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© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

July 12, 2026

Why benandsteve.com will always be a place where stories, neighbors, and simple conversation matter more than bells and whistles.

There was a time when nearly every town had a little Mom and Pop general store. It wasn’t the biggest building in town. It didn’t have flashing lights, endless aisles, or a parking lot the size of a football field. But it had something far more important.

Are too many changes, causing you a blur?

It had people.

You stopped in because you needed a loaf of bread, a box of nails, a spool of thread, or maybe just a cold bottle of pop on a hot afternoon. Before long you found yourself visiting with a neighbor, catching up on local happenings, or hearing a story you hadn’t expected to hear. You came for one thing and often left with something entirely different.

That’s the way I have always wanted benandsteve.com to be.

It isn’t meant to be the biggest website on the internet. It isn’t trying to become a corporate media empire with every new bell, whistle, gadget, and artificial intelligence feature someone insists I must install before tomorrow. Every few days another message appears telling me I need this plug-in, that application, another update, another subscription, or one more feature that promises to make everything “better.”

Sometimes I wonder if the people designing these things have forgotten that simple still works.

I’m not trying to build a shining city on a hill. I’m simply trying to keep the lights on in my little general store.

When you stop by, I hope you’ll find a good story, a bit of history, a few headlines worth knowing, perhaps an obituary honoring someone who deserved to be remembered, or news about the men and women who serve in law enforcement, fire, EMS, and emergency services. Maybe you’ll discover something you didn’t expect. Maybe you’ll leave with a smile, a memory, or a thought worth carrying into the rest of your day.

The internet doesn’t always have to be loud. It doesn’t always have to flash, blink, autoplay, notify, or demand your attention every five seconds. Sometimes it’s enough to simply open the front door, hear it creak a little, and know the owner is behind the counter ready to say, “Good to see you. What’s new?”

That is what I hope benandsteve.com continues to be.

What you see is what you get.

No gimmicks. No smoke and mirrors. Just stories, memories, history, humor, and the occasional opinion from someone who still believes that neighbors matter, truth matters, and a simple conversation is worth preserving.

So pull up a chair. Look around. Read a story or two. And before you head back down the road, don’t forget to wave at the folks coming in behind you.

The old general store is still open.

© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

It had been a long year. On January 5th, 1983, we lost an officer in the line of duty. That spring, three officers were arrested for stealing from a business they’d responded to on an alarm call. By summer, automobile burglaries and thefts were on the rise. The suspects were careful, leaving no evidence. Their modus operandi was smooth and untraceable—no one ever heard, saw, or interrupted these thieves. Most stolen items ranged in value from around $200, making each theft a felony under Oklahoma law.

The city was facing yet another wave of crime. Typically, it had about 10,000 residents, but the recent oil boom brought an influx, swelling the population to around 25,000. The sudden increase in population put a strain on the city’s resources, leading to a rise in crime. Jobs attracted people from all over, but housing needed to catch up. Tent cities sprang up in the southern sector, and parks filled with tents when vacant lots overflowed. Expecting thousands of oil jobs, many newcomers broke and scraped by.

Among the job seekers were newly released inmates from Cook County Detention in Chicago. Judges offered a stark choice: a one-way bus ticket to Elk City, Oklahoma, or a lengthy jail sentence. Most took the bus ticket. Upon arrival, they had to call the detention center from Elk City’s bus depot to check-in. Ducks in the city park began disappearing as desperate people scavenged for food. In response, the city council enacted a law prohibiting the molestation of ducks, with fines and jail time for violations. Signs reading “DO NOT MOLEST THE DUCKS” popped up, adding a hint of levity to an otherwise grim situation.

But ducks were far from the town’s biggest problem. It wasn’t the bars, the transient hotels renting beds by the shift, or even the “ladies of the night.” The real threat seemed to be the string of broad daylight robberies plaguing the community’s three leading grocery stores, and each hit at least once. One robbery even happened just a block from the police station, with the suspects abandoning their getaway vehicle behind the station in a post office lot.

The police department’s image was suffering. Officers worked 12-hour shifts, often doubling up due to the flood of calls, sometimes stacked five to ten deep. I reported at 5 p.m. for a 6 p.m. start to my 12-hour shift one day, noticing a huddle of high-ranking officers and county deputies outside an office. Figuring I’d get briefed later, I didn’t poke around—I had enough court subpoenas already without getting involved in another incident. And this was one situation I was glad to avoid.

“You have got to be kidding me,”

When my Captain came over, he told me they’d just brought in an officer for raping his daughter. This shocking revelation not only shamed the individual officer’s reputation but cast a shadow on the entire department; as police officers failed, the public’s trust in law enforcement was further eroded.

“You have got to be kidding me,” was all I could say.

This scandal was nearly the final blow for our department, already reeling from the recent departure of a chief struggling with personal issues. Within hours, newspapers and television stations caught wind of the arrest, and the phone lines lit up. Callers unleashed waves of abuse, condemning every officer affiliated with the department. The calls went on for days, creating a hostile environment for all officers and making their jobs even more difficult.

The officers arrested earlier in the year were convicted, further damaging the department’s reputation.

Amid this turmoil, my law enforcement career truly began. Although I had worked in various positions and departments, it was in this community that I found my calling. This city is where I started my adult life and career earnestly. I remained loyal to this place, forming memories with people in the booking area, the jail, and the streets. A shift in the workforce followed, which opened doors for me—an unexpected opportunity in a turbulent time. Could it get any worse? The heat was about to get turned up. In coming stories!

(You’ve been reading the back story for the big news over the next forty years involving several lives and lifetimes.)