Jus Tuf Luk is the story of a guy's adventures through 80 years of a unique life which answers these questions: How can an eleventh generation Midwestern WASP climb from (a) McCarthy security risk, deemed disloyal, to Top Secret Clearance?(b) A Union Shop Steward to a Company V-P?(c) Five years a Bigamist to a 50th Wedding Anniversary?(d) Big-ten University expelled to a BS-EE/MBA from NYU?(e) A $9-K cabin in the redwoods to a house in Tuxedo Park, NY? The answer is by Good Luck plus Bad Luck which equals Jus Tuf Luk : His experiences with the military, corporate, academic, and professional pillars of society expose their politics, philosophy, and even the humor in the irony of their saintly stature. From the syndicate of Chicago to the weirdness of California's Bay Area to the machinations of Wall Street, he tallies their malfeasance. His saga is written in the third person of a dozen characters. The persona of each are the chapters: The Boy, The Kid, The Youth, The Rebel, Das Fr ulein, The Engineer, The Woodsman, The Dog Breeder, The New Yorker, The Wonk, The Retiree and concluding with The Curmudgeon in which he submits his Re-invention of the Government . Herein is a plan to elect five Vice Presidents from five Confederations of the fifty states to let local regions do their Family Values thing and let Congress (now cleansed of provincialism) make only laws pertaining to the affairs of state . There are essays on such subjects as the grand jury system, gun control, housing, as well as dog stories and accounts of early (vacuum tube) television and the thwarting of counterfeiting. The intent of this story is to illuminate for the younger folks, refresh the memory of the older folks and stimulate the interest of those in-between with the contacts of my journey. Starting on this road, my introduction to culture was lit by the street lamps of incongruity, ignorance and conservatism. The first speed bump was a Southern Indiana conflict, but the nature of a Chicago family started up the engine of iconoclasm, turbo-charged by the fuel injection of an independent year on the Ohio River. The osmosis of intellectual and rational influence was the driver education for a drag race through a small town. Then a stint of military contrariness, a narrow escape from a head-on collision. A wrong turn took me to the conventional campus of a Big Ten university instead of the free-thinking environment of a small Northeastern destination. This error in direction just invited road rage. A collision at the crossroads of government with some fanatical fear-mongers sucked in by Joe McCarthy's use of the FBI turned the steering wheel to a new direction. After a joy-ride through the California hills the computer map pointed to the universal road of redemption New York City. Finally the ol' tin-lizzy rattled back West where old clunkers go to their final rusting place. The vehicles used for the tour of this over-worked metaphor include the first, a $15 1937 Dodge, thence a '40 Plymouth to Chicago and on to New York. A '39 Chevy was hidden in New Jersey while living in Manhattan, but a 1950 Plymouth convertible was the car to get to California. Here a TR-2 Sports Car was required and thence a couple of VW campers for kids and dogs, interspersed by a '57 Mercedes gift from a father-in-law in Germany. Back East sported a '71 Capri, a couple of station Wagons for kids and dogs, yielding to the practical Buick until the safe, dependable Volvo became the car for the senior set. Although early readers said the tour was "scandalous, humorous, provocative", the author says in the vehicles from baby carriage to the wheel chair, the trip was "very interesting!"