This book is meant to land squarely in the category of "observational humor," told through the gravelly voice of a cranky old man who survived the 1960s and lived long enough to compare them to the baffling social gymnastics of the 21st century. Let's be honest: some customs from that era were sweetly naïve, while others were so off-the-charts ignorant or reckless that modern readers might wince. Or gasp. Or both.
The late '60s were a time of innocent chaos we'll never see again. Women went shopping with beer cans in their hair (yes, actual beer cans). Birth control was becoming reliable, which meant women could, gasp, pursue pleasure without shame. Fridays were for the guys; Saturdays were Date Night by decree. After dropping off our dates, we'd reconvene at The Hi-Way bar, get sauced, and roll into the Hicksville Diner like kings of the meatloaf counter.
Back then, the average lower-middle-class American gave zero thought to "woke" concerns. Civil rights? Eh. Workplace equality? Please. And veterans, especially those from WWII and Korea, were revered like minor gods. War wasn't exactly a party but defending democracy overseas sure beat waiting for the commies to knock on our suburban doors.
Finding a husband was a legitimate life goal, while hippies worked hard to murder fashion, hygiene, and sexual decorum. Cigarettes were a coming-of-age badge, lovingly referred to as "fags." Drunk driving? Totally normal. "Don't drink and drive" wasn't a PSA, it was a warning about spilling your Schlitz. Mothers Against Drunk Driving didn't exist, and sobriety checkpoints were something out of Soviet nightmares. Want a gift for the man who has everything? Penicillin. AIDS wasn't a thing yet; avoiding pregnancy was the primary challenge.
The nuclear family, Dad, Mom, and 2.3 kids, was society's holy grail. But by the late '60s, cracks had begun. Women were setting fire to traditional roles and bras. Divorce was booming. Manufacturing jobs were dying. The counterculture said, "Who needs marriage?" and birth control said, "You don't." Family structures evolved. Or crumbled. It depends on your spin.
So, yes, society changed. But my memories of the "good old days," when seen through today's politically correct microscope, are either hysterical or horrifying, sometimes both. Back then, I didn't see anything particularly funny about my antics. Now, as a snarky senior with no social filters and a questionable grip on shame, I see plenty to laugh at. Every anecdote is as true as my memory allows, and if I got something wrong, tough. I'm old.
Gary E. Stern has spent five decades lawyering like a street fighter in a three-piece suit. He's tried cases in state and federal courts, recovered millions for clients, frequently going toe-to-toe against teams of big-firm lawyers, and walking out smiling while they sent bigger bills to their clients.When he's not dismantling opponents with cross-examination, he's swinging a sword. Literally. Stern is a second-dan in Kendo, an advanced student of epee, veteran of the national Kumdo Circuit, and a decade-deep student of Pekiti Tirsia Kali, the Filipino art of blades. His trophy cabinet supports his avocations, his scars do too.Off the mat, he writes sonnets, builds with stained glass and wood, travels the world, and for years rode his Harley to the courthouse steps. He's also the guy who has kept in touch with the same circle of friends for over fifty years because loyalty matters more than law.This book is his unfiltered playbook on the blood sport of business divorce, where the goal isn't to fight fair, it's to win.
