Gregg Overman

I was born in New Orleans and spent my early years under the strict and terrifying guidance of the nuns at Sacred Heart Grammar School. To this day, I refuse to let my wife wear a black-and-white dress. Some fears never fade.

High school at Holy Savior Menard Central (yes, that’s really the name) taught me an important life lesson: groveling is a useful skill around men called “Coach.” Somehow, I survived and made it to LSU, where I had too much fun. Seriously, too much. Graduating in just five and a half short years was one of the worst mistakes of my life. If I had known what I know now, I’d still be enrolled—10,000 undergraduate hours deep and several million dollars in debt.

Instead, I found myself in the real world, where, despite my best efforts at sabotage, my small business in Memphis continues to thrive. At 73, I still show up every day to shake my fist at employees and pretend I’m in charge.

These days, I live in a small house in the woods with my wife, three cats, three dogs, twelve chickens, and a few tropical fish. The dogs occasionally acknowledge my existence.

Please buy my book. I need more dogs.