Ron Rosenbaum - Esquire Magazine - September, 1977

Take a look at the hulking sepulcher over there. Small wonder they

call it a tomb. It's the citadel of Skull and Bones, the most

powerful of all secret societies in the strange Yale secret-society

system. For nearly a century and a half, Skull and Bones has been

the most influential secret society in the nation, and now it is one

of the last.

In an age in which it seems that all that could possibly be

concealed about anything and anybody has been revealed, those blank

tombstone walls could be holding the last secrets left in America.

You could ask Averell Harriman whether there's really a

sarcophagus in the basement and whether he and young Henry Stimson

and young Henry Luce (Time magazine) lay down naked in the coffin

and spilled the secrets of their adolescent sex life to 14 fellow

Bonesmen. You could ask Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart if

there came a time in the year 1937 when he dressed up in a skeleton

suit and howled wildly at an initiate in a red-velvet room inside

the tomb. You could ask McGeorge Bundy if he wrestled naked in a

mud pie as part of his initation and how it compared with a later

quagmire into which he so eagerly plunged. You could ask Bill

Bundy or William F. Buckley, both of who went into the CIA after

leaving Bones - or George Bush, who ran the CIA / President -

whether their Skull and Bones experience was useful training for

the clandestine trade. ("Spook," the Yale slang for spy.) You

could ask J. Richardson Dilworth, the Bonesman who now manages the

Rockefeller fortune, just how wealthy the Bones society is and

whether it's true that each new initiate gets a no-strings gift

of fifteen thousand dollars cash and guaranteed financial security

for life.

You could ask...but I think you get the idea. The lending lights

of the Eastern establishment - in old-line investment banks (Brown

Brothers Harriman pays Bone's tax bill), in a blue-blood law firms

(Simpson Thacher & Bartlett, for one), and particularly in the

highest councils of the foreign-policy establishment - the people

who have shaped America's national character since it ceased being

an undergraduate power, had their undergraduate character shaped in

that crypt over there. Bonesman Henry Stimson, Secretary of War

under F.D.R., a man at the heart of the heart of the American

ruling class, called his experience in the tomb the most profound

one in his entire education.

But none of them will tell you a thing about it. They've sworn

an oath never to reveal what goes on inside and they're legendary

for the lengths to which they'll go to avoid prying interrogation.

The mere mention of the words "skull and bones" in the presence

of a true-blue Bonesman, such as Blackford Oakes, the fictional

hero of Bill Buckley's spy thriller, 'Saving the Queen', will cause

him to "dutifully leave the room, as tradition prescribed."

I can trace my personal fascination with the mysteriouis goings-

on in the sepulcher across the street to a spooky scene I witnessed

on its shadowy steps late one April night eleven years ago. I was

then a sophmore at Yale, living in Jonathan Edwards, the residential

college (anglophile Yale name for dorm) built next to the Bones

tomb. It was part of Jonathan Edwards folklore that on a April

evening following "tap night" at Bones, if one could climb to the

tower of Weir Hall, the odd castle that overlooks the Bones

courtyard, one could hear strange cries and moans coming from the

bowels of the tomb as the fifteen newly "tapped" members were put

through what sounded like a harrowing ordeal. Returning alone to

my room late at night, I would always cross the street rather than

walk the sidewalk that passed right in front of Bones. Even at that

safe distance, something about it made my skin crawl.

But that night in April I wasn't alone; a classmate and I were

coming back from an all-night diner at about two in the morning.

At the time, I knew little about the mysteries of Bones or any of

the other huge windowless secret-society tombs that dominated with

dark authority certain key-corners of the campus. They were

nothing like conventional fraternities. No one lived in the tombs.

Instead, every Thursday and Sunday night the best and the brightest

on campus, the fifteen seniors in Skull and Bones and in the Scroll

and Key, Book and Snake, Wolf's Head, Berzelius, in all the seven

secret societies, disappeared into their respective tombs and spent

hours doing something - something they were sworn to secrecy about.

And Bones, it was said was the most ritualistic and secretive of all.

Even the very door to the Bones tomb, that huge triple-padlocked

iron door, was never prermitted to open in the presence of an

outsider.

All this was floating through my impressionable sophmore mind that

night as my friend Mike and I approached the stone pylons guarding

the entrance to Bones. Suddenly we froze at the sight of a strange

thing lying on the steps. There in the gloom of the doorway on the

top step was a long white object that looked like the thighbone of

a large mammal. I remained frozen. Mike was more adventuresome:

he walked right up to the steps and picked up the bone. I wanted

to get out of there fast; I was certain we were being spied upon

from a concealed window. Mike couldn't decide what to do with the

bone. He went up to the door and began examining the array of

padlocks. Suddenly a bolt shot. The massive door began to swing

open and something reached out at him from within. He grasped,

terrified, and jumped back, but not before something clutched the

bone, yanked it out of his hand and back into the darkness within.

The door slammed shut with a clang that rang in our ears as we ran

away.

Recollected in tranquility, the dreamlike gothic moment seems to me

an emblem of the strangeness I felt at being at Yale, at being given

a brief glimpse of the mysterious workings of the inner temples of

privelege but feeling emphatically shut out of the secret ceremonies

within. I always felt irrelevant to the real purpose of the

institution, which was from its missionary beginnings devoted to

converting the idle progeny of the ruling class into morally

serious leaders of the establishment. It is frequently in the tombs

that conversions take place.

NOVEMBER, 1976: SECURITY MEASURES

It's night and we're back in front of the tomb, Mike and I,

reinforced by nine years in the outside world, two skeptical women

friends and a big dinner at Mory's. And yet once again there is an

odd, chilling encounter. We're re-creating that first spooky moment.

I'm standing in front of the stone pylons and Mike has walked up to

stand against the door so we can estimate its height by his. Then

we notice we're being watched. A small red foreign car has pulled

up on the sidewalk a few yards away from us. The driver has been

watching us for some time. Then he gets out. He's a tall, athletic

looking guy, fairly young. He shuts the card door behind him and

stands leaning against it, continuing to observe us. We try to act

oblivious, continuing to sketch and measure.

The guy finally walks over to us, "You seen Miles?" he asks.

We look at each other. Could he think we're actually Bones

alumni, or is he testing us? Could "You seen Miles?" be some sort

of password? "No," we reply. "Haven't seen Miles." He nods and

remains there. We decide we've done enough sketching and measuring

and stroll off. "Look!" one of the women says as she turns and points

back. "He just ran down the side steps to check the basement-door

locks. He probably thought he caught us planning a break-in."

I found the episode intriguing. What it said to me was that Bones

still cared about the security of its secrets. Trying to find out

what goes on inside could be a challenge.

And so it was that I set out this April to see just how secure

those last secrets are. It was a task I took on not out of malice

or sour grapes. I was not tapped for a secret society so I'm open

to the latter charge, but I plead guilty only to the voyeurism of a

mystery lover. I'd been working on a novel, a psychological thriller

of sorts that involved the rites of Bones, and I thought it wouldn't

hurt to spend some time in New Haven during the week of tap night

and initiation night, poking around and asking questions.

You could call it espionage if you were so inclined, but I tried

to play the game in a gentlemanly fashion: I would not directly ask

a Bonesman to violate his sacred oath of secrecy. If, however, one

of them happened to have fudged on the oath to some other party and

that the other party were to convey the gist of the information to

me, I would rule it fair game. And if any Bonesman wants to step

forward and add something. I'll be happy to listen.

What follows is an account of my search for the meaning behind

the mysterious Bones rituals. Only information that might be too

easily traced to its source has been left out, because certain

sources expressed fear of reprisals against themselves. Yes,

reprisals. One of them even insisted, with what seemed like deadly

seriousness, that reprisals would be taken against me.

"What bank do you have your checking account at?" this party

asked me in the middle of a discussion of the Mithraic aspects of

the Bones ritual. I named the bank, "Aha," said the party.

"There are three Bonesmen on the board. You'll never have a line

of credit again. They'll tap your phone. They'll..."

Before I could say, "A line of what?" the source continued: "The

alumni still care. Don't laugh. They don't like people tampering

and prying. The power of Bones is incredible. They've got their

hands on every level of power in the country. You'll see - it's

like trying to look into the Mafia. Remember, they're a secret

society, too."

WEDNESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 14: THE DOSSIER

Already I have in my possession a set of annotated floor plans

of the interior of the tomb, giving the location of the sanctum

sanctorum, the room called 322. And tonight I recieved a dossier

on Bones ritual secrets that was compiled from the archives of

another secret society. It seems that one abiding preoccupation

of many Yale secret societies is keeping files on the secrets of

other secret societies, particularly Bones. The dossier of Bones

is a particularly sophisticated one, featuring "reliability ratings"

in prercentiles for each chunk of information. It was obtained for

me by an enterprising researcher on the condition that I keep secret

the name of the secret society that supplied it. Okay I will say,

though, that it's not the secret society that is rumored to have

Hitler's silverware in its archives. That's Scroll and Key, chief

rival of Bones for the elite of Yale - Dean Acheson and Cy Vance's

society - and the source of most of the rest of the American foreign

policy establishment.

But to return to the dossier. Let me tell you what it says about

the initiation, the center of some of the most lurid apocryphal

rumors about Bones. According to the dossier, the Bones initiation

ritual of 194O went like this: "New man placed in coffin - carried

into central part of the building. New man chanted over and

'reborn' into society. Removed from coffin and given robes with

symbols on it. (sic) A bone with his name on it is tossed into

bone heap at start of every meeting. Initiates plunged into mud

pile."

THURSDAY EVENING: THE FILE AND CLAW SOLUTION TO THE MYSTER OF 322

I'm standing in the shadows across the street from the tomb,

ready to tail the first person to come out. Tonight is tap night,

the night fifteen juniors will be chosen to receive the one-hundred-

forty-five-year-old secrets of Bones. Tonight the fifteen seniors

in Bones and the fifteen in each of the other societies will arrive

outside the rooms of the prospective tappees. They'll pound loudly

on the doors. When the chosen junior opens up, a Bonesman will

slam him on the shoulder and thunder: "Skull and Bones: Do you

accept?"

At that point, according to my dossier, if the candidate accepts,

he will be handed a message wrapped with a black ribbon sealed in

black wax with the skull-and-crossbones emblem and the mystic Bones

number, 322. The message appoints a time and a place for the

candidate to appear on initiation night - next Tuesday - the first

time the newly tapped candidate will be permitted inside the tomb.

Candidates are "instructed to wear no metal" to the initiation,

the dossier notes ominously. (Reliability rating for the stated to

be one hundred prercent.)

Not long before eight tonight, the door to Bones swings open.

Two dark-suited young men emerge. One of them carries a slim black

attache case. Obviously they're on their way to tap someone. I

decide that Bones inititates are taken to a ceremony somewhere near

the campus before the big initiation inside the tomb. The

Bonesmen head up High Street and pass the library, then make a

right. Passing the library, I can't help but recoil when I think

of the embarrissing discovery I made in the manuscript room this

afternoon. The last thing I wanted to do was reduce the subleties

of the social function of Bones to some simpleminded conspiracy

theory. And yet I do seem to have come across definite, if

skeletal links between the origins of Bones rituals and those

of the notorious Bavarian Illuminists. For me, an intersted but

skeptical student of the conspiracy world, the introduction of

the Illuminists, or Illuminati, into certain discussions (say

for instance, of events in Dallas in 1963) has become the same

thing that the mention of Bones is to a Bonesman - a signal to

leave the room. Because although the Bavarian Illuminists did

have a real historical existence (from 1776 to 1785 they were an

esoteric secret society within the more mystical freethinking

lodges of German Freemasonry), they have also had a paranoid

fantasy existence throughout two centuries of conspiracy literature.

They are the imagined megacabal that manipulated such alleged plots

as the French and Russian revolutions, the elders of Zion, the

rise of Hitler and the House of Morgan. Yes the Bilderbergers and

George De Mohrenschildt, too. Silly as it may sound, there are

suggestive links between the historical if not mytho-conspiratorial,

Illuminists and Bones.

First consider the account of the origins of Bones to be found

in a century-old pamphlet published by an anonymous group that

called itself File and Claw after the tools they used to pry their

way inside Bones late one night. I came upon the File and Claw

break-in pamphlet in a box of disintigrating documents filed in

the library's manuscript room under Skull and Bone's corporate

name, Russell Trust Association. The foundation was named for

William H (later General) Russell, the man who founded Bones in

1832. I was trying to figure out what mission Russell had for the

secret order he founded and why he had chosen that particular

death-head brand of mumbo jumbo to embody his vision. Well,

according to the File and Claw breakin crew, "Bones is a chapter

of corps of a German university. It should properly be called the

Skull and Bones chapter. General Russell, its founder, was in

Germany before his senior year and formed a warm friendship with

a leading member of a German society. The meaning of the permanent

number 322 in all Bones literature is that it was founded in '32 as

the second chapter of the German society. But the Bonesman has

a pleasing fiction that his faternity is a descendant of an old

Greek patriot society founded by Demosthenes, who died in 322 BC."

They go on to describe a German slogan painted "on arched walls

above the vault" of the sacred room 322. The slogan appears above

a painting of skulls surrounded by Masonic symbols, a picture said

to be "a gift of the German chapter." "Wer war der Thor, wer Weiser,

Bettler oder Kaiser? Ob Arm, ob Reich, im Tode gleich," the slogan

reads, or, "Who was the fool, who the wise man, beggar or king?

Whether poor or rich, all's the same in death."

Imagine my surprise when I ran into that very slogan in a 1798

Scottish anti-Illuminatist tract reprinted in 1967 by the John

Birch Society. The tract (proofs of a conspiracy by John Robinson)

prints alleged excerpts from Illuminist ritual manuals supposedly

confiscated by the Bavarian police when the secret order was banned

in 1785. Toward the end of the ceremony of initiation in the

"Regent degree" of Illuminism, according to the tract, "a skeleton

in pointed out to him [the initiate], at the feet of which are laid

a crown and a sword. He is asked 'whether that is the skeleton of

a king, nobleman or a beggar.' As he cannot decide, the president

of the meeting says to him, 'The character of being a man is the

only one that is importance'".

Doesn't that sound similar to the German slogan the File and

Claw team claims to have found inside Bones? Now consider a

haunting photograph of the altar room of one of the Masonic

lodges at Nuremburg that is closely associated with Illuminism.

Haunting because at the altar room's center, approached through

the aisle of hanging human skeletons, is a coffin surmounted by

- you guessed it - a skull and crossed bones that look exactly

like the particular arrangement of jawbones and thighbones in

the official Bones emblem. The skull and crossbones was the

official crest of another key Illuminist lodge, one right-wing

Illuminist theoretician told me.

Now you can lok at this three ways. One possibility is that

the Bircher right - and the conspiracy-minded left are correct:

The Eastern establishment is the demonic creation of a clandestine

elite manipulating history, and Skull and Bones is one of its

recruiting centers. A more plausible explanation is that the

death's-head symbolism was so prevalent in Germany when the

impressionable young Russell visited that he just stumbled on

the same mother lode of pseudo-Masonic mummery as the Illuninists.

The third possibility is that the break-in pamphlets are an

elaborate fraud designed by the File and Claw crew to pin the

taint of Illuminism on Bones and that the rituals of Bones have

innocent Athenian themes, 322 being only the date of the death

of Demosthenes. (In fact, some Bones literature I've seen in

the archives does express the year as if 322 BC were the year

one, making 1977 anno Demostheni 2299.)

I am still following the dark-suited Bonesman at a discreet

distance as they make their way along Prospect Street and into

a narrow alley, which to my dismay, turns into a parking lot.

They get into a car and drive off, obviously to tap an off-campus

prospect. So much for tonight's clandestine work I'd never get

to my car in time to follow them. My heart isn't in it

anyway. I am due to head off to the graveyard to watch the

initiation ceremony of Book and Snake, the secret society of

Deep Throat's friend Bob Woodward (several Deep Throat theories

have postulated Yale secret-society ties as the origin of

Woodward's underground-garage connection, and two Bonesmen,

Ray Price and Richard Moore, who weree high Nixon aides, have

been mentioned as suspects - perhaps because of their experience

at clandestine underground truth telling). And later tonight I

hope to make the first of my contacts with persons who have been

inside - not just inside the tomb, but inside the skulls of some

of the Bonesmen.

LATER THURSDAY NIGHT: TURNING THE TABLES ON THE SEXUAL

AUTOBIOGRPHIES

In his senior year, each member of Bones goes through an intense

two-part confessional experience in the Bones crypt. One Thursday

night he tells his life story, giving what is meant to be a painfully

forthright autobigraphy that exposes his traumas, shames, and dreams.

(Tom Wolfe calls this Bones practice a fore-runner of the Me Decade's

fascination with self.) The following Sunday-night session is

devoted exclusively to sexual histories. They don't leave out

anything these days. I don't know what it was like in General

Russell's day, maybe there was less to talk about, but these days

the sexual stuff is totally explicit and there's less need for

fabricating exploits to fill up the allotted time. Most Sunday-night

sessions start with talk of prep school masturbation and don't stop

until the intimate details of Saturday night's delights have come

to light early Monday morning.

This has begun to cause some disruptions in relationships. The

women the Bonesmen talk about in the crypt are often Yale co-eds

and frequently feminists. While it might seem to be a rebuke to

Bone's spirit of consciousness raising, none of these women is

too pleased at having the most intimate secrets of her relationship

made the subject of an all-night symposium consecrating her lover's

brotherhood with fourteen males she hardly knows. As one woman

put it, "I objected to fourteen guys knowing whether I was a good

lay...It was like after that each of them thought I was his woman

in some way."

Some women have discovered that their lovers take their vows to

Bones more solemnly than their commitments to women. There is the

case of the woman who revealed something very personal - not

embarassing, just private - to her lover and made him swear never

to repeat it to another human. When he came back from the Bones

crypt after his Sunday-night sex session, he couldn't meet her

eyes. He'd told his brothers in Bones.

It seems that the whole secret society system at Yale is in the

terminal stages of a sexual crisis. By the time I arrived this

April, all but three of the formerly all male societies had gone

co-ed, and two of the remaining holdouts - Scroll and Key and

Wolf's Head - were embroiled in bitter battles over certain

members' attempts to have them follow the trend. The popular

quarterback of the football team had resigned from Scroll and Key

because its alumni would not even let him make a pro-coeducation

plea to their convocation. When one prominent alumnus of Wolf's

Head was told the current members had plans to tap women, he

threatened to "raze the building" before permitting it. Nevertheless,

it seemed as though it wouldn't be long before those two holdouts

went co-ed. But not Bones. Both alumni and outsiders see the

essence of the Bones experience as some kind of male bonding, a

Victorian, muscular, Christian-missionary view of manliness and

public service.

While changing the least of all societies over its one hundred

forty-five years. Bones did begin admitting Jews in the early

Fifties and tapping blacks in 1949. It offered membership to some

of the most outspoken rebels of the late Sixties and more recently,

added gay and bisexual members, including the president of the

militant Gay Activist Alliance, a man by the name of Miles.

But women, the Bones alumni have strenuously insisted, are

different. When a rambunctious Seventies class of Bones proposed

tapping the best and brightest of the new Yale women, the officers

of the Russell Trust Association threatened to bar that class from

the tomb and change the locks if they dared. They didn't.

The sort of thing is what persuaded the person I am meeting with

late tonight - and a number of other persons - to talk about what

goes on inside: after all, isn't the core of the Bones group

experience the betrayal of their loved ones' secrets? Measure for

measure.