I could simply cut to the chase here and tell you that I never did find out what the secret was, but that just wouldn’t be like me. So I’ll start much earlier.
I grew up knowing my parents were members in a lodge. Daddy was an Odd Fellow, and Mom was a Rebecca. Hubbard, the small town closest to our resort on 2nd Crow Wing Lake, had a lodge where they attended meetings. We didn’t get to know anything else about it because it was “secret”. Being kids, we didn’t much care either. I did know that the lodge held entertainment that was open to the public, a kind of a talent exhibition in the guise of a minstrel show.
Today that would be a scandal. Back then, growing up in an area that had likely never seen a black person in the flesh, black-face was just kinda silly. Nobody could actually look like that, could they? No word of segregation or Jim Crow laws leaked into our serene protected little world, and we just sat back and enjoyed the show. Much of the rest of it was silly also, intended or not.
After moving to Park Rapids, my parents continued their lodge membership, although they still traveled to Hubbard to be with their old lodge friends. It was in the same county, and there wasn’t an Odd Fellow's lodge in Park Rapids. There were, however, Masons.
I never knew how it came about, but one day my mom asked me if I wanted to join Job’s Daughters. Job’s Daughters? What was that? Turns out it was a branch of the Masons for teenaged girls, and when we grew up we could become Eastern Stars. But at that time I'd never heard of it, or them, or whatever. It was some kind of lodge, and somebody unknown to me had put my name forward as a possible candidate to join. It didn’t seem important either way, but Mom encouraged me, so I showed up to be interviewed. The questions seemed both innocuous and pointless. I’d heard I could be blackballed by a single vote but I had no idea why somebody would unless they didn’t like me. These days I’m thinking it had more to do with race and religion and less to do with personalities, but I was clueless then. At any rate, I was accepted. I was to show up on a certain night to be initiated. My parents could come, but otherwise it was to be secret.
We who were to be initiated that night had to wait outside in an atrium while the meeting started, while a couple of the girls already in Job’s Daughters stayed with us and coached us in what was to be expected of us. Actually, they did a pretty good job of not letting us know what to do, other than to just do as were were told at each point. It was all secret until we were members. Just to tease us a little bit, they told us we had to “ride the goat”.
“Behold, behold, we are the daughters of Job.
Behold, behold, we are the daughters of Job,
The fairest, the fairest in all the land.”
I can still sing that at the drop of a hat. It was our processional for every meeting, sung while we entered and marched around to take our places, assigned according to what our particular “office” was at the time. I knew it was a lie when I sang it. I was chubby and awkward, my hair was a curly unruly mess, the robe made me look ugly, and I was anything but the fairest in all the land. But I sang it.
That night it was all new to me. Our escorts, and all the other members, wore white satin robes that came nearly to the floor, with big sleeves, and twisted satin ropes like very long drapery tiebacks that came down our shoulders, twisted together between our breasts, crossed behind our backs and around to the front at our waists where they were tied together in a knot and dropped the rest of their length. Every curve and bulge was outlined. The style looked great on the ectomorphs among us. I wasn’t one of them. While we were waiting to go in, we donned them as well and were shown how to tie them.
When the doors opened, we marched around to different positions in the room, listened to different pieces of the ritual, and moved to new places. Eventually we were lined up in the front of the room, facing what we later learned were the officers, seated up on the front dais. While this presentation was going on, I found myself starting to black out. I had been strictly enjoined over and over to do nothing but what we were told at every step of the way, so I was frozen there, up in front of everybody, unable to sit, put my head down, anything but hope the whole thing got over quickly so I didn’t disgrace myself and my family. We finally were told to turn to our right and proceed, following our leader. At last! By then I was completely blind and wondering if I would be able to go in the right direction and turn at the right time just by following the sounds in front of me. Nothing to do but try. I distinctly remember making 4 steps... and waking up on the floor with a whole lot of very excited people gathered around me, suddenly relieved that I was OK.
And Mother, of course, demanding to know why hadn’t I sat down and put my head between my knees? The very same mother who had spent most of my life telling me to do exactly as I was told. The very same mother who should have been proud of me for following my directions despite adverse circumstances. Figures.
Initiation was over, though I’m not sure that was exactly when that part of the program had been planned for. For a long time I was the butt of jokes about falling off the goat at my initiation, but managed not to be disqualified from membership despite having fainted. I learned the songs and the speeches, voted on new girls joining without ever finding a reason to blackball anybody, went to all the meetings. About twice a year we did something called a service project, which as far as I could tell meant singing at a nursing home or preparing decorations for somebody else’s event.
We were sworn to secrecy about every bit of it, which I never understood then, and still don’t now. When our family moved to St. Paul, I didn't bother to look up a new lodge, and when grown, never bothered to join Eastern Star. I never saw the point.
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Addendum: this post has proved so popular, I have decided to add further comments now, over 11 years later: http://werejustpassingthru.blogspot.com/2021/02/echos-from-big-jobs-daughters-secret.html
If this link doesn't work, look for "Echoes From The Big Jobs Daughters Secret" posted Feb. 1, 2021.
