Freemasonry is one of the few bastions of order and right in the modern world.

Marine Officers on Tulagi, the Solomon Islands, October 28, 1942, probably taken soon after the Marines captured it in August 1942. Photo: Official U.S. Marine Corps Photograph, from the collections of the Naval Historical Center

Like so many of my generation, some of my deepest impressions were formed by television and the movies I saw as a child. When I was about eight, I was entranced by a TV show called Combat, which dealt with U.S. troops fighting the Germans in France during World War II. It was a very thrilling and patriotic program.

I remember how the Germans were always dressed in splendid finery, with all sorts of glittering medals and insignia, perfectly fitted tunics, color-coordinated from helmeted head to jackbooted toe. The Americans, in contrast, always needed a shave, wore plain, baggy uniforms that gave new meaning to the term "olive drab," chewed on cigar butts that had clearly seen better times, and hardly spoke the King's English.

So here was the bravest, most crucial army of right in history, the best of good guys the world has ever known, fighting the most evil army in the history of the planet-but, damn, those Germans looked good! Certainly better than we did.

This idea was reinforced by the earliest images I gleaned about the Revolutionary War. Now that conflict wasn't such a stark, good-versus-evil struggle like WWII, but here, too, we Americans were undeniably the good guys fighting against oppression. And here, again, although some lucky American units wore that famous buff and blue, more often than not the good guys wore whatever they could find, and their military organization was often slipshod at best. We had to bring German, Polish, and French generals over here to help train the American army.

We all share fond images of Washington's brave, ragtag army freezing at Valley Forge. The bad guys, on the other hand, were resplendent in their crimson Imperial uniforms, and they practiced war as a glorious pageant. Although one might wonder about the practical wisdom of wearing bright scarlet uniforms with white bandoliers crossed over the heart-perfect targets for the American riflemen. (See page 10.) But, here again, the bad guys were the good-lookers.

And then there were all those Robin Hood images from all those great movies. It wasn't Errol Flynn and his merry men who had the fancy duds. Again, it was the bad guys who won the fashion show, hands down.

British soldiers and American colonists clash at the Battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775

And thus my general impression grew that the good guys are supposed to be sloppy, or at least plain and decidedly unregimented, and only the baddest of bad guys love pomp and circumstance, precision and pageantry, fancy rank insignia, and colorful decorations.

And then one morning I saw a movie on TV, with my mother, a movie that really clinched that conclusion. It was called Storm Warning. It starred Ronald Reagan as a Federal Agent taking on an entity of whose existence I had been, in my childlike innocence, blissfully unaware. So my mother had to tell me about the Ku Klux Klan.

She explained to me, as I listened with horror, about this confederation of thugs that wore flowing robes, rode noble steeds, loved regalia and ritual, and existed for the sole purpose of terrorizing people, first simply because of the color of their skin and later because of their religion as well. I was appalled watching images of these horrible bullies, cowardly hiding under those white hoods and brutalizing innocent people just because of their race. One of the most gratifying moments of my childhood was seeing Ron Reagan on screen blasting one of them.

And then my mother said to me one of those things that stick in your mind forever. Mothers do that. Shaking her head in disgust at the robed villains, she said wistfully, "Wouldn't it be nice if there were an organization that dressed up in splendid uniforms to help people, an army that wore masks, not to hide from the consequences of its evil acts, nor to escape justice, but out of modesty as it did good deeds?"

Ever since then, the indelible image my mother painted of a beneficent army clothed in the uniforms and regalia of righteousness floated in the back of my mind as my life took its twists and turns over the years. Then, just last year, I made my first visit to the House of the Temple in Washington. I went out of curiosity, but as I toured that mighty and beautiful structure, I learned of a mighty and beautiful movement. I learned what Masonry stands for, and I found that my imaginary, virtuous army had existed all along.

I believe there's a lot to be said for formalized morality and ritualized righteousness. Why not dress up virtue? Why do only the bad guys get to assume exalted titles? For example, officers of Hitler's SS, the cruelest of the cruel, were given ranks such as "Leader of the Banner" and other pretty poetic titles for a bunch of murderers.

I believe Masonry has the right idea in inculcating the lessons and principles of decency by signs, symbols, and insignia. Somehow, the farther behind we leave childhood, it seems we also leave behind tangible, visible signs of virtuous achievement. We may or may not acquire temporal riches, but that may or may not be a sign of merit. I'm sure we all know people who obviously didn't acquire their fancy toys by being good boys.

Of course, the U.S. Armed Forces, the most formidable military force for freedom in the world for a couple of centuries, has ranks and medals. But outside of the military, there's not much in the way of merit badges for grownups.

So I think Masonry fills a tremendous need for those of us who are good guys in an often unappreciative world. I like the idea of being decorated for it. We may have acquired our Blue Lodge or Scottish Rite Degrees in just a few long and fascinating days, but we have the rest of our lives to study and reflect on the rich lessons and lore of each one of those 32 rungs on the Masonic ladder. Anti-Masons have a field day mocking, even demonizing, our rituals and our Degrees. But consider what those rituals and Degrees signify.

• We Knights Elu, for example, are charged with destroying ignorance, contending against tyranny and fanaticism, championing the rights of the people, devoting ourselves to virtue and the cause of humanity, improving and informing the people as well as protecting them.
• We Princes of Jerusalem build temples to God in our hearts with the noblest of virtues as the building stones.
• We Prussian Knights stand for justice, modesty, and proper treatment of our fellowmen. Compare these Knights with that certain bunch of 20th-century Prussian not-so-chivalrous "knights" I mentioned earlier, soldiers of darkness, which we Americans had to smite in order to save civilization.
• We Sublime Princes of the Royal Secret learn we are to be soldiers of light, champions of freedom, defenders of the people, ever seeking and nurturing the divine elements in humanity. We are to be scholars as well as warriors, aiming at Plato's ideal of the philosopher king. We are to receive, share, and impart wisdom to a world badly in need of it. Our soldiers are encamped in sacred geometry, ready to fight for lofty principles. So those are some of our "secrets" that some people try to scare everyone about. I wish all people everywhere harbored such "secrets" in their hearts.

I'm a child of Southern California- affectionately known in some quarters as the land of fruits, nuts, and flakes-and, what's more, I'm a child of the '60s and '70s, the golden age of cults. Growing up in that time and place, I was exposed to every kind of sect, philosophy, movement, church, quasi-church, and totally bogus church you could possibly imagine. Not only did I study about many belief systems in college, but I also had endless firsthand opportunities to encounter most of them in person. I'd listen to them all because I was always seeking, in Brother Goethe's last words, "Mehr Licht," "More Light."

I even used to go to Hare Krishna picnics in the park on Sundays. Okay, part of the attraction was that they fed everyone free banana bread if you'd listen to them. It wasn't bad. But I was also open to what they had to say-and to every other group claiming spiritual wisdom. My sister was always afraid that some weirdo zombie cult would kidnap me, brainwash me, and she'd never see her baby brother again.

My point is this. When it comes to belief systems, I've read and heard it all. So I can tell you with utmost confidence, as well as with pride as a new Mason, that never have I encountered a group that takes so many serious and repeated oaths to live kind, fair, and moral lives, as do Scottish Rite Masons. I've never seen any group that comes even close to the acts of devotion we've undertaken at our Blue Lodges and Scottish Rite Temples. We have sworn to the most solemn obligations, on our knees, sometimes on the point of a sharp weapon, to do right and serve humanity.

Can you imagine what this world would be like if a sizable proportion of the world's population took even some of the kinds of oaths that we've all taken-and made a reasonable effort to keep that troth? This world would be a paradise beyond imagination.

Since, sadly, we know all too well that not all citizens of the world live by those ideals, we can't, by ourselves, make the world a paradise by next week, but we can all keep doing our best to move the world ever further in that direction. We came to Masonry without being prompted by anyone. We came because we were attracted, one way or another, to an ancient, venerable order whose ideals are the world's best hope.

On behalf of my Classmates, I want to extend our heartfelt thanks to all who participated in presenting the splendid pageant of those 29 Degrees so we could have the honor of joining this honorable Order. All those bad guys of my childhood impressions-Nazis, Imperial Officers, Klansmen, and all the villains of history-sooner or later lost. They lost not because finery and regimentation are only for villains, but because, as Masonry teaches us, good will always ultimately conquer evil.

Those who bemoan the death of chivalry can stop bemoaning, because chivalry is alive and well here in Scottish Rite Masonry. Let's keep our august ranks growing. Let's keep our Masonic encampment victorious. Let's keep our army of well-dressed good guys winning.

T. James Ryan is a public affairs specialist for the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. He was born in Pasadena, California, grew up in San Diego, and graduated from UCLA with a B.A. in political science and American University with an M.A. in journalism and public affairs. Bro. Jim spent three years in Japan as a young man, teaching English and studying Japanese and aikido. In Washington he has worked in the press offices of Members of Congress and done public affairs work for several associations. Among his other achievements are a stint as four-time Jeopardy! champion and several freelance articles published by the Washington Post and other publications. He has a passion for 1960s rock music, sings and plays bass guitar in a band, and speaks several languages including Esperanto. He has written two novels (as yet unpublished) and is working on a third. Jim was raised at Alexandria-Washington No. 22 in February 2002 (a history enthusiast, he made a point of choosing the Lodge of his hero, George Washington) and received his Scottish Rite (Alexandria, Virginia, Bodies) and York Rite Degrees later that year. Bro. Jim says he wishes he had discovered Masonry years ago, but hopes to make up for lost time by making what contributions he can to the Craft from now on.