Shot this out the window of the truck while the husband was driving on the Loop 610 South in Houston.
It caught my eye because you just don't see a black, Masonic biker everyday.
The former journalist in me really wanted to find out his story. What transpired to bring all three of those things together?
Since the husband has a strict policy forbiding me from flagging down Hells Angels, I was forced to invent my own back story:
His name Franklin but his friends call him Frank. His grandpa Carl Sr. was a Mason. Carl Sr. raised Frank after a tragic motorcycle accident claimed the lives of his mother and father, Gloria and Carl Jr. After a hitch in the Air Force that landed him Da Nang, Frank came home and helped his grandpa run the family barbecue shack in the heart of Houston's Third Ward. Carl Sr. never asked Frank about Vietnam and Frank never offered any details, but the old man knew is grandson was haunted. One night Frank tore the couch in their little three room home behind the barbecue place apart because of fitful dreams. That's when Carl Sr. began bringing Frank to the lodge. Partly to keep an eye on the young man, partly in hopes of finding the boy direction. It was hard at first but the rest fell into place over time. Eventually, Frank faced his demons and found comfort in the sacred traditions. He even started riding again -- something he hadn't done since losing his parents.
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Photo shot with iPhone and edited with Instagram app.
