Chester’s Revolution: A Fight Against Government Oppression

February 18, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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

4–6 minutes

When the world turns against you, what do you do? This question had boiled under Chester’s contempt for days. He had watched the nation he loved become the opposite of everything it had ever stood for. The people appeared powerless to stop the crazed leaders who were taking control of the institutions and destroying them.

Chester became so incensed that he quit his job. He took about three hundred dollars, bought as many canned food items as possible, and stored them in his home. Chester then purchased one hundred dollars’ worth of bottled water. He had planned for the loss of electricity and home heating petroleum. Chester had medical supplies he thought would handle any matter related to his health. Then, he went and nailed his doors and windows shut. He placed a sign on the outside of his home stating:

I AM HOME – ALIVE – I DO NOT WANT CONTACT WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD OR ITS DISTURBING GOVERNMENT. THIS HOUSE IS OFF LIMITS TO EVERYONE. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER!

Then, in chalk, on a board that slid in and out from the interior of the home, it read:

DATE – 2-16-2025

Chester planned to update the date every night to let the outside world know he was still alive.

Chester planned to live without listening to what was happening around him. He believed it was the only way he survived. Chester wanted to help others but had no solution, power, or ability. For Chester, this was all he thought he would do.

His home was significant. It had five bedrooms, four bathrooms, two living areas, two kitchens, and a mother-in-law suite. He had inherited it from his parents after they passed. It was paid for, and he had taken control of their Trust. He didn’t have any financial issues.

Every morning, Chester would visit the mother-in-law’s suite. It offered a view of a once-lively park. The government has now abandoned the park. He often spotted young figures lurking behind the trees, their presence a haunting mystery. Why were they there? Why were they hiding? And most puzzling of all, why did they seem to have nowhere else to go?

One day, curiosity got the best of him. He grabbed his hammer. He pulled the nails out around the suite’s window. He cracked it open, trying to hear their conversations.

Two young girls and two young men were hiding behind a tree, whispering urgently. Chester leaned in closer and heard them say:

“Look, it won’t hurt, and we will be free of this world. If we stay any longer, it will only get worse. They will kill us if we don’t beat them to it!”

Chester’s blood ran cold. What in the world were they talking about? Was this some game? Or were they seriously considering group suicide? And was the government truly hunting these kids?

He had heard about new policies stripping rights from the LGBTQI+ community and disenfranchising people of color. But had it escalated to mass executions? Chester had to find out.

He rummaged through an old trunk in his father’s Hollywood memorabilia. It contained all sorts of disguises: wigs, glasses, vintage clothing. Chester dressed as an older, disheveled homeless man and prepared to venture outside for the first time in weeks.

What he would learn would be devastating.

The streets were eerily quiet, yet tension hung in the air like a brewing storm. Checkpoints had been set up at major intersections, where government enforcers—men in military gear with no insignias—patrolled with assault rifles.

Posters were plastered everywhere, declaring:

“FOR THE SAFETY OF OUR NATION, COMPLIANCE IS MANDATORY.”

Others simply stated:

“NON-CONFORMISTS WILL BE RELOCATED.”

Chester approached a group of homeless people warming their hands over a fire in a rusted oil drum. They regarded him warily but allowed him into their circle.

“What’s happening?”

Chester asked, playing the role of a lost drifter.

A man with hollowed-out cheeks and weary eyes responded,

“They’re rounding people up. Anyone who resists, anyone different. They disappear.”

Chester asked quickly,

“Disappear where?”

The man shook his head.

“No one knows. Some say camps. Others say execution sites.”

Chester’s stomach twisted into knots. The government wasn’t just oppressing people; it was actively erasing them. The kids in the park weren’t paranoid—they were running for their lives.

He couldn’t stay hidden anymore. He had to act.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Chester snuck back to his house and removed the sign from his door. He pried open his windows, unlocked the doors, and gathered supplies. With his home’s ample space and well-stocked provisions, he offered sanctuary to those with nowhere else to go.

The next day, he returned to the park and approached the young people cautiously.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

At first, they hesitated, but the desperation in their eyes mirrored his determination. One by one, they followed him back to his home. Chester had spent weeks barricading himself from the world, convinced that isolation was the only way to survive. But now, he understood—survival was not just about enduring. It was about resisting.

And Chester was ready to fight back.

“LGBT people are some of the bravest and most potent change agents and leaders I have encountered. They are the most forceful defenders of the vulnerable and voiceless because they know what it’s like to be there.”

-–– Ronan Farrow -–– a journalist known for his investigative work with the New Yorker and member of the LGBTQI+ Community

Elmer’s Tough Ride: A Journey Through the Dust Bowl

February 10, 2025February 10, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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4–6 minutes

Pa Elmer’s Ride

The winter had been relentless. The worst sandstorm in memory had swept through the region the year before. It buried the land in towering drifts of dust and sand. In some places, these drifts were waist-deep.

It marked the beginning of the Dust Bowl. This was a devastating era of dust storms. These storms crippled agriculture and reshaped life across the American and Canadian prairies in the 1930s.

Few families had stored enough food from the past year’s harvest. Even fewer were sure how long this disaster would last.

They say two things in life are certain: death and taxes. And for Elmer, tax time had come knocking. He had no choice but to ride nearly forty miles to the courthouse. He needed to pay his property taxes in person. He risked default if he didn’t. Despite the hard times, he had always kept his land in good standing. He intended to do so now, even with their dwindling savings. With three young children to feed, responsibility was heavily on his shoulders. His two sons and daughter were too young to fully grasp the hardship that had taken hold of the land. The struggle was real for Elmer and his wife, Ma Ma.

The night before his journey, Elmer told Ma Ma,

“I’ll be up by 3:30 and gone before sunrise. There’s no need to let anyone know I’m carrying money. Hard times make people desperate.”

While he trusted his neighbors, he wasn’t about to take unnecessary risks. He planned to make it halfway and camp near the Washita River before reaching the courthouse the next day.

At dawn, Pa Elmer saddled his pony, Smokey. Ma Ma handed him a small bundle—a few slices of fresh bread and beef jerky from the smokehouse.

“It’s not much,”

she said, touching his knee as he mounted up,

“but it’ll hold you over till you’re back. Ride safe, and don’t take any risks. Smokey can outrun any trouble that comes your way.”

Pa Elmer bent down in the saddle and kissed her.

“Two days there, a day and a half back. I’ll be fine.”

The parents didn’t know it. Their three children watched from behind the screen door, their little faces pressed against the mesh. As Ma-Ma gave Smokey a firm slap on the hip, Pa clicked his tongue and hollered,

“Yaw!”

The journey had begun.

Back inside, Ma Ma found the children still watching. She shooed them back to bed. Then she settled into her rocking chair with the Bible. It was her source of comfort through times of uncertainty.

The Ride to Town

Pa made good time. Smokey, eager for the open trail, trotted strong beneath him. By evening, they had covered thirty miles. Elmer found a spot near the Washita River where the grass was matted down—a daytime swimming hole. He unsaddled Smokey. Then, he tied him to a long rope to graze. Elmer stretched out beneath a tree, using his saddle as a pillow.

Sleep took him fast; it was a blessing he had dozed off facing east. The first light of dawn warmed his face, stirring him awake. After a quick breakfast of beef jerky, he saddled Smokey and continued.

By mid-morning, he reached the county seat. He tied Smokey to the hitching rail and strode into the courthouse. The county clerk barely glanced up from her papers.

“You here to ask for an extension on your taxes like everyone else?”

she asked.

Elmer tipped his hat.

“No, ma’am. I’m here to pay my taxes for this year and next.”

The clerk blinked, then scribbled out a receipt, her expression unreadable.

Paid this date: $28.33 for two years of property taxes.

Elmer folded the receipt and tucked it into the same safe spot where his money had been. Simply saying ––––

“Thank you, Mam!”

Pa had finished his business.

Trouble in Town

As he walked back to Smokey, a man loitering nearby gave a slow nod.

“That’s a fine-looking horse you got there. I’d buy him off you for $25.”

Elmer stiffened.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

The man’s eyes darkened, and his tone shifted.

“Maybe I just take the horse for nothin’.”

Elmer didn’t flinch. He met the man’s stare with steely resolve.

“No, you’d be lyin’ dead if you tried.”

A tense silence hung between them before the man forced a crooked smile.

“Mister, I was just jokin’.”

He backed away.

“You have yourself a nice day.”

Elmer wasted no time. He swung into the saddle and galloped out of town.

The Journey Home

Elmer has made the ride back in a day. Still, he took his time. He stopped by a few relatives along the way. In this part of the country, it was tradition—when you passed by kin, you paid a visit.

Late in the afternoon, as he approached home, he saw Ma Ma and the kids waiting at the gate. The children ran to meet him, full of questions.

“Well, Pa? How’d it go?”

Ma Ma asked, relief washing over her face.

Elmer grinned and swung down from Smokey.

“Would’ve been home sooner,”

he said, stretching his legs,

“but I kept runnin’ out of pipe tobacco.”

Ma Ma shook her head with a chuckle. As the family led him inside, the weight of the journey melted away. Home had never felt so good.

The Wild West Legacy: Tim’s Cattle Drive Experience

February 8, 2025Benjamin4 Comments

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

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

4–6 minutes

Sitting in the large living room, Tim’s father called him down from his upstairs bedroom. As Tim entered, he wondered if he had forgotten to do his chores properly. He also thought about whether his father had bad news to deliver.

Sitting on the fireplace ledge, he faced his father, who sat in his favorite chair.

“I’m helping Jess Paul tomorrow down south of Mingo for Doc. We must drive cattle up from their southern pasture. Then, we will move them into holding pens for transport to the sale barns. We need a third rider to keep the point in key areas, and I’d like you to come with us.”

Tim’s heart leaped. He had never been to Mingo but had always heard about the town. It was one of the last places with a 19th-century reputation. It was known as a wild, lawless settlement. Gunfights on the main street occurred weekly. Jess Paul often talked about how the local cowboys were descendants of the originals who roamed the territory before statehood.

Jess Paul was one of his father’s closest friends. Ten years ago, he lost both legs below the knee in a farming accident. Despite this, he rehabilitated himself and learned to walk using only a cane. Jess Paul can mount a horse and ride all day without showing pain or discomfort. With his two wooden legs, he can break a wild two-year-old stud just as well as any other cowboy. To Tim, Jess Paul was the toughest man Tim had ever known. His hands were massive, and he had a story for every place they went.

Tim’s father instructed his older sister to stop by his school and collect any assignments he’d miss.

“Tell his teacher I need him to work cattle,”

he said matter-of-factly.

The next morning came early. At 4:00 AM, Jess Paul was already up, having slept in his truck’s camper parked in front of their house. Jess Paul’s horse had been kept with the others on Tim’s father’s farm. While his father and Jess Paul gathered saddles and horses, Tim hitched the stock trailer to his father’s pickup.

Jake, Tim’s father, rode his horse, Red Man. Tim mounted Sam, his temperamental gelding, while Jess Paul rode Sonny. With the horses loaded, they set out for Mingo—a journey of over 150 miles. Another 20 miles beyond the town lay the range land where the cattle waited.

Jess Paul talked nonstop during the long drive. Tim had heard some of his stories several times before. Each time, Jess Paul added a new detail to keep them fresh. This made the stories engaging.

After three hours on the road, they arrived and unloaded the horses. Tim dreaded the ride on Sam. The weather was unseasonably cool, and Sam was known for taking off bucking at the worst possible times.

“No cowboying,”

Jake warned.

“We want these cattle to walk to the pens. Just guide them—don’t rush them or get them running.”

Tim nodded. He understood why. Running the cattle would make them lose weight, reducing their value at the auction.

No cattle were in sight from the truck. The trio mounted up and rode south across the prairie. Half an hour later, they spotted the herd—about two hundred head—gathered in a valley, sheltered from the cold north wind. Jake moved wide to one side of the herd. Jess Paul took the opposite side. Tim took position on the hill. He was ready to steer the cattle north toward the pens.

Tim fought to keep Sam still as the cattle approached. The horse was itching to jump, and Tim braced himself, expecting a sudden bucking fit.

The first two turning points went smoothly. Tim maneuvered between the cattle and the next position with ease. But at the final turn, he noticed a devil’s claw tangled around Sam’s hind hoof. The dried-up weed flower was notorious for driving horses wild, making them kick and thrash to free themselves. Tim knew he had to stay calm.

_{^{Devils Claw}}
_{^{Proboscidea louisianica}}

Slowly, he dismounted, working his way around Sam. He reached down with deliberate care. Then, he grabbed the devil’s claw and pulled it free. Using his boot, he brushed it away. Miraculously, Sam stood still.

Tim half expected the horse to explode at any moment. The last time Sam went full rodeo, they had been riding a narrow trail along a canyon. On one side was a dirt wall; on the other, a hundred-foot drop. Sam had bucked the entire way down to the canyon floor. Tim had held on for dear life. He cursed the horse with every bounce. Tim’s father scolded him for not stopping the horse. Tim never dared argue back. He had just been trying to survive the ride.

Now, with Sam behaving, Tim remounted and guided the cattle through the final turn. The herd moved steadily into the holding pens, where hay and grain had been spread.
After the last cow entered, the trio loaded their horses back into the trailer, and the gates clanged shut. The job was done. They had answered the call south of Mingo, and now it was time to head home.

Riding home meant Jess Paul would tell more stories.

Time-Travel Adventures in a Cozy Home

January 27, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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3–4 minutes

Jane and Mark lived in a cozy little house on a quiet street in nowhere. The house had a white picket fence. A porch swing creaked with every breeze was also part of the house. Life was simple and predictable—until the night the sky split open.

It happened just after dinner. A brilliant ray of golden light shot down from the heavens. It struck the roof of their home with a silent flash. Jane screamed, dropping her fork, while Mark rushed to the window, heart pounding, their minds filled with fear and confusion.

“What was that?” Jane whispered, staring at the glowing beam. It pulsed briefly, then faded away, leaving no trace but a faint shimmer.

They inspected the house, finding no damage, burns, or explanation. But they soon discovered the truth in the strangest way possible.

The next day, Mark walked out to grab the newspaper, and when he stepped back inside, Jane gasped. Jane saw a man in medieval armor standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide with confusion. It wasn’t her husband in his sweatpants and T-shirt.

“Mark?” she stammered.

“Jane! What –– what happened?” Mark looked down at the polished steel covering his chest and arms. “I was outside, and when I came back ––– this happened!”

Jane grabbed his hand and pulled him in. “We need to call someone.”

But before they could dial, their neighbor, Mrs. Clarkson, walked in uninvited, as she often did. When she crossed the threshold, her modern blouse and skirt changed into a flapper dress. Her gray hair was pinned into 1920s finger waves. “My word!” she exclaimed, waving a cigarette holder she didn’t own.

Mark and Jane exchanged terrified glances. Their house was cursed or enchanted or something far beyond their understanding.

Over the next few days, they experimented with the strange phenomenon. Stepping outside and re-entering would send them hurtling through time. Sometimes, they found themselves in ancient Rome. Other times, they landed in the Wild West. Occasionally, they encountered an unsettlingly dystopian future. Even Otis, their golden retriever, came trotting back inside with a Victorian-era bonnet tied to his head.

Jane kept a notebook. “Day three: Entered as myself, exited as a 1970s disco queen. Mark walked in as a cowboy. Not great.”

Eventually, they learned some rules. The effect only lasted while they were inside. Stepping back outside would revert them to their usual selves. But the moment anyone crossed the threshold again, the house chose another era at random.

It wasn’t long before the military took notice. When government agents approached their door, Jane panicked and tried to warn them. “Please, don’t come in!”

Too late. Five suited men instantly transformed into Renaissance courtiers with feathered hats and ruffled collars. “What sorcery is this?” one muttered, spinning in circles.

Mark sighed. “You’re gonna want to take this one up with NASA.”

Despite the chaos, they refused to leave. Strange as it was, the house was still their home. They learned to adapt. They stored era-appropriate clothing in a chest by the door. They prepared themselves for anything from caveman furs to futuristic bodysuits. This showed their resilience and courage in the face of the unknown.

In time, they found unexpected joys in their predicament. They hosted Gatsby-style parties, had tea with Victorian neighbors, and experienced life in eras they never imagined. Their sense of wonder and adventure grew with each new experience.

The little house with the picket fence became legendary. It served as a portal through time. In this house, history was just a step away. Mark and Jane embraced the adventure. After all, who wouldn’t want to live in a place where every day was a different century?

George Kalinsky A Man Of Pictures 1936-2025

January 17, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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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

The Fall and Rise of David Caine

January 15, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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2–3 minutes

David Caine was a man who seemed to have it all. His sprawling estate overlooked the city, a tangible reminder of his success. He owned a fleet of luxury cars. He mingled with the elite. He was celebrated as a visionary in the tech world. At 42, he had reached heights most can only dream of. But in a single day, it all crumbled.

It started with a phone call. A risky investment had failed spectacularly. The bank froze David’s accounts. His business partner vanished, taking what was left of their company’s assets. By the evening, creditors were knocking, and the media painted him as a cautionary tale of hubris.

Within weeks, David had lost everything—his mansion, cars, friends who had once hung on his every word. He was left with a single suitcase, crashing on the couch of a former employee who pitied him. But even in this dire situation, David’s resilience shone through.

David was once a figure of power and influence. Now, he walked the city streets for the first time in years without recognition. He bought coffee with coins from his pocket and scoured job boards at the local library. The life he had meticulously built felt like a distant dream, a stark contrast to his current reality.

But starting over gave David something he hadn’t had in years: clarity.

As he wandered the city one morning, he noticed a small bakery with a “Help Wanted” sign in the window. He stepped in, drawn by the scent of fresh bread. The owner, a kind woman named Maria, hired him on the spot. The work was simple—baking, cleaning, running deliveries. It was a far cry from the boardrooms he once commanded. But it was honest, grounding work. His days were filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and the warmth of human connection.

David began to change. He rediscovered the joy of simplicity, the value of community, and the satisfaction of a hard day’s work. Baking bread was a simple act. The warmth of the oven comforted him. The laughter of the regulars at the bakery brought him a joy he had long forgotten.

Months turned into years. David saved enough to rent a modest apartment. Impressed by his dedication, Maria offered him a bakery partnership. Together, they expanded, opening two more locations. This time, David didn’t chase grandeur. He focused on creating jobs, helping others, and finding balance.

One crisp fall morning, David stood outside his bakery, watching customers laugh and chat as they sipped coffee. He had no mansion or luxury cars. His wealth was no longer measured in dollars but in smiles and connections.

David had lost everything, but he found what truly mattered in the process.

And for the first time in years, he felt rich beyond measure.

The Island of No Return

January 12, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

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3–4 minutes

Three men sat at the edge of a dock. Each was worn down by the ceaseless hum of modern life. Their gazes were fixed on a small, uninhabited island that shimmered in the midday sun. A mile off the coast, the island was lush with palm trees, surrounded by crystal-clear water, and untouched by civilization. It was perfect, a blank canvas for a life free from the chaos they had come to despise.

The trio’s leader, Warren, a former corporate executive, was the mastermind behind the escape. To buy the island, he’d sold everything—his penthouse, yacht, and stock portfolio.

“Gentlemen,”

he said, gesturing at the island,

“we’re about to start over. No emails, no alarms, no societal nonsense. Just us and the land.”

Tom, a rugged carpenter with calloused hands, nodded.

“I’ll build us the finest cabins you’ve ever seen. Give me trees and tools, and we’ll have a paradise.”

The third man, Elliott, a quiet botanist, adjusted his glasses and smiled faintly.

“And I’ll make sure we know which plants are safe to eat. Nature will supply for us if we respect it.”

They packed their small boat with essentials: tools, seeds, books, and fishing gear. They agreed to leave their phones behind, cutting ties with the rest of the world. “Once we’re there,” Warren declared, “there’s no turning back.”

Arrival

The island greeted them with pristine beaches and a dense jungle that hummed with life. They worked tirelessly in the first weeks. Tom constructed three sturdy cabins near the shoreline. Warren rigged up a rudimentary system for collecting rainwater. Elliott explored the interior, cataloging edible plants and marking trails.

At night, they sat by a fire, listening to the waves and reveling in the simplicity of their new existence.

“This is freedom,”

Warren said one evening.

“We’ve escaped the madness.”

But as the weeks turned to months, cracks began to form in their idyllic retreat.

Isolation

Elliott was the first to show signs of unease.

“The flora here is fascinating,”

he said one night, staring at the fire,

“but I miss my research. Sharing discoveries with others… it gave my work purpose.”

Tom, who had poured his energy into the building, grew restless after the cabins were completed.

“There’s only so much wood to chop, so many things to fix. I feel… stagnant.”

Warren dismissed their concerns.

“We didn’t come here for purpose or projects. We came to live. You’ve forgotten why we left.”

But Warren, too, struggled. He’d envisioned a utopia, a life stripped of complications, but the endless quiet gnawed at him. Without the structure of his old life, he felt adrift.

The Turning Point

One stormy night, a ship appeared on the horizon. Its lights pierced the darkness, a beacon of their forsaken world.

“Do we signal it?”

Tom asked, his voice wavering.

Warren’s face hardened.

“No. We agreed: no contact.”

Elliott hesitated.

“What if they’re in trouble? Or what if… what if we are?”

The men argued for hours as the storm raged. Ultimately, they let the ship pass without making contact. But the moment lingered, a reminder of the life they’d left behind—and the choice they’d made to stay.

Conclusion

In time, the men adapted. They found a rhythm in the island’s isolation, but each carried a quiet longing for the world they’d abandoned. They didn’t regret their choice, but they understood it now for what it was: a trade, not an escape.

Years later, the island was still theirs, but they were no longer the same men who had arrived. They had built a new life, not without struggles or sacrifices, but one that was undeniably theirs.

They never saw another ship. They often looked out at the horizon. They wondered what have been if they’d signaled that one stormy night.

Dan the Electrician Saves Boone

December 7, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

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3–4 minutes

The small town of Boone, nestled in the valley of snow-capped peaks, was no stranger to winter storms. But this one was different. The storm rolled in with icy winds that seemed to pierce every wall and seep through every seam. It coated the town in a thick, glittering layer of ice. The power lines sagged and snapped under the weight. This plunged Boone into darkness. The town’s survival hung in the balance, with temperatures plummeting to subzero.

The urgency of the situation was palpable. Dan Hayes, a seasoned electrician and father of two, was preparing for a quiet evening with his family. His phone buzzed incessantly. Calls came in from neighbors, then from Boone’s mayor himself. The town’s substation, already overwhelmed by the demand for heat, had succumbed to the relentless freeze. Ice had formed on critical equipment, blowing fuses and wiring, leaving the entire town powerless.

“Jimmy, grab my tool bag!”

Dan hollered to his teenage son, who quickly obeyed, bundling up in layers against the cold.

“We’re heading to the substation.”

Driving through the storm in his old but reliable truck, Dan and Jimmy barely see beyond the hood. Fallen branches and icy roads made the journey treacherous. When they finally reached the substation, the sight was worse than Dan expected. The entire structure got encased in ice. Its wires snapped like brittle twigs.

“Jimmy, this is going to take everything we’ve got,”

Dan said, his breath forming clouds in the freezing air.

“I’ll need your help every step of the way.”

Dan quickly assessed the situation, identifying the most critical damage. The main transformer was overloaded, and its fuses were blown. Wires leading to key circuits were severed, and ice threatened to collapse a vital power relay. Dan began carefully thawing the most delicate components using a portable heater from the truck. Meanwhile, Jimmy set up emergency lights and handed his dad tools as he worked.

Word spread that Dan was at the substation. Soon, a small group of townsfolk arrived. This group included the fire chief and a few volunteers. They formed a chain to bring sandbags and materials to reinforce the ice-laden structure. This was a testament to the resilience and unity of the community. One by one, Dan replaced the fried fuses and spliced wires, his fingers numb but his determination unshaken.

Hours passed, and the storm showed no mercy. Dan finished repairing the transformer. Then, the wind knocked a massive branch onto the newly restored lines. This snapped them again.

Dan didn’t flinch.

“We’ve got one shot to do this right,”

He muttered. Calling on his years of experience, he rigged a temporary bypass, rerouting power from a less-affected part of the grid. The fix have been made better, but it would hold until morning.

Finally, as dawn broke and the first rays of sunlight pierced the storm clouds, the lights flickered across Boone. Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, but Dan was yet to finish. He double-checked every connection, ensuring no one would lose power again that day.

Jimmy looked at his dad with newfound admiration.

“You saved the whole town, Dad.”

Dan smiled, his face weary but proud.

“We did it together, son. Boone’s got a lot of heart, and so do its people. That’s what keeps us warm.”

Back home, Dan and Jimmy were comforted with hot cocoa and blankets from a grateful Mrs. Hayes. Outside, the storm subsided. It left behind a town that had endured the worst. This was thanks to the quiet heroics of a father who wouldn’t let the cold win.

The Day Communications Sent the Cavalry to My Rescue ––– Thanks To Chester

December 3, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

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3–5 minutes

It was one of those perfect spring days in April when everything felt right. The sun warmed the air to a comfortable 70 degrees. I rolled down my cruiser’s windows for the first time in months. I patrolled the streets of Elk City. That morning, the west side was my focus, a quiet stretch where anything unusual instantly stood out. That’s where I spotted Chester Hessman.

Ah, Chester Hessman. Everyone in Elk City knew him. Born and raised here, Chester was as much a part of the town as its aging brick buildings. He shared the unofficial title of “town drunk.” Another character held this title, too, whose story fills its chapter. Chester, though, was unique. He had a charm akin to Otis Campbell from The Andy Griffith Show. Otis was a regular at the jail with a presence so familiar that he also had his key.

Chester was skinny and of medium height. He was always disheveled. If he was out in public, he was most certainly drunk. Today, he was directing traffic in the middle of a bustling four-lane intersection, completely ignoring the functioning traffic light overhead.

I flipped on my red-and-blue lights and eased my cruiser into the intersection, pulling up beside him. Stepping out, I called him ––––

“Chester, you’re going to put me out of a job! How about I give you a ride home instead?”

Chester turned toward me, swaying on unsteady legs. He gave me a gummy smile—he hadn’t had teeth for years—and replied, –––

“I’d love ya for it!”

I chuckled, helped him into the passenger seat, and gave him a friendly warning. –––

“Now listen, Chester. I need you to sit tight and behave. Don’t think about jumping out or causing trouble, or it’s straight to jail. Got it?”

“I plomise!”

he slurred, laughing and babbling as I buckled him in.

Pulling away, I turned off the lights and debated whether to radio in the meeting. Chester had just been released from jail that morning. I hoped he would stay out of trouble if I got him home—at least for the day. I decided to keep it off the books. What would go wrong?

Well, a lot, as it turned out.

We were only a few blocks from Chester’s house when a priority call came over the radio.

Unit 3, Unit 4, Unit 2, and Unit 6: Report of six individuals behind Braum’s on 3rd Street. They are shooting at each other with a gun.

I was the closest unit, just a block away. Chester looked at me, confused as I explained the situation. –––

“Chester, you’ve ridden along before. You know the drill—stay in the car, keep your head down, and don’t touch anything for the love of God. Got it?”

He nodded solemnly, briefly giving the impression he was sober.

“I’ll watch out for ya, Officer Ben. Don’t worry.”

As I pulled up to Braum’s, I spotted six figures loitering near the back of the building. I radioed in,

“Unit 3: Headquarters, I’m 10-97 with six 10-12s. I’ll be out with them.”

Communication was acknowledged, and I stepped out to approach the group. But as I got closer, my portable radio began emitting a garbled, high-pitched noise. Annoyed, I assumed it was interference and turned the volume down.

The six “suspects” were kids playing with a toy air gun. We had a brief chat about how their game looked to the public. I suggested they move their play to a less conspicuous location. They nodded, embarrassed but cooperative.

As I headed back to my cruiser, I heard sirens approaching from all directions. Confused, I quickened my pace and opened the car door to find Chester holding my radio mic.

“Chester,”

I said, trying to process the scene.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned at me like a naughty child caught red-handed. –––

“Just makin’ some sounds, Officer Ben. Ain’t it funny?”

It wasn’t. The “interference” I’d heard earlier was Chester making garbled noises on my radio. When I turned my portable’s volume down, Communications assumed the worst. They thought I was injured. Worse, they thought I was trying to signal for help. They’d dispatched every available unit, fire, and ambulance to my location.

Chester’s laughter echoed as the reality of the situation sank in. What was supposed to be a quiet favor for Chester had turned into a full-blown emergency response.

I drove Chester straight to jail. He laughed the entire ride, still holding the microphone like his toy. I went to radio headquarters. I needed to explain to my supervisor how Elk City’s most infamous drunk had hijacked my radio, sparking chaos.

As I left the station that day, I still heard Chester laughing from his cell. I didn’t find it nearly as amusing.

Highway Reckoning – When There Is Real Blood On The Highway ––– “He said we were both going to die!”

November 26, 2024November 26, 2024Benjamin2 Comments

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

November 26, 2024

3–5 minutes

Officer Ben Groff had been juggling back-to-back court appearances at the Beckham County courthouse all morning. The docket was full of traffic violations and a few petty crimes, each case chewing away precious hours he would rather spend patrolling Elk City streets.

The courtroom’s musty air and the monotony of testimonies felt like a prison until his radio crackled to life with a voice that cut through the monotony like a razor.

“Priority call for Elk City PD. Possible domestic disturbance turned vehicle crash at Interstate 40 and State Highway 6. Ambulances en route. Officers needed to secure the scene. Witnesses report shots fired. Groff and Wheeler, you’re closest.”

Groff glanced at his fellow officer, Lieutenant Wheeler, seated across the room as a witness for a separate case. Wheeler’s eyes mirrored the same urgency. Without needing words, both men left the courthouse, striding quickly to their cruisers.

Moments later, Groff sped East on Interstate 40 toward the reported scene, the shrill wail of his siren slicing through the rural quiet. The chaos became evident as he neared the overpass where Interstate 40 crossed Old Highway 66.

A mangled pickup truck rested askew across the interstate median, its engine smoking and horn blaring. A crushed sedan lay twenty yards away, its front end obliterated. Skid marks and shattered glass littered the asphalt like jagged scars. Traffic had stopped, and several drivers had exited their vehicles to rubberneck or assist.

Groff slowed only enough to navigate the melee before parking behind Wheeler’s cruiser. As Groff exited his vehicle, he took in the scene—a woman, visibly distraught, sat against the guardrail, holding a bloodied handgun. Paramedics surrounded her, carefully taking the weapon from her trembling hands.

“Groff, over here!”

Wheeler shouted, pointing toward the pickup.

Inside, a man slumped lifelessly in the driver’s seat, a gunshot wound to his head. His hands still gripped the steering wheel, frozen in what seemed to be the final moment of his fatal decision. He had experienced the syndrome known in police work as having a Cadaveric Spasm or Instantaneous Rigor.

“She shot him, Ben,”

Wheeler said grimly.

“Witnesses say he tried to crash the truck into the underpass while she fought him off.”

Groff nodded, taking in Wheeler’s words while scanning for immediate threats.

“What caused the head-on with the sedan?”

“When she shot him, the truck swerved across the median into oncoming traffic,”

Wheeler explained.

“A family of three was in that car. Paramedics say they’re alive, but it’s bad.”

“He said we were both going to die!”

Groff approached the woman at the guardrail, her tear-streaked face contorted in anguish.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Groff. I need you to tell me what happened.”

Through sobs, she explained the escalating argument at a gas station on Old Highway 66. Her husband, enraged over perceived slights, had driven recklessly onto the interstate, swerving wildly. When she tried to grab the wheel to prevent him from crashing into the underpass, he attacked her. In desperation, she retrieved the handgun from the glovebox and fired.

“He said we were both going to die!”

She whispered, her voice quaking.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, but I couldn’t let him kill us.”

Groff nodded solemnly, trying to balance empathy with the need for clarity.

“You did what you thought was necessary to survive. Right now, our focus is ensuring you’re safe and getting everyone the help they need.”

As he spoke, highway patrol officers arrived to assist with traffic control. Paramedics transported the injured family to the hospital, and the medical examiner began their grim work on the deceased husband.

Groff and Wheeler pieced together the scene as investigators. The domestic dispute was the tragic catalyst but also underscored the unpredictable volatility of police and emergency calls.

Hours later, Groff sat on the hood of his cruiser, staring at the fading sunlight over Interstate 40. Wheeler joined him, his expression weary.

“Another senseless tragedy,”

Wheeler said.

“Yeah,”

Groff replied, the day’s weight pressing down.

“But at least she survived.”

The call would haunt them both for a long time, a stark reminder of the thin line officers walk between preserving life and untangling the wreckage of human conflict. For Groff, it was just another chapter in a small-town officer’s unpredictable, often harrowing life.

“The Cattle Crossing”

November 23, 2024November 23, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

November 23, 2024

2–3 minutes

The radio crackled with urgency.

“All Units Be On The Lookout – suspect fleeing northbound on Highway 34 in a black pickup. Speed exceeding 90 miles an hour. Be advised; driver is armed and dangerous.”

Officer Ben Groff tightened his grip on the steering wheel of his cruiser, eyes scanning the road ahead and radioing his headquarters as he spotted the vehicle from the broadcast.

“Headquarters, Unit 3, I see the suspect vehicle Northbound on Highway 34 from the Love’s Travel Stop!”

The highway stretched endlessly, bordered by barbed wire, open pastures, and woodrail fencing for the local ranches. A faint plume of dust in the distance marked the suspect’s location.

“Unit 3 in pursuit,”

Ben confirmed, activating his siren.

The pickup swerved erratically, weaving around slower vehicles as the chase intensified. Ben could see a rifle strapped to the back window of the truck and a pile of what looked like stolen tools in the bed.

“Suspect heading into open ranch country,”

The dispatcher warned.

“Roadwork ahead near Hammon. Proceed with caution.”

Ben knew the area well. It was dotted with cattle crossings—gates sometimes left open by careless ranchers. He pressed the accelerator, narrowing the distance between him and the fleeing truck.

Ahead, the suspect veered sharply onto a dirt road, kicking up a cloud of grit. Ben followed, his cruiser skidding slightly on the loose gravel. The air was thick with dust, obscuring his view, but he kept his focus sharp.

Suddenly, the truck skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. Ben braked hard, stopping a safe distance away. Before he could exit his vehicle, he heard the lowing of cattle.

A herd of cows, dozens strong, unexpectedly strolled across the road. The nightlight, reflecting the full moon’s setting, backlit their black and brown, and their movement was leisurely, indifferent to the chaos.

The suspect jumped out of the truck, shouting and waving his arms to clear a path through the herd. The cows, unimpressed, continued their slow march, blocking any escape.

Ben saw his opportunity. He exited his cruiser, drawing his weapon.

“Hands up, don’t move! You’re surrounded!”

The suspect froze, looking back and forth between the officer and the unyielding wall of cattle. A few other units arrived, their sirens wailing as they boxed him in. The man dropped to his knees, his hands raised in surrender.

Ben moved forward cautiously, cuffs in hand, as the cows watched the scene unfold with mild curiosity.

One of the arriving officers couldn’t help but joke,

“Looks like the cows did our job for us.”

Ben chuckled as he secured the suspect.

“Sometimes justice moves at its own pace. You should have seen his face when I told him –– he was surrounded!”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the herd finally cleared the road, leaving behind a trail of hoofprints and a story for Ben to tell at the station.

The Third Night. “That’s The SOB!”

November 18, 2024November 18, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

November 18, 2024

3–5 minutes

On my third night in the patrol division, a sense of foreboding hung over me. I couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the intensity of the past two nights or the instincts honed over years in other divisions. Something felt off. I kept this unease to myself—I didn’t want Lt. Wheeler thinking I was jittery about the job. I wasn’t. It was just that sixth sense I’d learned to trust, the one that sometimes whispered when trouble was brewing.

At 2000 hours, we rolled out of headquarters, heading west along Old Route 66, now Third Street in our city. Before we made it far, dispatch radioed in: the Oklahoma Highway Patrol needed us to respond to a Signal 82—an injury accident—since their units were tied up. The details were scarce, but we learned an Elk City ambulance was already en route.

We reached the outskirts about three miles from town when the ambulance reported on-scene: a single-car slide-off with no injuries needing investigation. Routine stuff. Then, the airwaves exploded with an alert: Officer Down. The call came from ten miles further west. A semi-truck pulling a lowboy trailer was reported fleeing the scene.

Adrenaline surged. I radioed the sheriff’s department, letting them know our position and offering to assist. They authorized us to operate in their jurisdiction—a necessary formality. We sped west, scanning every shadow and turn.

Minutes later, a semi barreled out of Berlin Road, ignoring the stop sign as it merged onto Highway 6. I didn’t need to think twice.

“That’s the son of a bitch!”

I yelled, heart pounding.

Lt. Wheeler swung our Ford Crown Victoria into a hard U-turn, tires screaming. The truck’s hydraulic hoses flapped loose, whipping in the wind, as though the trailer had been hastily unhooked. Wheeler hit the lights and siren. The truck swerved to the shoulder but didn’t stop. I grabbed the shotgun as Wheeler directed the spotlight, illuminating the truck’s cab and surrounding darkness. I slipped into the bar ditch, invisible in the shadows, covering Wheeler as he approached.

The driver finally exited and handed over an expired license. Something felt off—more than just the expired ID. Radio chatter hinted at potential damage to the truck’s undercarriage, but we still didn’t know what had happened to the downed officer. Wheeler told the driver to stay put while he inspected the vehicle.

Then it happened.

The driver propped his foot on our patrol unit’s bumper and reached toward his pants leg. My instincts screamed.

“Hands on the hood! Feet on the ground!”

I ordered, the shotgun steady at his head. He froze, and Wheeler shot me a look—half surprise, half reproach—but patted the man down and cuffed him.

By now, a Beckham County deputy arrived. As the suspect squirmed in our back seat, I kept a close watch, retrieving his details for the report. His movements grew erratic, twisting and jerking. I yanked the door open.

“Knock it off!” I barked.

It felt like hours had passed, though it had been only minutes. Finally, the chilling news crackled over the radio: Trooper Guy David Nalley had been shot in the back of the head during a traffic stop. The suspect’s valid driver’s license had been found in Nalley’s hand.

The gravity of the situation hit like a gut punch.

As we transferred the suspect to the deputy’s vehicle, he managed to slip a gun from his boot, kicking it beneath the seat—a grim reminder of the Supreme Court ruling restricting how far we could search without probable cause. Had we known his connection to Nalley, we could have searched him thoroughly.

Soon after, an ambulance carrying Nalley approached, and we provided an emergency escort to the hospital twenty miles away. Inside the ER, chaos reigned. I found myself at the head of Nalley’s stretcher, squeezing an airway bag while nurses and doctors scrambled to save him. Despite their frantic efforts, I knew it was too late.

Outside, the air was heavy with sorrow. Trooper Nalley was gone—a devoted husband, a proud family man, and a true giant in every sense. He was the kind of man you thought of when hearing Jimmy Dean’s “Big John.”

The suspect’s story ended in tragedy too. During a mental evaluation, he took hostages with a gun smuggled in by his wife. He was killed during the standoff. His name isn’t worth remembering.

But Nalley’s is. He served with honor and left a legacy of kindness and courage. That night, I realized something: no amount of training or preparation can truly prepare you for moments like these.

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

November 10, 2024November 10, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

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.

Toby and Spitfire The Horse That Had Never Been Rode!

November 2, 2024November 2, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Ranch Hands told stories of Spitfire on the Whispering Pines Ranch—a wild and untamable horse that earned his name with every snort and stomp. Cowboys from every corner of the county had tried to ride him, only to find themselves airborne within moments, landing with bruised pride and sore limbs. Spitfire’s eyes would glimmer with a defiant fire as if daring the next rider even to try.

But one summer day, the world shifted on its axis when a nine-year-old boy named Toby visited the ranch. Toby’s light frame was offset by the quiet resilience of a child who had learned to conquer more obstacles than many seasoned ranchhands. Born with legs that didn’t work like other kids, Toby’s movements were careful and deliberate, assisted by crutches that clinked softly with each step.

Drawn by a gentle breeze and the soft nickering sounds, Toby found himself near Spitfire’s corral. The horse stood apart, tossing his white mane like a storm cloud, eyes wary and sharp. But as Toby watched, something stirred in Spitfire’s gaze; a flicker of curiosity outshone his usual mistrust.

Before anyone could stop him, Toby set his crutches by the fence and used the railings to hoist himself. Spitfire’s ears flicked, muscles tensed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he watched the boy with an intensity that made time pause.

With tiny movements, Toby approached. He whispered soft words that only the horse could hear, offering no challenge, only companionship. Spitfire took a cautious step forward, then another. The horse’s powerful head bent down a moment later, and his breath warmed Toby’s outstretched fingers.

The ranchhands who came running, yelling warnings, froze as they witnessed the impossible: Spitfire, the proud, untamable beast, knelt in the dust as if making a silent vow. Toby’s smile lit up his face as he settled onto Spitfire’s broad back, and for the first time, Spitfire carried a rider not with rebellion but grace.

They could remember when the horse was born in a south pasture four springs ago and got herded into the corrals for the first time. That someone had got that close and made peace with the critter.

“You couldn’t get close enough to feed him,” ––– said Harland the leadhand.

“Given how cantankerous he is, how could the kid get that close to him?” ––– said Orville, an outfitter.

The stunned onlookers could only watch in awe as they moved in perfect harmony. Toby, the boy who faced each day with quiet determination, had found his match in the fierce spirit of a horse that would allow no other. And Spitfire, known for his wild, unbroken heart, found a rider worthy of his trust in a child who saw him as a friend. Not as a challenge. Teaching the ranchhands, as opposed to spurs and whips, a gentle touch can go a long way!

Why Being Different is Special: Spot’s Lesson

October 26, 2024October 26, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Once upon a time on Cloverfield Farm, there was a little dog named Spot. Despite his name, he didn’t have a single spot on his smooth, white coat. All the other animals had their own unique markings—some had spots, some had stripes, and even Patch the cat had a patch over one eye. Spot often felt left out, especially when the other animals teased him.

“Hey, Spot! Where are your spots?”

the goats would bleat, snickering amongst themselves.

“Spot doesn’t even look like a Spot,”

the chickens clucked, pecking around the yard as Spot’s ears drooped in embarrassment.

Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong, Spot decided he’d make his own spots. One day, he found some mud by the pond and rolled around in it, making little brown splotches all over himself. He trotted proudly into the barn, thinking he looked just like everyone else.

But the cows mooed with laughter.

“Those spots don’t look real, Spot,”

they teased.

“You’re still plain!”

Spot tried again the next day, sneaking into the farmer’s house and dipping his paws in paint from an art set left out on the porch. This time, he dotted his fur with black paint, carefully pressing little paw prints all over his coat. Spot thought he looked quite spotty now, but as he strutted around the barnyard, the animals just laughed louder.

One day, feeling disheartened, Spot wandered to the edge of the pasture and lay down beneath a big shady tree. Just then, a large bull—well, he looked like a bull—ambled over and lay beside him.

“What’s the matter, Spot?”

asked the bull.

“Oh, everyone teases me because I don’t have any spots,”

Spot sighed.

“I’ve tried everything to fit in, but they always laugh.”

The bull nodded thoughtfully.

“You know, Spot, they laugh because they don’t understand. And by the way, I’m not a bull—I’m a steer.”

Spot’s eyes widened.

“A steer?”

The steer chuckled.

“Yes. I may look like a bull, but I’m not. And that’s okay. I learned a long time ago that who you are inside doesn’t need to match what everyone thinks they see on the outside. And it doesn’t have to match what they want, either.”

Spot tilted his head, listening.

“You see, Spot,”

continued the steer,

“everyone has something that makes them different. And sometimes, animals make fun of others because they don’t want their own differences noticed. It’s easier for them to point at you than to face their own insecurities. But those differences are what make each of us unique.”

Spot thought about this for a moment.

“So… you think it’s okay that I don’t have spots?”

“More than okay,”

said the steer with a warm smile.

“You don’t need spots to be special. Being you is what matters. When you’re proud of who you are, those who tease you may just stop because they’ll see that you don’t need their approval.”

Spot felt something warm and happy inside. For the first time, he realized that maybe being himself was enough.

After that, Spot didn’t roll in mud or try to paint on spots. Instead, he ran and played with the animals, joining in with confidence. He still got a few teasing remarks, but now he just wagged his tail and smiled.

And little by little, the other animals started to see Spot differently. The cows noticed how fast he could run, the goats admired his cleverness, and even Patch the cat stopped by to share stories with him under the big shady tree. Spot was no longer “the dog without spots”—he was simply Spot, the friend who was comfortable being himself.

And from then on, Cloverfield Farm was a happier place for everyone.

The Legend of Arizona’s Red Ghost Faris And His Caravan Of Former Calvary

October 20, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

_{^{Sailors and an Arab camel herder load}}
_{^{a Bactrian camel aboard the USS Supply}}
_{^{during one of the two expeditions to}}
_{^{procure camels – National Archives}}

In the sun-scorched deserts of Arizona, the vast emptiness was once filled with the pounding hooves of horses and the steady march of soldiers from the United States Cavalry. But for a brief moment in history, an unlikely companion joined their ranks—the camel. Brought from distant lands, these towering creatures with their humped backs and long legs had intended to be the army’s answer to the challenges of traversing the rugged terrain of the Wild West.

In the mid-1800s, under the guidance of Secretary of War Jefferson Davis, the U.S. government embarked on a truly unique experiment-the ‘Camel Corps’. Camels, renowned for their endurance in desert conditions, were imported to America and tasked with the challenging job of carrying supplies across the barren landscapes where wagons and horses often struggled. The soldiers stationed at the forts in Arizona and New Mexico were initially skeptical. They were baffled by the strange creatures that spit and moaned, their massive feet gliding over the desert sands as if weightless.

Among the camels, one stood out—a massive bull camel named Faris. He had traveled across the seas from the deserts of Egypt, his broad hump towering over his fellow camels. With piercing eyes and a personality as stubborn as the most seasoned cavalrymen, Faris became the pack’s leader, guiding the other camels through endless miles of scorching desert, carrying their loads without complaint.

But the experiment was short-lived. As the Civil War loomed, funding for the Camel Corps dried up, and the forts in the Arizona desert began to close one by one. With the forts gone and no practical use for the camels, the military made a fateful decision: they turned them loose, setting them free in the vast desert wilderness. The soldiers and settlers who remained watched with mixed emotions as the camels slowly strode off into the horizon, their long necks and humps silhouetted against the setting sun.

Faris led the herd, now wild, into the vast stretches of land where no human tread. Once tethered and burdened with human supplies, the camels embraced their freedom, roaming the desert, their calls echoing in the canyons and across the mesas.

For years, sightings of the camels became the stuff of legend. Travelers and settlers spoke of giant creatures wandering the wilderness, spooking horses, and disappearing into the dunes as quickly as they were seen. Stories of ‘The Red Ghost’ surfaced, a phantom camel said to be terrorizing ranchers, with strange tracks left in the dust after raids on isolated farms. The mystery deepened with some claiming to see a human skeleton strapped to the back of one rogue camel, but no one knew for sure whether this was fact or fiction.

Faris, now older but still commanding, led his herd deeper into the desert as the years passed. The camels, with no soldiers to guide them, learned to live off the sparse vegetation, adapting as always. They became masters of the land, surviving where few others could, a testament to their remarkable adaptability.

Generations of Arizonans grew up hearing tales of the camels. Old ranchers would sit by the fire, recounting when they saw a lone camel watching them from the top of a ridge, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight before they vanished into the desert night. Cowboys whispered of Faris, the great camel leader, still roaming the wild, the last of a forgotten army, king of the untamed desert.

So, the camels of the Wild West became more than just a footnote in history—they became legends, ghosts of a time when even the most foreign creatures found a place in the rugged and unforgiving land of the Arizona desert.

A released camel or a descendent of one is believed to have inspired the Arizonan legend of the Red Ghost.

One of the few camel drivers whose name survives was Hi Jolly. He lived out his life in the United States. After his death in 1902, he was buried in Quartzsite, Arizona. His grave is marked by a pyramid-shaped monument topped with a metal profile of a camel.

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

October 11, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

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.

Meeting Mendez

October 8, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Ralph and Kevin had been friends for over twenty years, sharing a modest two-bedroom apartment in a cozy part of the city. Both were in their fifties and lived parallel lives, working different jobs—Ralph as a graphic designer and Kevin as a financial advisor—but always finding time for each other. They joked about finding “the one” someday, but their hope had always been tinged with sarcasm. At their age, they felt the ideal guy might never show up.

But then something shifted.

It started on an ordinary Monday morning. They sat at the kitchen table, sipping their coffees, when Kevin casually mentioned he had met someone the night before. “His name is Mendez,” he said, a sly smile across his face. “And Ralph, he’s… everything.”

Ralph’s stomach did a somersault. He had indeed met someone, too. Just last night, after his art gallery event, he found himself in a dimly lit bar, the kind that seemed to exist in a world of its own. And there, perched at the corner of the bar, was Mendez—a man who could only be described as strikingly handsome, with dark eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets, a soft-spoken charm that was as disarming as it was alluring, and a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms.

“Funny you say that,” Ralph replied. “I met someone, too. His name’s also Mendez. We hit it off.”

Kevin chuckled, taking a long sip from his coffee. “What are the odds?”

Their conversations in the following days were filled with similar stories of their encounters with Mendez. Kevin would describe how they had shared a romantic evening stroll by the river, and Ralph would excitedly mention how they had gone dancing the same night. Their descriptions of this enigmatic Mendez were eerily similar—his chiseled jawline, his gentle laugh, the way he seemed to know exactly what to say to make them feel like the only person in the room. Yet neither of them suspected anything was off. After all, Mendez was a common enough last name, right?

But as the weeks passed, their mutual friends noticed something strange. At morning coffee with their usual crowd, Ralph and Kevin would each gush about their dates from the night before. They discussed romantic dinners, late-night jazz clubs, and private rooftop moments. Their stories mirrored one another so closely that their friends couldn’t help but wonder—were they seeing the same man?

“Wait a minute,” said Lisa, a close friend, during one of their coffee meetups. “You both met this guy named Mendez? And you’re telling me he took you both to the same jazz club on different nights?”

The group laughed, but the tension between Ralph and Kevin grew. Were they falling for the same guy? They started to second-guess every detail—his favorite wine, his weekend plans, the way he called them “his secret muse.”

Still, neither wanted to believe it. Kevin would ask, “Did your Mendez talk about his job?”

Ralph would reply, “Yeah, he mentioned something about being in real estate.”

“Same here. But, come on, we’re seeing different guys. That’s impossible.”

Finally, the tension reached a breaking point. One Saturday night, the two friends finally agreed to go out together to introduce themselves to their respective Mendez. They picked a lively nightclub known for its cool vibe and easy conversation. Ralph’s heart raced as he considered the possibility of confronting the truth.

When they arrived, they scanned the crowd, both eager and nervous. And then, there he was—Mendez, standing by the bar, smiling warmly at them.

Only to their utter surprise, there were two of them.

Ralph and Kevin exchanged bewildered glances as the two men, identical except for subtle differences, made their way over. The Mendez brothers—Marco and Luis—stood side by side, charming as ever.

Kevin burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaimed, his amusement contagious.

Ralph shook his head, grinning in disbelief. “Twins? Really?”

The four sat down, exchanging stories and laughing about the coincidence. As it turned out, Marco had met Kevin at one bar, and Luis had met Ralph at another. They had no idea their new romantic interests were roommates.

It wasn’t the love triangle they had feared—it was something far better, a delightful twist that brought them closer.

And just like that, Ralph and Kevin realized that sometimes, the universe works in mysterious—and surprisingly humorous—ways, leaving them and their friends in fits of laughter.

Japan’s Culinary Expert Yukio Hattori Dies 1945 – 2024

October 5, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Obituary: Yukio Hattori (1945 – 2024)

Yukio Hattori, beloved television personality, culinary expert, and educator, passed away on October 4, 2024, in Tokyo, Japan, at the age of 78. Best known as the insightful commentator on the popular Japanese cooking show Iron Chef, Hattori’s contributions to the world of food, nutrition, and culinary arts left an indelible mark on Japanese culture and beyond.

Born on December 16, 1945, in Tokyo, Hattori grew up in a family deeply rooted in the culinary tradition. He was inspired by his father’s work to pursue his passion for food and nutrition, eventually earning a PhD from Showa University. His profound understanding of both cooking and the science of nutrition shaped his career, which would extend far beyond the kitchen.

Hattori became the fifth president of Hattori Nutrition College, a prestigious institution founded by his father, known for its unique blend of culinary excellence and nutritional education. Under his leadership, the college trained thousands of chefs, nutritionists, and food critics, shaping the next generation of culinary professionals. His commitment to culinary education made him a pivotal figure in elevating the standards of both food preparation and healthy eating habits in Japan.

While his educational work was vital, Hattori was perhaps most recognizable for his television career. As a competitor, judge, and commentator on Iron Chef, Hattori’s sharp palate, deep culinary knowledge, and entertaining commentary endeared him to audiences across Japan and worldwide. His presence on the show not only lent credibility but also helped popularize Japanese cuisine internationally.

In addition to his work on television, Hattori appeared in films such as Aji ichi Monme (2011) and Mibu, and he continued to influence Japanese cuisine and public health through his numerous cookbooks, radio shows, and public health campaigns. He was a firm believer that good food should nourish both body and soul, a philosophy he called “Well Taste,” where flavor and health go hand in hand.

Yukio Hattori’s legacy will continue through his extensive contributions to culinary education, his influence on Japanese cuisine, and the students he mentored at Hattori Nutrition College. He is survived by his family, colleagues, and countless admirers who were inspired by his passion for food and nutrition.

Yukio Hattori’s memory will forever be cherished as one of the most prominent voices in Japan’s culinary world, whose life’s work brought taste and health together for the benefit of all.

Tidbits, Snippets, & Flips!

January 24, 2024Benjamin3 Comments

flip.it/mMtmfy

A newspaper in 1924 predicted what life would be like in 2024 – we’re impressed

Hiyah ZaidiPublished Jan 23, 2024, 12:42pm|Updated Jan 24, 2024, 4:01pm Comment

2024 predictions made in 1924 have been revealed — From horses going extinct to swapping engagement rings for sugar, 2024 could be interesting (Picture: Getty/Twitter)

Way back in 1924, a popular trend in newspapers was to predict what life would be like in 100 years’ time – i.e. today.

And surprisingly, some are not too far from the truth.

The sometimes accurate, sometimes outlandish clippings were shared on X by Paul Fairie, a researcher at the University of Calgary.

One that’s very recognisable is the city of the future.

‘Automobiles travelling on speedways through the centre of town’, ‘ever-moving sidewalks’ and ‘motorcars increasing and multiplying indefinitely’ all definitely came true.

Less so is the idea that those multiplying cars would bring about the extinction of the horse.

Newspaper clipping — This prediction is no where near true (Picture: X/ @paulisci)

Last year, a YouGov poll found that more than a quarter of people in the UK have tattoos. We reckon this one has come true, as it was anticipated that ‘debutantes will dye their skin all the colours of the rainbow’, with an expectation that hair would follow suit, much like a ‘Victorian debutante concealed her personality under voluminous hoops and draperies’.

And pity those listening to the radio in 1924, when it was pretty dull apparently, because in another prediction, it was said ‘Americans will laugh at radios’. For 2024, it’s not just radio that bringing the LOLs, but also podcasts, which continue to soar in popularity.

One that’s pretty much there is a longer life expectancy, where we would live to be 100 years old, and 75 years would be considered as young.

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Two that definitely came true are blocks of flats that are 100 stories tall, and family albums made of videos instead of photographs.

A prediction that sadly hasn’t hit the mark – ‘movies will bring about world peace’ as people will establish a brotherhood but Hollywood has not yet accomplished a universal language or eliminated conflict from the civilised world.

And while adorably optimistic, that is far from the most outlandish.

Some of the stranger predictions involve beds flinging children out of bed in the morning, people hopping from planet to planet as easily as we soar through the sky now (we wish), flying clothes and men’s legs withering away from underuse, Wall-E style.

Oh, and diamond engagement rings should have lost their allure by now, being replaced with hundreds of pounds of sugar.

A newspaper in 1924 predicted what life would be like in 2024 – we’re impressed
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A newspaper in 1924 predicted what life would be like in 2024 – we’re impressed
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Pa Elmer’s Ride

The Ride to Town

Trouble in Town

The Journey Home

The Journey Home

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Arrival

Isolation

The Turning Point

Conclusion

A newspaper in 1924 predicted what life would be like in 2024 – we’re impressed

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