police

that Man Is Dead! a small victory in the shadow of a dark night

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A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Groff Media

It was a windy afternoon, and the Kid decided to get some practice in at the shooting range before his night shift began at 8:00 PM. He had picked up a couple of bags of reloaded .38s for his .357 Magnum and figured he could get through them if he hurried. The range was just beyond the gates at the end of the city trailer park, where he and other police officers lived as a perk of working for the city.

As he drove down the lane towards the range, he noticed a small plane taking off to the north from the nearby municipal airport. He parked his car at the furthest shooting post, grabbed a paper target from the back seat, and stapled it to a board in the turnstile. Returning to the ten-yard line, he swapped out his duty loads for the reloads and closed the cylinder. Using the post for support, he lined up his shot but paused, holstering his gun instead.

He needed to practice reloading without looking, a crucial skill in a high-stress situation. He loaded his belt’s bullet loops, checked his watch, and started when the second hand hit twelve. Six shots, unload, reload, six more shots. But when he looked down, twenty seconds had passed, and he was off-target.

“Shit. Double shit!”

he yelled, frustration bubbling over.

Just then, two marked patrol units and the Chief’s car pulled up behind the range. The Kid knew that when others arrived, he had to stop shooting. Were they there to mock his poor shooting? No, they wanted to practice too. Who was going to run the tower? One of the officers asked, and the Chief responded, 

“I’ve got it covered!”

The Kid muttered to himself, annoyed. This evening was supposed to be his time. Now, everyone would see how bad his eyesight had gotten. The officers set up new targets and returned to the ten-yard line.

The Chief’s voice cracked through the speaker: 

“We’re shooting six, reloading six, shooting six, reloading six, shooting six, and reloading six. Then, leave your cylinder open. Ready on the Right, Ready on The Left, Ready on The Firing Line—fire!”

The range erupted in gunfire, reminiscent of Melvin Purvis taking down Pretty Boy Floyd in the cornfield. The Kid managed to get through his first loop, fire again, reload, and leave his cylinder open just as the others finished. They moved forward to check their targets.

“Now, gentlemen,” 

The Chief announced, 

“we will shoot from the hip, reload, and holster.”

“Ready on the left, ready on the right, ready on the firing line. Fire!”

Six shots rang out almost in unison, like something out of Gunsmoke. The officers reloaded and holstered their weapons.

Then the Chief called out, 

“Lanes four and five, you’re marked for looking while loading your ammo.”

The officers on lanes four and five protested, 

“Chief, you’re killing us!”

The Chief looking at the officers ––

“No, officers,”

the Chief replied with a sly grin, 

“I’m keeping you alive.”

As the banter continued, a call came over the car radio, 

“Headquarters to all available units. Unit 203 requests backup at SIR-DIXIE QUICK-STOP on a 10-48. Three subjects in a vehicle.”

A 10-48 indicated a National Crime Information Center Want or Warrant on the vehicle or its occupants. The practice ended abruptly as everyone rushed to their cars, eager to respond.

Knowing the city’s streets like the back of his hand, the Kid took a shortcut through alleys and arrived at the Quick Stop within minutes. By the time the other officers arrived, the Kid and the officer on the scene had all three suspects handcuffed and in the patrol unit.

It turned out the first suspect, identified as Ed, was wanted in Texas for nearly beating a State Trooper to death and tying him to a barbed-wire fence. The second suspect, Poncho, had a Tucumcari, New Mexico, address and was wanted for questioning in a murder. The third, known only as Thistle, was simply drunk and likely would have been killed by the other two had he not been arrested. All three got booked on public intoxication charges, with more serious charges pending confirmation from the respective states.

The Kid had been on desk duty after surgery a month earlier, so despite his initial involvement, he got relegated to working the radio and tending to the jail for the rest of the night. The shift was uneventful, with only the usual disturbance and prowler calls.

The Kid had a routine of checking the jail cells at irregular intervals—never on the hour, always keeping the prisoners guessing. At 2:15 AM, he made an unscheduled check. He opened the drunk tank window and saw the three occupants spaced apart: Poncho on the south wall, Ed against the west cell bars, and Thistle on the north side. Above Ed, a shirt was tied to the bars, seemingly his.

The Kid’s first thought was that the shirt might be bait to lure him in. But as he examined the scene, it appeared all three men were sleeping. He returned to the radio office and called his Lieutenant, explaining the situation. They got back to the cell together, and the Lieutenant instructed the Kid to untie the shirt. As the Kid began to do so, the Lieutenant bumped him and whispered,

“That man is dead. Put the shirt back.”

The Kid complied, leaving the shirt as he had found it. They moved the two living prisoners to separate cells and locked the tank holding Ed. The Kid, the only one with the key, went downstairs to call detectives, the Chief, and an ambulance.

The fire department, located across the hallway, had already been roused by the commotion. The assistant fire chief speculated that the incident might have been a failed sexual exploitation attempt that ended in death. When the ambulance arrived, the task of bringing a dead body down the stairs was both problematic and unsettling.

Within twenty-four hours, the Oklahoma Bureau of Investigation (OSBI) arrived, and obscene, harassing, and threatening phone calls began pouring into the station. After a thorough investigation by the OSBI, local sheriff’s department, and media scrutiny, the exact cause of Ed’s death remained a mystery.

Some speculated that one of the other prisoners had helped Ed end his life, while others thought he might have done it himself, with the knot slipping loose. In the end, the Kid learned a hard lesson: sometimes, even a villain meets a dead end.

But there was a silver lining. In the aftermath, the Kid finally mastered the skill he had been struggling with—reloading his revolver from his loops without looking—a small victory in the shadow of a dark night.

The Legend of Chuck McCready: The Philly Cheesesteak Incident

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A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

In the late 1980s, in the heart of Philadelphia, there was a small, hole-in-the-wall cheesesteak joint called “Tony’s Grub Hub.” The scent of sizzling beef and onions filled the air, and the line for a classic Philly cheesesteak often wrapped around the block. Among the regulars was a local character named Chuck McCready, a fierce, well-loved figure in the neighborhood known for his larger-than-life personality and his deep, almost spiritual love for Philadelphia’s favorite sandwich.

Chuck was a man of principle and passion who never took kindly to the concept of “rules,” especially those that got in the way of a good meal. One fateful evening, Chuck was seated at his usual spot in Tony’s, about to dig into his third cheesesteak of the night—a massive, dripping monster of a sandwich stuffed with extra meat, onions, and a double helping of cheese whiz.

But as Chuck was about to take his first bite, a group of police officers entered the establishment. They had received reports of someone fitting Chuck’s description causing a disturbance in the area earlier that day. They approached Chuck, asking him to step outside for questioning.

Not one to back down, Chuck looked up from his cheesesteak, his hands still clutching the sandwich, and growled, “What’s the charge? Eating a cheesesteak? A succulent Philly cheesesteak?”

The officers, taken aback by his unexpected response, insisted he come quietly. Now fully immersed in the moment, Chuck stood up, holding his half-eaten cheesesteak high like a wand. “This is America, baby!” he bellowed, “Home of the free, where a man can enjoy his meal in peace!”

What happened next was a chaotic scene of Chuck getting dragged out of the restaurant, still holding his cheesesteak, shouting about his rights, and demanding to know why a man couldn’t enjoy a simple meal without being harassed. As the officers tried to force him into the squad car, Chuck continued his tirade: “Is this how we treat a cheesesteak lover in Philly? America is a democracy! My actions are freedom manifest!”

The incident was caught on camera by a passerby and quickly went viral. With Chuck’s impassioned defense of his right to eat a cheesesteak, the video resonated with people across the country. Memes of Chuck McCready declaring “This is freedom manifest!” while clutching a cheesesteak became an overnight sensation.

Years later, Chuck McCready became a folk hero, a symbol of defiance and the right to enjoy life’s simple pleasures. His story was told and retold, often with embellishments, but always with the same core message: no one comes between a man and his cheesesteak in America. His iconic catchphrase, “What’s the charge? Eating a cheesesteak?” became a rallying cry for those who valued freedom and a good meal.

Chuck McCready, the man who stood up for his right to enjoy a succulent Philly cheesesteak, became a legend in the city of brotherly love and is forever remembered as the Cheesesteak Defender.

The Comm Commander’s Typical Night In Communications At The Police Department

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

The Comm Commander had been very busy at 2 AM. After telling the girls his war stories from his previous assignment at a different department, his shift became busy booking prisoners. Officers began bringing in subjects they arrested for Driving Under The Influence and Public Intoxication following the closing of several nightclubs and bars in the city.

As prisoners piled up in the booking area, one of the girls who had stayed over from an earlier shift moved the booking typewriter over on the book-in counter to open a ledger to log in prisoners’ names. As she was moving the typewriter, a prisoner became offensive and began fighting with the police officers, and two officers had to lift and plant his body down on the counter to get control of him. As they were putting handcuffs back on the man, the officer’s physical strength caused the man’s head to face plant into the typewriter.

The Comm Commander continued to ask book-in questions ––

“do you have any health concerns we should know about?

Prisoner ––––

“I probably do now, with my head in this machine!”

Comm Commander –––

“I will note that you have a typewriter about your head when booking.”

The night was busy until dawn, and there were still officers bringing prisoners in as the day shift began to arrive to start their duties.

As the light of day became brighter, a call came into Communications about a severe auto accident on Interstate 40 east of the city near an overpass involving several vehicles. Dispatch responded to a fire department rescue, fire truck, two ambulances, and two police units. The Comm Commander contacted the Oklahoma Highway Patrol on a point-to-point frequency, requesting they send a state trooper; the first arriving police unit reported back that there were two confirmed fatalities in a burning vehicle. The accident was in Washita County. The Comm Commander notified the Washita County Sheriff’s Office in Cordell, Oklahoma, to send a coroner, and they advised they also had a deputy en route. Such accidents were common in the area, and the department regularly responded to them as a mutual aid agreement with area jurisdictions.

These activities were shared during a night for the Comm Commander during his shift in Communications.

The Comm Commander Tells About Jailing His First Arrest

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

It was slightly after 2 AM, and the calls had slowed to officers making traffic stops. They were watching for drunk drivers. The local bars closed then, and the streets would fill with drivers hitting light posts and speed signs.


Keeping track of their locations was a breeze, and the Comm Commander kept a log with details, including every detail radioed over the airwaves. The gals had been egging the Comm Commander to tell them one of his stories about his time at the other departments he had worked at. With a lull in activity, he thought, well, now is as good a time as any.

Edna and Gail had stayed over from their earlier shifts for the occasion. They were both much older than the Comm Commander, and he liked to tease them whenever he could pull a good trick on them. They, in turn, returned the favor. Edna, a divorcee, was snappy and wise. Gail was from the deep South and had a twang in her voice. Plus, she talked of her roots and Alabama every chance she got.

Well, ladies, the Comm Commander began,
“my first arrest was when I was barely 17. I arrested a man known as 15,000. The nickname 15,000 had been given him for the many times he had been arrested for public intoxication. Anyway, he walked into the police department and nearly fell over the dispatch desk. I told him he was going to the tank, and he thanked me. Then he tried to resist arrest when I got the door to the drunk tank open. I got him in there, and he went to sleep. A few days later, after seeing the judge, he was sentenced to two weeks in jail. I was checking on him, and he was having D.T.’s Delirium Tremens”

“Yes, we know what they are Comm Comm.” The ladies interrupted.

The Communications Commander continued,

“Well, I told our Chief JR Toehay, and he said give him a cup of liquor. So, I went to the evidence vault and found the alcohol bottle with the lowest proof that wasn’t evidence for court. I poured a shot into a cup and went to his cell. I opened the door and said hey Wallace, I have a drink for you. He lapped it up. Within a few minutes, he settled down. Over a week, I did that until he was clean, and when he left jail, he was sober. He stayed sober for the first time in years; he had never taken another drink, and he would come by the police department and thank me every night when I was working. He would thank me for being kind to him and helping him. That was when I thought I had finally reached someone doing this job.”

The next guy I arrested came into the police department like that; I had to fight and call for help. He started throwing things over the counter at me and going wild. When we got him into the cell, the Chief told me he was the suspect believed to have beaten a man to death behind the jail not long before I went to work for the department. There wasn’t enough evidence to support an arrest, and he would never have admitted to doing it. I asked if anyone had ever asked him when he was drunk and got told anything he admitted to being intoxicated wouldn’t hold up as a confession. The girl’s eyes were wide and expecting something more, so I said the biggest thing that happened was when the Chief and I helped in a kidnapping.

WHAT? The two ladies both said?

The Comm Commander explained it was under pretenses that a judge got brought to the jail. Five people with Federal Identifiers and Bureau of Indian Affairs Police Badges brought a lady to the town’s jail; the jail was contracted with the BIA as a facility for their agency. They provided legal paperwork authorizing the detention of a lady they had in custody as a material witness. She was to have no visitor, and no one was to know she was in our protective custody. The police department secured her in a female cell with the paperwork signed and sealed by a judge. She did not talk to anyone at the police department.

Two days later, while the Communications Commander was working, he happened to read in the paper that unknown people had kidnapped a federal judge from the Commanche Indian Tribal Headquarters. It also showed the picture of the lady we had in custody. He went to the Chief and told him to show him the newspaper article. The Chief said several colorful words and then called the city attorney. The Chief and Comm Comm, went to the cell, removed the lady, and told her they believed they knew who she was and that she was safe. They also said she could make a phone call and encouraged her to call anyone she thought she could trust. She could stay with the police department and only leave once she knew who she was going with could be trusted. Eventually, the Oklahoma Highway Patrol and a Federal Bureau of Investigation Agent arrived. The Communications Commander explained he stayed by the radio. And said he knew she left with a massive group of people around her, which shows how easy it can be for someone to be falsely locked up in a small town.

The ladies said –– “all this happened in that small town where you came from?”

The Comm Commander said ––

“oh, there was much more that happened while I was there. These are just a few of the things that happened at the jail. We did so much more out on the street. I will have to save for another time because I have three units bringing in prisoners, and I have to go to book them!”

Night Shift, And Getting Behind The Radio

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

It was time to begin his night shift, and now the boy known as the Comm Commander by the ladies he worked with and his Captain who worked the day shift was about to take the helm, operating the phones, radio, and teletype.

The Comm Commander’s mastery of the system was a feat that only a select few could achieve. He was among the elite, efficiently managing five or more radio cars and several county and state patrol units on different radio frequencies. His use of a foot pedal to operate the radio microphone set him apart, allowing him to handle phone calls and type information into the telecommunications system with his hands-free.

He could track information on vehicles that officers were making contact with and let them know if a car was stolen or not before they ever left their vehicle. A treatment they become spoiled by when he is on duty.

His ability to check vehicle registrations and local warrants, and his quick response to requests for driver’s license checks or background and warrant checks, was instrumental in providing critical information to officers in the field, significantly enhancing their operational efficiency and safety.

His experience and interactions with law enforcement agencies around where he grew up, which spanned years, were the foundation of his expertise. This was evident when officers would make vehicle stops, and he would send them back up before giving them a coded message of 10-48, an alert that the vehicle they were stopping in the National Crime Information Computer was a wanted felony subject.

He had volunteered as a youth in his hometown when the town was given an old radio and placed a short antenna outside their city hall. He would get his dad to drive him to town, where he’d sit in the evenings and dispatch calls from the phone to the local police unit. Sometimes, there would be no one call, but the interaction with the law enforcement community that came through would gift him with bits of information he stowed away. Later, during that Senior year of high school, when he went to work for the police department, he met the police chief, JR Toehay, at a gas well blowout he attended with an area police officer. The introduction led to the dispatching and jailing position. JR became a lifelong coach and confidant. He was a Kiowa Indian and Chief of a 9-man police department. His guidance and trust in the boy guided the way for the path that had led to the Comm Commander being in his seat operating so well.

The ladies he worked with had questions and wanted to know where he came from, who he was, and what brought him out west. Those stories were there to tell, and he had them; some, however, he wondered if it would be safe. Officers he had worked with told him to be careful; one of the stories could get him in a fix if the wrong people heard about it and wanted to settle any score they felt needed to be. He told them, I’ll let you know all about me, but first, it needs to be when this radio traffic slows down because you guys will be in for a story of your lives.

Taking A Seat At The Police Department

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It was late spring when the boy took his seat behind the radio at the communications center for the first time. The Dispatch Center, located just inside the lobby’s front entry, led to a stairway that accessed the firefighters’ sleeping quarters, the chief’s and detectives’ offices, and the jail cells.

The city was a blend of lifetime residents with deep roots, newcomers raising families amidst burgeoning industry, and transients. Housing was scarce for recent arrivals. When available, it was expensive and often beyond the reach of a single income, leading to overcrowded living conditions. This frequently caused disputes.

A person might lease a property and sublet to ten or fifteen others. When conflicts arose and one tenant was asked to leave, the police were often called. Each time, officers had to explain it was a civil matter; the leaseholder needed a court order for eviction. Police couldn’t simply eject someone because of a sudden change in the leaseholder’s terms. However, if an arrest was made due to a disturbance, officers could advise the leaseholder to restrict the arrested individual from returning. Openings in housing were rare unless someone died, and there were plenty of deaths in the coming years.

A local motorcycle gang, known for drug dealing and various crimes, frequently had members as guests in our jail. Their threats were often more comical than serious, but every raid on their dens brought more threats. It wasn’t uncommon for lone riders to shoot out the windows of the dispatch center late at night.

After several incidents, the chief began posting officers on the roof with automatic rifles. This tactic worked, as the shootings ceased during their watch.

The boy worked well with a rotating line of female communications officers. The Captain worked the day shift, while the boy was assigned to nights. The women rotated between days and nights each month.

Soon, the boy became known as the Comm Commander for his authoritative style on the radio and in operating the jail. Edna, Gail, Linda, Pam, Patty, and Sheila were the women who became part of his years at Elk City, each leaving a personal mark on his story.

Yet, the Captain was the most significant influence during those dispatch days. It’s clear that the Comm Commander remembered these individuals throughout his life as he journeyed along many paths. More to follow.

A Young Officer Finding Law Enforcement

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

It was the early 1980s, and he rolled into the city from the South. The police department was easy to find. The radio tower extended high above the building and be seen from miles away. Pulling up in front for the first time as an officer gave him a true sense of purpose. He felt independence because he was on his own for the first time since graduating.

He entered the building to be fitted for uniforms. He also received his equipment there. During this time, he met two officers who would feature prominently in his future years. One he met right away. His name was Lee. Lee provided him with a resource for his first housing solution. This was in a town that the oil boom had overrun. People lived in tents in the town park and alongside the road. The other officer was Eddie. He was a Deputy from Cheyenne. Eddie had the actual house, a three-bedroom mobile home in a city-owned trailer court. The jurisdiction provided this to city employees to live. The rent was cheap by local standards and answered an immediate need. It did, though, come with a police K9 and two roommates who have been more neat and orderly.

The police department operated out of a building shared with the fire department. The jail was on the second floor above the communications center. The fire crew slept across from the jail cells on the second level. This raised issues for a city that had doubled in population and area due to annexation. Voters approved a tax proposal to build a new police station and jail. They also planned to rebuild the fire station. Blueprints for the new station were in place, though its construction was several years away.

In court cases, Chicago judges had pointed to the city defendants. Elk City, Oklahoma was a place where they can get a one-way bus ticket. Or pick the choice to get six months in jail. Most people opted to take the bus ticket. The type of characters sent to the area ranged from criminals to mentally unstable to socially dysfunctional. It would be years before the area recovered from the judge’s poor decisions in making such a move. Before then, there would be murders, rapes, and worse.

The city was busy 24 hours a day. Calls for patrol unit service were backed up by three to four calls at a time. When calls did get caught up, it didn’t last long. The shifts were rotational. In that, there was never an entire shift on and off at the same time. Night shifts changed at 6 AM and 8 AM, and Day shifts changed at 4 PM and 8 PM. A mid-shift operated from 2 PM to 2 AM. Each officer worked ten-hour shifts with three days off. The schedule permitted officers to work extra assignments at security posts. This was necessary when gas wells blew their tops out. Roadblocks also had to go in place out in the county. Officers earn as much as $300 on their days off, pulling such assignments. And if there weren’t such assignments, you always pull OT. You take comp time. An officer used this later instead of vacation or sick days. An advantage that the city offered other municipalities didn’t.

The allure of lights, excitement, and action made Elk City, Oklahoma’s bustling oil town so attractive. It captivated an 18-year-old just out of high school. It also kept him there for many years, leading him through years of service. The young officer had already been briefed well in law enforcement with his earlier departments. There are histories from those days. They will come alive in the future. They will tell of his Elk City Days and how he became known throughout western Oklahoma.

In the next few weeks, he will watch the front door. He needs to see if he must duck bullets coming through the station’s windows.

The Move Into My LawMans Career

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

In his senior year of high school, he went to work at a neighboring police department thirty miles from where they lived. He worked as a jailer-dispatcher. He had just turned 17 years old, and His dad provided authorization from the school and local city government to go to work. Once he had been hired, there was no stopping his progress. He had listened to the police scanner for years and even volunteered at our local police department as a dispatcher and ambulance driver. He was only 16 then. This, to him, was the big time he was getting paid—the town at a rough character about it. A man had been killed behind the police department in the alley not too long before I went to work there. The killer was still at large.

He excelled in his duties. The chief appreciated his attendance record and punctual arrival to shifts. The assistant chief requested he be the only dispatcher assigned to his shift. He gained a reputation throughout the western state for His broadcasting style and etiquette—application of the police 10-code and professional stature that he applied in the tone of his broadcast. He was known as a no-nonsense type of communications officer. If he gave a call, the information was correct, and the officers could be sure he would stay with them through their response. If they needed help and he lost contact with them, neighboring agencies knew he could pull back up out of the blue. And they respected the ability.

Change is inevitable, and when he graduated high school, a neighboring agency offered me a position that would allow me to broaden his skills. It allowed him to gain telecommunication abilities and work with a county-wide agency, and he still had contact with his old pals at the smaller agency, just less often. The training opportunity exposed him to new experiences, and he was closer to home, but he lacked a feeling of being fulfilled. Something was missing that he couldn’t place my finger on. The period was during the oil boom in Oklahoma, and there was a flurry of activity everywhere. It was not uncommon that he held down employment in other adventures while working for these agencies. One had to. The pay needed to be better for making a serious living. He got offers from colleges and employers the first month after graduating high school. I had planned to work through school, so he planned to keep working at one of my jobs. Plans change. One hundred miles away, a city was beaming on the horizon. They had put a notice out they were hiring a crew of new communication officers and would be building a new administration building to host the center. It appeared intriguing. A visit to their department one morning caused further interest.


When a very experienced face met me at the door and asked how they could help me, He recognized it immediately from a statewide broadcast when he heard the voice. As soon as he spoke, they recognized mine. He explained he had word that they were hiring and that he wanted to spread his wings, move away from home, and get out on his own. The boy was also looking for a larger organization with which to become affiliated. The Captain had an application in the boy’s hand and sat in the chief office within thirty minutes. He accepted an offer within the hour and left town within two hours of arriving, trying to think of how to express my two-week notice to his current employer. Even worse, the boy was working out how he would tell my mom and dad he would be moving out. Not that he had not been gone most of the time with my jobs, but it is the idea that their youngest child was moving out and going on his own.


He went to work the following day. Things changed rapidly in law enforcement, now as they did then. The chief had quit after a heated argument with the mayor over funding, and in his boyish manner, he thought it was as good a time as any to throw his hat in the ring to make a statement. Knowing he already had a job made it much easier, so the boy gave his notice. Now, he just had Mother and Dad to tell. He told my dad first. It wasn’t the worst news Pop had by the mood he was already in, but it may have come close. After he went for a ride on his horse and came back in, he said to wait to tell the boy’s mother for a few days and catch her in a good mood. The kid’s mother reminded him of Eunice, off the Carol Burnett show. Or was it that Eunice reminded him of his mother? She always made him laugh doing the funniest of things.

Today, we briefly describe his first year of official employment in law enforcement and how the boy got started. Each stage is more detailed, and there are many more incidental stories about events that would take place in each department. The writer may tell you the stories in a different order, but as they are related to other incidents, those are coming soon.

True Law Enforcement Stories: Unveiling Events of Small Town Policing

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

In a town of fifteen thousand residents, the local police department comprised fifteen police officers and eight communication officers who also served as correctional officers. This team was dedicated to serving their community. The city had constructed the building in the early 1900s, and it shared its space with the fire department, which employed full-time firefighters. The fire crew typically had five to six members on duty during a twenty-four-hour shift. Together, these two services provided the city with around-the-clock emergency care, forming a unique and committed staff.

Among the day shift employees was Captain Bickerstaff, better known as “Bick,” a forty-year veteran of the department. He oversaw the Communications and Correctional Divisions, which included receiving incoming calls from the community, dispatching calls to units, and managing the intake and monitoring of prisoners. His team of seven staff members, each with their own distinctive character, included Edna, Gail, Pam, Sheila, Patty, and Ben.

The patrol division had a rotating roster of officers, with frequent personnel changes. As their stories unfold, the names of these officers will emerge. Future narratives will consist of true events from the law enforcement career, with certain details altered to protect privacy.

Upcoming stories include “The Dead Prisoner,” “Officer Down,” “Suspect in Trooper Killing, In Custody,” “OH SHIT!” and “The Missing Man,” among many others.

Stay tuned for these captivating and informative stories, and be sure to share them with your friends and family!

Heroic Night in Cedar Hollow: The Legend of Fred Harper

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A Story By Benjamin H Groff© Groff Media Copyright 2024©

Fred Harper was a man of simple routines. The mild-mannered police officer of Cedar Hollow, a quaint town of 700 nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, had a nightly patrol route that rarely changed. He preferred it that way. Cedar Hollow was a peaceful place where not much happened, and Fred liked it that way.

His nightly rounds consisted of checking the locked doors of businesses, shining his flashlight into the occasional darkened alley, and waving at the few night owls who might be walking their dogs or taking a late-night stroll.

But on this particular night, the tranquility of Cedar Hollow was shattered by a series of unexpected events, disrupting Fred’s usual routine.
It all began with a frantic call from Mary Jenkins, the usually composed wife of the mayor. Her voice was filled with urgency as she relayed the news about Helen’s labor.

Fred’s heart raced. He’d never delivered a baby before. He rushed to his squad car and sped to Helen’s house. When he arrived, he found Helen in the living room, breathing heavily, with Mary by her side. The tension in the room was palpable, and Fred could feel the weight of the situation on his shoulders.

Upon Fred’s arrival, Mary’s relief was palpable. “Fred, thank God you’re here,” she exclaimed, her face a picture of relief. “You need to help her. Now.”

Fred took a deep breath, remembering the emergency childbirth training he’d received years ago. With Mary’s assistance, he coached Helen through the contractions. After what felt like an eternity, but was in reality only a few intense minutes, the cries of a newborn filled the room. Fred cradled the baby in his arms, his uniform shirt now soaked with sweat.

Just as he handed the baby to a tearfully grateful Helen, his radio crackled to life. “Fred, we need you at the fire station. There’s a fire behind the building, and no one can start the engine.”

Leaving Helen and the baby in Mary’s capable hands, Fred raced to the fire station. Flames were licking the sky, dangerously close to City Hall. Fred jumped into the fire engine, praying his training would return to him. He managed to start the engine and drove it to the blaze. With no other firefighters in sight, he took hold of the hose and aimed it at the inferno. Neighbors, awakened by the commotion, formed a bucket brigade to help douse the flames. Together, they managed to keep the fire from spreading and saved City Hall.

As the last embers got extinguished, Fred’s radio buzzed again. “Officer Harper, there’s a break-in at the bank. Thieves are trying to rob the place.”

Exhausted but determined, Fred headed to the bank. He found a group of masked men attempting to pry open the vault. Drawing his service weapon, he shouted, “Freeze! Cedar Hollow Police!” The thieves, startled by his sudden appearance, attempted to flee. Fred, with unwavering courage, managed to subdue two, but the others escaped into the night. He secured the captured thieves and called for backup from neighboring towns.

The thieves, startled by his sudden appearance, attempted to flee. Fred managed to subdue two, but the others escaped into the night. He secured the captured thieves and called for backup from neighboring towns.
Just as he thought the night couldn’t get any worse, the call came in: “Fred, there’s been a four-car accident at the intersection. Significant injuries reported, and the town’s ambulance is thirty miles away.”

Fred’s mind raced as he arrived at the scene of the collision. Cars were crumpled, and injured people strewn across the road. He did what he could, providing first aid and comforting the victims while calling for an ambulance from a neighboring town. The ambulance, however, got lost on the way, and Fred’s patience became stretched to its limit.

As the first rays of sunlight lit up the sky, Fred finally saw the flashing lights of the neighboring town’s ambulance. He directed them to the injured, ensuring everyone received their needed care. The lady and her newborn, the fire at the station, the bank heist, and now the accident had been the most eventful night in Cedar Hollow’s history.

When the town woke up to a new day, Fred was utterly exhausted. His uniform was torn and dirty, and his body ached from the night’s exertions, but he was filled with a sense of accomplishment. He had faced every challenge alone and come through for his community.

As the townsfolk learned of the night’s events, they became filled with deep admiration and gratitude for Fred. They hailed him as a hero, their voices echoing through the streets of Cedar Hollow. But Fred, the humble officer, just smiled and said, “I was just doing my job.” His modesty only added to the townsfolk’s reverence for him, strengthening the bond of respect and unity within Cedar Hollow.

And Fred Harper, the humble police officer of Cedar Hollow, became a legend. In a town where life was usually quiet and uneventful, the night of chaos and heroism is a stark contrast, etching Fred’s name into the town’s history and leaving a profound mark on Cedar Hollow’s narrative.

Gigglewood Midnight Squad: Adventures of an Unconventional Police Team

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In the bustling city of Gigglewood, a place known for its vibrant nightlife and quirky inhabitants, the streets came alive at night, lit up not just by neon signs but also by the laughter and antics of its most beloved, albeit unconventional, police team: the Midnight Squad, comprised of six dazzlingly attractive officers, their presence was always a spectacle. They donned the sexiest, tight-fitting uniforms that accentuated their gym-sculpted bodies, causing heads to turn and hearts to flutter.

Officer Mia Valentine, the squad’s fearless leader, was known for her killer curves and unrelenting determination. A bisexual dynamo with a wicked sense of humor, Mia could easily switch from laying down the law to cracking up her team. Her second-in-command, Officer Alex Steel, was a trans man with the charm of a movie star and the strength of a superhero. Alex’s journey inspired the whole team, and his quick wit often saved them from the trickiest of situations. “Hey, Alex, ready to save the day again?” Mia would often tease, to which Alex would reply with a smirk, “Always, boss.”

Officers Jen and Lily were inseparable, both on and off duty. The two women, partners in every sense, had a knack for getting themselves into and out of ridiculous predicaments. Jen’s tech skills and Lily’s strategic mind made them a formidable duo, though their constant banter often left their colleagues in stitches.

Then there were Officers Mark and Kyle, whose bromance blossomed into a full-fledged romance. Their goofy camaraderie and over-the-top displays of affection often lightened the mood during tense moments. With his boyish charm and impressive physique, Mark was the team’s undercover expert, able to blend in with any crowd. Meanwhile, Kyle, a former gymnast, was their go-to for anything requiring agility and acrobatics, often using his skills to distract the bad guys during high-stakes operations.

One balmy night, the Midnight Squad faced their most absurd challenge yet. A call came in about a mysterious disturbance at the Gigglewood Zoo. “Looks like we’ve got a situation with the animals,” Mia said, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s roll, team!” The absurdity of the situation was not lost on the squad, and it only served to heighten their determination and sense of humor.

The squad arrived at the zoo to find it eerily quiet. As the officers cautiously approached the entrance, a peacock suddenly strutted by wearing a tiny police hat. “This is definitely not part of the zoo’s usual dress code,” Mia whispered, her hand on her holster. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” 

Alex muttered, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Jen and Lily, always up for a challenge, split off to check the reptile house. They soon discovered that all the snakes had somehow gotten loose and were now tangled together in a giant, writhing ball. The sight was both terrifying and strangely mesmerizing, like a scene from a horror movie directed by a clown. 

“Why does it always have to be snakes?” 

Jen groaned. 

Lily just shook her head, pulling out a bag of marshmallows. 

“Let’s lure them back with something they can’t resist,” 

She said, handing Jen a stick. 

They proceeded to toast marshmallows and lure the snakes back into their enclosure with the sugary treats.

“You know, Jen, this is probably the weirdest thing we’ve ever done,”

Lily said, trying to stifle a laugh.

“And that’s saying something,”

Jen replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Meanwhile, Mark and Kyle headed to the primate exhibit, only to find that the monkeys had broken into the zookeeper’s bananas and energy drinks stash.

“Looks like they’re planning a wild night,”

Mark joked, as they watched the monkeys swing wildly from tree to tree, their fur standing on end from the caffeine rush.

 “Monkey rave,” 

Kyle exclaimed as they watched the primates swing wildly from tree to tree. 

“We need to tire them out,” 

Mark suggested, grabbing a nearby boom box. Moments later, the air filled with the sounds of the latest dance hits, and Mark and Kyle led the monkeys in an impromptu dance-off until the exhausted primates fell asleep in a heap.

Back at the central plaza, Mia and Alex stumbled upon the mastermind behind the chaos: a rogue parrot with a flair for mischief.

 “Polly wants a key to the city,”

 It screeched, perched atop the mayor’s statue. 

Mia rolled her eyes. 

“Not tonight, featherbrain,”

She said, brandishing a net.

The parrot led them on a merry chase through the zoo, but Alex, with his agility and speed, cornered it in the butterfly house.

“Nice try,” 

He said, gently capturing the bird. 

“But you’re coming with us.”

With the zoo back in order, the Midnight Squad regrouped.

 “Another night, another crisis averted,”

 Mia said, looking at her team with pride. 

“And another story for the ages,”

 Mark added, wrapping an arm around Kyle.

As they returned to the station, the team couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. They were a ragtag bunch, each with their quirks and charms, but together, they were unstoppable. The Midnight Squad wasn’t just a team; they were a family, united by their love for each other and their city, ready to face whatever craziness the night would bring next. The audience is invited to share in this sense of belonging and unity, making them feel a part of the Midnight Squad’s unique world.

Riverton Police: A Night in the Life of Detectives Jake and Sam

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The city of Riverton never slept, nor did Detectives Jake Harris and Sam O’Reilly. Partners for over a decade roamed the nocturnal streets with the kind of synergy only best friends could muster. Their squad car, an unremarkable blue-and-white cruiser, was a beacon of hope for some and a symbol of fear for others.

Jake, with his gruff exterior and piercing blue eyes, was the kind of cop who could read a crime scene like a book. Sam, a lean figure with a quick wit and a knack for defusing tense situations, complemented Jake perfectly. Together, they led the department in felony arrests, arriving at calls faster than anyone else and building relationships with the community that others could only dream of.

One brisk autumn night, their radio crackled to life with a call that made their hearts race: an armed robbery in progress at the 24-hour diner on 5th and Maple. Without a word, Jake hit the lights and sirens, and they sped through the dimly lit streets. They arrived in just under three minutes, a record even for them.

The diner was eerily quiet as they approached, save for the distant hum of neon lights. Inside, a masked man brandished a gun, demanding cash from the terrified cashier. Jake motioned for Sam to flank the back entrance while he took the front.

Jake entered slowly, his voice calm but authoritative. ––––

“Riverton PD, drop the weapon and come out with your hands up.”

The gunman whipped around, eyes wide with panic.

“Stay back! I’ll shoot!”

From the rear, Sam’s voice cut through the tension.

“No, you won’t. You don’t want to hurt anyone. Put the gun down, and we can talk.”

The gunman’s grip on the weapon faltered. In that split second, Jake lunged forward, disarming him with a swift, practiced motion. Sam was at his side instantly, cuffing the man and guiding him to the squad car.

As they processed the scene, the cashier, a young woman named Maria, approached them with tears in her eyes.

“Thank you. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come.”

Jake gave her a reassuring nod. “Just doing our job, ma’am.”

The rest of the night was a blur of paperwork and patrols. But their most memorable interaction came just before dawn. While cruising through a quieter part of town, they spotted a boy sitting alone on a bench, clutching a backpack to his chest. They pulled over, and Sam approached him gently.

“Hey there, buddy. Everything alright?”

The boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, looked up with tear-streaked cheeks.

“I ran away from home. My parents are always fighting.”

Sam sat next to him, listening with the patience of a father and says –––

“I get it, kid. Sometimes, home can be tough. But running away won’t solve anything. Let’s get you back home and see if we can help sort things out.”

Jake contacted the boy’s parents while Sam spoke with him. The sun was peeking over the horizon when they returned the boy home. Now more worried than angry, the parents hugged their son tightly and thanked the officers.

As they drove back to the station, Jake glanced over at Sam, sighs then says –––

“Another night, another set of stories, huh?”

Sam chuckled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In Riverton, one could become a legend in the shadows, and for Jake and Sam, every night was another chance to protect and serve, forging connections and fighting crime in ways that others could only admire.