John Goldsmith

A century ago DeMoulin Bros. produced a unique line of initiation equipment for the Modern Woodmen of America and other similar fraternal groups.

Photo: From The Lodge Goat and Goat Rides (1902) by James Pettibone

In the closing years of the 19th century, the United States was emerging as a world power. The Spanish American War proved our willingness to fight outside the boundaries of our nation. It was an era of inventions such as the telephone and electric lights, and the automobile began surfacing in rural America. And the American man entered a stage now referred to as “male bonding.” This was the “Golden Age” of fraternal lodges.

In today’s society, we are familiar with organizations like the Masons, Junior Chamber of Commerce (Jaycees), Kiwanis, Optimists, and Lions. In the fifteen years prior to World War I, there were countless fraternal groups such as the Modern Woodmen of America, the Knights of the Maccabees, the Knights of Pythias, and the Improved Order of Redmen. Secretive to an extent, even their names had a mystic sound. Why were they so popular, and why did hundreds of thousands of American men belong to—in some cases—three or four of them at a time?

Fraternal orders were not a new concept in America, as the Freemasons and the Odd Fellows could trace their origins to 18th-century England. The Order of Hibernians was founded in 1836, the Knights of Pythias in 1864, and the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks in 1868. But the popularity of lodges rose dramatically in the 1890s and peaked just before World War I. This can likely be attributed to the economic and social benefits offered with membership in some of the lodges. Many of the orders were established as a manner of providing health insurance or death benefits to those who could not be insured or could not afford the premiums of a commercial insurance company.

This is one of the famous products from the DeMoulin “Goat Factory,” used by the Modern Woodmen of America and other fraternities to increase membership. Photo: Courtesy www.phoenixmasonry.org

The Modern Woodmen of America (MWA), created in Iowa in 1883 by Joseph Cullen Root, is a primary example of a fraternal benefit organization. Root’s vision was a nationwide chain of “camps” linked with the common goal of providing a recreational fraternity that also relieved the financial burden on a member’s family upon his death. In essence, a life insurance policy was the ultimate benefit, but the camaraderie of the camps would be another attraction. The MWA grew slowly, but their fate changed drastically when a little-known attorney from Greenville, Illinois, named William A. Northcott was elected the organization’s Head Consul in 1890. One of the first challenges that Northcott tried to tackle was the organization’s lackluster membership. He felt that the MWA needed something to entice new members beyond the insurance benefits.

Northcott consulted another Greenville man, Ed DeMoulin, who was a photographer by trade but also a crafty inventor who already had received a patent on a trick photography camera attachment. DeMoulin conferred with his brothers Erastus and U.S., and the trio concluded that the Woodmen needed more humorous rites of initiation for its prospective members. Ed, blessed with a quirky sense of humor to complement his inventiveness, devised the “molten lead test” that a new member was told he must pass in order to gain acceptance by his fellow Woodmen. A pot resting on a tripod above an alcohol stove gave the impression that the poor fellow would be placing his hands into a boiling brew. In reality, dry mercury powder was sprinkled into cold water to give the illusion of bubbling, hot lead.

Sensing he had stumbled upon a potential commercial venture, Ed opened a lodge and fraternal paraphernalia business. With Northcott as a silent partner and backed with the business savvy of U.S. and blacksmithing skills of Erastus, Ed DeMoulin’s business soon cornered the market of the Modern Woodmen of America. The “molten lead test” was followed by bucking goats, lung testers, surprise chairs, and paddle machines. The DeMoulins accumulated patents on dozens of initiation devices and their growth coincided with that of the MWA. Under Northcott’s tenure as the Woodmen’s Head Consul, the group saw its membership explode from 40,000 to 600,000. Noting the success of the Modern Woodmen of America, other lodges began incorporating these crazy initiation practices, and DeMoulin Bros. catered to their needs. There is no evidence Masonic lodges used such informal and unapproved initiation pranks.

The goat became so synonymous with the DeMoulin Company that it was often referred to as “the goat factory.” The goat originated from a game in which a blindfolded man would ride a rail held on the shoulders of two men. The DeMoulin goat consisted of a wool body that resembled the animal, complete with authentic horns, attached to a three-wheeled carriage system. The candidate would be blindfolded and placed on the goat. A lodge member would then push the contraption until the rider was tossed onto the ground. The carriage was built in a manner to create a swaying motion ensuring the rider a short trip. Eventually the DeMoulin stable contained an array of goats with titles like “The Royal Bumper,” “A Low Down Buck,” and “The Rollicking Mustang Goat.” The carriage system, depending on the desired ride, could have anywhere from two to five wheels.

The goal was to create a memorable experience for the new member and big laughs for the brothers administering the initiations. Keeping this in mind, the DeMoulin brothers looked for ways to bruise, shock, startle, or soak the victim. The “trick bottom chair” was a collapsible chair that fired off a blank cartridge when it hit the ground. The “lung tester” was presented as a way to measure the lung capacity of the new mem-ber. However, when he blew into the device a 32-calibre blank exploded and flour was shot onto his face through a hole in the dial. A candidate asked to test his strength would actually encounter the DeMoulin “invisible paddle machine” which released a panel that swatted his behind, triggered a blank cartridge, and discharged water in his face. Any of these initiations would certainly have made a lodge member’s first night memorable. Although this may sound like a cruel way to have a laugh at someone else’s expense, it does reflect the sensibilities of a different era. The sting of initiation was soon forgotten when the new member could join his fellow Woodmen in subjecting the next recruit to the same gauntlet.

“Goat Factory” brothers: (left to right) Erastus, U.S., and Ed DeMoulin
Photo: Courtesy John Goldsmith

The popularity of the initiations was boosted by the secrecy surrounding them. Members were expected to leave the details of their fellowship behind lodge doors, which no doubt prompted other curious gents to join. The lodges allowed men of all ages and backgrounds to gather and share a common experience. The membership roster might include the mayor, the druggist, the local newspaper editor, and a common wage earner. They could talk about the news of the day and then proceed to watch a fellow member fall off a DeMoulin goat.

DeMoulin Bros. was not the only company to manufacture lodge and fraternal paraphernalia. Their competitors included Pettibone of Cincinnati, Ohio, Whitehead & Hoag of Newark, New Jersey, Ward & Stilson of New London, Ohio, and the M.C. Lilley Company of Columbus, Ohio. Each had a specialty and owned a chunk of the lodge market. Only DeMoulin, however, has survived due strictly to its ability to adapt to the changing marketplace. In the years following, DeMoulin Bros. shifted its focus to church furniture, graduation caps and gowns, and band uniforms. They are still one of the nation’s foremost manufactures of band uniforms, serving colleges and high schools around the world.

Photo: Courtesy www.phoenixmasonry.org

In today’s litigious climate, the fraternal initiation practices of one hundred years ago could never survive. Most lodges would never even attempt them with a cloud of lawsuits hanging over every goat ride. An argument could be made that today’s society is too sophisticated for lung testers and paddle machines, and perhaps we take ourselves too seriously to see the humor in blasting flour in someone’s face. But wouldn’t it be worth a one-night visit, courtesy of H.G. Wells’ time machine, to see how much fun the lodge brothers were having then? Back then, they thought there was no better bond among men than a bruised ego and tailbone courtesy of a bucking goat.

John Goldsmith is Program Director at WGEL radio in Greenville, Illinois. He is a Little League coach, drama teacher, and president of the Bond County Historical Society. In 2004 he published Three Frenchmen and A Goat: The DeMoulin Bros. Story (see “Book Reviews.”). His mother, Norma, has worked at the factory since 1954 and provided the inspiration to complete the project. He is now considered the official historian for the DeMoulin factory and family. To learn more about the history of DeMoulin, visit Goldsmith’s web site at www.demoulincollectors.com.