humor

Gallows Humor: Essential for First Responders’ Survival

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

3–5 minutes
Image – Police-1

We had to invest a lot of time making each other laugh. Honestly, the truth behind what we dealt with every day was so damn depressing. I’m talking about my days in law enforcement. There were long shifts, chaos, and tragedies. We pulled practical jokes to stay sane.

We had an incredibly well-liked lieutenant. I admired him immensely. He was competent, dedicated, and a strong leader. Yet somehow, he always found himself in absurd situations. He was often under fire from the chief. I’ll admit, on more than one occasion, I have played a small role in those misadventures.

One day, we were in the breakroom. It never failed. Just as you were halfway through a cup of coffee, a call would come down. You’d have to bolt. Out of habit, everyone would set their half-filled cups on the vending machine on the way out. When we returned from a call, the lieutenant came in, frustrated. He began to reprimand everyone for making the breakroom look like a pigsty. This was ironic, given the usual state of his desk.

The Coffee Cup Incident
The Coffee Cup Case

He stomped to the vending machine and picked up the abandoned cups. The first few were empty, which he confirmed by holding them up to the light, right over his face. Then he grabbed one that still had coffee and did the same. It spilled directly onto his uniform. He stood there stunned, dripping. The rest of us just sat, silently watching like it was a movie scene.

I walked over, grabbed his tie, and wrung it out. A drip of coffee came out and landed on his boot. The whole shift erupted in laughter. The lieutenant stormed out, fired up his patrol car, and squealed the tires, leaving the station.

Unluckily for him, the chief had parked just down the street to watch the night shift in action. He saw the whole thing and chewed the lieutenant for over an hour.

Despite the pranks, the lieutenant and I had a solid bond. One time, he made a big announcement at shift change in front of everyone. He said he’d be riding with me to assess my patrolling skills. I just looked at him and said, “That’s fine, but you’re gonna have to sit over there and be quiet.” The room burst into laughter. He chuckled and said,

“Only you could get away with saying something like that.”

That was our partnership. He knew I’d undoubtedly have his back, no matter what. Off-duty, we were good friends. We went fishing together. We also vacationed with each other’s families. I had his back more than once when things got real in the field.

There were other moments, too. One traffic officer had a bad habit of leaving his patrol unit running and unlocked outside the station. It was just begging for a prank. One night, another officer and I gave in to temptation. My buddy hopped in the driver’s seat; I took the passenger side. He threw it into drive, and off we went—sirens blaring.

Inside, the officer was digging through his briefcase, organizing reports. When we took off, he jumped so high that he spilled the contents everywhere. Another officer watching couldn’t stop laughing long enough to explain that it was just us. The guy never left his car running again.

Someone had a bright idea once. They sprinkled paper punch-outs and glitter on the ceiling fan blades above the chief’s desk. The switch was right next to where he sat. We all gathered casually in the hallway outside his office the next day as he walked in and sat down. He flipped the fan on, and poof—a cloud of glitter and confetti rained down. He was not amused, but the image of him sitting there covered in sparkles was priceless.

It sounds like a waste of time to outsiders, but these pranks were how we coped. We had seen some of the worst humanity had to offer—child abuse cases, fatal car crashes, suicides. These moments of humor were survival mechanisms. It’s not unique to us; veterans, ER nurses, and paramedics do it. It’s often called gallows humor, and studies have shown it serves a psychological role. A 2022 article in Police1 explains the benefits of using dark humor in traumatic fields. It helps create emotional distance and encourages bonding. It also prevents burnout.

To the public, the jokes sound crude or inappropriate. But behind closed doors, it was how we held onto our sanity. This was true among those who carried the weight of human suffering daily. It was how we kept the darkness from winning.

Memories and Mischief: The Summer of 1980

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GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

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

2–4 minutes

The Summer of 1980

The summer of 1980 would be remembered forever. It was the year three friends—Bub, Johnny, and Clem—took to the hayfields, hauling bales for farmers across the county.

They set out to help the local farmers with two old flatbed farm trucks. The farmers struggled to find enough hands to get their hay cuttings into the barn. What started as a way to earn cash quickly became much more significant.

The boys took turns driving. Two worked at the back of the truck, stacking and securing the bales. They did this while bumping along dirt roads. When they reached a barn, all three pitched in to unload. It was grueling work. It was hot, dusty, and backbreaking. They made a decent sum at fifteen cents per bale when split three ways. More importantly, they earned something money couldn’t buy: the respect of an entire community. Their work ethic, reliability, and bargain rates made them invaluable, and grateful farmers often sweetened the deal with generous tips.

Word spread fast. Soon, the boys had more work than they handled. They got their hands on a third truck and fixed it up. Each took charge of their own rig. They hired extra help to keep up with demand. By summer’s end, the three had hauled an unprecedented amount of hay. No one remembered seeing so much in the valley.

But it wasn’t all work.

The boys had a playful streak, and the town delighted in their antics. One night, Clem slept soundly in their makeshift bunkhouse. Bub got the idea to spread hair remover gel over Clem’s hairy legs. Hours later, Clem woke to a strange smell. He wrinkled his nose. He assumed one of the others had eaten something bad. He groggily rolled over and went back to sleep, unaware of the smooth patches forming on his legs. The next day, Clem discovered the damage in the shower. He saw the damage and heard Bub and Johnny howling with laughter outside the bathroom door.

Clem didn’t get mad. He got even.

At noon, he played the perfect gentleman. He told Bub and Johnny that he held no grudges. He wanted to treat them to lunch. They stayed behind at the barn. He ran to the burger joint and ordered the most enormous double cheeseburgers. There was also a mountain of fries and chocolate malts. For himself, he ordered vanilla. Before returning, he slipped some laxatives into the chocolate malts.

The unsuspecting pair devoured their meal, thanking Clem for his generosity, utterly unaware of the payback coming their way. Four hours later, they were running to the bathroom non-stop, clutching their stomachs, confused and miserable. Clem stood back, arms crossed, grinning. Their “cleaning out” lasted for days. When the town caught wind of the prank, it only added to the growing legend of the hay-hauling boys.

The mischief didn’t stop there.

There were ambushes, booby traps, and endless laughter. Even with their busy schedule, they found time to fish. They caught some of the biggest catfish the town had ever seen.

By summer’s end, they had built more than a successful hay-hauling business—they had created memories that would last a lifetime. Long after the last bale was stacked, folks in town would still talk about the summer of 1980. During that summer, three hardworking boys became the heart and humor of the valley.

Harold Fenton: The Salesman Who Won Hearts

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GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

3–4 minutes

Harold Fenton was not the world’s most excellent salesman. If there were an award for persistence without progress, Harold would have won it year after year. His thick glasses always slid down his nose. He carried a briefcase that had seen better days. An ever-lasting mustard stain marked his tie. He wandered the same neighborhoods week after week. He sold an assortment of household knickknacks that nobody needed, but they bought them anyway.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jenkins!” 

Harold greeted cheerfully as he stepped onto the well-trodden path to her front door. 

“I have a brand-new shipment of vegetable peelers today! They’re sharper, sleeker, and—”

Mrs. Jenkins, a kindly woman in her sixties, smiled warmly. 

“Why, Harold, I still have the five you sold me last month. But you know, one can never have too many peelers. Come on in.”

Harold beamed and entered, opening his battered case to show an array of matching peelers. Mrs. Jenkins sighed as she handed him a few bills. She tucked the latest addition into her kitchen drawer. The drawer now resembled a peeler museum.

Down the street, Mr. Thompson, a retired mechanic, nodded at Harold as he approached. 

“Harold, my boy, back again? What do you have today?”

–––

“A fantastic deal on rubber jar openers!”

Harold declared with gusto. 

“These bad boys can grip the tightest lids with ease.”

Mr. Thompson scratched his head. 

“Well, I reckon I have about twenty of those in my drawer already, but why not?” 

He chuckled, handing Harold a crumpled bill. 

“You’re a persistent fella, I’ll give you that.”

Each household in the neighborhood had its own Harold collection. The Henderson’s had a mountain of Harold’s lint rollers stacked neatly in their laundry room. The Patel family had so many of his never-fail can openers that their entire garage shelf was dedicated to them. And the Cranstons? They jokingly called their basement “Harold’s Home Shopping Network.” It was filled with enough potato mashers to start a catering business.

But no one ever turned Harold away.

“He’s got such heart,”

Mrs. Jenkins often said over tea with the neighbors. 

“Bless him. He tries so hard.”

One day, Harold arrived with a new product—a miracle mop he couldn’t figure out how to show. 

“This mop… uh… well, you see, it swivels… I think. Or it wrings itself. Hold on, I had a pamphlet here somewhere…” 

He fumbled with his case, papers spilling onto the sidewalk.

Mrs. Jenkins and Mr. Thompson exchanged a glance and quickly stepped in. 

“We’ll take a few!” 

They chimed in unison.

Harold left the neighborhood beaming, waving to everyone as he wheeled his suitcase down the block. He whistled a tune with the satisfaction of a man who believed in his mission.

And so the cycle continued. Week after week, Harold brought the same products with the same pitches. The residents kept buying. They did this not out of necessity but of fondness for the bumbling salesman. He brought a little charm and harmless chaos to their otherwise predictable days.

One day, as Harold left Mrs. Jenkins’ house, she whispered to Mr. Thompson, 

“I sure hope he never realizes we’ve got enough peelers to last a lifetime.”

“He won’t,”

Mr. Thompson grinned. 

“And even if he did, I’d still buy another one next week.”

With that, Harold walked down the road. He was ready to bring his boundless enthusiasm. He also carried a suitcase full of peelers to the next unsuspecting yet ever-welcoming home.

Everyone needs to meet a Harold in life.

Thanksgiving At The Police Department

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Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

3–4 minutes

Thanksgiving at the Elk City Police Department was a paradox of warmth and chaos. While dispatchers decorated their consoles with paper turkeys and the smell of leftover pie filled the air, the holiday calls kept coming. It was supposed to be a day of gratitude and family, but for the officers on duty, it was one of their busiest days of the year.

Officer Jim Layfette, a ten-year veteran of the force, leaned back in his chair and sipped lukewarm coffee.

“Thanksgiving,”

he muttered to his rookie partner, Dan Thomas.

“The one day everyone thinks they can play Jerry Springer.”

Their first call came just before 2 p.m., a disturbance at a modest home on Fourth Street. Two brothers were at each other’s throats over who was more entitled to the last slice of pumpkin pie. When Layfette and Thomnas arrived, the brothers were outside, yelling loud enough to drown out the TV playing the Cowboys game.

“Seriously?”

Thomas asked as they broke up the fight.

“Welcome to the holiday shift,”

Layfette replied. The brothers were separated and sent home with stern warnings and a firm reminder that family arguments weren’t worth a trip to jail.

“Unit 4, you’ve got a 10-16 on Elm Street. Argument over stuffing. Use caution—reporting party says it’s ‘too moist.'”

As the day wore on, the calls became more bizarre. At a small rental house on the edge of town, a woman had locked her husband out because he had insulted her mother’s green bean casserole. He stood in the front yard, arms crossed and shivering in a light jacket, refusing to apologize. Thomas handed him a blanket from the patrol car while Layfette gave him a brief lecture on tact.

“Is it that bad?”

The husband asked.

Layfette smirked.

“I’ve had worse. Just say sorry and move on.”

By evening, the call volume skyrocketed. In one house, a drunken uncle had tried to carve the turkey with a chainsaw. In another, two cousins had turned a friendly card game into a shouting match that ended with one flipping the table. When Layfette thought the shift couldn’t get weirder, the radio crackled with another call.

The dispatcher, Chris, kept things lively with dry humor.

“Unit 4, you’ve got a 10-16 on Elm Street. Argument over stuffing. Use caution—reporting party says it’s ‘too moist.'”

Layfette couldn’t suppress a laugh at the Elm Street house when the elderly matriarch opened the door.

“I didn’t call you,”

she said with a sigh.

“It was my daughter. She’s too sensitive. But if you could take the turkey with you.”

“No, ma’am, thanks for the offer,” 

Layfette replied.

Officers gathered at the station to share a potluck meal and stories of their day. Amidst the oddball arguments and creative resolutions, a sense of camaraderie and shared experience began to emerge. Thomas, who had started the shift apprehensive about the chaos, was beginning to see the humor in it all, feeling a part of the team.

“It’s like therapy,” 

Layfette told him as they sat in the patrol car during a lull.

“Families blow off steam, and we get to play referee. It beats the usual stuff.”

By the end of their shift, Layfette and Thomas had responded to a dozen calls. No one had been seriously hurt, and most of the disputes ended with hugs and laughter. This sense of accomplishment and the fact that they had kept the peace on a chaotic day filled them with a deep sense of fulfillment and pride.

As they handed off their patrol car to the next shift, Layfette gave Thomas a pat on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, rookie. You survived your first Thanksgiving shift.”

He grinned.

“And I thought holidays were supposed to be relaxing.”

“Not here,” 

Layfette said with a chuckle.

“Welcome to the Elk City PD.”

They left the station to find the night unusually quiet, as though the town had finally run out of steam. It was a well-spent Thanksgiving for the officers—keeping the peace one turkey-fueled feud at a time.