By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©
Thirty Years Ago Today
Thirty years ago, today, I was standing in a Federal Building when my pager went off. The screen lit up with all 9s—a code used to signal an emergency assignment. I needed to contact headquarters right away.
I had just stepped out of a federal courtroom in Denver, Colorado. Moments earlier, I had been inside, preparing to testify in a significant case involving a syndicated burglary operation. I’d been working undercover, embedded deep within their ranks. The courtroom was tense, but a recess had been called, and a few of us decided to grab coffee downstairs.
As we stepped into the elevator, my pager buzzed. I glanced around—no one else’s device had gone off. A sinking feeling set in, but I said nothing. When we reached the first floor, I peeled away from the group and went to a pay phone. I called my office.
My supervisor’s voice was grim on the other end of the line. A bombing had just occurred in downtown Oklahoma City. It was devastating—an entire city block destroyed, surrounding buildings heavily damaged. The scope of it was hard to fathom.
My first words were my gut instinct.
If they’re still alive, the person who did this is already on the road, on one of the Interstates. They’re putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the blast. They’ll go until they feel safe, then hunker down and watch.
Shortly after that call, my pager buzzed again—this time from the Federal Prosecutor’s Office. They informed me that all federal court proceedings were being canceled nationwide. I wouldn’t be needed back in court that day.
With nothing more to do, I contacted relatives in Oklahoma to ensure their safety. Then, like so many others, I returned to my room. I sat glued to the television and watched the horror unfold in real time.
The next day, I waited to hear if I’d stay in Denver. I wondered whether I would be reassigned. Another page came in from my office. A state trooper had made a traffic stop north of Oklahoma City. The individual taken into custody matched a profile. My instincts had been right.
In the weeks that followed, the nation learned his name. I choose not to say it now. Some people deserve to be remembered. He is not one of them.
Now, on this Saturday, April 19th, 2025, it’s been thirty years. Half of the people living in Oklahoma City today were either not born or didn’t live there in 1995. The memory of that day is fading, becoming a chapter in history instead of a scar felt daily.
Many survivors have since passed. Families of the victims have grown older, some have gone entirely. Some of those in the building that day were too young to remember it now. The face of that tragedy has changed, but its weight remains.
The Oklahoma City Bombing was the first of two national tragedies I learned about while standing in an elevator. The second came years later, on a crisp September morning—9/11. I remember thinking about stairs a lot after that. Elevators started to feel cursed.
But I never gave in to fear. I always got back in and waited for the doors to close. I figured if I didn’t, they would win.
And I wasn’t about to let that happen.
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