After traveling hundreds of miles with us—from Arizona, through New Mexico and Texas, and finally into Oklahoma—we brought her to Binger.
Her last ride is over.
She rests beside my father now.
And this morning, life has done that peculiar thing it always does after a loss.
It continued.
The sun came up.
Someone started a car.
A dog needed attention.
Coffee had to be made.
The world didn’t stop simply because something monumental happened in mine.
Perhaps that is one of life’s quietest lessons.
We spend days preparing ourselves for the big moments—the service, the goodbye, the final prayer. But nobody prepares us quite as well for the morning afterward.
The morning when there is nowhere else we need to take them.
No arrangements left to make.
No more miles left to drive.
Just memories.
Yesterday, I stood in Oklahoma soil and helped return my mother to the place that had shaped so much of her life.
Today, I can begin carrying her differently.
Not in a special carrier.
Not buckled safely into the vehicle.
Not guarded faithfully by Otis.
I carry her in stories.
I carry her in the expressions I inherited without realizing it.
I carry her in memories of childhood, family gatherings, arguments, laughter, disappointments, forgiveness, and all those wonderfully complicated things that make a family a family.
Perhaps that’s what we eventually discover about saying goodbye.
The people we love don’t simply disappear down some road behind us.
They become part of the traveler.
And so this morning, I will have another cup of coffee.
Then Steve, Otis, and I will eventually point ourselves toward Arizona.
There will be an empty place in the vehicle where Mom rode with us.
But I don’t think she’s leaving Oklahoma alone.
A little bit of her will be going home with me.
Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.
— Benjamin Groff II Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com
Coffee is that wonderful drink that calms the soul—without calming you so much that you wake up the next morning with your best friend asking, “Do you remember what you did last night?”
Drink coffee. Lots of coffee. Your reputation may depend on it. ☕
And then there are mornings when you wrap both hands around the cup because you need something steady to hold.
This is one of those mornings.
Today, we are taking Mom home.
Before we reach Binger, I want her final journey to pass through some of the places that belong to our family’s story.
Marjorie Groff at the Homestead
We will travel near Sentinel, Oklahoma, past the country where her parents made their home in the 1930s.
Then we will continue toward Cordell.
That’s where I was born.
I find something deeply meaningful about carrying my mother past the place where she once carried me. While raising my sister. Along with other other siblings.
Then we will travel east toward Binger.
There, at Binger Murray Cemetery, my mother will finally be laid to rest beside my father, JD Groff.
For so many years, they traveled through life together. They raised a family. They worked. They struggled. They laughed. They disagreed. They grew older.
But their lives became part of ours, and whatever else can be said about the years behind us, one truth remains:
They were Mom and Dad.
Today, Steve will be beside me. Otis will have completed his special assignment. Family and friends will gather. Words will be spoken. Memories will be shared.
And eventually there will come a moment when there is nothing left for me to do except say goodbye.
Or perhaps not goodbye.
Maybe simply:
We got you here, Mom.
You’re home.
This morning’s coffee is for everyone who has ever had to make that final journey with someone they love.
Drink it slowly.
Remember them well.
And when the time comes, let them go with love.
Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.
— Benjamin Groff II Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com
“We are remembering our mother over coffee this year. It is her first birthday since she has been gone—the first birthday we have not been able to celebrate with her. But we will celebrate her, remembering the life she lived and the memories she left behind.”
Yesterday, Steve and I carried my mother across the miles, with Otis faithfully keeping watch beside her. Somewhere along the way, the landscape began changing into something familiar.
Home.
It’s an interesting word, isn’t it?
We spend much of our lives deciding where home is. We move. We build lives elsewhere. We find people we love and create new homes with them. Yet there are places buried so deeply within us that merely seeing the countryside can awaken memories we didn’t realize were still there.
Today, Mom rests in Elk City.
It is a town woven into Steve’s and my story because this is where we met in 1982. We couldn’t have known then where the road ahead would take us.
And we certainly couldn’t have imagined that more than forty years later we would return together carrying my mother on the final miles of her journey.
Tomorrow will be different.
Tomorrow we will travel through country filled with family history.
We will take Mom near Sentinel, past the land where her parents made their home during the 1930s. We will continue toward Cordell, where my own story began, and then east toward Binger—the community where so much of our family’s life unfolded.
Tomorrow, my mother’s journey ends beside my father.
But not today.
Today is for remembering.
Today is for another cup of coffee, another Oklahoma morning, and the realization that sometimes going home isn’t about returning to a house.
Sometimes it is simply about returning to the people and places that made us who we are.
Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.
— Benjamin Groff II Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com
~ Throughout history there have always been those who stood firm, and those who surrendered their principles for the sake of comfort or fear. Those who exchanged their standards out of weakness and bowed to a tyranny are rarely remembered among the notable. History tends to reserve that honor for those who stood their ground when it mattered most. ~ Benjamin Groff
Millions knew him simply as firefighter-paramedic John Gage on the television series Emergency!. Week after week, audiences watched Squad 51 race toward danger while others ran away. For many of us, it was our first real glimpse into the world of emergency medicine. Before Emergency!, most Americans had never even heard the word “paramedic.” By the time the series had finished its remarkable run, the profession had become part of our national vocabulary, and communities across America were beginning to recognize just how vital those highly trained men and women could be.
Mantooth himself once remarked that when he was first offered the role, he asked,
“What the hell’s a paramedic?” There were only a handful in California at the time.
As someone who spent years in law enforcement and emergency communications, and who worked alongside ambulance crews and first responders, I can tell you this: television rarely captures the reality of the job. Emergency!came closer than most.
More importantly, it inspired countless young people to become EMTs, paramedics, firefighters, nurses, and physicians. Many have openly credited Randolph Mantooth and his co-star Kevin Tighe for setting them on that path. That may be the greatest legacy an actor could ever hope to leave—not simply applause, but lives changed because someone watching believed they could make a difference.
Randolph Mantooth: The Actor Who Helped Inspire a Generation of Paramedics
What impressed me most about Randolph Mantooth was that he never walked away from the profession after the cameras stopped rolling. Long after Emergency! ended, he continued speaking at EMS conferences, supporting firefighters and paramedics, advocating for emergency medical services, and honoring those who answered the call every day. He understood that the badge his character wore represented real people who climbed into ambulances and fire apparatus every morning, never knowing what the next call would bring. He became one of their strongest ambassadors.
Gage and the more buttoned-down DeSoto worked out the Los Angeles County Fire Department’s Station 51, interacting often with Rampart General Hospital personnel Dr. Kelly Brackett (Robert Fuller), nurse Dixie McCall (Julie London) and Dr. Joe Early (Bobby Troup, London’s real-life husband).
One of the qualities I admired most about Randolph Mantooth was that he never walked away from the role that made him a household name. He recognized that John Gage had become far more than a television character. In this video, Mantooth speaks about the privilege—and the responsibility—of representing the paramedics and firefighters of the Los Angeles Fire Department. His words reveal the genuine respect he held for those who serve others every day.
On Emergency! He Was Johnny Gage. To Millions, He Was Much More.
Actors often hope they will be remembered for a performance. Randolph Mantooth will be remembered for something much greater. He portrayed courage with such honesty that it encouraged others to live it. Somewhere tonight, an EMT will respond to a difficult call. A paramedic will restart a heart. A firefighter will pull someone from danger. Many of those men and women first imagined themselves wearing that uniform while watching a young paramedic named John Gage answer another call from Rampart Hospital.
The community of Manawan, Quebec, is mourning the loss of musician and actor Oshim Ottawa, whose work helped bring Atikamekw culture and storytelling to audiences across Canada.
Ottawa was best known for portraying Philippe Flamand in the 2023 feature film Soleils Atikamekw (Atikamekw Suns). His moving performance earned him a nomination for Best Lead Performance in a Drama Film at the 13th Canadian Screen Awards in 2025, bringing national recognition to both his talent and the film’s powerful story.
Beyond acting, Ottawa was an accomplished musician and a respected member of the Manawan community, where he was admired for sharing his culture through both music and film.
Following news of his passing, family, friends, and community members have expressed their grief and remembered him for his artistic contributions and the impact he made on those around him. A crowdfunding campaign has also been established to help support his loved ones during this difficult time.
Oshim Ottawa’s passing marks the loss of a gifted artist whose work helped shine a light on Indigenous stories and voices in Canadian cinema. At the time of publication, the cause of death has not been publicly disclosed.
Groff Media extends its sincere condolences to the family, friends, colleagues, and the entire Manawan community as they mourn his loss.
According to comments posted by citizens following his passing, concerns have been raised that local Oklahoma news media largely overlooked the public service of former Oklahoma City Council member and Acting Mayor Guy Liebmann.
Groff Media reviewed coverage from Oklahoma City’s three major television news outlets—News 9, KOCO 5, and KFOR—as well as Oklahoma’s largest newspaper, The Oklahoman. Aside from a death notice appearing in paid obituary advertising space, we found little or no reporting recognizing Liebmann’s years of service to Oklahoma City and the State of Oklahoma.
Whether this reflects changing news priorities or simply an oversight, it has prompted some residents to question why a public servant who devoted decades to civic leadership received so little attention from the institutions that regularly document the history of the community he served.
Unlike that situation. Groff Media will recognize the individual.
Liebmann died on June 8, 2026, leaving behind a legacy of public service that stretched from the Oklahoma City Council to the Oklahoma House of Representatives and included a brief but significant period as Oklahoma City’s acting mayor.
Born in Shawnee on April 27, 1936, Liebmann graduated from Oklahoma City’s Classen High School before earning a degree in business management from the University of Oklahoma. He later served as an officer in the United States Marine Corps before entering a successful career in real estate and investments.
Many Oklahomans may remember Liebmann best for his service on the Oklahoma City Council representing Ward 8. In November 2003, following the resignation of Mayor Kirk Humphreys, Liebmann was appointed acting mayor and guided the city until voters elected Mick Cornett in March 2004.
Though his time as mayor lasted only a few months, it came during an important chapter in Oklahoma City’s development. The city was continuing its transformation into a nationally recognized metropolitan area, and Liebmann helped provide stability during a period of leadership transition.
During his service on the council and as acting mayor, Liebmann worked with several important city organizations, including the Oklahoma City Water Trust, the Convention and Visitors Bureau, and the Oklahoma City Fairgrounds Trust.
After leaving City Hall, Liebmann continued his public service by representing House District 82 in the Oklahoma House of Representatives from 2005 through 2013.
His public career reflected a belief that local government matters. While many political careers are measured by headlines and controversy, Liebmann’s legacy was built largely through committee work, civic involvement, and a willingness to serve when called upon.
Today, Oklahoma City residents drive roads, utilize services, and enjoy civic improvements that were influenced by the efforts of countless local officials whose names rarely appear in history books. Guy Liebmann was one of those individuals.
As news of his passing spreads, Oklahomans have an opportunity to remember a generation of civic leaders who dedicated years of their lives to public service, often with little recognition beyond the communities they served.
Funeral arrangements have been entrusted to Smith & Kernke Funeral Directors in Oklahoma City. At the time of publication, the funeral home reported that memorial service details were still pending and would be announced when finalized.
Some men become heroes through a single act of courage. Others spend a lifetime proving what courage truly means. Retired U.S. Army Colonel Bruce Crandall belonged to the latter group.
Colonel Crandall, who died on May 31 at the age of 93, leaves behind a legacy of extraordinary service, selflessness, and devotion to the soldiers who depended upon him. His story is one that deserves to be remembered not only by military historians, but by every American who values duty, sacrifice, and leadership.
During two tours in Vietnam, Crandall flew more than 900 combat missions. Yet it was one day in November 1965 that would forever define his place in American military history.
As commander of a flight of helicopters during the fierce fighting in the Ia Drang Valley, Crandall and his fellow aviators found themselves in the middle of one of the first major battles between U.S. and North Vietnamese forces. The landing zone was under relentless enemy fire. Helicopters were being driven away by the intensity of the attack. Wounded soldiers were stranded on the battlefield with little hope of evacuation.
Most men would have understood if the risk became too great.
Bruce Crandall did not.
Again and again, he flew his unarmed helicopter back into the combat zone. Enemy fire raked the landing area. The danger was obvious. Yet Crandall continued returning, delivering ammunition and supplies to embattled troops and evacuating wounded soldiers who desperately needed medical attention.
By the end of the day, he had flown numerous rescue missions under conditions that many considered impossible. His actions helped save the lives of dozens of American soldiers who might otherwise have been left behind.
For those heroic actions, Crandall was awarded the Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest military decoration. The award recognized not only extraordinary bravery but an unwavering commitment to the men on the ground who were counting on him.
His story later reached millions through the film We Were Soldiers, where actor Greg Kinnear portrayed him. Yet those who knew Crandall often described him as a humble man who viewed himself simply as a soldier doing his job.
That humility may be one of the most remarkable parts of his story.
The generation that fought World War II, Korea, and Vietnam often carried their accomplishments quietly. They did not seek praise. They did not ask to be called heroes. They simply answered when their nation called and did what was required of them.
Ret. Col. Bruce Crandall
Bruce Crandall embodied those values.
His life reminds us that true leadership is not found in titles or rank. It is found in the willingness to place the welfare of others before your own safety. It is found in the courage to go back when everyone else is retreating. It is found in the determination to never abandon those who depend on you.
As America pauses to remember Colonel Bruce Crandall, we honor not only a Medal of Honor recipient but a man whose actions represented the very best of our nation. His helicopter may have long since landed, but the example he set continues to soar.
Today we remember a warrior, an aviator, a husband, a father, and a patriot.
Most of all, we remember a man who never left his fellow soldiers behind.
Rest in peace, Colonel Bruce Crandall. Thank you for your service, your courage, and your sacrifice. The nation you served so faithfully will not forget.
Former Congressman Barney Frank has died. Reports indicate that Frank entered hospice care at his home in Ogunquit, Maine, while battling congestive heart failure. According to the Associated Press.
Frank died late Tuesday, according to Jim Segel, Frank’s former campaign manager and close friend.
“Former Congressman Barney Frank, one of the most recognizable and influential openly gay lawmakers in American history, spent his final days in hospice care at his home in Ogunquit, Maine. The longtime Massachusetts representative, known for his sharp wit, fierce advocacy, and groundbreaking role in LGBTQI representation in Congress, had been battling congestive heart failure. As supporters, friends, and admirers reflect on his legacy, many are honoring a public servant whose voice helped reshape conversations about equality, civil rights, and representation in America.”
Barney Frank was many things to many people: a fierce advocate, a sharp intellect, a political force, and a voice that could cut through the noise with clarity and conviction. But above all, he was a champion for fairness, equality, and the rights of those too often left on the margins.
As one of the first openly gay members of Congress, Barney Frank broke barriers with unapologetic authenticity. He did not merely open doors for others — he helped tear them down. From fighting for LGBTQI rights to shaping major financial reform through the Dodd-Frank legislation, his impact on the nation remains undeniable.
Barney possessed a wit that could disarm opponents, a mind capable of dissecting the most complex issues, and a determination that never stopped pushing for what he believed was right. His public service helped redefine what representation looked like in America and inspired generations who once believed they had no place in government, leadership, or public life.
For countless members of the LGBTQI community, Barney Frank stood as proof that courage and honesty could change history. He understood the weight of silence, and he refused to live within it. In doing so, he became not just a lawmaker, but a symbol of progress and perseverance.
“Equality is not a special interest. It is a human right.” — Barney Frank
Today we remember a man who helped shape modern America through intelligence, humor, resilience, and conviction. His voice may now be silent, but the legacy he leaves behind continues to echo through every conversation about equality, dignity, and justice.
Thank you, Barney. You recorded history. You changed it. And you will be remembered.
Internet Claim: Man Used Missing Men’s Bodies To Make Famous Beef Jerky
Local authorities arrested Buckworth on suspicion of using human meat for the jerky he sold to the public, and police needed to find the source of the meat.
A grotesque story now circulating again on Facebook, TikTok, and other social media platforms claims a man from Wenatchee was arrested after investigators supposedly discovered his “best-selling jerky” was made from human meat. The post names a man called “Ross Buckworth,” claims missing workers were connected to the case, and attempts to present itself as a real criminal investigation.
There is just one problem.
None of it is true.
The story is a recycled internet hoax that has been reposted for years in slightly different versions. In some versions the suspect is named “Ross Buckworth.” In others, “Leslie Buckworth.” Sometimes the story claims the events happened in Washington state. Other times it says Montana. The details change because the story itself is fabricated.
Fact-checking organizations previously traced earlier versions of the same claim to satire and fake-news style websites. Snopes labeled one widely shared version as satire. Another debunk pointed directly to a satirical source site that openly described itself as a humor publication.
What appears to have confused many readers is that the hoax borrows pieces from a real Wyoming wildlife-poaching case involving illegal jerky sales. In that legitimate case, Wyoming investigators discovered a man had been selling jerky made from poached mule deer and antelope while marketing it as beef jerky. DNA testing confirmed the meat came from illegally killed wildlife — not humans.
The actual Wyoming case involved wildlife violations investigated by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department. Authorities charged the suspect with poaching-related crimes, illegal sale of game meat, and hunting violations. No accusations involving human remains or cannibalism were ever part of the case.
That real story appears to have been twisted into sensational clickbait.
The viral post also shows several classic signs of internet fabrication:
No legitimate law enforcement agency confirms the arrest.
No credible newspaper or television outlet reported the story.
The alleged suspect cannot be verified through official records.
The details change depending on who reposts it.
The story uses shock value designed to trigger emotional reactions and sharing.
This is how many social media hoaxes survive. They blend one small piece of reality with outrageous fiction, then rely on people sharing before checking the facts.
In today’s online environment, shocking stories spread faster than verified information. The more disturbing the claim, the more engagement it receives. Algorithms reward outrage, fear, and disgust because people react emotionally before they pause to ask whether something is actually true.
That is exactly why stories like this continue to resurface every few years.
The “human jerky” story is not a hidden crime finally exposed to the public.
I recently created a short memorial video honoring my mother, Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff—centered around the final telephone call I shared with her not long before she passed. In those last moments, there was a quiet understanding, a tenderness in her voice, and a sense of closeness that words can hardly capture. This video reflects that conversation and the emotions carried within it—love, gratitude, and the unspoken bond between a mother and her child. While we will gather at a later time to celebrate her life more fully, this small tribute preserves one of our final connections, a moment I will carry with me always. ––– Benjamin Groff
Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff passed away on the evening of January 19, 2026, in Burns Flat, Oklahoma. She was nearing her 96th year—a life that spanned some of the most defining chapters in American history. Born in Sentinel, Oklahoma, during the Great Depression, she witnessed firsthand the hardships of the Dust Bowl, the resilience of post-war America, the uncertainty of the gas lines in the 1970s, and the ever-changing world of today. Alongside her husband, JD, she raised six children, building a life grounded in perseverance, faith, and family. In her final moments, she was not alone—two of her children remained faithfully by her side, just as she had so often been there for them throughout their lives.
The mother of Groff-Media’s Benjamin Groff has passed away at the age of 95. Marjorie Bernice McWhirter Groff died in Burns Flat Oklahoma on the 19th of January 2026. She was raised on her father’s farm in Southwest Oklahoma during the Great Depression.
Marjorie Bernice McWhirter Groff, age 95, of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, passed away on January 19, 2026. She was the beloved mother of Groff-Media’s Benjamin Groff. Her life reflected perseverance. She was devoted to family and demonstrated quiet strength.
Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff was born on August 21, 1930, to G.W. and Bernice McWhirter on the McWhirter homestead near Sentinel, Oklahoma. She was raised on her father’s farm in southwest Oklahoma during the Great Depression. She learned early the values of hard work. She also developed self-reliance and resilience. She attended school in Sentinel, graduating in 1949. With characteristic humor, she often recalled being held back in first grade by Ms. Thomas. This was an event never fully explained, but she later attributed it to her grit and orneriness. These qualities remained with her throughout life.
She later married JD Groff in Arapaho, Oklahoma. Together, they formed a blended family of “yours, mine, and soon ours.” They raised six children. They built a life rooted in commitment and unconditional love. The family lived in Clinton, Cordell, and Binger, Oklahoma. Wherever they resided, Marjorie ensured her family had food on the table, clean clothes, and a warm home. She faithfully followed JD wherever his work and calling led, embodying the meaning of partnership and devotion.
Marjorie worked for many years in grocery and retail service. She held positions at Puckett’s Grocery in Cordell. She also worked at United Supermarkets in Clinton and Cordell. Additionally, she worked at Loren’s Grocery in Binger. She was employed at the former Humpty Dumpty store in Anadarko as well. In the mid-1970s, she managed a store for the late Dr. Henry Phifer. She assisted her husband in the care of Camp Red Rock. Helping with the operation of the Girl Scout camp from the 1970s through the mid-1980s. Many residents of Caddo, Kiowa, and Washita Counties came to know Marjorie through her work as a census demographic assistant. They relied on her for accuracy and trustworthiness. Later in life, she devoted herself to caring for others in different roles. She worked as a group-home caregiver. She was also a personal care assistant for individuals with developmental challenges.
In 2010, Marjorie moved from Binger to her son’s ranch near Phoenix, Arizona. In 2013, she returned to Oklahoma to live with her daughter Twila in Edmond. They later moved to Burns Flat. She resided there until her passing.
Marjorie was preceded in death by her parents. Her husband, JD Groff, also passed before her. She lost two sons, Sheldon Groff and Dennis Groff. She was also preceded in death by her brothers and sisters and their spouses. They were Robert Glen McWhirter, George McWhirter, David McWhirter, Richard McWhirter, Opal Burke, Nancy Dew, and Carolyn Overton. Her sisters-in-law were Mary McWhirter from Wichita Falls, Texas. Another one was Irene McWhirter from Oklahoma City. The third sister-in-law was Dortha Groff Downing from Weatherford, Oklahoma. Her brothers-in-law were Bennie Groff of Oklahoma City and Virgil Downing of Weatherford, Oklahoma. Others included Herb Burke of Mustang, Oklahoma, and Raymond Dew of Guthrie, Oklahoma.
She is survived by her children: Terry L. Groff and his wife, Paula, of Binger, Oklahoma. Juli Hall resides in Fort Cobb, Oklahoma. Twila Bowling lives in Burns Flat, Oklahoma. Benjamin Groff and Steven Swint, are from Mesa, Arizona. She is also survived by her sister, Shirley Lawson of Oklahoma City. She leaves behind many nieces and nephews. Many extended family members, friends, and neighbors remained in contact and offered care and companionship over the years.
Marjorie leaves behind a large and loving family, including thirteen grandchildren, thirteen great-grandchildren, and six great-great-grandchildren. She is also remembered by three adopted grandchildren—Benny, George, and Vojta—and their families in Germany and the Czech Republic.
She is also survived by her grandchildren: Tommy Groff, Robert Groff, Jay Dee Groff, and Raymond Groff. Florence Lynn (Groff), Amanda Bowling, Blake Bowling, and Natasha Garrison. Nathan Smith, Michael Smith, Tracey Groff, Ryan Groff, and Sisney Groff.
The love and support she received from those who stood by her until the end speak volumes. They highlight her husband’s enduring values. This is a testament to his character. These values were instilled by JD Groff. She never lost their dedication, trust, or love. This reflects the respect for family and elders that JD taught his children. Marjorie lived this respect every day.
Private family services will be held at Marjorie’s wish in the Spring Time.
Gregory de Polnay was born on 17 October 1943 in Chelsea, London, England, UK. He was an actor, known for Mansfield Park (1999), Doctor Who (1963) and Dixon of Dock Green (1955). He was married to Candice Caroline White. He died on 1 January 2026 in Poitiers, France.Some reports have listed as 2 January, 2026.
Big Finish Productions confirmed Gregory de Polnay’s death. He was known and respected there for his contributions to audio drama. News of his passing was met with sadness by colleagues, listeners, and admirers of his work.
Gregory de Polnay built a career defined by presence and voice. These qualities served him especially well in the world of recorded performance. Through his work with Big Finish, he became part of a storytelling tradition that values nuance, imagination, and character. He brought scripts to life for audiences. These audiences knew him primarily through sound rather than stage or screen.
De Polnay was not a household name. Yet, his work left a lasting impression within the creative communities he served. Fellow performers and producers remembered him as a dedicated professional. He matched his seriousness of craft with a deep respect for storytelling and collaboration.
Gregory de Polnay is survived by friends, colleagues, and listeners who continue to enjoy the performances he left behind. His voice endures in the stories he helped tell. This ensures that his contribution to the art of audio drama will not be forgotten.
Eddie Sotto, 67, American experiential designer, mixed-media producer and conceptualist
Eddie Sotto, a visionary designer and influential figure in themed entertainment, has died at the age of 67. Sotto earned widespread respect for his creative leadership. He made a lasting impact on the way immersive environments are imagined and experienced. His work with Walt Disney Imagineering was significant during a pivotal era of expansion and innovation.
Eddie Sotto imagined places where stories lived. He shaped immersive worlds at Walt Disney Imagineering. These worlds welcomed millions and forever redefined themed design.
Sotto joined Walt Disney Imagineering in 1986. He rose to become Senior Vice President of Concept Design in 1994. This role placed him at the center of some of Disney’s most ambitious international projects. Among his most notable achievements was overseeing the design of Main Street, U.S.A. at Disneyland Paris. There, his vision helped adapt a classic American concept for a global audience. He managed to preserve its sense of nostalgia, storytelling, and emotional resonance.
One of Sotto’s most enduring contributions was his proposal. He suggested placing the Disneyland Hotel directly at the entrance of Disneyland Paris. This proposal was bold and unprecedented. This was the first time Disney situated a hotel within a theme park. This concept would influence future park planning. It also redefined the relationship between guest experience and themed architecture. Eddie Sotto’s legacy endures in the spaces he helped create and in the imaginative standards he set for immersive design.
Every year at this time, I am reminded of a harrowing story. It is deeply etched into Oklahoma’s collective memory: the Babbs Switch School Fire of Christmas Eve, 1924. It stands as a tragic lesson in safety, humanity, and resilience.
The Fire
On that bitterly cold night, with heavy snow and sub-zero temperatures, 200 residents gathered. They met in Babbs Switch’s one-room schoolhouse for a Christmas Eve program. The school was tightly packed with engaged couples, grandparents, mothers, fathers, and children. The building’s windows were secured with wire mesh to deter intruders from the nearby railroad tracks. The sole exit—a door that opened inward—would soon become a deadly trap.
The program concluded with a teenage boy dressed as Santa Claus. He handed out toys and candy beneath a cedar Christmas tree. The tree was decorated with paper, tinsel, and lit candles. One of these candles brushed against the tree’s dry needles, igniting it instantly. Mrs. W.G. Boland, whose three children perished that night, later recounted the horror.
“I tried to beat it out with a paper sack,”
she said,
“but it did no good.”
Initially, the crowd laughed, believing the small blaze was being contained. But within moments, the flames engulfed the tree, the ceiling, and the entire structure.
Panic erupted.
The sole exit became a bottleneck as the crowd surged toward the door. Those at the back pushed forward, while the unlucky at the front got crushed in the chaos. Some attempted to pry open the wired windows, but their efforts were futile. Trapped inside, children, parents, and neighbors succumbed to the smoke and flames. Witnesses recalled the horrifying scene of people clawing at the exit. Bodies piled atop one another, and the acrid stench of burning flesh.
The Survivors
Among those who escaped was Lillie Biggers. She crawled out from under a desk clutching a doll she had just received. Her mother, Margaret, managed to get out but suffered severe burns to her hands and arms. Tragically, Lillie’s brothers, William, 9, and Walter, 15, did not survive. The Biggers family’s grief mirrored that of the entire community, where 36 lives were lost—half of them children. The belongings later identified the bodies of William and Walter. They carried a toy gun and a belt buckle.
The injured and deceased were transported to Hobart, the nearest town, where makeshift morgues were set up. The community’s response, known as the “Hobart Spirit,” saw residents drop everything to give aid and comfort. Newspaper accounts likened this effort to the Oklahoma Standard that emerged decades later after the Oklahoma City bombing.
Julie Braun with Mother Lillie’s Doll That Survived Fire
The Aftermath
The tragedy prompted a wave of reforms. Oklahoma legislators enacted fire safety laws requiring outward-opening doors, multiple exits, and accessible window screens in schools. Open flames were banned, and fire extinguishers became mandatory. The reforms eventually spread nationwide, though it would take more tragedies before they were fully adopted.
The morning after the Babbs Switch School Fire
A Missing Child
The story took a strange twist that turned it into a lingering mystery. Among the victims was three-year-old Mary Edens—or so it was believed. Her aunt, Alice Noah, escaped the building. She died days later. She claimed she had handed Mary to an unknown person outside the burning building. Mary’s body was never recovered, leading her family to hope she had survived.
In 1957, decades after the fire, a woman named Grace Reynolds came forth. She was from Barstow, California. She claimed to be the long-lost Mary. The Edens family reunited with her on Art Linkletter’s House Party television program, believing their prayers had been answered. Reynolds even wrote a book about her experiences. It is titled Mary, Child of Tragedy: The Story of the Lost Child of the 1924 Babbs Switch Fire.
But only some were convinced. A local newspaper editor who investigated the claim questioned its validity.
Skeptics noted inconsistencies in Reynolds’s story, but no definitive evidence confirmed or debunked her identity. To this day, the truth remains elusive.
Legacy
The Babbs Switch School Fire is remembered as one of the deadliest school fires in U.S. history. A stone monument now stands where the schoolhouse once stood, a quiet marker of lives lost and lessons learned. The physical scars of the tragedy have faded. Yet, its memory endures. It serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and our enduring hope for safety and change.
In the quiet margins of newspapers, lives flicker out of print. Still, they do not fade out of memory. That is where our magazine steps in. It offers a respectful space for families and community members. They can share and preserve their loved ones’ stories. benandsteve.com believes that every person who mattered deserves more than a line in the obituary section. It doesn’t matter whether they soared in the spotlight or labored in the shadows. They deserve a story that lingers.
In State. Gone But Not Forgotten! ~ The Quiet Roll Call of Memory ~ A Place Where Every Life is Honored!
The local teacher’s kindness rippled through generations. The factory worker’s quiet ingenuity saved jobs. Every story reminds us that all lives matter and deserve recognition. Each of them mattered in a way that defies headline fame, and we honor that truth.
When you turn our pages, you are not just scrolling past a date and a funeral notice. You are stepping into a life lived, an unfinished story, and a memory that still speaks. Through these stories, you can feel connected to those who shaped our world in ways that matter deeply to someone.
Join us. Let this edition of Notable Deaths – @ Galaxy8News, a service of benandsteve.com, stand as a testament that we remember — not only the famous, but the faithful. We honor not only the celebrated, but the steadfast. Through meaningful storytelling, we create a space where every life is acknowledged. Each life is valued and preserved. This nurtures a lasting sense of belonging and purpose.
We assure their contributions, their legacy, and their memory are posted. Visit daily to stay connected and informed on the most recent passing’s of those who have departed this world. Their lives mattered, and their stories deserve to be remembered. Bookmark it here! Just remember Galaxy8News, a service of benandsteve.com and Notable Deaths are two different pages. Hosted by the same entity.
Alice and Ellen Kessler were born on August 20, 1936, in Nerchau, Saxony, Germany. From early childhood, they trained in ballet and performance, eventually emerging as a dazzling twin act in post-war Europe. They became known internationally for their synchronized dancing, singing, and television appearances. They found particular fame in Italy, where they were dubbed “Le gemelle Kessler”.
They appeared in films like Love and the Frenchwoman and Dead Woman from Beverly Hills . Their careers expanded beyond dance into acting.
Shared Career, Shared Life
For decades, they performed as a unit—twins inseparable both on and off stage. Their image of elegance, glamour, and synchronized precision made them icons of entertainment in the 1950s and 1960s. Their bond remained strong even as they stepped away from the spotlight, ultimately returning to Germany and settling near Munich.
Their Final Days & Decision
On November 17, 2025, both Alice and Ellen passed away in Grünwald, Bavaria, Germany, at the age of 89. Their cause of death is reported as assisted suicide. They made this decision together. It reflects how they had lived life: side by side.
The sisters had long ago expressed the wish to be cremated together. They wanted their ashes placed in a single urn, according to reports. They had indicated they no longer wished to continue their current life. They chose to end their lives together.
Why They Made That Choice
While the intimate details of their decision stay personal, the public record suggests the following contributing factors:
Age and quality of life: At 89, they faced the realities of aging. Having lived their whole careers, they wished to face death by choice rather than decline.
Deep bond: Their identity had been formed around always being together—professionally and personally. The decision to depart together echoes the unity they maintained for nearly nine decades.
Autonomy in the final act: In Germany, since 2019, medical aid in dying has been legal under certain conditions. This involves an individual administering prescribed medication themselves. They chose the timing, setting, and manner—affirming their autonomy to the end.
Legacy and Reflection
Alice and Ellen stay symbols of an era of variety-show glamour. They epitomize cross-European entertainment. Their twin synergy is unmatched by few acts. But beyond their performance, their final act raises profound questions about dignity. It also questions companionship and the nature of choice at the end of life.
Their journey is a full-circle narrative for fans, historians, and those intrigued by human stories. They start as childhood ballet students. They become international stars. Finally, they become co-authors of their own end. It shows how life can be lived. It also demonstrates how life can be shared and completed on one’s own terms.
Closing Thoughts Remembering The Kessler Sisters
How many partnerships in life are built to last so long, and so deeply?
The Kessler twins remind us of devotion not only to craft, but to each other. In their final act, they teach us something tender and unsettling. They reveal the power of choice, the weight of togetherness, and the mystery of closure.
Latest on the Kessler Twins’ passing –
NEWS BULLETIN. TUESDAY NOVEMBER 19, 2025
The Kessler Twins have left this world together.
Alice Kessler and Ellen Kessler—German twin sisters who performed as a variety entertainment duo—died by joint assisted suicide at their home in Gruenwald, Germany, on Nov. 17, according to the German Society for Humane Dying (DGHS).
“They had been considering this option for some time,” the association, which advocates for the right to a self-determined death, said in a statement to NBC News. “They had been members of the organization for over a year.”
Explaining that those “who choose this option in Germany must be absolutely clear-headed, meaning free and responsible,” the organization noted that the sisters engaged in thorough discussions with a lawyer and a doctor before setting on this path.
“The decision must be thoughtful and consistent,” the DGHS added, “meaning made over a long period of time and not impulsive.”
Assisted dying is legal in Germany, with the country’s constitutional court ruling in 2020 that an individual has the right to end their life and seek help from a third party under certain circumstances.
Mohamed Sabry, Former Zamalek Midfielder, Dies at 51
The Egyptian football community is deeply saddened to mourn the loss of Mohamed Sabry. He was the former Zamalek and Egypt national team midfielder. He died in a car accident in Cairo’s Fifth Settlement on Thursday. He was 51. Sabry’s untimely passing marks the end of a remarkable life. He dedicated his life to the sport he loved. He helped define it for a generation of fans.
Sabry was a central figure in Zamalek’s golden era throughout the 1990s and early 2000s. This was a decade of triumphs. It cemented the club’s legacy in African football. Between 1993 and 2003, he lifted 15 major titles. These included three CAF Champions League trophies and two Egyptian Premier League championships. Known for his fierce determination, vision, and leadership on the pitch, Sabry was instrumental. He led Zamalek through some of its most celebrated victories. He earned admiration from teammates, opponents, and supporters alike.
Mohamed Sabry
After news of his passing, tributes poured in from across Egypt and beyond. Zamalek icon Mahmoud Abdel-Razek “Shikabala” described Sabry as “a legend of Egyptian football.” He also called him “a symbol of loyalty and devotion to his club and supporters.” His words reflected the views of many who admired Sabry for his exceptional talent. They saw him as a model of dedication and humility. Fans, former teammates, and rival clubs alike joined in remembering a man whose passion for football transcended the game’s rivalries.
Condolences also came from key figures within Egyptian football. Hossam Hassan, the national team coach, offered his sympathy to Sabry’s family. Al Ahly president Mahmoud El Khatib also conveyed his condolences to the wider football community. Tributes continue to flow. Mohamed Sabry will be remembered as one of Zamalek’s most influential midfielders. His achievements, sportsmanship, and loyalty to his club left an indelible mark on Egyptian football history.
Mohamed Sabry (1974–2025): Remembering a Zamalek Legend
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Former Zamalek midfielder Mohamed Sabry has died in a tragic car accident in Cairo at 51. A defining figure in Zamalek’s golden era, Sabry won 15 major titles, including three CAF Champions League crowns. Tributes from teammates, rivals, and fans recall a man of skill, loyalty, and unmatched devotion to the game.
We are deeply saddened to announce the passing of Carol Jane “Penny” Pence Taylor. She was born on May 11, 1929, and passed away on November 4, 2025. Penny was a pioneering American swimmer, Olympian, mentor, and coach. She was also a beloved figure in the sport of swimming. She died in New Orleans, Louisiana, at the age of 96.
Life & Accomplishments
Penny Pence was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, and as a young woman rose to national prominence as a breaststroke specialist. She represented the United States at the 1948 Summer Olympics in London. She competed in the women’s 200-metre breaststroke at the age of 19.
In that era, women’s competitive swimming was still evolving. Swimsuits were made of cotton. Goggles were not yet in regular use. Lane lines and pool technology were far less advanced than today. As noted in
Beyond the Olympics, she achieved multiple national titles in breaststroke and medley relay events. At the 1951 Pan American Games, she won gold in the 3×100 m medley relay. She also secured bronze in the 200 m breaststroke. Which is noted in Olympedia+1
After her competitive career, Penny turned to coaching and leadership. She spent more than three decades as a swim coach in the St. Louis area. She served in various roles with U.S. Swimming organizations. She was a team leader at the 1984 and 1992 Olympics. She worked as a deck marshal at the 1996 Games. She was also the chef de mission at several FINA World Championships. Her backgrounds are well documented on Wikipedia
Legacy
Penny Pence’s legacy lives on in many ways. She helped lay the groundwork for women’s competitive swimming in the United States. Her efforts bridged the post-war era into the modern age of the sport. Her dedication as an athlete, coach, administrator, and mentor touched countless swimmers. She had the rare perspective of having raced in the era when the butterfly wing-style was emerging in breaststroke events. Later, she guided new generations.
A Life Remembered
Penny was admired for her determination, her attention to detail, and her lifelong commitment to the sport she loved. She stayed involved with swimming well into her later years. She attended major events. She offered counsel and shared stories of an era when competitive swimming was very different from today.
A private celebration of her life is being planned.
Her family requests donations in her name instead of flowers. These can be made to a local swim club. Alternatively, they can be directed to a scholarship fund supporting young swimmers.
Her memory reminds us of the value of perseverance, service, and passion for the sport.
Penny Pence has left the pool. Still, her ripple effect continues in the lanes. It also continues in the lives of all whom she touched. She will be deeply missed and fondly remembered.
The man had lived his life in balance—not a saint, not a sinner, but somewhere in between. He had helped when strong. He erred when he was weak. Now, in his elder years, he carried the weight of both. His body ached. His breath came shorter. One night, he sank into a sleep so deep it felt like stepping into another world.
A ship appeared from the darkness. Its hull was blackened with age. It floated on a sea of whiskey. The whiskey shimmered like molten amber under the moonlight. A cigar extended from the deck like a gangplank, smoke curling in lazy ribbons. Hesitant but curious, the man stepped onto the cigar and walked across, balancing himself as if crossing into another reality.
On board, a captain awaited him—tall, weathered, eyes that had seen too much. “I’m here to take you to your next destination,” the captain said, voice low and certain. The man nodded. The ship cut across the whiskey sea. It came to rest before a towering building of glass and brass. Its entrance was lined with golden elevators, each gleaming like judgment itself.
Inside, a sharply dressed man waited in the lobby. His shoes were polished so bright they caught the reflection of the man’s weary face. He gestured toward a chair. “Tell me your life story,” he said.
And so the man spoke. He told of the good—moments of kindness, loyalty, laughter. He confessed to the bad—times of selfishness, anger, and failure. He left nothing out, for what use was there in lying at the end? The suited man listened, not judging, only nodding as though each word was weighed like coin on a scale.
At the end, silence hung heavy. The suited man pressed a single button. The doors of one elevator slid open, glowing with light the man did not quite see. He stepped ahead, heart pounding. Whether the elevator rose or fell, he did not know. But as the doors closed, he understood something profound. The true measure had never been perfection. It was honesty. It was the courage to walk the bridge, board the ship, and face the truth of who he had been.
Joe had been lost in grief ever since Belinda, his wife of fifty years, passed away. Now nearly 80, his health was slipping. His memory faltered. His doctor warned he would soon need full-time care. One day, he might not even remember who he was. Watching Belinda decline into that same fog had torn him apart. Joe swore he wouldn’t let himself linger the way she had.
He made up his mind. Quietly, carefully, he wrote out a plan on paper and kept it folded in his pocket. When the time came, he would go to a scenic overlook, drink a fifth of whiskey, and take his own life as the sun slipped below the horizon. In his truck’s glovebox sat both the bottle and a revolver, waiting.
As the months wore on, Joe’s forgetfulness grew worse. He climbed into the wrong car. He mistook strangers’ houses for his own. He baffled neighbors with his confused blunders. It might have been comical if it weren’t so tragic. Then one morning, Joe woke with rare clarity. Today, he thought, would be the day. He dressed. He tipped his waitress a hundred dollars at breakfast. He filled his truck and signed the title over to the station owner. He stopped by the bank to remind young Betty, the teller, that she would inherit his house someday. He even visited Belinda’s grave, promising to leave a light on so she’d know he was coming home.
It took him five hours to find the overlook—a place barely half a mile from his house. As the sky burned orange, Joe followed the instructions from his pocket: whiskey first, then the gun. Memories came in waves—his youth, his marriage, his place in the community. With a last swig, he cocked the revolver, looked toward the heavens, and whispered, “Honey, I’m on my way.” He pulled the trigger.
Darkness. Then voices. A bright light. He thought he was dead—until he woke the next morning in County General Hospital.
“Good morning, Joe,” a nurse said. “We were wondering when you’d wake up. How was your trip last night?”
Joe frowned. “Trip? What trip?”
“The usual,” she smiled. “Breakfast, gas station, bank, then the overlook. The sheriff’s department was waiting for you. You got lost again, but they helped you find your way.”
Joe’s face hardened. “Dadblast it, that was my plan to do myself in! I’ve got a right to my privacy.”
The doctor walked in, shaking his head. “You do, Joe. But here in Canada, there’s another way. You qualify for MAiD—the Medical Assistance in Dying law. You don’t have to go alone with a bottle and a gun.”
Joe stared at him, confused. “Did I… forget that too?”
In 1921, Thomas and Mary Ellen Souder of Texas proved love doesn’t end at goodbye.
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A Story of Devotion: Thomas Jefferson Souder & Mary Ellen
In the gentle stillness of Hurst, Texas, Thomas Jefferson Souder and Mary Ellen East Souder shared a quiet love. It spanned six decades. They were married for 60 years. They raised a family and cultivated a home. They remained inseparable through every upturn and downturn of life.
July 1921 brought a cruel twist. Both fell victim to “the flux.” It was a brutal wave of gastroenteritis. It was so swift that it swept Mary Ellen away first, on July 13. Thomas Jefferson, already weakened, succumbed to grief and illness just two days later on July 15.
The community mourned—especially those who believed no bond was stronger than theirs. So it was decided: they would rest together, side by side, in a unique double coffin. Their shared burial echoed their life—inseparable, even in death.
Newspapers of the day captured the sentiment well. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram, on July 16, headlined their story: “Death fails to Separate Couple Wed 60 Years.” They honored not just the passing of two individuals. It was a love that truly endured it all.
More than a century later, their story endures. It is not a tragedy but a testament. True devotion can span lifetimes. It quietly reminds us that love, in its purest form, touches eternity.
Fact-Checked Details
Thomas Jefferson Souder and Mary Ellen East Souder were married for about 60 years. They passed within a couple of days of one another in July 1921 (1).
Mary Ellen died on July 13, 1921, and Thomas Jefferson followed two days later, on July 15, 1921(2).
Their cause of death was identified as dysentery. It was referred to at the time as “the flux.” This is a severe form of gastroenteritis (3).
Both were well-known pioneers of Hurst in Tarrant County, Texas. They were buried together in a double coffin. It was a striking symbol of their lifelong unity (4).
Their joint burial made front-page news in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram on July 16, 1921, under a headline expressing how “Death fails to Separate Couple Wed 60 Years”
The Dead Has Gone – A Night Call to the Funeral Home
Jake Roff was a man of routine. Up before the sun, station lights on by 4:30, coffee brewed by 4:35. He liked the quiet hours before the town woke up. There was no traffic and no gossip. Just the hum of the soda cooler and the smell of gasoline.
That’s when the hearse pulled in.
The local funeral director appeared. He was a man who had perfected the art of wearing a solemn face. He maintained this expression even when discussing baseball scores. He leaned out the window and said,
“Jake… I can use an extra set of hands unloading a client.”
Jake wasn’t sure “client” was the right word, but he was too polite to argue. He locked the station door and climbed into the passenger seat. The ride was short. It was a ride where the air feels colder than it should. You can’t shake the notion that someone in back is listening.
At the funeral home, the place was dark. A single light illuminated the hallway. It was the light that leaves more shadows than it removes. The two men wheeled their passenger toward the prep room, the floor squeaking under the gurney wheels.
That’s when Jake’s hip clipped something.
The “something” was another gurney, parked just out of sight. The bump sent the sheet sliding to the floor in slow, terrible motion. It was like a curtain rising before a play no one wants to see.
Underneath was a woman. Her hair was a halo of white, frizzed and jutting out like she’d been caught mid-scream in a lightning storm. Her eyes were wide and glassy, locked on Jake as if she’d been waiting for him specifically. Her jaw hung slack. Her teeth were just visible. It was an open-mouthed stare that made him wonder if she was about to say something.
Jake didn’t stick around to find out. He backpedaled so fast he nearly tipped the “client” he’d come to help with. His heart was pounding. He mumbled something about
“forgetting to check the oil at the station.”
Then, he made a break for the door.
The funeral director called after him. By then, Jake was halfway down the block. He vowed never to set foot in that place again. For the rest of his days, he’d open his station early. Yet, if a hearse rolled in before sunrise, Bill always ensured he had a sudden, urgent appointment anywhere else.
This is a true story as told to the author. JD Groff experienced it first-hand. He passed it down through generations. Other family members kept it alive over the years. JD had a flair for telling this tale at family gatherings—something this written piece can only hope to capture. One thing’s certain. After that night, he never again helped unload another “client.” That was the case for as long as he lived in Cordell, Oklahoma.
About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.
Jeannie Seely’s 5,398th Opry Show” Set for August 14 at Grand Ole Opry House
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A public Celebration of Life will honor Grand Ole Opry star and country music icon Jeannie Seely. It will be held Wednesday, August 14 at 10:00 a.m. CT at the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville. Fittingly titled “Jeannie Seely’s 5,398th Opry Show,” the service will pay tribute to her unmatched legacy.
Jeannie Seely passed away on Friday, August 1 at age 85, after complications from an intestinal infection. She held the record for most Opry appearances in history — 5,397 — a milestone unlikely to ever be surpassed.
Tributes from the Country Music Community
Many stars shared heartfelt words:
Ricky Skaggs:“She made nervous newcomers feel at peace. We can all take her lead and encourage the next generation.”
Pam Tillis:“She had grit, wit, talent—and she was cool.”
Larry Gatlin:“She was my champion and inspiration. I miss her already.”
John Anderson, Ray Stevens, Mark Chesnutt, Darryl Worley, Billy Dean, and others echoed similar admiration, love, and deep loss.
Legacy
Nicknamed “Miss Country Soul,” Jeannie Seely broke barriers for women in country music. She was the first woman to regularly host Opry segments. She is also a GRAMMY winner and a BMI-awarded songwriter. Additionally, she has been an Opry member since 1967. Her songs were recorded by legends. These include Merle Haggard, Dottie West, and Willie Nelson. She also shared the screen with Willie Nelson in Honeysuckle Rose. In 2022, she was honored for her historic number of Opry performances. A stretch of road near the venue was renamed the Jeannie Seely Interchange in 2024.
Instead of Flowers
Donations in Jeannie’s name are encouraged to pet-related charities or the Opry Trust Fund: opry.com/about/opry-trust-fund
To start viewing events from Jeannie’s life, visit her website here. You can see the music she shared, events celebrated, and the people she loved.
William Irwin “Bill” Krisher (September 18, 1935 – 2025, age 89)
William Irwin Krisher, known to football fans as Bill Krisher, passed away in 2025 at age 89 (1).
He was born on September 18, 1935, in Perry, Oklahoma. He grew up in Midwest City. He developed into a standout lineman for the University of Oklahoma under coach Bud Wilkinson (2).
Krisher’s college career was decorated. He earned consensus All-American honors in 1957. He helped the Sooner’s win consecutive national championships in 1955 and 1956 3.
Selected in the third round of the 1958 NFL draft, he played for the Pittsburgh Steelers before moving to the AFL’s Dallas Texans (now Kansas City Chiefs), where he was named to the All‑AFL Team in 1960 and honored as a division All‑Star in 1961 4
Off the field, Krisher dedicated himself to faith and mentorship. He was an active member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and served as its southwestern regional director by the mid‑1970s 5
Bill Krisher leaves behind a legacy of excellence in collegiate and pro football. He dedicated his life to uplifting others through faith and service.
He is remembered by family, teammates, and athletes inspired by his example.
There are stories worth telling—stories shaped by the countless experiences we collect in life. In mine, there have been unforgettable moments. I visited with friends, shared laughter, and exchanged hugs. Then I returned home—only to learn the next day that they were gone. No warning. No signs. One moment, they were part of my world; the next, they had vanished from it.
Those moments taught me a truth that often goes unspoken: nothing in life is definite.
Even when it feels like we’re stuck—repeating the same routines, going through the same motions—life is still moving. The world shifts beneath our feet, often without our awareness, certainly without our consent. Change is not something we invite; it’s something that happens. It shows itself in every breath we take. It appears with every face that enters or leaves our lives. It influences every decision made far beyond our control—from government chambers to hospital rooms.
Change is the only constant.
Sometimes, a change is so small it goes unnoticed—until its effects stretch across history. On February 2, 1959, Waylon Jennings gave up his seat on a chartered airplane to the Big Bopper, J.P. Richardson, who was feeling ill. The plane also carried Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens. It crashed in an Iowa field just minutes after takeoff. Everyone aboard died.
Waylon Jennings
That one seat swap—an act of kindness, -–– saved Jennings’s life. No one was at fault. But that simple moment, that ordinary change in plan, altered the course of music history and Jennings’s own future. He carried the weight of that change for the rest of his life. And yet, that change gave him more years, more music, more life.
That is how change works. Quiet. Sudden. Unfair. Unpredictable. But real.
When everything feels bleak, we must remember: change is still at work. When loss feels unbearable or the path ahead seems hidden, we must remember: change is still at work. What feels like the end today reveals itself as the beginning of something new tomorrow.
Time moves. People change. Life adapts. Always.
And in that, we find our only real choice: acceptance.
Accepting change—no matter how painful—does not mean surrendering to it. It means choosing to live with eyes open, hearts ready, and spirits willing to grow from what has been lost. We don’t have to like every change. But by accepting it, we start to transform with it—and even rise because of it.
Postscript:
After a tragic 1991 plane crash claimed the lives of several members of Reba McEntire’s band, it was Waylon Jennings—haunted by his own near-miss decades earlier—who offered her a few words she never forgot:
“Reba, you’ll never get over it, but you’ll get through it.”
And that’s the final truth about change. We don’t get over it—we live through it. And somehow, life keeps going.
Helen Cornelius (December 6, 1941 – July 18, 2025) was the deeply cherished voice of classic country. She was the beloved duet partner to Jim Ed Brown. She passed away on July 18, at the age of 83 FacebookThe Sun Set TV. She was born as Helen Lorene Johnson in Monroe City, Missouri. She was raised on a farm where music flowed naturally in her family. She joined her sisters Judy and Sharon in a local singing trio before forming her own band, The Crossroads.
Cornelius’s early career blossomed in the late 1960s. She worked as a songwriter signed to Screen Gems Music. She penned songs recorded by artists like Barbara Fairchild and Connie Smith Wikipedia+3Wikipedia+3The Sun Set TV+3. After a brief stint with Columbia and MCA Records, her life’s defining moment arrived in 1976. Teaming up with Jim Ed Brown, she recorded “I Don’t Want to Have to Marry You.” It was a No. 1 country smash. This success launched a string of hit duets. These include “Saying Hello, Saying I Love You, Saying Goodbye.” They also include “Lying in Love with You” and “Fools.” There are more HistoryForSale+7Wikipedia+7Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum+7. Their chemistry was undeniable. It earned them the Country Music Association’s Vocal Duo of the Year award. This accolade came in 1977 Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum.
Cornelius also enjoyed solo success. This includes her charting single “Whatcha Doin’ After Midnight Baby.” She toured with iconic acts like The Statler Brothers. She later brought her signature warmth to stage shows. This included a stint in the musical Annie Get Your Gun. She also opened the Nashville South venue in Gatlinburg HistoryForSale+3Wikipedia+3The Sun Set TV+3. In the 2000s, she became a Branson favorite at the Jim Stafford Theater. She made frequent appearances on RFD‑TV’s Country’s Family Reunion series Facebook+5Wikipedia+5The Sun Set TV+5.
Helen was recognized not just for her pure, heartfelt voice. She was also acknowledged for her humility and graciousness. Moreover, the undeniable bond she shared with Jim Ed Brown on stage and in life was noteworthy. Even after their professional split in 1981, she remained a steadfast presence in country music. They reunited for a 1988 tour. She continued to be a steadfast presence in country music 98.1 – Minnesota’s New Country+4Wikipedia+4The Sun Set TV+4.
She is survived by her loving family and legions of fans who still cherish those golden harmonies. Helen Cornelius’s legacy lives on in every record, performance, and the countless artists she inspired. She will be remembered as one of country music’s finest voices. She was a true steward of its heart.
Continued Connection: Remained active in the community through Country’s Family Reunion and Branson theater gigs YouTube+4Wikipedia+4Wikipedia+4.
Her passing marks the end of a storied chapter in country music. Her voice—filled with warmth, purity, and grace—will continue to echo for generations. Rest in harmony, Helen Cornelius.
There used to be four chairs at the table. Every Sunday, without fail, they were filled.
Anna always brought the rolls. George never remembered the salad. And Michael, the youngest, made them laugh so hard someone usually spilled something. Then there was Claire. The one who set the table. Who kept the tradition.
But life doesn’t ask for permission when it starts rearranging things.
Anna moved three states away for a job that offered better pay and less time. George passed unexpectedly—just one late afternoon in September, gone with no goodbyes. Michael, grief-stricken and incapable of facing the silence, stopped coming.
And Claire… she kept setting the table. All four chairs. Every Sunday.
It felt foolish at first—preparing a meal for no one. But over time, the quiet stopped being so loud. She began to remember George’s voice not as an echo of absence, but as a smile in her thoughts. She started writing letters to Anna and cooking Michael’s favorite dish, just in case he came.
And one Sunday, he did.
He didn’t say much—just sat in his chair like it had never been empty. They ate. They laughed. No one mentioned the salad.
Recovery isn’t about replacing what’s lost. It’s about honoring it enough to keep living.
Horace Speed (1951–2025): Former Major League Outfielder Remembered for His Speed and Perseverance
Horace Speed
Horace Solomon Speed was a former Major League Baseball player. He was known for his blazing speed and quiet determination. He passed away on May 26, 2025, at the age of 73.
Born on January 22, 1951, in Pasadena, California, Speed was a standout athlete from an early age. The San Francisco Giants drafted him out of Pasadena High School. This was during the Major League Baseball’s round of the 1969 June Amateur Draft. Speed spent most of his professional career in the minor leagues. Nonetheless, his dedication to the game paid off. He finally broke into the majors with the Cleveland Indians.
Speed made his MLB debut on September 14, 1975, and played parts of three seasons with the Indians. Throughout 62 games, he was often utilized as a pinch runner and reserve outfielder, capitalizing on his hallmark speed. While his offensive stats — a .140 batting average, seven stolen bases, and eight runs scored — show limited playing time, his presence was valuable. He made significant contributions in late-game situations, particularly on the bases.
Speed’s journey through professional baseball was a testament to resilience. He spent nearly a decade in the minors. Before reaching the major leagues, he served as a model of perseverance for countless aspiring athletes. His career was modest in statistical output. Nevertheless, it remains a testament to hard work and patience. It inspires all who hear his story.
After retiring from baseball, Speed largely stayed out of the public eye, living a private life away from the spotlight. His modesty stands out. He has made significant contributions to the sport. This modesty is a reminder of the humility that can be found in even the most accomplished individuals.
Horace Speed’s passing marks the loss of a quiet but determined competitor. His journey inspired those who watched him run, hustle, and chase his dreams. He is remembered for his achievements on the field. More importantly, he is remembered for the character he displayed in getting there.
André Thomas Halyards, known artistically as Dre Love, was a central and pioneering figure in Italian hip hop. He has passed away in Florence at the age of 55.
Dre Love was born in the Queens borough of New York City. He became a Florentine by adoption in the 1990s. Dre Love was a versatile artist: DJ, rapper, beatmaker, songwriter, and tireless collaborator. He had a gritty voice and unmistakable style. He brought the groove and soul of African American funk into the sounds of Italian hip hop. This helped to write some of its most authentic and vital chapters.
Dre Love arrived in Italy in the early 1990s. He made his home in Florence. This city would shape both his artistic and personal journey. There, he joined Radical Stuff, one of Italy’s very first hip hop groups. He became a living bridge between American street culture and the emerging urban scenes taking shape across the country. He was also a member of the collective Messaggeri della Dopa. He helped to redefine Italian rap with a style that blended social consciousness. His approach also incorporated sophisticated musicality and spirituality.
His Collaboration with Neffa
Dre Love’s name is often linked with Neffa, with whom he collaborated on the Campanian rapper’s first two albums. He worked with a wide array of Italian and international artists. These include Irene Grandi, Alex Britti, Almamegretta, DJ Gruff, DJ Enzo, Gopher D, Reggae National Tickets. His collaborations even touched on the soul-funk sound of Jamiroquai.
Dre Love was never just a guest artist. He was a true collaborator in the deepest sense. He was an artist who opened doors. He created connections between musical worlds that seemed far apart. A messenger who made every beat, every bar, a statement of purpose. His music was a captivating blend of rap, funk, soul, and electronic experimentation. It was deeply rooted in a visceral respect for African American culture. His work always pushed toward innovation.
With his band, Dre Love delivered live performances. The band featured talented Italian musicians like Diego Leporatti (drums), Gianni Pantaleo (keyboards), and Niccolò Malcontenti (bass). It also included Tiziano Carfora (percussion), Andrea Rubino (guitar), Leandro Giordani (saxophone), and Emanuele Campigli (trumpet). Each performance was a true sonic journey through the past, current, and future of Black music.
Unlike the other famous “Dre” in hip hop history, Dr. Dre, Dre Love built his legend in a different way. He did not do it through the spotlight of the music industry. Instead, he made a direct impact with audiences, scenes, and people. He didn’t seek confrontation, but dialogue. Not profit, but connection. Where Dr. Dre of Compton made significant changes in hip hop with The Chronic, he further transformed the music industry with Beats. In contrast, Dre Love revolutionized hearts and stages, leaving an indelible mark on the history of Italian rap.
(By Paolo Martini)
A Tribute from Casino Royale
“Just a little while ago, a ‘great’ one made the big leap. This was a soul who gave so much. He contributed both humanly and in terms of sound and attitude to the Italian scene. Casino Royale was never a hip hop project. Still, we had the privilege of crossing paths with many figures. These figures made history in this country’s hip hop culture. Dre Love was one of those. He will always stay in our Olympus of demigods. We had the honor of meeting such people.
Every time we crossed paths, there were genuine hugs. They were full of mutual respect. We always promised that one day, we’d play that game together. It’s the game that becomes a mission for those who feel the responsibility. They also experience the joy of doing things a certain way.
ROCK ON!!! That was his goodbye. ‘The sky is the limit’—fly light, Dre Love. See you on the other side.”
(From a post published by Casino Royale on Facebook)
Stanley Jason Conti was a former Major League Baseball outfielder. He was known for his defensive prowess. He contributed to several MLB teams. Conti passed away on May 17, 2025, his cause of death has not been disclosed.
Conti was born on January 27, 1975, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Arizona Diamondbacks drafted him in the 32nd round of the 1996 amateur draft. He came from the University of Pittsburgh. He made his highly anticipated MLB debut with the Diamondbacks on June 29, 2000, filled with excitement and promise. He played for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, Milwaukee Brewers, and Texas Rangers over a five-year major league career. Known for his strong throwing arm, Conti made memorable defensive plays. He threw out Atlanta’s Brian Jordan at third base on consecutive nights. He also gunned down Chicago’s Frank Thomas at home plate in back-to-back games. He appeared in 182 MLB games, recording a .238 batting average with six home runs and 47 RBIs.
After his time in the majors, Conti continued his baseball career in the minor leagues, even taking his talent overseas. He played in Italy for the Bologna Italieri of the Series 1-A Championship League during the 2007 season. His performance on the field showcased his skills on a global stage.
Conti’s passion for baseball and his memorable moments on the field left a lasting impression on fans and teammates alike. He is remembered for his athletic achievements and unwavering dedication to the sport, a commitment that inspired many.
He is survived by his family, friends, and countless fans who appreciated his contributions to baseball.
A memorial service will honor Jason Conti’s life and career.
My mother will turn 95 this August—if she makes it that far. Of the six siblings, only my youngest sister and I have cared for her in her old age. Two of the others gradually drifted away after our father passed. They chose, for their own reasons, to cut contact year by year. The two oldest brothers have both died in recent years.
My mother has always had a sharp mind and a strong, toned body. She was constantly on the move, always busy. Even into her 90s, she remained active and mentally alert. But over the past year, she’s started to slip. She now experiences episodes of sundowning. During these moments, she loses track of what she’s saying. She also becomes unaware of where she is or where she’s been.
She now lives far away from me. Our once hour-long phone conversations, filled with talk of daily life, have been reduced to five minutes or less. Her thoughts drift. She forgets what we’re discussing, where she is, or even who she’s speaking with.
The next is a piece shared with me by KJ Stafford, titled “Cleaning Nana’s House.” It resonated deeply. My sisters and I cleaned the house we’d all grown up in. This was before my mother moved in with me for several years. She later moved in with my sister, where she now lives. Stafford’s words capture an experience I believe many can relate to, and with her blessing, I’m sharing it here.
CLEANING NANA’S HOUSE
BY: KJ Stafford
In January of 2024 we moved my Nana into my parents house. Her health was failing, and so was her mind. She was no longer able to live alone anymore and she hated that fact. The woman had been independent her entire life. And now at 90 years old she was forced to be cared for. She could no longer take care of herself. I remember the thought hurting my heart.
Fast forward to February 2025, I held her hand hours before she passed. I had never experienced death in that way before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dealt with death- both grandpa’s, aunts, uncles… but this was different. It had never been so in my face the way this was. I had never been physically there, witnessing the deterioration every day, every hour. I had never actually watched death slowly take someone. They are memories that will be buried inside my brain until death comes for me. Descriptions that will never make it down on paper ––
April 25th 2025: We piled in our cars, drove the 7 hours to my Nana’s house and began the task of clearing out our memories to make room for someone else’s. My Nana had lived in that house for over 50 years. My mom grew up there. My siblings and I spent weeks there during the summer and until 2024 every Thanksgiving of my life was spent in that tiny dining room around the round, antique wood table. The kitchen looks as if it got stuck in the 70’s. Yellow countertops remind me of sunflowers. The floor is tiled and worn from years of cooking. Years of family gatherings. Years of love. There’s the iconic green couch that sits in the living room…or sat- now it will be given to another family. Moved into a different living room after sitting comfortably in it’s corner for all of these years.
We found love letters from my Grampy to my Nana, boxes of old black and white photographs, ancient toys, jewelry, coats that have somehow found their way back in style, antique glass and trinkets galore. Each find triggering a specific memory. Each find making me wish I could go back 15 years ago. When I was just coming up for the week to visit. Instead of it being the last time within these cozy walls.
My Nana was by far the strongest woman I’ve ever met. She grew up in Canada, abandoned by her mother before she was 8 years old, left with an alcoholic for a father who was never around. She spent Canadian winters in their small, wooden shack often times by herself. Venturing out into the thick snow every so often to find more logs for the fire- the only thing keeping her warm enough to survive. Scavenging for scraps of food. Eventually being passed on and off to relatives, never having a home to call her own. Never truly feeling loved by a family….
Upon finally coming to America, she met her first husband. She married him when she was only 17 and had three children by the time she was 27. He was a drunk. He was a cheater. She deserved better. One night he got back a little too late, my Nana kicked him out. Divorced his ass. She was the talk of the town. It was unheard of at that time. What woman with three young children abandons her husband? A STRONG one, that’s who.
She set goals for herself. She knew she wanted to work at the University. She knew that is where she would meet someone else. And she DID. She worked hard until she got hired. And shortly after, she met my Grampy. The sweetest man to ever walk this earth. Years later they had my Mom. Without my Nana’s strength. Without her knowing her self-worth, I would have never existed. Had she not followed her intuition. Had she not trusted her gut, there would be no me. No family. And for that, I am forever grateful.
I like to think she gave me a little of that strength. I feel it within myself sometimes. It’s why I took Stafford as my pen name. I am so honored. Honored that I was able to grow up with her in my life. Thankful that I had her to teach me how to become a strong woman. I vow to live my life as my Nana did. Never accepting less than I deserve and never being afraid to put myself out there, take a risk, trust my gut and grow.
John S. Foster Jr., 102, Pioneering Physicist and Architect of U.S. Nuclear Deterrence, Dies
John Stuart Foster Jr. was a visionary physicist. His career spanned over eight decades of American scientific and defense innovation. He passed away on April 25, 2025, in Goleta, California. He was 102. (1)
Born on September 18, 1922, in New Haven, Connecticut, Foster was the son of renowned Canadian physicist John S. Foster Sr. He began his academic journey at McGill University, earning a Bachelor of Science degree in 1948. He later obtained a Ph.D. in physics from the University of California, Berkeley, in 1952. (2)
Foster’s skill during World War II was instrumental in developing radar and countermeasure technologies at Harvard’s Radio Research Laboratory. He served as a scientific advisor to the 15th Air Force in the Mediterranean Theater. This role further demonstrated his dedication to the war effort. (3)
In 1952, Foster was recruited by Edward Teller to join the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). His leadership in nuclear weapons design at LLNL was groundbreaking. He eventually became the director in 1961. This leadership fostered a culture of innovation and collaboration that continues to inspire today.
From 1965 to 1973, Foster served as the Director of Defense Research and Engineering at the U.S. Department of Defense, advising four Secretaries of Defense and two Presidents. He championed advancements in smart weapons, night vision, and reconnaissance technologies. (4)
After his tenure at the Pentagon, Foster joined TRW Inc. as Vice President of Science and Technology, later serving on its board of directors. He remained an influential figure in national security. He participated in the Defense Science Board. He also joined the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board. Additionally, he served on the Commission to Assess the Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack. (5)
Foster’s contributions earned him many accolades. These include the Enrico Fermi Award and the Founder’s Award from the National Academy of Engineering. He also received multiple Department of Defense Distinguished Public Service Medals. He was also honored internationally. He received the Knight Commander’s Cross of the Order of Merit of the Federal Republic of Germany. He was named Commander of the French Legion of Honor. (6)
In recognition of his enduring legacy, LLNL established the John S. Foster Jr. Medal, awarded annually to individuals demonstrating exceptional leadership in national security science and technology. (7)
Foster is survived by his family and a legacy that continues to influence U.S. defense policy and scientific research.
A memorial service will be held at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Instead of flowers, the family requests donations be made to the Livermore Lab Foundation in his honor. (8)
Edy Star, Trailblazing Brazilian Artist and Queer Icon, Dies at 87
April 25, 2025 – São Paulo, Brazil
Edy Star was a flamboyant and fearless Brazilian artist. He was a singer, actor, and visual artist. He broke ground as one of the country’s first openly gay performers. Edy Star died on April 24 in São Paulo. He was 87.
A Singular Life
Born Edy Nunes in Salvador, Bahia, Edy Star became a singular presence in Brazilian culture. His career spanned music, theater, television, and visual arts. He carved a space for himself that defied convention. He also challenged the mainstream.
He is best remembered for his work on the 1971 cult album. Sociedade da Grã-Ordem Kavernista Apresenta Sessão das 10 gained significant attention. It is a psychedelic, satirical collaboration with Raul Seixas, Sérgio Sampaio, and Miriam Batucada. The album blends rock, samba, and theatrical flair. It was initially pulled from circulation. But, it later became a defining artifact of Brazil’s counter cultural movement.
Fearless Expression in Dangerous Times
Edy Star was known for his irreverent stage presence, extravagant costumes, and unapologetic queerness. Brazil was under a military dictatorship. During this time, LGBTQ+ voices were often silenced. His bold performances stood as acts of defiance.
By challenging gender norms and pushing social boundaries, he became a symbol of artistic freedom, resistance, and queer pride.
A Multidisciplinary Force
Moreover to his musical legacy, Edy Star was a visual artist, television presenter, and seasoned stage actor. His multidisciplinary approach made him a beloved figure across Brazil’s creative scenes.
He brought the same vibrant energy and passion to every medium he touched. His work left a lasting impression on audiences and fellow artists alike.
A Peaceful Farewell
Edy Star passed away peacefully in a São Paulo hospital due to complications after a domestic accident. According to a statement from his press office, he died “without pain, while receiving medical treatment.”
An Enduring Legacy
Edy Star’s legacy lives on in the bold, boundary-breaking art he championed. He inspired generations of LGBTQ+ artists to live and create without compromise.
Erik Ruus, a prominent Estonian theater and film figure, passed away on April 22, 2025. He was 62, just one day before his 63rd birthday. Born on April 23, 1962, in Elva, Estonia, Ruus had a distinguished career spanning over four decades.
Ruus graduated from the Viljandi Culture Academy in 1982 and began his professional acting career shortly thereafter. He was a longstanding member of the Rakvere Theater from 1985 to 1995 and from 1996 to 2009. Between 1995 and 1996, he performed at the Endla Theater in Pärnu. Since 2009, Ruus has worked as a freelance actor, contributing to various stage productions, films, and television series. (1)
Notable Film and Television Roles
Ruus’s film career included roles in several significant Estonian films. He played Peeter in Vaatleja (The Birdwatcher, 1987). This film received international acclaim. It won awards from the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, the Torino Film Festival, and the Rouen Nordic Film Festival. In Tulivesi (Firewater, 1994), he portrayed Eerik, a position that left a forever impression on audiences. Notable appearances include Minu Leninid (1997) and Ferdinand (2002). He also appeared in Stiilipidu (2005) and Päeva lõpus (2009). His roles continued with Kutsar koputab kolm korda (2010) and Johannes Pääsukese tõeline elu (2019). (2)
On television, Ruus appeared in series like Ohtlik lend (2006), Kelgukoerad (2006–2007), Klass: Elu pärast (2010), and Õnne 13 (1997–1999) (3)
Personal Struggles and Resilience
Throughout his life, Ruus faced personal challenges, including struggles with alcohol, which affected his tenure at the Rakvere Theater. His unwavering commitment to his craft is remarkable and a testament to his cause. He continues to inspire many. (4)
Erik Ruus’s contributions to Estonian theater and film have left an indelible mark on the country’s cultural landscape. His performances resonated with audiences. His legacy will influence future groups of actors and artists. It is a testament to the impact of his work.
Grief is one of the most powerful and complex emotions we can experience. Yet, it’s often the least talked about, especially in front of children. But we must do it. Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, caregivers—everyone has a role in helping younger generations understand and process loss in healthy, open ways.
Why This Matters Now Is More Important Than Ever
I recently came across a meaningful article on the Modern Parenting Hub. The article offered guidance on how to talk to children. It also included advice on discussing grief with other family members. This instantly struck a chord with me. These conversations are difficult, yes, but incredibly important. This topic has come up often in my family. My father’s death nearly forty years ago has brought it up many times over the decades.
Despite the passage of time, some of my relatives are still coping with the ripple effects of that loss. It’s a reminder that unspoken grief doesn’t simply go away—it lingers, often silently, until we confront it.
The First Time I Saw My Father Cry
I’ll never forget the first time I saw my father cry. It wasn’t during a national tragedy or a close friend’s funeral. It was when we got the call that my grandmother, his mother, had passed away.
He and I were the first to arrive at my grandparents’ home. My grandfather sat slumped in his favorite chair, overcome with sorrow. My father leaned down and embraced him. Through his sobs, my grandfather whispered:
“We lost Ma Ma.”
My father’s tears came swiftly—tears of deep, unfiltered grief. Until then, I had only seen him cry from laughing too hard at his jokes. This was something entirely different. Something raw. And it changed the way I viewed him.
Grief in Unexpected Places
Years later, when my uncle died in a tragic car and train accident, I saw my parents overwhelmed again. It wasn’t until my father’s funeral that I fully grasped the impact grief can have. Children must witness honest expressions of grief.
My father was a deeply loved man. He had a large circle of close friends. We chose fourteen pallbearers. This number was still too small to honor everyone who had loved him.
The group included cowboys, law enforcement officers, linemen, ranchers, farmers, and local business owners. These men were known for being tough, stoic, and strong. Only family and pallbearers remained in the church during a private moment after the public service. I watched those same hardened men. They broke down in tears.
They weren’t quietly dabbing their eyes. They were crying. Fully, openly, and without shame.
The Lesson I’ll Never Forget
That moment stayed with me. It showed me that strength and vulnerability are not opposites. The ability to express emotion—especially grief—is one of the most courageous things we can do.
I often say that my father’s funeral was the day I learned it was okay for grown men to cry. And I believe that’s a lesson we need to pass down. Our children need to see that real strength includes compassion and empathy. It also consists of the willingness to mourn openly when we’ve lost someone we love.
Bringing Grief Into the Conversation
Grief is universal and should be discussed across all generations. When we make space for these emotions, we also make space for healing. Children gain from understanding that sadness is a natural response to loss. It doesn’t need to be hidden or avoided.
Resources like the Modern Parenting Hub are essential in guiding families through these complex moments. I’ll share their piece with my readers and loved ones, and I encourage you to do the same.
Final Thoughts
Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t play by the rules. We can talk about it. We can face it together. We can help each other navigate the path it carries through our lives. Let’s teach our children that tears are not signs of weakness—they are signs of love, humanity, and deep connection.
My Dad was a man of fierce independence and deep protective instincts. He and my mom practiced defensive maneuvers as the days of aging grew—he had a plan. She would drop to the ground, and he would shoot over her, neutralizing any imagined threat. This was his way of ensuring our safety, a comforting thought for all of us. Of course, during practice, the gun was always unloaded. But as they grew older, my sisters became worried. Dad was on medication. It sometimes clouded his thinking. They feared he might one day forget to remove the bullets.
Years before, he had suffered a devastating injury. While inspecting a swimming pool facility, a large chlorine container malfunctioned, releasing a gas blast into a control room. He inhaled the toxic cloud, severely damaging his lungs. From that day onward, his breathing was labored, his movements slow and painful. The injury gradually robbed him of his strength until, eventually, he became bedridden.
As his physical strength faded, his concern for my mother’s safety grew stronger. He was terrified that they were vulnerable to burglars or intruders. And so, he devised a plan—an extension of the old drills. My mom would guide them to a specific location if someone ever forced their way into the house. He saw this spot clearly. She would drop to the floor just like in the old days, and he would be ready to fire.
That’s when my sisters turned to me. I’m a law enforcement officer, and they hoped I could safely remove the firearm from his possession. But that was easier said than done. When I spoke to him, he saw what I was thinking. Even in his weakened state, he firmly grasped his beliefs and authority. His determination was palpable. He made it clear that this was his home and responsibility. It was his plan to protect his wife.
But he also took the time to explain how seriously he took the safety of it all. His explanation wasn’t reckless or confused; it was thoughtful. He was rational and transparent in his thinking. In the end, I agreed. He was doing what he believed was best for them.
Still, I wanted to do something more—something that would help ease everyone’s minds. That day, I installed a motion detection system in the house. It covered the living and dining rooms, alerting them if anyone approached. Every door was now an alarm. It gave them peace of mind and ended the dramatic drop-and-shoot rehearsals.
Dad & Buck
Eventually, Dad was unable to get out of bed. He was confined to a hospital-style bed in a small office near their bedroom. His gun was out of reach, and it tore at him. One day, he felt sorrow and frustration. He asked for it not to defend the home. He wanted it to end his pain.
Two weeks later, my mother called an ambulance to rush my Dad to the hospital. They sedated Dad as fluid built up in his lungs, and he passed away there. Quietly, heavily, and—if I’m honest—less on his terms than he would have wanted.
I often think of the day he asked for the gun and couldn’t reach it. Part of me believes it would’ve been a more dignified end. He had spent his life in control. He always defended his family and lived by principle. But the law is clear, and so is the burden of those left behind. As much as it hurt, I nor anyone could hand it to him.
In Memory of Wayne Jackson, Handy ––– The Unlikely Rock and Roller
Wayne Handy
Wayne Jackson Handy was a man whose velvet voice once crooned over the airwaves of American Bandstand. His voice later soothed those navigating the mortgage banking world. He passed away peacefully on April 1, 2025, at 89. Wayne started from humble beginnings on a farm in Eden, North Carolina. He then moved on to the dazzling lights of 1950s television. Later, he found the quiet steadiness of a career in finance. Wayne lived an entire and remarkable life. It was defined not by fame or fortune but by kindness, creativity, and unwavering devotion to his family.
Wayne’s love and commitment to his family were unwavering. The youngest of five children, Wayne was born in Eden and raised helping his parents in the fields. He graduated from Reidsville High School in 1953. Two years later, he married the love of his life, Marjorie Louise Smith of Cassville. He charmed her at a local baseball game. This was a story he told with a twinkle in his eye. His smile hinted at the hopeless romantic within. Their marriage endured over six decades. It was a bond marked by deep affection and laughter. Their steadfast partnership lasted until Marjorie’s passing in 2018.
Wayne’s musical talent was a source of inspiration for many. His velvet-smooth voice and playful way with melody, often accompanied by his ukulele, were a joy to behold. In 1957, his passion for music led him to a national stage. He performed on American Bandstand. He shared the screen with some of rock and roll’s earliest stars there. His brush with fame was brief. Yet, it left a glimmer of rockabilly stardust. This touch of stardust was on a life otherwise grounded in humility and grace.
After enlisting in the U.S. Army in 1958, Wayne served two years in Alaska as a field radio operator. Upon returning home, he pursued higher education. He studied business at North Carolina State University and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He graduated in 1962. His career in mortgage banking took him and his family across the Southeast. They even moved to Utah. His career eventually culminated in his time with Carolina Bank in Greensboro. He worked there until his retirement in the mid-2000s.
In every chapter of his life, Wayne’s character remained consistent: humble, gracious, patient, meticulous, and quietly dignified. He gave generously of himself, donating blood regularly and ringing the Salvation Army bell during the holidays. He was profoundly artistic and playfully inventive. His children celebrated him for his affectionate nicknames. Adults also appreciated his funny songs, silly voices, and irrepressible sense of the absurd.
Despite his many accomplishments, Wayne’s humility was a defining trait. He was never one to boast. He preferred to show love through small, steady acts. This included a freshly repaired item. It was a perfectly stacked rock wall, a gentle word, or a slow walk in the evening light. He was a natural storyteller. He was a dapper dresser. His gentle Southern accent and kind eyes conveyed a rare and genuine warmth.
He is remembered with love and admiration. His children include Christopher Handy, Jeff Handy, and Meredith Brunel (Richard). His grandchildren include Louise, Henri, Carlene, Charlotte, Erendira, and Matthew. He is also remembered by his great-grandchildren. Wayne was predeceased by his beloved wife, Marjorie, with whom he now reunites in eternal peace.
A graveside gathering and inurnment of ashes will occur at Bethesda Presbyterian Church in Ruffin. The date is yet to be announced.
Wayne Handy lived with a quiet brilliance. He was a rock and roller by surprise, a banker by choice, and a gentleman by nature. His life reminds us that grace, humor, love, and a good melody can carry us further than fame ever could.
Rest well, Wayne. You sang your song, walked your path, and left the world a gentler place.
Growing up, it often felt like there wasn’t much to do. With six siblings and a life rooted on the farm, family trips or outside adventures seemed few and far between. But looking back now, I see how much my parents did to involve us in meaningful experiences.
They took us to local places of interest. They spent time with each of us in ways many parents couldn’t. At the time, I thought we were the ultimate close-knit family. My dad and I shared rodeos, horse sales, parades, and trail rides. He and my mother supported my sister’s love for basketball, attended games, and nurtured her talent. Another sister was given a piano, music lessons, and encouragement toward college. One of my brothers was allowed to buy into the farm and build a home. The two oldest boys had long since charted their paths. One went into the Marines. The other entered a world that eventually led to affluence. But no matter how far they went, they always came home for the holidays.
My mom’s youngest brother—my uncle—was a bonus sibling. He’d been born late in my grandparents’ lives, and as a teen and young adult, he often lived with us. He’d served in Vietnam. Though he was quiet about it, he carried a weight we all respected—even if we didn’t understand it fully.
One weekend, something unexpected happened. When I was 9, my uncle and brothers convinced my dad to take us to the lake. It was a rare outing, especially with all of us. I’d heard stories of him taking the family boating at lakes years before I was born. Yet, he had stopped going by the time I came along.
This lake trip, still, wasn’t a return to those stories. It was just up the road—Sayler’s Lake. It wasn’t much to look at. An old log cabin marked the entrance. The water looked murky and unsettling—it resembled a scene from a horror movie. Locals whispered that the lake had claimed lives—more than a few. It didn’t seem right, but the place had a reputation.
We arrived around 10 a.m. I was eager to get in the water, but my mother insisted I wear a life vest. I didn’t know how to swim, and she wasn’t taking any chances. I hated the bulky vest, but hated the thought of drowning more. My sisters had taken swimming lessons when we lived in town—those services didn’t exist where we were.
I paddled around, watching others enjoy themselves.
Across the water, people were diving from a rocky cliff. Some men dove headfirst, then climbed back up and did it again. It looked reckless, almost like a dare to death. Then, one of them dove in—and didn’t come back up.
I’ll never forget the girl on the cliff yelling,
“Where is he?”
People jumped into action. After five or ten long minutes, someone pulled his body from the water and dragged him to shore. The owner of the lake raced down in a pickup and began CPR. I stood there, stunned. It was the first time I’d ever seen someone dead—or nearly dead—pulled from water.
Then, the town ambulance arrived. It wasn’t like the ones you see on TV—it was a white Buick station wagon. An old man climbed out carrying an oxygen tank. When the victim’s friends saw him, they shook their heads and told him it was too late.
“You need a body bag.”
One of them said.
I didn’t know what a body bag was. But I figured it out when the old man pulled a stretcher from the back of the car. With the help of bystanders, he loaded the man’s body. Out of compassion, he turned on the red lights and the siren. Then he drove off.
I returned to where our family had set up a picnic. I don’t remember what I said—maybe something a little too grown-up or too curious—but I remember my father flicking me on the ear and speaking sharply,
“You aren’t quite that old yet.”
I’ve often wondered what that moment meant to him. Maybe he wasn’t angry—he was just shaken. Perhaps he didn’t want me to see what I had seen. That day made me grow up faster than he wanted. He liked to keep things under control, and this wasn’t one of those things.
Life doesn’t always allow us to choose the lessons we learn. Sometimes, they arrive uninvited on an ordinary day by a haunted lake.
When we arrived home that evening, the television was on in the living room. The news was starting. And there it was—Sayler’s Lake. A reporter stood near the very spot we’d been earlier, microphone in hand, delivering details about the drowning. I sat in disbelief, watching the event replay like it belonged to someone else’s world, not ours.
I remember thinking: How did they find out so fast? How had the news team gotten there?How did they film the scene, return to the station, and prepare the report all before dinner? It made the whole thing feel surreal—too real but somehow distant. The reporter confirmed what we had already feared. The man had died.
That moment glued itself to my memory. The sound of the television stayed with me, and the familiar living room around me lingered in my thoughts. The weight of what we had observed just hours earlier was still there. It layered into a quiet understanding. The world outside our farm can change in an instant. Sometimes, there are no answers—just echoes left behind by events too big to fully grasp.
