The Christmas Eve Babbs Switch School Fire

This story is pulled from the archives as a celebration for the season edition.

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

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Every year at this time, I am reminded of a harrowing story. It is deeply etched into Oklahoma’s collective memory: the Babbs Switch School Fire of Christmas Eve, 1924. It stands as a tragic lesson in safety, humanity, and resilience.

The Fire

On that bitterly cold night, with heavy snow and sub-zero temperatures, 200 residents gathered. They met in Babbs Switch’s one-room schoolhouse for a Christmas Eve program. The school was tightly packed with engaged couples, grandparents, mothers, fathers, and children. The building’s windows were secured with wire mesh to deter intruders from the nearby railroad tracks. The sole exitโ€”a door that opened inwardโ€”would soon become a deadly trap.

The program concluded with a teenage boy dressed as Santa Claus. He handed out toys and candy beneath a cedar Christmas tree. The tree was decorated with paper, tinsel, and lit candles. One of these candles brushed against the tree’s dry needles, igniting it instantly. Mrs. W.G. Boland, whose three children perished that night, later recounted the horror. 

“I tried to beat it out with a paper sack,”

she said, 

“but it did no good.” 

Initially, the crowd laughed, believing the small blaze was being contained. But within moments, the flames engulfed the tree, the ceiling, and the entire structure.

Panic erupted.

The sole exit became a bottleneck as the crowd surged toward the door. Those at the back pushed forward, while the unlucky at the front got crushed in the chaos. Some attempted to pry open the wired windows, but their efforts were futile. Trapped inside, children, parents, and neighbors succumbed to the smoke and flames. Witnesses recalled the horrifying scene of people clawing at the exit. Bodies piled atop one another, and the acrid stench of burning flesh.

The Survivors

Among those who escaped was Lillie Biggers. She crawled out from under a desk clutching a doll she had just received. Her mother, Margaret, managed to get out but suffered severe burns to her hands and arms. Tragically, Lillie’s brothers, William, 9, and Walter, 15, did not survive. The Biggers family’s grief mirrored that of the entire community, where 36 lives were lostโ€”half of them children. The belongings later identified the bodies of William and Walter. They carried a toy gun and a belt buckle.

The injured and deceased were transported to Hobart, the nearest town, where makeshift morgues were set up. The community’s response, known as the “Hobart Spirit,” saw residents drop everything to give aid and comfort. Newspaper accounts likened this effort to the Oklahoma Standard that emerged decades later after the Oklahoma City bombing.

Julie Braun with Mother
Lillie’s Doll That Survived Fire

The Aftermath

The tragedy prompted a wave of reforms. Oklahoma legislators enacted fire safety laws requiring outward-opening doors, multiple exits, and accessible window screens in schools. Open flames were banned, and fire extinguishers became mandatory. The reforms eventually spread nationwide, though it would take more tragedies before they were fully adopted.

The morning after the Babbs Switch School Fire

A Missing Child

The story took a strange twist that turned it into a lingering mystery. Among the victims was three-year-old Mary Edensโ€”or so it was believed. Her aunt, Alice Noah, escaped the building. She died days later. She claimed she had handed Mary to an unknown person outside the burning building. Mary’s body was never recovered, leading her family to hope she had survived.

In 1957, decades after the fire, a woman named Grace Reynolds came forth. She was from Barstow, California. She claimed to be the long-lost Mary. The Edens family reunited with her on Art Linkletter’s House Party television program, believing their prayers had been answered. Reynolds even wrote a book about her experiences. It is titled Mary, Child of Tragedy: The Story of the Lost Child of the 1924 Babbs Switch Fire.

But only some were convinced. A local newspaper editor who investigated the claim questioned its validity. 

Skeptics noted inconsistencies in Reynolds’s story, but no definitive evidence confirmed or debunked her identity. To this day, the truth remains elusive.

Legacy

The Babbs Switch School Fire is remembered as one of the deadliest school fires in U.S. history. A stone monument now stands where the schoolhouse once stood, a quiet marker of lives lost and lessons learned. The physical scars of the tragedy have faded. Yet, its memory endures. It serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and our enduring hope for safety and change.

References for this writing can be found at – 

https://blogoklahoma.us/place/394/kiowa/site-of-babbs-switch-tragic-school-fire

https://www.thesirenspodcast.com/post/case-files-babbs-christmas-fire

https://genealogytrails.com/oka/kiowa/babbsfire.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babbs_Switch_fire

The Christmas Bells of Valley Brook

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

3โ€“4 minutes

Every Christmas Eve, the quiet village of Valley Brook transformed into a magical tableau. As snow blanketed the streets, an ethereal ringing of bells echoed through the valley. The sound was sweet and haunting, like a melody from another world. The villagers marveled at the phenomenon for decades, yet no one knew where the bells came from.

The mystery was part of Valley Brook’s charm. Some claimed the bells were angels’ gifts, while others swore they were the spirits of Christmases past. But to Ethan, a curious young man with a heart full of wonder, the mystery demanded answers.

Ethan had lived in Valley Brook his entire life. Each Christmas, he stood at the frozen brook’s edge. He strained to hear even the faintest hint of the bells’ origin. Now 19 and filled with determination, Ethan resolved that this year would be different.

On Christmas Eve, armed with a lantern and his father’s old compass, Ethan entered the night. The air was crisp, and the snow crunched beneath his boots. As the bells began their enchanting tune, he paused to listen.

“North,” he whispered to himself, turning toward the sound.

The first stretch of his journey led him to the forest bordering the village. The tall pines were heavy with snow, their branches arching over him like cathedral ceilings. The bells grew louder as he walked deeper into the woods. Then, they seemed to shift direction, drawing him toward the hills.

Ethan climbed steadily, his lantern casting long shadows against the rocks. At the top of the hill, he paused to catch his breath. The bells sounded closer now, but their source still eluded him. His compass needle jittered as if caught in some unseen magnetic pull.

After the sound, Ethan descended into a hidden ravine. At the bottom, he discovered an ancient stone bridge, its surface worn smooth by time. Beneath it, the brook that gave the village its name flowed silently, its surface coated in thin ice. Ethan crouched and pressed his ear to the stones. The bells resonated through the bridge itself.

“This must be it!”

he exclaimed, but as soon as the thought formed, the melody shifted again, beckoning him onward.

Ethan continued his pursuit for hours, weaving through snow-covered meadows and icy trails. Finally, the first light of Christmas morning touched the horizon. He arrived at the mouth of a cavern nestled in the cliffs at the valley’s edge.

Inside, the bells chimed more clearly than ever. He entered cautiously, the glow of his lantern illuminating crystalline walls that shimmered like diamonds. He found them at the cavern’s heart. Rows of bronze bells were suspended in midair. Their surfaces were adorned with intricate carvings of holly and ivy.

Ethan approached in awe, reaching out to touch one of the bells. When his fingers brushed the metal, a warm light enveloped the cavern. A figure appearedโ€”a woman in flowing robes, her face serene and timeless.

“Who are you?”

Ethan asked, his voice trembling.

“I am the Keeper of the Bells,”

she replied.

“These bells have rung for centuries to remind Valley Brook of the spirit of Christmasโ€”hope, love, and unity. Only those who seek their origin with a pure heart will find them.”

“Why me?” 

Ethan whispered.

“Because you dared to wonder,”

 she said with a smile.

“Now, you must decide: will you keep their secret or share their magic with the world?”

Ethan thought of his village and how the bells brought everyone together each Christmas. Their mystery was part of what made them special. He nodded.

“I’ll keep the secret.”

The Keeper’s smile widened.

“Then the bells will continue to ring, their magic preserved for all who believe.”

When Ethan returned to Valley Brook, the bells still rang as they always had, their melody echoing through the valley. But now, when he stood at the edge of the brook, he smiled. He knew he was part of their timeless magic. He was a secret keeper of the Christmas Bells of Valley Brook.

“Herbie” โ€“โ€“โ€“ The Tiny Christmas Tree Searches For A Family

This story is pulled from the archives as a celebration for the season edition.

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

3โ€“4 minutes

In a quiet forest stood a skinny cedar tree, so different from all the others. The tall, majestic cedars around him stretched their lush branches high. In contrast, the little tree looked scrawny. It had sparse needles and a slightly crooked trunk.

People often came to the forest to select the perfect Christmas tree, always passing him by.

The other trees whispered and rustled in the wind, teasing him.

โ€œLook at you, Herbie,โ€

They said, giving him the nickname that stuck.

โ€œNo oneโ€™s ever going to want you.โ€

Herbie tried to stand tall, but he knew they were right. Year after year, Herbie remained as the big, beautiful trees were chosen and taken away. The forest changed around him. He stayed in his lonely spot. He dreamed of what it would feel like to be wanted.

Then, one crisp winter morning, the tree cutters came again, their saws buzzing. Herbie didnโ€™t expect to get noticed, but this time, something different happened. As they cleared their path, one of the workers stopped, scratched his head, and said,

โ€œWell, letโ€™s take this little one, too. Someone might like it.โ€

Herbie felt the sharp blade cut through his trunk. Before he could fully understand what was happening, he was bundled with the others and taken to the city.

A sea of magnificent Christmas trees surrounded Herbie at the tree lot. Their branches glistened with dew, and they stood tall and proud. Compared to them, Herbie felt even smaller, and his crooked trunk made him look even more awkward.

Shoppers strolled by, admiring the grand trees and taking them home individually. Herbie overheard a nearby pine whisper,

โ€œFace it, Herbie, youโ€™re not cut out for this. No oneโ€™s going to pick you.โ€

The lot grew emptier daily, and Herbieโ€™s hope dwindled. By Christmas Eve, he was the only tree left, standing under the dim glow of a street lamp. The wind whistled through his sparse branches, and Herbie prepared for the inevitableโ€”being tossed away, unloved.

But just as Herbieโ€™s spirits hit their lowest, a tiny voice broke through the cold night air.

โ€œMama, look! That oneโ€™s perfect!โ€

Herbie lifted his branches slightly in surprise. A little boy with messy hair and bright, eager eyes was pointing at him.

โ€œAre you sure, Tommy?โ€

His mother asked, crouching beside him,

โ€œThis tree is so small. And, well, itโ€™s not exactly full.โ€

โ€“โ€“โ€“โ€“

โ€œExactly!โ€

Tommy said with a grin.

โ€œItโ€™s different, just like me. Weโ€™ll make it the best Christmas tree ever!โ€

Herbieโ€™s heart soared as Tommy and his mother carefully carried him home. Tommy got to work in their cozy living room, stringing popcorn and cranberries across Herbieโ€™s branches. His mother tucked shiny ornaments into every gap, and finally, they placed a glowing star on top.

Herbie couldnโ€™t believe it. For the first time, he felt truly beautiful. He wasnโ€™t just a funny-looking tree anymoreโ€”a Christmas tree.

On Christmas morning, Herbie watched with joy as Tommy tore through his presents, his laughter filling the room. The warmth of the fire danced on Herbieโ€™s branches, and he realized he had never felt so happy.

When the holiday ended, Herbie feared getting thrown out like many trees before him. But instead, Tommyโ€™s family carried him to their backyard.

Tommy said, patting his trunk as they planted him firmly in the soil.

โ€œYouโ€™re part of our family now, Herbie,โ€

Year after year, as Herbie grew taller and fuller, Tommy would decorate him anew, even in the coldest winters.

Herbie learned that it wasnโ€™t about how perfect he looked or how he compared to the other trees. The love and care he receivedโ€”and gaveโ€”made him truly special.

And so, Herbie stood proudly, knowing he would always be part of something wonderful: a family.

Christmas the Cat:ย That Lost The Day Of Christmas And Found It All Over Again For Good!

This story is pulled from the archives as a celebration for the season edition.

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

3โ€“4 minutes

Christmas was a sleek, white cat with a bright red collar and a tiny bell. He sported one green eye. One eye blue. Christmas twinkles the kids called them. He got his name because he was born on Christmas Eve. Since then, his life revolved around the festive season. He loved the glittering lights and the scent of pine. He enjoyed the rustling of wrapping paper. He cherished the joy he saw in his family’s faces.

Christmas morning, the children had excitedly unwrapped their gifts. Afterward, the family went off to visit relatives. Christmas the Cat had wandered into the pantry. Curious, he batted at a loose box of crackers, which tipped over with a crash. Startled, he darted behind a stack of canned goods. In the commotion, someone closed the pantry door, locking him inside.

At first, Christmas thought this was just an oversight. Someone would open the door soon and scoop him up for a cuddle. But the minutes stretched into hours, and the house grew silent. Panic set in. 

He imagined the family around the table, sharing laughter, turkey, and pie. He pictured the children playing with their new toys. The warmth of the fireplace filled the room. Soft carols were in the air. And here he was, trapped in the dark, with only a box of crackers for company. 

Christmas, becoming convinced it was too late until the family returned that evening. His heart sank as he heard the keys jingle and the front door creak. He sat dejectedly on the pantry floor, his tail curled around him.

“Christmas! Where are you, buddy?” 

Called the youngest child, Emily.

The pantry door swung open, and a flood of light spilled in. Christmas blinked and looked up. Emily scooped him into her arms, covering him in kisses.

“We were so worried!” 

She exclaimed. 

“We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

The rest of the family gathered around, showering him with attention. Despite their love, Christmas couldn’t shake his gloom. He meowed mournfully, his usual purr absent.

“What’s wrong, Christmas?” 

Emily asked, stroking his fur. 

“You’re safe now.”

Her father, overhearing, knelt beside her.

“I think Christmas thinks he missed Christmas Day.” 

He said with a chuckle.

Emily’s eyes widened. 

“Oh no! That isn’t very good. We need to tell him it’s okay.”

She cradled Christmas close and said softly,

“You didn’t miss Christmas, silly kitty. Even if the day is over, Christmas isn’t just one day. It’s about love, kindness, and being together. We can celebrate Christmas every single day.”

He looked up at her, his green eyes shining. The bell on his collar jingled as he rubbed his head against her cheek.

That night, Emily insisted they set up a special celebration for him. They lit the tree again. They brought out leftover turkey for a feast. They even gave him a shiny bow to play with. As Christmas sat in Emily’s lap, batting at the bow, he realized she was right. Christmas wasn’t just about one day. It was about the joy and love that filled the house every day of the year.

Christmas the Cat didn’t fret about the calendar from that moment on. Whether it was July or December, he purred as loudly when the family was together. After all, every day is Christmas as long as there was love.

Meet Benji and His Canine Companions: A Heartwarming Tale

By Benjamin GroffMediaยฉ | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Enduresยฉ

2โ€“3 minutes

In the quiet stretch of Oklahoma back-country, the hills roll gently. The wind carries the scent of cedar and earth. A school bus door creaks open every afternoon at 3:35 p.m. Out steps a boy named Benji. He is full of curiosity and grit. He loves the wild places that lie just beyond the fence line. But he’s not alone. Waiting faithfully at the gate are his three loyal companionsโ€”Oggy, Bruiser, and Jackie.

To most folks, they’re just dogs. But to Benjiโ€”and anyone lucky enough to witness them in actionโ€”they’re guardians. Each has a purpose. Each with a soul as big as the land they roam.

Oggy is the scout. He is a lightning-fast border collie. His job is to stay out front. He sniffs out threats and leads the way with sharp instinct. Bruiser, the muscle-bound mastiff mix with a thunderous bark and a heart of gold, never strays from Benji’s side. He is the protector. And Jackie, the wise and steady golden retriever, always takes the rear. She remembers every twist and turn in the woods. She is the quiet navigator. She ensures they always find their way back home.

What begins as a simple after-school traditionโ€”just a boy and his dogs hiking the countrysideโ€”becomes something far greater. These four face the untamed wilderness. They discover the secrets of the land. They defend each other against the dangers that lurk in the shadows. These include wild boars, treacherous terrain, and even the unpredictable spirit of nature itself.

But this story isn’t just about survivalโ€”it’s about trust and purpose. It’s about the powerful bond that exists between a child and the animals who would give anything to protect him. It’s about finding your place in the world, knowing your role, and honoring it with everything you’ve got. It’s about how the world can feel vast and uncertain. Having the right ones by your side can make all the difference.

The Trail Guardians is a heartwarming, adventurous tale set against the backdrop of rural America. It is perfect for readers who believe in the magic of animals. It also appeals to those who appreciate the courage of kids and the timeless rhythm of life in the country.

Watch for the first of five exciting chapters. Enjoy this engaging short read as we count down to the first day of summer!

Join Benji, Oggy, Bruiser, and Jackie on their journey. They explore wild places where memories are made. Loyalty is tested, and legends are born.

This is only the beginning.

Starting Tuesday June 17th, 2025!

Red ‘Pinky’ Green: The Man Behind Marlow’s Legend – A Man They Called “Blue”

By Benjamin GroffMediaยฉ | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Enduresยฉ

3โ€“5 minutes

The Curious Legacy of Red “Pinky” Green, Known to All as Blue

The little town of Marlow’s Ridge was nestled between dusty hills and a river. This river had long forgotten how to rush. In this quaint setting lived a man named Red Green. His middle name was “Pinky,” a leftover from a grandmother who thought nicknames were good luck. But everyone in townโ€”young, old, shopkeeper, sheriff, or schoolkidโ€”called him Blue.

No one quite remembered how the name Blue came to be. Some said it was due to the denim shirt he always wore. It was frayed at the cuffs and patched at the elbows. Others swore it was because of his eyes. They were deep and stormy. They held stories no one ever heard him tell. Whatever the reason, the name stuck. And so did he.

Blue wasn’t what you’d callย important. He wasn’t elected to anything. He didn’t own a business. He didn’t sing in church or march in parades. He wasn’t married and never had kids. He lived alone in a one-room shack on the edge of town. He built it himself, board by salvaged board. His house had a tin roof and a potbelly stove. The garden always grew more vegetables than one man can eat.

He was a fixture more than a figure. You’d see him mending a neighbor’s fence one day. The next day, he is fishing at the creek. Sometimes, he’d sit on the courthouse bench, whittling a stick into something halfway useful. He spoke little, smiled often, and always paid cashโ€”exact change. Kids liked him because he had a knack for fixing broken toys with bits of wire and rubber bands. Adults liked him because he never asked for anything and always showed up when you needed another set of hands.

Blue was what folks called thrifty. He wore the same clothes for years. He repurposed everything. He carried a coffee can full of loose screws like it was a treasure. He never took credit, never owed money, and never once called attention to himself.

He died peacefully, in his sleep, sometime between dusk and dawn. So when he passed, the town mourned. They felt that soft, uncertain way people do when they realize someone quiet had been a cornerstone all along.

There was no family to speak of. The county handled the burial, and someone brought a pie to the service, which seemed appropriate. The people were about to scatter and return to their lives. Just then, the county clerk arrived with a letter in hand.

It was Blue’s ‘Will.’

Written in neat cursive on lined notebook paper, the will was short, but what it said stunned everyone with its unexpected generosity:

To the Town of Marlow’s Ridge,

If you’re hearing this, it means I’ve gone on ahead. It’s no use making a fuss, but I have a few things to leave behind.

First, I’ve set aside $20,000 for the school’s library. I want to make sure the kids get real books with pages they can turn.

Second, I’m giving $15,000 to the fire department. You’ve bailed me out more than once when I let that stove get too hot.

To Miss Delaney at the diner, you’ll find I’ve paid off your mortgage. You gave me free coffee every Monday for ten years. I figured it was time I returned the favor.

To the town mechanic, I left you my truck. It barely runs, but the toolbox in the back can come in handy.

The restโ€”over $300,000 in cash and savingsโ€”I want to put into a fund for the town. I want to fix up the playground, paint the church, and replace the town hall’s roof. You know what needs doing.

You were all my family. Maybe I didn’t say it, but I hope I showed it.

Thanks for everything.

โ€”Red “Pinky” Green, but you knew me as Blue.

There was silence. It was not the kind that follows shock or grief. It was the kind that settles when truth lands heavy and sweet, like the last snowfall of winter.

In the next weeks, the town changed. It didn’t change in the way bulldozers and scaffolding alter things. It changed in how people react when they realize they’ve misjudged someone. Children now whispered stories of Blue’s secret treasure. Adults spoke his name with a new reverence. The diner added a “Blue Plate Special” in his honor. Every kid at school got a brand new library card. His actions inspired a wave of kindness and respect that swept through the town.

The bench outside the courthouse where he used to sit remained empty. Someone carved his name into it, not his full name, just the one that mattered. A simple yet powerful tribute that ensured his memory would never fade.

BLUE

No title. No explanation.

This is just a reminder that sometimes, the quietest lives leave the loudest echoes.

Surviving Apocalypses: Earl’s Hilarious Journey

By Benjamin GroffMediaยฉ | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Enduresยฉ

2โ€“3 minutes

“How Earl Survived the End of the World (Three Times In One Week)”

It all started on Monday when the news said the world was ending. Again.

“Experts warn: AI, killer bees, and rising sea levels converge by Wednesday,” read the headline on Earl’s phone. He sighed, sipped his lukewarm coffee (the microwave broke last weekโ€”tragic), and Googled “How to survive multiple apocalypses.”

Step one:ย hoard supplies.

Earl ran to the grocery store, but unfortunately, so did the entire neighborhood. All that was left on the shelves were 37 cans of creamed spinach and one gluten-free hot dog bun. He grabbed both. Earl wasn’t proud.

Step two:ย fortify your home.

This was trickier. Earl’s DIY skills peaked at assembling an IKEA lamp in 2014 (and even that leans a little). He taped bubble wrap over the windows. He stacked his furniture into a makeshift barricade. He hung a sign on the door that read:ย “Beware of Dog (or raccoonโ€”honestly not sure anymore).”

By Tuesday, the threat had shifted. AI wasn’t trying to destroy us; it just wanted us to finish a customer satisfaction survey. Earl politely declined. The bees were delayed due to weather conditions. The sea levels were rising slowly. Earl figured he had time to finish his Netflix backlog.

Then cameย Wednesday.

That’s when the real disaster struck:

๐Ÿšจย The Wi-Fi went out.ย ๐Ÿšจ

Earl sat there, blinking into the void, unsure how to continue. How does one live without memes? How do you know what to be outraged about if you can’t check Twitter?

Earl tried reading a book. (Printed words? On paper? Barbaric.) He tried talking to my houseplants. Phil the fern judged him silently.

Finally, Earl ventured outside โ€” mask on, hand sanitizer holstered like a gunslinger โ€” only to discover โ€“โ€“

The neighborhood kids had set up a barter system.

“Two rolls of toilet paper for a bottle of sriracha!”ย 

One kid yelled.

“Half a pack of Oreo’s for an iPhone charger!”

Another bargained.

Earl traded three cans of creamed spinach for a Wi-Fi hotspot codeโ€”the best deal of his life.

By Thursday, the headlines read:ย World Fine (For Now).”ย 

Earl sighed in relief โ€“โ€“ until he heard a knock at the door.

A drone hovered outside, lowering a package. Earl opened it to find:

โ€“ A “survival for beginners” guidebook

โ€“ An emergency avocado (slightly bruised)

โ€“ A note that read:

“Stay tuned. Apocalypse 2.0 beta release coming Friday.”

Earl looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, and whispered:

“I’m going to need more creamed spinach.”

The Real Badge 714: Jack Webb’s Impact on Police Representation

Benjamin GroffMediaยฉ | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Enduresยฉ

1โ€“2 minutes

Earning the Badge: How Jack Webb Won the Respect of the L.A.P.D.

Gaining the gratitude of the Los Angeles Police Department is no small accomplishment, especially for a television creator. Yet, after nearly two decades of portraying law enforcement with integrity and realism, Jack Webb did just that.

Best known as the mind behind groundbreaking crime dramasย Dragnetย andย Adam-12. Webb distinguished himself from other producers and directors. He excelled in an industry often criticized for sensationalism.ย 

Rather than relying on over-the-top drama to capture ratings, he took a different approach: authenticity. Webb regularly consulted real-life officers, ensuring his shows reflected the true spirit and procedures of police work.

That commitment to realism earned him more than high ratingsโ€”it won him the deep admiration of the L.A.P.D. itself.

In 1968, the department honored Webb with a unique and heartfelt gesture. They presented him with the original Badge 714, famously worn by Sgt. Joe Friday inย Dragnet. It was a symbolic gift that carried the full weight of the department’s appreciation.

“Thisย isย onlyย aย smallย tokenย ofย ourย appreciationย toย you,ย Jack,ย andย forย allย theย thingsย youย haveย doneย forย ourย departmentย datingย backย toย whenย Dragnetย firstย wentย onย the radioย inย 1949,”ย 

Said then-L.A.P.D. Chief Thomas Reddin during the presentation.ย 

“This badge has never been issued to anyone else; the entire force feels it belongs to you.”

The moment left Webb deeply moved.

“For one of the very few times in my life,” he said, “I’m at a loss for words. I can’t express my feelings.”

According to The Cumberland News, the L.A.P.D. viewed the gift as more than just a gesture of thanks. It was also a tribute to Webb’s enduring impact on the public image of police officers. This image is not defined by glamour or exaggeration. Instead, it is characterized by honesty and respect.

Reruns of the Dragnet Show can still be watched on television channels like MeTV.

Sgt. Steve Mahan: A Line of Duty Sacrifice

Benjamin GroffMediaยฉ | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Enduresยฉ

4โ€“6 minutes

The Sgt. Steve Mahan StoryElk City, Oklahoma

Sgt. Steven L Mahan

Steve Mahan was a laid-back guy โ€” the sleepy type. He rarely overreacted, and getting him excited about anything was hard. One day, Sgt. Mahan responded to a bomb threat at a local school. When he found the suspicious device, he calmly picked it up. He put it in the trunk of his patrol car. Then he drove it back to the police station.

He carried it inside without much fuss and placed it on the booking counter.

I had never seen the top brass lose it all at the same time. The Chief, the Major, and the Captain were all upset at once. They cussed and yelled in perfect unison, ordering Mahan to promptly take the device back outside. Then they called the fire department, which, ironically, was located right next door.

The fire department’s first response? 

“Have him bring it over.”

The Chief shut that idea down on the spot.

If I remember right, Mahan took it to the shooting range. The three top brass joined him there with rifles in hand. They tried to get it to explode.

It turned out to be a dummy.

Thankfully, it was because I was working on the other side of that booking counter the whole time.

Sgt. Steven Mahan was killed in the line of duty on January 5, 1983. That night, his girlfriend was working at the police department. Another female dispatcher was also there. He drove upon an armed robbery in progress at a local hotel. Unbeknownst to him, he was moving into an ambush.

After handing over the cash, the hotel clerk ducked behind the counter and observed the unfolding scene. She promptly called the police, reporting that an officer had been shot in the head. She couldn’t recognize the unit number but noted the word “Supervisor” on the vehicle’s front panel.

Upon realizing it was him, Sgt. Mahan’s girlfriend became understandably distraught. The other dispatcher maintained composure under extreme pressure. She coordinated response units. She relayed critical information from the hotel clerk to surrounding agencies. The suspects were taken into custody within the hour thanks to swift action and coordination.

Sgt. Mahan had been overpowered and shot in the head with a .25 caliber pistol, then fatally shot again in the back of the head with his service weapon. The officers rushed him to the local hospital in the back of a patrol unit. Dense fog made air transport impossible. An ambulance was then dispatched for the nearly three-hour drive to the nearest trauma center. It traveled through whiteout conditions with visibility near zero.

I arrived at the station about an hour after the shooting. I was designated as the point of contact for media outlets. They were calling nonstop. I remained in contact with the ambulance, his girlfriend, and a fellow officer riding alongside Sgt. Mahan. The driver reported struggling to reach even 35 mph on the fog-covered interstate.

Steven L. Mahan
Killed In The Line Of Duty – Elk City, Oklahoma

Roughly thirty miles from the trauma hospital, I heard the ambulance driver radio for local police assistance. They needed help to reach the nearest hospital. The ambulance had to exit the highway. I knew what that meant. I called the Chief’s office. I delivered the news. We had just lost our first officer in the line of duty.

  • Official Summary –

Bobby Lynn Ross was convicted of the 1983 murder of Elk City Police Sgt. Steve Mahan, who was 30 years old at the time. Two co-defendants were also convicted of second-degree murder in connection with the case.

On January 5, 1983, Sgt. Mahan was conducting a routine check when he drove up to the Los Quartos Inn in Elk City, Oklahoma. Unbeknownst to him, an armed robbery was already in progress. Mahan interrupted the robbery, during which Bobby Lynn Ross had already threatened to kill the motel clerk.

Ross disarmed Sgt. Mahan and ordered him to lie on the ground. Although the officer complied, Ross shot him multiple times at close range with a .25-caliber pistolโ€”then took Mahanโ€™s service weapon and shot him again.

Ross was convicted of first-degree murder and robbery with firearms on October 21, 1983.

During a failed clemency hearing before the Oklahoma Pardon and Parole Board on November 19, Ross asked for forgiveness. He addressed Mahanโ€™s family. He claimed he had changed. Sgt. Mahanโ€™s daughter, who was only 18 months old when her father was killed, submitted a heartfelt letter to the board:

“I missed out on all the opportunities that most children had. My father was stolen from me before I even had a chance to know him. My father was doing his job, not out trying to disrupt peopleโ€™s lives. All I ask for is justice to be served.”

That night, Elk City police detective Jim LaFarlette sped through the darkness. His dying colleague was in the back of a patrol car. A family lost a son. A child lost her father. A community lost a hero.

“We all under the badge were deprived of a brother,”

LaFarlette said of the murder of Elk City police Sgt. Steven Mahan on Jan. 5, 1983. Ross was put to death by lethal injection on December 9th, 1999. Ross had lived 11 years longer than Mahan was allowed.

It was the day of Bobby Lynn Rossโ€™s execution. I called Elk City Police Chief Bill Putman to confirm that the execution was moving ahead. He assured me that it was. He informed me that he and Officer Jim LaFarlette would attend to witness it themselves. Indeed, they did.

The Great Dog Escape: A Story of Resourcefulness

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

2โ€“3 minutes

Huey sat in the corner of the kennel, ears perked, eyes darting toward the metal gate between them and freedom. Max, his trusted partner, paced back and forth, tail flicking with nervous energy. Around them, the othersโ€”Spike, Bella, and Rufusโ€”pretended to be sleeping, but they were all listening, waiting for the signal.


“Tonight’s the night,”

Huey whispered.

“The screws turn in at nine. We give ’em an hour, then we move.”

Max nodded.

“Bella, you’re on distraction. Get that yapper down the row to start barking. When the guard checks on him, we make our move.”


Bella wagged her tail.

“Piece of kibble.”


Spike chimed in,

“I got the latch covered. I’ve been watching the humans do it for weeks. I think I can pop it.”


“Good,”

Huey said.

“Once we’re out, we head for the back gate. Rufus, you still got that big brute act down?”


Rufus grinned, his jowls flopping.

“One good growl and the yard mutt will scatter.”


The plan was perfect. They had worked out every detail. The humans thought they were dumb dogs, but they’d prove them wrong tonight.


The lights went out, and the night settled over the pound. A low growl rumbled from the cage at the far end. Right on cue, the little yapper started up. Bella joined in, then Spike, then the whole row. Sure enough, heavy boots clomped down the hall. The guard muttered something about “dumb mutts” and stomped off to quiet them down.


“Go time,”

Huey whispered.


Spike reached through the bars, jiggling the latchโ€”a click. The gate swung open. One by one, they slipped out, moving fast and low, paws silent on the concrete. They were almost to the back gate when Max skidded to a stop.


“What is it?”

Huey hissed.


Max’s eyes gleamed in the dark. His tail quivered.

“Bone.”


Huey sighed.

“Forget it, we gottaโ€””


“Bone,”

Max repeated, but the others saw it, too. A big, juicy, perfectly gnawed bone, lying right there, almost like fate had placed it in their path.


Rufus whined.

“It’s beautiful.”


“No time!”

Huey barked.

“We gotta go!”


Max, still, had already lunged for it. Spike growled, trying to shove him aside. Bella snapped at them both. Chaos erupted. Snarls and yips filled the air.


Lights flicked on. A door slammed. The humans were coming.


“Run!”

Huey yelled, but it was too late.


A net came down over Rufus. Bella yelped as a leash snapped around her neck. Huey dodged left, but a firm hand grabbed his collar.


Max? He was still chewing.


The next day, they sat in their cages, tucked tails, watching the humans talk about “bad dogs” and “extra security.”


Max sighed, staring at the bone still sitting outside the fence.

“Worth it.”


Huey groaned.

“Next time, we leave you behind.”


But they all knew there would be a next time. Because a good dog never quits, and a great dog always has another plan.

The Enduring Power of Love and Memory

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

2โ€“3 minutes

A Bridge Beyond Time

The old oak tree, a silent witness to Sarah's life.
The old oak tree is a silent witness to Sarah’s life.

The old oak tree was a silent witness to Sarah’s life. It stood tall at the top of the hill, its branches stretching toward the heavens. Sarah sat on a wooden bench beneath its shade. She stared at the horizon, where the sun-drenched the sky in shades of gold and crimson. This was where she had always met her grandfather, who taught her about life, love, and faith. The oak tree, a symbol of strength and endurance, had always been a part of their meetings.

She can still hear his voiceโ€”soft yet firm, filled with wisdom. “Death takes the body, sweetheart, but never let it take your love. Love stays here.” He had placed his hand over her heart when he said it.

It had been a year since he passed. She still felt his presence in the whisper of the wind, even in the rustling leaves. The loss had been unbearable, but time had taught her somethingโ€”her grandfather was not truly gone.

Her mind held the memories. They were like precious gems, each a testament to his life and their bond. She remembered sitting on his lap as a child, listening to stories of his youth. She recalled the scent of his old leather chair. He hummed an old hymn while tending his garden. She remembered the warmth of his calloused hand in hers during Sunday walks. Like a living tapestry, these memories kept him alive in her heart.

Her heart kept the love. Love did not disappear with death. It remained, placed safely within her, growing stronger each day.

And then there was faith. Faith whispered that this was not the end. It reassured her that she would see him again one day in a place beyond time and sorrow. This promise filled her with hope and anticipation.

Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wooden cross he had carved for her long ago. Clutching it tightly, she closed her eyes. “I miss you, Grandpa,” she whispered.

A gentle breeze brushed against her cheek. For a brief moment, she almost felt his hand on her shoulder. The sensation was so real that she almost felt the roughness of his palm and the warmth of his touch.

She smiled. Love remained. Memories endured. And faith promisedโ€”one day, they would meet again.

A Personal Journey Through America’s Must-See Cities

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

3โ€“4 minutes

A Few Of The Places I’ve Been

Photo by Rajiv Krishnan on Pexels.com

A few places I’ve been are not just locations on a map. They are experiences, sensations, and moments that can’t be conveyed simply through words or photographs. You would have to have been there to understand.

Take the Grand Canyon,ย for example. No photo can capture its overwhelming vastness. Standing on its rim, you stare into the depths of time carved into the earth. The wind carries whispers from a million years ago, and the sun paints ever-changing shadows along the canyon walls. To see a picture is to miss how the air smells. You miss how the silence hums. Your perspective on life shifts when faced with something so immense, leaving you in awe of nature’s grandeur.

Groff Media

Washington, D.C., isย another place to experience and be understood. Walking among its monuments and institutions is like stepping into a living history book. The weight of past decisions and the ongoing creation of history are tangible. You stand where the nation’s most influential figures have walked. It fills you with a profound connection to the past. It also connects you to the current time. It makes you feel like a part of history.

Groff Media

Then resort cities like Palm Springs, California, Tampa, Florida, and Las Vegas, Nevada. Each city offers a unique atmosphere that cannot be fully captured without being there.

Palm Springs feels like a cinematic escape. It is where you can brush shoulders with a movie star. You will find yourself surrounded by towering mountains on one side. There is an endless sea of wind turbines on the other. It’s all swimming pools, sunshine, and Hollywood glamour between the two. It makes you feel like you’ve stepped into the pages of a luxury magazine.

Tampa, Florida, has its distinct charm. The old cigar district, Ybor City, takes you back in time with its historic brick streets and family-owned restaurants. It offers an eclectic mix of tattoo parlors, jewelry shops, and late-night clubs. Just a short drive away, the sun-drenched beaches of St. Pete offer the perfect contrastโ€”soft sand, rolling waves, and the scent of saltwater in the air.

Fremont Street
Groff Media “A Night On The Town”

Las Vegas is a city of dual identities. The Strip dazzles with its colossal casinos, neon lights, and grand-scale entertainment, a modern marvel of excess and spectacle. Butย downtown, the Fremont Street Experience transports you to old Vegas. Here, the first hotels still stand beneath a digital canopy of flashing lights synchronized to music. Street performers, quirky shops, and hidden gems make it an adventure.

Salt Lake City, Utah, left an impression on me not just for its skyline but for its architecture. Theย intricate designs of its buildings make the city itself a work of art. The influence of the Mormon faith is woven into nearly every aspect of its layout and culture. This influence gives the town a sense of unity and purpose. It is both fascinating and humbling.

Oklahoma
Oklahoma’s Last House Standing Groff Media

And then, there’s Oklahoma and Kansasโ€”where the wind is an ever-constant force, shaping the land and the people. A 40-mph breeze is just another Tuesday, with gusts often reaching 70 mph. Tornadoes and earthquakes occur sometimes at the same time. Many people think Interstate 40 and Interstate 35 are the most significant things to come out of those states. These highways offer an escape route from the relentless winds sweeping across the plains.

Each of these places has left an imprint on me. It’s not just because of what they look like. It’s also because of what they feel like. And no matter how well I describe them, you’ll never truly know unless you’ve been there yourself.

The Man Who Belonged: A Dark Psychological Mystery

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

4โ€“6 minutes

The Man Who Belonged

Ethan Caldwell woke up every morning with the certainty that he was where he was supposed to be. His town, Dunridge, was a place people left but rarely arrived at. It was a quiet, tree-lined community. The roads curved in familiar ways. The seasons changed precisely when expected. The faces at the local diner never seemed to age.

He belonged here. He had always belonged here.

And yet, something was wrong.

It wasnโ€™t how he lookedโ€”Ethan was an ordinary man with an ordinary life. He had ten fingers, ten toes, and a name that didnโ€™t feel borrowed. Ethan had memories of childhood scraped knees. He remembered teenage love. His father taught him how to drive down the old county road. He worked at the hardware store. He knew which coffee shop made the best brew. He navigate the town with his eyes closed.

But deep within him, something itched. It wasnโ€™t a feeling of displacementโ€”it was the opposite.

He fit in too well.

There were no awkward silences when he spoke to strangers. No one ever misheard his name or mistook him for someone else. When he ordered at the diner, the waitress nodded as if she had already known his choice. His keys never went missing. The mail always arrived right when he expected.

He tried to shake the feeling, but it settled deeper.

One night, he walked the streets of Dunridge in search of somethingโ€”he didnโ€™t know what. The town was calm, quiet, and lit by the amber glow of streetlamps. As he passed the shops, he caught his reflection in the glass.

He looked at himself. Normal.

But the reflection wasnโ€™t watching him.

It was waiting.

A chill ran down his spine, and Ethan took a step back. 

The moment he did, the feeling disappeared. He was himself again, the same Ethan Caldwell who had lived here his whole life.

But the thought lingered: Had he lived here his whole life?

The next day, he tried to recall his first memory of Dunridge. It was not just any memory. It was his first one, the earliest thing he remembered.

But there was nothing before the age of twenty-seven.

That wasnโ€™t right.

He had childhood memories. He had school pictures. He had friends who swore theyโ€™d known him since grade school.

Hadnโ€™t they?

He asked his neighbor, Mrs. Wallace, how long she had lived in Dunridge. She smiled, hands on her porch railing.

โ€œOh, all my life.โ€

โ€œAnd me?โ€ย 

He asked.

She blinked, her smile unwavering. 

โ€œWhy, Ethan, youโ€™ve always been here.โ€

He swallowed. 

โ€œRight. Always.โ€

Mrs. Wallace nodded as if the question itself was odd. 

โ€œYou belong here, Ethan. Always have.โ€

His stomach twisted.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed. Ethan had never noticed it before.

And suddenly, he was sureโ€”something was wrong with this place.

Or maybe something was wrong with him.

That night, incapable of shaking the feeling, Ethan wandered the streets again. The town was as still as ever, its perfection unnerving. He passed the grocery store, the barbershop, and the town hall. Then he found himself in front of the libraryโ€”its doors unlocked, though he had never seen anyone inside past closing.

He stepped in.

Dust motes filtered in the air, interrupted by his presence. The smell of old paper filled his nostrils. He ran his fingers along the spines of books until he reached the town records. He pulled one down and flipped through its pages.

And his blood ran cold.

There were no births recorded in Dunridge. No deaths. Only arrivals.

A new book, bound in leather, sat on a lower shelf. Inside, Ethan found the names of the people heโ€™d known all his life next to brief descriptions. Scanning the pages, his hands trembled as he read:

Ernest Thatcher โ€“ Arrived: October 12, 1956 โ€“ Deformed hands, two thumbs on the left hand.

Lillian Monroe โ€“ Born without eyes

Samuel Dwyer โ€“ three-legged, five-arms, ousted by family at age 1

Patricia Thorne โ€“ Hairless, extra digits on each hand

The list went on. Each name was followed by a peculiarityโ€”some mild, others grotesque, all rejected from wherever they came.

Ethan hesitated before flipping to the last page, where his name should have been. And when he found it, he almost dropped the book.

Ethan Calloway โ€“ 27 years old. No known origin. No memories before arrival. There is no past to recall. No home before Dunridge.

His breath hitched. His hands shook.

The town knew. All the townsfolkย knew.

They were all misfits. They were cast out, discarded, and abandoned. They were left to disappear into a world where their abnormalities were masked. No one asked questions in this world. No one looked out of place because everyone had become perfect.

Even Ethan himself.

But why was he here? Why was he the only one who looked โ€“โ€“ normal?

He turned to the mirror again, staring at his reflection under the streetlight.

And then, for the first time, he indeed saw himself.

He saw what he had been blind to all along.

And thatโ€™s when the horror set in.

Ethan had ears where his nose should be. There was a mouth where his ears should go. A nose sat on top of his head. His eyes looked back at him from his throat. Then, Ethan wished that he had never questioned his being.ย 

Sometimes, it is best to not change memories.

The Lost Shopper: A Remarkable Time-Travel Mystery

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

3โ€“4 minutes

The Lost Shopper

Harold Wexley left his house on a crisp October morning in 1977. He carried a shopping list, which his wife, Martha, had scribbled on the back of an old envelope. The list read bread, milk, eggs, and a pound of ground beef. That was all he needed. The sun was high, and the air smelled like damp earth. He had a pocket full of change jingling as he walked toward Miller’s Grocery, just six blocks away.

Harold never returned home.

Martha waitedโ€”first hours, then days. The police took her report, shook their heads, and assured her that most missing persons had turned up. Neighbors speculated wildly. Some thought maybe Harold had amnesia. Others guessed he’d run off with some floozy. He had just vanished into thin air.

The years passed, and Martha grew old. The town changed. Miller’s Grocery shut down in the ’90s, replaced by a chain supermarket. The world moved on.

Then, in 2024, something impossible happened.

Found Where He Was Lost

At precisely 9:17 a.m. on a Saturday, an employee at the local SaveMore supermarket screamed, sending a ripple of confusion through the store.

Harold Wexley stood in aisle seven, between the cereal and baking goods. He wore the same corduroy jacket. He also wore brown slacks and scuffed loafers. These were the clothes he wore when he left home 47 years earlier. Harold was still clutching the shopping list in his hand. His hair had not grown. His skin had not aged.

When the police arrived, Harold blinked at them in utter confusion.

“What’s all the fuss about?”

He asked, his voice scratchy from disuse.

“I just came in to pick up a few things.”

The officer, utterly dumbfounded, asked,

“Sir, do you know what year it is?”

Harold laughed.

“What question is that? It’s 1977.”

The grocery store manager rushed ahead.

“Sir, this place wasn’t even here back then. This store opened in 1999!”

Harold frowned, rubbing his temple. He looked down at the list in his hand. The ink had not faded. The paper wasn’t brittle. His clothes smelled faintly of Martha’s lavender detergent.

But Martha was gone. His house was gone. His entire world had disappeared. He had been standing in this store, this spot. It was as if no time had passed.

The Mystery Remains

Scientists, journalists, and conspiracy theorists all descended upon Harold. Tests revealed that he was, biologically, still 42 years old. He remembered nothing beyond walking into Miller’s Grocery on that fateful day. He hadn’t eaten in 47 years. He hadn’t aged.

Some claimed he had slipped into a time loop. They believed the store had somehow preserved him in a pocket of frozen time. Others whispered about aliens, government experiments, or divine intervention.

Harold, meanwhile, was only concerned with one thing.

“Can someone tell me where my wife is?”

No one had the heart to answer him.

Epilogue

Harold never adjusted to the modern world. He refused to believe that the year was 2024, even when he saw flat-screen TVs and self-checkout kiosks. He spent his days wandering the grocery store, staring at shelves full of strange new products. He was looking for the familiar brands of his youth.

One night, after closing, a janitor was working late. He swore he saw Harold standing in aisle seven. Then he blinked, and Harold was gone.

The next day, an old yellow envelope with a shopping list was found on the floor. It was written in Martha’s neat handwriting. It seemed to have fallen from Harold’s hand in confusion.

No one ever saw Harold again. Sometimes, in the stillness of the grocery store, employees swore they heard the faint jingle of coins. The coins seemed to come from a pocket that wasn’t there, as if Harold’s spirit still wandered the aisles.

And sometimes, in the stillness of the grocery store, shoppers would listen closely. Even they swore they heard the faint jingle of coins. The sound came from a pocket of a man’s pants. It was from Harold, who had disappeared again.

Chester’s Revolution: A Fight Against Government Oppression

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

4โ€“6 minutes

When the world turns against you, what do you do? This question had boiled under Chester’s contempt for days. He had watched the nation he loved become the opposite of everything it had ever stood for. The people appeared powerless to stop the crazed leaders who were taking control of the institutions and destroying them.

Chester became so incensed that he quit his job. He took about three hundred dollars, bought as many canned food items as possible, and stored them in his home. Chester then purchased one hundred dollars’ worth of bottled water. He had planned for the loss of electricity and home heating petroleum. Chester had medical supplies he thought would handle any matter related to his health. Then, he went and nailed his doors and windows shut. He placed a sign on the outside of his home stating:

I AM HOME – ALIVE – I DO NOT WANT CONTACT WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD OR ITS DISTURBING GOVERNMENT. THIS HOUSE IS OFF LIMITS TO EVERYONE. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER!

Then, in chalk, on a board that slid in and out from the interior of the home, it read:

DATE – 2-16-2025

Chester planned to update the date every night to let the outside world know he was still alive.

Chester planned to live without listening to what was happening around him. He believed it was the only way he survived. Chester wanted to help others but had no solution, power, or ability. For Chester, this was all he thought he would do.

His home was significant. It had five bedrooms, four bathrooms, two living areas, two kitchens, and a mother-in-law suite. He had inherited it from his parents after they passed. It was paid for, and he had taken control of their Trust. He didn’t have any financial issues.

Every morning, Chester would visit the mother-in-law’s suite. It offered a view of a once-lively park. The government has now abandoned the park. He often spotted young figures lurking behind the trees, their presence a haunting mystery. Why were they there? Why were they hiding? And most puzzling of all, why did they seem to have nowhere else to go?

One day, curiosity got the best of him. He grabbed his hammer. He pulled the nails out around the suite’s window. He cracked it open, trying to hear their conversations.

Two young girls and two young men were hiding behind a tree, whispering urgently. Chester leaned in closer and heard them say:

“Look, it won’t hurt, and we will be free of this world. If we stay any longer, it will only get worse. They will kill us if we don’t beat them to it!”

Chester’s blood ran cold. What in the world were they talking about? Was this some game? Or were they seriously considering group suicide? And was the government truly hunting these kids?

He had heard about new policies stripping rights from the LGBTQI+ community and disenfranchising people of color. But had it escalated to mass executions? Chester had to find out.

He rummaged through an old trunk in his father’s Hollywood memorabilia. It contained all sorts of disguises: wigs, glasses, vintage clothing. Chester dressed as an older, disheveled homeless man and prepared to venture outside for the first time in weeks.

What he would learn would be devastating.

The streets were eerily quiet, yet tension hung in the air like a brewing storm. Checkpoints had been set up at major intersections, where government enforcersโ€”men in military gear with no insigniasโ€”patrolled with assault rifles.

Posters were plastered everywhere, declaring:

ย “FOR THE SAFETY OF OUR NATION, COMPLIANCE IS MANDATORY.”

ย Others simply stated:ย 

“NON-CONFORMISTS WILL BE RELOCATED.”

Chester approached a group of homeless people warming their hands over a fire in a rusted oil drum. They regarded him warily but allowed him into their circle.

“What’s happening?”ย 

Chester asked, playing the role of a lost drifter.

A man with hollowed-out cheeks and weary eyes responded,

“They’re rounding people up. Anyone who resists, anyone different. They disappear.”

Chester asked quickly,

“Disappear where?”

The man shook his head.

“No one knows. Some say camps. Others say execution sites.”

Chester’s stomach twisted into knots. The government wasn’t just oppressing people; it was actively erasing them. The kids in the park weren’t paranoidโ€”they were running for their lives.

He couldn’t stay hidden anymore. He had to act.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Chester snuck back to his house and removed the sign from his door. He pried open his windows, unlocked the doors, and gathered supplies. With his home’s ample space and well-stocked provisions, he offered sanctuary to those with nowhere else to go.

The next day, he returned to the park and approached the young people cautiously.

“Come with me,”ย he whispered. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

At first, they hesitated, but the desperation in their eyes mirrored his determination. One by one, they followed him back to his home. Chester had spent weeks barricading himself from the world, convinced that isolation was the only way to survive. But now, he understoodโ€”survival was not just about enduring. It was about resisting.

And Chester was ready to fight back.


“LGBT people are some of the bravest and most potent change agents and leaders I have encountered. They are the most forceful defenders of the vulnerable and voiceless because they know what it’s like to be there.”ย 

-โ€“โ€“ Ronan Farrow -โ€“โ€“ a journalist known for his investigative work with the New Yorker and member of the LGBTQI+ Community


Discovering a Father’s Hidden Letters

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

3โ€“5 minutes

The last of the guests had left. A heavy silence remained, seeming to fill every corner of the house. It had been a long day. Victor placed his hands over his face. He tried to collect himself from everything that had happened in the last few days. His father had passed, and the funeral had brought together friends and family he had not seen in years. Once filled with laughter and conversation, the house now stood eerily silent.

He walked to the refrigerator for a cold glass of water. Something caught his eyeโ€”a wooden cigar box atop a cabinet. It was the old kind โ€“โ€“ the type that hadn’t been made in years. It was a mystery, a relic from a bygone era. His father must have been holding onto it.

Curious, Victor set his glass on the kitchen table and reached for the box. He found letters bundled with a rubber band as he pried it open. The postmark on the top envelope was dated 1942. He ran his fingers over the stack, noticing the new rubber band. His father had handled these recently.

Victor’s mother, Emily, had passed nearly seven years ago. Since then, his father, Bob, has never been the same. He continued with life, but something had changedโ€”like a light had dimmed.

He carefully removed the band and unfolded the first letter. A small tobacco sack slipped out as he did, landing softly on the table. It felt empty, save for dust. Pushing it aside, Victor began to read.

My Dearest Emily,

Today, we are adrift going “over there.” I don’t know what we will find when or if we wash ashore. Yet, I know one thingโ€”I wish to get back to you more than anything. You are my love, my most faithful and one and only! I promise with all my heart to survive this mission and see you again! I have to make this quick to get to the mail plane before it takes off.

Love, Bob

Letter after letter, Victor saw the same unwavering devotion. His hands trembled as he read the words, feeling the weight of his father’s love and sacrifice. Then, one in particular caught his attention:

My Dearest Emily,

We ran into trouble and had to fight the Japanese in the middle of the ocean. We won. The chiefs say it will be a decisive battle in the war. I certainly hope so. We took losses. Some of my buddies are gone. But I am still here, as I promised you I would be. I love you and can only count the days until this war ends, and I am back home with you. I promise I will never leave your side again once I return!

Love, Bob

Victor looked at the date on the letter and the weight of his father’s words. Could Bob have been in the Battle of Midway? He had never spoken much about his military service. The letters seemed to carry the burden of his unspoken past.

No kid should have to be a killer of another. It is the most horrible thing you can imagine.

Those were the only words his father had ever spoken about the war.

Victor leaned back in his chair, staring at the letters before him. His father had seen horrors he had never spoken of and endured trials he had buried deep. Yet, through it all, the one thing that had kept him going was his profound and unwavering love for Emily.

He suddenly understood why, after her passing, his father had never quite been the same. Bob had kept his promiseโ€”he had never left her side. And when Emily was gone, so too, in a way, was Bob.

A lump began to form in Victor’s throat. He had always known his parents’ love was strong, but he had never truly grasped its depth until now. He had a newfound appreciation for the man his father had been. He gently and reverently returned the letters to the cigar box. Each one was a testament to his father’s enduring love.

As he placed the box back on the cabinet, he felt something shift within him. Grief remained, but now it was accompanied by a deep admiration. His father had lived and loved with an intensity few understood.

And finally, after all these years, he was with Emily again.

The Wild West Legacy: Tim’s Cattle Drive Experience

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉs

4โ€“6 minutes

Sitting in the large living room, Tim’s father called him down from his upstairs bedroom. As Tim entered, he wondered if he had forgotten to do his chores properly. He also thought about whether his father had bad news to deliver.


Sitting on the fireplace ledge, he faced his father, who sat in his favorite chair.


“I’m helping Jess Paul tomorrow down south of Mingo for Doc. We must drive cattle up from their southern pasture. Then, we will move them into holding pens for transport to the sale barns. We need a third rider to keep the point in key areas, and I’d like you to come with us.”


Tim’s heart leaped. He had never been to Mingo but had always heard about the town. It was one of the last places with a 19th-century reputation. It was known as a wild, lawless settlement. Gunfights on the main street occurred weekly. Jess Paul often talked about how the local cowboys were descendants of the originals who roamed the territory before statehood.


Jess Paul was one of his father’s closest friends. Ten years ago, he lost both legs below the knee in a farming accident. Despite this, he rehabilitated himself and learned to walk using only a cane. Jess Paul can mount a horse and ride all day without showing pain or discomfort. With his two wooden legs, he can break a wild two-year-old stud just as well as any other cowboy. To Tim, Jess Paul was the toughest man Tim had ever known. His hands were massive, and he had a story for every place they went.


Tim’s father instructed his older sister to stop by his school and collect any assignments he’d miss.


“Tell his teacher I need him to work cattle,”

he said matter-of-factly.


The next morning came early. At 4:00 AM, Jess Paul was already up, having slept in his truck’s camper parked in front of their house. Jess Paul’s horse had been kept with the others on Tim’s father’s farm. While his father and Jess Paul gathered saddles and horses, Tim hitched the stock trailer to his father’s pickup.


Jake, Tim’s father, rode his horse, Red Man. Tim mounted Sam, his temperamental gelding, while Jess Paul rode Sonny. With the horses loaded, they set out for Mingoโ€”a journey of over 150 miles. Another 20 miles beyond the town lay the range land where the cattle waited.


Jess Paul talked nonstop during the long drive. Tim had heard some of his stories several times before. Each time, Jess Paul added a new detail to keep them fresh. This made the stories engaging.


After three hours on the road, they arrived and unloaded the horses. Tim dreaded the ride on Sam. The weather was unseasonably cool, and Sam was known for taking off bucking at the worst possible times.


“No cowboying,”

Jake warned.

“We want these cattle to walk to the pens. Just guide themโ€”don’t rush them or get them running.”


Tim nodded. He understood why. Running the cattle would make them lose weight, reducing their value at the auction.


No cattle were in sight from the truck. The trio mounted up and rode south across the prairie. Half an hour later, they spotted the herdโ€”about two hundred headโ€”gathered in a valley, sheltered from the cold north wind. Jake moved wide to one side of the herd. Jess Paul took the opposite side. Tim took position on the hill. He was ready to steer the cattle north toward the pens.

Tim fought to keep Sam still as the cattle approached. The horse was itching to jump, and Tim braced himself, expecting a sudden bucking fit.


The first two turning points went smoothly. Tim maneuvered between the cattle and the next position with ease. But at the final turn, he noticed a devil’s claw tangled around Sam’s hind hoof. The dried-up weed flower was notorious for driving horses wild, making them kick and thrash to free themselves. Tim knew he had to stay calm.

Devils Claw
Proboscidea louisianica


Slowly, he dismounted, working his way around Sam. He reached down with deliberate care. Then, he grabbed the devil’s claw and pulled it free. Using his boot, he brushed it away. Miraculously, Sam stood still.


Tim half expected the horse to explode at any moment. The last time Sam went full rodeo, they had been riding a narrow trail along a canyon. On one side was a dirt wall; on the other, a hundred-foot drop. Sam had bucked the entire way down to the canyon floor. Tim had held on for dear life. He cursed the horse with every bounce. Tim’s father scolded him for not stopping the horse. Tim never dared argue back. He had just been trying to survive the ride.


Now, with Sam behaving, Tim remounted and guided the cattle through the final turn. The herd moved steadily into the holding pens, where hay and grain had been spread.
After the last cow entered, the trio loaded their horses back into the trailer, and the gates clanged shut. The job was done. They had answered the call south of Mingo, and now it was time to head home.

Riding home meant Jess Paul would tell more stories.

Mabel the Cow: A Unique Weather Oracle

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

2โ€“4 minutes

THE COW THAT FACED EAST AND WEST

Mabel The Cow
Mabel The Cow That Stood East and West

Mabel was no ordinary cow. Unlike her bovine companions, most faced north or south due to the Earth’s magnetic field. She alone possessed the uncanny ability to sense the shifting seasons. Her unique gift made her a figure of fascination and wonder in the town. If she stood facing due west upon stepping from her barn, an early spring was certain. But if she turned east, the town braced itself for six more weeks of winter’s harsh grip.

The people’s trust in Mabel was unwavering. She had consistently met their expectations. She had never let them down. This held true since old Farmer Ed Boyd’s grandfather first noticed her peculiar habit. To them, she was more than just a cowโ€”an oracle of the changing seasons, a symbol of nature’s quiet wisdom. Their collective belief in her was a bond that united the entire community.

On this particular February 2nd, 2025, the excitement was palpable. The air was crisp. The sky was cloudless. The crowd murmured in hushed voices as they watched Farmer Ed lead Mabel from the barn. She had just finished her morning hay and grain, and Ed had completed the daily milking. Now, all eyes were on the old cow.

Mabel stepped into the winter sunlight, surveyed the expectant faces before her, and let out a deep, resonant moo. Then, to everyone’s shock, she did something she had never done before.

She laid down.

Not facing west. Not facing east. But southwest.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Uncertainty hung in the air, and people exchanged nervous glances.

“What does it mean?”

whispered Mrs. Thatcher, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Farmer Ed scratched his head, bewildered.

“Well, folks, I reckon Mabel’s got somethin’ new to tell us this year.”

Sheriff Dobbs adjusted his hat.

“Maybe it means we’ll have a little of bothโ€”some winter, some spring?”

Standing on tiptoe beside his father, Young Tommy Jenkins piped up,

“Or maybe she’s just tired!”ย 

His innocent humor brought a wave of laughter, momentarily easing the tension.

The laughter helped ease the tension, but the mystery remained. Some of the older farmers nodded knowingly. It was as if they were saying that nature always had its way of keeping folks guessing.

And sure enough, in the next weeks, the weather seemed as indecisive as Mabel had been. One day, warm breezes carried the scent of budding trees. The next day, an icy wind howled through town. It coated the fields with frost. The seasons wrestled for control, neither willing to yield entirely.

By March’s arrival, the town understoodโ€”Mabel had been right all along. That year, winter and spring refused to play by the usual rules. It was a season of in-between, cold mornings followed by warm afternoons, snow melting too soon only to return overnight.

From that year onward, the town no longer saw Mabel’s predictions as simple answers. They realized that nature didn’t always give clear signs. It spoke in whispers, patterns, and subtle shifts. Only those who truly paid attention understood these messages.

And so, every February 2nd, the people still gathered at Ed Boyd’s farm. They came not just to see where Mabel would stand. They attended to be reminded of life’s one true certaintyโ€”change is always coming.

Mabel, as always, remained the one true expert.

The Power of Storytelling: My Journey Through Words

GROFF MEDIA 2024ยฉ TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff IIยฉ

3โ€“5 minutes

A Journey Through Words: For Everyone Who Has Liked My Stories Over Time!

Each day, I search the depths of memory for details that can shape a story. Sometimes, I draw inspiration from current events or pressing concerns that resonate with my readers. Usually, the stories I share come from personal experiences; they are events I lived through firsthand or about those close to me. Or, I was involved enough with a concern to know the details intimately.  

As a child, I had a speech defect. It kept me from speaking up in crowds, around strangers, or in public settings. What seemed like a limitation at the time was a giftโ€”it taught me to listen. I became an observer, absorbing conversations, secrets, and moments others have overlooked. I often teased my older relatives that I held onto some of the family’s best-kept secrets. Over time, those secrets became storiesโ€”carefully crafted to preserve history while protecting the people behind them. It also helped me to learn how to be invisible, in a sense. When you stay still and always stay quiet, people overlook the kid in the corner. Conversations happen, and they let their guard down. That was a gift of sorts I brought in my adult life.

There’s a line I often use when people ask what I’ve done in life. I tell them, half-jokingly:  

“I’ve done damn near everything.”

And it’s true.  

I started working on our farm at eight, feeding horses, cleaning barns, and doing chores. Later, I rode fences, helped my dad with his duties as a ranger, and ran errands. As a teenager, I worked at the camp he oversaw, mowing lawns and clearing brush. Once I got my driver’s license, I started hauling hay and peanuts with three friends. It was some of the most challenging work I’ve ever done.  

I became a police officer and served in that role until retirement, after which I transitioned into radio broadcasting. I anchored newscasts for a five-state radio network before moving to a larger market as a news director. Eventually, I returned to law enforcement, working for the Department of Corrections, where I tracked down escaped prisoners. Tracking sometimes required undercover jobsโ€”working at bakeries, hardware stores, magazine suppliers, or grocery storesโ€”blending into communities to locate fugitives. I blend into the scenes, always becoming invisible, just as I did when I was younger. I was always successful, though I often found it hard to leave the undercover roles behind.  The people I had met always became colleagues.

After the September 11th attacks, my spouse’s employer offered a transfer from Kansas to Phoenix, Arizona. The decision was easy. I left law enforcement behind. I found work with Ford-Volvo of North America. I became a vehicle test driver at the Arizona Proving Grounds. I assisted the Ford assembly group in the winter. In the summer, I tested the endurance of Volvo cars and SUVs in the Arizona heat.  

In 2008, medical issues forced me to stop driving. That’s when I turned to writingโ€”first with news articles and then by building news sites for small communities. The site you’re reading now was born from that transition. I created this space when I realized traditional employment was no longer a choice.  

When I started using WordPress, it differed from the platforms I had worked with. I learned through trial and error, studying the work of others, adapting, and refining my skills. Over time, I explored your sites. I saw your creativity, dedication, and unique voices. I better understood how to navigate and thrive in this space.  

I’ve always believed that you get back what you put into something. That’s why I make it a point to read the work of othersโ€”it broadens my perspective beyond my world. And for that, I’m grateful.  

To all our followers, subscribers, and readersโ€”thank you. Yesterday, I received a message from WordPress announcing that our site has reached **500 likes!** That’s an incredible milestone, especially since I don’t commercially promote these stories or actively drive traffic to them. This achievement is entirely because of your support, shares, and encouragement.  

I truly appreciate every one of you for being part of this journey. It seems trivial to some. But, for someone who overcame a speech defect, getting 500 likes is a big deal. Thank you, indeed!