Greg "gunner" Gunter: Book

Due to the success of our Back on Track CD, and the inquiries I received about what life was "really" like back in the early 70's, I have decided to write a book about my life, and those turbulent times. I should be done with it early next year and will have a few "sample" chapters posted here pretty soon for you to check out. I am considering ~ Just The Way It Was ~ for the title. So far, the pre-views have been quite encouraging, so when it comes out, hop on board for a ride that will leave you amazed at one man's journey through some crazy times. Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll???? You bet!! Rock on, gunner....

JUST THE WAY IT WAS

All I wanted to do from age nine to twenty one was to be a baseball player. I was clean-cut, didn't drink or smoke and was very careful not to impregnate any of the girls I dated. The "pill" had opened up a different world for the women of my generation, but a few of my fellow "prospects" had somehow managed to get their ladies pregnant, which quickly derailed their dreams of playing in the Big Leagues. That wasn't going to happen to me. I had one goal, one dream and one purpose on this Earth, and that was to play professional baseball. When the hamstrings in the back of my legs gave out in college, I wasn't able to pursue my dream any longer. Without the college deferment keeping me out of the Vietnam draft in the late sixties, I was thrown into turmoil and sucked into the system. Shortly afterward, I was called to duty and sent overseas in the vain attempt to protect the southern Vietnamese people from their communist counterparts. This conflict had been doomed from the start, but the politicians and generals were going to see it through, no matter what.

I served my time and did my duty diligently, even though it was clearly a lost cause. After I returned stateside from Vietnam early in 1971 my world, as I knew it, had changed dramatically. My old friends now sported long hair and beards. T-shirts emblazoned with peace signs and scruffy sandals took the place of collared, button-down shirts and shiny dress shoes. Alcohol was still prominent, but now marijuana and psychedelic drugs had entered the fold. A cultural revolution had taken hold while I was gone and it was going full steam ahead. I had some catching up to do, fast!

A couple of my closest friends had become marijuana dealers. Without any prospects or an available stash of cash, I was easily recruited into their business. This started a long chain of events that took me into the underworld of drugs and dealing. Consumption of a variety of drugs soon followed, as the money was good and the living was easy. I'd put together a High School rock band many years ago just for fun, that turned out to be pretty damn good, so we got back together and decided to "go for it" professionally. Sex, drugs and rock-and-roll consumed my life with all of it's gratifications and devastations, and I quickly found myself being sucked deep down into Alice's "rabbit hole"!

When cocaine eventually emerged into the drug scene, it became another, and the most prominent mind altering experience for me. For ten years, I was deeply entrenched in this new rebellious lifestyle as my friends, girlfriends, and cohorts evolved with me into one of the most self gratifying, mind altering, and enlightening generations in history.

My book is one man's story about exploration, experimentation, examination and introspection, while the populace witnessed the implantation of a generational lifestyle taking it's wild, Mr. Toad-like ride down a path that would alter our society's perception of itself forever.

It was "just the way it was".

gunner….

PROLOGUE

INTROSPECTIVE

Since our troops were finally pulled out of Vietnam in April of 1975, I was hoping for a cool down between my generation and my parent's. War protests were no longer necessary and the in-your-face confrontations between the status quo and us hippies were no longer front page news. There were a few protesters that thrived on the confrontations, but they were slowly slipping by the wayside as their cohorts eased into the comfort zone of "peace and love". Marijuana was spreading all over the country, turning the angry war protesting mobs into kicked back, introspective, flower powered and eventually, self absorbed individuals. They no longer needed or wanted the power mongers to stir them up, even if it was for a good cause. All the soldiers were home now and it was a time for celebration and indulgence. Weed, LSD, cocaine, methamphetamines, munchies and Foxy Ladies had taken over the interests of our Baby Boomers. Even the rednecks were letting their hair grow long, but they weren't giving up on their cherished beer, though. There were still valleys of differences between the diverse cultures of America, but we were not butting each others heads anymore. At least not on the front pages of the government controlled press. Life was settling down, for most of us, but now we had differences dividing us in our local communities, instead of nationwide. Drugs became the focal point in the battle between the newly enlightened and entitled younger generation and the governing establishment, with the police stepping up their prowess to be their enforcers. Murders, rapes, robberies, prostitution and traffic tickets were evidently not enough to keep them busy. Those in power felt they needed to infiltrate the underground movement of these new, long haired, bead wearing, self indulgent American citizens at all cost and bring them down to their knees. The war had turned within.

Independent newspapers like the O.B. Rag were running articles of undercover police running rampant throughout their community. The police had been focused on the war protesters, but now they were intent on wiping out the illegal drug use they assumed was devastating our country's darling little children. They even went after those proud and patriotic young men who had joined the Armed Forces in support of our fearless, but misguided leaders. "Gung ho" was the battle cry, but now it was against their own, not the commies! But, those "little children" were grown-up now, and most were even battle hardened. They decided, myself amongst them, that we were going to fight back for our undeniable and inalienable rights at any cost, but we were outnumbered and overpowered. The "press" were puppets of Big Brother and distorted the truth about our beliefs and the effects of the drugs we chose to indulge in to favor their own prejudicial positions, so they were the enemy too. We were essentially alone in our struggle for personal freedom and choice of lifestyle. No one was going to "send in the troops" to defend our right to choose our path in life, because it had already been predetermined by Uncle Sam. Freedom of choice had been overruled by the "what is right" populace. Even the Lady of Liberty had blinders on! It was their way or the highway and there was no room in "their" country for free thinking, independent explorer's of the mind and body. Period!

It soon became apparent to me, after I had returned from my tour of duty in Vietnam in 1971, that the new drug culture had spread amongst our diverse population. Living in Ocean Beach was unique as many "counter-revolutionaries" who relished our freedom and independence, some to extremes, managed to converge and mingle with us sleepy locals on the sandy shores of this open minded community. Long hair's and crew cuts, beards and clean shavers, Levi's and suits, youngsters and old-timer's were seen cavorting and commingling on our beaches and in our hangouts. No longer were just the hippie types indulging and experimenting with these new mind altering, and so called life ruining drugs. A larger and diverse portion of our citizens were also joining in on the fray. You had to be careful with who you hung out with, though. Things and people aren't always as they seem!

Undercover cops were spreading throughout this once sleepy little beach community intent on stopping the drug use and incarcerating anyone who broke the established laws. They felt they were right in doing so, and were just doing their sworn duty. We felt they were the enemy. They felt like we were supposed to follow the existing laws of our country and kowtow to the establishment. We felt like the Boston Tea Party protesters. A change had to come, but we weren't patient enough to get it done. We wanted change right now, but to our dismay, we soon realized that was never going to happen. So, we just crept back into the shadows and did "our own thing", trying not to get caught by Big Brother.

Cat and mouse was now the game and the rules were new and open to interpretation. Can an undercover cop sit there and smoke a joint with you, then break out the handcuffs and arrest you?

They can't sit in your car while you're driving and drink a beer with you, then arrest you while they were getting drunk too, or could they? We thought not, but there were a lot of gray areas out there that were not yet defined. It seemed to be "open season" on the hippies, or whoever was exercising their right to freedom of choice. All I knew was that everybody I knew, as diverse as they were, were engaging in something illegal at one time or another. Whether it was smoking some pot, or drinking and driving, or even paying a prostitute for an evening of passion. It was a shame the "dark blue" line could not be drawn to focus on crimes that hurt other people. Laws are laws and they are meant to protect our citizens from each other, but not to intrude into our personal beliefs or choice of lifestyle. What if what you were indulging in something that was not hurting anyone else? Does the status quo have the right to intrude and take away our freedom of choice at all costs? My generation didn't think so. This fight with the establishment was going to go the distance, all fifteen rounds. We should have just hung in there, jabbing and moving, bobbing and weaving, trying not to get caught with that knockout punch before the final bell. We might have won the decision if we stayed the course, but we didn't and we lost the fight. We were too impatient, just like the boxer George Foreman was.

Ali, Ali, Ali, should have been our battle cry!

This is just one man's story about the paths he chose and the decisions he had to make in a glaringly different time in our history. There are no regrets, no remorse, no condemnations or affirmations, and most certainly, no message.

It was, "Just the Way it Was"!