Freemasonry – Racketeering Run Amok

Roger Barbour – for Henry September 13, 2010

In this the sixth installment of his battle with Freemasons, Barbour answers some of Makow’s questions.

Dear Henry, Right now I’m in the middle of a gunfight and find it absolutely impossible to concentrate on matters at hand with regard to this dismal tale. Every waking moment presents something else to reckon with. After four years of unsuccessfully trying to dislodge me, the natives are getting restless.

Business is impossible to conduct since they have not only chased away the customers but have “put out the word” and effectively cut me off from all sources of supply and raw materials.

For example: I needed some common, off the shelf welding supplies recently and called the local supply house for same. The salesman told me that he couldn’t help me and my best bet was to go “on line” and get it from other sources. This is a very common issue regarding vendors in the area. In this case, a call to a supplier in Boston received prompt, courteous attention and my stuff was on the way in minutes.


Simply put, NO! Everyone here is completely under the thumb of the Masons. Doing business with an “outsider” like me immediately subjects them to Masonic castigation. The Mason’s control every aspect of finance and hold mortgages on homes, land and equipment. Consorting with me could very well jeopardize the status of someone’s loan so they steer well clear of me. Others are discouraged from socializing (not that I care) and are put under extreme pressure to ostracize me.

When I first came here, I met and forged a friendship with the fellow that was in charge of plant operations in the facility where I relocated the production line for my client from Florida. We found that we had a lot of common interests and worked well together.

One day he asked if I could help him install a new door at his house and I gladly obliged. During the course of the job I met his wife (Eastern Star) and his father (Master Mason) and the friendship quickly dissolved. He began to shun me and if it became necessary for him to come by he’d only do so at night when nobody could see him. To this day, he has thousands of dollars worth of tools in his roll-around box sitting out in my shop. They have been there for at least two years and he is afraid to pick them up because he’ll be accused of consorting with me.

They are gang-bangers. In the true fashion of the animal world, they have banded together to seek comfort and solace from their own ilk and to prey upon the unsuspecting. Like any other gang or criminal organization they have their own hierarchy and pecking order.

In areas like this one where educational standards are non-existent, the few people who have a measure of learning quickly rise to the top. The remainder wallow in a cesspool of ignorance and poverty perpetuated by those in the higher echelons and are willing do the bidding of their masters for a few meager crumbs. I call this the “big fish in the small pond syndrome”. The big fish rule the roost, mete out the jobs to “qualified individuals” (re. other Masons) and reap the profits while sitting back in comfort and wealth.

The term “pinched” is quite appropriate. They all believe they possess some hidden knowledge that others are not privy to. This “look” increases proportionately with the member’s level of achievement. Those at the top believe that they have mastered “the ancient knowledge of the universe” in the fashion of Bible scholars or those that have translated the Nag Hamadi texts. Indeed, some leave me with the impression that they possess all the information in the Great Library at Alexandria.


“Porch Masons” or third degree Masons are those on the lowest end of the food chain. They are very prevalent in areas predisposed to poverty and low educational standards. They have entered this realm because they simply had no other choice. Since areas where these conditions exist are controlled by the Masons, gainful employment is impossible without being a member of a “Blue Lodge”.

These creatures are basically the indentured servants of their lords and masters. A measure of deference must be shown to their superiors in order to garner favor. Throughout the south, the term “sir” is always used by the lowly third degree members when addressing their betters. Favors and good deals and obedience must be accorded by the peons or they’ll never have a chance of getting a laborer’s job much less a mortgage. The “big fish” constantly dangle carrots before the noses of these unsuspecting dupes in order to coerce them to do their bidding.

Experience has taught me that these peons hold their masters in awe. Mere mention of the Masons seems to instill fear and awe in these misdirected creatures. On more than one occasion, I’ve been told by one of these poor sods to avoid critical remarks about things Masonic.

“You don’t wanna go fuckin’ with them” is a phrase that I’ve heard many times from third degree lackeys.

With respect to the previous three paragraphs, It’s plainly evident that these people are possessed of a gang mentality. They are programmed to tow the mark or expect retribution from above.


I’m not sure there will be an “after”. These animals have made a concerted effort to block every attempt at selling this place. False stories regularly circulate that it is a toxic waste site among other things. Real estate agents purposely deflect sales by telling potential customers that the site is unsuitable for their purpose. On one occasion, a realtor I considered using as a representative, actually had the temerity to offer me half-of-what the place is worth on behalf of one of his Masonic brothers. Another wanted to list it at a price that was four times what it was worth.

The neighbors, third degree trash all, are constantly watching to monitor who comes and goes. As I mentioned previously, those “caught” associating with me are immediately brought before the bar of Masonic justice. Consequently, nobody dares pay so much as a social call.

During the first two years here, the filth that lives across the road must have expended 20,000 rounds of ammunition into the woods in an effort to intimidate me. Their efforts ceased when the price of ammo went through the roof and they started making homemade bombs. That also ceased when they set one off too close to their house and blew out the front windows. Their property looks like a junkyard and if I were trying to sell a residence the value of my place would be seriously impacted by their slovenly ways.

I’d welcome the chance to divest myself of this yoke and return to the realm of sanity. Maybe that way I can die in peace. I’ve actually formulated a plan to seek out the most radical, black pastor I can find (Jeremiah Wright immediately comes to mind) in the interests of donating this place to his church. Maybe that will leave these bastards with a gift that keeps on giving.