H. Wallace Reid
407 Berkshire Hill, Anderson, South Carolina 29621–3909

The flag is a landmark, an ethical lighthouse, guiding us through whatever storm our nation must weather.

I know ever since Snoopy wrote that line in his cartoon role as novelist, it has become a hackneyed opening—but it was a dark and stormy night. We had been to a Lodge meeting in a distant town and were now trying to get home. The storm had started hours before with a gentle rain. Now sheets of lightning tore across the sky, blinding us with the alteration of pitch black and painful brightness. The rain sluiced across the highway, making it almost impossible to distinguish the shoulder from the road itself. As the night wore on, the lightning diminished, but the rain increased. Even at their top speed, the windshield wipers had scarcely any effect. Conversation in the car had long since stopped except for an occasional comment.

I thought it couldn't get any worse, but I was wrong. We came upon a long stretch of road which had recently been resurfaced. It was solid black, with no lines painted on it. We were reduced to a crawl, and even then kept running onto the shoulder. It was one of those trips where you seem to be isolated in a world by yourself. The drumming of the rain on the car drowned out even the sound of the engine. We all wondered if anything would ever break the blackness and the roaring monotony of the rain.

And then, ahead, we saw something in the sky. It has hard to see what it was. The image was distorted and refracted by the water sheeting across the windshield. Then, for an instant, the windshield cleared, and we could see. It was an American flag, brightly lighted, streaming straight out in the wind. Nothing else was visible, neither flag pole nor building, just the flag itself, suspended in all that swirling chaos. Then the rain slammed into the car again, and the flag was reduced to a blur. But we had seen it, and we knew where we were.

It is an immense flag, and it flies above a truck stop on the Interstate. We saw it long before we could see the signs announcing the exit or the building itself. Even though it was a blur, it still served as a guide. I've seldom been as relieved as I was when we found the exit, pulled up to the building, dashed inside, and drank coffee while we waited for the storm to abate enough to let us go on.

I would not wish that trip on my worst enemy, but I wish you could have been with us, just for a moment, when we first saw that flag. It was a moment of high theatre, prepared by the great stage manager Nature. The flag glowed like a handful of diamonds, sapphires, and rubies flung against black velvet. It was a familiar, a loving image, defying the worst the storm could do. It was a beacon, a promise of help and safety in a world of darkness and danger.

I think I understood, then, for a moment, what those millions of immigrants must have felt, decades ago, when they first saw the flag flying over the American coast after their long sea voyage. When life has been storm-tossed, what a vision of hope and beauty it must have been for them! This undoubtedly holds true for immigrants to our shores today.

And, indeed, it has been like a beacon for us all. Not all the storms of life involve thunder and lightning and driving rain. Most of the storms of our nation do not come from acts of nature. The wars we have fought are caused by humans. The internal strife and dissention we sometimes experience come from human nature, not the convulsions of the continent. But through all that, the flag has been there, guiding us to an oasis of light and safety.

That is what the flag means to me. It's a landmark, an ethical lighthouse. It's like that little button at the top of the Internet screen marked "home." No matter how far we may wander and explore, the flag is there, waiting to take us back where we belong.

H. Wallace Reid has been a member of the Supreme Council since 1985, was Grand Master in South Carolina 1974–76, and is a member of Hejaz Shrine Temple in Greenville. He serves as vice-chairman of the Board of Governors Shrine Hospital, Greenville Unit. He is retired as Superintendent of Schools in Anderson, S.C. A Ruling Elder and Adult Sunday School Teacher at Central Presbyterian Church, he serves as Chairman of the Education and Americanism Committee of the Supreme Council, Vice President of the Scottish Rite Research Society, and Co-chairman of the Supreme Council's 2001 Bicentennial Subcommittee.