death

Why It’s Okay for Men to Cry: A Lesson in Grief

Benjamin2 Comments

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–5 minutes

When I Learned It Was Okay For Grown Men To Cry

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.

Recommended Resource:
Modern Parenting Hub – Talking to Children About Grief

Have You Talked to Your Family About Grief?
Share your experience or thoughts in the comments below. What helped you or your family cope with loss?

The Last Ride: A Father’s Legacy of Protection

Benjamin1 Comment

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

Dad’s Last Ride

Dad (JD Groff) on his horse, My Mollies Reed

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.

A Life of Humility: The Story of Wayne Handy

BenjaminLeave a comment

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

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.

Lessons from a Fateful Day at Sayler’s Lake

Benjamin2 Comments

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

4–6 minutes

A Day at Sayler’s Lake

Sayler’s Lake, SH152 Binger, OK

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.

Understanding Loss: A Decade of Reflections

Benjamin3 Comments

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

6–9 minutes
Reflections
Reflections On Every Ten Years

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 Enduring Power of Love and Memory

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

2–3 minutes

A Bridge Beyond Time

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

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

She can still hear his 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.

Remembering Slick Watts: NBA Star and Community Hero

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

“Where you do not have to pay to read a person’s obituary.“

2–3 minutes
https://www.theelinetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/slick-watts.jpg

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.

https://data2.nssmag.com/images/galleries/12643/slick-watts-headband-3.jpg

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.

https://www.si.com/.image/c_fill%2Cw_1440%2Car_16%3A9%2Cf_auto%2Cq_auto%2Cg_auto/MTgwMjkzMDE5OTIzMTMwMjIw/slick-watts.jpg

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.

Jeremiah’s Bridge – A Location Of Tragedy

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

3–5 minutes
Jeremiah’s Bridge

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.

Discovering a Father’s Hidden Letters

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

3–5 minutes

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

He walked to the refrigerator for a cold glass of water. Something caught his 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.

Quiet Reflections: Harold Whitman’s Final Moments

Benjamin2 Comments

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

The Last Day

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 A Man Of Pictures 1936-2025

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

1–2 minutes
A Man Of Pictures 1936-2025 George Kalinsky Obituary
George Kalinsky

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

Sources

Favicon
Favicon
Favicon
Favicon

Country Music Singer Melba Montgomery Dies

BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

Melba Joyce Montgomery, a distinguished figure in country music, passed away on January 15, 2025, at the age of 86. Born on October 14, 1938, in Iron City, Tennessee, and raised in Florence, Alabama, Montgomery’s musical journey was deeply influenced by her father, a fiddler and guitarist, who introduced her to the world of music. 

Montgomery’s career gained momentum in the early 1960s through her collaborations with George Jones. Their 1963 duet, “We Must Have Been Out of Our Minds,” achieved significant success, reaching number three on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart. The duo continued to charm audiences with albums like “What’s in Our Heart” (1963), which also peaked at number three on the Billboard Top Country Albums chart. Throughout the 1960s, Montgomery partnered with other notable artists, including Gene Pitney, with whom she recorded the top 20 single “Baby Ain’t That Fine” in 1965.

In the 1970s, Montgomery’s solo career flourished. Her 1974 single “No Charge” became a standout hit, topping the country charts and crossing over to the Billboard Hot 100. The accompanying album reached number 14 on the Top Country Albums chart. She followed this success with albums like “Don’t Let the Good Times Fool You” (1975), whose title track secured a spot in the top 20 country charts.

Over her extensive career, Montgomery released 22 solo studio albums and seven collaborative albums, alongside 42 solo singles and 18 collaborative singles. Her contributions to country music have left an indelible mark, influencing countless artists and resonating with fans worldwide.

Montgomery was married to Jack Solomon in 1968, a union that lasted until his passing in 2014. 

She is survived by her children and grandchildren, who remember her not only as a musical icon but also as a loving mother and grandmother.

Services to honor Melba Montgomery’s life and legacy will be announced by her family in the coming days. Her enduring influence on country music ensures that her voice and songs will continue to be cherished by generations to come.

Robert Machray-May 4, 1945 – Jan. 12, 2025

Benjamin3 Comments

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

Obituary: Robert Machray––– May 4, 1945 – January 12, 2025

Robert Machray IMDb

Robert Machray (Ward) was a talented and versatile stage and television actor. He passed away on January 12, 2025, in Los Angeles, California. He was 79 years old. Many remember him for his memorable role as Fire Marshal Captain Dobbins in the iconic sitcom Cheers. Machray left an indelible mark on the world of entertainment. His career spanned more than three decades.

Born in San Diego, California, on May 4, 1945, Machray displayed a passion for performing arts from a young age. He pursued a vibrant stage career. He brought characters to life in major productions at Shakespeare festivals. Esteemed venues like the Los Angeles Civic Light Opera, Hartford Stage, and Playwrights Horizons hosted these performances. His dedication to the craft of acting earned him respect and admiration in the theatrical community.

In 1977, Machray transitioned to film and television, debuting in the television film Panic in Echo Park. He quickly gained recognition for his comedic timing and adaptability, leading to roles in series like Operation Petticoat. Over the years, he became a familiar face on many popular programs. These included Roseanne, Life Goes On, The Drew Carey Show, Suddenly Susan, Profiler, and Three’s Company. His film credits include Cutting Class, where he portrayed Mr. Conklin and The Master of Disguise.

Machray’s career highlights included a summer stage production of My Fair Lady in 1983. This production showcased his vocal talents. It also highlighted his theatrical talents. In his later years, he delighted audiences with a guest appearance in the beloved satirical sitcom Parks and Recreation. He retired in 2011 after a fulfilling and impactful career.

Outside of his professional achievements, Machray was known for his wit, kindness, and love of storytelling. He cherished time spent with friends and family, often sharing humorous anecdotes from his life in the entertainment industry.

Robert Machray (Ward) is survived by his extended family. A wide circle of friends and colleagues will remember him fondly. They cherish his warmth, talent, and enduring contributions to the arts.

Instead of flowers, the family asks for donations. Please contribute to organizations supporting aspiring actors and artists. This honors Robert’s lifelong dedication to nurturing creativity and performance.

A private memorial service will be held in Los Angeles to celebrate his life and legacy.

A Love That Endures

Benjamin1 Comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

Anna sat on the edge of her porch swing, the crisp autumn air wrapping around her like a familiar shawl. She cradled a weathered photo album filled with snapshots of a life well-lived with her husband, Thomas. Though he had passed a year ago, his presence lingered in every corner of their home. She noticed the faint scent of his aftershave in the closet. The carved wooden birdhouse he made hung by the garden. The laughter seemed to echo from the walls.

The sun dipped below the horizon. It painted the sky in hues of orange and violet. Anna whispered, “Death have taken your body, Thomas, but you’re still here.”

In the quiet, she remembered the words their pastor had spoken at his funeral: *Death takes the body. God takes the soul. Our minds hold the memories. Our hearts holds on to the love. Our spiritual beliefs let us know we will meet again.

Her memories of Thomas were not just memories, they were vibrant, living moments. They replayed in her mind like a cherished movie. She saw how his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She heard his deep belly laugh. She felt the strength of his hand in hers as they danced in the kitchen.

Though grief often pressed against her chest, her heart was not empty. It was full of love—a love that hadn’t dimmed with time. She placed a hand over her chest and smiled. She knew it was where Thomas still resided. He was a glowing ember that would never go out.

Every Sunday, Anna would visit the little white church where they had exchanged vows so long ago. She found not just solace, but peace there, her faith bridging the earthly and the divine. She believed Thomas was in God’s care now, his soul at peace, waiting patiently for her.

One evening, as she closed the photo album, she noticed the first star twinkling in the sky. She gazed upward and whispered, “I’ll see you again, Thomas. Until then, I’ll carry you here.” She touched her head. “Here.” She placed her hand on her chest. “And here.” She folded her hands in prayer.

At that moment, Anna felt a warmth envelop her. It seemed like Thomas himself was reminding her. Real, enduring love that never truly is separated by time or space.

She smiled and rocked gently on the swing, humming the melody of their favorite song. The stars above her were a quiet witness to the eternal connection between two hearts.

Bob Kelly, 97, Former Major League Pitcher and Last Surviving Player Managed by Hornsby and Frisch

Benjamin1 Comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

In Memoriam

Bob Kelly

Robert Edward “Bob” Kelly, a distinguished former Major League Baseball pitcher. And an enduring symbol of the golden era of baseball. He passed away peacefully on November 27, 2024, in Old Lyme, Connecticut. He was 97 years old.

Born on October 4, 1927, Kelly’s journey to the Major Leagues began on the sandlots of East Cleveland, Ohio. His exceptional talent emerged early, leading East Cleveland Shaw High School to a state championship in 1944. A standout pitcher, he achieved a 7–2 record in 13 games, striking out an impressive 75 batters.

Kelly’s college baseball years, playing for Purdue University from 1946 to 1947. And Western Reserve (now Case Western Reserve University) from 1948 to 1949. Both were a testament to his resilience and skill. These formative years set the stage for a professional career that would be marked by these very qualities.

Kelly made his Major League debut in 1951 with the Chicago Cubs. He went on to pitch for the Cincinnati Redlegs and Cleveland Indians. Over his career, he demonstrated remarkable adaptability, competing during an era defined by legendary hitters and managerial icons. His versatility was a testament to his love for the game and his dedication to his craft.

Kelly enjoyed a significant time in the Major League. He was also a mainstay in the minor leagues. Notably, he played with the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League. His contributions to the sport extended beyond his pitching abilities. He became a mentor to younger players. He instilled in them the values of professionalism and sportsmanship. His influence on them will be felt for generations to come.

Off the field, Kelly was deeply devoted to his family. He was a loving husband, father, and grandfather. He valued time spent with loved ones. He was known for his warmth, wit, and humility. His legacy extends beyond baseball, touching the lives of those fortunate enough to know him.

Bob Kelly’s life was a testament to the enduring spirit of baseball and the power of perseverance. His impact on the game and the people around him will be remembered fondly by fans, friends, and family.

In keeping with his family’s wishes, a private funeral service will honor his life. The family requests donations to youth baseball programs. This is to honor his memory. They want to make sure that Kelly’s love for the game inspires future generations.

A Last Breath in Elk City –– An Emergency Calls Impact

BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–4 minutes

Officer Ben Groff was sipping his coffee when the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio:

“911 call, unresponsive male found in a backyard by his wife. Ambulance and fire en route. Address is 482 Prairie Drive.” ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Ben’s heart sank. Unresponsive calls rarely ended well, but there was no time for speculation. He flipped on his patrol car’s lights, the urgency of the situation palpable, and sped through Elk City’s quiet streets.

Pulling up to the modest brick house, upon arrival, Ben was met by the frantic figure of a woman waving her arms. Her cries cut through the crisp evening air.

“Help him! Please, he’s not breathing!” 

She screamed, her voice thick with terror and desperation, cutting through the crisp evening air.

Ben rushed through the backyard gate to find a man sprawled on the grass. His skin had a bluish tinge, his lips ashen. A can of tobacco lay spilled nearby, and the faint, acrid scent of chewing tobacco lingered in the air. Without hesitation, Ben dropped to his knees and began chest compressions.

“Stay with me, buddy!” 

He muttered, counting each press. He tilted the man’s head back and prepared for rescue breaths. As his lips met the man’s, the bitter taste of tobacco hit him like a punch. He pushed past the revulsion, determined to do everything he could.

Minutes felt like hours as he alternated compressions and breaths. The wife, clutching her robe, sobbed uncontrollably nearby.

The wail of the Elk City Fire Department’s engine announced the arrival of help. Firefighters and paramedics streamed into the backyard, their calm precision contrasting with the chaos. The wife’s sobs turned into hopeful gasps as they quickly took over, attaching monitors and preparing to transport the man.

Ben stood back, his chest heaving, sweat mixing with the cool night air. The lead paramedic gave him a somber shake of the head. “We’ll do what we can on the way.”

The wife collapsed to her knees.

“He can’t be gone! He just can’t!” 

She cried, clutching at Ben’s uniform. He knelt beside her, steadying her trembling shoulders.

“Ma’am, listen to me,”

He said gently.

“Let’s get you to the hospital. I’ll take you.”

Ben helped her into his patrol car and jumped into the driver’s seat. With lights and sirens blazing, he circled Elk City’s streets, his mind racing. This kind of call never left you—the taste of desperation as real as the tobacco on his tongue, the weight of every life lost or saved resting heavily on your shoulders.

As they reached the hospital, Ben parked and helped the woman inside. She stumbled into the emergency room, her cries echoing in the sterile space. He stayed close, quietly offering whatever comfort he could, the uncertainty of the man’s fate hanging heavy in the air.

“Thank you for trying,” 

The medical team wheeled the man into the ER, leaving Ben and the man’s wife in a stark, quiet waiting room. She gripped his arm as though it were a lifeline.

She whispered between sobs.

Ben nodded, feeling the weight of her words. In a job where victories were rare, and heartbreak was plenty, sometimes all you could do was try. And for this woman, in her darkest hour, his effort mattered. Officer Groff remained with the lady until her family arrived to hear the news and begin to support her grieving. The heartbreaking call was not the first for Groff and would not be the last!

Pehr Gustaf Gyllenhammar, Former CEO and Chairman of VOLVO –––– ––– April 28, 1935 – November 2024 ––– 

BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

Pehr Gustaf Gyllenhammar, a visionary Swedish businessman whose leadership and influence extended across industries and continents, passed away in November 2024 at 89. Born in Gothenburg, Sweden, on April 28, 1935, to Pehr Gyllenhammar Sr. and Aina (née Kaplan), Pehr G. Gyllenhammar was a man of profound intellect, ambition, and a global vision that inspired many. 

Gyllenhammar is best remembered for his transformative tenure as CEO and chairman of Volvo from 1970 to 1994, during which time he led the company through a period of dynamic growth and innovation, leaving an indelible mark on the automotive and industrial sectors. His bold attempt to merge Volvo with Renault in the 1990s exemplified his forward-thinking, even as it marked the end of his career with the company.  

Beyond Volvo, Gyllenhammar’s career spanned various leadership roles, including Aviva’s chairman and Rothschild Europe’s vice chairman. A fervent advocate for European industrial collaboration, he co-founded the European Round Table of Industrialists, promoting cooperation among the continent’s leading companies.  

His contributions were recognized with numerous accolades, including France’s *Ordre National du Mérite* in 1980 and the *Legion of Honour* in 1987. In 2001, he was named an Honorary Master of the Bench of the Inner Temple in London.  

Gyllenhammar’s intellectual curiosity and political engagement made him a public figure beyond the boardroom. An early proponent of social liberalism, he championed the Scandinavian model of governance and was a vocal advocate for European unity. His political views and engagement with social issues often influenced his business decisions, making him a unique and influential figure in both the political and business spheres. At one point, he was even considered a potential leader of Sweden’s Liberal People’s Party.  

He balanced his professional endeavors with a rich personal life. He married Christina Engellau, the daughter of Volvo’s former CEO, in 1959 and shared nearly five decades with her until her passing in 2008. Together, they raised four children—Cecilia, Charlotte, Sophie, and Oscar—each of whom carved out successful paths in the arts, business, and design. Later in life, Gyllenhammar found love again, marrying Lee Welton Croll in 2013, with whom he welcomed a child in 2016.  

A man of deep conviction, Gyllenhammar exemplified leadership and resilience, leaving an indelible mark on the business world and the communities he served. His resilience in the face of challenges is a testament to his character and the impact of his legacy. He is survived by his wife, Lee, his five children, and a legacy that will inspire future generations.  

A private family service will honor his memory. The service, which will be held at a private memorial, and will be a time for family and close friends to share their memories of Gyllenhammar and celebrate his life. In place of flowers, the family requests donations to causes reflecting Gyllenhammar’s dedication to innovation, education, and European unity.

Killed Walking Along The Highway – How A Killer Is Captured –– By Two Keen Deputies!

BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

On a dark, silent night in 1980, the highways through Caddo County near the rural communities of Gracemont and Binger, Oklahoma, were deserted. Residents had long settled in their homes, leaving the quiet stretches of U.S. Highway 281 nearly void of movement. It was a time when law enforcement in rural Oklahoma had limited resources and technology, making cases like this all the more challenging to solve.

That night, an Indigenous man, Jasper Williams, had set out on foot from his home, heading south along a dirt road that eventually led to the pavement of Highway 281. It was common for community members to walk from one home to another, no matter the distance, and Jasper was going to a friend’s house. The night was pitch black, with no moonlight or streetlights to guide him, save for the faint outline of the highway stretching before him.

As Jasper walked, visibility was almost nonexistent. The road was shrouded in darkness, with no nearby lights to help him stay clear of the highway’s center. At some point, as he walked around six miles north of Gracemont—almost midway between there and Binger—tragedy struck. Jasper was hit by a passing vehicle, which left him severely injured on the side of the road. By daylight, he was found deceased, having bled to death, with no car in sight and no immediate reports of an accident.

Upon closer inspection, deputies discovered fragments of evidence scattered on Jasper’s clothing and body: broken glass, bits of chrome, a hubcap, and remnants of a car’s signal light and headlight assembly, as well as traces of paint. With these clues, investigators determined the incident might not be an ordinary accident but potentially a case of vehicular homicide.

Deputy Hamilton drove a
Ford Ranchero

The case was assigned as a homicide due to the absence of witnesses, the lack of any report from the driver, and the fact that the vehicle fled the scene. Caddo County Deputies Hamilton and Ware—both of whom have since passed—took on the painstaking task of finding the person responsible. Armed with the physical evidence, they began an exhaustive search of autobody shops across the county and surrounding areas, hoping to find a vehicle with damage matching the debris at the scene.

After several weeks, their search finally paid off. The deputies located a damaged vehicle that matched the evidence they’d collected. The owner was identified and subsequently interviewed, leading to the arrest of a man named Larry Johnson.

During questioning, Johnson admitted he had left a bar in Binger around 2 a.m. on the night Jasper was killed. On his drive home, he confessed to drifting in and out of sleep, initially thinking he had hit an animal, possibly a dog. However, he chose not to stop. Later, after hearing news of the fatal accident, he realized he was likely the driver involved but continued to hope he was wrong.

Binger Main St. There Were
Bars On Both Sides of Street.

Johnson was later tried in Caddo County, where a jury found him guilty of manslaughter. He was sentenced to serve 15 years at Oklahoma’s Granite Reformatory.

Note: Some names, dates, and details have been altered to protect individuals’ privacy.

Remembering Henderikus “Pim” Sierks (10 March 1932 – 7 November 2024) The Brave Pilot

BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

Henderikus “Pim” Sierks, a Dutch aviator known for his bravery and unwavering dedication both in military and civilian aviation, passed away on 7 November 2024, at the age of 92. Born in Haren, Groningen, on 10 March 1932, Sierks devoted his life to the skies, first serving with distinction in the Royal Netherlands Air Force before transitioning to a celebrated career as a commercial airline captain with Transavia.

Sierks trained with the Royal Canadian Air Force, where he gained experience on various aircraft, including the Airspeed Horsa, Auster AOP.6, and Avro 626. Back in the Netherlands, he became one of the foremost pilots of the Hawker Hunter fighter jet, serving over 11 years in the Royal Netherlands Air Force and solidifying his reputation as a skilled and disciplined aviator.

In 1974, Captain Sierks’ legacy was cemented during the infamous French Embassy hostage crisis in The Hague. When three Japanese Red Army members stormed the French Embassy and demanded a French aircraft to facilitate their escape, Sierks bravely volunteered to captain the flight. He skillfully negotiated with the hostage takers, gaining their assurance for the safety of his crew and the hostages, then flew them from Amsterdam to Damascus, Syria, with a critical refueling stop in Aden, Yemen. Sierks’ calm courage in this tense, unpredictable situation was hailed as exemplary, and he returned safely to deliver both the money and weapons back to the French Embassy in Damascus.

For his heroism, Sierks was awarded the Knight Grand Cross of the Order of Orange-Nassau by Queen Juliana, in addition to the Order of the Netherlands Lion and the Airman’s Cross. His actions that day made him a national hero and exemplified his lifelong dedication to duty, courage, and peace.

Following his career, Sierks moved to West Sussex, England, where he enjoyed a quiet life in retirement. He is remembered as a loving father, devoted friend, and a gentleman whose life and career left a mark on Dutch aviation history.

NASCAR FIGURE And Family Man Walter Ballard Sr. Funeral Services Planned For Nov.

BenjaminLeave a comment

A Service Provided By benandsteve.com By: Benjamin©Groff Media2024© Truth Endures

Walter Harvey Ballard, Sr., a pioneering NASCAR figure and beloved family man, passed away surrounded by loved ones. Born on January 12, 1933, in Summerdale, Alabama, he was the second of six boys raised by Bernice Louise and Victor Ballard, Sr. Walter was preceded in death by his parents, his first wife, Rose Ballard; his second wife, Katy Ballard; and his daughter, Anna Marie Lorenzo.

Walter is survived by his children, Wayne and Catherine Henton, Walter Harvey Ballard, Jr., Clinton and Christine Ballard, Stony and Jerry Ann Ballard, Danny and Kim Ballard, and Lee-sa Krapish. He also leaves behind five devoted brothers and their wives: Carlos and Martha, Donald and Merry, Victor and Linda, Harold, and Rita, and Ernest and Beverly, along with fifteen grandchildren, fifteen great-grandchildren, and one great-great-grandchild.

Leaving home at a young age with only a ninth-grade education, Walter forged his path, beginning with service in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, where he served as a Sergeant in France. Following his military service, Walter channeled his ambition into building a successful career around his love of automobiles. He earned NASCAR’s first Rookie of the Year title in 1971 and, despite health challenges, remained deeply involved in racing as a team owner. Walter’s influence extended beyond the racetrack; his wife, Katy, co-founded one of the first NASCAR ladies’ organizations, underscoring their shared dedication to the sport.

To honor Walter’s commitment to helping others, the family requests that memorial gifts be made to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital or the Wounded Warriors Project, two causes dear to him.

Walter’s life will be celebrated on Monday, November 4 at 2:00 p.m. at James Funeral Home, with burial to follow at Northlake Memorial Gardens. Visitation will be held before the service from 12:00 to 2:00 p.m. at James Funeral Home.

Walter’s memory will be cherished by all who knew him. He was a devoted father, a trailblazer in NASCAR, and a man of strength and kindness.

Former Heavyweight Boxer ‘ Big Zo’ Dead At Age 44 – Alonzo “Big Zo” Butler, 1980 – 2024

BenjaminLeave a comment

Provided a Service of benandsteve.com By: Benjamin©Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

Alonzo Butler, a beloved former heavyweight boxer known to fans as “Big Zo,” passed away on Monday at age 44, as confirmed by his daughter, Jazlyn. A Chattanooga native who found his home in Knoxville, Alonzo impacted the boxing world and his community. His exceptional athleticism and dedication to his sport are reflected in his professional record of 35-3-2, with 25 knockouts. He fought mainly in Knoxville and East Tennessee, with a notable match in Auckland, New Zealand, in 2014. His achievements are a source of pride and celebration for all who knew him.

Butler’s decision to pursue boxing over football, where his power and precision earned him a devoted following, is a testament to his determination and courage. In 2006, Butler was honored as the Greater Knoxville Sports Hall of Fame’s Professional Athlete of the Year, a recognition he accepted with immense pride. Reflecting on the challenges of his career, Butler once shared, “Ace Miller told me four or five years ago I could be a champion, and I’ve stuck with it through the hard times. I’ve felt a responsibility to be a good model with the kids working with Golden Gloves, and I try to watch myself closely.” His commitment to being a positive role model and his dedication to his sport are qualities that will continue to inspire others.

Guided by legendary trainer Ace Miller, who managed and trained Butler during his undefeated run in the mid-2000s, Alonzo’s talent and warm personality left a mark on everyone he encountered. Miller spoke to Butler’s remarkable speed and strength, noting, “Alonzo could have done well in football because of his speed; at 250 pounds, we’ve timed him at 4.3 in the 40-yard dash. With his pure, warm personality, people want to know how he could be mean enough to be heavyweight champ of the world someday.”

Alonzo Butler’s legacy will endure in the hearts of those who knew him, from family and friends to fans and young athletes he inspired. His impact on the community through his boxing career and his role as a mentor is immeasurable. He leaves behind his daughter, Jazlyn, and a community that will forever be grateful for the kindness and strength he brought to the ring and beyond. His absence will be deeply missed in the lives of those dearest, but his memory will continue to inspire.

Former Chief Deputy A.G. Charles Brandt Dead At Age 82

BenjaminLeave a comment

Announcement A Service Of BenandSteve.com By Benjamin© GROFF MEDIA 2024© Truth Endures.

Charles Brandt, a former Delaware chief deputy attorney general and author of I Heard You Paint Houses, the book that inspired the acclaimed 2019 film The Irishman, passed away on Tuesday at the age of 82.

Brandt, who lived between Lewes, Delaware, and Sun Valley, Idaho, passed at Delaware Hospice at St. Francis in Wilmington. His daughter, Jenny Rose Brandt, a registered nurse and his primary caregiver, shared that he died due to complications from multiple chronic health conditions.

I Heard You Paint Houses, Brandt’s work of narrative nonfiction published in 2005, explores the life of Frank “Big Frank” Sheeran, a towering World War II veteran and former president of Teamsters Local 326 in Wilmington who also worked as a Mafia hitman. Brandt spent five years interviewing Sheeran, who, in those conversations, confessed to the killing of labor leader Jimmy Hoffa. Hoffa disappeared in 1975, and his body has never been found. Sheeran’s chilling accounts, shared in detail with Brandt, suggested he felt freed to speak as those he once feared were no longer alive.

The movie went to the big screen in The Irishman, directed by Martin Scorsese and featuring Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. The epic film, which runs over three hours and garnered 10 Academy Award nominations, brought widespread attention to Brandt’s extraordinary insights into Sheeran’s life and his ties to organized crime.

Charles Brandt leaves behind a legacy in law, literature, and film, his work casting light on some of America’s most notorious mysteries.

The Impact Of Loss: Remembering A Childhood Best Friend For Life

BenjaminLeave a comment

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

When I was just eight years old, death was a concept that I hadn’t fully grasped. The only time it touched my life was when my grandparents’ neighbor, a gentleman named Tom, passed away. I was only seven then, and it happened so quickly that it didn’t leave a deep mark. My grandfather had sat up with Tom the night before he passed, a tradition people followed back then—sitting with the dying. It was a tradition, and my dad would continue the practice as I grew up, sitting with many men in our small town of 750 souls. I always wondered why he was asked to do that.

That night, when Pop, my name for my grandfather, went to sit with Tom, it was just my grandmother and me alone in their big, quiet house. It felt different without him there. Early the following day, around 6:00 AM, my grandmother and I were preparing breakfast when Pop came in through the backdoor. He quietly spoke to her, and I suspected what had happened. Mom, my grandmother, suggested I open the dining room door to let the morning light in. As I did, I overheard their conversation growing louder, and when I looked outside, I saw a hearse slowly pulling up to Tom’s house. I knew Tom had passed.

A few days later, my grandmother took me to his funeral, and Pop was one of the pallbearers. It was the first time I ever saw a person in a casket, and Tom still looked like Tom. After the service, my grandmother praised me to my father, saying I behaved so well—sitting quietly and respectfully. I thought I was just being myself. In those days, grandparents didn’t need to ask permission to take their grandchildren anywhere—funerals, courthouses, doctors’ offices, or even jails. The places they took me were some of the most fascinating.

But this story isn’t about Tom. It’s about someone much closer to my heart, a man named Maynord Rider, one of my dad’s dearest friends. Maynord often accompanied us to horse sales on Friday and Saturday nights, and I thought the world of him. He lived two miles south of our farm, a farmer like many others in our area. One cold winter night, our water well froze, and my dad had to drive out over the pasture to fix it. When his headlights passed over Maynord’s bedroom windows, Maynord, instinctively knowing we were in trouble, got out of bed, climbed into his old white Chevrolet pickup, and drove to our house. He pulled up with a five-gallon water thermos and asked if our well had frozen. My mother was surprised—how could he have known? When my dad returned, he asked,

“Maynord, what are you doing here?”

They talked, and it turned out Maynord had guessed right. My dad told him there was no use in fixing it in the dark, and they’d work on it the next day. My dad promised to let Maynord help him the following morning to get him to leave.

There were many stories about Maynord, but they all ended one Thursday in September 1971.

It was the start of a four-day weekend from school due to a statewide teachers’ meeting. The day was beautiful for September in Oklahoma—warm with the usual breeze. I had been pestering my oldest sister, who was tasked with watching me and my other sister. It was just after noon, and the day felt perfect—no school, no bus to catch, just freedom. Then the phone rang. My oldest sister answered, and I could hear her voice change as she said,

“Oh no!” followed by, “I’m not telling him. You should.”

A moment later, she said,

“Mother wants to talk to you.”

I ran to the phone, stretched the cord as far as it would go, and answered.

“Yes, Mother!”

I said, but I could hear a siren approaching in the background. My mother’s voice was calm but direct,

“Benji, Maynord Rider just dropped dead.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I dropped the phone, screaming.

The news hit me like a physical blow, and I dropped the phone, screaming. The rest of the day is a blur, but I remember Ryder, the dog Maynord had given me, howling at the front door, leaning against it as if he, too, understood what had happened. None of the other dogs made a sound—just Ryder, the one I had named after Maynord’s last name.

I wouldn’t see my dad for hours, but I learned the whole story when I did. Maynord had come in from working on the farm for lunch. He ate, felt a bit of indigestion, and decided to lie down for a nap. While his wife, Bonnie, worked in the kitchen, she heard a moan, and when she went to check on him, she found him unresponsive. Panicked, she called my dad at the barbershop, where he cut hair. When he got the call, he told her to call the ambulance and that he’d be there immediately. He told the customers in his shop what had happened, leaving the man in his chair and the shop open as he rushed out.

Driving his Buick Le Sabre station wagon, my dad said the speedometer hit 120 miles per hour as he raced to Maynord’s farm, hoping to get there in time. Hearing this story comforted me, knowing that my dad did everything he could, even though we had lost one of the best men I had ever known.

That Friday night, my parents took me to see Maynord at the funeral home. It was more complicated than when I had seen Tom in his casket. The grief was overwhelming, and I couldn’t contain my tears. It felt like the worst day of my life. For years after Maynord’s death, I would look up at the sky, hoping for some way to talk to him again, but that day never came.

Eventually, I learned that, in life, there would be days harder than that one—the loss of my grandparents and my dad—, but somehow, we keep going, hoping that one day, someone will see our headlights coming over the hill and come to help us, just like Maynord did for us.

John Owsley Manier, Beloved Nashville Music Entrepreneur, Dies at 77

BenjaminLeave a comment

In Memoriam By: Benjamin H Groff II© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

John Owsley Manier, a beloved figure in the Nashville music scene and co-founder of the legendary Elliston Place nightclub, The Exit/In, passed away at his home in Dowelltown, Tennessee, on Friday, October 1. He was 77.

A native of Nashville, Owsley’s passion for music was evident from an early age. 

In the 1960s, he was a member of the rock band The Lemon Charade, but his entrepreneurial spirit left an inerasable mark on the city’s cultural landscape. 

In 1971, alongside Brugh Reynolds, he co-founded The Exit/In, a venue that would become one of Nashville’s most iconic music clubs. What began as a small listening room for local songwriters soon transformed into a celebrated 500-person capacity rock venue in the 1980s.

The Exit/In was not just a stage, but a platform for both local talent and global superstars, hosting a diverse array of artists over its 50-plus years. From The Red Hot Chili Peppers to Etta James, Johnny Cash to R.E.M., The Allman Brothers to Willie Nelson, Linda Ronstadt, and many more, the venue welcomed all, fostering a sense of inclusivity and diversity in Nashville’s music scene. 

It was also the site of numerous memorable moments, such as comedian Steve Martin leading the crowd into the streets for a parade or the venue’s feature in Robert Altman’s 1975 film Nashville.

Over the years, The Exit/In solidified its place in Nashville’s music history and became the anchor of the city’s “Rock Block” on Elliston Place. In 2023, it became listed on the National Register of Historic Places, proof of its enduring cultural significance. 

While the club has seen over 25 owners throughout its history, its influence on the local music scene has remained constant, a testament to its enduring legacy.

Owsley is survived by his son, Aaron Manier, sisters Cynthia Barbour and Helen Bryan, and niece McKeen Butler. A Celebration of Life will be held at The Exit/In on Sunday, October 13, at 3:00 PM, honoring his legacy with the music and stories that shaped his life and career. 

This event is a fitting tribute to a man who has left an indelible mark on Nashville’s music scene.

John Owsley Manier’s contributions to Nashville’s music community will not be forgotten. His enduring legacy continues to reverberate through the legends of artists and enthusiasts passing through the entrances of The Exit/In, leaving a lasting impression that commands respect and admiration.

Remembering Kris Kristofferson: A Personal Tribute

BenjaminLeave a comment

A Tribute to Kris Kristofferson by Marion Toehay Jr., Friend and Former Chief of Police

Marion Toehay JR. (Left)
Benjamin Groff (Right)

Marion Toehay Jr., a close friend of Benjamin Groff II, who typically authors this page, shares his heartfelt memories today as the world mourns the passing of Kris Kristofferson. The legendary singer-songwriter passed away on Saturday at age 88 in Hawaii. Marion met Kris in the summer of 1968, during the early days of Kristofferson’s career, at the Silver Dollar Saloon in Phoenix, Arizona.

In 1980, Marion became Benjamin’s first Chief of Police in Oklahoma, and today, he reflects on the unforgettable encounter he had with Kris all those years ago:

Kris Kristofferson was one of a kind. I had the chance to meet him when I was just 13 years old, working with my stepdad during the summer of 1968. We were selling produce to bars around Phoenix, Tucson, and the mining towns in the White Mountains. On our last stop in Phoenix, at a place called the Silver Dollar Saloon in what was known as Cowtown, we went inside—and there he was.

I remember seeing Kris Kristofferson stand up from a table and walk right over to us. He greeted my stepdad like an old friend, saying, “Y’all come sit down and have a beer.” At the table with him were none other than Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings.

My stepdad had always told me he knew Kristofferson, Cash, and Jennings, but up until then, I hadn’t met them myself. Every time we passed through, they just weren’t there. I was starting to think I’d never get the chance to meet them. But that evening, out of nowhere, they were larger than life. It was like a dream come true for me—a 14-year-old kid with a love for country life.

We spent the evening laughing, sharing stories, and, yes, drinking some beer. When we finally headed home, my mom awaited us, wondering why it had taken so long. I told her about meeting Kris, Johnny, and Waylon, and she just smiled and said, “Oh, okay,” as if it was no big deal. She’d met them before, too, thanks to my stepdad. But for me, it was the highlight of the summer—and a memory I’ll never forget.

Hearing about Kris Kristofferson’s passing is sad for everyone who admires him. My family and I send our deepest condolences and hope he rests in peace.

Tragic Loss: Coping with Grief and Family Support | Campground Incident

BenjaminLeave a comment

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

Sammie had just turned fourteen and was riding his bike around the campgrounds his dad patrolled as a ranger. The family lived in a state-owned residence provided as part of his father’s compensation package while he got assigned to the western part of the state. Life in the park was usually quiet, but earlier that year, a tragedy struck a different campground on the state’s eastern side.


Two families had been brutally murdered in their sleep, sending shockwaves across the state. In response, the state implemented new security measures at every campground. Entrance gates were locked, and everyone entering was logged by their driver’s license or other identification. Unsuspected patrols got scheduled, lighting around the parks flickered on and off without notice, and campers got direct communication links to the ranger’s headquarters. Additional officers were stationed along park perimeters at night, keeping a vigilant eye on the fencelines.

It was nearing 5 PM when Sammie pulled up in front of his home and started to get off his bike. A car horn suddenly blared from the gate entrance, catching his attention. Squinting, he saw a familiar figure waving from the vehicle.


“Sammie—it’s your Uncle Ned! Let me in; I need to see your dad and mom!”


Sammie quickly hopped back on his bike, racing to the gate. He pulled out his key ring, unlocked the gate, and swung it open with a grin.

“Wow! This is a pleasant surprise. It’s great to see you, Uncle Ned! I’ll lock the gate and meet you back at the house.”


Ned was accompanied by a man Sammie didn’t recognize, but there was no time to dwell on it. The car pulled through the gate, and Sammie secured it before pedaling back to the house. As he approached, his sister burst through the back door, tears streaming down her face.
Startled, Sammie tried to comfort her, but before he could, Uncle Ned stepped forward to hold her.

Confusion and fear knotted rolled in Sammie’s chest as he asked, –––

“What’s going on? Is it Grandma or Grandpa? Did one of them die?”


Uncle Ned’s voice was heavy. –––

“No, Sammie. It’s your Uncle Richard. He was killed this afternoon.”


Sammie stood frozen, his mind racing, but no words came. The weight of the news pressed down on him like a physical force. He stumbled into the living room, where his parents were. His father held his mother close, her body trembling with sobs. His dad turned to Sammie, his voice raw with grief. –––

“Your Uncle Ricky is dead. He got hit by a train in Oklahoma City. That’s all we know right now.”

The shock numbed Sammie. He recalled watching the afternoon news and seeing a report of a car struck by a train. The paramedics had been performing CPR on one of the occupants, and Sammie had thought the head looked familiar. But he had dismissed the thought—it couldn’t have been someone he knew.


As the reality of the situation sank in, Sammie told his family about the news broadcast. –––

“I think… I think I watched the last moments of Uncle Richard’s life on television. It might be on the ten o’clock news again.”


That night, the family sat together, waiting for the broadcast. Sure enough, the footage replayed, and there was no doubt—it was Uncle Richard. The sight left them in stunned silence, the grief fresh all over again.


Days passed, and soon, it was time for the funeral. The family chose Sammie and five of his cousins to be pallbearers. The day was heavy with sorrow, and Sammie, feeling overwhelmed, approached his father. –––

“Dad, I don’t like going to funerals why do I have to go?”


His father’s response was gentle yet firm. –––

“Well, first, it’s the right thing to do: to show respect for another person’s life. As you age, you’ll realize that funerals are among the few times we come together as a family. They unite people who otherwise never see each other. You go to pay your respects and leave having been paid dearly for your time.”

Some characters in this story have had their names changed. While the story is true, certain information pertaining to the day is changed to protect the identity of those who may wish to keep their identity private. Benjamin Groff August 19th, 2024 Contact Us click here