The Gay Mafia: Ned’s Unlikely Protectors | A Surprising Twist of Fate

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026 

Reposted from a earlier publication on Groff Media Truth Endures 2026©

June 26, 2026

The Unsung Headliner

Characters:

  • Ned: A shy and timid typesetter at the Daily Weeds newspaper, who resembles Brad Pitt on a bad day. Ned is modest and unaware of his value and attractiveness.
  • The Cute Bartender (Alex): A charismatic and charming bartender at Lucky C who falls for Ned over their shared love of Shirley Temples.
  • The Daily Weeds Higher-Ups: The newspaper’s executives who take credit for Ned’s brilliant headlines.
  • Rival Newspaper Competitors: A scheming group aiming to kidnap and kill Ned to stop the Daily Weeds’ success.
  • The Gay Mafia: A secretive, protective group willing to go to great lengths to defend Ned, although he is unaware of their existence.

Plot:

Ned lived a quiet life, hidden in the shadows of the Daily Weeds’ newsroom. His days were spent crafting perfect headlines, a talent that brought his employer acclaim and success. Despite his crucial role, Ned remained unnoticed, timidly working at his typesetting desk. His self-esteem was low; he never considered himself attractive, even though he had a rugged charm that could be likened to Brad Pitt on an off day.

Ned’s life took an unexpected turn one evening when he narrowly escaped being hit by a runaway city bus. Disoriented and seeking solace, he stumbled into a bar he had never noticed—Lucky C. With its welcoming atmosphere and vibrant clientele, the bar was a stark contrast to Ned’s usually solitary existence.

At the bar, he ordered the only alcoholic drink he knew—a Shirley Temple. Alex, the cute bartender, was immediately charmed. Alex loved making Shirley Temples, a drink rarely requested by patrons. Their shared moment over this simple drink sparked a connection, and for the first time, Ned felt seen and appreciated.

As Ned began to frequent Lucky C, he started coming out of his shell. The lively environment and supportive community at the bar brought out a side of him he never knew existed. His newfound confidence began to reflect in his work, leading to even more captivating headlines that left the Daily Weeds’ competitors scrambling.

Unbeknownst to Ned, the rival newspaper had been closely monitoring the Daily Weeds’ success. Frustrated by their inability to keep up, they devised a sinister plan to kidnap and eliminate the source of their competition’s success—Ned. 

They would wait until he left the Daily Weeds back office and throw a hood over his head. Then, two thugs would throw Ned into a waiting van and speed him to the outside of town near a seedy pond where he would be shot, still wearing the hood and a weight tied around his neck, and thrown into a boat. One of the thugs would take a boat and shove it away from the shore, and when it got near the center of the pond, the thugs would fill it with bullet holes and make it sink, with Ned inside, weighed down. Never to be found.

However, the rival newspaper and their hired mobsters were unaware of a secret force. The Gay Mafia, a clandestine group operating within the city, had liked Ned. They admired his quiet brilliance and were determined to protect him at all costs. They had been listening through their glitter correspondences. The glitter correspondences were a network of highly sensitive individuals who could pick up on people’s intuitions from across the room. They had been picking up vibes from the thugs at a local coffee shop for over a week. It is what caused the Gay Mafia to concentrate their attention on Ned. There was so much vibing there was almost concern they would have to call in a team from Philly to assist with the operation. With well-laid plans and assistance from the Gay Men’s Choir, a plan got hatched to pull off operation “SAVE NED” at 1700 Hours sharp! The driver, who made up the only civilian of the Gay Mafia, yelled to the rest of the non-mafia members that it was 5 PM, you guys. The rest of the Gay Mafia had belonged to the same Troop in the Middle East when serving the Country and understood military time. 

The rival newspaper’s plot set off a chain of events culminating in a dramatic confrontation. As the thugs moved in on Ned, the Gay Mafia sprang into action. A chaotic collision of forces ensued—a battle that turned the usually quiet city streets into a more vibrant and exhilarating scene than any Pride Parade.

There were unusually high pitches of the singing of Hallelujah coming from the alleyway of the Daily Weeds Office area and then sudden flumes of smoke and glitter, followed by the pomp and circumstance of a Gay Mens Chorus of Lilly of The Valley. The evil thugs were tied up and left in a neat pile for the local police to find—all courtesy of the Gay Mafia. 

Amid the chaos, Ned remained blissfully unaware of the true extent of his importance or the danger he was in. All he knew was that for the first time in his life, people were surrounding him who valued him, both for his talent and who he was. The experience saved his life and transformed it, making Ned realize his worth and the power of community. As he left the Daily Weed, he shut and locked the door and walked to the Lucky C, where he sat on a bar stool and asked Alex for a Shirley Temple. 

Today ––– The Daily Weeds continued to thrive, thanks to Ned’s unmatched headlines. And Ned, no longer the unsung hero, became a celebrated figure in both the newsroom and the vibrant world of Lucky C. His story was a testament to life’s unexpected turns and the hidden strength within us all, yet to be discovered.


By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2024 

Reposted from a earlier publication on Groff Media Truth Endures 2026©

Marshal Chester Finch – Chapter Fourteen: The Last Ride of Old Pete

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 22, 2026

The sun rose over Gotebo with an unusual silence.

No screaming.

The Gotebo Goat Showdown

No overturned wagons.

No missing laundry.

And perhaps most suspicious of all…

No goats standing on rooftops.

Marshal Chester Finch squinted over the handlebars of his cherry-red moped.

“George,” he said.

George Jones wagged his tail.

“I don’t trust it.”

George barked once.

Neither did he.


For nearly three weeks, Gotebo had been under siege by the infamous Spence Gang.

Six hundred goats.

Led by the legendary Old Pete.

A billy goat so ancient his beard dragged the ground and whose horns had been carved over generations with mysterious symbols, tally marks, and what appeared to be a recipe for peach cobbler.

Some said Old Pete was descended from the outlaw Pete Spence.

Folklore a digital AI group, had created a drawing of Spence the Goatman. Half Goat, half man. No one had ever seen him. Not even George Jones!

Others claimed he was Pete Spence.

Reincarnated.

With hooves.

Marshal Finch refused to take an official position.

Mostly because there wasn’t a checkbox for that in the regulation handbook.


Then, at precisely 8:17 a.m., Old Pete walked into town.

Alone.

No army.

No fanfare.

No smell.

This last fact caused Powder Puff to faint.

“Impossible!” cried Powder Puff.

The self-proclaimed most handsome goat in Oklahoma collapsed dramatically into a horse trough.

The townsfolk rushed to Old Pete.

The old goat climbed atop a feed barrel.

Cleared his throat.

And gave one final speech.

It consisted of:

“Maaaa.”

A pause.

“Maaaaaa.”

Then a longer pause.

“Maaa.”

No one understood.

Except Mrs. Hargrove, retired schoolteacher.

She dabbed her eyes.

“He says,” she whispered,

“The goats are tired.”

Everyone stared.

“He says they fought because they were afraid.”

More tears.

“He says perhaps descendants of outlaws don’t have to live like outlaws forever.”

Marshal Finch removed his hat.

George whimpered softly.

Even Powder Puff stopped admiring his reflection.

For nearly thirty seconds.

A personal record.


Old Pete slowly climbed down.

He approached Chester.

Looked him directly in the eyes.

Then nudged something toward him.

A tiny object.

Wrapped in cloth.

Inside was an old silver pocket watch.

The cover was engraved:

P.S. 1881.

Alongside it was a note.

Written in surprisingly neat handwriting.

It read:

EVERY GANG NEEDS A MAN WHO SHOWS UP.

EVEN IF HE RIDES A MOPED.

TAKE CARE OF THEM.

— OLD PETE

Marshal Finch looked up.

Old Pete had already begun walking west.

Toward the hills.

Toward the setting sun.

Toward whatever waits for outlaw goats at the end of the trail.


No one ever saw him again.

There were rumors.

A rancher claimed he saw a huge billy goat silhouetted on a ridge during a thunderstorm.

A trucker swore a goat with magnificent horns helped him change a tire near Tombstone.

Someone in Arizona insisted Old Pete stole a bag of oranges and paid for them with a silver dollar minted in 1880.

No one could prove any of it.

But nobody could prove it didn’t happen either.


As for the Spence Gang?

They disbanded.

Most retired.

Some took up lawn care.

Others became therapy goats.

Powder Puff began charging admission to smell him.

It failed.

Spectacularly.


Marshal Finch mounted his moped.

George climbed into the side basket.

The marshal tucked Old Pete’s watch into his shirt pocket.

He looked back one last time at Gotebo.

“George.”

George barked.

“I think we’ve finally solved one.”

George tilted his head.

“Or at least survived it.”

That counted too.

The moped sputtered.

Coughed.

Backfired loudly enough to scare three chickens in the next county.

And Marshal Chester Finch rode off toward whatever ridiculous crisis awaited him next.

Because somewhere…

there was always another telegram.


 

 

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

 


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

 

U.S. Marshal Finch – Chapter 13: The Goat Barbecue Conspiracy

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 21, 2026

Powder Puff and The 49 

Marshal Chester Finch had encountered many odors during his career.

Dynamite.

Marshal Finch and the Goat Barbecue Conspiracy – Enter Powder Puff

Wet dogs.

The county jail after chili night.

A moonshine still exploding inside a barber shop.

But nothing—and he meant absolutely nothing—prepared him for Powder Puff.

The goat emerged from behind Old Pete just after sunrise.

He was magnificent.

His coat was snowy white.

His horns curved elegantly.

His beard flowed like a frontier preacher.

And he smelled as though something had crawled into another something, died, and been buried inside a gym sock soaked in onions.

Chester immediately covered his nose.

“Sweet mercy!”

George Jones let out a yelp and rolled down a small hill.

The Gotebo Goat Ropers backed away.

JD yelling

“Don’t use a good rope on that bastard! You’ll ruin it. Never get the smell out of it!”

Even Old Pete took three cautious steps to the side.

“That’s Powder Puff,”

JD explained.

“Who in God’s name named him that?”

“My wife.”

“Why?”

“She hates irony.”

Powder Puff proudly strutted forward.

And then the wind shifted.

Three townspeople fainted.

One horse attempted to file for relocation.

The church bell rang all by itself.

Chester pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his face.

“I’ve smelled chemical fires that were more pleasant.”

JD nodded.

“He’s not fixed.”

“I gathered that.”

“No,”

JD said.

“You gathered him.”


Unfortunately, Powder Puff’s smell was not the town’s greatest concern.

The goats were disappearing.

One.

Then another.

Then three more.

Always at night.

Always smaller goats.

Always gone without a trace.

Old Pete had noticed.

The Spence Gang had noticed.

And now 597 remaining goats were becoming increasingly irritable.

They gathered on the hillsides.

They stared at passing wagons.

They glared at children.

They chewed fences aggressively.

One goat kicked a mailbox completely off its post.

The town was on edge.


Chester assembled the town council.

“This isn’t random.”

Mrs. Crenshaw nodded.

“The goats think somebody’s eating them.”

“Nonsense,”

Chester said.

Everyone stared at him.

Then JD slowly raised a hand.

“Well…”

Chester frowned.

“Well what?”

JD coughed.

“There was a Pow Wow over in Carnegie.”

“So?”

“And old Earl McGinty may have had a .49.”

“A .49?”

“Forty-nine people.”

Chester blinked.

“No.”

JD nodded.

“They ran out of brisket.”

“No.”

“They needed meat.”

“Absolutely not.”

JD removed his hat.

“Some boys might’ve borrowed…”

He paused.

“…six goats.”

“Borrowed?”

“They didn’t bring them back.”

Chester slowly stood.

“I am a Deputy United States Marshal.”

“Yes.”

“I have investigated train robberies.”

“Yes.”

“I have pursued murderers.”

“Yes.”

“I have never before uttered the sentence…”

He rubbed his temples.

“…’Did somebody steal goats for barbecue after a Pow Wow?'”

The room was silent.

George Jones barked once.

Even he couldn’t believe it.


Word spread.

Unfortunately.

Not among the townspeople.

Among the goats.

Nobody knew how.

Perhaps a sympathetic sheep.

Possibly a traitorous donkey.

Maybe Powder Puff overheard somebody while stinking up Carnegie.

Whatever the reason—

the goats learned the truth.

And they were furious.


That evening Old Pete summoned the herd.

Hundreds gathered beneath the moon.

Powder Puff stood beside him.

Unfortunately downwind.

The moon itself seemed to retreat behind a cloud.

Old Pete stomped.

The goats stomped.

Old Pete bleated.

The goats answered.

Powder Puff bleated.

Half the herd staggered backward coughing.

Old Pete glared.

Powder Puff looked hurt.


Meanwhile Chester sat alone outside town.

George Jones beside him.

“I didn’t approve this.”

George whined.

“Nobody should be eating town evidence.”

George barked.

“Especially not after a Pow Wow.”

George barked louder.

Chester sighed.

“I’m afraid something terrible is coming.”

At that moment—

A rider on a horse arrived.

“Marshal something terrible is coming!”

Marshal Finch asked what?

The rider said

“I don’t know but I could smell it on my way into town!”

from somewhere on the hills— there stood Powder Puff.

Then came a sound.

Not a bleat.

Not a growl.

Not even Powder Puff after eating wild onions.

It was singing.

Hundreds of goats.

Together.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The melody drifted across the prairie.

Chester froze.

Because somehow…

somewhere…

they had learned the tune to:

“Have You Seen My Chicken?”

George Jones lifted his head.

His collar speaker crackled.

And began playing the song too.

The goats sang louder.

Old Pete raised his head toward the stars.

And Powder Puff—

standing proudly beside him—

let loose a smell so terrible…

that three coyotes surrendered themselves to the Gotebo Goat Ropers.


Marshal Finch removed his glasses.

“George…”

George whimpered.

“I have a feeling…”

He looked toward the hills.

“…the goats are planning something.”

Far off in the darkness, Old Pete’s eyes glowed.

And beside him stood Powder Puff.

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

Smelly.

Proud.

And somehow looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The Goat War was about to become personal.

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.                  

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot and time never changes!


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

 

U.S. Marshal Finch – Chapter Twelve and the Legend of Old Pete

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 20, 2026

Marshal Finch and the Legend of Old Pete

The road into Gotebo looked ordinary.

That should have been Chester Finch’s first warning.

His cherry-red moped sputtered along at a heroic twenty-two miles per hour, its emergency beacon lazily rotating while a cloud of dust followed behind. Beside him trotted George Jones, his loyal hound, who was already regretting every life decision that had led him to western Oklahoma.

The Legend of Old Pete Finds Its Way To Gotebo

Ahead, the hills moved.

Not metaphorically.

Actually moved.

Chester slowed his moped.

The hills stopped.

He adjusted his spectacles.

The hills blinked.

“Oh, George,”

Chester whispered.

George whimpered.

Because the hills were goats.

Hundreds of them.

Standing perfectly still on the ridges overlooking town.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somehow managing to look judgmental.


The town square was deserted except for the members of the Gotebo Goat Ropers, who huddled behind overturned wagons.

JD pointed toward the hills.

“They’ve been up there all morning.”

“They move?” Chester asked.

“No.”

“They attack?”

“No.”

“They eat anything?”

“Everything.”

Chester nodded.

“That’s generally what goats do.”

JD leaned closer.

“These are different.”

He pointed toward the center ridge.

There, silhouetted against the afternoon sky, stood the largest billy goat Chester Finch had ever seen.

The creature was massive.

His beard blew dramatically in the wind despite there being no wind.

One horn appeared chipped.

The other looked polished.

And hanging around his neck was something that looked suspiciously like an old silver pocket watch.

The townspeople removed their hats.

“That’s Old Pete.”

Chester squinted.

“You named him?”

“We didn’t.”

“He named himself.”

Chester blinked.

“Goats can’t do that.”

Nobody answered.

Because at that moment Old Pete stamped one hoof.

A smaller goat trotted down the hill carrying a piece of cardboard in its mouth.

The goat dropped it at Chester’s feet.

Written in surprisingly neat lettering:

SURRENDER TOWN.

RETURN ALL TOMATOES.

MORE SALT LICKS.

SIGNED, OLD PETE


Chester read the note twice.

Then three times.

Then turned it upside down.

George Jones sniffed it.

“George,” Chester said.

George sneezed.

“I don’t suppose you can explain this?”

George looked away.

Which Chester interpreted as a no.


That evening the townspeople gathered in the church basement.

Old Mrs. Crenshaw stood.

“My grandfather swore these goats descended from the herd of outlaw Pete Spence.”

“Impossible,” Chester said.

“The old ranch was in Arizona.”

Mrs. Crenshaw nodded.

“Some say Old Pete is his descendant.”

Another man stood.

“Some say he’s the reincarnation of Pete Spence.”

A third man adjusted his overalls.

My cousin Earl says Pete Spence never died at all.”

“He became a goat.”

Chester slowly removed his glasses.

Cleaned them.

Put them back on.

“I have arrested thieves.”

Everyone nodded.

“I have arrested kidnappers.”

More nodding.

“I once arrested a man who claimed he was married to a weather vane.”

Murmurs of appreciation.

“But I have never…”

He paused.

“…investigated the possibility that an outlaw from Tombstone returned as livestock.”

The room fell silent.

George Jones barked.

Everyone looked at him.

“I think George agrees with me,” Chester said.

George barked again.

“No?”


Later that night Chester camped outside town.

At exactly midnight he awoke.

Something was standing over him.

He opened one eye.

Old Pete.

The giant billy goat stared down at him.

Neither moved.

Neither blinked.

Finally Chester sat up.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

Old Pete chewed something thoughtfully.

“If you really are Pete Spence…”

The goat snorted.

“…then you’re awfully hairy.”

Old Pete snorted louder.

Then—

to Chester’s horror—

the goat turned.

Walked away.

And with one hoof scratched something into the dirt.

Chester hurried over with his lantern.

There in the moonlight were four words:

I KNOW WHERE MORGAN HID IT

Chester stared.

Morgan.

As in Morgan Earp.

He slowly looked up.

Old Pete was gone.

Only hoofprints remained.

And one silver pocket watch.

Ticking.


Chester picked it up.

Inside the lid was an inscription:

TOMBSTONE
1882

Chester swallowed hard.

George Jones growled.

Far away on the ridge, hundreds of goat eyes glimmered in the darkness.

And somewhere among them, Old Pete laughed.

Or coughed.

With goats, it was difficult to tell.


Next Chapter: Marshal Finch and the Secret of the Silver Pocket Watch

Will Old Pete reveal a century-old mystery?

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

Did Morgan Earp hide something before his death?

And why have the goats begun digging holes all over Gotebo?

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes!

U.S. Marshall Chester Finch – Chapter Eleven: The Next Telegram

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 19, 2026

The celebration in Dustbucket Junction had finally ended.

The giant chicken statue stood proudly in the town square.

Chesters Next Telegram Requires Backup!

George Jones was asleep beneath it.

And Chester Finch was preparing to leave.

His moped was loaded.

His saddlebags were packed.

Three containers of emergency breath mints had been secured beneath the seat.

“Well, George,” Chester said, adjusting his hat. “Looks like our work here is done.”

George Jones looked up briefly.

His collar speaker suddenly crackled to life.

“Have you seen my chicken…”

The dog sighed.

The townspeople gathered to wave goodbye.

The mayor presented Chester with a ceremonial key to the city.

It did not fit any known lock.

The schoolchildren sang a song they had written entitled The Ballad of the Chicken Marshal.

The lyrics made very little sense.

Just as Chester placed his foot on the moped kick starter, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon.

A rider approached at full speed.

The horse looked exhausted.

The rider looked terrified.

The telegram looked expensive.

He skidded to a stop.

“Marshal Finch!” he shouted.

“Another emergency!”

The crowd gasped.

The mayor fainted.

George Jones immediately began barking.

The rider handed over the telegram.

Chester unfolded it.

The message was brief.

URGENT.

TOWN OVERRUN BY ANGRY GOATS.

SEND MOPED MARSHAL IMMEDIATELY.

Chester read it twice.

Then a third time.

He looked toward the horizon.

“Goats?”

The messenger nodded.

“Mean ones.”

“How many?”

“We stopped counting at six hundred.”

The mayor recovered consciousness.

“Six hundred?”

“Last report says they’re organized.”

Chester’s face grew serious.

He reached into his pocket.

A breath mint disappeared.

Then another.

George Jones whined.

“Looks like we’re heading to Gotebo.”

The messenger swallowed hard.

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because the goats have already defeated the sheriff.”

The crowd gasped again.

“What happened?”

“They stole his horse.”

At that moment Chester knew ordinary law enforcement was no longer sufficient.

This would require specialists.

The best.

The elite.

The legendary.

The Gotebo Goat Ropers.

Within the hour telegrams were flying across western Oklahoma.

JD received one while repairing a fence.

Dub received one while winning a horseshoe tournament.

Barney was asleep.

Bud was eating pie.

Marvin was doing both.

The message was the same for each man.

REPORT IMMEDIATELY.

GOAT EMERGENCY.

BRING HORSE.

AND ROPE.

Meanwhile, Chester mounted his assigned horse.

A Shetland pony.

The pony stood approximately the same height as George Jones.

The crowd watched silently.

“Marshal,” the mayor said carefully.

“Is that the horse they sent you?”

Chester climbed aboard.

The pony sighed heavily.

“It’ll do.”

The tiny horse carried him forward at a speed slightly faster than walking.

George Jones trotted beside them.

His collar speaker began playing.

“Have you seen my chicken…”

And with that, Dustbucket Junction watched its hero disappear toward another impossible assignment.

Ahead lay angry goats.

Six hundred of them.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, the Gotebo Goat Ropers were saddling up.

The goats had no idea what was coming.

Unfortunately, neither did Chester.

The Leader of The Goats learned that Chester was in enroute and sent him this message…

Unfortunately…there was not an interpreter available to tell Chester what the Goat was saying. We will learn more about in our next episode!


Out in the Oklahoma Hills, where the oak and blackjack trees kiss the playful prairie breeze, and where the black oil rolls and flows while the snow-white cotton grows, Marshal Chester Finch is beginning to suspect that every town in the state has a livestock problem.

First chickens.

Now goats.

As he rides toward Gotebo atop a Shetland pony, Chester can’t help but wonder:

“Is Oklahoma really where I want to be, or am I just too stubborn to leave?”

U.S. Marshal Chester Finch – Chapter 10: The Celebration Ends & A New Assignment Begins

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 18, 2026

The celebration in Dustbucket Junction had finally ended.

The giant chicken statue stood proudly in the town square.

Chesters Next Telegram Requires Backup!

George Jones was asleep beneath it.

And Chester Finch was preparing to leave.

His moped was loaded.

His saddlebags were packed.

Three containers of emergency breath mints had been secured beneath the seat.

“Well, George,” Chester said, adjusting his hat. “Looks like our work here is done.”

George Jones looked up briefly.

His collar speaker suddenly crackled to life.

“Have you seen my chicken…”

The dog sighed.

The townspeople gathered to wave goodbye.

The mayor presented Chester with a ceremonial key to the city.

It did not fit any known lock.

The schoolchildren sang a song they had written entitled The Ballad of the Chicken Marshal.

The lyrics made very little sense.

Just as Chester placed his foot on the moped kick starter, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon.

A rider approached at full speed.

The horse looked exhausted.

The rider looked terrified.

The telegram looked expensive.

He skidded to a stop.

“Marshal Finch!” he shouted.

“Another emergency!”

The crowd gasped.

The mayor fainted.

George Jones immediately began barking.

The rider handed over the telegram.

Chester unfolded it.

The message was brief.

URGENT.

TOWN OVERRUN BY ANGRY GOATS.

SEND MOPED MARSHAL IMMEDIATELY.

 

Chester read it twice.

Then a third time.

He looked toward the horizon.

“Goats?”

The messenger nodded.

“Mean ones.”

“How many?”

“We stopped counting at six hundred.”

The mayor recovered consciousness.

“Six hundred?”

“Last report says they’re organized.”

Chester’s face grew serious.

He reached into his pocket.

A breath mint disappeared.

Then another.

George Jones whined.

“Looks like we’re heading to Gotebo.”

The messenger swallowed hard.

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because the goats have already defeated the sheriff.”

The crowd gasped again.

“What happened?”

“They stole his horse.”

At that moment Chester knew ordinary law enforcement was no longer sufficient.

This would require specialists.

The best.

The elite.

The legendary.

The Gotebo Goat Ropers.

 

Within the hour telegrams were flying across western Oklahoma.

JD received one while repairing a fence.

Dub received one while winning a horseshoe tournament at his retirement party.

Barney was asleep on his tractor.

Bud was eating pie with his wife Pete.

Marvin was doing both he had fell asleep on his tractor eating pie, that Pete brought him.

The message was the same for each man.

REPORT IMMEDIATELY.

GOAT EMERGENCY.

BRING HORSE.

AND ROPE.

Meanwhile, Chester mounted his assigned horse.

A Shetland pony.

The pony stood approximately the same height as George Jones.

The crowd watched silently.

“Marshal,” the mayor said carefully.

“Is that the horse they sent you?”

Chester climbed aboard.

The pony sighed heavily.

“It’ll do.”

The tiny horse carried him forward at a speed slightly faster than walking.

George Jones trotted beside them.

His collar speaker began playing.

“Have you seen my chicken…”

And with that, Dustbucket Junction watched its hero disappear toward another impossible assignment.

Ahead lay angry goats.

Six hundred of them.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, the Gotebo Goat Ropers were saddling up.

The goats had no idea what was coming.

Unfortunately, neither did Chester.

The Leader of The Goats learned that Chester was in enroute and sent him this message…

Unfortunately…there was not an interpreter available to tell Chester what the Goat was saying. We will learn more about in our next episode!


Out in the Oklahoma Hills, where the oak and blackjack trees kiss the playful prairie breeze, and where the black oil rolls and flows while the snow-white cotton grows, Marshal Chester Finch is beginning to suspect that every town in the state has a livestock problem.

First chickens.

Now goats.

As he rides toward Gotebo atop a Shetland pony, Chester can’t help but wonder:

“Is Oklahoma really where I want to be, or am I just too stubborn to leave?”

Marshal Chester Finch – Chapter Nine: A Hero’s Farewell

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 17, 2026

 

The people of Dustbucket Junction had decided that Marshal Chester Finch deserved recognition.

Chester’s Farewell! The Hero’s Celebration!

Not because he had actually defeated the chickens.

But because he had somehow survived them.

The town council voted unanimously to establish “Chester Finch Day,” a holiday that would be celebrated every year on the second Tuesday after the first Monday following whichever month seemed most convenient.

No one understood the schedule, but everyone agreed it sounded official.

By this point, Chester had developed a troubling habit.

He consumed breath mints at an alarming rate.

One container every day.

Sometimes two during periods of extreme poultry-related stress.

“Calms my nerves,” Chester explained.

Unfortunately, nobody listened anymore.

The only creature willing to hear his theories was a stray dog he had adopted after its owner abandoned town during the Great Chicken Takeover.

The dog’s full name was George Jones. Around town, everyone simply called him George. Attached to his collar, Chester had fastened a small digital audio player that endlessly played “Have You Seen My Chicken?” by the real George Jones whenever the dog trotted through town. Before long, residents could identify George’s whereabouts without ever seeing him. They merely listened for the distant twang of country music drifting down the street, followed by a dog that appeared to be conducting an active search for missing poultry. Chester thought the song being fastened to the dog was a great tactical advantage.

Nobody knew why.

The dog certainly didn’t.

Yet every morning Chester sat on the courthouse steps, shaking mints into his hand while George Jones listened patiently. Chester, would pet George and play the song from the front steps hoping if there were any chickens left in town people would report where they were seen.

“You know, George,” Chester said, crunching his eighteenth mint before breakfast, “these chickens were organized. I think they had committees.”

George scratched an ear.

“Exactly,”Chester nodded. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

The holiday celebration arrived under a blazing desert sun.

Children waved miniature moped flags.

Lou Anne sold commemorative burgers.

The mayor delivered a speech that lasted forty-seven minutes despite containing only six minutes of actual information.  It had been interupted twelve times by George Jones who activated “Have You Seen My Chicken?” when he began scratching his neck and clipped the player on his collar.

Then came the unveiling of Chester’s statue.

A giant canvas covering was pulled away.

The crowd fell silent.

Chester stared.

George Jones tilted his head.

The sculptor slowly began backing toward his truck.

There, cast forever in bronze, was Chester Finch.

Only something wasn’t quite right.

Instead of riding his beloved moped, the statue showed Chester heroically astride a giant chicken.

The chicken stood twelve feet tall.

Its wings spread dramatically.

One claw rested atop a defeated rooster.

The bronze Chester held a bag of breath mints high above his head like a conquering warrior.

The resemblance was questionable.

The chicken, however, looked remarkably accurate.

“Well,”the mayor finally said, “that’s unfortunate.”

The sculptor cleared his throat.

“In my defense, all the photographs I found involved chickens.”

“Why am I holding mints?” Chester asked.

“Artistic interpretation.”

The crowd examined the monument.

A few people began laughing.

Then more joined in.

Soon the entire town was roaring with laughter.

Even Chester smiled.

George Jones barked approvingly.

For the first time since the Great Chicken Takeover began, nobody was worried.

Nobody was frightened.

Nobody was being chased by poultry.

They were simply laughing together.

As the sun began to set over Dustbucket Junction, Chester stood beside his accidental monument.

He popped another breath mint into his mouth.

George Jones sat beside him.

The giant bronze chicken cast a shadow across the town square.

And somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.

The sound made Chester nervous.

He immediately ate three more mints.

Just to be safe.

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. 

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes!        

 

 

 


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

Marshal Finch: Chapter Eight The Marshal Saves Absolutely Nobody, Almost.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 16, 2026

The town expected a dramatic showdown.

Chester Finch U.S. Marshal On The Job.

There would be bravery.

There would be danger.

There would probably be explosions.

After all, this was Clucker’s Gap.

Instead, the villains defeated themselves through their own stupidity.

Which, according to Marshal Chester Finch, was becoming alarmingly common.

The mystery of the nitrogen-enhanced chicken feed had finally been solved.

The feed had been spread by the Dinklage Family Ice & Snow Removal Company.

This puzzled everyone.

Especially because Clucker’s Gap had not seen measurable snow since President Taft was in office.

The Dinklages were respected members of the community.

They were also little people.

And because everyone knew them, no one ever questioned why their feed truck drove around town at all hours.

Least of all Marshal Finch.

That changed one evening.

Finch was conducting an Official Moped Patrol and Beefy Burger Procurement Mission.

Lou Anne’s Diner was only three blocks away.

His stomach had already filed the paperwork.

Suddenly a cloud of chicken feed exploded into his face.

The Marshal swerved.

His beacon spun.

His siren squeaked.

A chicken applauded.

Finch wiped the feed from his eyes.

Ahead of him was the spreading truck.

But he couldn’t see anyone driving.

“Remote control!” he shouted.

This was the most modern explanation he could think of.

He spun his moped around and gave chase.

The pursuit reached speeds approaching twenty-three miles per hour.

Eventually the truck pulled into the Dinklage farm.

Finch parked behind a hay bale and watched.

To his astonishment, one of the Dinklages stepped out.

Then another.

Then another.

The truck had not been empty at all.

The driver had simply been hidden below the dashboard.

Finch gasped.

The mystery was solved.

But another mystery remained.

Why?

That was when he looked through the farmhouse window.

Inside sat dozens of terrified Dinklages.

And dozens of chickens.

The chickens were guarding every door.

Every hallway.

Every exit.

General Clawford himself sat atop the refrigerator.

The giant rooster wore a sheriff’s badge for reasons no one understood.

The Dinklages were hostages.

Forced to spread chicken feed throughout town.

Finch’s eyes widened.

“This ends now,” he whispered dramatically to himself.

No one else was present.

He removed a strange cone-shaped device from the front of his moped.

It had been issued years earlier by a government agency that no longer existed.

He attached it to the siren.

Then he flipped three switches.

The resulting sound was unlike anything ever heard in nature.

Part European ambulance.

Part foghorn.

Part accordion.

Part extremely upset goose.

The noise blasted across the farm.

WAAAAAAHHHH!

Marshal Chester Finch: Getting results nobody asked for.

HONK!

SCREEEEEEEE!

WAAAAAAAH!

The chickens froze.

Their eyes widened.

General Clawford dropped a spoon.

The noise intensified.

Several chickens immediately fled through open windows.

Others escaped through the chimney.

One reportedly tunneled through a wall.

Within seconds the farmhouse was completely cleared.

The Dinklages erupted into cheers.

General Clawford dove out a window and vanished into the darkness.

The hostage crisis was over.

Or so it seemed.

At that exact moment, the fleeing chickens crashed into a group of outlaw chicken smugglers hiding behind the barn.

The smugglers panicked.

They ran into the county livestock inspector.

Who panicked.

He backed into a manure wagon.

Which rolled downhill.

Into the smugglers’ truck.

Which crashed into a fence.

Which released three angry goats.

The goats chased everyone into the sheriff’s office.

Where they accidentally confessed to every crime they had committed over the previous five years.

Marshal Finch arrived just in time to witness the arrests.

The sheriff shook his head.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I,” Finch admitted.

The sheriff looked at him.

“So what exactly did you do?”

Finch thought about it.

“Mostly I turned on the siren.”

The sheriff nodded.

“Fair enough.”

The next morning the town held a celebration.

Mayor Buckley presented Finch with a plaque.

It read:

FOR OUTSTANDING SERVICE IN A SITUATION THAT RESOLVED ITSELF

Finch proudly accepted.

Then he spent six hours writing the official report.

The report was 127 pages long.

Most of it consisted of diagrams showing chicken movements.

The final sentence read:

‘Marshal Finch successfully arrived after events had already begun resolving themselves.’

To this day it remains the most honest law enforcement report in Clucker’s Gap history.

As sunset painted the sky orange, Finch climbed aboard his faithful moped.

His beacon flashed.

His siren chirped.

A distant rooster crowed.

And somewhere beyond the town limits, General Clawford was undoubtedly planning something foolish.

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

Marshal Finch sighed.

Trouble never rested.

And neither, apparently, did chickens.

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.                                  

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🏍️🚨


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

U.S. Marshal Chester Finch – Chapter Seven: The Great Coop Explosion

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 15, 2026

The Great Coop Explosion

The Town Has A June 15th Fireworks Show – No Thanks To The Chickens!

The people of Clucker’s Gap believed they had finally solved their chicken problem.

This would prove to be incorrect.

The town’s Fourth of July fireworks had been secretly hidden inside the county fairgrounds agriculture barn.

“Chickens never go into barns,”  declared Mayor Buckley.

Several farmers attempted to object.

Unfortunately, they were ignored.

To make matters worse, someone had been scattering nitrogen-enhanced chicken feed all over town.

The feed had been developed by Professor Cornelius Peabody, who claimed it would increase egg production.

It certainly increased something.

The chickens had become larger.

Faster.

And considerably more opinionated.

No one knew who was distributing the feed.

No one knew where it was stored.

And no one knew why every chicken seemed capable of jumping fences they previously respected.

Standing above it all was the county barn’s famous cupola.

Inside hung the Eternal Lantern.

For fifty years the lantern had burned day and night.

No one knew who filled it.

No one knew where the fuel came from.

And no one could remember a time when it had ever gone out.

Naturally, no one questioned it.

That was mistake number one.

The evening of June 15th arrived warm and still.

Marshal Chester Finch was conducting his weekly Moped Safety Awareness Patrol.

His red beacon flashed.

His siren occasionally squeaked.

Children waved.

Finch accidentally threw hard candy at a mailbox.

The mailbox surrendered.

Everything appeared normal.

Then came the first sign of trouble.

A chicken landed on the roof of the agriculture barn.

Then another.

Then twenty.

Then approximately four hundred and sixty-seven more.

Farmer Jenkins pointed upward.

“Why are they all gathering there?”

No one knew.

The chickens began pecking furiously at the cupola.

The old wood rattled.

The Eternal Lantern swayed.

A single spark drifted downward.

Right into a hay bale.

Nothing happened.

For three whole seconds.

Then…

WHOOOMPH!

The hay erupted.

The hidden fireworks ignited.

Rockets blasted through the barn walls.

Roman candles shot across the fairgrounds.

Bottle rockets chased the mayor.

Catherine wheels attached themselves to two tractors.

Someone’s prize pig briefly achieved flight.

Then came the second explosion.

The mysterious nitrogen-enhanced chicken feed.

Two thousand pounds of it.

The blast launched a mushroom cloud of feed, feathers, and confusion three hundred feet into the air.

The shockwave lifted townspeople off their feet.

The sheriff landed in a watermelon patch.

The mayor landed in the county pond.

The town band landed in perfect formation and continued playing.

Marshal Finch and his moped achieved temporary aviation.

Witnesses later estimated they traveled nearly seventy-five yards before splashdown.

The giant plume drifted over the county.

For several moments it resembled a chicken.

No one found that comforting.

As the dust settled, the entire town emerged from the pond covered in feathers and fish.

Mayor Buckley stood waist-deep in water.

His hat floated past.

“I suppose,” he said, “we should have hidden the fireworks somewhere else.”

Finch removed a catfish from his boot.

According to regulation manual Section 27, Paragraph 9, he informed the crowd:

“Any fireworks storage plan that ends with livestock becoming airborne is officially discouraged.”

The crowd nodded.

That seemed reasonable.

Then everyone froze.

From the far side of the pond came a familiar sound.

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO!

General Clawford stood atop the water tower.

Beside him sat a wooden crate.

Stamped across the side were the words:

“PROPERTY OF THE CHICKEN KING.”

Marshal Finch slowly adjusted his hat.

“I thought we settled this.”

General Clawford merely smiled.

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time.

Or at least it looked like a smile.

And somewhere in the darkness, another lantern flickered to life.

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🏍️💥🧨.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

 

When Faith and Politics Collide Nay-Sayers Claim James Talarico Is Possessed By An Evil Spirit

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

June 15, 2026

When Faith and Politics Collide

James Talarico is a Presbyterian seminarian running for the U.S. Senate in Texas, and his comments about Christianity have ignited a fierce debate.

James Talarico is a Presbyterian seminarian running for the U.S. Senate in Texas

The controversy began after Talarico told comedian and host Stephen Colbert that Jesus never explicitly mentioned abortion or same-sex marriage in the Gospels. The reaction from some conservative commentators was immediate and intense.

Podcaster Benny Johnson accused him of distorting Christianity. A host on Newsmax questioned his interpretation of scripture. Even Riley Moore suggested on a political program that Talarico’s views were spiritually dangerous.

Yet the passages Talarico cites are among the most familiar in the Bible.

In Matthew 22, Jesus summarizes the law with two commands: love God and love your neighbor. In Matthew 25, he speaks of feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, welcoming strangers, caring for the sick, and visiting prisoners.

These are not obscure verses tucked away in scripture. They are central teachings, repeated in sermons, printed on church walls, and taught to generations of Christians.

For Talarico, these passages point toward a simple but profound idea: that society is measured by how it treats those who are vulnerable—the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, and the outsider.

Others disagree with his political conclusions or argue that Christian teachings encompass a broader set of moral issues. That disagreement is not new. American politics has long wrestled with competing interpretations of faith and public life.

What makes this moment notable is how intensely the argument has become personal.

Critics accuse Talarico of misrepresenting Christianity. Supporters argue he is reminding people of teachings they believe have been overshadowed by political battles.

Whatever side one takes, the underlying questions remain:

Who gets to define the role of faith in public life?

What teachings deserve the greatest emphasis?

And can political movements built around religious identity tolerate interpretations that challenge their assumptions?

These are not questions that will be settled in a television interview, a podcast, or a campaign speech.

But they are questions Americans continue to ask.

And the verses themselves remain where they have always been—waiting in the pages of scripture, inviting each reader to decide what they mean and how they should be lived.

Meanwhile –


Ted Cruz said James Talarico isn’t “masculine,” and Talarico answered with a list of what real men never do. The smear came Monday on Fox News, where Cruz declared that if you were making a list of 1,000 adjectives to describe the Texas Democrat, “masculine” would not be one of them, then added that a stiff breeze would blow him over like a feather.
The attack was not a one-off. Since Talarico won the Democratic nomination and pulled ahead of Ken Paxton in the polls, the Republican machine has gone all in on manhood.
Paxton called him “too low-T for Texas.” White House aide Stephen Miller falsely claimed Democrats had nominated “their first transgender senate candidate,” a lie about a man who is neither transgender nor, for the record, the vegan they also keep insisting he is.
None of it touches his actual record. That is the point.
On MS NOW with Jen Psaki on Thursday, Talarico took the question head on, and he answered it with a lawn mower.
He told the story of Mark Talarico, the adoptive father who gave him his last name.
Every Saturday morning, rain or shine, whether he wanted to or not, his dad mowed the family’s lawn. Then, without anyone asking, he walked next door and mowed the lawn of their neighbor, an elderly widow.
He never talked about it. He just did it.
That, Talarico said, is what a man does.
A man takes responsibility. A man upholds his commitments to his family and his neighbors. A man does what’s right even when no one is watching.
Then came the other half. “They don’t lie and cheat their way through life. They don’t sell their soul to the highest bidder. They don’t steal from other people in order to enrich themselves.”
Real men serve others, he said. Weak men serve themselves. And he closed the door on his way out: he doesn’t think Ken Paxton or Ted Cruz are in a position to tell anybody what a real man is.
The list reads differently considering who it was aimed at.
Cruz spent 2016 watching Donald Trump publicly mock his wife’s appearance, then endorsed him and became one of his most loyal soldiers.
When a deadly winter storm froze Texas in 2021, Cruz boarded a flight to Cancun.
Paxton was impeached on bribery and corruption charges by his own Republican colleagues in the Texas House, and his wife filed for divorce last year citing adultery.
Mark Talarico never talked about the widow’s lawn. He just mowed it. Some men do what’s right when no one is watching.

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

 

Marshal Chester Finch: Chapter Five The Meanest Rooster in the West

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 13, 2026

Chester Meets General Drumstick


The townspeople of Finchfield had survived the Great Egg Fight.

Man chased by mad chicken
Chester Meets General Drumstick And Feathers Fly!

Barely.

The streets still smelled faintly of breakfast.

Eggshells covered the boardwalks.

The mayor had spent two days trying to remove dried yolk from his hat.

And Marshal Chester Finch had completed a forty-three-page report entitled:

“Municipal Egg-Related Disturbances and Associated Hazards.”

It was considered his finest work.

Unfortunately, trouble was once again approaching town.

And this time it arrived on a train.

The locomotive hissed to a stop.

The passengers stepped off.

The conductor stepped off.

Then everyone stepped back on.

Because the final crate being unloaded contained something terrifying.

Something dangerous.

Something mean.

Painted on the side were the words:

WARNING
PROPERTY OF THE FEATHERED BROTHERHOOD
DO NOT ANNOY

The crate suddenly shook.

A loud THUMP echoed from inside.

Then another.

The workers immediately abandoned the crate.

One resigned.

Another changed professions.

A third moved to New Mexico.

The crate burst open.

Out stepped the largest rooster anyone had ever seen.

He stood nearly waist-high.

His feathers were black as midnight.

His eyes burned with mischief.

And attached to his legs were polished fighting spurs that gleamed in the Arizona sun.

The crowd gasped.

The rooster slowly surveyed the town.

Then crowed.

Windows rattled.

Dogs hid.

Several chickens fainted.

The rooster’s name was known throughout the territory.

General Drumstick.

The undisputed champion of outlaw rooster fighting.

The terror of chicken coops.

The undefeated ruler of barnyards from Texas to California.

Legend claimed he once stared down a coyote.

The coyote apologized.

The Feathered Brotherhood smiled.

At last they possessed a weapon powerful enough to challenge Marshal Finch.

That afternoon General Drumstick marched through town.

Regular chickens followed behind him.

They admired him.

They feared him.

Some took notes.

The rooster strutted directly into the town square and kicked over a barrel.

Then another.

Then a third just because he enjoyed it.

Marshal Finch arrived moments later aboard his faithful moped.

The safety beacon spun.

The siren chirped.

The engine coughed twice and stalled.

Finch looked at the rooster.

The rooster looked at Finch.

The entire town held its breath.

A tumbleweed rolled past.

The rooster lowered his head.

Finch opened his regulation handbook.

The rooster scraped one fighting spur across the dirt.

Finch turned a page.

The rooster took a step forward.

Finch adjusted his glasses.

The rooster took another step.

Finally Finch found what he was looking for.

He cleared his throat.

“According to Municipal Poultry Ordinance 7-B…”

The rooster charged.

The Marshal leaped onto his moped.

The moped sputtered to life.

And for the next fifteen minutes the citizens of Finchfield witnessed the fastest pursuit in town history.

A giant fighting rooster chasing a lawman around the town square.

Past the barber shop.

Past the feed store.

Through the mayor’s rose garden.

Around the water tower.

Twice.

The chase ended only when General Drumstick became distracted by his own reflection in a store window.

The rooster attacked the glass.

The glass won.

Marshal Finch escaped.

For now.

But as the sun set over Finchfield, everyone understood a terrible truth.

The chickens had found a leader.

A dangerous one.

And somewhere inside Peterson’s Feed & Grain, the Feathered Brotherhood was planning its next move.

A move that could finally put the town under chicken control forever.


To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.    

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time.

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🛵🌵

Marshal Finch Returns: Chapter Four It Could Be a Good Day for Egg Laying

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 12, 2026

Wait a minute there has been a change!

What change?

During the weeks Marshal Finch was occupied battling chickens, the chickens secretly organized.

Led by a radical rooster faction known as the United Poultry Front, they held an unauthorized election behind Peterson's Feed & Grain.

The vote was conducted under questionable circumstances.

Only chickens were allowed to vote.

The ballot contained one question:

Should Finchfield be renamed Clucksville?
  • Yes
  • Absolutely Yes
  • More Corn
The measure passed overwhelmingly.

The chickens immediately erected new signs around town.

Unfortunately, no human noticed because everyone was busy avoiding peckings.

The town remained legally Finchfield. But, the signs said otherwise.

The Chickens had grown very bold.

So bold, in fact, they had secretly held an election.

Marshal Finch A Good Day For A Egg Fight In Cluckville

Nobody knew about it.

Nobody attended it.

Nobody was invited. Except for those Foul – Birds!

And somehow the chickens voted unanimously to rename Finchfield.

Overnight new signs appeared reading:

WELCOME TO CLUCKSVILLE

C-L-U-C-K-S-V-I-L-L-E

The town charter stated animals can’t vote.

The chickens simply ignored that fact.


Overnight new signs appeared reading: WELCOME TO CLUCKSVILLE

Marshal Chester Finch discovered one of the signs and ballots while riding his moped to work.

He studied the sign carefully.

Then consulted the town charter.

Then consulted the county charter.

Then consulted three separate books regarding poultry authority.

Finally he announced: "I am reasonably certain chickens cannot rename a municipality."

"The chickens disagreed."

The citizens of Cluckville awoke to an unusual sight.

For the first time in weeks, the chickens appeared calm.

No one had been chased into a tree.

No wagons had been overturned.

No mail carriers had been forced to seek refuge atop water towers.

In fact, the chickens seemed… content.

Marshal Chester Finch parked his sputtering moped near the town square and studied the situation carefully.

He adjusted his safety helmet.

Reviewed three pages of poultry regulations.

Then peered through a pair of borrowed binoculars.

The chickens were everywhere.

Perched on rooftops.

Sitting on fences.

Gathered around feed barrels.

And nearly every one of them appeared to be laying eggs.

Finch lowered the binoculars.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it could be a good day for egg laying.”

The townspeople gathered around.

No one knew exactly what that meant.

But everyone agreed it sounded official.

Within hours, baskets of eggs began appearing throughout town.

Hundreds of them.

Then thousands.

The local grocer ran out of storage.

The feed store filled completely.

One farmer reported his barn looked like a giant omelet waiting to happen.

By noon, the town faced a new crisis.

Too many eggs.

Nobody knew what to do with them.

Then old Mrs. Weatherby offered a suggestion.

“What if we throw them at each other?”

There was a moment of silence.

Then enthusiastic cheering.

By one o’clock, Cluckville’s First Annual Emergency Egg Festival was underway.

Rules were established.

Mostly.

Children formed teams.

Adults formed teams.

Even several chickens appeared to organize into teams.

Marshal Finch was appointed Official Referee because no one else wanted the responsibility.

The first egg sailed through the air.

It struck the town banker squarely on the forehead.

The crowd erupted.

The battle had begun.

 

Eggs flew from every direction.

Neighbors attacked neighbors.

Children ambushed adults.

The mayor accidentally hit himself while attempting an underhand toss.

The town doctor declared it the healthiest civic activity he had witnessed all year.

For nearly three glorious hours, Cluckville forgot about its troubles.

People laughed.

People cheered.

People slipped repeatedly. Some egg fights went off better than others. Some people, didn’t take it well.

Egg yolk covered nearly every building in town.

Even the chickens appeared entertained.

Then everything changed.

A rider arrived from the northern road.

His horse was exhausted.

His hat was crooked.

And his expression was one of pure alarm.

He galloped directly into the town square.

The egg fight stopped instantly.

An egg bounced harmlessly off the horse’s saddle.

The rider pointed toward the hills.

“The Feathered Brotherhood!”

The crowd gasped.

Marshal Finch removed a piece of eggshell from his shoulder.

“What about them?”

The rider swallowed hard.

“They’ve collected enough protection money to hire reinforcements.”

The town grew silent.

“What kind of reinforcements?” asked Finch.

The rider hesitated.

“You aren’t going to like this.”

“No one ever says that before good news.”

The rider nodded.

“They’re bringing in trained chickens.”

The townspeople stared.

The chickens stared.

Even the horse appeared concerned.

Marshal Finch slowly closed his notebook.

This was becoming serious.

Very serious.

Because regular chickens were difficult enough.

But trained chickens?

That was an entirely different level of poultry-related emergency.

Finch climbed onto his moped.

The engine coughed.

The siren chirped.

The safety beacon spun.

And somewhere in the distance came the unmistakable sound of hundreds of chickens marching in formation.

The battle for Cluckville was about to enter a dangerous new chapter.


Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.  

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes!

 

 

 

 

 


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

 

Chapter Three: The Outlaws Return

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 11th, 2026


The chickens had conquered Main Street.                        

The mayor was still hiding in the water tower.

The sheriff had not only resigned, but had moved three counties away and opened a curtain shop under an assumed name.

And Marshal Chester Finch?

He was busy reading municipal poultry ordinances by lantern light and making careful notes in a small notebook titled “Chicken-Related Emergencies, Revised Edition.”

Unfortunately, trouble was about to get worse.

Much worse.

Because somewhere beyond town limits, three former outlaws sat around a campfire discussing a business opportunity.

It was difficult to ignore.

The chickens had become the most feared force in the territory.

Nobody could stop them.

Nobody could control them.

And terrified citizens were willing to pay almost anything for protection.

The largest outlaw, Buck “Two-Toes” Hanley, slapped his knee.

“Gentlemen,”

he announced,

“we are looking at the future.”

The others stared.

“The future of what?”

“Crime.”

The men nodded thoughtfully.

Crime was something they understood.

Within days they had formed a new organization.

A secret criminal empire.

A shadowy syndicate.

A feather-powered protection racket.

They called themselves:

The Feathered Brotherhood.

Their advertisements appeared overnight.

PROTECTION FROM CHICKENS!

LOW WEEKLY RATES!

NO REFUNDS IF PECKED!

Business was booming before breakfast.

What the townspeople didn’t know was that the Brotherhood had established its headquarters right in the middle of town.

Hidden inside Peterson’s Feed & Grain Store.

The perfect disguise.

After all, no one would suspect criminals operating from a building already filled with chicken feed, feathers, and suspicious noises.

Behind a false wall in the grain warehouse sat their secret meeting room.

Maps covered the walls.

Chicken movement reports were pinned to bulletin boards.

A large chalkboard listed criminal objectives:

  1. Collect protection money.

  2. Avoid chickens.

  3. Collect more protection money.

  4. Continue avoiding chickens.

The plan was flawless.

Or so they thought.

Because nothing escaped the attention of Marshal Chester Finch.

Well…

Almost nothing.

Finch had actually visited the feed store twice that week.

Once to purchase emergency moped fuel.

And once because he thought they sold sandwiches.

Still, a clue finally appeared.

A frightened farmer reported seeing several outlaws carrying sacks labeled:

“Definitely Not Secret Criminal Supplies.”

Finch immediately became suspicious.

Years of law enforcement experience had taught him one important lesson.

Anyone carrying a sack labeled “Definitely Not Secret Criminal Supplies”was almost certainly carrying secret criminal supplies.

The Marshal climbed aboard his sputtering moped.

He adjusted his safety beacon.

Checked his siren.

Reviewed three pages of regulations concerning poultry-related organized crime.

Then slowly rolled toward town.

The chickens watched from rooftops.

The Feathered Brotherhood watched from behind feed sacks.

The townspeople peeked nervously through windows.

Something big was coming.

And for the first time since the chicken uprising began, the outlaws were no longer afraid of the birds.

They were afraid of Chester Finch.

Which was fortunate.

Because the chickens weren’t.


AZ Time Never Changes

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.    

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🏜️🛵


By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

Former Oklahoma City Acting Mayor Guy Liebmann Dies at 90

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

June 10th, 2026

Former Oklahoma Acting Mayor Had Grit, And Determination. A Marine. A State Lawmaker. And A Family Man.

              ——–

Public Servant Helped Guide Oklahoma City Through a Time of Transition

Local news media in Oklahoma appears to have ignored the former city council member and acting mayor service. 

Former Oklahoma City Mayor and Oklahoma State Representative Guy Hoyt Liebmann has passed away at the age of 90.

Former Oklahoma City Mayor and Oklahoma State Representative Guy Hoyt Liebmann has passed away at the age of 90.
Former Oklahoma City Mayor and Oklahoma State Representative Guy Hoyt Liebmann – passed away at the age of 90. Click here or on image for Memorial information.

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.

Guy Liebmann was 90 years old.

Funeral services and memorial information can be found here.


Benjamin Groff II
Groff Media © Truth Endures
Today We Remember

Do You Know Where He Was Last Week?

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

June 9, 2026

Pre-Trip Medical Evaluation For Politicians Over 70

Prepping Him For The Road Trip

Many physicians recommend a comprehensive health assessment before an extended speaking tour, especially if it involves frequent travel, time zone changes, or multiple appearances.

This might include:

  • Cardiovascular evaluation
  • Medication review
  • Blood work
  • Sleep assessment
  • Mobility and fall-risk evaluation
  • Vaccinations if international travel is involved

Hydration and Nutritional Support

Some physicians may recommend:

  • Intravenous (IV) hydration before travel if a person is prone to dehydration
  • Nutritional supplementation if deficiencies are present
  • Vitamin B12 injections for individuals who are deficient

It’s important to note that “wellness IVs” marketed for energy have limited scientific evidence unless treating a specific deficiency or dehydration.

Voice and Speaking Preparation

For public speakers, clergy, politicians, and entertainers:

  • Evaluation by an ear, nose, and throat specialist
  • Voice therapy with a speech-language pathologist
  • Treatment of acid reflux, which often affects vocal quality
  • Management of allergies or post-nasal drip

Sleep and Fatigue Management

A physician might:

  • Screen for sleep apnea
  • Adjust medications that cause fatigue
  • Recommend strategies for jet lag and circadian adjustment

Physical Conditioning Programs

Many older speakers benefit from:

  • Physical therapy
  • Balance training
  • Walking and endurance programs
  • Pulmonary rehabilitation if lung issues exist

Cognitive and Mental Performance

Some individuals undergo:

  • Cognitive screening
  • Memory assessments
  • Stress management training
  • Performance coaching for public speaking

What Most Public Figures Actually Do

Many older politicians, authors, ministers, professors, and entertainers who travel extensively often receive:

  • Regular physician monitoring
  • Scheduled rest days
  • Physical therapy or exercise coaching
  • Nutritional guidance
  • Voice coaching
  • Strategic scheduling to avoid exhaustion

If You’re Thinking About Someone Around 80 Like A President…And Perhaps Drugs?

If you’re thinking about a public figure in their late 70s or 80s preparing for a speaking circuit, or appearing in public at social events, the most common medical preparation would usually be a thorough physical examination and clearance from their physician, combined with careful management of sleep, hydration, medications, and travel schedules rather than a single special procedure

There are medications that can improve alertness, stamina, concentration, and wakefulness, and some public figures, executives, entertainers, and speakers have used them under medical supervision. However, they are not magic solutions, and for older adults the risks can become significant.

Some examples include:

  • Modafinil (Provigil) and Armodafinil (Nuvigil) — prescription “wakefulness-promoting” medications originally developed for narcolepsy and other sleep disorders. They can help reduce fatigue and improve alertness.
  • Traditional stimulants such as amphetamine-based medications and methylphenidate can increase energy and focus but carry greater risks involving blood pressure, heart rate, dependence, and cardiovascular events.
  • Some physicians may prescribe medications to address underlying causes of fatigue, such as depression, sleep disorders, anemia, hormone deficiencies, or vitamin deficiencies rather than prescribing stimulants directly.

For someone in their late 70s or 80s preparing for a national speaking tour, physicians are often more interested in:

  • Sleep quality
  • Hydration
  • Nutrition
  • Cardiac health
  • Medication interactions
  • Managing jet lag and travel fatigue

Rather than simply giving a stimulant. A healthy 80-year-old can often maintain a surprisingly active schedule with careful medical management and scheduling. That is, if they lay off the Big Macs and KFC deep fried chicken legs.

Historically, there have also been legends and reports about politicians, presidents, candidates, entertainers, and television personalities using various stimulants or wakefulness-promoting medications to keep up with demanding schedules. Unless the person or their physician discloses it, however, there is usually no reliable public evidence of what medications an individual is taking. As in the case of Michael Jackson. Occassionally someone will try to set up someone with planted illegal drugs, especially if there is a grudge of some sort involved.

If you’re wondering how an 80-year-old politician or public figure could maintain a grueling travel and speaking schedule, the answer is usually a combination of:

  1. Medications are used,
  2. Strategic scheduling and rest are monitored through IV applications similar to Jacksons.
  3. Nutrition and hydration is usually abandoned and the person will fall asleep in public.
  4. Exercise and conditioning in some cases are attempted or it has ended a long time ago.
  5. Sometimes medications that improve wakefulness or treat underlying fatigue-causing conditions are used or has been attempted but no longer work.

A healthy 80-year-old can often perform far beyond what many people expect, particularly if they have access to excellent medical care and a carefully managed schedule. If that is not the case. Then there is little hope the individual will be successful in managing their own home little alone the affairs of others.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

The Return Of Marshal Chester Finch: Chapter 2 Operation Colonel Panic

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 9, 2026

Chapter Two

Operation Colonel Panic


Marshal Chester Finch spent the night studying chickens.

Unfortunately, most of what he learned came from a pamphlet titled “The Happy Hen and You.”

It was not helpful.

By sunrise, the chickens controlled the bank, the feed store, and most of Main Street.

The mayor remained inside the water tower.

A rooster had been elected temporary chairman of the town council.

Nobody was entirely sure how.

Finch sat on the courthouse steps, sipping lukewarm coffee from a dented tin cup.

A large white rooster stared at him from across the street.

Finch stared back.

It isn’t finger licking good. It may be the Col’s Last Stand!

Neither blinked.

The contest lasted twelve minutes.

Finch lost.

The rooster appeared pleased with itself.

That was when an idea arrived.

It was not a good idea.

Most of Finch’s ideas weren’t.

But they occasionally worked.


Finch immediately called an emergency town meeting.

The remaining citizens crowded into the church basement.

Several carried broomsticks.

One brought a tennis racket.

Nobody asked why.

Finch unfolded a map of the town.

Then he placed a photograph in the center.

The crowd leaned closer.

The photograph showed Colonel Harland Sanders.

Silence filled the room.

Finally, the mayor raised a hand.

“Marshal?”

“Yes?”

“What exactly are we looking at?”

Finch pointed dramatically.

“The enemy’s greatest fear.”

The crowd exchanged confused looks.

“The Colonel?”

“The Colonel.”

“The fried chicken fellow?”

“The very same.”

A woman in the back gasped.

“My goodness.”

Nobody knew why she gasped.

But everyone appreciated the effort.


Finch paced slowly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, every chicken in America has heard the stories.”

“The stories?”

“The stories.”

“What stories?”

“The Colonel.”

Nobody understood.

Finch continued anyway.

“I propose we recruit volunteers.”

“For what?”

“To dress like Colonel Sanders.”

The mayor nearly swallowed his mustache.

“You’re serious?”

“No.”

The room relaxed.

Then Finch added:

“Unfortunately, it’s still our best idea.”

The room groaned.


Within hours, Operation Colonel Panic was underway.

The town theater donated white suits.

The barber shop supplied fake goatees.

The drugstore provided eyeglasses.

Soon dozens of citizens wandered around town dressed like Colonel Sanders.

The effect was unsettling.

Everywhere one looked, there were Colonels.

Colonels in wagons.

Colonels on porches.

Colonels riding bicycles.

One Colonel accidentally arrested another Colonel.

Nobody could remember which one was the real citizen.


Then came Finch’s masterstroke.

He sent telegrams across the territory.

The messages were brief.

NEED ACTORS IMMEDIATELY. STOP.

MUST RESEMBLE COLONEL SANDERS. STOP.

PAY IS QUESTIONABLE. STOP.

Several traveling performers accepted.

Among them was a red-haired singer from a touring stage company whose name sounded suspiciously like Reba McEntire.

She arrived with three wagons full of actors.

“Marshal,”

she said.

“I understand you need more Colonels.”

Finch tipped his hat.

“The town’s future may depend on it.”

She nodded seriously.

“I’ve performed before difficult audiences.”

“You have?”

“Twice in Amarillo.”

The room fell silent.

Everyone understood.


By sunset, nearly one hundred Colonel Sanders look-alikes marched through town.

The chickens watched.

The Colonels watched.

The townspeople watched.

Nothing happened.

For several minutes.

Then one young chicken saw a Colonel.

Another chicken saw two Colonels.

A rooster counted seventeen.

Panic spread through the flock.

Feathers exploded into the air.

Hundreds of chickens sprinted in every direction.

One rooster fainted.

Another attempted to surrender.

Three hens stole a wagon and headed west.

The townspeople cheered.

The mayor cried.

The sheriff briefly returned from retirement just long enough to announce he was proud of everyone.

Then he resigned again.


As darkness settled over the town, Finch stood beside his sputtering moped.

The chicken army had retreated.

For now.

But not all of them.

Across the distant hillside, illuminated by the moon, stood a dark figure.

A gigantic black rooster.

Far larger than any normal bird.

The creature stared down at the town.

Then it crowed.

The sound echoed for miles.

The remaining chickens immediately stopped running.

Slowly, they turned around.

And began marching back.

Finch adjusted his glasses.

“Well.”

The mayor gulped.

“What now?”

Finch climbed onto his moped.

The engine backfired.

A hubcap fell off.

The safety beacon began flashing.

“I suppose,”

Finch said,

“we’ve just met their leader.”

The giant rooster crowed again.

And somewhere in the darkness, the chickens prepared for war.

To Be Continued…cluck, cluck, cluck.

In Arizona Time Never Changes…

Chapter One: Chester Finch Is on the Case!

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 8, 2026

Chapter One


Chester Finch Is on the Case!

The telegram arrived just after sunrise.

URGENT. STOP.
TOWN OVERRUN BY CHICKENS. STOP.
SEND HELP IMMEDIATELY. STOP.

Marshal Chester Finch read the message twice. Then a third time.

“That can’t be right,”

he muttered.

He turned the telegram upside down.

Nope.

Still chickens.

Finch sighed heavily, folded the paper, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his wrinkled uniform. He had hoped for a quiet week. Maybe a missing cow. A stolen pie. Something civilized.

Instead, he was being summoned to a town apparently under siege by poultry.

He climbed onto his faithful moped, a machine that looked as though it had personally survived three wars and two tornadoes. The engine coughed, wheezed, and emitted a noise resembling an elderly goat clearing its throat.

Finch adjusted the flashing safety beacon mounted to the handlebars.

Regulations required it.

A wagon carrying 500 prize-winning chickens overturned. The mayor is trapped in a water tower. The sheriff has quit. Three outlaws surrendered out of sheer terror. Now the town’s last hope is Chester Finch—a weary marshal on a sputtering moped carrying a regulation handbook and far more questions than answers.

Nobody knew why.

He kicked the starter.

The moped groaned.

He kicked again.

The moped groaned louder.

A third kick finally convinced the machine to cooperate.

With a cloud of blue smoke, Chester Finch rolled toward destiny at a blistering speed of twenty-two miles per hour.


By the time Finch reached town, chaos ruled the streets.

Hundreds of chickens strutted everywhere.

They occupied porches.

They blocked sidewalks.

Several had apparently taken control of the post office.

One rooster stood on top of a wagon and crowed instructions to a flock gathered below.

“Organized,”    Finch observed grimly.

That was never a good sign.

The townspeople peered from windows.

Store owners barricaded their doors.

A group of children watched from a rooftop while taking bets on which chicken would attack next.

Finch parked his moped beside the town hall.

A chicken immediately pecked his front tire.

Finch wrote something in a small notebook.

“Destruction of government property,” he said.

The chicken seemed unimpressed.


The mayor emerged from the water tower using a rope ladder.

He looked exhausted.

His suit was covered in feathers.

“Marshal Finch!” he shouted. “Thank goodness you’ve arrived!”

Finch nodded.

The mayor looked around.

“Where is the rest of your team?”

“This is the team.”

The mayor blinked.

“You’re alone?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Finch pointed to the moped.

The mayor frowned.

The moped’s horn suddenly honked by itself.

“BEEEEP!

Finch nodded.

“See?”


Inside town hall, officials gathered around a large map.

The sheriff’s chair sat empty.

A handwritten note rested on the desk.

I quit. The chickens can have it.

Nobody blamed him.

The mayor pointed at the map.

“It started yesterday. A wagon carrying five hundred prize-winning chickens overturned on the north road.”

Finch listened carefully.

“They escaped.”

“Naturally.”

“Since then they’ve spread through town.”

Finch nodded.

“Any injuries?”

“A baker lost a muffin.”

“Serious?”

“It was blueberry.”

Finch removed his hat.

Everyone observed a respectful moment of silence.


A loud crash echoed outside.

A deputy rushed into the room.

“Marshal! The chickens have taken the courthouse steps!”

The mayor gasped.

Someone fainted.

Another person fainted because the first person fainted.

Finch slowly stood.

He picked up his regulation handbook.

Then he tucked it beneath his arm.

“Very well,” he said.

The room grew silent.

The townspeople stared at him expectantly.

This was the moment.

The legendary hero would unveil a brilliant strategy.

Perhaps a daring plan.

A secret weapon.

Some magnificent display of courage.

Instead, Finch opened the handbook.

He flipped through three hundred pages.

Then four hundred.

Finally he stopped.

“Interesting.”

The mayor leaned forward.

“What does it say?”

Finch adjusted his glasses.

“It says absolutely nothing about hostile chickens.”

The room groaned.

Finch closed the book.

“Which means,” he announced, “we are entering uncharted territory.”

Outside, somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed triumphantly.

The battle for the town had begun.

And Chester Finch was already behind schedule.


Chester Finch and the Great Moped Calamity

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 8, 2026

Chapter One

~ # ~

The Telegram


The trouble began on a Tuesday.

Deputy U.S. Marshal Chester Finch had never cared for Tuesdays.

Monday at least possessed ambition.

Chester Finch “Chapter One” Riding Into Town Cocked!

Friday had hope.

Saturday had purpose.

Tuesday simply appeared each week without apology and lingered far longer than necessary.

On this particular Tuesday, Finch was seated on the front porch of the federal office in Serenity attempting to determine whether a cloud over the western horizon resembled a horse or a baked potato.

He was leaning toward potato.

That was when the telegraph operator appeared.

The man looked exhausted.

This was unusual.

Telegraph operators generally spent most of their day sitting down.

“Marshal Finch!”

the man shouted.

Finch looked up.

“The federal government again?”

“No.”

“The railroad?”

“No.”

“The widow Patterson’s missing cat?”

“We found that three months ago.”

Finch nodded.

“Good cat.”

The operator handed him a folded telegram.

“It came marked urgent.”

Finch sighed.

Nothing marked urgent had ever improved his day.

He unfolded the paper.

The message was brief.

URGENT.

SITUATION OUT OF CONTROL.

LOCAL AUTHORITIES OVERWHELMED.

REQUEST IMMEDIATE FEDERAL ASSISTANCE.

DUSTBUCKET JUNCTION.

There was no signature.

No explanation.

No details whatsoever.

Finch read it twice.

Then once more.

He turned the paper upside down.

Nothing appeared.

“Helpful,”

he muttered.

The operator shifted nervously.

“What do you think it means?”

Finch folded the telegram.

“It means somebody has failed to provide important information.”

The operator nodded.

“That seems fair.”

Finch stood and stretched.

The joints in his back produced sounds generally associated with old furniture.

A small crowd had gathered nearby.

News traveled quickly in Serenity.

Especially news that wasn’t anyone’s business.

“Where you headed, Marshal?”

asked a merchant.

“Dustbucket Junction.”

The merchant’s face paled.

A woman gasped.

One man removed his hat.

Another whispered a brief prayer.

Finch frowned.

“What?”

The merchant leaned forward.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

The crowd exchanged nervous looks.

Nobody answered.

Finally an old rancher spoke.

“I heard things.”

“What things?”

The rancher lowered his voice.

“Strange things.”

Finch waited.

The rancher swallowed hard.

“Bird things.”

Silence followed.

Finch blinked.

The rancher nodded solemnly.

“Bird things.”

Finch stared for several seconds.

Then he carefully placed the telegram into his pocket.

“That is the least useful information I have ever received.”

The crowd nodded.

It was still apparently enough to worry them.

An hour later Finch packed his saddlebags.

By midafternoon he was ready to leave.

He swung a leg over the cherry-red moped.

The beacon light atop the rear luggage rack spun proudly.

The siren gave a short cheerful wail.

Children immediately appeared.

This happened every time.

Finch reached into the basket mounted to the handlebars.

He withdrew several pieces of hard candy.

The children cheered.

The first peppermint struck a fence post.

The second hit a barrel.

The third narrowly missed a passing dog.

The children scattered for cover.

Finch considered the exchange a complete success.

He started the engine.

The little machine coughed.

Sputtered.

Then settled into its familiar puttering rhythm.

The crowd waved.

Finch tipped his hat.

And slowly rolled west toward Dustbucket Junction.

Toward a mystery.

Toward trouble.

Toward something no one seemed willing to explain.

As evening settled across the prairie, a warm wind carried something unusual across the road ahead.

A single feather.

White.

Small.

Harmless.

It drifted lazily through the air and landed on the front fender of the moped.

Finch glanced down at it.

Then continued riding.

Had he looked up, he might have noticed hundreds more feathers drifting on the horizon.

Instead he disappeared into the sunset.

Completely unaware that Dustbucket Junction was waiting.

And that somewhere ahead, a group of mothercluckers was preparing to make history.

To Be Continued…

Tomorrow: Chapter Two — “Dustbucket Junction”

Deputy U.S. Marshal Chester Finch arrives in town and discovers that whatever has frightened the citizens is unlike anything he has encountered before. The Mayor is missing. The sheriff is hiding. And something appears to be occupying Main Street. The Mayor appears to have been plucked right off Main Street!

When Did You Decide? The Myth of Recruitment


© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

June 8,2026


What many LGBTQ+ people say about discovering who they are.

This is not the LGBTQ+ community going door to door attempting to convert people.

In some small town, somewhere in America, a young teenager is struggling to understand who they are.

They have begun to realize they don’t quite fit in with their classmates. Somewhere between elementary school and junior high, something changed—or perhaps something that had always been there finally became impossible to ignore.

No one taught them this. No one recruited them. No one sat them down and instructed them to feel differently.

“People may choose what they do. They may choose what they say. They may choose whom they tell. But many would argue they never chose whom they were attracted to. They simply discovered who they were.”

They simply do.

For as long as they can remember, they felt different from many of the people around them. They couldn’t explain it. They didn’t have the words for it. But as they grew older, they found themselves admiring classmates, friends, or even television stars of the same sex rather than the opposite sex.

They don’t understand why.

Most spend years trying to understand themselves before anyone else ever discovers their secret. Many pray. Many bargain with God. Many try to ignore their feelings. Some throw themselves into sports, church, relationships, or anything else they hope will make those feelings disappear.

Yet for countless people, the feelings remain.

That is why attempts to force someone to change through shame, punishment, or so-called “conversion therapies” have been so controversial. For many LGBTQ+ people, these approaches are not introducing a struggle they have never faced. They are intensifying a struggle they have already been fighting alone.

And when a young person receives the message that the people they love most would rather change them than understand them, the consequences can be devastating.

One of the most persistent myths is the idea that there is an organized effort to “recruit” people into being gay. The claim ignores a simple question:

When did you decide to be straight?

Most heterosexual people cannot point to a day, an hour, or a moment when they consciously chose who they were attracted to. They simply discovered it as they grew up.

Many gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people describe their experiences in much the same way.

People can certainly choose how they live, how they express themselves, and what relationships they pursue. But attraction itself is often described as something discovered rather than selected.

COMING OUT UNDER FIRE A WORLD WAR II STORY

World War II Veterans declare their identity.
“We felt liberated once we had discovered our own secret. We were gay.” Learn more. Visit here…

There are, of course, individuals who describe themselves as “gay for pay”—people who engage in same-sex activity for financial reasons rather than because of their personal orientation. That is a different discussion entirely. Behavior and attraction are not always the same thing.

The larger question remains: 

If people are being recruited into being gay, where is the moment of recruitment?

When did you choose who you were attracted to?   

For most people, the answer is the same.

You didn't.

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

The Fabric of Freedom? L.A. County Engineer Sues Over Pride Flag

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

June 6, 2026


Can walking past a rainbow flag once a day create a legally recognized hostile work environment? That is the question central to a high-profile federal lawsuit rocking Los Angeles County.

You see a Progress Flag, they see a Confederate flag.
Can a flag really cause that much stress? It’s wild to think that just looking at a symbol once a day can push someone to sue their employer.

Eric Batman, a senior civil engineer with 24 years of service at the Department of Public Works, has officially sued his employer. Represented by the Liberty Counsel—the conservative Christian legal group famous for representing Kentucky clerk Kim Davis—Batman argues that the county’s June Pride flag mandate violates his constitutional rights.

The Core of the Conflict

In 2023, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors passed a policy requiring the Progress Pride flag to fly outside many county buildings throughout the month of June.
For Batman, who works out of the department’s Alhambra headquarters, the flag is not a symbol of inclusion, but a confrontation. According to the lawsuit, Batman holds deeply rooted Christian beliefs regarding biblical marriage and human sexuality. He contends that forcing him to walk past the flag daily compels him to “celebrate, recognize, and solemnize” actions his faith deems sinful.

Denied Remote Work and the “Back Door” Suggestion

Hoping to avoid the display entirely, Batman requested to work from home for the month of June in both 2024 and 2025. He already splits his time as a partial remote worker, meaning the logistics for a temporary work-from-home stint were already established.
However, the county flatly denied his accommodation requests. According to the lawsuit, county supervisors stated that remote work conflicted with their commitment to a “welcoming environment for all”. Instead, management offered two alternatives:
  • Use the rear entrance: Enter and exit the Alhambra building through the back door to avoid looking at the front flagpole.
  • Seek mental health counseling: Utilize county-provided counseling if the flag caused him emotional or spiritual distress.
Batman rejected both offers, viewingly the suggestion of “counseling” for his religious convictions as an overtly hostile act by management.

The Legal Argument: A Clash of Rights

Filed in the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California (Eric Batman v. Los Angeles County et al.), the suit claims violations under:
  1. Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (Religious Discrimination)
  2. The First Amendment (Free Exercise of Religion and Freedom from Compelled Speech)
  3. The Fourteenth Amendment (Equal Protection)
  4. California’s Fair Employment and Housing Act (FEHA)
Batman’s lawyers highlight a crucial point of comparison: the county has previously allowed Muslim employees temporary remote work flexibility during Ramadan. By denying Batman a similar one-month accommodation, his attorneys argue the county is engaging in selective, unconstitutional bias.
Furthermore, the legal team points to the 2023 Supreme Court precedent Groff v. DeJoy, which dictates that employers must grant religious accommodations unless doing so causes “substantial increased costs” to business operations. Batman’s lawyers argue that since his work record is exemplary and he already works remotely part-time, a one-month extension carries zero burden for the county.

The Public Backlash: Where is the Line?

The lawsuit has split public opinion, triggering intense online debate:
  • Critics of the lawsuit point out that the flag is government speech on a public flagpole, not a personal mandate. They argue that simply seeing a flag on a walk into an office does not restrict an individual’s personal faith or constitute a hostile work environment.
  • Supporters of the engineer argue that true inclusivity must include people of faith. They argue that forcing an employee to sneak through a back door or suggest they need therapy for their religious beliefs crosses a clear line into institutional bullying.
This is notably the second lawsuit L.A. County faces regarding this specific flag policy, following a 2024 suit by an evangelical county lifeguard who objected to being forced to open or manage facilities flying the banner.
As the case makes its way through federal court, it serves as a stark reminder of the ongoing culture wars shifting from the political stage directly into corporate and government office spaces.

Flags at Capitol building
Progress Flag Flying High Above In Opposition Of Confederate Flag At Capitol Building

BUT WHY DO PEOPLE LOOK AT A PIECE OF MATERIAL IN SUCH A WAY

Some conservative and religious critics draw this comparison to explain the depth of their objection.

From their perspective, the comparison is about how a symbol can represent a hostile ideology rather than a message of inclusion. However, historians, legal scholars, and social analysts point out that the two flags represent fundamentally different historical and structural concepts.
The comparison can be broken down into two distinct viewpoints:
1. The Perspective of Religious and Conservative Critics
For individuals who share the engineer’s viewpoint, the comparison is based on the emotional and cultural impact of the symbol:
  • Symbol of Exclusion: Critics argue that the Progress Pride flag has moved beyond a symbol of civil rights and now represents a specific political ideology that excludes traditional religious beliefs.
  • Perceived Hostility: From this viewpoint, seeing the flag flying on government property feels like an official endorsement of values that contradict their faith, creating a sense of being unwelcome or marginalized in their own workplace.
  • Compelled Culture: They view the widespread adoption of the flag by corporations and government agencies as a form of cultural dominance, similar to how marginalized groups view the dominant display of controversial historical symbols.
2. The Historical and Sociological Context
Scholars, civil rights advocates, and supporters of the Pride flag argue that comparing the two symbols is a false equivalence due to their origins and purposes:
Feature The Progress Pride Flag The Confederate Flag
Core Purpose Symbolizes inclusion, equal rights, and protection for a historically marginalized minority group. Symbolizes the Confederacy, a historical rebellion fought to maintain the institution of chattel slavery.
Historical Context Emerged from grassroots civil rights movements (beginning with the 1978 Gilbert Baker flag) to advocate against discrimination and violence. Used by a wartime government explicitly dedicated to white supremacy and the subjugation of Black Americans.
Modern Usage Flown by institutions to signal a welcoming, diverse environment and compliance with anti-discrimination laws. Frequently used by hate groups, white supremacists, and anti-government movements as a symbol of intimidation.

Summary

While a conservative employee may experience a genuine sense of personal or religious discomfort seeing the Pride flag—viewing it as a symbol of an ideology hostile to their faith—the comparison to the Confederate flag breaks down under historical and legal analysis. One symbol was created to advocate for the inclusion of a minority group, while the other was created to defend the systemic oppression of one.
When it comes down to it, the people against the “Progressive Flag” or “Gay Flag” say they suffer the same emotional suffering as those who suffer from emotional scars from the “Confederate Flag.”
The bottom line? At the heart of the debate is a simple question: Can a symbol cause emotional harm? Those who oppose the Progress Pride flag argue that it does. Those who oppose the Confederate flag have made a similar claim for years. The disagreement is not over whether symbols carry meaning, but over which meanings society chooses to embrace and which it chooses to reject.

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com


The Forgotten Mothers – Is Yours One Of Them?

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

May 28, 2026


This piece is dedicated to my mother, Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff — one of countless mothers whose sacrifices slowly faded into the background of family history. Though often overlooked by many whose lives she helped shape, she remained deeply loved and remembered by her daughter Twila and by me, Benjamin Groff. Her kindness, endurance, creativity, and quiet strength remain part of the foundation upon which our lives were built. My sister sent me a writing that deeply reflects these sentiments.

There are mothers whose names will never appear in history books.

Love Lost To Time
Mothers Whose Dedication And Love Is Forgotten

No statues will be built in their honor.
No documentaries will celebrate their sacrifices.
No crowds will gather to remember what they carried through the long years of raising families, stretching paychecks, and trying to hold homes together while the world outside kept changing.

Yet millions of us exist because of them.

They were the women who quietly gave up pieces of themselves so their children could have a little more.
A little more food.
A little more confidence.
A little more hope.
A little more time to dream.

Many worked jobs nobody respected.
Others stayed home and performed labor that was never considered “real work” by the standards of modern society, despite the fact that their days began before sunrise and often ended long after everyone else had gone to sleep.

They cooked meals while bills piled up on kitchen counters.
They sewed buttons back onto school shirts.
They patched blue jeans.
They planted flowers beside homes that weren’t fancy but somehow always felt welcoming.
They stretched hamburger meat into meals for six people and somehow made it feel normal.
They worried silently so their children would not have to.

And many of them did all of it without ever hearing the words:
“Thank you.”

What is strange about life is that children rarely understand these things while growing up.

As kids, we remember bicycles, baseball gloves, birthday cakes, and Christmas mornings.
We remember rules we disliked.
Groundings.
Arguments.
Embarrassing moments.

But later, often decades later, the mind begins returning to smaller things.

A mother carrying groceries in from the car.
Her placing a purse on the trunk before tossing a few basketballs with her child in the driveway.
The smell of face cream before church.

mother playing ball after work.
Mother Playing Ball.

The sound of a washing machine late at night. A woman standing at the kitchen sink looking exhausted while still asking everybody else if they were hungry.

The sound of the vacuum sweeper running on a Saturday morning when all you wanted to do was sleep late. Only later do you realize it was the only time she had to get it done.

Small moments.
Ordinary moments.

The kind that seemed invisible at the time.

Many of those women came from generations that were taught not to complain.
They endured hardships quietly.
Some lived through wars, recessions, alcoholism, infidelity, illness, and disappointments they never fully spoke about.
Many buried dreams they once had because survival became more important than ambition.

And then age arrived.

One by one, society moved on from them.

The world became faster.
Technology replaced conversations.
Families spread apart.
Visits became shorter.
Phone calls became less frequent.

And somewhere along the way, many mothers who once held entire families together slowly became background figures in the very lives they helped create.

Some now sit in nursing homes.
Some live alone in quiet houses.
Some stare through windows waiting for visitors who seldom come.
Some have already passed away, leaving behind closets full of recipes, photographs, sewing kits, and handwritten notes nobody quite knows what to do with.

Yet after they are gone, strange things begin happening.

A certain perfume suddenly breaks a grown man’s heart in the middle of a grocery store.
A recipe becomes impossible to duplicate because “it never tastes like hers.”
A flower garden reminds someone of childhood.
A song from the radio decades ago causes tears nobody expected.

And people slowly begin realizing something they missed while rushing through life:

Those women were never ordinary.

They were the glue.
The emotional architecture of entire families.
The steady hand behind countless lives that succeeded because someone quietly kept the world from falling apart at home.

Not perfect.
No parent ever is.

But far more important than many of us understood at the time.

Maybe the forgotten mothers are not truly forgotten after all.

Maybe they continue living in the habits they taught us.
The kindness we show others.
The recipes we still cook.
The gardens we plant.
The way we comfort our children.
The way we try to survive difficult times with dignity because we once watched them do the same.

And maybe tonight, somewhere, someone reading these words will stop for a moment and remember a woman who spent most of her life making sure others felt loved… even while much of the world overlooked her.

If so, perhaps that memory itself is a form of gratitude long overdue.

— Truth Endures
benandsteve.com

Benjamin, Margie and Twila.
“Mama” (Marjorie) with Benjamin and Twila

Marjorie Groff 1930-2026


 

Dog Shoots Lady At Signal Light. A Story You Never Expected to Read

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

May 27th, 2026


When Dogs Go Armed: A Story You Never Expected to Read

There are headlines you expect to see in modern America. Political fights. Storm warnings. Celebrity scandals. Another debate about guns. But every once in a while, a story comes along that makes you stop, stare at the screen, and wonder if someone accidentally filed a script from a comedy movie into the news wire.

Dog Gone Shooting
Dog Shoots Person Outside Store.

Today was one of those days.

In what may be one of the strangest stories to come out of the American heartland in a long time, a dog in Scottsbluffreportedly managed to discharge a shotgun and injure a woman outside a convenience store.

Yes. You read that correctly.

According to reports carried by KNOP News and Gray News, police say officers were called to a convenience store after an initial report that someone had been shot with a BB gun. While officers were en route, dispatchers learned the incident actually involved a shotgun.

When police arrived, they discovered a truck with a camper attached. The passenger-side door panel showed damage consistent with a shotgun blast. Investigators say the owner had stopped at the convenience store while a passenger stood outside near the front passenger door. Inside the truck, a dog moved across the back seat, somehow triggering a shotgun that had a live shell chambered.

When the dog fired the shot, a woman sitting at a nearby traffic light reportedly had her arm resting outside her vehicle window. One pellet from the blast struck her in the upper right arm.

  ~~~~~

At that exact moment, a woman sitting at a nearby traffic light reportedly had her arm resting outside her vehicle window. One pellet from the blast struck her in the upper right arm. Thankfully, authorities said the injury was not believed to be life-threatening, and she was transported to a hospital by a family member.

Now let us all pause for a moment and absorb the fact that somewhere in the middle of America — about as close to the center of the nation as you can throw a dart, give or take a little left turn — a dog managed to become part of a shooting investigation.

 

Only in America could a sentence like that exist.

For years, the public conversation around firearms has focused on criminals, mental health, violence, politics, and public safety. But apparently nobody stopped to ask the important question:

“What happens if the Labrador gets involved?”

 

The irony writes itself. We have spent decades hearing about “good guys with guns” and “bad guys with guns,” and now the country may have entered a new and deeply confusing era:

Dogs with guns.

Of course, beneath the humor is a serious reminder. Firearms left loaded and unsecured inside vehicles can become dangerous under the strangest circumstances imaginable. In this case, it was not an armed criminal, an act of rage, or even recklessness in the traditional sense. It was a dog moving across a seat.

That alone should be enough to make every gun owner stop and think.

Suspected of accidentally shooting cat lady…

Still, somewhere out there tonight, a golden retriever is probably being looked at with just a little more suspicion than usual.

And one can only imagine the next question modern America may eventually have to answer:

Will it someday take a good dog with a gun to stop a bad dog with a gun?

Then again, maybe this entire incident was cosmic payback. Maybe she was a lifelong cat lady. Maybe she had once yelled at a barking dog somewhere back in 1987. The universe keeps records on these things. Apparently, so do Labradors.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

No Virginia, The United States Isn’t On The Verge Of Collapse ––– Yet!

When Fear Becomes a Product: The Truth Behind Viral “Insider Warning” Stories

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

May 26th, 2026


HELP!
The continual warning that something is out to get you!

Every few years America experiences a new wave of warnings that spread across social media like wildfire. Sometimes it is about economic collapse. Sometimes war. Sometimes shortages, blackouts, or the idea that “people in power know something the rest of us do not.”

Recently, one of those stories began circulating again. It tells of an Uber driver picking up a mysterious government-connected passenger near Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport who quietly warns him that America is approaching energy shortages, water failures, and regional power outages tied to tensions involving Iran and the Strait of Hormuz. By the end of the story, the frightened driver is ordering emergency water filters for his family while urging readers to do the same before it is “too late.”

It is dramatic writing. It is emotional writing. And parts of it are built around very real fears.

But that does not make the story factual.

The Truth Hidden Inside the Fiction

Roswell aliens crash into Santa.
Santa and Aliens, Fictional are they?

What makes stories like this powerful is that they mix truth with exaggeration.

There really are tensions in the Middle East affecting global oil markets. There really are concerns about power grid vulnerabilities around the world. Countries such as Cuba have experienced major electrical failures in recent years. Some regions in Africa and South America have dealt with fuel shortages and rolling blackouts.

Even here in the United States, people remember:

  • the Texas winter grid collapse,
  • gasoline shortages after pipeline cyberattacks,
  • supply chain disruptions during COVID,
  • and rising utility costs.

Those things happened.

What has NOT been confirmed is the darker prediction at the center of the viral story:

  • there is no verified evidence of planned “energy lockdowns,”
  • no public confirmation of an imminent nationwide grid collapse,
  • and no proof that insiders are secretly warning friends and family of an unavoidable societal breakdown.

The biggest clue comes at the end of the story itself.

After pages of fear and suspense, the reader is directed toward a specific survival product. That changes the entire nature of the piece. It stops being a warning and starts becoming marketing.

Fear has always sold products.

America’s Real Problem May Be Distrust

The reason these stories spread so quickly is because many Americans no longer trust institutions to tell them the truth.

That distrust did not appear overnight.

People have watched:

  • political division deepen,
  • economic pressure increase,
  • corporations profit during crises,
  • and ordinary families struggle with inflation, housing costs, and uncertainty.

So when someone reads a story claiming that “the people at the top already know,” it feels believable — even when evidence is thin.

The emotional part of the story works because millions of Americans already feel vulnerable.

Preparedness Is Wisdom — Panic Is Business

There is nothing wrong with being prepared.

Having:

  • bottled water,
  • canned food,
  • flashlights,
  • batteries,
  • medication backups,
  • or even a portable water filter

is simply common sense in a world where storms, outages, and emergencies happen.

That is very different from believing civilization is six weeks away from collapse.

One mindset encourages responsibility.

The other encourages panic.

And panic has become a business model online.

The Bigger Lesson

The most important lesson may not be about Iran, oil, or water filters at all.

It may be this:

Electrical setup
Electrical Substation

We are living in an age where emotional storytelling can feel more convincing than verified facts.

A well-written narrative can move people faster than a government report ever will.

That means readers must slow down, ask questions, and separate:

  • genuine preparedness from fear marketing,
  • evidence from rumor,
  • and possibility from certainty.

Because once fear becomes profitable, somebody will always find a way to sell it.


— benandsteve.com | Truth Endures

The Ragin’ Cajun: Doug Kershaw, Rusty Kershaw, and the Louisiana Sound That Shook America

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

May 25, 2026


From Louisiana dance halls to national television, the Kershaw brothers carried Cajun music into the American spotlight with fiddles, fire, heartbreak, and unforgettable Southern spirit.

The canjun era playboys
Rusty and Doug Kershaw

There are entertainers who become famous, and then there are entertainers who become woven into the cultural identity of an entire region. Doug Kershaw belongs in that second category.

For generations of Americans, the sound of Cajun music was introduced not through textbooks or documentaries, but through the fiery fiddle and unforgettable personality of the man known as “The Ragin’ Cajun.”

Born in Louisiana in 1936, Doug Kershaw grew up surrounded by the sounds of French-speaking Cajun culture. In fact, he reportedly did not learn English fluently until around the age of eight. Music came first. By childhood he had already mastered the fiddle and was performing professionally while still young. But Doug’s rise was not a solo journey.

Standing beside him during those early years was his younger brother, Rusty Kershaw.

The Ragin Cajun era
Rusty and Doug Kershaw

Together, the Kershaw brothers became one of the most recognizable Cajun acts in America during the 1950s and early 1960s. Rusty often played guitar while Doug handled the fiddle and vocals. The pairing worked perfectly. Doug brought explosive energy and showmanship, while Rusty added a smoother musical balance that grounded the performances. Their harmonies and stage chemistry helped carry Cajun music far beyond Louisiana dance halls and onto national stages.

The brothers recorded together under names such as “The Continental Playboys” and later found growing popularity with songs that blended traditional Cajun sounds with country and rock influences. Their performances helped open doors for Cajun music at a time when much of America had little exposure to the culture. In many ways, the Kershaw brothers became ambassadors for an entire way of life rooted in the Louisiana bayous.

Doug’s signature song, “Louisiana Man,” eventually became one of the defining Cajun recordings of the modern era. Written while serving in the military alongside Rusty, the song would later be recorded by hundreds of artists and become permanently tied to Louisiana musical history.

But success also brought hardship.

By the 1960s, the brothers’ partnership began to fracture under the pressures of touring, fame, and personal struggles. Rusty Kershaw battled severe substance abuse problems for years, an issue that would haunt much of his life and career. While Doug continued rising as a solo performer known worldwide as “The Ragin’ Cajun,” Rusty drifted through periods of instability despite remaining respected by musicians who recognized his immense talent.

Still, Rusty’s influence on Southern music remained significant. He worked with major artists, performed in recording sessions, and continued contributing to the broader Louisiana music scene even when public attention faded. Musicians who knew him often described him as gifted, deeply authentic, and troubled by demons that shadowed many performers of that era.

Rusty Kershaw in Nashville 1955
Rusty Kershaw,  from recording with brother Doug.

Rusty Kershaw died in 2001 at the age of 63.

Doug, meanwhile, carried on. Like many gifted performers of his generation, he openly battled depression and substance abuse during portions of his own life, yet continued performing with the same fiery spirit audiences had always loved. His story carried the same rough edges and resilience found in the music he played.

As of 2026, Doug Kershaw is still alive at 90 years old, a living reminder of a uniquely American musical tradition that once echoed from dance halls, roadside bars, radio stations, and county fairs across the South.

Over the years many people have also confused Doug Kershaw with another famous Louisiana-born performer, Sammy Kershaw. The similarity in names, combined with their Louisiana roots and unmistakable Southern styles, naturally led audiences to assume the two men were related. Surprisingly, they are not known to be close relatives.

Sammy Kershaw rose to fame during the 1990s country music boom with songs such as “She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful,” “Cadillac Style,” and “Queen of My Double Wide Trailer.” Where Doug Kershaw exploded onto stages with a fiddle and Cajun rhythms, Sammy carried Louisiana into mainstream country radio with honky-tonk storytelling and a voice many compared to George Jones.

What connected all of them was not necessarily blood, but heritage.

They emerged from the rich musical soil of Louisiana, where Cajun traditions, country music, gospel, swamp pop, and Southern storytelling blended into something that could not have come from anywhere else in America. Louisiana did not merely produce singers during that era — it produced personalities. Characters. Performers whose accents, styles, and energy reflected an entire culture.

In many ways, Doug and Rusty Kershaw helped pave the road for later Louisiana performers like Sammy Kershaw to reach national audiences while still sounding unmistakably Southern. One represented the wild spirit of Cajun fiddle music. Another represented its soulful backbone. Together they helped preserve the sound of Louisiana for generations of listeners.

And perhaps that is the real legacy of “The Ragin’ Cajun.” Doug Kershaw did not simply entertain audiences. He carried a culture with him every time he stepped onto a stage — fiddle in hand, sweat pouring under the lights, and enough energy to shake the walls like a Gulf Coast thunderstorm.

CBS Television: Slowly Dimming the Lights on a Broadcasting Legacy

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

May 23, 2026


The Lights Are Fading at CBS Television

The latest to be targeted "news rooms"

For years, programs like the television series FBI, NCIS, and Elsbeth built loyal audiences by offering dependable storytelling and familiar characters. Recently, however, some longtime viewers have expressed frustration not necessarily with the shows themselves, but with broader concerns surrounding the direction and management of CBS and CBS News.

  • CBS News evening news ratings have struggled in 2026. Reports indicate the network’s nightly news audience has remained well behind competitors at ABC and NBC, with several weeks falling below 4 million viewers.
  • Industry analysts have noted that some CBS entertainment programs are seeing softer live ratings compared to prior seasons, especially among traditional broadcast audiences. Elsbeth has been described by ratings analysts as one of CBS’s weaker live-viewed scripted programs, relying more heavily on delayed streaming audiences.
  • While flagship franchises like NCIS and FBI remain successful enough to receive renewals, overall network dominance has weakened. Industry reports suggest NBC may surpass CBS in total seasonal broadcast viewers for the first time in over a decade.
  • Online viewer commentary increasingly reflects frustration with corporate leadership decisions at CBS and Paramount rather than criticism of the actors or writing themselves. Viewer comments attached to ratings articles frequently mention distrust or dissatisfaction with network management decisions influencing their viewing habits.

Among certain audiences, that dissatisfaction appears to be spilling over into entertainment programming, with some viewers choosing to step away from the network altogether. Whether fair or not, perception matters in television, and public trust in a network can influence how audiences respond to its scripted content.

Shows like NCIS, FBI, and Elsbeth still deliver solid performances and experienced casts, but there is growing evidence that audience frustration with the direction of CBS and CBS News is beginning to affect viewer loyalty across the network. Ratings reports show CBS losing ground in several key areas, while online discussion increasingly centers on dissatisfaction with management decisions rather than the shows themselves. Whether temporary or long-term, the network appears to be facing a growing disconnect with part of its traditional audience.

The casts and production teams behind these programs continue delivering polished work, but viewer impressions of corporate leadership and news operations are increasingly becoming part of the conversation surrounding the network’s prime-time lineup.

Viewers continue to drift away, switching off the network in search of outlets they believe are more trustworthy and reliable. For many longtime television audiences, the situation feels like the fading of a legacy once defined by credibility and journalistic strength. One can only imagine pioneers like Walter Cronkite and Edward R. Murrow looking on with disappointment at what many viewers believe CBS has become


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

Eggcorns: The Funny Little Mistakes That Quietly Shape the English Language

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

May 20th, 2026

__________________________________________________________________

The Funny Lines That Become Twisted Over Time Making Life Interesting

Language is a strange thing.

Most of us grow up hearing phrases long before we ever see them written down. Over time, our brains quietly reshape words into something that sounds more logical, more familiar, or simply easier to understand. That is how we end up living in a “doggie dog world” instead of a “dog-eat-dog world.”

And honestly? If you stop and think about it, “doggie dog world” almost sounds nicer.

These kinds of verbal mix-ups are called eggcorns — a term linguists use to describe phrases that are mistakenly altered into something that still seems to make sense. The name itself came from someone hearing the word “acorn” and believing it was “eggcorn.” Strange as it sounded, the listener’s brain tried to make sense of it. An acorn is roundish. Egg-like. Corn-like. Thus, eggcorn.

The English language is absolutely filled with them.


The “Hard Road to Hoe” That Was Never About Walking

One of the most common examples is:

“A hard road to hoe.”

A hard row to hoe.
A hard roe to hoe!

Many people picture a difficult journey down a rough road. But the original phrase is:

“A hard row to hoe.”

It comes from farming. A “row” referred to a long crop row in a field. Hoeing it was backbreaking work under a hot sun. The phrase was never about roads at all. It was about labor.

But because modern ears hear “road” more often than “row” in everyday conversation, the phrase slowly drifted.

And that is what language does. It adapts itself to what people recognize.


“Hone In” or “Home In”?

Then there is the classic:

“Hone in on.”

Traditionally, the phrase was:

“Home in on.”

Like a homing pigeon or a guided missile finding its target.

To “hone” something means to sharpen it, like a blade. Yet over the years, “hone in” became so common that many dictionaries now accept it as standard usage.

That is the fascinating thing about language. If enough people say something long enough, eventually the language itself shrugs and says:

“Fine. We’ll allow it.”


Other Eggcorns We Hear Every Day

Some of these are so common people no longer realize they are technically incorrect:

  • For all intensive purposes
    instead of
    For all intents and purposes
  • Escape goat
    instead of
    Scapegoat
  • Old timer’s disease
    instead of
    Alzheimer’s disease
  • Nip it in the butt
    instead of
    Nip it in the bud     

    Nip It!
  • Tow the line
    instead of
    Toe the line
  • Wet your appetite
    instead of
    Whet your appetite

Some are humorous. Some are innocent misunderstandings. Others become so deeply rooted they eventually work themselves into everyday speech.


Why Eggcorns Matter

At first glance, this all sounds like harmless comedy. And it is. But it is also something deeper.

Eggcorns reveal how humans process language.

We are storytellers by nature. Our minds constantly try to turn confusing sounds into meaningful ideas. We reshape speech to fit our understanding of the world around us.

That is why a child hearing “dog-eat-dog world” might instinctively convert it into “doggie dog world.” The original phrase sounds violent and odd. The replacement sounds familiar and comforting.

The brain prefers familiarity over precision.

In many ways, eggcorns are tiny snapshots of human thought itself.


The Living Nature of Language

There was a time when scholars fiercely guarded “proper English” as though it were carved into stone tablets somewhere.

But language has never stood still.

Every generation changes pronunciation, invents slang, reshapes meanings, and occasionally mishears a phrase so thoroughly that the mistake becomes accepted truth.

That is not corruption.

That is evolution.

The English spoken today would sound almost foreign to Americans living in the 1700s. Likewise, the English of the future will likely sound strange to us.

And somewhere out there right now, a child is hearing a phrase incorrectly and unknowingly creating tomorrow’s accepted version of it.


Final Thoughts

Perhaps the beauty of eggcorns is that they remind us language belongs to ordinary people, not dictionaries.

It belongs to grandparents sitting at kitchen tables.

To tired workers talking over coffee.

To children trying to understand adult conversations.

To radio announcers, police officers, farmers, mechanics, teachers, and families passing stories along generation after generation.

Language is alive because people are alive.

And sometimes, even in a doggie dog world, that is something worth remembering.

MY FAVORITE?

There are actually three of them.

“Champing at the bit” often becomes “chomping at the bit.”
“Deep-seated” somehow turns into “deep-seeded.”
And perhaps my favorite of all is the argument-ending classic:

“You’ve got another think coming.”

Yet many people say:

“You’ve got another thing coming.”

Ironically, both versions now circulate so widely that most people never stop to question which one is correct. The original phrase — “another think coming” — was meant to suggest that someone needed to reconsider their thoughts because they were mistaken. Over time, “thing” sounded more natural to modern ears, and the altered version quietly marched its way into everyday conversation.

That is the magic of eggcorns. They are not just mistakes. They are little examples of the human mind trying to make language fit the world it understands.


For more reflections on language, culture, history, and everyday life, keep following benandsteve.com — where stories and memories continue to remind us that truth endures.

Viral “Human Jerky” Story Making the Rounds Again — But It’s Fiction, Not Fact

Regardless, You May Never Eat Beef Jerky With The Same Satisfaction Again.

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

Suspect Manipulator

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.

It is internet folklore dressed up as breaking news. And on this occasion, if you happen to see the story floating around Facebook, TikTok, or anywhere else online, you have the official blessing of benandsteve.com and GroffMedia©2026 — Truth Endures — to politely inform whoever is posting it that it is, without question, truly FAKE NEWS!


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

The Most Dangerous Crisis on Earth May Not Be What You Think

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


What Happens When Humanity Can No Longer Agree on Reality?

For generations, people feared the end of the world would arrive in dramatic fashion. Nuclear war. Asteroids. Global pandemics. Economic collapse. Religious prophecy. Environmental disaster. Machines taking over mankind.

Yet the most serious threat facing humanity today may be quieter than all of them.

It may be the slow collapse of truth itself.

Not truth in a philosophical sense. Not debates over religion or politics. Humanity has always argued over ideas. Civilization was built on disagreement. But throughout history, societies generally shared a common understanding of reality. Facts still mattered. Evidence still mattered. Institutions, despite flaws, still carried enough trust to hold nations together.

Today, that foundation is cracking.

Around the world, entire populations now live inside separate realities built by algorithms, partisan media, influencers, governments, artificial intelligence, and emotional manipulation. People no longer merely disagree on solutions. Increasingly, they disagree on what is real to begin with.

And that changes everything.

The Age of Manufactured Reality

Human beings were never designed to absorb information at the speed modern technology now delivers it. Every second, millions of posts, videos, opinions, accusations, conspiracy theories, and manufactured outrage flood screens across the globe.

Truth now competes with entertainment.

Facts compete with emotion.

Accuracy competes with virality.

The result is a world where the loudest voices often overpower the most honest ones.

A lie used to travel town to town by rumor. Today it circles the globe in minutes.

Artificial intelligence has only accelerated the problem. Deepfake videos, cloned voices, manipulated photographs, and fabricated stories are becoming increasingly difficult to identify. Soon, people may no longer trust what they see with their own eyes.

That is not merely a technological issue.

It is a civilization issue.

When Trust Dies, Nations Fracture

Every major system on Earth depends on trust.

Governments require citizens to believe elections matter.

Courts require people to believe justice exists.

Doctors require patients to trust medicine.

Journalists require readers to trust reporting.

Families require trust to survive at all.

Once trust erodes, societies begin to fracture into tribes. Fear replaces cooperation. Anger replaces dialogue. Suspicion replaces reason.

The danger is not simply political division. Humanity has survived division before.

The danger is what happens when millions of people become convinced that every institution, every source of information, and every opposing viewpoint is part of an enemy conspiracy.

At that point, compromise becomes betrayal.

And democracy itself begins to weaken.

Technology Advanced Faster Than Human Wisdom

Humanity now holds astonishing power.

We can communicate instantly across continents. We can alter genetics. We can create machines capable of mimicking human intelligence. We can destroy nations with weapons powerful enough to erase entire cities in minutes.

Yet emotionally, politically, and ethically, humanity often still behaves as it did centuries ago.

Greed remains.

Hatred remains.

Fear remains.

Tribalism remains.

The tools evolved faster than the human mind using them.

That imbalance may be the defining crisis of our time.

Humanity now holds astonishing power.

The Real Battlefield Is the Human Mind

Once populations lose the ability to separate truth from manipulation, freedom itself becomes fragile.

Every conflict now involves information warfare.

Political campaigns manipulate emotions.

Foreign governments spread propaganda online.

Corporations compete for attention by exploiting outrage.

Social media rewards anger because anger keeps people engaged.

The battlefield is no longer only land, oil, or military strength.

The battlefield is perception itself.

Who controls fear often controls public behavior.

Who controls information increasingly controls society.

That reality should concern every person on Earth regardless of political party, religion, nationality, race, or ideology.

Because once populations lose the ability to separate truth from manipulation, freedom itself becomes fragile.

Can Humanity Recover?

Most importantly, it requires ordinary people willing to listen before condemning one another.

History shows civilizations survive difficult times when enough people choose reason over hysteria, dialogue over hatred, and truth over convenience.

But that requires effort.

It requires people willing to question information even when it supports their own beliefs.

It requires media organizations willing to prioritize facts over clicks.

It requires leaders willing to calm fear rather than weaponize it.

And perhaps most importantly, it requires ordinary people willing to listen before condemning one another.

That may sound simple.

In today’s world, it may be one of the hardest things humanity has ever attempted.

Final Thought

It may be that human beings are losing the ability to trust one another long enough to solve any of those problems together.

The greatest threat facing humanity may not be climate change, nuclear war, artificial intelligence, or economic collapse alone.

It may be that human beings are losing the ability to trust one another long enough to solve any of those problems together.

And if that continues, history may someday record that civilization did not collapse because mankind lacked intelligence.

It collapsed because mankind stopped believing anything — including each other.


— benandsteve.com
Truth Endures

The Bible, Abortion, and the Politics of Selective Morality

There is no sense in debating the issues of abortion, racial prejudices involving the Palestinian People, and whether or not there is a God or the equal rights movement, in sixty years people will still be debating these issues, why fall in that trap?

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com


Open antique law book with ornate initial, brass balance scale, quill, and inkpot on wooden table
GroffMedia©TruthEndures 2006

For decades, anti-abortion organizations in America have cited Biblical authority as the foundational justification for their movement. Through protest signs, political speeches, church campaigns, and fundraising letters, they represent opposition to abortion not merely as a political issue, but as an unequivocal mandate from God. However, this essay contends that such appeals to scripture are selective and may overlook significant biblical passages that both complicate and, at times, directly challenge the certainty and absolutism with which many modern anti-abortion groups present their views.

Former U.S. President Jimmy Carter once suggested that there was no sense in debating the issues of abortion, racial prejudices involving the Palestinian People, and whether or not there is a God or the equal rights movement. Barry Goldwater overheard him saying that in 60 years, people will still fight one another over these subjects. Putting together an argument to be sure to use them as political hay, so there is no use in my falling for their trap! And he was right. Regardless of what is decided today, others will continue to argue for the rights of these regardless of what is decided now. Today is never definite.

Still.

The verses ignored in these debates are violent, uncomfortable, and inconvenient to absolute arguments.

One of the most often mentioned passages is Genesis 2:7, which says life begins when Adam receives “the breath of life.” People who oppose abortion interpret this verse in various ways, but critics say it suggests personhood starts at birth, with breath, instead of at conception. This view is very different from modern political claims that life begins at fertilization.

Exodus 21:22-25 discusses a scenario in which a pregnant woman is injured during a fight and consequently loses her fetus. According to scholars such as Phyllis Trible and John J. Collins, the punishment prescribed for this loss differs significantly from that for killing a person, indicating that the biblical text assigns a different value to fetal life (Trible, 1978; Collins, 2004). 

Historians, including Jonathan Klawans and Christine Hayes, also contend that ancient Hebrew law did not equate fetal death with the killing of an already born individual, but rather treated it as a lesser offense within its legal system (Klawans, 2012; Hayes, 2001).

Perhaps most controversial is Numbers 5:11-31, called the “ordeal of bitter water.” In this passage, a priest performs a ritual on a woman suspected of adultery. Critics of anti-abortion theology say the text describes a divinely sanctioned miscarriage if adultery occurred. Opponents of modern anti-abortion activism see a contradiction: groups say the Bible always condemns abortion, yet they rarely discuss a passage that seems to permit or even command ending a pregnancy in some cases.

The criticism gets stronger when readers see violent Old Testament passages about pregnant women and children. In 2 Kings 8:12 and Hosea 13:16, invading armies rip open pregnant women. Isaiah 13:18 describes unborn children destroyed during judgment. Critics say that while these verses describe war or punishment, they challenge claims that scripture always treats fetal life as sacred.

To many observers, the issue is not merely theology — it is selective morality.

Critics say anti-abortion movements focus on a few verses while ignoring bigger Biblical themes, like poverty, healthcare, compassion, violence, orphan care, and social justice. Some also say these organizations fight abortion but oppose programs that could reduce unwanted pregnancies, like prenatal care, food aid, childcare, sex education, or affordable healthcare.

Others say the modern anti-abortion movement is political as well as religious. Historians have shown that abortion became a key issue in American conservative politics in the late 1970s and 1980s. It helped mobilize voters and build evangelical political power. Critics believe this history raises questions about whether the movement is based on scripture or on political strategy wrapped in religious language.

At the same time, many people of faith point to scriptures such as Psalm 139:13-16 (“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb”) and Jeremiah 1:5 (“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you”) as evidence that unborn life holds deep spiritual value. For them, the abortion debate is not political, but a sincere belief that life is sacred from its earliest beginnings.

This does not mean that the Bible is “anti-abortion” or “pro-abortion”. The scriptures are ancient, complex, and have been read differently by various groups over hundreds of years. Many sincere believers oppose abortion because they value the unborn life. Critics, however, reject the idea that opposition is the only Christian view. People who believe in a sky daddy, and maybe still, in a real Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, or Easter Bunny, according to extreme critics.

Desert camp with large tents, stone tablets inscribed with ancient symbols, and people walking around at dusk.

The larger question may not be whether scripture can be used to oppose abortion. Clearly, it can.

The central issue, therefore, is whether anti-abortion groups sufficiently address the complexity and diversity inherent in Biblical teachings when presenting them as absolute authority in the abortion debate. This raises a broader question: whether these groups offer a comprehensive, contextually nuanced interpretation of scripture, or, as critics argue, oversimplify and selectively interpret biblical texts to serve specific political and ideological agendas. Thus, the debate centers not only on what the Bible says about abortion, but also on how faithfully its teachings are represented in contemporary discourse.

When difficult verses are excluded and uncomfortable passages ignored, faith risks drifting from spiritual truth toward political convenience. If scripture is going to be used to shape public belief, then all of scripture — including the passages that appear to challenge the argument — should be part of the discussion. As the old saying goes, “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” People should be trusted to hear the full text and decide for themselves, rather than being instructed only on what they are expected to believe. Yet for some, allowing that kind of open examination may itself be seen as a threat to established belief.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

The Psychology Behind Trust and Child Exploitation

The Psychology of Trust, Exploitation, and Child Predators in Positions of Authority

By Benjamin Groff II
Groff Media © Truth Endures


Few crimes produce stronger emotional reactions than crimes against children.

Cracked City Police badge with number 1342 on a dirty rough surface

The public response is immediate and understandable. Anger. Revulsion. Confusion. A collective demand to know how any adult could sexually exploit a child. Yet despite the outrage, many conversations stop before reaching the deeper and more uncomfortable questions.

What psychologically drives a person toward underage victims?

Why do some offenders deliberately place themselves in positions of authority and trust?

And why do cases involving police officers, clergy, teachers, coaches, youth leaders, and other authority figures command such intense public attention?

These are difficult questions. But they are questions worth examining carefully and honestly if society truly wants to understand how these crimes occur and how they can be prevented.

Understanding Pedophilia Versus Child Sexual Abuse

One of the first and most important distinctions is understanding that not every individual who sexually abuses a child is clinically classified as a pedophile.

The term “pedophilia” is often used broadly in public discussion, but clinically speaking, pedophilic disorder refers to persistent sexual attraction toward prepubescent children. Mental health professionals recognize it as a psychiatric condition involving recurring fantasies, urges, or behaviors focused on children.

However, many offenders who commit crimes against minors are not exclusively attracted to children.

Some offenders are driven by:

  • power and domination,
  • opportunity and access,
  • emotional immaturity,
  • compulsive sexual behavior,
  • antisocial personality traits,
  • narcissism,
  • sadism,
  • or the ability to exploit vulnerable individuals with little resistance.

Criminologists often refer to some of these offenders as “situational offenders.” In other words, their crimes may stem more from opportunity, access, and control than from exclusive attraction to children themselves.

That distinction matters because understanding motive is critical to prevention.

A predator motivated by opportunity may seek environments with weak supervision or vulnerable victims. A predator motivated by compulsive attraction may develop elaborate grooming behaviors and hidden patterns over many years.

Both are dangerous. But they are not always psychologically identical.

The Role of Authority, Access, and Trust

When stories emerge involving police officers, clergy, teachers, coaches, or youth leaders, public reaction becomes even more intense.

Part of that reaction stems from betrayal.

Society grants authority figures unusual levels of trust. Parents trust teachers with their children. Communities trust officers to protect them. Churches trust clergy with spiritual guidance. Youth programs trust coaches and mentors to shape young lives.

Predators understand this.

Research into offender behavior has repeatedly shown that some predators intentionally seek environments where:

  • children are present,
  • trust is automatic,
  • questioning authority is discouraged,
  • and institutional reputation may suppress complaints or disbelief.

Predators often do not hide from society.

They embed themselves inside it.

This is one reason grooming behavior is so psychologically effective. Grooming is not merely manipulation of a child. It frequently involves manipulation of parents, coworkers, institutions, churches, and entire communities.

The offender cultivates an image of respectability and dependability. Many become known as “good people,” “helpful,” “professional,” or “dedicated.” That public image becomes part of the camouflage.

Communities are often stunned after an arrest because the accused individual “never seemed like that type.”

But predators rarely advertise themselves as monsters.

Most understand exactly how normal they need to appear.

Why Police Cases Draw Extraordinary Attention

When a police officer is accused of crimes involving children, public attention intensifies immediately.

That does not necessarily mean police officers offend at higher rates than the general population. Existing national evidence does not conclusively establish that law enforcement officers commit child sex crimes at disproportionately higher levels overall.

However, police cases attract extraordinary media coverage because policing carries unique public responsibilities.

Police officers:

  • enforce laws,
  • investigate crimes,
  • interact with vulnerable people,
  • understand investigative systems,
  • and carry the authority of the state itself.

When an officer violates those expectations, the betrayal feels magnified.

The same phenomenon occurs in scandals involving clergy, teachers, coaches, corrections officers, or youth leaders. The issue is not merely the crime itself. It is the collapse of trust surrounding the position.

Media organizations also prioritize such stories because they involve:

  • public accountability,
  • abuse of authority,
  • institutional credibility,
  • and perceived hypocrisy.

As a result, cases involving officers often receive significantly more visibility than similar cases involving private citizens.

This heightened visibility can create the impression that certain professions are uniquely linked to offending behavior when, in reality, the profession itself may simply place the offender under far brighter scrutiny.

Compartmentalization: The Double Life

Perhaps one of the most disturbing psychological aspects of these crimes is the ability many offenders have to compartmentalize their lives.

Some maintain:

  • careers,
  • marriages,
  • friendships,
  • church involvement,
  • community respect,
  • and public service roles
    while simultaneously hiding predatory behavior.

This psychological splitting is often compared to:

  • addiction psychology,
  • narcissistic compartmentalization,
  • cognitive dissonance,
  • or dual-identity behavior.

The public often expects predators to appear obviously disturbed or socially isolated. Yet many offenders are socially functional, organized, and outwardly respected.

That disconnect is precisely what makes these crimes so difficult for communities to process.

People struggle to reconcile the trusted public figure with the hidden private behavior.

In many cases, the offender himself psychologically separates the two identities, convincing himself he remains a “good person” despite criminal actions.

That internal justification process is frequently found in offender interviews and criminal psychology studies.

Institutional Fear and Silence

Another difficult reality is that institutions themselves sometimes become vulnerable to denial.

Organizations fear:

  • lawsuits,
  • scandal,
  • public embarrassment,
  • loss of trust,
  • political consequences,
  • or financial fallout.

This can lead to:

  • ignored warning signs,
  • minimized complaints,
  • transferred offenders,
  • or pressure placed on victims to remain silent.

Historically, many major scandals involving abuse were not created by one offender alone, but by systems that failed to act decisively when concerns first surfaced.

This is why transparency, reporting systems, independent investigations, and accountability matter so deeply in professions involving vulnerable populations.

The Uncomfortable Truth

The hardest truth for many people to accept is that predators are often not strangers lurking in dark alleys.

Many are trusted members of communities.

They may wear uniforms.
They may stand behind pulpits.
They may coach Little League teams.
They may teach classrooms.
They may work in law enforcement.
They may sit beside families in church pews every Sunday.

That reality does not mean entire professions are corrupt.

It means trust itself can become a weapon in the hands of the wrong person.

And perhaps that is why these crimes disturb society so deeply.

Because they force people to confront a painful realization:
sometimes the people communities trust the most are the very people least suspected of betrayal.

Understanding that reality is uncomfortable.

Ignoring it is dangerous.

The Weight of Accusation

There is another side to these investigations that society rarely discusses openly.

Antique brass balance scales on wooden surface with shadow on cracked textured wall

The emotional horror surrounding crimes against children is so intense that accusation alone can sometimes become enough to destroy a person long before evidence is ever examined.

One former officer described an incident that illustrates how quickly perception can overtake truth.

Late one evening, a teenage boy reportedly stopped by the officer’s private residence and asked him to write a fake citation so he could use it as identification to appear older and gain entrance into a nightclub.

The officer refused and told the youth to leave.

According to the account, the teenager became angry and shouted back:

“You’re gay. I’m telling everybody.”

The officer dismissed the comment, closed the door, and thought nothing more about the exchange.

The following evening, however, when he reported for duty, he was immediately summoned into the Major’s office.

The teenager had filed allegations claiming the officer had made sexual advances toward him the night before.

The officer was suspended pending investigation.

Within hours, rumors had already begun spreading throughout the community.

The most difficult part for the officer was not simply the investigation itself. It was the realization that in allegations involving minors and sexual misconduct, innocence often struggles to compete against suspicion.

He had no witnesses.
No recording devices.
No defense except his own word.

The encounter had taken place in the privacy of his own home.

Yet public opinion had already begun forming long before any investigation reached conclusions.

This reality creates an uncomfortable but necessary truth society must confront carefully.

Protecting children must always remain a priority. Allegations involving minors deserve immediate and serious investigation.

At the same time, accusations alone cannot become automatic proof of guilt.

History has shown both realities can exist simultaneously:
real predators do hide within trusted institutions,
and false accusations, misunderstandings, retaliation, or exaggerated claims can also occur.

The challenge for investigators, communities, and institutions is maintaining enough emotional discipline to pursue truth instead of simply reacting to fear.

That balance is difficult.

But without it, justice itself can become compromised from both directions.

How the T-Shirt Became an American Icon

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


creative clothesline with paper t shirt art
Photo by Marek Ruczaj on Pexels.com

Someone asked during a conversation yesterday where the T-shirt got its name.

I honestly had never given it much thought. It was just… a T-shirt. That’s what everyone called it when I was growing up. A plain white undershirt hanging on a clothesline, folded in dresser drawers, or tossed over the back of a chair was simply a “T-shirt.” No explanation ever needed.

But the question stayed with me.

Everything has an origin. Even the most ordinary things we stop noticing had to begin somewhere. Somebody, somewhere, had to create it, name it, wear it, and eventually make it part of everyday life. So I decided to do a little digging.

What I found was surprisingly interesting.

A Shirt Shaped Like a Letter

The most widely accepted explanation is also the simplest: the shirt resembles the shape of a capital “T” when laid flat. Sleeves stretched outward, body hanging downward — there it was. A “T-shirt.”

Sometimes the simplest answer really is the correct one.

But the story goes deeper than shape alone.

The U.S. Navy and the Birth of the Modern T-Shirt

The modern T-shirt is largely credited to the United States Navy around 1913. Sailors were issued lightweight, short-sleeved cotton undershirts to wear beneath their uniforms.

Navy Tee-Shirt Origin Groff Media

At the time, heavy wool uniforms were common, uncomfortable, and brutally hot below deck. These new cotton shirts were breathable, washable, inexpensive, and practical. Sailors began wearing them while working, especially in warmer climates.

Before long, they were being worn not just under uniforms — but by themselves.

That simple military undershirt quietly became one of the most recognized articles of clothing on Earth.

Did the “T” Mean “Training”?

There are also theories suggesting the “T” stood for “training,” as in “training shirt,” particularly tied to military use. While interesting, historians generally lean toward the far simpler explanation involving the shirt’s shape.

Still, like many pieces of history, a little mystery remains.

Literature Helped Spread the Name

This Side of Paradise – Groff Media©2026

One of the earliest known uses of the term “T-shirt” in popular culture came from author F. Scott Fitzgerald in his 1920 novel This Side of Paradise.

That surprised me.

The idea that something now hanging in nearly every closet in America once sounded modern enough to appear as fresh terminology in literature is hard to imagine today.

The Dockworker Theory

There is also an older and far less accepted theory that similar garments called “tea shirts” were worn by dockworkers as far back as the late 1600s. Some believe the term gradually evolved into “T-shirt.”

Most historians, however, still point back to the military undershirt and the shirt’s unmistakable shape as the true origin.

From Underwear to American Icon

What fascinates me most is how something designed simply as underwear became a cultural symbol.

The T-shirt went from military practicality to factory wear, then to rebellion, fashion, concerts, politics, advertising, and self-expression. It became a billboard for causes, rock bands, opinions, humor, memories, and identity itself.

person wearing white and red nirvana top

Everybody owns one.

Rich or poor.
Young or old.
Farmer, mechanic, teacher, police officer, celebrity, or kid riding a bicycle down a dusty street in summer.

The T-shirt may be one of the few pieces of clothing that truly belongs to everybody.

And all these years later, most of us never once stopped to ask why it was called that.

Sometimes the most interesting stories are hidden inside the most ordinary things.



Benjamin Groff II
Groff Media © Truth Endures

Paid to Spy: When Infiltrating a Group Is Legal… and When It Isn’t

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


WASHINGTON — The Southern Poverty Law Center was indicted Tuesday April 21st, 2026 on federal fraud charges alleging it improperly raised millions of dollars to pay informants to infiltrate the Ku Klux Klan and other extremist groups, acting Attorney General Todd Blanche said.

The Justice Department alleges the civil rights group defrauded donors by using their money to fund the very extremism it claimed to be fighting, with payments of at least $3 million between 2014 and 2023 to people affiliated with the Ku Klux Klan, the United Klans of America, the National Socialist Party of America and other extremist groups.

“The SPLC was not dismantling these groups. It was instead manufacturing the extremism it purports to oppose by paying sources to stoke racial hatred,” Blanche said.

You can read NPR’s Article Here.


Law enforcement does this regularly.

Police departments and federal agencies pay:

  • Informants
  • Undercover officers
  • Cooperating witnesses

They send people into criminal organizations to gather information, build cases, and prevent crimes.

That part? Completely legal.


The law draws a very clear boundary.

Authorities are allowed to:

  • Watch
  • Listen
  • Document
  • Blend in

That’s where a concept called entrapment comes in.


In Jacobson v. United States, the government spent over two years trying to convince a man to commit a crime.

They didn’t just observe him—they pushed him.

They sent repeated messages.
They applied pressure.
They nudged him toward a decision he hadn’t made on his own.

Eventually, he gave in.

The Supreme Court stepped in and said: That’s not justice—that’s manufacturing a crime.

The conviction was overturned.


Here it is, as simple as it gets:

  • Legal: Infiltrating a group that is already doing something illegal
  • Illegal: Pushing someone to commit a crime they weren’t already going to commit

That’s the dividing line.


This is where things get more dangerous—and more likely illegal.

If a private individual or organization pays someone to infiltrate a group, problems can stack up quickly:

  • Lying to gain access can become fraud
  • Recording people can violate privacy laws
  • Gathering information can cross into harassment or surveillance
  • Encouraging wrongdoing can turn into conspiracy

In short:
What law enforcement can legally do under rules and oversight, private individuals usually cannot.


We live in a time where people are suspicious.
Of institutions.
Of politics.
Of each other.

Stories about infiltration—real or imagined—spread quickly because they tap into that distrust.

But the law hasn’t changed as much as the conversation has.

The same basic principle still applies:


Paying someone to infiltrate a group is not automatically illegal.

But the moment that infiltration turns into:

  • Pressure
  • Manipulation
  • Or manufactured crime

…it crosses a line the courts have been very clear about.

And once that line is crossed, the case—and sometimes the credibility of those behind it—falls apart.


Selective Outrage Is Killing Accountability

The Rules Change—Depending on Who Breaks Them

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures


When allegations hit Eric Swalwell, the reaction is immediate.

There isn't the same ethics being applied.
Eric Swalwell Hit With Double Standard

Cameras. Headlines. Demand

Resign. Investigate. Answer now!

That’s the system working—at least on the surface.

But step back—and the pattern becomes impossible to ignore:

The standard isn’t consistent. It’s conditional.


The Timeline They Don’t Want Side by Side

2026 — Swalwell

  • Allegations surface
  • Immediate national attention
  • Calls for resignation begin almost instantly

👉 Expectation set: Allegations alone demand action.


2024–Present — Matt Gaetz

  • Federal investigation tied to serious allegations
  • No charges filed; denies wrongdoing
  • Remains in office, politically active

👉 Reality: Survived the storm.


2025–Present — Cory Mills

Cory Mills
Cory Mills
  • Ethics scrutiny reported
  • Limited sustained national pressure
  • No decisive congressional action

👉 Reality: Investigation without urgency.


2022 — Tom Reed

  • Accused of misconduct
  • Resigned

👉 Reality: Consequence matched expectation.


Recent Cycles — Tony Gonzales

  • Personal controversy surfaces
  • Steps away politically
  • Little sustained national reckoning

👉 Reality: Quiet exits don’t trigger loud accountability.


Go Back Further—The Pattern Was Already There

This isn’t new. It didn’t start this year. Or last year.

Dennis Hastert

  • Long after leaving office, it was revealed he had sexually abused minors decades earlier
  • Served prison time—but only after financial crimes exposed the cover-up

👉 Reality: Power delayed accountability for years.


Mark Foley

  • Resigned in 2006 after explicit messages to congressional pages
  • Questions followed about who knew—and how long it was ignored

👉 Reality: Action came—but only after exposure became unavoidable.


Roy Moore

  • Accused of sexual misconduct involving minors during his campaign
  • Lost election—but retained strong political backing

👉 Reality: Allegations alone didn’t collapse support.


Jim Jordan

Jim Jordan
  • Accused by former athletes of ignoring abuse while a wrestling coach
  • Denied wrongdoing
  • Remains in Congress with no formal consequence

👉 Reality: Allegations alone didn’t trigger removal.


Now Step Back and Look at It Clearly

CLICK ON IMAGE FOR REPORT

Across years. Across headlines. Across parties.

The pattern repeats:

  • Some accusations trigger immediate political collapse
  • Others linger, fade, or get absorbed into the noise
  • Some careers end overnight
  • Others continue uninterrupted

Same system. Different outcomes.


The Truth Voters Are Starting to Accept

This isn’t about one politician.
It isn’t even about one party.

It’s about a system where:

  • Outrage is selective
  • Pressure is strategic
  • Accountability is inconsistent

And once people see that clearly, something changes.

They stop reacting to the scandal.

They start questioning the system behind it.


Accountability Cannot Be Conditional

If the rule is:

“Allegations demand immediate scrutiny and consequences”

Then that rule must apply:

  • Every time
  • To everyone
  • Without exception

Because the moment it doesn’t—

It stops being accountability.


Final Word — The Line That Matters

This isn’t about defending Eric Swalwell.

It’s about whether the same fire lit under him
burns just as hot under everyone else.

Because if it doesn’t—

Then what we’re watching isn’t justice.
It isn’t integrity.
And it sure isn’t leadership.

It’s performance.
It’s protection.
It’s power deciding when truth matters.


Truth Endures

Not because politicians defend it.
Not because parties protect it.

But because, eventually—
people see it for themselves
!

There should be resignations coming from more than just Democrats!

Truth Endures!


© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com Groff Media

A Story I Picked Up From The Surfing The Web About A Man Helping His Wife Through Labor…

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


A man rushed his very pregnant wife to the hospital as her labor pains began.

After examining her, the doctor looked up with a serious expression.
“This is going to be a difficult delivery,” he said. “But… there is an experimental choice.”

The couple leaned in.

“There’s a machine,” the doctor explained, “that can transfer a part of the mother’s pain to the father. It would significantly reduce what she feels during labor.”

Without hesitation, the husband said, “Hook me up.”

The doctor raised a cautious finger.


“There’s one small issue… a flaw in the mechanism. The pain transferred to you is amplified—up to ten times stronger than what she experiences. If it becomes too much, you must tell me at once.”

The husband nodded confidently. “I can handle it.”

The machine was connected.

The doctor started at 10%.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Honestly?” the husband said. “I don’t feel a thing.”

Curious, the doctor increased it to 30%… then 50%… then 80%.

Still nothing.

The doctor was amazed. He pushed it all the way to 100%. Due to the flaw, this meant the husband was now receiving ten times the full intensity of labor pain.

He stood there calmly.

No grimace.
No flinch.
Not even a bead of sweat.

Meanwhile, his wife delivered the baby with remarkable ease.

The doctor, stunned, turned to the husband.
““I have never seen anything like this in my entire career.”

Proud, the couple gathered their newborn and headed home, marveling at what had just happened.

But when they arrived…

There, on the front doorstep…

Lay the mailman.

Dead.

I am only retelling this story. I am not responsible for the contents. Just for the ending. Which I had nothing to do with.

The End.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

Running on Coffee and Commitment – How First Responders Survive Fatigue

When the walls begin to close in. No backup. No one else to call. Because you are the help.

Part II – Learning To Talk

Fatigue in emergency services doesn’t arrive all at once.

It builds slowly—call after call, hour after hour. Sometime in the middle of the night, the body begins to remind you just how long you’ve been awake.

And that’s usually when the next call comes in.


By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


Photo by Jonathan Cooper on Pexels.com

In emergency services there is a moment most people never see.

It usually happens sometime after midnight, when the world is quiet and the station lights are dim. The calls have slowed down just enough that someone finally drifts off in the Bunkroom.

Then the tones drop.

Within seconds the calm disappears. Boots hit the floor, radios crackle to life, and another emergency begins.

For many first responders, that moment repeats itself again and again over the course of a shift. Sleep comes in fragments—ten minutes here, twenty minutes there—if it comes at all.

Yet the work still has to be done.

Patients still need treatment.
Ambulances still need to move quickly and safely through traffic.
Decisions still have to be made in seconds.

So how do first responders manage when sleep is scarce?

The answer, in many cases, is a combination of training, teamwork, and habits built over years of long nights.


Coffee: The Unofficial Fuel of Emergency Services

Walk into almost any firehouse, EMS station, or dispatch center. You will find a coffee pot that never truly turns off.

Caffeine has become the unofficial fuel of emergency work. It sharpens focus, pushes back fatigue, and gives providers the extra edge they need when exhaustion begins to creep in.

But caffeine is a temporary solution, not a cure. It can help providers stay alert for short periods, but it cannot replace the restorative effects of real sleep.

Still, for many crews working through the night, that cup of coffee becomes a small but necessary ally.


The Power of the Partner Check

Another important defense against fatigue is something emergency services have relied on for decades—watching out for each other.

In EMS and law enforcement alike, partners often double-check each other’s work when exhaustion sets in.

One medic confirms a medication dose while the other prepares it.
A partner reviews a treatment decision before it is carried out.
A tired driver is reminded to pull over or slow down when fatigue becomes obvious.

These small moments of teamwork are often invisible to the public. Still, they are an important safety net inside the profession.


Experience and Muscle Memory

Years of training also play a role in helping providers function when they are tired.

Many of the most critical skills in emergency medicine are practiced repeatedly until they become almost automatic. Starting an IV, assessing a patient’s airway, or reading a cardiac monitor are actions that experienced providers perform almost instinctively.

That muscle memory helps bridge the gap when fatigue clouds thinking.

But even the most experienced provider is still human. Fatigue eventually catches up with everyone.


Humor in the Middle of the Night

One of the most common coping tools in emergency services may surprise outsiders: humor.

First responders have a long tradition of gallows humor. It’s a way of releasing tension, staying connected with coworkers, and pushing through difficult moments.

A quiet station at three in the morning may suddenly erupt in laughter. It might be over a joke, a story from a previous call, or something completely ridiculous.

That humor isn’t about disrespect. It’s about survival.

Sometimes laughter is the only thing that keeps a tired crew moving through the night.


The Quiet Drive Back to the Station

After the sirens fade, the patient is delivered to the hospital. There is often a quiet drive back to the station.

For many providers, that ride is the moment when exhaustion becomes most noticeable.

The adrenaline of the call is gone. The road stretches ahead. The body begins to remember how tired it really is.

Those moments are why conversations about fatigue are becoming more important within emergency services.

First responders have always found ways to push through exhaustion. However, the goal should never be simply to endure it.

The goal should be to manage it.


A Profession Built on Dedication

The reality is that fatigue has always been part of emergency services.

Long shifts and unpredictable calls are part of the job. The responsibility of protecting the public adds to it. This means the job will never fit neatly into a normal sleep schedule.

But despite those challenges, first responders continue to answer the call.

They rely on training, teamwork, and professionalism to carry them through the long nights.

And when the tones drop again—whether it’s midnight, three in the morning, or just before sunrise—they get up and go.

Because that’s what the job requires.



When the Tones Drop at 3 A.M.: The Hidden Fatigue Crisis in EMS

An International Discussion For Police,Fire, EMT’s, Dispatch and You!

For paramedics, EMTs, and first responders, sleep often becomes the one thing emergency medicine never seems to deliver. The science is clear—fatigue affects judgment, safety, and patient care. Yet the process still runs on sleepless shifts.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026


When the Tones Drop at 3 A.M.: Fatigue and the Reality of EMS Life

For EMS providers, fatigue isn’t just an inconvenience or a badge of honor. It’s a real operational risk that affects patient care, provider safety, and the long-term health of the workforce. Research over the past several decades has repeatedly shown that lack of sleep slows reaction time. It interferes with judgment. It also increases the likelihood of mistakes and accidents.

You understand something the general public rarely sees if you’ve ever been jolted awake in a station Bunkroom. This happens when the shrill sound of dispatch tones rings at 2:47 in the morning. In emergency medical services, sleep often feels like something promised but rarely delivered.

Anyone who has worked long shifts in emergency services knows exactly what that looks like in the real world. The medic drives back from a call, fighting heavy eyelids. The paramedic double-checks medication calculations at four in the morning because the numbers won’t quite settle in the brain. The crew member stares at a cardiac screen, trying to push through mental fog.

Before we talk about solutions, it helps to understand how EMS developed this culture of chronic sleep deprivation. It’s also important to know why meaningful rest can be so difficult to find on the job.


The Science Behind Sleep Deprivation

Sleep isn’t a luxury. It’s a biological need that allows the brain and body to recover and operate properly. Most adults need somewhere between seven and nine hours of restorative sleep within a 24-hour period.

For EMS providers, reaching even half that amount during a shift can feel like a victory.

Research shows that the effects of sleep deprivation can be dramatic:

• After approximately 17 hours awake, a person’s cognitive performance declines significantly. It begins to resemble someone with a blood alcohol concentration around 0.05%.
• After 24 hours without sleep, impairment can resemble a 0.10% BAC, well above the legal driving limit in most states.
• Fatigue affects reaction speed, memory, and the ability to make complex decisions—all critical skills in emergency medicine.

Studies examining EMS providers have also revealed troubling patterns. Many report experiencing severe fatigue regularly. A significant number acknowledge that they have fallen asleep behind the wheel after finishing a shift.

For providers in the field, these statistics aren’t abstract numbers. They show up in everyday moments:

• struggling to concentrate on a pediatric medication calculation
• catching yourself drifting at a stoplight on the way back to the station
• taking longer than usual to interpret patient data during a call

The long-term consequences of chronic sleep deprivation can also be severe. Poor sleep has been linked with higher risks of heart disease, diabetes, obesity, depression, and anxiety. Over time, fatigue contributes to burnout and drives experienced providers away from the profession.

Ironically, other industries that rely on safety-critical decision making—like aviation and commercial trucking—strictly regulate work hours and rest periods. EMS, nonetheless, often operates under schedules that allow providers to stay on duty for 24 hours or longer.


How EMS Ended Up With 24-Hour Shifts

Many EMS scheduling practices trace their roots to the fire service.

When modern EMS systems began developing in the 1960s and 1970s, many ambulance operations were integrated into fire departments. Firefighters traditionally worked 24 hours on duty. They followed this with 48 hours off. This schedule was manageable when fire calls were relatively infrequent.

EMS adopted this structure, even though medical call volumes soon far exceeded those of fire responses.

There were several reasons the schedule remained popular:

Staffing efficiency
Long shifts need fewer personnel to keep coverage.

Fewer commutes
Working a 24-hour shift means fewer trips to and from work during the week. This is something many providers appreciate, especially those in rural areas.

Overtime opportunities
Long shifts make it easier to pick up extra work. This increases income for providers. It also reduces hiring pressure on agencies.

Tradition
Like many aspects of emergency services culture, once a system becomes established it tends to stay that way.


Other Scheduling Models

Although the 24-hour shift remains common in many departments, other models are used as well.

12-hour shifts
Common in high-volume urban EMS systems. They reduce extreme fatigue but need more staff and more frequent shift changes.

Kelly schedules
A modified version of the 24/48 rotation that periodically adds an extra day off for recovery.

48/96 rotations
Two days on duty followed by four days off. Some providers enjoy the extended time off, but fatigue can become severe if call volume is high.

Peak-hour staffing
Extra crews are scheduled during the busiest times of day to reduce workload during overnight hours.

Each system has advantages and disadvantages. The challenge for agencies is balancing staffing levels, budgets, and provider well-being.


The Reality of Multiple Jobs

Another factor contributing to fatigue is the financial reality of EMS work.

Many providers hold second—or even third—jobs to make ends meet. A medic often finishes a 24-hour shift at one service. Then, they report to another agency for extra hours.

In some cases, providers stay awake and working for 48 hours or longer. While overtime can be financially appealing, the physical and mental toll can be enormous.


Why Sleep Is So Difficult in EMS

Even when schedules theoretically allow for rest, real-world conditions often make sleep difficult.

Unpredictable call volume
One shift is quiet, while the next produces a constant stream of calls.

Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

Station environments
Bunkrooms are noisy, crowded, or poorly designed for restorative sleep.

Cultural expectations
In some departments, daytime naps are still discouraged despite overnight calls.

Stigma surrounding fatigue
Many providers hesitate to admit exhaustion for fear of appearing weak.

The result is a workforce that often operates on minimal rest while still being expected to deliver high-level medical care.


What Agencies Are Trying

Across the United States and internationally, EMS organizations have begun experimenting with strategies to tackle fatigue.

Fatigue management programs
Training and policies designed to recognize fatigue as a safety hazard.

Improved sleep spaces
Some agencies are redesigning stations to create quieter, darker rest areas for crews.

Adjusted shift schedules
Shorter shifts or hybrid scheduling models may reduce extreme fatigue.

Data-driven staffing
Deploying extra units during peak call hours can reduce workload during overnight periods.

None of these solutions is perfect. Budget constraints, staffing shortages, and operational demands make large changes difficult for many agencies.

Still, awareness of the issue is growing.


Personal Responsibility Matters Too

While system design plays a major role, providers also have some responsibility for managing fatigue.

That means prioritizing sleep on off-days, maintaining healthy routines, and recognizing when exhaustion affect performance.

Emergency services professionals often pride themselves on toughness, but fatigue is not a personal weakness—it’s a biological reality. Recognizing its effects is part of professional responsibility.


The Cost of Ignoring Fatigue

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

When fatigue becomes normalized within a profession, the consequences ripple outward.

Operational efficiency declines.
Morale suffers.
Experienced providers leave the field.

Most importantly, fatigue can affect the quality of care patients get.

Communities depend on EMS professionals to respond quickly and make critical decisions under pressure. Those responsibilities need clear thinking and alertness—something difficult to keep without adequate rest.


Moving Forward

Fatigue will always be part of emergency services to some degree. The unpredictable nature of the job makes perfect schedules impossible.

But acknowledging the problem is an important first step.

Agencies can explore smarter scheduling, better rest environments, and policies that recognize fatigue as a safety issue. Providers can take steps to manage their own sleep habits and recovery time.

The tones will still drop in the middle of the night. That’s part of the job.

The profession can continue working toward systems. These systems protect both the providers who answer those calls. They also protect the communities they serve.


References

Williamson AM, Feyer AM. Moderate sleep deprivation produces impairments in cognitive and motor performance equivalent to legally prescribed levels of alcohol intoxication. Occup Environ Med. 2000 Oct;57(10):649-55. doi: 10.1136/oem.57.10.649. PMID: 10984335; PMCID: PMC1739867.

Billings JM. Firefighter sleep: a pilot study of the agreement between actigraphy and self-reported sleep measures. J Clin Sleep Med. 2022 Jan 1;18(1):109-117. doi: 10.5664/jcsm.9566. PMID: 34314350; PMCID: PMC8807900.

Patterson PD, Martin SE, Brassil BN, Hsiao WH, Weaver MD, Okerman TS, Seitz SN, Patterson CG, Robinson K. The Emergency Medical Services Sleep Health Study: A cluster-randomized trial. Sleep Health. 2023 Feb;9(1):64-76. doi: 10.1016/j.sleh.2022.09.013. Epub 2022 Nov 10. PMID: 36372657.

Cox M, Cramm H. Laying the foundation: exploring the family impact of public safety personnel sleep health. FACETS. 2025;10:1-14. doi: 10.1139/facets-2025-0081

Holland-Winkler AM, Greene DR, Oberther TJ. The Cyclical Battle of Insomnia and Mental Health Impairment in Firefighters: A Narrative Review. J Clin Med. 2024 Apr 9;13(8):2169. doi: 10.3390/jcm13082169. PMID: 38673442; PMCID: PMC11050272.

Marvin G, Schram B, Orr R, Canetti EFD. Occupation-Induced Fatigue and Impacts on Emergency First Responders: A Systematic Review. Int J Environ Res Public Health. 2023 Nov 12;20(22):7055. doi: 10.3390/ijerph20227055. PMID: 37998287; PMCID: PMC10671419.

Huang G, Lee TY, Banda KJ, Pien LC, Jen HJ, Chen R, Liu D, Hsiao SS, Chou KR. Prevalence of sleep disorders among first responders for medical emergencies: A meta-analysis. J Glob Health. 2022 Oct 20;12:04092. doi: 10.7189/jogh.12.04092. PMID: 36269052; PMCID: PMC9585923.

Billings JM, Jahnke SA. Effects of a 24/48 to 48/96 Shift Schedule Change on Firefighter Sleep and Health: Short-Term Improvements and Six-Month Stability. Int J Environ Res Public Health. 2025 Nov 5;22(11):1678. doi: 10.3390/ijerph22111678. PMID: 41302624; PMCID: PMC12652382.

Be sure to follow up on emergency news and information at JEMS.

https://www.jems.com

Marjorie Bernice McWhirter Groff Dies at Age 95

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.

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures


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.


Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

A Note to Our Readers: Looking Ahead to a New Journey

https://cdn.britannica.com/72/189672-050-EC848109/Aerial-view-Grosser-Tiergarten-skyline-Berlin-Germany.jpg

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

2–3 minutes

A journey is beginning, not yet fully mapped.
We wanted to share where our thoughts are headed next.


Some plans start as ideas, not itineraries.
This is one of those moments.

Steven And Benjamin

I wanted to share a brief but meaningful update with those of you who read, follow, and support this site. Over the years, this space has become more than a place to publish stories—it has become a point of connection. Because of that, it feels right to let you know something. We are quietly and thoughtfully planning it for the months ahead.

https://pct-wp-prod.storage.googleapis.com/2024/03/13101932/dsc8548up-edit.jpg

My husband and I have started planning. We are in the early stages of what we hope will be a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Europe. At this stage, everything is tentative and flexible, but the intention is sincere. Our route would take us from Phoenix to Salt Lake City. We would then travel to New York. Next, we would cross the Atlantic to Amsterdam, and continue on to Berlin. From there, we hope to spend time traveling through Germany. We also plan to visit neighboring countries. Prague is one place high on our list.

https://www.jacadatravel.com/_next/image/?q=100&url=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.jacadatravel.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fbis-images%2F477813%2FBavaria-AdobeStock_125534945-3200x1800-f50_50.jpg&w=3840

The time-frame we are considering is September, though no dates are locked in yet. This trip is not about just checking destinations off a list. It’s more about slowing down. We want to see places with intention and appreciate the history, culture, and everyday life of the regions we visit. Germany, in particular, feels like a place where time deserves to be taken. This is true whether in cities, small towns, or the countryside in between.

This isn’t an announcement—just a looking ahead.
A few early plans, and an open door for conversation
.

https://goeasyberlin.de/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Brandenburger-Tor-facebook-e1480504772406.jpg

The journey brings one of the most meaningful hopes. It is the possibility of meeting people I’ve come to know through writing over the years. Words have a way of building bridges, and in some cases, those connections feel more like extended family than acquaintances. If you are in or near Berlin, Prague, or Amsterdam, I would genuinely welcome your thoughts. I would also appreciate your insights if you know those places well.

https://www.sociallifeproject.org/content/images/2022/04/Amsterdam_Netherlands_ek_Sep09-174-2.jpg

If you have advice on places that shouldn’t be missed, I would be grateful to hear them. Share routes worth taking or quieter corners that offer something special. Practical tips for traveling through these areas are also welcome. And if our paths happen to cross along the way, that would be a gift in itself.

https://i0.wp.com/www.travelworldmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/riding_rails_europe.jpg

More details will come as plans take shape. For now, this is simply a look ahead. We invite you to share your thoughts, insights, and recommendations in the comments below.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures


Your Voice Matters: What’s the Most Disappointing Part of 2026 So Far?

Groff Media ©2026 benandsteve.com Truth Endures

1–2 minutes

We’re only at the beginning of 2026, yet many of us already feel the weight of events unfolding around us. Some disappointments are loud and public, others quieter and deeply personal. They come from headlines. Leadership is a source. Disappointments arise from a loss of trust. It is simply the sense that we keep revisiting the same struggles under new names.

This space isn’t about arguments or absolutes—it’s about honest reflection. Your perspective matters here, whether it’s something global or something close to home. Sometimes naming a concern is the first step toward understanding it.

6 responses to “Your Voice Matters: What’s the Most Disappointing Part of 2026 So Far?”

What you leave today becomes someone’s answer tomorrow.

Coming Up In 2026 – I’m Not Dead Yet!

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

1–2 minutes

Hello to my loyal readers and visitors—this note will be brief, but heartfelt. Over the next few months, you may notice fewer stories appearing here. Please know this isn’t goodbye or silence; it’s simply a shift in rhythm.

I’m taking this time to focus on editing and publishing two books that have been waiting patiently for their moment. Writing new stories while preparing these projects feels like juggling reading, writing, and proofreading all at once. One task has to slow down. This way, the work can be done right. I’ll still share updates along the way, just not always on a daily schedule.

So if things feel a little quieter than usual, don’t worry. I haven’t decided to stay permanently in last year. I also haven’t skipped ahead without you into 2026. I’m still here… somewhere. I’m just surrounded by drafts and red ink. Stories are getting ready to find their way into the world.


By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026