Marshalls Towing & Recovery

01/10/2026

It’s getting slick!! Drive safe & Slow down. Watch out for tow trucks pulling people out of the ditch. If need help let us know. 620-791-7410.

12/25/2025

Merry Christmas from our family to yours.

11/30/2025

They’ll never understand the weight of nights like this.
The world sees a tow truck’s flashing lights and thinks it’s just another job… but for me, it’s another story written in the dark. Another call where someone’s night fell apart, and mine was spent piecing together the pieces no one else wants to touch.

I’ve stood on highways where the wind carries silence heavier than words. I’ve walked up to broken cars and broken people, the kind who look at me with eyes full of fear, frustration, or defeat. And somehow, I’m expected to be the calm in all that chaos—steady hands in a world that isn’t steady at all.

Most nights, it’s just me, the road, and a truck lit up like a lighthouse. While others sleep, I’m out here pulling strangers out of storms, lifting metal that weighs less than their problems, dragging away the things they’re relieved to let go.

It’s strange… how being the one who arrives after the worst moments teaches you how strong a human heart can be. I’ve seen families crying on the shoulder of the road, kids shivering in the glow of my taillights, people staring at what used to be their whole world. And still—I show up, because that’s what this life demands.

This isn’t a glamorous job. It’s a gritty, lonely, midnight-born kind of grind. But there’s honor in it. There’s purpose in being the one who answers the call when the night feels too heavy for someone else to carry.

So if you ever see those red lights cutting through the dark, know this: behind them is a person who’s seen too much, felt too deeply, and keeps going anyway. Not for glory. Not for praise. But because some of us were built to pull others out of the dark—even when we’re still learning how to escape our own.

09/03/2025

08/07/2025

05/10/2025

Nextech is having an outage problem, if need us use messager

01/05/2025

When I’m told I need to deliver a death notification, the weight of it hits me immediately. My chest tightens, my stomach sinks, and my heart skips a beat. I know I’m about to share news that will change someone’s life forever.

When I arrive at the home, I knock on the door and take a step back. I often see the family through a window, walking through their living room. They wave or smile at me, trying to greet me warmly. That moment is incredibly hard because I can’t smile back—I know I’m about to bring them the darkest moment of their life.

When they open the door, they usually ask, “What’s wrong? What happened?” That’s when I begin by confirming their name and if I’m at the correct address. Once I know I’ve got the right person, in the right place, I notice something I’ve seen many times before—they start taking small steps back, almost fading away from me. I don’t think they even realize they’re doing it. I think it’s their body trying to create distance from an unwelcome moment, knowing deep down that something devastating is about to be said.

Then, I deliver the most difficult words anyone could ever hear:
“It’s my sad responsibility to tell you that your son has died in a crash.”
“It’s my sad responsibility to tell you that your daughter has died in a crash.”
“It’s my sad responsibility to tell you that your mother has died in a crash.”
“It’s my sad responsibility to tell you that your father has died in a crash.”

In those moments, I often see one of three reactions:
1. They collapse. Some fall to the floor, crying in a way that’s impossible to describe. I kneel beside them, and often, I cry with them.
2. They go silent. Others stand frozen, their faces blank as they try to process what I’ve said. They’re lost, unsure of how to move forward.
3. They push me away. Sometimes, I’m told to leave or forcefully pushed back as they yell, “No! Don’t say that!” But I stay because no one should face that moment alone.

These moments stay with me and the family involved.

Tonight is a night meant for celebration—a time to welcome the new year, look forward to fresh opportunities, and start anew. It shouldn’t begin with tragedy and heartbreak.

Please make safe choices tonight. Don’t drink and drive. Use a designated driver. Protect yourself and your loved ones from the pain of ever having to face this kind of moment.

Be safe,
Trooper Ben

01/05/2025

Please stay home.

01/04/2025

Stay home if you can. Roads are very slick. Be safe if you have to get out.

01/01/2025

Happy New Years!! Need a ride tonight give us a call.

12/25/2024

Merry Christmas and happy new year for our family to yours.