firearms

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders

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

2–4 minutes

Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders

After every mass shooting, the same story unfolds.
News reports reveal the shooter made threats.
He posted disturbing content.
He stockpiled weapons.
He scared people.

And then the world asks, 

“Why didn’t anyone say something?”

Except someone usually did.

They said it quietly to a friend.
They reported it to HR.
They sent up a flare—but it fizzled in a system built to tolerate discomfort until it explodes.

“It Just Felt Off”

Human instinct is powerful.
We know when something doesn’t feel right—when someone is spiraling, simmering, or clinging to rage a little too tightly.
But we’ve been trained to doubt our gut.

Why?
Because:

  • We don’t want to overreact.
  • We don’t want to get someone in trouble.
  • We don’t want to look paranoid or mean or judgmental.

So we say things like:

  • “He’s just blowing off steam.”
  • “He’s always been like that.”
  • “It’s probably nothing.”

Until it’s not.

The Signs Were There. The Action Wasn’t.

Let’s break it down. Red flags can look like:

  • Obsessive talk about violence or past shooters
  • Extreme ideological rants
  • Sudden personality changes or withdrawal
  • Threats—direct or veiled
  • Obsession with weapons or martyrdom
  • Social media posts that scream “notice me”

But here’s the kicker:
Even when these signs are clear, most people don’t act.
And when they do? They’re often ignored, dismissed, or redirected through layers of bureaucracy.

“It’s not our jurisdiction.”
“We can’t do anything unless he acts.”
“He hasn’t broken any laws.”

We treat early warning signs like legal puzzles, not human lives.

Fear of the Awkward Conversation

Red flags aren’t just missed.
They’re avoided—because confronting someone is uncomfortable.

There are times when you have to take the bull by the horns.
  • What if I’m wrong?
  • What if they get mad?
  • What if it ruins my relationship with them?
  • What if it’s not serious?

So instead of leaning in, we back away.

And we let someone else deal with it.
Except, too often, there isn’t someone else.

The Burden of Hindsight

Afterward, the red flags look obvious.
Crystal clear.
Undeniable.

But by then it’s too late.
And we’re left with vigils, flowers, and questions we didn’t ask soon enough.

A Shift in Mindset

We need to stop treating red flags like rumors.
They’re signals. Warnings.
Opportunities to intervene.

That doesn’t mean we accuse people on a hunch.
It means we build systems and cultures that listen.
That act before a weapon is drawn, not after.

Because by the time the police tape goes up, the story’s already been written.

Coming Up in the Series:

Part Five: What We Can Actually Do About It
We’ve identified the patterns. We’ve seen the signs. Now it’s time to talk about real solutions—what works, what doesn’t, and why “thoughts and prayers” aren’t enough.

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.

The Anatomy of a Shooter – Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf

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“Monsters aren’t born overnight. They’re made—in silence, in shadows, in places we refuse to look.”

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

2–4 minutes

Part Three: The Myth of the Lone Wolf

Every time the news breaks, we hear it:
“He acted alone.”
And just like that, the story is framed.
One man. One moment. One monster. Case closed.

But here’s the problem:
It’s not true.
Or at least, it’s not the whole truth.

The Comfortable Lie

Calling someone a “lone wolf” is tidy. It makes the rest of us feel better.
It tells the public:

  • This was a fluke.
  • It couldn’t have been predicted.
  • There’s nothing we could’ve done.

And maybe, if we say it enough, we’ll believe it.

But in reality? Shooters rarely emerge from a vacuum.
They come from families. Communities. Schools. Workplaces. Chatrooms.
They leave trails of clues—behavioral, verbal, digital, emotional.

And more often than not, somebody saw something.

He Was Always Quiet… Until He Wasn’t

We’ve all heard it:

  • “He kept to himself.”
  • “He was a little odd, but polite.”
  • “He never really fit in.”

The thing is, these aren’t descriptions of a mystery. They’re descriptions of a pattern.

Withdrawn doesn’t mean harmless.
Quiet doesn’t mean invisible.

But we’ve trained ourselves to look away.
To shrug off disturbing comments.
To ignore that one guy at work who’s always simmering just below the surface.
Because to speak up feels awkward. And what if we’re wrong?

Well—what if we’re right?

Behind the Shooter Is a System That Failed

Lone wolf? No.
It’s more like a failure of the pack.

The system failed.

  • The family that didn’t ask questions.
  • The school that let him fall through the cracks.
  • The workplace that ignored his meltdown.
  • The internet forums that radicalized him.
  • The society that let him buy a weapon without blinking.

A shooter might pull the trigger alone, yes.
But the road there was crowded.

When “Alone” Is a Strategy

Photo by Danik Prihodko on Pexels.com

Let’s not forget—some shooters want to be seen as lone wolves.
It fits the fantasy: the avenger, the martyr, the misunderstood genius.
They want us to think no one could’ve stopped them.

Because if we believe that, then we stop looking for answers.
And they get to become a headline instead of a warning.

So What Should We Say Instead?

We should say:
“He was one part of a larger failure.”
“This wasn’t random—it was ignored.”
“This wasn’t a mystery—it was a message we didn’t read in time.”

Coming Up in the Series:

Part Four: Red Flags and Shrugged Shoulders
He gave off signs. He said things. He posted warnings. But no one did anything. Why? Because we’re experts at convincing ourselves it’s not our problem—until it is. That is next!

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. He writes for organizations from his home in Arizona. 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.

Taking A Stand IN The Oklahoma Hills Where I was Born, My Uncle Sam Shows How

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

In the backwoods of Eastern Oklahoma’s hill country, an older man named Sam McElroy and his wife, Dora, lived a quiet life. Sam, my great uncle, was a man of grit and stubbornness, traits that only deepened as he aged. Their modest cabin, tucked away from the world, sat outside a small community known as Eagle Town, home to the oldest post office in Oklahoma.


Despite his years, Sam’s marksmanship was legendary. His eyesight might have dimmed for reading, but he could still shoot a rock off a ledge from a hundred yards away with his trusty .22 rifle. He favored his 12-gauge shotgun up close, dispatching targets with the same precision. But Sam found no thrill in shooting at rocks; they didn’t challenge him. His absolute joy came from hunting squirrels, rabbits, and other small game—creatures that could run, making every shot a test of skill.


“There’s no sport in shooting something that can’t run,” he’d say, “and you can eat them too!”


In the mid-1970s, the tranquility of Sam and Dora’s life was disturbed. Tree-logging companies began encroaching on their land, felling the tall trees and sending them off on giant semi-trucks to be milled. The loud and reckless trucks sped down the dirt road past their cabin, kicking up dust that settled on everything, including Dora’s freshly washed laundry.


One day, Sam had had enough. He stopped one of the drivers and firmly requested that the trucks slow down on Tuesdays, the day Dora hung her laundry out to dry. The driver nodded but dismissed the request as soon as he drove away.


The following Tuesday, as trucks roared by again, covering Dora’s linens in dust, Sam’s patience snapped.


“This is it!” Sam declared. “They’re going to goddamn stop today if it’s the last thing I do!”

“This is it!” Sam declared. “They’re going to goddamn stop today if it’s the last thing I do!”

He grabbed a cane-bottom chair from the porch, slung his 12-gauge shotgun over his shoulder, and marched to the dirt road. There, he placed the chair, sat down, and waited.


It wasn’t long before a truck barreled down the road, only to screech to a halt in front of Sam. The driver, bewildered, got out and demanded,

“I need to get through here.”


“My wife needs to get her laundry dry without you jackasses throwing dirt on it,” Sam retorted. “I asked you to slow down on Tuesdays, and you ignored me. Now, you can sit here until her laundry is dry!”


The driver, clearly irritated, shot back,

“We’ll see about that, old-timer!”

He climbed back into his truck and radioed his boss. Soon, more trucks lined up behind the first, and another from the opposite direction joined the standstill. Sam remained steadfast, his shotgun resting across his lap.


Minutes later, a man in a company pickup arrived. He introduced himself as Mike Williams, the logging company supervisor. He informed Sam that blocking the road cost them a lot of money.

“And you’re costing us clean clothes!”

Sam shot back.

“You’ve been speeding past here every week, covering my wife’s laundry in dust.”


Williams threatened to call the sheriff, to which Sam responded,

“Go ahead.”


Forty-five minutes later, McCurtain County Sheriff Joe Phillips arrived at the scene. The road was clogged with trucks, stretching ten deep in both directions. After hearing the situation, the sheriff walked over to Sam’s porch, grabbed another cane-bottom chair, and carried it to the middle of the road. He sat beside Sam, pulled out a stick and pocket knife, and began whittling.


“How long do you think it’ll take for the laundry to dry?”

the sheriff asked.


“A couple of hours should do it,”

Sam replied.


Sheriff Phillips turned to the drivers and Mike Williams.

“Well, we’ll be here for at least two more hours. Might as well kill your engines and save some fuel.”


From that day forward, the logging trucks were no longer scheduled to run on Tuesdays between 10:00 AM and 4:00 PM. Sam’s act of defiance earned him respect, and he soon became a valuable liaison for Mike Williams, helping the logging company identify landowners in the Oklahoma Hills, where they sought to expand. Sheriff Phillips also found a trusted ally in Sam, who knew the remote areas of the county like the back of his hand.


Today, the old cabin is little more than a dilapidated shack, barely standing along the dirt road north of Eagle Town. But the legend of my Uncle Sam lives on, echoing through the hills where I was born.

The Last Journey

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

At 94, Mabel Johnson had seen her share of life’s trials and tribulations. From the Great Depression to the advent of the internet, she had weathered it all with resilience and grace. But now, in 2024, Mabel faced a new and unprecedented challenge. She knew what to do as she stood in her late husband’s workshop, surrounded by his carefully curated collection of firearms.


Her son, David, lived 1100 miles away with his husband, Alex. They had built a life together filled with love and laughter. But the political climate was changing, and the radical policies of the so-called 2025 Plan, championed by a rising wave of extremists, threatened everything they held dear. The hate-mongers on the Right had made their intentions clear: to eradicate the freedoms and rights of the LGBTQ+ community.


Mabel’s husband, George, had been an avid collector of firearms. His collection was extensive, ranging from vintage rifles to state-of-the-art automatic weapons. Though Mabel had never been a fan of guns, she understood their power and the protection they could offer. Looking over the arsenal, she felt George’s presence and strength guiding her.


Determined to protect her son and his husband, Mabel loaded the weapons into the back of her old station wagon. It was a journey she had to make alone. Mabel left a note for her neighbors, letting them know she was visiting family and might be gone for a while. With a deep breath, she set off on the long drive.


The miles rolled by as Mabel drove through vast countryside, bustling cities, and quiet towns. Memories of David’s childhood filled her thoughts, from his first steps to his high school graduation. She remembered the day he came out to her and George, the fear in his eyes, and the relief when they embraced him with unconditional love. They had always supported him, and now, more than ever, he needed their strength. The road was long and lonely, but Mabel’s determination and love for her son kept her going.


As she crossed state lines, Mabel listened to the news on the radio. Reports of violent clashes and hate-filled rallies filled the airwaves. The world seemed unraveling, and she feared for David’s safety. But she pressed on, determined to reach him in time.


After three days of relentless driving, Mabel finally arrived at David and Alex’s home. The two men rushed out to greet her, their faces etched with worry and relief. David enveloped his mother tightly, tears streaming down his face. The relief was palpable, and Mabel knew she had made the right decision.


“Mama, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice choked with emotion.
“I came to protect you,” Mabel replied, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “I brought your father’s collection. You’ll need it.”


David and Alex helped her unload the weapons, their faces a mix of shock and gratitude. They knew the gravity of the situation and the lengths Mabel had gone to ensure their safety.
Mabel shared her plan as the three sat around the kitchen table that night. They would train, learn to defend themselves and stand united against the impending threats. It wasn’t just about the weapons but also about resilience, love, and the unbreakable family bond.


Mabel became a fixture in David and Alex’s home in the following weeks. She taught them everything George had taught her about firearms, and they spent countless hours preparing for whatever might come their way. Inspired by Mabel’s bravery, the community began to rally together, forming a network of support and defense. Neighbors who had never spoken before now stood side by side, united in their determination to protect their loved ones and their rights.


David and Alex knew they were not alone as the political climate grew more hostile. With Mabel, they faced the future with unwavering determination and hope. The journey had been long and arduous, but it was a testament to the power of love and the lengths a mother would go to protect her son.


They stood firm in the face of hate, ready to defend their rights and home. And Mabel, at 94, proved that courage and love knew no age limits.

They stood firm in the face of hate, ready to defend their rights and home. Mabel, at 94, proved that courage and love knew no age limits. The couple then gathered other LGBTQI+ couples and members of the community and built teams like possies in the tens of thousands in cities and counties around the country, saving the land and freedom from extremists.