91ÊÓƵ

Welcome to the International Society of Weirdos.

It makes as much sense as joining the International Order of Odd Fellows. Who goes out of their way — and even pays money –- to be considered odd?

At least so I thought as a teenager when I caught the bus in downtown Salem in front of the Grand Theater and what used to be the IOOF Lodge. I cracked jokes about the kind of people who would belong to such an organization.

They must be pretty odd.

They were. And I say that with no small amount of shame and embarrassment now that I know more of the story of the building and the people behind it.

Before Franklin Roosevelt and the New Deal, when the country ran on the Lotsa Luck principle of social welfare, people without families often had nowhere to turn when they were down and out.

If they belonged to the International Order of Odd Fellows, however, they had a family in almost every town and city in the country. Odd Fellows (and often their wives and children) could go into any IOOF Lodge and find living quarters and food to eat for a few weeks until they regained their footing.

The weeks could even stretch into months. It didn’t matter. Your brothers had your back.

This system required no public funding. Of course, it depended instead on people caring about one another and going more than a few extra miles to do something about it.

Odd Fellows indeed.

The name Odd Fellows actually comes from the 18th century, when men in English villages were forming various groups and guilds around their assorted trades. The most famous example, perhaps, are the Masons.

Some towns and villages didn’t have enough men in a given profession to form an association. They just had an odd assortment of professions. See where this is going?

The Odd Fellows became extremely popular in the United States during the 19th century and into the early 20th century. Almost every town of any size had its own lodge.

They were social organizations with all sorts of complex traditions and rituals, some pretty “odd” by 21st century standards. Members wore long, black robes and had to gain entry into the main meeting room by giving the password to the guy on the other side of one of those speakeasy-style slots in the door.

The door –- and the slot –- are still there in the Grand Theater in Salem. Even fewer people visit that inner sanctum today than in the early 1900s. However, many of the trappings are still there.

The closets where members hung their robes remain unchanged even after 100 years. There are still raised platforms along the walls of the main meeting room where the high muckety-mucks presided over the rank and file.

Carole Smith and Eric Kittleson, the current owners of the building, even have the original wooden ballot box that members used to accept or reject new applicants. Members would cast a single ball – black or white – into the box. This, as you may have guessed, is the origin of the expression “blackballed.”

Smith and Kittelson also have the original leather goggles with blinders that applicants wore to blind themselves during the voting process.

If all of this seems rather absurd, remember the more serious purpose of the Odd Fellows. Near that same meeting room is a row of rooms used to house men and families in need.

The men had to be Odd Fellows and, no doubt, white to receive such kindness. However, it is nice to envision a system (no matter how small, limited and relatively exclusive) where people helped each other so freely and without complaint.

One of the first Odd Fellows in Salem was Cyrus A. Reed, the builder of the Reed Opera House. He joined in 1852. That was before the Grand Theater (located at 191 High St. N.E.) was dedicated in 1900. It remained an active Odd Fellows Lodge until 1966. The theater began its history as the Grand Opera House, with vaudeville and other performing arts.

It was renamed the Grand Theater during the Depression, when movies replaced live theater. The structure was renovated in 2002 and these days it is again hosting live performances. The next one scheduled is April 4, by comedian Maria Bamford.

It’s worth going, if not for the show, then just for the theater itself. It is a trip through an odd – but wonderful – part of Salem history.

“Building Curiosity” investigates intriguing, historical and obscure tidbits of the built environment. Tom Henderson is a reporter for the Daily Journal of Commerce. Contact him at 503-802-7226 or [email protected].