There was a man named Verlin Smith that was my friend. He worked as a mechanic in the days I knew him. He was older than me and was the chaplain for the lodge I attended.

Verlin was charged with prayer each time we met. And no matter how his prayers started, and regardless of what was said in between, he always included the petition for the aid of those that had less food to eat than we (paraphrased).

He was a wise man. He was a gracious man. He was my brother and I was his.

In a lodge filled with astrological symbols and...