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Clarence, Mildred, and the Lone Eagle

September 30, 2026September 29, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

You are kidding me, they don’t talk about me like that? Surely… Yes they do. And I can let you listen to it!

September 30, 2026

Good morning, folks.

Winding rural road through mist, viewed from inside a vehicle

I don’t know whether it was an Oklahoma City thing or whether listeners elsewhere heard it, too. In the mid-1980s, I kept my patrol radio tuned to KATT, The Rock 1000. One of my favorite parts of the morning was a voice that came on with a greeting something like, “Hello, babysitters. This is Clarence, and this is the All My Children update.”

Clarence had a deep voice and a gift for recapping the previous day’s soap opera. He would run through the latest goings-on, slipping into impressions of the characters along the way. I could be miles into a patrol shift, carrying whatever the night had handed me, and that voice would give me a few minutes to laugh.

I needed those minutes. Some of the officers I worked with used enough starch in their underwear to stand at attention without getting out of the patrol car.

Around the station, I was known as the Lone Eagle. I worked the south district, and when I headed south, I soared. Some nights brought felony arrests. Other nights, I found a way to upset an elected city official who probably thought the hour made him unreachable.

Then there was Mildred.

Her husband was a city councilman, and the chief had agreed to put her on the reserve police force. How that arrangement came about, I couldn’t say. What I knew was that Mildred talked through an entire eight-hour shift without seeming to draw a breath. Riding with her was like attending a farm auction where the auctioneer never stopped and the hog never sold. Every so often, the hog would snort, and the bidding would begin again.

Somehow, no matter how the schedule was arranged, Mildred ended up in my unit. The other officers wouldn’t take her. I was the least senior officer on those nights, so I got the assignment.

One night, I lost my patience.

I asked Mildred if she had ever wondered why she always rode with me. She said she thought it was because I liked having her along. I told her that wasn’t it. I said it more harshly than I should have.

She looked genuinely surprised. She hadn’t noticed that other reserve officers got different assignments while she kept getting mine. I told her the others complained about riding with her. When she thought I was making it up, I played a mini-cassette recording of officers saying just that.

Mildred listened. Then she said, “Oh, Ben, you ought to hear what they say about you before you get to the station to pick me up.”

“I know,” I told her. “You don’t think this is the only tape I have, do you?”

I didn’t stop there. I said things about her husband and why I thought he wanted her out of the house. I had no proof of that. I was angry, and I wanted my words to land. I also told her what I expected to happen next: she would go home upset, her husband would complain to the chief, and sooner or later something would happen to me at work.

I drove back to police headquarters and gave her one sentence she could repeat.

“Get the hell out of my unit.”

That night may sound like a scene Clarence could have recapped the next morning: a councilman’s wife, a tape recorder, a patrol officer who finally said too much, and trouble waiting at the station. But there was nothing funny about what followed. Two matters did arise that left me feeling exposed and unable to defend myself as I might have at another time.

My father had died, and I was still crushed by it. I feared a public fight would hurt my family. A year later, I believe I would have fought with everything I had. At that moment, I pulled back.

When I think about those patrol mornings now, I still hear Clarence’s voice cutting through the radio. For a few minutes, his account of somebody else’s drama gave me room to breathe. I had no idea how much I would miss that little break when the drama became my own.

In the months that followed, a series of events unfolded. I’ve written about some of them. Others I’ve never told publicly. That changes in October, when I’ll share what happened and why it sent shock waves through our community and local law enforcement. Watch for the first installment of October Surprises.

Before the Day Asks Anything of Us

September 23, 2026September 19, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Before the telephone rings, the messages arrive, and the world begins making its demands, the morning gives us a few quiet moments to gather ourselves. We should not hurry past them.

September 23, 2026

Good morning, my friend.

There is a small stretch of time each morning before the day begins asking things of us.

Before the telephone rings. Before the messages arrive. Before the headlines tell us what we should fear, question, or become angry about. For a few precious moments, there is only the sound of coffee pouring into a cup and the quiet promise of another day.

We often hurry through that silence without realizing how valuable it is. We begin making lists in our minds. We remember what we forgot yesterday and worry about what might go wrong today. Before our feet have carried us very far, our thoughts have already run several miles ahead.

But perhaps the morning was never meant to be a starting gun.

Perhaps it was given to us as a gentle place to gather ourselves—to sit quietly, take a breath, and remember that we are more than our obligations. We are more than the chores waiting in the next room, the appointments written on the calendar, or the problems we have not yet solved.

The world will make its demands soon enough. It always does. But it can wait long enough for us to finish one warm cup of coffee.

So, this morning, give yourself permission to remain still for another moment. Notice the light coming through the window. Listen for the familiar sounds of home. Think of someone who has made your life better simply by being part of it.

You do not have to accomplish anything during these few quiet minutes. You only have to be present for them.

Before the day asks something of you, allow the morning to give something to you: a little peace, a little strength, and another reason to be grateful you are here.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

The world will begin asking things of you soon enough. But before it does, sit quietly, take another sip, and allow the morning to give something back. Today’s Morning Coffee is waiting.

Morning Coffee — Don’t Hurry Past Today

September 16, 2026September 14, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

oh lord coffee please purple and pink cup — _{^{Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com}}

We spend so much time waiting for the next important day that we sometimes overlook the ordinary ones.

September 16, 2026

Wednesday has an unusual position in the week.

Monday is the beginning.

Friday is the finish line everybody seems to be watching.

Wednesday is simply standing somewhere in the middle, usually receiving very little attention.

Perhaps that makes it a lot like life.

We spend an enormous amount of time waiting for something else.

Waiting for Friday.

Waiting for vacation.

Waiting for retirement.

Waiting until the weather cools down.

Waiting until the bills are paid.

Waiting until we have more time.

Waiting until life finally settles down enough for us to enjoy it.

Then one day we look behind us and discover that all of those ordinary days we hurried through were life.

They weren’t the space between important moments.

They were the important moments.

The morning when nothing unusual happened.

The dog sleeping nearby.

Someone you love sitting in the next room.

The familiar sound of the coffeemaker finishing its work.

A telephone conversation about absolutely nothing important.

Dinner at the same table.

A sunset you have seen hundreds of times.

Those things rarely announce themselves as memories while they are happening.

But years later, they can become the things we would give almost anything to experience one more time.

That is why perhaps Wednesday deserves a little respect.

It reminds us that the middle matters.

Not every day needs to be memorable.

Not every morning needs a purpose beyond simply being here to experience it.

There is something comforting about an ordinary day.

No emergency.

No terrible telephone call.

No unexpected crisis.

Just another cup of coffee and another sunrise.

We sometimes call that boring.

Maybe we should call it fortunate.

So today, don’t hurry too quickly toward Friday.

Take a look around Wednesday first.

Notice who is sitting beside you.

Notice who calls.

Notice the familiar sounds around your home.

Notice the ordinary things that make your life yours.

Someday you may discover those were the things that mattered most.

Finish your coffee before it gets cold.

Stay in the conversation a little longer.

And don’t be so eager to get to tomorrow that you completely miss today.

Have a peaceful Wednesday.

Wednesday may only be the middle of the week—but perhaps the middle deserves more attention. Today’s Morning Coffee is about slowing down long enough to notice your life while you are living it.

☕ Morning Coffee ––– The Things We Don’t Notice

August 31, 2026August 29, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

Some of life’s most meaningful moments are the ones we barely notice while they are happening. This Morning Coffee is a reminder to appreciate the quiet, ordinary moments before they become the memories we miss most.

August 31, 2026

There are mornings when nothing remarkable happens.

The coffee brews. The house slowly wakes up. A dog stretches somewhere nearby. A car passes down the street. Maybe the sun finds its way through the blinds and lands across the floor in that familiar place it always seems to find.

man sitting by table and drinking from pitcher — _{^{Photo by Lucas Andrade on Pexels.com}} **Somedays you need a cup. Somedays, you need two. And, somedays you need the whole damn pot!**

Nothing extraordinary.

And yet, I have come to believe these may be some of the most important mornings we are given.

We spend so much of our lives waiting for something significant to happen. We look forward to birthdays, vacations, reunions, holidays, accomplishments and celebrations. We mark the big moments on calendars and take photographs so we will remember them.

But most of life happens somewhere in between.

It happens while we are standing at the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

It happens during the quiet conversation across the breakfast table.

It happens when someone asks, “Did you sleep okay?”

It happens when the dog follows you from one room to another for absolutely no reason other than the fact that wherever you are seems to be where he wants to be.

These moments rarely announce themselves as important.

There is no music playing in the background.

Nobody takes a photograph.

There is no ceremony.

And yet someday, these may be the moments we miss the most.

I think that is one of the lessons age quietly teaches us. The ordinary days we once hurried through eventually become the memories we would gladly revisit.

The sound of someone laughing in another room.

A familiar chair sitting beside the window.

A favorite coffee cup.

Someone calling your name from the other end of the house.

Things that once seemed ordinary somehow become treasures after enough years have passed.

Maybe that is why I have learned to appreciate mornings like this one.

There is coffee in the cup.

There are people I care about somewhere in this world.

There are memories behind me and, God willing, a few more waiting ahead.

And for the moment, nothing particularly remarkable is happening.

Which, when you think about it, is something rather remarkable itself.

So this morning, while you drink your coffee, take a look around.

There may be something happening right now that someday you will give almost anything to experience one more time.

Sometimes the best parts of life are the ones we almost failed to notice.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and remember, ordinary moments have a way of becoming extraordinary memories.

Morning Coffee — The Sunday Coffee Pot

August 30, 2026August 29, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Sunday coffee has a way of slowing the world down. Sometimes the best thing we can do before another week begins is sit quietly, sip slowly, and remember how much there still is to be thankful for.

August 30, 2026

coffee in white mug on magazines — _{^{Photo by Loow Invernissi on Pexels.com}}

Sunday coffee tastes different.

I don’t know that there is anything scientific behind that statement. The beans are the same. The water comes from the same faucet. The coffee pot certainly hasn’t learned what day of the week it is.

But somehow, Sunday morning coffee knows.

It knows there is no reason to rush.

The coffee pot can sit there on the counter and quietly do its job while the rest of the house slowly decides whether it is ready to join the day.

There are mornings when coffee is practically a piece of emergency equipment. You pour it while looking at the clock, searching for your keys, wondering where you left your glasses, and trying to remember whatever important thing you promised yourself the night before that you absolutely would not forget.

Sunday coffee doesn’t seem interested in any of that.

Sunday coffee says, Sit down.

The world will still be there in ten minutes.

Maybe that is one of the little gifts we have forgotten how to appreciate.

I often find myself reflecting on the Sundays of my childhood, especially those quiet early mornings when only my father and I were awake.

The test pattern had just disappeared from our black-and-white television, and the first program of the morning was the children’s show Davey and Goliath. It was followed by a gospel music program featuring the Florida Boys. I enjoyed both, although the second one was certainly aimed more toward my dad’s age group than mine.

When the gospel program ended, Dad would usually look at me and say, “Let’s go.”

Most Sundays, he already had a few sacks of groceries packed and ready to deliver around the southwest part of town, where much of Binger’s Black community lived. We had chickens—hundreds of them, at least it seemed that way to me as a child—along with cattle and pigs. My father shared what we had with people he believed truly needed it.

As we made those rounds, he would sometimes give me one of his little lessons.

“You don’t see a single one of them getting commodities at City Hall when they’re handing them out,” he would say. “Nope. It’s all these fine-to-do white people.”

There was always just a little preaching mixed into his words.

Even at that young age, I understood what he was showing me. I had already begun to recognize the hypocrisy he was talking about—the difference between what people said about others and what was actually taking place right in front of us.

Once our morning deliveries were finished, we would stop and buy the Sunday newspaper from the sidewalk vending machine. Dad would toss it into the pickup, and then we would head for the only café in town open on Sunday morning.

That was where Dad gathered what I now jokingly call his weekly community intelligence.

He listened.

He visited.

He heard who was doing what, who was upset with whom, whose crops were doing well, whose family was having trouble, and whatever else happened to be making its way through town that morning. Then, during the following week, he could use that information to maneuver his way through conversations in the barbershop.

And I had my own use for it.

Come Monday morning, I could walk onto the school playground and tell my classmates what I had heard their neighbors talking about over Sunday breakfast.

For a kid with a speech impediment, having a little inside information turned out to be a surprisingly useful way to keep a conversation going.

We spend so much of our lives preparing for the next thing that we sometimes fail to notice the thing we are living right now.

The coffee pot understands none of this, of course.

It simply sits there.

A little steam rises.

The kitchen begins to smell familiar.

A cup gets filled.

And for a few moments, nothing else is required of us.

There was a time when Sundays seemed almost designed around slowing down. Stores opened later. Families gathered for dinner. Church bells rang. Newspapers were thicker. People sat on porches longer.

Even the telephone seemed to understand that Sunday morning was not the appropriate time to cause trouble.

Today, the world rarely takes a day off.

Our phones buzz.

The news keeps moving.

Someone somewhere desperately wants us to know about a sale ending at midnight.

But the old coffee pot still offers the same invitation it always has.

Stay awhile.

Listen to the quiet.

Think about the people you love.

Remember the ones who once sat across the table from you.

Be thankful for those who still do.

And maybe leave a little room in your day for absolutely nothing important at all.

Because sometimes doing nothing important is exactly what the soul needs.

So this Sunday morning, pour another cup.

Let the coffee pot keep warm whatever is left behind.

And before you hurry into another week, give yourself permission to sit quietly with the life you already have.

It may not be perfect.

It may not always be easy.

But somewhere between the first sip and the bottom of the cup, you might discover there is still quite a bit worth being thankful for.

Have a wonderful Sunday from benandsteve.com — and may your coffee be hot, your morning be peaceful, and nobody ask you to do anything important until at least the second cup.

☕ Morning Coffee ––– Look How Far You’ve Come

August 26, 2026August 20, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

We spend so much time looking at how far we have left to go that we sometimes forget the miles already behind us. This morning’s coffee is a reminder to turn around occasionally and appreciate just how far you’ve come.

August 26, 2026

Most mornings, we look ahead.

a person holding a plastic cup with drinking straw — _{^{Photo by Czapp Árpád on Pexels.com}}

We think about what needs to be done today, what is waiting for us tomorrow, and where we hope to be sometime down the road.

We don’t often turn around and look behind us.

Maybe we should.

There are roads you’ve already traveled that once frightened you.

There were problems you were certain you couldn’t solve.

There were nights you wondered how you would make it until morning.

There were changes you didn’t ask for, goodbyes you weren’t ready to say, and circumstances you never imagined would become part of your story.

Yet here you are.

Coffee in hand.

Another morning.

Still going.

We have a habit of measuring ourselves by how far we have left to go instead of recognizing how far we have already come.

It’s a little like climbing a hill while staring only at the top.

Every step reminds you that you aren’t there yet.

But turn around for a moment.

Look at the distance behind you.

Suddenly, those little steps don’t seem so little anymore.

Life is like that.

Growth rarely announces itself while it’s happening.

We simply get up each morning and keep going.

We learn.

We adjust.

We stumble.

We get back up.

And somewhere along the way, without realizing it, we become stronger than the person who first started down the road.

Maybe you’re not where you hoped you would be by now.

That’s all right.

Perhaps there are things you still want to accomplish, relationships you want to mend, places you want to see, or pieces of yourself you’re still trying to understand.

Keep going.

But every once in a while, turn around.

Remember the things you’ve survived.

Remember the lessons you’ve learned.

Remember the people you’ve loved and the people who loved you along the way.

Give yourself credit for the miles already traveled.

You earned every one of them.

Sometimes we need to stop asking, “How much farther?” and take a moment to say, “Look how far I’ve come.”

So this morning, before you hurry toward whatever is waiting ahead, sit with your coffee for another minute.

Look back down the road.

That person standing there in your memories had no idea whether they would make it this far.

But they did.

You did.

And today, the road continues.

Now, let’s have another cup before we get moving.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

Morning Coffee —The Morning After

August 23, 2026August 12, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

The Coffee on The Morning Will Taste Different

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

The coffee is quieter this morning.

Yesterday, we buried my mother.

black and white photo of a man sitting at a table on a sidewalk — ^{_{Photo by Efe Ersoy on Pexels.com}}

After traveling hundreds of miles with us—from Arizona, through New Mexico and Texas, and finally into Oklahoma—we brought her to Binger.

Her last ride is over.

She rests beside my father now.

And this morning, life has done that peculiar thing it always does after a loss.

It continued.

The sun came up.

Someone started a car.

A dog needed attention.

Coffee had to be made.

The world didn’t stop simply because something monumental happened in mine.

Perhaps that is one of life’s quietest lessons.

We spend days preparing ourselves for the big moments—the service, the goodbye, the final prayer. But nobody prepares us quite as well for the morning afterward.

The morning when there is nowhere else we need to take them.

No arrangements left to make.

No more miles left to drive.

Just memories.

Yesterday, I stood in Oklahoma soil and helped return my mother to the place that had shaped so much of her life.

Today, I can begin carrying her differently.

Not in a special carrier.

Not buckled safely into the vehicle.

Not guarded faithfully by Otis.

I carry her in stories.

I carry her in the expressions I inherited without realizing it.

I carry her in memories of childhood, family gatherings, arguments, laughter, disappointments, forgiveness, and all those wonderfully complicated things that make a family a family.

Perhaps that’s what we eventually discover about saying goodbye.

The people we love don’t simply disappear down some road behind us.

They become part of the traveler.

And so this morning, I will have another cup of coffee.

Then Steve, Otis, and I will eventually point ourselves toward Arizona.

There will be an empty place in the vehicle where Mom rode with us.

But I don’t think she’s leaving Oklahoma alone.

A little bit of her will be going home with me.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

☕ Morning Coffee ––– You May Be Someone’s Good Memory

August 18, 2026August 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

There are probably people carrying a good memory of something you did long ago, even though you’ve forgotten all about it. This morning’s coffee is a reminder that the smallest kindness can become part of someone else’s story.

August 18, 2026

a cup of coffee with a smiley face drawn on it — ^{_{Photo by Ersan Yılmaz on Pexels.com}}

There are people from years ago whom I still remember for the smallest reasons.

They didn’t save my life.

They didn’t give me some great piece of wisdom.

They may not even remember me.

But I remember them.

I remember the person who took an extra moment to explain something when I didn’t understand.

The person who laughed with me when I needed to laugh.

The person who noticed I was having a difficult day and asked, “Are you doing okay?”

The person who poured another cup of coffee without being asked.

Funny, isn’t it?

We often think we have to do something extraordinary to make a difference in somebody’s life.

Most of the time, we don’t.

Sometimes we are remembered simply because we were kind when kindness was needed.

There are probably people walking around today carrying a memory of something you once did for them.

You may have forgotten it completely.

They haven’t.

Maybe you encouraged someone when they were ready to quit.

Maybe you sat beside somebody who didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe you made a child laugh.

Maybe you told someone they were doing a good job when nobody else bothered to notice.

To you, it may have been nothing more than an ordinary moment.

To them, it became part of their story.

That’s something worth thinking about over coffee this morning.

We spend a lot of time wondering what people think of us.

Perhaps a better question is:

How do people feel after they’ve been around us?

Do they leave feeling a little better?

A little more hopeful?

A little less alone?

Because long after people forget what we wore, what we owned, or how important we thought we were, they often remember how we treated them.

And someday, years from now, someone may be sitting at their own kitchen table with a cup of coffee remembering you.

Not because you did something remarkable.

But because, on an ordinary day when they needed it, you were kind.

Never underestimate the possibility that one small kindness from you may become someone else’s lifelong memory.

So today, give somebody something good to remember.

It doesn’t have to cost a thing.

A smile will do.

A kind word will do.

Taking a moment to listen will do.

Sometimes the smallest things stay with us the longest.

Now, how about another cup?

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

☕ Morning Coffee – Some Mornings Are Meant to Be Ordinary

August 16, 2026August 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Not every morning needs to be extraordinary. Sometimes the quiet, ordinary moments—the warm coffee, familiar voices, and people nearby—are the ones we eventually miss the most. Come sit for a while. The coffee is ready…

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

August 16, 2026

Not every morning arrives carrying a lesson.

charming cafe conversation in scenic european town — _{^{Photo by Serge Hulne on Pexels.com}}

Sometimes morning is simply morning.

The coffee is brewing. The house is quiet. Somewhere outside, a bird is carrying on a conversation with another bird that apparently has a great deal to say.

And nothing particularly important is happening.

We have become so accustomed to looking for significance that we sometimes overlook the beauty of an ordinary day.

We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, graduations, promotions, and all those other days we circle on the calendar. We take photographs. We gather people together. We remember them years later.

But when we look back on our lives, something interesting happens.

We begin missing the ordinary days too.

We remember sitting at the kitchen table while someone we loved stood at the counter.

We remember hearing their footsteps coming down the hallway.

We remember the sound of the screen door closing.

We remember someone asking, “Want another cup?”

At the time, none of it seemed important enough to remember.

Yet somehow we did.

Maybe that is because a life isn’t made mostly from extraordinary moments.

It is made from thousands upon thousands of ordinary ones.

The morning somebody handed you a cup of coffee.

The afternoon you sat on the porch doing absolutely nothing.

The evening everyone was home and nobody realized how precious that would someday become.

We didn’t know we were making memories.

We thought we were simply living.

Perhaps that is something worth remembering this morning.

You don’t have to accomplish something remarkable today for today to matter.

You don’t need a celebration.

You don’t need an announcement.

You don’t even need a particularly good story to tell when the day is finished.

Sometimes it is enough that the people you care about are nearby, the coffee is warm, and another morning has found its way to your door.

So don’t hurry through all of it.

Take an extra sip.

Listen to the sounds around you.

Notice who’s sitting across the table.

Someday you may discover that the mornings you once thought were ordinary were some of the most precious mornings you ever had.

The ordinary moments of today may become the treasured memories of tomorrow.

And that seems like a pretty good reason to pour another cup.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com