My Life is a Rock and Roll Song ... ready to be sung!

Ray Mack

Description

There's sex, politics, religion too.
Times to laugh, and times to BOO HOO!
Friend, take a look. It's more than just a DIRTY BOOK!
Born to a Slovenian Mom and an Irish Dad, I grew up in a small Ohio town in the 40's and 50's with many memories of my family struggling during and after World War II. Studies came easy for me, graduating with honors in College Preparatory Classes in 1959. I spent the last years in high school having overcome a "Meatball" weight problem and hanging out with buddies that were "cool."
Although I was accepted and had a college scholarship waiting for me, there was this stronger urge to accompany my buddies and join the Marines — promising my parents college would come later.
While serving 4 years in the Marine Corps
(Univac Computers), I followed one of my "cool" buddies to a local Albany, GA radio station in search of a part-time job and fell in love with the thought of being a DJ with hundreds of girls admiring me and my now Mr. Bronze America muscular body! I did make it with an on-air gig but only got there because of my Sales/Marketing skills.
With a few delays, my parents were elated when I graduated from Kent State University with a Bachelor's Degree in Telecommunications and a Master's Degree in Broadcast Management. The road to success has taken me on a lot of twists and turns, some right turns — while making my share of boo-boos along the way.
There has been more than 50 years invested in writing this book ... some parts based on life — others based on my vivid imagination! During and following a career in radio and helping to build-up and sell radio stations, there was success as a motivational speaker across the country while promoting other famous speakers, including Zig Ziglar, Og Mandino and Norman Vincent Peale. Several money- making projects were always active while living life to the fullest — including looking for the next lady to share it with and the next opportunity to do something exciting! Enjoy!!

Sujets

• Humor
• Religión
• Biography
• Ray Mack
• Politics
• Religion
• Family
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 09 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823006132
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

MY LIFE IS A ROCK AND ROLL SONG ... ready to be sung!
 
 

 
 
RAY MACK
 
 
 
 
 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2023 HometownBigBargains.com, LLC. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 07/07/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0614-9 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0612-5 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0613-2 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023907057
 
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Ray’s been telling me his story for more than 9 years and has now asked me to illustrate and type the words of his first book. So, I’ve been editing, taking notes, and making his story come to life. He is quite a nice guy and realizes that telling ‘the whole story’ is sometimes embarrassing. However, he believes it MAY help others make better life choices THAN those he made. So, this is HIS book … and, as HIS mentor Jack Gale would say, “It’s a story about one man’s struggle to become a fai lure!”
- A Forever Friend
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This book is rated “R”, 18+ please.
A simple book about a simple man trying to reach the Promised Land.
A simple book about a simple guy; you have a chance to pass or buy.
There’s sex, politics, religion too. Times to laugh,
And times to BOO HOO! I urge you friend, to take a look.
It’s more than just a DIRTY BOOK!
IT’S...MORE...THAN...JUST...AN...ADULTS…ONLY...BOOK!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To get you in the right mood to read and/ or listen to this book, the author inv ites
you to listen to THE HAPPY DAYS THEME SONG.
(This book is designed for readers to access a mobile dev ice when reading or simply click on links when read digit ally.)
(Happy Days) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slvGKU7 HF6M
CONTENTS
Preface
 
Song One
The Early Years
 
Song Two
The Adolescent Years
 
Song Three
High School Years
 
Song Four
Young Love
 
Song Five
 
Song Six
The Music Begins
Mexico or Bust
 
Song Seven
Last Night with Angel
 
Song Eight
 
Song Nine
First Liberty
 
Song Ten
The Jacksonville Visit
 
Song Thirteen
Stormin’ The Beach
 
Song Fourteen
Moonshine & Revenuers
 
Song Fifteen
Radio Daze
 
Song Sixteen
College Short Lived
 
Song Seventeen
Spiritual Beginnings
 
Song Eighteen
Surprise! Surprise!
 
Song Nineteen
Married Malay
 
Song Twenty
College Continued
 
Song Twenty-one
Toledo Hell Hole
 
Song Twenty-two
The Summer that was!!
 
Song Twenty-three
The Fight for the Ratings
 
Song Twenty-four
?Mister X? Cometh
 
Song Twenty-five
The Transformation
 
Song Twenty-six
Israel Bound
 
Song Twenty-seven
Lifestream Lyrics
 
Song Twenty-nine
The Courtship
 
Song Thirty
The Living of a Fantasy
 
Song Thirty-one
The Long Drive Home
 
A Letter to Mother
PREFACE
It all began when my 80-year-old uncle died. Uncle Q was the last of the Mack clan, and our families, who were once concentrated in Northeastern Ohio, were now spread out all over the country. Unk had been cremated and my cousins decided that a memorial service a month down the road would allow most relatives to come back home to pay their final respects. Labor Day weekend was the time. Warren, Ohio — my boyhood home, was the place.
Uncle Q’s funeral may have been a selfish excuse but I hadn’t had a vacation that year and was somewhat in a depressed funk. Being divorced and alone at age 61 is not a great place to be. It’s funny how you finally conclude that a woman, who you have become attached, is not the one you want to grow old with.
My golf game was finally back. After quadruple bypass surgery it had gone to hell along with my entire body. Semi retired now, every Wednesday, my golfing buddy Raymond and I would hit the links. Two years before the surgery I had threatened to go on the Senior Tour because I was playing so well. But, after my sternum was sawed in half and pulled apart, all my glorious golfing rhythm seemed to have been zapped by the scalpel and became ancient history. Curses!
But now, miraculously, like a gift from God, the groove had returned. I now walked every day for 30 minutes to keep my ticker pumping and had even started an overly ambitious 4-day a week workout schedule at the gym. Forget it!
After nine months of increased physical fitness, somehow my aging frame had rebuffed these efforts, and a strain of some sort settled into my left foot. Then a tingling throb invaded my left arm, passed down through my groin, and then further down past my thigh. At the same time, my left arm lost its strength, probably due to carrying a heavy filing cabinet up the stairs at my office. I couldn’t pick up my grandson with that wounded left wing. I was falling apart! But, the MRI read negative so I continued on, although I had to trim down my workout routine. So be it!
With the Ohio trip on the docket, my plan was to have a golf and memorial service vacation extraordinaire. I would dine with a long time lady friend in Charlotte, and stay over and play golf with her the next morning. After playing golf I would drive to Ohio and play the 9-hole course where I had worked as a kid. My sister and her family were next on the agenda, followed by dinner with high school friends who still lived in the area.
The conclusion was to take my favorite aunt out to eat, and then play 18 more holes before I left, with a lady I had met on the telephone while purchasing homecoming tickets from the Kent State University Alumni Association.
The drive from Florida to Ohio was a familiar one: I-95 to Savannah, I-26 to Columbia, then I-77 to Charlotte. Put it on cruise control at 72 and let it roll. I had done this six-hour trek many times before.
In Charlotte there was a shrimp cocktail and a chilled bottle of wine upon arrival.
With a wiping of her nose and a sniffle to keep some wet stuff in, I was told that my good friend’s allergies were acting up, but “this was normal for this time of year.” So we ate, drank, and even took a 30-minute power walk. Her allergies grew worse, and by bedtime, there was a constant drip running down my poor friend’s face. Change of plans. The drip and the nose blowing did not subside overnight and after breakfast it was, as Arnold Schwarzenegger would say, “Haste La Vista Baby” I couldn’t take a chance of getting her cold by sticking around with all that was scheduled in the week ahead. At 8 am, I left Charlotte and headed North with a revised plan.
The drive was beautiful through the Carolinas, Virginia and West Virginia. I decided to go straight to Superbud’s house, my best friend in high school, and chance that he would be home. I could not call ahead as my buddy had just returned from California, and had not yet invested in a new phone service. I was in luck. At 6:30 pm, when I arrived two days early, he was there; elated, and ready to party with his old friend. Just like when we were kids, spontaneously, he said, “Let’s go for a swim at Mosquito Lake.” I said, “Why not?” We took a 10-minute dip in waters cooled by the chilling Ohio night air, and then returned to his place for food and conversation.
You would not believe what his place looked like. His cross-country move from Palo Alto included his prize possessions that were now carefully placed over every square foot of his inherited three-bedroom ranch style home.
God! It looked like a museum, as every imaginable musical string instrument in the world seemed to be present, and there were strange paintings propped against the wall, and a motion sensitive cuckoo clock guarding his front door announcing anyone’s arrival as they entered the foyer.
Superbud was into music and art. He played string instruments and he painted nudes whose breasts pointed in the opposite direction from normal. To me he was a modern day Michelangelo. My Superbud was a favorite of our high school class and had earned a PHD in Psychology. Now, I guessed he was living off stock dividends and annuities provided in a nifty inheritance left by his parents. As far as I knew, he had never used his degree for profit, after “The Experiment.”
 

 
At our 20-year high school class reunion, he had reported to the class in a lengthy dissertation, the reasons why he had not become a psychologist after his psychological degree education. He told us of the important study he had conducted on himself that dealt with the similarities of bodily produced endorphins that naturally manifested during sex. My Mother told me she had seen him on the Phil Donahue Show on TV