I recently created a short memorial video honoring my mother, Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff—centered around the final telephone call I shared with her not long before she passed. In those last moments, there was a quiet understanding, a tenderness in her voice, and a sense of closeness that words can hardly capture. This video reflects that conversation and the emotions carried within it—love, gratitude, and the unspoken bond between a mother and her child. While we will gather at a later time to celebrate her life more fully, this small tribute preserves one of our final connections, a moment I will carry with me always. ––– Benjamin Groff
Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff passed away on the evening of January 19, 2026, in Burns Flat, Oklahoma. She was nearing her 96th year—a life that spanned some of the most defining chapters in American history. Born in Sentinel, Oklahoma, during the Great Depression, she witnessed firsthand the hardships of the Dust Bowl, the resilience of post-war America, the uncertainty of the gas lines in the 1970s, and the ever-changing world of today. Alongside her husband, JD, she raised six children, building a life grounded in perseverance, faith, and family. In her final moments, she was not alone—two of her children remained faithfully by her side, just as she had so often been there for them throughout their lives.
The Most Supportive Husband Ever… Or So He Thought
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 mother of Groff-Media’s Benjamin Groff has passed away at the age of 95. Marjorie Bernice McWhirter Groff died in Burns Flat Oklahoma on the 19th of January 2026. She was raised on her father’s farm in Southwest Oklahoma during the Great Depression.
Marjorie Bernice McWhirter Groff, age 95, of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, passed away on January 19, 2026. She was the beloved mother of Groff-Media’s Benjamin Groff. Her life reflected perseverance. She was devoted to family and demonstrated quiet strength.
Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff was born on August 21, 1930, to G.W. and Bernice McWhirter on the McWhirter homestead near Sentinel, Oklahoma. She was raised on her father’s farm in southwest Oklahoma during the Great Depression. She learned early the values of hard work. She also developed self-reliance and resilience. She attended school in Sentinel, graduating in 1949. With characteristic humor, she often recalled being held back in first grade by Ms. Thomas. This was an event never fully explained, but she later attributed it to her grit and orneriness. These qualities remained with her throughout life.
She later married JD Groff in Arapaho, Oklahoma. Together, they formed a blended family of “yours, mine, and soon ours.” They raised six children. They built a life rooted in commitment and unconditional love. The family lived in Clinton, Cordell, and Binger, Oklahoma. Wherever they resided, Marjorie ensured her family had food on the table, clean clothes, and a warm home. She faithfully followed JD wherever his work and calling led, embodying the meaning of partnership and devotion.
Marjorie worked for many years in grocery and retail service. She held positions at Puckett’s Grocery in Cordell. She also worked at United Supermarkets in Clinton and Cordell. Additionally, she worked at Loren’s Grocery in Binger. She was employed at the former Humpty Dumpty store in Anadarko as well. In the mid-1970s, she managed a store for the late Dr. Henry Phifer. She assisted her husband in the care of Camp Red Rock. Helping with the operation of the Girl Scout camp from the 1970s through the mid-1980s. Many residents of Caddo, Kiowa, and Washita Counties came to know Marjorie through her work as a census demographic assistant. They relied on her for accuracy and trustworthiness. Later in life, she devoted herself to caring for others in different roles. She worked as a group-home caregiver. She was also a personal care assistant for individuals with developmental challenges.
In 2010, Marjorie moved from Binger to her son’s ranch near Phoenix, Arizona. In 2013, she returned to Oklahoma to live with her daughter Twila in Edmond. They later moved to Burns Flat. She resided there until her passing.
Marjorie was preceded in death by her parents. Her husband, JD Groff, also passed before her. She lost two sons, Sheldon Groff and Dennis Groff. She was also preceded in death by her brothers and sisters and their spouses. They were Robert Glen McWhirter, George McWhirter, David McWhirter, Richard McWhirter, Opal Burke, Nancy Dew, and Carolyn Overton. Her sisters-in-law were Mary McWhirter from Wichita Falls, Texas. Another one was Irene McWhirter from Oklahoma City. The third sister-in-law was Dortha Groff Downing from Weatherford, Oklahoma. Her brothers-in-law were Bennie Groff of Oklahoma City and Virgil Downing of Weatherford, Oklahoma. Others included Herb Burke of Mustang, Oklahoma, and Raymond Dew of Guthrie, Oklahoma.
She is survived by her children: Terry L. Groff and his wife, Paula, of Binger, Oklahoma. Juli Hall resides in Fort Cobb, Oklahoma. Twila Bowling lives in Burns Flat, Oklahoma. Benjamin Groff and Steven Swint, are from Mesa, Arizona. She is also survived by her sister, Shirley Lawson of Oklahoma City. She leaves behind many nieces and nephews. Many extended family members, friends, and neighbors remained in contact and offered care and companionship over the years.
Marjorie leaves behind a large and loving family, including thirteen grandchildren, thirteen great-grandchildren, and six great-great-grandchildren. She is also remembered by three adopted grandchildren—Benny, George, and Vojta—and their families in Germany and the Czech Republic.
She is also survived by her grandchildren: Tommy Groff, Robert Groff, Jay Dee Groff, and Raymond Groff. Florence Lynn (Groff), Amanda Bowling, Blake Bowling, and Natasha Garrison. Nathan Smith, Michael Smith, Tracey Groff, Ryan Groff, and Sisney Groff.
The love and support she received from those who stood by her until the end speak volumes. They highlight her husband’s enduring values. This is a testament to his character. These values were instilled by JD Groff. She never lost their dedication, trust, or love. This reflects the respect for family and elders that JD taught his children. Marjorie lived this respect every day.
Private family services will be held at Marjorie’s wish in the Spring Time.
Gregory de Polnay was born on 17 October 1943 in Chelsea, London, England, UK. He was an actor, known for Mansfield Park (1999), Doctor Who (1963) and Dixon of Dock Green (1955). He was married to Candice Caroline White. He died on 1 January 2026 in Poitiers, France.Some reports have listed as 2 January, 2026.
Big Finish Productions confirmed Gregory de Polnay’s death. He was known and respected there for his contributions to audio drama. News of his passing was met with sadness by colleagues, listeners, and admirers of his work.
Gregory de Polnay built a career defined by presence and voice. These qualities served him especially well in the world of recorded performance. Through his work with Big Finish, he became part of a storytelling tradition that values nuance, imagination, and character. He brought scripts to life for audiences. These audiences knew him primarily through sound rather than stage or screen.
De Polnay was not a household name. Yet, his work left a lasting impression within the creative communities he served. Fellow performers and producers remembered him as a dedicated professional. He matched his seriousness of craft with a deep respect for storytelling and collaboration.
Gregory de Polnay is survived by friends, colleagues, and listeners who continue to enjoy the performances he left behind. His voice endures in the stories he helped tell. This ensures that his contribution to the art of audio drama will not be forgotten.
Eddie Sotto, 67, American experiential designer, mixed-media producer and conceptualist
Eddie Sotto, a visionary designer and influential figure in themed entertainment, has died at the age of 67. Sotto earned widespread respect for his creative leadership. He made a lasting impact on the way immersive environments are imagined and experienced. His work with Walt Disney Imagineering was significant during a pivotal era of expansion and innovation.
Eddie Sotto imagined places where stories lived. He shaped immersive worlds at Walt Disney Imagineering. These worlds welcomed millions and forever redefined themed design.
Sotto joined Walt Disney Imagineering in 1986. He rose to become Senior Vice President of Concept Design in 1994. This role placed him at the center of some of Disney’s most ambitious international projects. Among his most notable achievements was overseeing the design of Main Street, U.S.A. at Disneyland Paris. There, his vision helped adapt a classic American concept for a global audience. He managed to preserve its sense of nostalgia, storytelling, and emotional resonance.
One of Sotto’s most enduring contributions was his proposal. He suggested placing the Disneyland Hotel directly at the entrance of Disneyland Paris. This proposal was bold and unprecedented. This was the first time Disney situated a hotel within a theme park. This concept would influence future park planning. It also redefined the relationship between guest experience and themed architecture. Eddie Sotto’s legacy endures in the spaces he helped create and in the imaginative standards he set for immersive design.
An argument disrupted a party at Conan O’Brien’s Christmas Party. Now Conan is reportedly “wracked with guilt” over what happened in his home that night. Guests at the party said the younger Reiner was “freaking out”. Nick was reportedly going from guest to guest asking them “if they were famous?” Which is believed to have started a dispute between he and his father. Conan thinks he should have intervened when he looks back. Instead, he said all three of the Reiners left his party and went home.
On December 14, 2025, the world was shaken by the devastating news. Rob Reiner, one of America’s most beloved artists and civic voices. And his wife photographer Michele Singer Reiner, were found fatally wounded. Murdered in their Brentwood, Los Angeles home. Their their son, Nick Reiner, now charged with their murders. Leaving a profound void in Hollywood and in public life. And stunning the hearts of millions who admired their work and their lives around the world. (1)
A Life in the Arts — From Screen to Story
Rob Reiners rise to prominence was nothing short of extraordinary. Rob was born in the Bronx in 1947. He was born to entertainment royalty — his father was the legendary comedian Carl Reiner. Rob built a career that spanned decades and mediums. He first captured America’s imagination as Michael “Meathead” Stivic on All in the Family. This performance earned him Emmy recognition. It also made him a household name. (2)
But it was behind the camera that Reiner truly reshaped American cinema. As a director and producer, he brought to life some of the most cherished films of the late 20th century:
This Is Spinal Tap — a cult classic that redefined mockumentary comedy. (2)
Stand by Me — a timeless coming-of-age masterpiece. (2)
The Princess Bride — a fairy tale beloved by generations. (2)
When Harry Met Sally… — one of the great romantic comedies in film history. (2)
A Few Good Men — a gripping courtroom drama that became a cultural touchstone. (2)
His storytelling was more than entertainment; it was empathetic, insightful, and deeply human — reflecting the best of American imagination.
A Partner in Life and Purpose
Standing beside Rob was Michele Singer Reiner, his wife of more than three decades. Michele’s talents went beyond her role as a devoted partner and mother. She was a gifted photographer and producer. Michele was celebrated in her own right. Her work included collaborations on various cultural projects. Her creative eye helped shape the visual landscape of many endeavors they pursued together. (2)
Michele was not merely a support to Rob. She was an equal force of creativity, compassion, and conviction. She embodied a deep commitment to both art and advocacy.
Champions of Humanity and Civic Duty
Rob and Michele Reiner were not content to rest solely on artistic laurels. They were passionate advocates for causes that show the best instincts of our nation. Rob’s political engagement spanned early childhood education, civil rights, and marriage equality. His involvement made him a fierce public voice for inclusion, justice, and the dignity of all people. He helped co-found influential organizations and leveraged his platform to support progressive civic causes. (3)
Michele’s activism and advocacy were equally meaningful. She championed marginalized communities through her work with LGBTQ+ organizations and children’s welfare initiatives. She lent her voice to efforts that made tangible differences in people’s lives. (2)
Together, they represented a model of creative achievement married with civic responsibility. This reminds us that success in culture and in conscience are not mutually exclusive. Instead, they are mutually enriching.
A Loss Shared by the Nation
The response to their deaths reflects the breadth of lives they touched. Tributes poured in from Hollywood friends like Billy Crystal, Albert Brooks, and Martin Short. Political figures across the spectrum also honored their legacy and mourned the immense loss. Friends called them a “special force devoted to public betterment,” highlighting their generosity, their creativity, and their tireless spirit. (3)
Why We Should Honor Them
The Reiners lived by the same ethic exemplified by Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter. They shared a commitment to service, compassion, and purpose. Like President Carter, they devoted themselves to doing good whenever they can. They aimed to help for as long as possible and in many ways.
If America needed to memorialize a pair, they would choose Rob and Michele Singer Reiner. Their lives reflected the highest values of artistic brilliance. They showed humanitarian commitment and civic leadership. The Reiners embody artistic brilliance and humanitarian dedication. Civic leadership was a fundamental part of their legacy. They stand at the top of that list. Their tragic end came at the hands of a loved one struggling with personal demons. This only deepens the poignancy of their story. It underscores life’s fragility, even for those who seem larger than it.
To remember them is not only to celebrate iconic films and photographs. It is also to proclaim a narrative about what it means to care for one another. It shows how to invest in the common good. Ultimately, it encourages us to leave the world better than we found it — through art, action, and advocacy.
A highway will probably never bear their name. It is unlikely that a statue will stand in their likeness at the center of a campus. No one will demand that students memorize every detail of what they did — and that is just fine. They would not have sought those honors anyway. The Reiners never worked for recognition; they worked for purpose. And that is precisely why they will forever be remembered as heroes to so many. The Reiners — the truest expression of what an American life can be.
Every year at this time, I am reminded of a harrowing story. It is deeply etched into Oklahoma’s collective memory: the Babbs Switch School Fire of Christmas Eve, 1924. It stands as a tragic lesson in safety, humanity, and resilience.
The Fire
On that bitterly cold night, with heavy snow and sub-zero temperatures, 200 residents gathered. They met in Babbs Switch’s one-room schoolhouse for a Christmas Eve program. The school was tightly packed with engaged couples, grandparents, mothers, fathers, and children. The building’s windows were secured with wire mesh to deter intruders from the nearby railroad tracks. The sole exit—a door that opened inward—would soon become a deadly trap.
The program concluded with a teenage boy dressed as Santa Claus. He handed out toys and candy beneath a cedar Christmas tree. The tree was decorated with paper, tinsel, and lit candles. One of these candles brushed against the tree’s dry needles, igniting it instantly. Mrs. W.G. Boland, whose three children perished that night, later recounted the horror.
“I tried to beat it out with a paper sack,”
she said,
“but it did no good.”
Initially, the crowd laughed, believing the small blaze was being contained. But within moments, the flames engulfed the tree, the ceiling, and the entire structure.
Panic erupted.
The sole exit became a bottleneck as the crowd surged toward the door. Those at the back pushed forward, while the unlucky at the front got crushed in the chaos. Some attempted to pry open the wired windows, but their efforts were futile. Trapped inside, children, parents, and neighbors succumbed to the smoke and flames. Witnesses recalled the horrifying scene of people clawing at the exit. Bodies piled atop one another, and the acrid stench of burning flesh.
The Survivors
Among those who escaped was Lillie Biggers. She crawled out from under a desk clutching a doll she had just received. Her mother, Margaret, managed to get out but suffered severe burns to her hands and arms. Tragically, Lillie’s brothers, William, 9, and Walter, 15, did not survive. The Biggers family’s grief mirrored that of the entire community, where 36 lives were lost—half of them children. The belongings later identified the bodies of William and Walter. They carried a toy gun and a belt buckle.
The injured and deceased were transported to Hobart, the nearest town, where makeshift morgues were set up. The community’s response, known as the “Hobart Spirit,” saw residents drop everything to give aid and comfort. Newspaper accounts likened this effort to the Oklahoma Standard that emerged decades later after the Oklahoma City bombing.
Julie Braun with Mother Lillie’s Doll That Survived Fire
The Aftermath
The tragedy prompted a wave of reforms. Oklahoma legislators enacted fire safety laws requiring outward-opening doors, multiple exits, and accessible window screens in schools. Open flames were banned, and fire extinguishers became mandatory. The reforms eventually spread nationwide, though it would take more tragedies before they were fully adopted.
The morning after the Babbs Switch School Fire
A Missing Child
The story took a strange twist that turned it into a lingering mystery. Among the victims was three-year-old Mary Edens—or so it was believed. Her aunt, Alice Noah, escaped the building. She died days later. She claimed she had handed Mary to an unknown person outside the burning building. Mary’s body was never recovered, leading her family to hope she had survived.
In 1957, decades after the fire, a woman named Grace Reynolds came forth. She was from Barstow, California. She claimed to be the long-lost Mary. The Edens family reunited with her on Art Linkletter’s House Party television program, believing their prayers had been answered. Reynolds even wrote a book about her experiences. It is titled Mary, Child of Tragedy: The Story of the Lost Child of the 1924 Babbs Switch Fire.
But only some were convinced. A local newspaper editor who investigated the claim questioned its validity.
Skeptics noted inconsistencies in Reynolds’s story, but no definitive evidence confirmed or debunked her identity. To this day, the truth remains elusive.
Legacy
The Babbs Switch School Fire is remembered as one of the deadliest school fires in U.S. history. A stone monument now stands where the schoolhouse once stood, a quiet marker of lives lost and lessons learned. The physical scars of the tragedy have faded. Yet, its memory endures. It serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and our enduring hope for safety and change.
In the quiet margins of newspapers, lives flicker out of print. Still, they do not fade out of memory. That is where our magazine steps in. It offers a respectful space for families and community members. They can share and preserve their loved ones’ stories. benandsteve.com believes that every person who mattered deserves more than a line in the obituary section. It doesn’t matter whether they soared in the spotlight or labored in the shadows. They deserve a story that lingers.
In State. Gone But Not Forgotten! ~ The Quiet Roll Call of Memory ~ A Place Where Every Life is Honored!
The local teacher’s kindness rippled through generations. The factory worker’s quiet ingenuity saved jobs. Every story reminds us that all lives matter and deserve recognition. Each of them mattered in a way that defies headline fame, and we honor that truth.
When you turn our pages, you are not just scrolling past a date and a funeral notice. You are stepping into a life lived, an unfinished story, and a memory that still speaks. Through these stories, you can feel connected to those who shaped our world in ways that matter deeply to someone.
Join us. Let this edition of Notable Deaths – @ Galaxy8News, a service of benandsteve.com, stand as a testament that we remember — not only the famous, but the faithful. We honor not only the celebrated, but the steadfast. Through meaningful storytelling, we create a space where every life is acknowledged. Each life is valued and preserved. This nurtures a lasting sense of belonging and purpose.
We assure their contributions, their legacy, and their memory are posted. Visit daily to stay connected and informed on the most recent passing’s of those who have departed this world. Their lives mattered, and their stories deserve to be remembered. Bookmark it here! Just remember Galaxy8News, a service of benandsteve.com and Notable Deaths are two different pages. Hosted by the same entity.
Alice and Ellen Kessler were born on August 20, 1936, in Nerchau, Saxony, Germany. From early childhood, they trained in ballet and performance, eventually emerging as a dazzling twin act in post-war Europe. They became known internationally for their synchronized dancing, singing, and television appearances. They found particular fame in Italy, where they were dubbed “Le gemelle Kessler”.
They appeared in films like Love and the Frenchwoman and Dead Woman from Beverly Hills . Their careers expanded beyond dance into acting.
Shared Career, Shared Life
For decades, they performed as a unit—twins inseparable both on and off stage. Their image of elegance, glamour, and synchronized precision made them icons of entertainment in the 1950s and 1960s. Their bond remained strong even as they stepped away from the spotlight, ultimately returning to Germany and settling near Munich.
Their Final Days & Decision
On November 17, 2025, both Alice and Ellen passed away in Grünwald, Bavaria, Germany, at the age of 89. Their cause of death is reported as assisted suicide. They made this decision together. It reflects how they had lived life: side by side.
The sisters had long ago expressed the wish to be cremated together. They wanted their ashes placed in a single urn, according to reports. They had indicated they no longer wished to continue their current life. They chose to end their lives together.
Why They Made That Choice
While the intimate details of their decision stay personal, the public record suggests the following contributing factors:
Age and quality of life: At 89, they faced the realities of aging. Having lived their whole careers, they wished to face death by choice rather than decline.
Deep bond: Their identity had been formed around always being together—professionally and personally. The decision to depart together echoes the unity they maintained for nearly nine decades.
Autonomy in the final act: In Germany, since 2019, medical aid in dying has been legal under certain conditions. This involves an individual administering prescribed medication themselves. They chose the timing, setting, and manner—affirming their autonomy to the end.
Legacy and Reflection
Alice and Ellen stay symbols of an era of variety-show glamour. They epitomize cross-European entertainment. Their twin synergy is unmatched by few acts. But beyond their performance, their final act raises profound questions about dignity. It also questions companionship and the nature of choice at the end of life.
Their journey is a full-circle narrative for fans, historians, and those intrigued by human stories. They start as childhood ballet students. They become international stars. Finally, they become co-authors of their own end. It shows how life can be lived. It also demonstrates how life can be shared and completed on one’s own terms.
Closing Thoughts Remembering The Kessler Sisters
How many partnerships in life are built to last so long, and so deeply?
The Kessler twins remind us of devotion not only to craft, but to each other. In their final act, they teach us something tender and unsettling. They reveal the power of choice, the weight of togetherness, and the mystery of closure.
Latest on the Kessler Twins’ passing –
NEWS BULLETIN. TUESDAY NOVEMBER 19, 2025
The Kessler Twins have left this world together.
Alice Kessler and Ellen Kessler—German twin sisters who performed as a variety entertainment duo—died by joint assisted suicide at their home in Gruenwald, Germany, on Nov. 17, according to the German Society for Humane Dying (DGHS).
“They had been considering this option for some time,” the association, which advocates for the right to a self-determined death, said in a statement to NBC News. “They had been members of the organization for over a year.”
Explaining that those “who choose this option in Germany must be absolutely clear-headed, meaning free and responsible,” the organization noted that the sisters engaged in thorough discussions with a lawyer and a doctor before setting on this path.
“The decision must be thoughtful and consistent,” the DGHS added, “meaning made over a long period of time and not impulsive.”
Assisted dying is legal in Germany, with the country’s constitutional court ruling in 2020 that an individual has the right to end their life and seek help from a third party under certain circumstances.
Mohamed Sabry, Former Zamalek Midfielder, Dies at 51
The Egyptian football community is deeply saddened to mourn the loss of Mohamed Sabry. He was the former Zamalek and Egypt national team midfielder. He died in a car accident in Cairo’s Fifth Settlement on Thursday. He was 51. Sabry’s untimely passing marks the end of a remarkable life. He dedicated his life to the sport he loved. He helped define it for a generation of fans.
Sabry was a central figure in Zamalek’s golden era throughout the 1990s and early 2000s. This was a decade of triumphs. It cemented the club’s legacy in African football. Between 1993 and 2003, he lifted 15 major titles. These included three CAF Champions League trophies and two Egyptian Premier League championships. Known for his fierce determination, vision, and leadership on the pitch, Sabry was instrumental. He led Zamalek through some of its most celebrated victories. He earned admiration from teammates, opponents, and supporters alike.
Mohamed Sabry
After news of his passing, tributes poured in from across Egypt and beyond. Zamalek icon Mahmoud Abdel-Razek “Shikabala” described Sabry as “a legend of Egyptian football.” He also called him “a symbol of loyalty and devotion to his club and supporters.” His words reflected the views of many who admired Sabry for his exceptional talent. They saw him as a model of dedication and humility. Fans, former teammates, and rival clubs alike joined in remembering a man whose passion for football transcended the game’s rivalries.
Condolences also came from key figures within Egyptian football. Hossam Hassan, the national team coach, offered his sympathy to Sabry’s family. Al Ahly president Mahmoud El Khatib also conveyed his condolences to the wider football community. Tributes continue to flow. Mohamed Sabry will be remembered as one of Zamalek’s most influential midfielders. His achievements, sportsmanship, and loyalty to his club left an indelible mark on Egyptian football history.
Mohamed Sabry (1974–2025): Remembering a Zamalek Legend
You Can Read Learn Daily About Notable People Who Die Around The World Like ~
Former Zamalek midfielder Mohamed Sabry has died in a tragic car accident in Cairo at 51. A defining figure in Zamalek’s golden era, Sabry won 15 major titles, including three CAF Champions League crowns. Tributes from teammates, rivals, and fans recall a man of skill, loyalty, and unmatched devotion to the game.
There was a time when ghosts were not feared, but welcomed. Long before the plastic skeletons and fog machines, the presence of the departed inside a home was seen as sacred. It was viewed as even comforting. Hollywood later turned spirits into screams.
In old America, the line between the living and the dead was not sharply drawn. Much earlier in Europe, this line was also blurred. Families left chairs empty at the table for those who had passed. Candles flickered in windows not to frighten away spirits, but to guide them home. A draft whispered through the house. The hallway creaked, or the boards settled. These sounds were spoken of with gentle reverence: “It’s only Mother checking on us.”
Autumn, of course, was the favored season for such visitations. The harvest was done. The air turned cool and thin. This is a time believed to make the veil between worlds soft as gauze. Many homes, especially in rural places, held small gatherings to honor those who came before. Food was left out overnight. The family Bible was opened to the names of the dead. In some corners, the very hearth hosted a spirit or two. They lingered close to the warmth that once gave them life.
Ghosts were part of the household, not intruders. They were reminders — that life continues, even in unseen ways. The wind brushing the curtains or the rocker swaying gently on its own didn’t make people scream. They didn’t call for help. They smiled. They believed their ancestors had found their way home.
It wasn’t until the age of electricity and industrial noise that ghosts were driven out — or at least, ignored. Modern light replaced candlelight, and superstition was traded for science. Yet, as every October rolls around, the scent of woodsmoke returns to the air. We still sense something ancient moving among us. Maybe that’s why we decorate with skeletons and glowing pumpkins — a way, even now, to say: we remember you.
So the old ways weren’t so strange after all. Maybe ghosts were never meant to be feared. Maybe they were simply waiting to be invited back in.
We are deeply saddened to announce the passing of Carol Jane “Penny” Pence Taylor. She was born on May 11, 1929, and passed away on November 4, 2025. Penny was a pioneering American swimmer, Olympian, mentor, and coach. She was also a beloved figure in the sport of swimming. She died in New Orleans, Louisiana, at the age of 96.
Life & Accomplishments
Penny Pence was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, and as a young woman rose to national prominence as a breaststroke specialist. She represented the United States at the 1948 Summer Olympics in London. She competed in the women’s 200-metre breaststroke at the age of 19.
In that era, women’s competitive swimming was still evolving. Swimsuits were made of cotton. Goggles were not yet in regular use. Lane lines and pool technology were far less advanced than today. As noted in
Beyond the Olympics, she achieved multiple national titles in breaststroke and medley relay events. At the 1951 Pan American Games, she won gold in the 3×100 m medley relay. She also secured bronze in the 200 m breaststroke. Which is noted in Olympedia+1
After her competitive career, Penny turned to coaching and leadership. She spent more than three decades as a swim coach in the St. Louis area. She served in various roles with U.S. Swimming organizations. She was a team leader at the 1984 and 1992 Olympics. She worked as a deck marshal at the 1996 Games. She was also the chef de mission at several FINA World Championships. Her backgrounds are well documented on Wikipedia
Legacy
Penny Pence’s legacy lives on in many ways. She helped lay the groundwork for women’s competitive swimming in the United States. Her efforts bridged the post-war era into the modern age of the sport. Her dedication as an athlete, coach, administrator, and mentor touched countless swimmers. She had the rare perspective of having raced in the era when the butterfly wing-style was emerging in breaststroke events. Later, she guided new generations.
A Life Remembered
Penny was admired for her determination, her attention to detail, and her lifelong commitment to the sport she loved. She stayed involved with swimming well into her later years. She attended major events. She offered counsel and shared stories of an era when competitive swimming was very different from today.
A private celebration of her life is being planned.
Her family requests donations in her name instead of flowers. These can be made to a local swim club. Alternatively, they can be directed to a scholarship fund supporting young swimmers.
Her memory reminds us of the value of perseverance, service, and passion for the sport.
Penny Pence has left the pool. Still, her ripple effect continues in the lanes. It also continues in the lives of all whom she touched. She will be deeply missed and fondly remembered.
The man had lived his life in balance—not a saint, not a sinner, but somewhere in between. He had helped when strong. He erred when he was weak. Now, in his elder years, he carried the weight of both. His body ached. His breath came shorter. One night, he sank into a sleep so deep it felt like stepping into another world.
A ship appeared from the darkness. Its hull was blackened with age. It floated on a sea of whiskey. The whiskey shimmered like molten amber under the moonlight. A cigar extended from the deck like a gangplank, smoke curling in lazy ribbons. Hesitant but curious, the man stepped onto the cigar and walked across, balancing himself as if crossing into another reality.
On board, a captain awaited him—tall, weathered, eyes that had seen too much. “I’m here to take you to your next destination,” the captain said, voice low and certain. The man nodded. The ship cut across the whiskey sea. It came to rest before a towering building of glass and brass. Its entrance was lined with golden elevators, each gleaming like judgment itself.
Inside, a sharply dressed man waited in the lobby. His shoes were polished so bright they caught the reflection of the man’s weary face. He gestured toward a chair. “Tell me your life story,” he said.
And so the man spoke. He told of the good—moments of kindness, loyalty, laughter. He confessed to the bad—times of selfishness, anger, and failure. He left nothing out, for what use was there in lying at the end? The suited man listened, not judging, only nodding as though each word was weighed like coin on a scale.
At the end, silence hung heavy. The suited man pressed a single button. The doors of one elevator slid open, glowing with light the man did not quite see. He stepped ahead, heart pounding. Whether the elevator rose or fell, he did not know. But as the doors closed, he understood something profound. The true measure had never been perfection. It was honesty. It was the courage to walk the bridge, board the ship, and face the truth of who he had been.
When Politics Turns Deadly: What Recent Shootings Reveals About America’s Pressures
Political Violence in the U.S.: A Historical Lens Political Pressure Pots That Are Exploding
On September 10, 2025, conservative activist Charlie Kirk was fatally shot while speaking at Utah Valley University. The attack shocked audiences nationwide and revived a painful question: Is political violence becoming more common in the United States? While the details of this case continue to unfold, history offers context. The Kirk shooting is tragic, but it’s not unprecedented—political assassinations and attacks have occurred before. Understanding that history can help us prevent future violence.
Political Violence in the U.S.: Then and Now
Throughout U.S. history, public figures have been targeted for their beliefs, activism, or positions of power. These events—though rare—often show deep social, political, or cultural tensions. Below is a timeline of key moments, followed by how they compare to today.
Timeline of Notable U.S. Political Murders/Assassinations
Year / Victim / Role / Context / Motive
On April 14, 1865, Abraham Lincoln, the U.S. President, was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth, a Confederate sympathizer.
1901 William McKinley, U.S. President, was killed by anarchist Leon Czolgosz.
1935 Huey Long, U.S. Senator / LA Governor, was shot by Carl Weiss amid political turmoil in Louisiana.
1963 Medgar Evers, a Civil Rights Activist, was shot outside his home for his activism in Mississippi.
In 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested for the crime. He was shot and killed by Jack Ruby before standing trial. The official record names Oswald as the lone gunman. The motive has remained an issue of widespread debate and speculation for decades.
1965 Malcolm X, a Civil Rights Leader, was killed during a public speech in Harlem.
1968 Robert F. Kennedy, the Presidential Candidate, was shot after a campaign rally in Los Angeles.
On April 4, 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—American Baptist minister, civil rights leader, and Nobel Peace Prize laureate—was assassinated. He was standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee when it happened. James Earl Ray, an escaped convict, was arrested for the murder two months later and later pleaded guilty. Ray claimed he was part of a larger conspiracy. He later tried to recant his confession. Nonetheless, the official record names him as the assassin. The motive remains the topic of debate. King led the civil rights movement. He opposed systemic racism. These actions made him a frequent target of threats and hostility.
1969–70s Various bombings & shootings Political & protest-related Weather Underground, far-right and far-left extremist groups.
2011 Gabrielle Giffords (survived), U.S. Representative, was shot at a constituent event in Arizona; six others were killed.
High profile, targeted instances of political violence
Charlie Kirk shooting*
Killed
Orem, Utah
Kirk was shot and killed while speaking at an event on the campus of Utah Valley University. Kirk was a well-known conservative activist who founded Turning Point USA.
Sept. 2025
*Officials have not confirmed that the shooting was politically motivated.
*Officials have not confirmed that the shooting was politically motivated.
Minnesota lawmaker shootings
2 killed, 2 injured
Minneapolis, Minnesota
A gunman targeted several Minnesota election officials. He killed Minnesota House of Representatives member Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark Hortman in their home. State Sen. John Hoffman and his wife Yvette Hoffman were shot and injured in their home.
June 2025
Minnesota lawmaker shootings
Two killed, two injured
Minneapolis, Minnesota
A gunman targeted several Minnesota election officials. He killed Minnesota House of Representatives member Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark Hortman in their home. State Senator John Hoffman and his wife Yvette Hoffman were shot and injured in their home.
June 2025
Minnesota lawmaker shootings
Two killed, two injured
Minneapolis, Minnesota
A gunman targeted several Minnesota election officials. He killed Minnesota House of Representatives member Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark Hortman in their home. State Senator John Hoffman and his wife Yvette Hoffman were shot and injured in their home.
June 2025
Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s home arson
No injuries
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
The Pennsylvania Governor’s Residence was set on fire while Shapiro and his family slept inside.
April 2025
Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s home arson
No injuries
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
The Pennsylvania Governor’s Residence was set on fire while Shapiro and his family slept inside.
2025 Charlie Kirk, Conservative Activist, was shot while speaking at Utah Valley University; investigation ongoing.
Timeline of Notable Political Murders And Attacks In The U.S.(1865-2025)
Patterns and Parallels
Public Rhetoric Matters: In nearly every case, rhetoric and polarization preceded the violence.
Violence Rarely Comes From Nowhere: These events are almost always linked to broader grievances, social tensions, or extremist ideologies.
Modern Amplifiers: Today’s social media, 24/7 news, and intense partisanship can supercharge grievances faster than in past eras.
Lessons for Today
The Kirk shooting reflects how quickly divisions can escalate. This happens when marginalized or politically active groups feel threatened. It also occurs when public discourse frames opponents as existential enemies. Left unchecked, the result can spill over from online posts and protests into public spaces and deadly attacks.
History shows that violence rarely ends the debate—it deepens it. The antidote is not silence but inclusion, dialogue, and guardrails on how we treat one another, even when we disagree.
Closing Thoughts
The U.S. is not doomed to repeat its worst moments, but it does need to recognize them. Political violence grows where alienation and fear fester. The Charlie Kirk tragedy, like earlier assassinations, should not only shock but also instruct. By confronting polarization and reinforcing democratic norms, communities can prevent these cycles from repeating.
About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.
Joe had been lost in grief ever since Belinda, his wife of fifty years, passed away. Now nearly 80, his health was slipping. His memory faltered. His doctor warned he would soon need full-time care. One day, he might not even remember who he was. Watching Belinda decline into that same fog had torn him apart. Joe swore he wouldn’t let himself linger the way she had.
He made up his mind. Quietly, carefully, he wrote out a plan on paper and kept it folded in his pocket. When the time came, he would go to a scenic overlook, drink a fifth of whiskey, and take his own life as the sun slipped below the horizon. In his truck’s glovebox sat both the bottle and a revolver, waiting.
As the months wore on, Joe’s forgetfulness grew worse. He climbed into the wrong car. He mistook strangers’ houses for his own. He baffled neighbors with his confused blunders. It might have been comical if it weren’t so tragic. Then one morning, Joe woke with rare clarity. Today, he thought, would be the day. He dressed. He tipped his waitress a hundred dollars at breakfast. He filled his truck and signed the title over to the station owner. He stopped by the bank to remind young Betty, the teller, that she would inherit his house someday. He even visited Belinda’s grave, promising to leave a light on so she’d know he was coming home.
It took him five hours to find the overlook—a place barely half a mile from his house. As the sky burned orange, Joe followed the instructions from his pocket: whiskey first, then the gun. Memories came in waves—his youth, his marriage, his place in the community. With a last swig, he cocked the revolver, looked toward the heavens, and whispered, “Honey, I’m on my way.” He pulled the trigger.
Darkness. Then voices. A bright light. He thought he was dead—until he woke the next morning in County General Hospital.
“Good morning, Joe,” a nurse said. “We were wondering when you’d wake up. How was your trip last night?”
Joe frowned. “Trip? What trip?”
“The usual,” she smiled. “Breakfast, gas station, bank, then the overlook. The sheriff’s department was waiting for you. You got lost again, but they helped you find your way.”
Joe’s face hardened. “Dadblast it, that was my plan to do myself in! I’ve got a right to my privacy.”
The doctor walked in, shaking his head. “You do, Joe. But here in Canada, there’s another way. You qualify for MAiD—the Medical Assistance in Dying law. You don’t have to go alone with a bottle and a gun.”
Joe stared at him, confused. “Did I… forget that too?”
In 1921, Thomas and Mary Ellen Souder of Texas proved love doesn’t end at goodbye.
1–2 minutes
A Story of Devotion: Thomas Jefferson Souder & Mary Ellen
In the gentle stillness of Hurst, Texas, Thomas Jefferson Souder and Mary Ellen East Souder shared a quiet love. It spanned six decades. They were married for 60 years. They raised a family and cultivated a home. They remained inseparable through every upturn and downturn of life.
July 1921 brought a cruel twist. Both fell victim to “the flux.” It was a brutal wave of gastroenteritis. It was so swift that it swept Mary Ellen away first, on July 13. Thomas Jefferson, already weakened, succumbed to grief and illness just two days later on July 15.
The community mourned—especially those who believed no bond was stronger than theirs. So it was decided: they would rest together, side by side, in a unique double coffin. Their shared burial echoed their life—inseparable, even in death.
Newspapers of the day captured the sentiment well. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram, on July 16, headlined their story: “Death fails to Separate Couple Wed 60 Years.” They honored not just the passing of two individuals. It was a love that truly endured it all.
More than a century later, their story endures. It is not a tragedy but a testament. True devotion can span lifetimes. It quietly reminds us that love, in its purest form, touches eternity.
Fact-Checked Details
Thomas Jefferson Souder and Mary Ellen East Souder were married for about 60 years. They passed within a couple of days of one another in July 1921 (1).
Mary Ellen died on July 13, 1921, and Thomas Jefferson followed two days later, on July 15, 1921(2).
Their cause of death was identified as dysentery. It was referred to at the time as “the flux.” This is a severe form of gastroenteritis (3).
Both were well-known pioneers of Hurst in Tarrant County, Texas. They were buried together in a double coffin. It was a striking symbol of their lifelong unity (4).
Their joint burial made front-page news in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram on July 16, 1921, under a headline expressing how “Death fails to Separate Couple Wed 60 Years”
The Dead Has Gone – A Night Call to the Funeral Home
Jake Roff was a man of routine. Up before the sun, station lights on by 4:30, coffee brewed by 4:35. He liked the quiet hours before the town woke up. There was no traffic and no gossip. Just the hum of the soda cooler and the smell of gasoline.
That’s when the hearse pulled in.
The local funeral director appeared. He was a man who had perfected the art of wearing a solemn face. He maintained this expression even when discussing baseball scores. He leaned out the window and said,
“Jake… I can use an extra set of hands unloading a client.”
Jake wasn’t sure “client” was the right word, but he was too polite to argue. He locked the station door and climbed into the passenger seat. The ride was short. It was a ride where the air feels colder than it should. You can’t shake the notion that someone in back is listening.
At the funeral home, the place was dark. A single light illuminated the hallway. It was the light that leaves more shadows than it removes. The two men wheeled their passenger toward the prep room, the floor squeaking under the gurney wheels.
That’s when Jake’s hip clipped something.
The “something” was another gurney, parked just out of sight. The bump sent the sheet sliding to the floor in slow, terrible motion. It was like a curtain rising before a play no one wants to see.
Underneath was a woman. Her hair was a halo of white, frizzed and jutting out like she’d been caught mid-scream in a lightning storm. Her eyes were wide and glassy, locked on Jake as if she’d been waiting for him specifically. Her jaw hung slack. Her teeth were just visible. It was an open-mouthed stare that made him wonder if she was about to say something.
Jake didn’t stick around to find out. He backpedaled so fast he nearly tipped the “client” he’d come to help with. His heart was pounding. He mumbled something about
“forgetting to check the oil at the station.”
Then, he made a break for the door.
The funeral director called after him. By then, Jake was halfway down the block. He vowed never to set foot in that place again. For the rest of his days, he’d open his station early. Yet, if a hearse rolled in before sunrise, Bill always ensured he had a sudden, urgent appointment anywhere else.
This is a true story as told to the author. JD Groff experienced it first-hand. He passed it down through generations. Other family members kept it alive over the years. JD had a flair for telling this tale at family gatherings—something this written piece can only hope to capture. One thing’s certain. After that night, he never again helped unload another “client.” That was the case for as long as he lived in Cordell, Oklahoma.
About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.
Jeannie Seely’s 5,398th Opry Show” Set for August 14 at Grand Ole Opry House
1–2 minutes
A public Celebration of Life will honor Grand Ole Opry star and country music icon Jeannie Seely. It will be held Wednesday, August 14 at 10:00 a.m. CT at the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville. Fittingly titled “Jeannie Seely’s 5,398th Opry Show,” the service will pay tribute to her unmatched legacy.
Jeannie Seely passed away on Friday, August 1 at age 85, after complications from an intestinal infection. She held the record for most Opry appearances in history — 5,397 — a milestone unlikely to ever be surpassed.
Tributes from the Country Music Community
Many stars shared heartfelt words:
Ricky Skaggs:“She made nervous newcomers feel at peace. We can all take her lead and encourage the next generation.”
Pam Tillis:“She had grit, wit, talent—and she was cool.”
Larry Gatlin:“She was my champion and inspiration. I miss her already.”
John Anderson, Ray Stevens, Mark Chesnutt, Darryl Worley, Billy Dean, and others echoed similar admiration, love, and deep loss.
Legacy
Nicknamed “Miss Country Soul,” Jeannie Seely broke barriers for women in country music. She was the first woman to regularly host Opry segments. She is also a GRAMMY winner and a BMI-awarded songwriter. Additionally, she has been an Opry member since 1967. Her songs were recorded by legends. These include Merle Haggard, Dottie West, and Willie Nelson. She also shared the screen with Willie Nelson in Honeysuckle Rose. In 2022, she was honored for her historic number of Opry performances. A stretch of road near the venue was renamed the Jeannie Seely Interchange in 2024.
Instead of Flowers
Donations in Jeannie’s name are encouraged to pet-related charities or the Opry Trust Fund: opry.com/about/opry-trust-fund
To start viewing events from Jeannie’s life, visit her website here. You can see the music she shared, events celebrated, and the people she loved.
William Irwin “Bill” Krisher (September 18, 1935 – 2025, age 89)
William Irwin Krisher, known to football fans as Bill Krisher, passed away in 2025 at age 89 (1).
He was born on September 18, 1935, in Perry, Oklahoma. He grew up in Midwest City. He developed into a standout lineman for the University of Oklahoma under coach Bud Wilkinson (2).
Krisher’s college career was decorated. He earned consensus All-American honors in 1957. He helped the Sooner’s win consecutive national championships in 1955 and 1956 3.
Selected in the third round of the 1958 NFL draft, he played for the Pittsburgh Steelers before moving to the AFL’s Dallas Texans (now Kansas City Chiefs), where he was named to the All‑AFL Team in 1960 and honored as a division All‑Star in 1961 4
Off the field, Krisher dedicated himself to faith and mentorship. He was an active member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and served as its southwestern regional director by the mid‑1970s 5
Bill Krisher leaves behind a legacy of excellence in collegiate and pro football. He dedicated his life to uplifting others through faith and service.
He is remembered by family, teammates, and athletes inspired by his example.
A sad update, the man in a report here a few days ago has died.
61‑year‑old Keith McAllister died after being violently pulled into the MRI scanner at Nassau Open MRI in Westbury, Long Island. He entered the MRI room on Wednesday, July 16, while his wife was undergoing a knee scan. McAllister wore a heavy-weight-training chain (~9–20 lb/4–9 kg) around his neck. Despite prior discussions about the chain with staff, he was allowed in.
When he approached the machine, the strong magnetic field latched onto the chain, yanking him into the scanner. His wife and the technician attempted to free him, but he collapsed in her arms. She recounted shouting, “Turn this damn thing off! Call 911!”.
McAllister was rushed to the hospital, where he suffered multiple heart attacks and was pronounced dead on Thursday, July 17. His wife emotionally described the moment: “He went limp in my arms… I can’t wrap my head around it”.
The Nassau County Police Department is investigating the incident, and experts are emphasizing the critical need for strict MRI safety protocols, especially regarding metal screening. Past tragedies—including a 2001 case involving a child and an oxygen tank—highlight the grave risks of metallic objects around MRI machines.
Summary of key points:
Victim: Keith McAllister, 61
Date of incident: July 16, 2025 (MRI room event)
Date of death: July 17, 2025 (hospital)
Cause: Pulled into MRI by heavy metal chain (~9–20 lb)
Response: Wife and technician tried to assist; police are now investigating
Safety concern: Highlights critical importance of enforcing metal screening protocols
Helen Cornelius (December 6, 1941 – July 18, 2025) was the deeply cherished voice of classic country. She was the beloved duet partner to Jim Ed Brown. She passed away on July 18, at the age of 83 FacebookThe Sun Set TV. She was born as Helen Lorene Johnson in Monroe City, Missouri. She was raised on a farm where music flowed naturally in her family. She joined her sisters Judy and Sharon in a local singing trio before forming her own band, The Crossroads.
Cornelius’s early career blossomed in the late 1960s. She worked as a songwriter signed to Screen Gems Music. She penned songs recorded by artists like Barbara Fairchild and Connie Smith Wikipedia+3Wikipedia+3The Sun Set TV+3. After a brief stint with Columbia and MCA Records, her life’s defining moment arrived in 1976. Teaming up with Jim Ed Brown, she recorded “I Don’t Want to Have to Marry You.” It was a No. 1 country smash. This success launched a string of hit duets. These include “Saying Hello, Saying I Love You, Saying Goodbye.” They also include “Lying in Love with You” and “Fools.” There are more HistoryForSale+7Wikipedia+7Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum+7. Their chemistry was undeniable. It earned them the Country Music Association’s Vocal Duo of the Year award. This accolade came in 1977 Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum.
Cornelius also enjoyed solo success. This includes her charting single “Whatcha Doin’ After Midnight Baby.” She toured with iconic acts like The Statler Brothers. She later brought her signature warmth to stage shows. This included a stint in the musical Annie Get Your Gun. She also opened the Nashville South venue in Gatlinburg HistoryForSale+3Wikipedia+3The Sun Set TV+3. In the 2000s, she became a Branson favorite at the Jim Stafford Theater. She made frequent appearances on RFD‑TV’s Country’s Family Reunion series Facebook+5Wikipedia+5The Sun Set TV+5.
Helen was recognized not just for her pure, heartfelt voice. She was also acknowledged for her humility and graciousness. Moreover, the undeniable bond she shared with Jim Ed Brown on stage and in life was noteworthy. Even after their professional split in 1981, she remained a steadfast presence in country music. They reunited for a 1988 tour. She continued to be a steadfast presence in country music 98.1 – Minnesota’s New Country+4Wikipedia+4The Sun Set TV+4.
She is survived by her loving family and legions of fans who still cherish those golden harmonies. Helen Cornelius’s legacy lives on in every record, performance, and the countless artists she inspired. She will be remembered as one of country music’s finest voices. She was a true steward of its heart.
Continued Connection: Remained active in the community through Country’s Family Reunion and Branson theater gigs YouTube+4Wikipedia+4Wikipedia+4.
Her passing marks the end of a storied chapter in country music. Her voice—filled with warmth, purity, and grace—will continue to echo for generations. Rest in harmony, Helen Cornelius.
There used to be four chairs at the table. Every Sunday, without fail, they were filled.
Anna always brought the rolls. George never remembered the salad. And Michael, the youngest, made them laugh so hard someone usually spilled something. Then there was Claire. The one who set the table. Who kept the tradition.
But life doesn’t ask for permission when it starts rearranging things.
Anna moved three states away for a job that offered better pay and less time. George passed unexpectedly—just one late afternoon in September, gone with no goodbyes. Michael, grief-stricken and incapable of facing the silence, stopped coming.
And Claire… she kept setting the table. All four chairs. Every Sunday.
It felt foolish at first—preparing a meal for no one. But over time, the quiet stopped being so loud. She began to remember George’s voice not as an echo of absence, but as a smile in her thoughts. She started writing letters to Anna and cooking Michael’s favorite dish, just in case he came.
And one Sunday, he did.
He didn’t say much—just sat in his chair like it had never been empty. They ate. They laughed. No one mentioned the salad.
Recovery isn’t about replacing what’s lost. It’s about honoring it enough to keep living.
It came only after failing, suicide and horror. A true story. That matters!
The Tragic True Story of Jean-Michel “Michou” — A Farmer’s Silent Cry
Location: Loire-Atlantique, France Year: 2011 Category: Real Farmer Story | Mental Health | Agriculture Crisis
🌱 Chapter 1: Born in the Soil
Jean-Michel, lovingly called Michou by his village neighbors, was born into a family of farmers in the rural province of Loire-Atlantique, France. His family had been farming for three generations — milking cows, sowing wheat, harvesting barley, and living off the land.
From a young age, Michou learned how to wake before sunrise, milk the cows, repair fences, and drive tractors. Farming wasn’t a job for him — it was identity, love, and legacy.
“City people see cows as business. For us, they are family.” – Michou
🐄 Chapter 2: A Life of Relentless Labor
Michou managed a small dairy farm with 47 cows. He woke every day at 5:00 AM, fed his cattle, and milked them before the sky even turned blue. After that, he toiled in the fields, checking irrigation, sowing seeds, fixing old machines.
He worked 365 days a year — no holidays, no weekends.
Everyone saw him as the “hardworking farmer of the region,” always smiling, always moving.
But inside, Michou was collapsing.
📉 Chapter 3: The Economic Collapse
After 2008, the dairy industry in Europe began to spiral downward.
Milk prices dropped from €0.32/liter to €0.22/liter
Cost of production was €0.30/liter
Michou was losing money with every drop of milk
He took a loan of €24,000. Then another €18,000. Then mortgaged his tractor. Still, the bills kept piling up: electricity, fodder, tractor repairs, fertilizers.
“I’m no longer a farmer. I’ve become a machine that produces milk… and debt.” – from Michou’s diary
💔 Chapter 4: When Support Fades
His wife, Lucie, fell ill — stress and fatigue. His only son, Julien, moved to the city for work.
Michou was left completely alone — with cows and his memories. His best friend Jacques, also a farmer, had taken his own life just a year before. Another neighbor followed the same path.
The village got quieter. Michou got quieter.
🧠 Chapter 5: Silent Depression
One day, Michou wrote:
“One of my cows was sick today. I cried. Maybe because I am sick too.”
He never shared his pain. He would feed the cows and whisper to them… but talk to no one else. Evenings were spent staring at the barn walls, thinking if all his life had been for nothing.
⚰️ Chapter 6: The Last Morning – Continue reading the story click here. The original posting continues with the rest of the story and a turning point that you won’t expect. I wanted to direct you to the original post where you can leave any comments for the author.
Horace Speed (1951–2025): Former Major League Outfielder Remembered for His Speed and Perseverance
Horace Speed
Horace Solomon Speed was a former Major League Baseball player. He was known for his blazing speed and quiet determination. He passed away on May 26, 2025, at the age of 73.
Born on January 22, 1951, in Pasadena, California, Speed was a standout athlete from an early age. The San Francisco Giants drafted him out of Pasadena High School. This was during the Major League Baseball’s round of the 1969 June Amateur Draft. Speed spent most of his professional career in the minor leagues. Nonetheless, his dedication to the game paid off. He finally broke into the majors with the Cleveland Indians.
Speed made his MLB debut on September 14, 1975, and played parts of three seasons with the Indians. Throughout 62 games, he was often utilized as a pinch runner and reserve outfielder, capitalizing on his hallmark speed. While his offensive stats — a .140 batting average, seven stolen bases, and eight runs scored — show limited playing time, his presence was valuable. He made significant contributions in late-game situations, particularly on the bases.
Speed’s journey through professional baseball was a testament to resilience. He spent nearly a decade in the minors. Before reaching the major leagues, he served as a model of perseverance for countless aspiring athletes. His career was modest in statistical output. Nevertheless, it remains a testament to hard work and patience. It inspires all who hear his story.
After retiring from baseball, Speed largely stayed out of the public eye, living a private life away from the spotlight. His modesty stands out. He has made significant contributions to the sport. This modesty is a reminder of the humility that can be found in even the most accomplished individuals.
Horace Speed’s passing marks the loss of a quiet but determined competitor. His journey inspired those who watched him run, hustle, and chase his dreams. He is remembered for his achievements on the field. More importantly, he is remembered for the character he displayed in getting there.
André Thomas Halyards, known artistically as Dre Love, was a central and pioneering figure in Italian hip hop. He has passed away in Florence at the age of 55.
Dre Love was born in the Queens borough of New York City. He became a Florentine by adoption in the 1990s. Dre Love was a versatile artist: DJ, rapper, beatmaker, songwriter, and tireless collaborator. He had a gritty voice and unmistakable style. He brought the groove and soul of African American funk into the sounds of Italian hip hop. This helped to write some of its most authentic and vital chapters.
Dre Love arrived in Italy in the early 1990s. He made his home in Florence. This city would shape both his artistic and personal journey. There, he joined Radical Stuff, one of Italy’s very first hip hop groups. He became a living bridge between American street culture and the emerging urban scenes taking shape across the country. He was also a member of the collective Messaggeri della Dopa. He helped to redefine Italian rap with a style that blended social consciousness. His approach also incorporated sophisticated musicality and spirituality.
His Collaboration with Neffa
Dre Love’s name is often linked with Neffa, with whom he collaborated on the Campanian rapper’s first two albums. He worked with a wide array of Italian and international artists. These include Irene Grandi, Alex Britti, Almamegretta, DJ Gruff, DJ Enzo, Gopher D, Reggae National Tickets. His collaborations even touched on the soul-funk sound of Jamiroquai.
Dre Love was never just a guest artist. He was a true collaborator in the deepest sense. He was an artist who opened doors. He created connections between musical worlds that seemed far apart. A messenger who made every beat, every bar, a statement of purpose. His music was a captivating blend of rap, funk, soul, and electronic experimentation. It was deeply rooted in a visceral respect for African American culture. His work always pushed toward innovation.
With his band, Dre Love delivered live performances. The band featured talented Italian musicians like Diego Leporatti (drums), Gianni Pantaleo (keyboards), and Niccolò Malcontenti (bass). It also included Tiziano Carfora (percussion), Andrea Rubino (guitar), Leandro Giordani (saxophone), and Emanuele Campigli (trumpet). Each performance was a true sonic journey through the past, current, and future of Black music.
Unlike the other famous “Dre” in hip hop history, Dr. Dre, Dre Love built his legend in a different way. He did not do it through the spotlight of the music industry. Instead, he made a direct impact with audiences, scenes, and people. He didn’t seek confrontation, but dialogue. Not profit, but connection. Where Dr. Dre of Compton made significant changes in hip hop with The Chronic, he further transformed the music industry with Beats. In contrast, Dre Love revolutionized hearts and stages, leaving an indelible mark on the history of Italian rap.
(By Paolo Martini)
A Tribute from Casino Royale
“Just a little while ago, a ‘great’ one made the big leap. This was a soul who gave so much. He contributed both humanly and in terms of sound and attitude to the Italian scene. Casino Royale was never a hip hop project. Still, we had the privilege of crossing paths with many figures. These figures made history in this country’s hip hop culture. Dre Love was one of those. He will always stay in our Olympus of demigods. We had the honor of meeting such people.
Every time we crossed paths, there were genuine hugs. They were full of mutual respect. We always promised that one day, we’d play that game together. It’s the game that becomes a mission for those who feel the responsibility. They also experience the joy of doing things a certain way.
ROCK ON!!! That was his goodbye. ‘The sky is the limit’—fly light, Dre Love. See you on the other side.”
(From a post published by Casino Royale on Facebook)
Stanley Jason Conti was a former Major League Baseball outfielder. He was known for his defensive prowess. He contributed to several MLB teams. Conti passed away on May 17, 2025, his cause of death has not been disclosed.
Conti was born on January 27, 1975, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Arizona Diamondbacks drafted him in the 32nd round of the 1996 amateur draft. He came from the University of Pittsburgh. He made his highly anticipated MLB debut with the Diamondbacks on June 29, 2000, filled with excitement and promise. He played for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, Milwaukee Brewers, and Texas Rangers over a five-year major league career. Known for his strong throwing arm, Conti made memorable defensive plays. He threw out Atlanta’s Brian Jordan at third base on consecutive nights. He also gunned down Chicago’s Frank Thomas at home plate in back-to-back games. He appeared in 182 MLB games, recording a .238 batting average with six home runs and 47 RBIs.
After his time in the majors, Conti continued his baseball career in the minor leagues, even taking his talent overseas. He played in Italy for the Bologna Italieri of the Series 1-A Championship League during the 2007 season. His performance on the field showcased his skills on a global stage.
Conti’s passion for baseball and his memorable moments on the field left a lasting impression on fans and teammates alike. He is remembered for his athletic achievements and unwavering dedication to the sport, a commitment that inspired many.
He is survived by his family, friends, and countless fans who appreciated his contributions to baseball.
A memorial service will honor Jason Conti’s life and career.
It was a night like any other in the deep woods outside Willow Creek. Forty years ago—give or take—a man and his dog set off for one of their usual late-night hunts. The man, grizzled and silent, kissed his wife on the forehead and muttered something about a long run. She barely looked up from her sewing. She was accustomed to his absences. He needed to run beneath the moonlight with only a rifle and his hound for company. She didn’t ask where he went. He never said.
The forest swallowed them quickly. Trees leaned in like eavesdropping strangers, and the undergrowth whispered beneath their boots and paws. The dog was a wiry black mutt with a white streak down its spine. It caught the scent of something just beyond the bend. It bolted. The man, cursing but grinning, gave chase.
They ran deeper and deeper into the overgrown trail for what felt like miles until the land suddenly disappeared.
The dog reached the edge of the cliff first. It barked, wild and electric, then dove headlong into the dark.
The man reached the edge just in time to see nothing at all. No bark. No rustle. There is just silence and blackness below. Without hesitation—without fear—he followed.
And that’s where the story ends, at least in the world we know.
The man awoke beside his dog in another place—somewhere between dream and fog. The stars above were fixed in unfamiliar constellations, and the air hummed with a silence too perfect to be real. He stood, brushed off dust that wasn’t dust, and called out.
No echo returned.
For years—or was it minutes?—he and the dog wandered this pale mirror of the forest they once knew. Sometimes, they saw flickers of their old lives. His wife was crying at the hearth. His brother was digging through the old footlocker for the will. But they couldn’t speak, they couldn’t reach, they only watched.
The man no longer aged. The dog’s coat remained pristine. Together, they waited—for what, neither capable of saying.
Then, one night, they heard something rustling through the brush ahead. They walked a trail that hadn’t been there before. The dog tensed. The man raised his hand. A shape moved—slowly, purposefully.
It was another hunter. Rifle slung over his shoulder. Dog at his side. Eyes vacant. He looked familiar.
The man called out. The hunter looked through him, then walked past.
The dog growled, uneasy.
And from the darkness behind them, a second pair of footsteps began to follow. They had found the lost forest of hunters who had died without a place to go.
John S. Foster Jr., 102, Pioneering Physicist and Architect of U.S. Nuclear Deterrence, Dies
John Stuart Foster Jr. was a visionary physicist. His career spanned over eight decades of American scientific and defense innovation. He passed away on April 25, 2025, in Goleta, California. He was 102. (1)
Born on September 18, 1922, in New Haven, Connecticut, Foster was the son of renowned Canadian physicist John S. Foster Sr. He began his academic journey at McGill University, earning a Bachelor of Science degree in 1948. He later obtained a Ph.D. in physics from the University of California, Berkeley, in 1952. (2)
Foster’s skill during World War II was instrumental in developing radar and countermeasure technologies at Harvard’s Radio Research Laboratory. He served as a scientific advisor to the 15th Air Force in the Mediterranean Theater. This role further demonstrated his dedication to the war effort. (3)
In 1952, Foster was recruited by Edward Teller to join the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). His leadership in nuclear weapons design at LLNL was groundbreaking. He eventually became the director in 1961. This leadership fostered a culture of innovation and collaboration that continues to inspire today.
From 1965 to 1973, Foster served as the Director of Defense Research and Engineering at the U.S. Department of Defense, advising four Secretaries of Defense and two Presidents. He championed advancements in smart weapons, night vision, and reconnaissance technologies. (4)
After his tenure at the Pentagon, Foster joined TRW Inc. as Vice President of Science and Technology, later serving on its board of directors. He remained an influential figure in national security. He participated in the Defense Science Board. He also joined the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board. Additionally, he served on the Commission to Assess the Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack. (5)
Foster’s contributions earned him many accolades. These include the Enrico Fermi Award and the Founder’s Award from the National Academy of Engineering. He also received multiple Department of Defense Distinguished Public Service Medals. He was also honored internationally. He received the Knight Commander’s Cross of the Order of Merit of the Federal Republic of Germany. He was named Commander of the French Legion of Honor. (6)
In recognition of his enduring legacy, LLNL established the John S. Foster Jr. Medal, awarded annually to individuals demonstrating exceptional leadership in national security science and technology. (7)
Foster is survived by his family and a legacy that continues to influence U.S. defense policy and scientific research.
A memorial service will be held at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Instead of flowers, the family requests donations be made to the Livermore Lab Foundation in his honor. (8)
Erik Ruus, a prominent Estonian theater and film figure, passed away on April 22, 2025. He was 62, just one day before his 63rd birthday. Born on April 23, 1962, in Elva, Estonia, Ruus had a distinguished career spanning over four decades.
Ruus graduated from the Viljandi Culture Academy in 1982 and began his professional acting career shortly thereafter. He was a longstanding member of the Rakvere Theater from 1985 to 1995 and from 1996 to 2009. Between 1995 and 1996, he performed at the Endla Theater in Pärnu. Since 2009, Ruus has worked as a freelance actor, contributing to various stage productions, films, and television series. (1)
Notable Film and Television Roles
Ruus’s film career included roles in several significant Estonian films. He played Peeter in Vaatleja (The Birdwatcher, 1987). This film received international acclaim. It won awards from the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, the Torino Film Festival, and the Rouen Nordic Film Festival. In Tulivesi (Firewater, 1994), he portrayed Eerik, a position that left a forever impression on audiences. Notable appearances include Minu Leninid (1997) and Ferdinand (2002). He also appeared in Stiilipidu (2005) and Päeva lõpus (2009). His roles continued with Kutsar koputab kolm korda (2010) and Johannes Pääsukese tõeline elu (2019). (2)
On television, Ruus appeared in series like Ohtlik lend (2006), Kelgukoerad (2006–2007), Klass: Elu pärast (2010), and Õnne 13 (1997–1999) (3)
Personal Struggles and Resilience
Throughout his life, Ruus faced personal challenges, including struggles with alcohol, which affected his tenure at the Rakvere Theater. His unwavering commitment to his craft is remarkable and a testament to his cause. He continues to inspire many. (4)
Erik Ruus’s contributions to Estonian theater and film have left an indelible mark on the country’s cultural landscape. His performances resonated with audiences. His legacy will influence future groups of actors and artists. It is a testament to the impact of his work.
Grief is one of the most powerful and complex emotions we can experience. Yet, it’s often the least talked about, especially in front of children. But we must do it. Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, caregivers—everyone has a role in helping younger generations understand and process loss in healthy, open ways.
Why This Matters Now Is More Important Than Ever
I recently came across a meaningful article on the Modern Parenting Hub. The article offered guidance on how to talk to children. It also included advice on discussing grief with other family members. This instantly struck a chord with me. These conversations are difficult, yes, but incredibly important. This topic has come up often in my family. My father’s death nearly forty years ago has brought it up many times over the decades.
Despite the passage of time, some of my relatives are still coping with the ripple effects of that loss. It’s a reminder that unspoken grief doesn’t simply go away—it lingers, often silently, until we confront it.
The First Time I Saw My Father Cry
I’ll never forget the first time I saw my father cry. It wasn’t during a national tragedy or a close friend’s funeral. It was when we got the call that my grandmother, his mother, had passed away.
He and I were the first to arrive at my grandparents’ home. My grandfather sat slumped in his favorite chair, overcome with sorrow. My father leaned down and embraced him. Through his sobs, my grandfather whispered:
“We lost Ma Ma.”
My father’s tears came swiftly—tears of deep, unfiltered grief. Until then, I had only seen him cry from laughing too hard at his jokes. This was something entirely different. Something raw. And it changed the way I viewed him.
Grief in Unexpected Places
Years later, when my uncle died in a tragic car and train accident, I saw my parents overwhelmed again. It wasn’t until my father’s funeral that I fully grasped the impact grief can have. Children must witness honest expressions of grief.
My father was a deeply loved man. He had a large circle of close friends. We chose fourteen pallbearers. This number was still too small to honor everyone who had loved him.
The group included cowboys, law enforcement officers, linemen, ranchers, farmers, and local business owners. These men were known for being tough, stoic, and strong. Only family and pallbearers remained in the church during a private moment after the public service. I watched those same hardened men. They broke down in tears.
They weren’t quietly dabbing their eyes. They were crying. Fully, openly, and without shame.
The Lesson I’ll Never Forget
That moment stayed with me. It showed me that strength and vulnerability are not opposites. The ability to express emotion—especially grief—is one of the most courageous things we can do.
I often say that my father’s funeral was the day I learned it was okay for grown men to cry. And I believe that’s a lesson we need to pass down. Our children need to see that real strength includes compassion and empathy. It also consists of the willingness to mourn openly when we’ve lost someone we love.
Bringing Grief Into the Conversation
Grief is universal and should be discussed across all generations. When we make space for these emotions, we also make space for healing. Children gain from understanding that sadness is a natural response to loss. It doesn’t need to be hidden or avoided.
Resources like the Modern Parenting Hub are essential in guiding families through these complex moments. I’ll share their piece with my readers and loved ones, and I encourage you to do the same.
Final Thoughts
Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t play by the rules. We can talk about it. We can face it together. We can help each other navigate the path it carries through our lives. Let’s teach our children that tears are not signs of weakness—they are signs of love, humanity, and deep connection.
My Dad was a man of fierce independence and deep protective instincts. He and my mom practiced defensive maneuvers as the days of aging grew—he had a plan. She would drop to the ground, and he would shoot over her, neutralizing any imagined threat. This was his way of ensuring our safety, a comforting thought for all of us. Of course, during practice, the gun was always unloaded. But as they grew older, my sisters became worried. Dad was on medication. It sometimes clouded his thinking. They feared he might one day forget to remove the bullets.
Years before, he had suffered a devastating injury. While inspecting a swimming pool facility, a large chlorine container malfunctioned, releasing a gas blast into a control room. He inhaled the toxic cloud, severely damaging his lungs. From that day onward, his breathing was labored, his movements slow and painful. The injury gradually robbed him of his strength until, eventually, he became bedridden.
As his physical strength faded, his concern for my mother’s safety grew stronger. He was terrified that they were vulnerable to burglars or intruders. And so, he devised a plan—an extension of the old drills. My mom would guide them to a specific location if someone ever forced their way into the house. He saw this spot clearly. She would drop to the floor just like in the old days, and he would be ready to fire.
That’s when my sisters turned to me. I’m a law enforcement officer, and they hoped I could safely remove the firearm from his possession. But that was easier said than done. When I spoke to him, he saw what I was thinking. Even in his weakened state, he firmly grasped his beliefs and authority. His determination was palpable. He made it clear that this was his home and responsibility. It was his plan to protect his wife.
But he also took the time to explain how seriously he took the safety of it all. His explanation wasn’t reckless or confused; it was thoughtful. He was rational and transparent in his thinking. In the end, I agreed. He was doing what he believed was best for them.
Still, I wanted to do something more—something that would help ease everyone’s minds. That day, I installed a motion detection system in the house. It covered the living and dining rooms, alerting them if anyone approached. Every door was now an alarm. It gave them peace of mind and ended the dramatic drop-and-shoot rehearsals.
Dad & Buck
Eventually, Dad was unable to get out of bed. He was confined to a hospital-style bed in a small office near their bedroom. His gun was out of reach, and it tore at him. One day, he felt sorrow and frustration. He asked for it not to defend the home. He wanted it to end his pain.
Two weeks later, my mother called an ambulance to rush my Dad to the hospital. They sedated Dad as fluid built up in his lungs, and he passed away there. Quietly, heavily, and—if I’m honest—less on his terms than he would have wanted.
I often think of the day he asked for the gun and couldn’t reach it. Part of me believes it would’ve been a more dignified end. He had spent his life in control. He always defended his family and lived by principle. But the law is clear, and so is the burden of those left behind. As much as it hurt, I nor anyone could hand it to him.
In Memory of Wayne Jackson, Handy ––– The Unlikely Rock and Roller
Wayne Handy
Wayne Jackson Handy was a man whose velvet voice once crooned over the airwaves of American Bandstand. His voice later soothed those navigating the mortgage banking world. He passed away peacefully on April 1, 2025, at 89. Wayne started from humble beginnings on a farm in Eden, North Carolina. He then moved on to the dazzling lights of 1950s television. Later, he found the quiet steadiness of a career in finance. Wayne lived an entire and remarkable life. It was defined not by fame or fortune but by kindness, creativity, and unwavering devotion to his family.
Wayne’s love and commitment to his family were unwavering. The youngest of five children, Wayne was born in Eden and raised helping his parents in the fields. He graduated from Reidsville High School in 1953. Two years later, he married the love of his life, Marjorie Louise Smith of Cassville. He charmed her at a local baseball game. This was a story he told with a twinkle in his eye. His smile hinted at the hopeless romantic within. Their marriage endured over six decades. It was a bond marked by deep affection and laughter. Their steadfast partnership lasted until Marjorie’s passing in 2018.
Wayne’s musical talent was a source of inspiration for many. His velvet-smooth voice and playful way with melody, often accompanied by his ukulele, were a joy to behold. In 1957, his passion for music led him to a national stage. He performed on American Bandstand. He shared the screen with some of rock and roll’s earliest stars there. His brush with fame was brief. Yet, it left a glimmer of rockabilly stardust. This touch of stardust was on a life otherwise grounded in humility and grace.
After enlisting in the U.S. Army in 1958, Wayne served two years in Alaska as a field radio operator. Upon returning home, he pursued higher education. He studied business at North Carolina State University and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He graduated in 1962. His career in mortgage banking took him and his family across the Southeast. They even moved to Utah. His career eventually culminated in his time with Carolina Bank in Greensboro. He worked there until his retirement in the mid-2000s.
In every chapter of his life, Wayne’s character remained consistent: humble, gracious, patient, meticulous, and quietly dignified. He gave generously of himself, donating blood regularly and ringing the Salvation Army bell during the holidays. He was profoundly artistic and playfully inventive. His children celebrated him for his affectionate nicknames. Adults also appreciated his funny songs, silly voices, and irrepressible sense of the absurd.
Despite his many accomplishments, Wayne’s humility was a defining trait. He was never one to boast. He preferred to show love through small, steady acts. This included a freshly repaired item. It was a perfectly stacked rock wall, a gentle word, or a slow walk in the evening light. He was a natural storyteller. He was a dapper dresser. His gentle Southern accent and kind eyes conveyed a rare and genuine warmth.
He is remembered with love and admiration. His children include Christopher Handy, Jeff Handy, and Meredith Brunel (Richard). His grandchildren include Louise, Henri, Carlene, Charlotte, Erendira, and Matthew. He is also remembered by his great-grandchildren. Wayne was predeceased by his beloved wife, Marjorie, with whom he now reunites in eternal peace.
A graveside gathering and inurnment of ashes will occur at Bethesda Presbyterian Church in Ruffin. The date is yet to be announced.
Wayne Handy lived with a quiet brilliance. He was a rock and roller by surprise, a banker by choice, and a gentleman by nature. His life reminds us that grace, humor, love, and a good melody can carry us further than fame ever could.
Rest well, Wayne. You sang your song, walked your path, and left the world a gentler place.
Growing up, it often felt like there wasn’t much to do. With six siblings and a life rooted on the farm, family trips or outside adventures seemed few and far between. But looking back now, I see how much my parents did to involve us in meaningful experiences.
They took us to local places of interest. They spent time with each of us in ways many parents couldn’t. At the time, I thought we were the ultimate close-knit family. My dad and I shared rodeos, horse sales, parades, and trail rides. He and my mother supported my sister’s love for basketball, attended games, and nurtured her talent. Another sister was given a piano, music lessons, and encouragement toward college. One of my brothers was allowed to buy into the farm and build a home. The two oldest boys had long since charted their paths. One went into the Marines. The other entered a world that eventually led to affluence. But no matter how far they went, they always came home for the holidays.
My mom’s youngest brother—my uncle—was a bonus sibling. He’d been born late in my grandparents’ lives, and as a teen and young adult, he often lived with us. He’d served in Vietnam. Though he was quiet about it, he carried a weight we all respected—even if we didn’t understand it fully.
One weekend, something unexpected happened. When I was 9, my uncle and brothers convinced my dad to take us to the lake. It was a rare outing, especially with all of us. I’d heard stories of him taking the family boating at lakes years before I was born. Yet, he had stopped going by the time I came along.
This lake trip, still, wasn’t a return to those stories. It was just up the road—Sayler’s Lake. It wasn’t much to look at. An old log cabin marked the entrance. The water looked murky and unsettling—it resembled a scene from a horror movie. Locals whispered that the lake had claimed lives—more than a few. It didn’t seem right, but the place had a reputation.
We arrived around 10 a.m. I was eager to get in the water, but my mother insisted I wear a life vest. I didn’t know how to swim, and she wasn’t taking any chances. I hated the bulky vest, but hated the thought of drowning more. My sisters had taken swimming lessons when we lived in town—those services didn’t exist where we were.
I paddled around, watching others enjoy themselves.
Across the water, people were diving from a rocky cliff. Some men dove headfirst, then climbed back up and did it again. It looked reckless, almost like a dare to death. Then, one of them dove in—and didn’t come back up.
I’ll never forget the girl on the cliff yelling,
“Where is he?”
People jumped into action. After five or ten long minutes, someone pulled his body from the water and dragged him to shore. The owner of the lake raced down in a pickup and began CPR. I stood there, stunned. It was the first time I’d ever seen someone dead—or nearly dead—pulled from water.
Then, the town ambulance arrived. It wasn’t like the ones you see on TV—it was a white Buick station wagon. An old man climbed out carrying an oxygen tank. When the victim’s friends saw him, they shook their heads and told him it was too late.
“You need a body bag.”
One of them said.
I didn’t know what a body bag was. But I figured it out when the old man pulled a stretcher from the back of the car. With the help of bystanders, he loaded the man’s body. Out of compassion, he turned on the red lights and the siren. Then he drove off.
I returned to where our family had set up a picnic. I don’t remember what I said—maybe something a little too grown-up or too curious—but I remember my father flicking me on the ear and speaking sharply,
“You aren’t quite that old yet.”
I’ve often wondered what that moment meant to him. Maybe he wasn’t angry—he was just shaken. Perhaps he didn’t want me to see what I had seen. That day made me grow up faster than he wanted. He liked to keep things under control, and this wasn’t one of those things.
Life doesn’t always allow us to choose the lessons we learn. Sometimes, they arrive uninvited on an ordinary day by a haunted lake.
When we arrived home that evening, the television was on in the living room. The news was starting. And there it was—Sayler’s Lake. A reporter stood near the very spot we’d been earlier, microphone in hand, delivering details about the drowning. I sat in disbelief, watching the event replay like it belonged to someone else’s world, not ours.
I remember thinking: How did they find out so fast? How had the news team gotten there?How did they film the scene, return to the station, and prepare the report all before dinner? It made the whole thing feel surreal—too real but somehow distant. The reporter confirmed what we had already feared. The man had died.
That moment glued itself to my memory. The sound of the television stayed with me, and the familiar living room around me lingered in my thoughts. The weight of what we had observed just hours earlier was still there. It layered into a quiet understanding. The world outside our farm can change in an instant. Sometimes, there are no answers—just echoes left behind by events too big to fully grasp.
It started when I was around ten years old—I began seeing life in ten-year intervals. Every decade, I would take stock of where I was. I would think about where I am going. I would consider who was still with me and who was no longer there. Sometimes, life separates us through distance, sometimes through death.
In my first ten years, I had already experienced both. Friends I met in school came and went, their families moving away before we had time to build anything lasting. Loss was something my grandparents had gently prepared me for, though it didn’t soften the blow when it happened.
One of the first deaths I remember was a neighbor of theirs, a man named Tom. I often visited his house with my grandfather, sitting and listening as they talked. When he passed, I already knew before anyone told me. That morning, the hearse pulled up to his house after passing my grandparents’ place. I also knew my grandfather had spent the night with him, sitting in quiet vigil. Tom’s funeral was the first I ever attended.
Then there was Maynord, a clumsy old farmer with an Okie drawl and a stride to match. He was my dad’s friend, but I saw him as my best friend. His death hit me harder than I ever expected. One moment, he was there. He was laughing and rambling on as he always did. The next moment—gone—a heart attack took him suddenly and finally. I was only eight. I carried that weight for years, incapable of understanding how life takes people without warning.
By the time I turned ten, I thought I had braced myself for loss. I believed that nothing would catch me off guard again. But life has a way of proving us wrong.
At eleven, I came home from school one afternoon. I found my mother already there. This was unusual enough to make my stomach tighten. She called me outside. We stood together on the ledge in front of our house. She then broke the news. My grandmother had died suddenly that day. No warning. No time to prepare. Just gone.
I didn’t cry right away. Instead, my mind turned inward, searching for meaning in something so senseless. Was this some punishment? Had I done something wrong? Was God teaching me a lesson? And if so—what was it? It took years for me to understand that life doesn’t work that way. It happens and keeps happening, regardless of what we think or how ready we believe we are.
Over the next decade, I watched more family members slip away—some suddenly, others with the slow certainty of time. Friends moved and lives shifted. By the time I reached twenty, I had seen the past ten years as a lesson in endurance. I had learned what to hold onto and what to let go of.
But life doesn’t follow our plans. It unfolds in its way, teaching us not through intention but experience. And the next ten years would drive that lesson home in ways I never expected.
As a law enforcement officer, I would be called to homes where deaths had occurred. I had attended so many of these that the coroner trusted me. He allowed me to make the death declaration over the phone. Then, he signed the death certificate. I sat with family members until the body was removed from the home. I held grieving loved ones the best I was able.
The hardest of these instances included the death of a 15-year-old disabled child. She depended on her parents for every facet of life. Feeding, being on a respirator, medications, cleaning, and moving about the home. They had been the life inside her, literally. She passed one morning as the mother was feeding her and couldn’t get the respirator back on quickly enough. The parents were wrecks when I arrived on the scene. It was the most emotional death scene I ever had to deal with. I called a police Chaplain to the scene because, quite frankly, it was beyond what I was equipped to handle.
I discovered he was speechless and powerless to be of much use either. I sat with the parents and promised them it wasn’t their fault. That life goes when we don’t want it to. I couldn’t tell them about all my experiences, but I wanted them to know they were not alone. I left my calling card and asked them to call if they needed anything. I checked back in on them days later. It was no easier then.
During my time as a police officer, I experienced the ultimate sacrifice twice. Two fellow officers were killed in the line of duty.
The first happened late one night during a robbery at a hotel on the city’s edge. The officer interrupted the thieves, but they overpowered him. One of the assailants shot him, and then—adding to the horror—they used his weapon to finish the job. The hotel clerk, hidden in an ideal location, saw their getaway and critically described the vehicle. Thanks to that information, the suspects were arrested soon after. The gunman was convicted and sentenced to death. He was executed in 2000.
I was on radio duty. An ambulance was transporting the officer. It tried to navigate through thick fog on its way to a larger hospital. When the driver suddenly exited the highway, I knew what that meant—the officer was gone. I promptly called the chief’s office. But by then, news outlets, always tuned into police transmissions, had already picked up on the situation. The department’s phone lines were jammed with calls. I took on the role of spokesperson. I did my best to clear the lines quickly. This was so they can be used for local needs. That was January 1983.
Less than two years later, in October 1984, I had been transferred to patrol. One night, we were responding to a vehicle accident outside our jurisdiction. My unit’s radio picked up an urgent transmission. A state trooper was down.
We were en route to the accident. Then, the assigned ambulance reported it was just a car in a ditch. We weren’t needed. But by then, we were already far outside the city, and no other units were nearby. I radioed the county sheriff’s office, advising them of our location and availability. They authorized us to continue north on State Highway 6.
As we traveled, more details about the suspect’s vehicle came through. Then, we spotted it. My partner and I intercepted the car and pulled it over. The driver’s license was expired, but we knew little else at the time. Only later did we learn a chilling detail. He had left his valid driver’s license with the trooper he had shot.
We were transferring the suspect to a deputy’s vehicle. Then, word came through that the ambulance transporting the trooper was lost. They were struggling to find the hospital. We raced to intercept them.
We arrived at the emergency room. A First Lieutenant with the highway patrol and I broke the safety keepers on the stretcher. We pulled the trooper out of the ambulance ourselves. The paramedics were in shock, frozen by the weight of what had happened. We pushed the stretcher down the corridor. As we rounded a corner into the ER, the trooper’s arm fell from the cot. It knocked pens and pencils everywhere. That’s when I knew.
He was gone.
Still, I refused to leave him. I stood at the head of the stretcher, unwilling to let him be alone. Finally, the doctors and nurses forced me away. I didn’t want to go.
Out in the hallway, my own Lieutenant stood waiting.
“We’ve got reports to write,”
He said.
“While it’s fresh in your mind.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“This night will forever be fresh in my mind.”
Every ten years, I look back on the events of the earlier decade. I wonder what will be in store for the next ten years! My mother is pushing 95 years-of-age and I doubt she is in my next ten years. I am just hoping that I am in my next ten years.
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 voice—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 something—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 promised—one day, they would meet again.
“Where you do not have to pay to read a person’s obituary.“
2–3 minutes
Donald Earl “Slick” Watts (July 22, 1951 – March 15, 2025)
Donald Earl “Slick” Watts was a beloved figure in basketball. He was also a cherished member of the Seattle community. He passed away on March 15, 2025, at 73. Slick was born on July 22, 1951, in Rolling Fork, Mississippi. His journey from humble beginnings to NBA stardom is a testament to his dedication. It also highlights his charisma and enduring spirit.
Slick’s basketball career began at Grand View Junior College, after which he transferred to Xavier University of Louisiana in 1970. There, he played under coach Bob Hopkins and alongside future ABA and NBA star Bruce Seals. He was a leader on the court. His leadership guided the Xavier Gold Rush to consecutive NAIA District 30 Championships in 1972 and 1973.
Undrafted in 1973, Slick’s relentless determination earned him a spot with the Seattle SuperSonics. Known for his signature bald head and headband, he quickly became a fan favorite. In the 1975–76 season, Slick led the NBA in assists and steals, the first player to achieve this remarkable feat. His tenure in the NBA also included stints with the New Orleans Jazz and the Houston Rockets.
Beyond his professional career, Slick’s contributions to the Seattle community were profound. He dedicated many years to education. Slick Watts shared his skills and gifts as a physical education teacher at several elementary schools. Slick also served as a basketball coach at Franklin High School. His commitment to nurturing young talent and promoting physical fitness left an indelible mark on countless students.
In 2001, Slick faced a serious health challenge with sarcoidosis but demonstrated resilience and strength in his recovery. In April 2021, he suffered a significant stroke. He faced rehabilitation with the same determination that characterized his life on and off the court.
Slick Watts is survived by his son, Donald Watts. Donald followed in his father’s footsteps. He played basketball at the University of Washington and later contributed to the sport as a coach and mentor. Slick’s legacy is etched in basketball history. It also lives in the hearts of those he inspired through community engagement and unwavering spirit.
A public memorial service will be held in Seattle to honor Slick’s life and legacy. Details will be announced in the coming days. Instead of flowers, the family asks for donations to The Watts Foundation. This supports youth basketball programs and continues Slick’s lifelong commitment to empowering the next generation.
Slick Watts will be remembered for his exceptional basketball court skills. He profoundly affected the community and was dedicated to education. His resilience in the face of adversity inspired him.
In the early 1900s, a modest bridge spanned the Washita River just west of Anadarko, Oklahoma. Locally known as Jeremiah’s Bridge, it was a vital crossing point. Over time, it became the center of chilling tales whispered among townsfolk.
A popular legend spoke of a grieving mother. She lost her infant son, Jeremiah, to the river’s relentless currents while traversing the bridge. Each night at midnight, a mist reportedly rose from the waters. It embodied the mother’s spirit as she searched and called out for her lost child. This spectral vision drew curious onlookers, solidifying the bridge’s eerie reputation.
However, beneath this sanitized tale lay a darker, harrowing truth. On June 13, 1913, the bridge bore witness to a brutal act of racial violence. Bennie Simmons, an African American man, was accused of raping and murdering 16-year-old Susie Church. He had allegedly done so on Caddo land north of Anadarko.
The Sheriff had gotten word that trouble was expected in town. He reportedly rode his horse to Apache, southwest of the jail. At sundown, a group of horsemen rode into town. A mob, without a fair trial, seized Bennie from his jail cell. They dragged him to a cottonwood tree near the bridge. There, he was doused in coal oil and set ablaze.
As flames consumed him, Bennie’s agonized prayers and screams were drowned out by the mob’s jeers. Unsatisfied, they riddled his body with bullets, ending his life in laughter and ridicule. This atrocity was reported in local newspapers, yet none of the perpetrators faced justice. The riders had all returned home before sunrise and never identified one another. You can verify the hanging by searching the name Bennie Simmons in search engines.
In the mid-1970s, I was still very young when a customer in my dad’s barbershop told him a story. I sat quietly, listening to him tell the story, confessing to being one of the riders. Over the years, pieces of the story have come together. Gradually, I fully understood the gravity of what the man was saying.
In the aftermath, the community took action. They sought to mask the bridge’s gruesome history. This allowed the legend of the mourning mother to overshadow the actual events. Over time, the name “Jeremiah” became associated not with the lost infant of folklore. Instead, it became a distorted remembrance of Bennie Simmons himself. The bridge stood as a silent testament to the fabricated legend. It also represented the suppressed memory of a man’s unjust death.
Another legend about the bridge carried an even more ominous warning. Folklore said that calling out the bridge’s name while standing on it would cause a family member to die. They believed this would happen without fail. Though dismissed as mere superstition, those who dared test the legend often regretted it.
I was one such witness. As a high school student, I accompanied a group of friends to Jeremiah’s Bridge late one night. We had heard the stories and wanted to test our courage. One of my friends, laughing, boldly called out the bridge’s name. The moment was filled with nervous chuckles and unease, but we eventually left, shaking off the eerie tension.
An hour later, everything changed. We stopped by my home. My parents told us that my friend needed to go home right away. His family had been trying to find him. The message was chilling—a relative was near death in a nearby hospital, and the family was being called in. The coincidence was too striking to ignore. That night, we left the bridge with a different fear. It was not just of ghosts. We also felt the weight of history and the unexplainable forces that seemed to linger over the river.
In 1994, decades later, a fertilizer truck caused the collapse of Jeremiah’s Bridge. This event marked the end of its physical presence. Yet, the stories persist. Both the haunting legend and the grim reality urge reflection on the past. They push for recognition of the truths that history often seeks to bury.
Word is they have replaced the structure with a new bridge. I haven’t returned to those parts in many years. The place only holds memories that I choose to keep safely tucked away.
There is also this conversation about the bridge on YouTube.
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 eye—a wooden cigar box atop a cabinet. It was the old kind –– 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 changed—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 thing—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 promise—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.
Harold Whitman woke before dawn, just as he had done for countless mornings. He stretched his aching limbs, feeling the stiffness permanently occupying his bones. The old house was quiet. Only the refrigerator’s soft hum and the occasional creak of settling wood were heard. This familiar symphony accompanied his every awakening.
He shuffled to the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee, and sat at the window. He watched the sunrise paint the morning sky in shades of orange and pink. He savored the moment. The cup’s warmth was in his hands, and the faint aroma of the beans filled the air. His late wife had always loved those beans.
Today, he decided, would be a good day.
After breakfast, Harold walked to the park, as he had done for decades. He fed the ducks at the pond. He nodded to the joggers and dog walkers. They had become familiar faces over the years. These interactions, though brief, were like tiny rays of sunshine in his otherwise solitary life. A young boy, no older than six, waved at him from the swings. Harold smiled and waved back.
At the corner store, he bought a piece of his favorite caramel candy and an extra for the cashier. Marisol, a sweet girl, constantly reminded him of his granddaughter.
“You spoil me, Mr. Whitman,”
she said, laughing as she unwrapped the treat.
“Someone’s got to,”
he replied with a wink.
In the afternoon, he visited the cemetery. He sat on the bench beside his wife’s headstone, tracing her name with his fingers. The silence of the place soothed his soul. He felt a strange comfort thinking about joining his wife.
“I think I’ll be seeing you soon,”
he murmured.
“Maybe later tonight.”
There was no fear in him—just a quiet knowing.
Before heading home, he stopped by the diner, ordering a slice of apple pie and a cup of black coffee. The waitress, Lucy, patted his shoulder.
“You always get the same thing,”
she teased.
“Because I know what’s good,”
he said with a grin.
That evening, Harold sat in his favorite chair by the window, where the sunset bathed the room in golden light. He opened a book, though he barely read the words and content to hold it.
When sleep came, it was gentle, like slipping into a warm embrace.
Harold’s heart gave its final beat, and he sighed with quiet satisfaction. His last day had been good, a testament to the peace and acceptance that filled his heart.
George Kalinsky was born in 1936 in Hempstead, New York. He was a renowned American photographer. His work captured some of the most iconic moments in sports and entertainment history. Finding Aids
His photography journey began serendipitously in the mid-1960s. He noticed Muhammad Ali entering the 5th Street Gym while on vacation in Miami. Intrigued, Kalinsky followed and was allowed to photograph Ali after a brief exchange with trainer Angelo Dundee. These images marked the start of his illustrious career. Interview Magazine
In 1966, Kalinsky became the official photographer for Madison Square Garden, a position he held for nearly six decades. He documented over 10,000 events throughout his tenure. He captured legendary figures like Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and Pope John Paul II. His work has been featured in major publications like Sports Illustrated, People, Newsweek, and The New York Times. Kalinsky authored ten books. His photographs were exhibited in esteemed institutions, including the Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. – From The Lens of George Kalinsky
Over the years, Kalinsky has received many accolades for his contributions to photography. In 2001, the PhotoImaging Manufacturers and Distributors Association named him International Photographer of the Year. He was inducted into the New York City Basketball Hall of Fame in 2010. He received the Pratt Institute’s Legends Award in 2017. Wikipedia
George Kalinsky passed away on January 16, 2025, at the age of 88. His legacy endures through the timeless images he captured. These images continue to inspire. They evoke memories of significant moments in sports and entertainment history. Wikipedia
