). The lesson does not deny differences among individuals. Rather, it teaches that beneath those differences lies a deeper reality. The Level similarly invites the Mason to encounter the person beneath the circumstance.

Jewish mysticism contributes another dimension. Kabbalistic thought often describes reality through the image of the Tree of Life, a structure linking heaven and earth through a series of emanations (Scholem, 1974). Humanity occupies a middle position between the material and the divine. The spiritual task is not escape from the world but alignment with higher principles while living within it. This mirrors the relationship between the Level and the Plumb. The Level represents the plane of ordinary existence; the Plumb introduces the vertical dimension of transcendence.

The Plumb acquires special significance through the prophet Amos. In one of Scripture’s most memorable visions, God stands with a plumbline in His hand and declares, “Behold, I will set a plumbline in the midst of my people Israel” (Amos 7:8, King James Version). Here the plumbline becomes a divine instrument of measurement. It establishes an objective standard against which conduct is evaluated.

The symbolism is striking. Humanity travels horizontally through time, but life is measured vertically.

The Plumb asks whether a life is upright. The Level reminds us that all travelers share the same road.

The relationship between these symbols becomes even more compelling when considered alongside the closing questions of the lodge.

The Master asks:

“How should Masons meet?”

The Senior Warden replies:

“Upon the Level.”

The Master then asks:

“How should Masons act?”

The Junior Warden responds:

“By the Plumb.”

Finally, the Master declares:

“And part upon the Square.”

The sequence is often interpreted as a summary of Masonic conduct. Yet it can also be understood as a symbolic summary of human existence.

We enter life upon the Level.

We live under the Plumb.

We depart upon the Square.

The Square, unlike the Plumb, concerns relationships. It proves right angles. It ensures that parts fit together properly. Symbolically, it governs justice, fairness, and integrity. A life lived by the Plumb is measured against truth. A life that parts upon the Square leaves behind relationships that are honorable, obligations fulfilled, and duties discharged.

This sequence gains additional depth when viewed through the Fellow Craft lecture’s discussion of geometry itself. The candidate learns that a point extended becomes a line, a line extended becomes a superficies, and a superficies extended becomes a solid.

The symbolism parallels the development of human life.

A point represents potential.

A line represents a journey.

A superficies represents the shared plane upon which lives intersect.

A solid represents the completed structure.

Human existence unfolds in exactly this manner. The infant begins as potential. Life extends into a journey. Relationships create a shared social plane. Character transforms experience into substance. The completed life becomes a finished structure.

The Level occupies a central position in this process. It is the plane upon which development occurs. Without the Level there is no field of action, no place of encounter, no common ground upon which human beings may learn, labor, and grow.

This may explain why the symbolism of the Level resonates so strongly across cultures and philosophies. Stoicism, Taoism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Kabbalah, and the I Ching all identify a common obstacle to wisdom: the distortions created by ego, status, pride, attachment, and comparison. Each tradition proposes a different solution, yet all arrive at a similar conclusion. Human flourishing depends upon seeing reality clearly.

The Level teaches precisely this lesson.

It does not merely proclaim equality. It cultivates perception.

To meet another person upon the Level is to see beyond the temporary distinctions that often dominate human judgment. It is to recognize a fellow traveler moving through the same stream of time, facing the same uncertainties, and approaching the same horizon.

The greatest advantage of living upon the Level is therefore not that it makes a man equal. It is that it frees him from illusion.

A man who sees clearly learns more readily, judges more fairly, acts more wisely, and responds more effectively to the changing circumstances of life. Such a man becomes capable of living by the Plumb and departing upon the Square.

In this sense, the Level may be the hidden foundation of the entire system. It is the plane upon which life is lived, character is tested, and wisdom is acquired. It is not merely a symbol of equality. It is a discipline of perception, teaching the Mason to see himself, his fellow man, and reality itself as they truly are.

References

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

Hadot, P. (2001). The inner citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Harvard University Press.

Lao Tzu. (1963). Tao Te Ching (D. C. Lau, Trans.). Penguin Books.

Prabhavananda, S., & Isherwood, C. (Trans.). (1944). Bhagavad-Gita: The song of God. Mentor Books.

Rahula, W. (1974). What the Buddha taught. Grove Press.

Scholem, G. (1974). Kabbalah. Meridian.

Shakespeare, W. (2003). Hamlet. Arden Shakespeare. (Original work published ca. 1600)

The Holy Bible, King James Version. (1769/2017). Cambridge University Press. (Original work published 1611)

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

Yates, F. A. (1964). Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic tradition. University of Chicago Press.

Zafirovski, M. (2014). The Enlightenment and its effects on modern society. Springer.

The Great Bobblehead Panic

There are few things in life capable of transforming otherwise rational adults into a nervous mob. Fire alarms, shark sightings, and the words "limited edition" all come to mind. On May 27th, the Los Angeles Dodgers added another item to that list when they announced a Yoshinobu Yamamoto Game Seven Final Out World Series bobblehead giveaway for the first 40,000 fans through the gates.

The problem, of course, was that Dodger Stadium holds more than 50,000 people.

Knowing it was going to be crowded, I left earlier than usual. Not just a little earlier, but the kind of early that makes you feel slightly ridiculous. I figured I would beat the crowds, grab my bobblehead, and enjoy the game. Instead, when I arrived at Union Station, I found what looked less like a line for a baseball game and more like an evacuation route.

The line for the Dodger Stadium Express stretched far longer than I had expected. Every conversation around me revolved around exactly one topic: the bobblehead. Nobody was discussing the pitching matchup. Nobody was talking about the Colorado Rockies. Nobody seemed interested in baseball at all. The only thing anyone wanted to know was whether there would still be bobbleheads left when they reached the stadium.

After about twenty-five minutes of waiting, I finally boarded a bus. The mood immediately improved. We were moving. We were making progress. The coveted bobblehead seemed safely within reach.

Then we encountered four young men on rental electric scooters.

As the bus entered the dedicated bus lane on Sunset Boulevard, we found ourselves trapped behind them. Normally, scooters move quickly enough to stay out of the way. These scooters, however, appeared to be losing a battle with the incline. Their batteries were struggling so badly that the riders were pushing themselves along with one foot, just as if they were riding old-fashioned kick scooters.

The bus driver honked.

The scooter riders looked over their shoulders.

And laughed.

That was a mistake.

Someone on the bus yelled, "They're going to make us miss the bobbleheads!"

The effect was immediate and dramatic. The entire bus erupted into panic. Suddenly everyone was shouting. People stood up and pointed. Passengers began yelling at the scooter riders, despite the fact that there was virtually no chance the riders could hear anything over traffic. The bus driver joined the effort by leaning heavily on the horn. Before long, dozens of Dodgers fans were shouting, waving, and bouncing in their seats with such enthusiasm that the full-sized transit bus actually began rocking from side to side.

At that moment, the Dodger Stadium Express ceased being public transportation. It became a crusade.

The scooter riders continued their slow uphill journey while a bus full of increasingly desperate baseball fans imagined their bobbleheads disappearing one by one.

As we approached Vin Scully Way, a Los Angeles Police Department motorcycle officer sat near a side street. The scooter riders spotted him and immediately exited the bus lane, cutting down the side street and disappearing around him. As our bus rolled past, the officer looked toward us with an expression that suggested he was trying to determine whether a riot had broken out inside the vehicle. He could hear the shouting. He could see dozens of people pointing. What he probably could not understand was that the entire disturbance revolved around collectible plastic figurines.

Unfortunately, the bus could not make the turn onto Vin Scully Way as quickly as the scooters could. By the time we finally negotiated the turn and started up the hill toward the stadium, the four riders had vanished.

As we approached the gates, the tension reached its peak. Thousands of people were streaming toward the entrances. Everywhere I looked, people were predicting disaster.

"We missed the bobblehead."

"They're definitely gone."

"No way there are any left."

Fans spoke with the grim certainty usually reserved for natural disasters.

Then we reached the gates.

And everyone got a bobblehead.

The crisis had been entirely imaginary.

The scooter riders had not ruined anyone's evening. Civilization remained intact. The Yamamoto bobbleheads were still plentiful, and the collective panic instantly evaporated.

What followed was one of the most enjoyable games I have attended in a long time. Shohei Ohtani took the mound as the Dodgers' starting pitcher and also led off the game as their first batter. In a scene that felt almost scripted, Ohtani stepped to the plate for his first at-bat and launched a home run, electrifying the stadium and setting the tone for the evening. He pitched well, the Dodgers controlled the game, and they went on to defeat the Colorado Rockies.

By the end of the night, the only challenge remaining was getting home. The line for the return bus was long, and it took about forty-five minutes to board. Yet nobody seemed particularly bothered. The anxiety, the panic, and the imaginary bobblehead shortage were behind us. Fans compared their prizes, talked about Ohtani's performance, and relived the highlights of the game.

Looking back, it was a perfect evening of Dodger baseball. I got my bobblehead. I watched Ohtani pitch and hit a home run. The Dodgers beat the Rockies. And somewhere out there, four young men on rental scooters remain completely unaware that they briefly became the most hated people in Los Angeles.

For a few unforgettable minutes, an entire busload of Dodgers fans was convinced that those four riders stood between them and happiness. As it turned out, there were enough bobbleheads for everyone, the Dodgers won, and the only thing anyone really lost was their sense of perspective.

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.”