March 26 2007

Overhead Imagery



It was a day of astonishing brilliance, and the small rooms high up in the tower were oppressive after the dazzling freedom of the observation deck of George Washington's Masonic Temple. The panorama was the best view of the two states and the District, according to the young 32nd Degree Mason who guided the tour.

I had to agree with him. Without a private helicopter and special dispensation from the Department of Homeland Security, it would be impossible to duplicate the view. I have spent a lot of time looking down at things in my line of work, so it was very comfortable.

The overhead view comes at a cost, though. You may tour the lower chambers at your leisure, but to visit the observation deck, you must listen to the Masonic pitch.

The representative of the secretive world order reminded me of my son. He wore a white shirt, dark slacks and a name-tag. He refused to discuss the great Secret, as one might expect, but was forthcoming about the details of the building.

I was not particularly interested in the pitch, though I concede that it is an impressive disinformation campaign to have the great conspiracy represented by a stout woman of a certain age, and a young man who could have passed for a Goldwater Republican of yore.

I had never been in the gleaming tower, though I have been driving past it for years. It dominates the bluff at the end of King Street, which runs as straight as a die to the river from its base. In style, it is modeled on the great lighthouse of Alexandria, or what the solid citizens of 1920 imagined it to be. It soars 333 feet into the air, a number with mystical association.

The Lodge is intended to make a statement, and it does. The hill on which it sits is of military significance, due to the clear field of fire available in all directions. That is why I was there, since Fort Ellesworth can only be seen from above, its outlines clear in the different shade of grass that grows over its filled-in moats and ramparts.

It was the first of the season that had everything to drag people out of their winter burrows, bright sunshine, deep azure skies, and short-sleeve temperatures in the District, and Old Town Alexandria across the Potomac.

Time is running out on the views from most places. Arlington is known as the “county of trees,” since its green is in such abundance in-season that it might as well be a cloak, concealing the old scars to the earth, and hiding the lines down the sharp vallies. The trees are abundant in the neighborhoods and sharp valleys of the escarpment that fronts the river.

The county's triangular border, remnant of its beginning as the southwest quadrant of the District, nestles the circular blob of greenery that was Arlington Hall, a river plantation that now grows rich grass and white stones.

Demographically, the flat lands hold little houses and garden apartments in the southern half of the County. The north is home to more green and bigger houses, though the heights with cooling summer breeze in the sweltering summer. From the observation deck, I could see the top of Big Pink's proud tower against the new high-rise construction of the Wilson Corridor.

Traffic whizzes by from the new Wilson Bridge, heading out of town. I could not tell from that altitude if one of the cars held Attorney General Gonzales. It would have been a splendid day to start the long drive to Texas that he is going to be taking soon.

Inside, in the chamber on the ninth floor, was a replica of King Solomon's throne. Or at least what the Masons imagine it might have looked like. A woman in full robes and veil looked at it, but I could not ascertain her reaction to it, much less the impact of the marching Egyptians on the fresco in the Chamber of the Order of the Arch. I asked the Guide about the purging of the Scottish Rite by the American Baptists who seized control of the Order after the Civil War, but he was properly non-committal.

I am broad-minded, but I have to say that the veil creeps me out a bit. But to each their own. In the chamber of the Knights Templar I asked the guide about the passion of the last Grand Master of the old Order, Jacques de Molay as the King of France had him roasted alive.

He said it would take more than an hour tour of the Temple, and I shivered at the thought of a longer session in the dim chambers far below. George Washington's chair is there, along with the delicate silver trowel with which he laid the cornerstone of the US Capitol. So are the spurs of Santa Ana, who gave them up in gratitude when the Masonic distress sign saved him from the Masons in the Texas army that defeated him at the Battle of San Joquinto.

I could see I was not going to get much out of this cagey representative of the real world government. I took detailed telephoto pictures of the remaining outline of Fort Ellesworth, which is divided in three parts by the waterworks, the Mason's decorative lawn, and an apartment complex that sits on top of the western bastion.

They say that the magazine is under the tennis court. I was able to escape with the Muslims on the tour when they asked to escape the chamber of the Order of the Arch. The elevator inclines at an angle of seven-and-half degrees to accommodate the stepped design of the tower.

The Guide looked a little disappointed- or maybe relieved- as we went down. I could not tell that it was at an angle, anymore than I could discern that there were relics under the tennis court when I drove over there.

I did find part of the original moat to the Fort on the edge of the property, though. It is cloaked in a thicket, but if you know what you are looking at, and pace it off, it is easy. It was certainly more than I was able to figure out about the Masons.

Copyright 2007 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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