David Goodrich's first thirty years were far from ordinary. His family included a world-famous museum director, a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright/screenwriter, and many notable political radicals. He attended New York's most avant-garde progressive school in its boisterous infancy. After a totally contrasting, old-fashioned prep school scandalized by a teacher's bitter novel, he worked his way through Yale, where prejudice rankled, but the professors were magnificent.

He spent joyous summers in a unique seaside village where affluent idlers mingled with crusty lobstermen. An eye-opening editorial stint at Doubleday, the vibrant home of countless bestsellers, was followed by two often-farcical years in the U.S. Army's "more psycho than logical" Psychological Warfare branch. Then came more editorial work at True, the colorful man's magazine, and then-hallelujah-Paris, 1959-60.

Goodrich lived in an ancient, working-class neighborhood beloved by Hemingway, wrote about the current use of the guillotine, and befriended a variety of oddballs and expatriates. His Paris adventures included a comical English Channel cruise and a long, violent evening with three of America's greatest writers.

Goodrich lives in New York City.

EXCERPT FROM DAVID GOODRICH'S MY WELL-SPENT YOUTH

INTRODUCTION

You've never heard of me.

Unlike most authors of today's memoirs, I'm not a self-aggrandizing celebrity, or a victim of childhood sexual abuse, or a reformed drug addict, or a Promulgator of Profundities.

So why do I think you'll like this book?

I had the great good luck to spend my first three decades—the rich, historic thirties, forties, and fifties—in a world of opportunity and stimulation; I was surrounded by people who were unconventional, talented, and progressive—and who loved me; I was privileged to live and learn in colorful, exciting places, and to know some world-famous achievers, whose names you'll recognize. I see this book as a necklace: my first thirty years is the thread, and stories are strung along it. I've tried to make the stories entertaining—and I've tried to catch the flavor of a unique era. This is partly a “coming of age” tale: how a fortunate child related to his remarkable surroundings, and tried to become a writer, and—for better or worse—his own man.

The most important luck you can have is family luck. The first people you'll meet here are my kinfolk, and I promise you won't be disappointed. Many of them were writers, and that had a strong influence on me. I'm not that visible in the beginning chapters, while the focus is on my family, but thereafter I'm stage center in chapters that cover joyous summers in a unique seaside village … New York's most progressive grade school during its boisterous infancy … An old-fashioned boys' boarding school, where a teacher publishes a devastating novel … A great university; wonderful knowledge and stupid prejudice … The editorial department of a major book-publishing company in its bestseller heyday … “Psychological Warfare, more psycho than logical” … A cheesy/classical, huntin'-adventurin' men's magazine …

And then--hallelujah!--Paris, 1959-1960. For the first time, after living always “by the rules,” true freedom, a year on my own—a blossoming. I live in an ancient, working-class neighborhood, which I adore; write about the current use of the guillotine; befriend an amazing couple who'd almost drowned in the Roaring Forties; travel with a gorgeous Midwestern homecoming queen; and hang out with some upper crust Parisians and some funny, enterprising expatriates. A screwed-up cruise on a crippled vessel in the English Channel; and spent a long, outlandish, violent evening with three of America's greatest writers. In sum, a rollicking, life-enhancing, year-long adventure.

Nowadays, there's no way I could push a lawnmower for a morning, swim in the surf for an hour, then play eighteen holes of golf, as I did in my teens. Nor could I, as in my twenties, sprint demonically up four flights of Greenwich Village stairs to get into bed with Natasha. Last year, when I took a walk in Paris, the streets seemed to be much farther apart than they were years ago…

So I try to live with the changes, and to remember how my world sounded and smelled and tasted, and how it pleased and challenged those who were there.

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