The Secret Societies of St. Louis

The Rosicrucian Quest

They meet in a strip mall in Brentwood—through the glass doors next to a beauty shop and up to the second floor—and there ascend through temple initiations to become adepts. Their beliefs originated in the ancient mystery schools of Egypt, crystallized in late medieval Germany, and show up in Dante’s Divine Comedy and Mozart’s Magic Flute. Rosicrucians—members of the Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis—study alchemy, vibroturgy, telepathy, and telekinesis in their efforts to uncover the universe’s deepest secrets. Officers include the provincial master, LaVerne Isenberg, grand councilor for all of Missouri; Master Britt Eubanks, a network administrator who lives in St. Charles; and Sentinel Tom Simota, a Walmart manager from Bentonville, Arkansas. “We move along the mystical path through self-study and meditation,” says Isenberg, “using secret symbols from the 16th and 17th centuries to attune ourselves to cosmic consciousness.” 

Odd Fellows

St. Louis once teemed with ancient orders—not just the storied Masons, rowdy Hibernians, and Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine (the Shriners) but also Aguthusians, Foresters, Good Fellows and Good Ladies, and Knights and Daughters of Africa. There were benevolent Elks and fraternal Eagles, Druids and Good Templars and Heroines of Jericho…

Now only a few societies remain, the members barely filling their lodges and the names puzzling the rest of us. Take the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, who aren’t odd at all. They believe in a supreme being and in friendship, love, and truth. They get together (in St. Louis Lodge No. 5, Alton, or Waterloo) to plan scholarships, help people in need, and share hot dog suppers they jovially call roadkill. On their distaff side are the Rebekahs, who are enjoined to “sacredly guard from exposure by any means the signs and words by which you may be known as a member of this degree.” The Odd Fellows’ biggest mystery, though, is their name, which traces back to 1700s England. Some say that associating for fellowship and mutual helpwas considered peculiar at the time.

Opus Dei

Dan Brown made them monk assassins, but in St. Louis they’re just earnest young guys who live in a place called the Wespine Study Center on East Essex in Kirkwood. The name means nothing, except that the center used to be located on West Pine. No sign indicates that this is the St. Louis headquarters of Opus Dei, a conservative Catholic group that keeps so mum, it tempts the press to exposés. Opus Dei recruits bright teenagers, showing them a path to sainthood that cuts through ordinary life. The young adults who live at Wespine have chosen to become numeraries—celibate, adhering to a “contract” of obedience, and donating a large chunk of their salaries to Opus Dei. 

Greg Burke, the St. Louisan who became Pope Benedict’s media consultant, was a numerary; fellow members of the press grilled him about Opus Dei’s devotional practices, which include sleeping on boards and wearing a cilice (spiked chain) around the thigh. Pope John Paul II loved Opus Dei and canonized its controversial founder; Pope Francis had one of its adherents detained for his role in the VatiLeaks scandal.

ThurtenE

They plan a carnival, folks. That’s all. Sure, ThurtenE’s a secret, independent, honorary society of 13 Washington University juniors who mastermind the nation’s largest, oldest student-run frolic. But they’re hardly rebels—they turn in their applications at the chancellor’s office, the secret selection criteria boil down to extraordinary leadership, and the new crew’s made public as soon as it’s selected. 

Early in the last century, the 13 members remained anonymous until graduation, when their names were asterisked in the program. Today, certain social events and rites of passage uphold the old traditions. There’s a skull flanked by the numbers 1 and 3 for the group’s logo, and the final E is capitalized in secret, historic homage. 

But all told, there’s not much time for Skull and Bones stuff when you’re trying to line up a fry booth and a Ferris wheel.