Across the miles and years, I’ve journeyed through eight decades and witnessed the turn of two centuries—crossing into the third millennium with a heart full of stories and a mind still curious.

From the brick-lined streets of Cincinnati, Ohio to the sunlit serenity of the Arizona desert, my life has unfolded like a novel with many chapters: some bold, some tender, all deeply lived.

In my youth, I was a tall, slender boy—more thoughtful than athletic, more curious than competitive. I moved through school with ease, though my report cards carried a familiar note: “Doesn’t work to maximum ability.”

It was a phrase that confused me, and when my parents asked about those comments, I offered a simple truth, “I believed in working smarter, not harder.” Looking back, that quiet confidence shaped so much of who I became.

Before the age of 20, I had already achieved a milestone, attaining the position of Shelving Department Supervisor at the Cincinnati Public Library. I operated a ham radio station building my own transmitter, drove a classic 1957 Chevrolet, curated a treasured collection of 45 RPM records, and spent weekends serving as a deejay and dancing.

However, enlisting in the Air Force, I lost everything I had built—my prized radio equipment, my beloved ’57 Chevy, my treasured record collection, and the close-knit circle of friends who had shaped my youth. Yet from that dramatic turning point, a new chapter emerged.

I married and raised a loving family. We owned our homes, and I pursued a higher education, carving out a fulfilling career in engineering, and establishing a lifestyle marked by comfort and stability.

At 40, I stood as a self-made success—educated, well-traveled, respected, and influential. Moving into management, my career flourished, and our home was more than extravagant; it was a symbol of ambition fulfilled. But life is unpredictable and a selfish wife, two avaricious lawyers, and a stubborn court unraveled the life I had stitched. In a matter of months, my lifestyle was reduced to echoes.

From the ashes of litigation and heartbreak rose a new rhythm. I met Barbara, a loving partner, and together we twirled over dance floors, down ski slopes and through candlelit evenings. Surrounded by close friends, life became comfortable and deeply meaningful. The man I was at forty had built a life; the man I became afterward learned how to live it.

At 60 I crossed the millennium. A new career in software design proved fulfilling. I owned two apartment buildings, shared my home with a cat named Brandy, enjoyed romantic relationships, and danced with wonderful partners. I drove luxury cars and spent weekends on the golf course.

Life was truly rewarding, inspiring me to write my autobiography styled like a newspaper, with each "news story" representing an episode of my life. On January 17, 2003 I launched my newspaper calling it The Good Times, as life had truly been "a good time."

The age of 80 marked a fitting new chapter in the long, luxurious novel of my life. I lived beneath the golden Arizona sun. My days unfolded beside my beautiful and loving partner Joan, with our two cats curled beside us like punctuation marks.

My car was the essence of luxury and the golf courses we played were storied and serene. We traveled together through Mexico’s charming cities, sailed luxurious cruises shimmered with moonlight and caviar, and danced across oceans—Atlantic and Pacific—tracing the edges of a dream.

By now my careers had come to an end, but my lifestyles, interests, and adventures continued to evolve. Meanwhile, technology had advanced and my newspaper appeared in miniature on mobile devices. If The Good Times was to continue, it required a complete transformation.

The new format of The Good Times is easy to use. It’s organized into chapters, each made up of episodes from my life. You can read it on any device, and photos can be enlarged with a click. You’re welcome to read it chapter by chapter or use the Menu to jump to a specific chapter. I still call it The Good Times because life truly has been a good time.

As memories surfaced, so did the images that shaped them. To share these moments with my readers, I added photo pages to each chapter. Many of the photos are from my personal collection, while others are carefully sourced from the internet and Google. Each image adds depth to the story—bringing the past to life, one snapshot at a time. You can view them by clicking a Photos button.

And now, as I sit beneath the desert stars in Scottsdale, watching the moonlight spill across the patio and listening to the quiet hum of a well-lived life, I realize that The Good Times was never just a title—it was a promise I made to myself. A promise to keep dancing, keep dreaming, and keep sharing the stories that shaped me.

Each chapter has been a mosaic of triumphs and trials, of laughter and loss, of reinvention and resilience. From the boy who preferred to work smarter, to the man who built businesses, led leagues, loved deeply, and never stopped moving to the rhythm of possibility—I have lived many lives within one.

There are still stories to tell. New adventures to begin. And while the dance floor may be quieter now, the music plays on—in every chapter, every photograph, and every heartbeat of The Good Times.

So if you’ve joined me on this journey, thank you. And if you’re just arriving, welcome. The story isn’t over. It’s simply waiting for the next beautiful line.