Reggie Jackson graced the August 30, 1976 cover of Sports Illustrated during the single strangest season of his Hall of Fame career — his lone year as a Baltimore Oriole. Fifty years later, the cover still surprises people who forget he ever played for anyone besides Oakland, the Yankees, or California. Jackson wasn't winding down; he was a superstar in his prime when A's owner Charlie Finley cut his salary 20% while dismantling Oakland's three-peat championship roster, prompting Jackson to refuse to sign and Finley to trade him to Baltimore that April. Even then, Jackson held out for a bigger deal and didn't report for a month, finally signing a $200,000 contract for that one season before moving to the Bronx Zoo in 1977.

A decade later, Jackson would wind down his career in Oakland — and the person who watched it happen up close, night after night, was Susan Fornoff. A University of Maryland journalism grad who cut her teeth at the Baltimore News-American and USA Today, Fornoff took over as the A's beat writer for the Sacramento Bee in 1985, becoming one of the pioneering women fighting for real locker room access rather than the token accommodations most teams offered at the time.

That fight produced one of the sport's most infamous incidents of hostility toward women reporters. A's slugger Dave Kingman froze Fornoff out of the clubhouse and refused to speak to reporters in her presence after his 400th home run, before escalating in 1986 by sending her a live rat in a box with a tag on it that read, “ My name is Sue”— an act that drew a $3,500 fine from the club but little in the way of contrition from Kingman himself. Fornoff went on to co-found the Association for Women in Sports Media in 1987, and in 1993 turned her experiences into the memoir Lady in the Locker Room: Uncovering the Oakland Athletics, chronicling sexism both in the clubhouse and inside sports departments, with a cast of characters that included Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, Tony La Russa, Dennis Eckersley, Dave Stewart — and Reggie Jackson himself.

Now Fornoff joins Past Our Prime to bring that history full circle, centering the conversation on Jackson's final major league season in 1987 and offering a beat reporter's view of Mr. October as his career wound down. She talks candidly about the Kingman incident, recalling a gut sense that something was off with him in the days before it happened, and reflects on how, even four decades later, the moment still carries weight for her in ways she didn't expect. From there she widens the lens to where women in sports media stand today, contrasting the hostility she faced breaking in during the '80s with the far more accepted — if still imperfect — landscape now. The author of Lady in the Locker Room is now Lady on the Podcast: Susan Fornoff, on Past Our Prime.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The August 23, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated — titled "The Buccaneers Come Aboard" — put Tampa Bay Buccaneers quarterback Steve Spurrier on the cover, marking the very first Sports Illustrated appearance for the fledgling expansion franchise. The cover photo, shot by Heinz Kluetmeier, captured Spurrier in action during a preseason game against the Green Bay Packers in Milwaukee. By that point, Spurrier — the 1966 Heisman Trophy winner who'd spent nearly a decade with the San Francisco 49ers — was in his lone season as an NFL player with Tampa Bay, part of Coach John McKay's roster for the winless inaugural 1976 campaign, before Spurrier's playing career wound down and his far more decorated coaching career began.

Dewey Selmon was part of that historic inaugural roster alongside Spurrier, joining the expansion franchise as one of its foundational defensive pieces after a standout career at Oklahoma, where he and younger brother Lee Roy anchored back-to-back national championship defenses in 1974 and 1975. While Lee Roy became the Buccaneers' most iconic and decorated player, earning Hall of Fame induction, Dewey carved out his own respected role as a steady, physical presence on the defensive line during those brutal early expansion years, when the winless 1976 Bucs were still searching for any semblance of cohesion under head coach John McKay. Selmon's Tampa Bay tenure placed him squarely within one of the more unusual chapters in NFL history — a team that went 0-14 in its debut season but whose young core, including both Selmon brothers, helped build the foundation for the franchise's eventual playoff breakthrough just a few years later.

Dewey joins Past Our Prime to reflect on a career and life shaped by both triumph and hardship, starting with Lee Roy, the No. 1 overall pick who became the face of the franchise. Dewey speaks candidly about what those brutal early losing seasons taught him about resilience and self-knowledge, crediting his eventual Ph.D. in philosophy with giving him the intellectual and emotional framework to endure not just the team's first 26 losses, but the far more devastating loss of Lee Roy himself years later. He reflects on John McKay as exactly the right leader for that moment in franchise history, someone whose steady, wry perspective helped a struggling expansion team survive its darkest days, and he shares warm memories of Steve Spurrier, praising him as both a tremendous teammate and an even better person during those formative Tampa Bay years.

All of that and more when the great Dewey Selmon goes Past Our Prime.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The August 16, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated featured Calvin Hill on the cover under the headline "The Redskins Shop for a Super Bowl," a nod to George Allen's expensive off-season spending spree that brought Hill, John Riggins, Jean Fugett, and Pat Sullivan to Washington in pursuit of a championship. Photographed by Neil Leifer, the cover captured Hill mid-action against the Baltimore Colts, fitting given that his preseason performance against Baltimore was one of the few bright spots in an otherwise rocky exhibition slate for the newly star-studded Redskins. Hill, a former Cowboys standout and Yale product, was seen as the steadiest of Allen's "Rich Four" additions, and the issue captured a Washington team loaded with talent and expectations but still searching for cohesion — a storyline that mirrored the very real growing pains chronicled in that period's Redskins training camp coverage.

Jean Fugett was a standout tight end who played for both the Dallas Cowboys and Washington Redskins during the 1970s, part of that same "Rich Four" free-agent class alongside Riggins, Hill, and Sullivan. A graduate of Amherst, Fugett brought a rare dual identity to the NFL — while playing out his option with the Cowboys, he had already begun building a career in journalism, working as a straight news reporter covering Maryland for The Washington Post and even setting up a Black news radio program during his time in Dallas. He left Dallas in part to reconnect with his hometown roots in Baltimore, telling reporters he wanted to "set down some roots" both for himself and his family, and he balanced his NFL career with genuine ambitions in the written word, hoping to communicate directly with Black kids through journalism in a way he felt television news could not.

Fugett joins us on Past Our Prime to take us inside the Cowboys and Redskins of the 1970s, sharing firsthand insight on the Roger Staubach–Craig Morton quarterback dynamic under Tom Landry and the strategic thinking behind Dallas's use of the shotgun formation and the famous "Landry shift" up front. He offers a revealing comparison between Landry's buttoned-up, systems-driven approach and George Allen's very different, veteran-trusting style in Washington, giving listeners a rare look at two of the era's most contrasting coaching philosophies from someone who played for both. He also opens up about the remarkable balancing act of his own career, working as a reporter for The Washington Post and CBS News while still an active NFL player, before later attending night classes at George Washington University to earn his law degree while still suiting up on Sundays — all while speaking warmly about teammates like John Riggins, Calvin Hill, Cornell Green, and Herb Adderley.

The Redskins-Cowboys rivalry was at its best in the '70s, and Jean Fugett shares, in the only way he can, what it was like to be in the middle of it all on Past Our Prime.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The August 9, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated closed out the magazine's Montreal Olympics coverage with the headline "Awrright! Bruce Jenner Wins Big" on the cover, capturing Jenner celebrating after his dramatic decathlon victory — a performance that included a world-record total and would go on to define his public identity for decades to come, eventually becoming, in the magazine's own words, "collateral" for a life of endorsements, appearances, and fame. The same issue carried extensive coverage of American athletes across the Games' final events, including a deep look at the U.S. men's Olympic basketball team, which went undefeated en route to gold under Dean Smith, avenging the controversial 1972 loss to the Soviet Union with a disciplined, deliberately low-ego roster that included future NBA standouts like Adrian Dantley, Phil Ford, and Quinn Buckner. Together, Jenner's individual triumph and the basketball team's collective one bookended a Sports Illustrated wrap-up of a Montreal Games defined as much by singular American stars as by unified team performances.

Mitch Kupchak was a key contributor to that undefeated U.S. men's basketball team, helping the Americans capture gold under Smith's disciplined coaching. Considered by some critics a consolation choice at center after several bigger-name college stars passed on the Olympics, Kupchak silenced doubters with steady, physical play in the post, part of a deliberately even-tempered, team-first roster. That gold medal launched Kupchak into a lengthy, accomplished NBA career, first as a player who won championships with the Washington Bullets and Los Angeles Lakers, and later as one of basketball's most respected front-office executives as general manager of the Lakers and the Charlotte Hornets.

Kupchak joins us on Past Our Prime to reflect on a career loaded with accomplishments, and he tells us that winning gold in Montreal still stands as the number one moment of it all. He credits the demanding, disciplined coaching trio of Dean Smith, Bill Guthridge, and John Thompson with preparing him not just for that Olympic run, but for everything that followed, and he opens up about the weight of that 1976 team knowing it had to avenge the U.S.'s controversial 1972 loss to the Soviet Union — a pressure that, once gold was actually secured, made the victory even sweeter.

He also shares a warm, personal chapter about being mentored by Jerry West, a relationship that grew from a professional bond into a genuine, lasting friendship. And in one of the show's best stories, Kupchak recounts his father driving back across the Canadian border after the Games, and when a border agent asked if he had anything to declare, his dad beamed and simply said, "Gold."

It’s a gold medal show with our final Gold Medal winner from the ’76 Games in Montreal. The great Mitch Kupchak this week on Past Our Prime.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The August 2, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated carried the headline "She Stole the Show" on its cover, with 14-year-old Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci as the unmistakable star of that week's Olympic coverage out of Montreal. The issue captured the sensation of Comaneci's historic performance — the first perfect 10 ever awarded in Olympic gymnastics — alongside a broader recap of a Games still reeling from political boycotts by Taiwan and more than two dozen African nations, even as competition itself produced record-breaking swimming performances from the U.S. men's team and a dominant yet controversial showing from East Germany's women. Also woven into that week's coverage were Edwin Moses' world-record run in the 400-meter hurdles and Lanny Bassham's gold-medal moment in rifle shooting — capturing a magazine issue that, much like the Games themselves, balanced political tension with breakout athletic stardom.

Bassham's path to that gold began with heartbreak in Munich in 1972, where he won silver in the small-bore three-position rifle event, a result that left him searching for what had separated him from gold. Rather than simply refining his technique, Bassham concluded that the difference was almost entirely mental — as he put it, in 1972 he'd been "standing on sand," while by 1976 he needed to be "standing on concrete." He spent the next four years developing a self-built mental training program, focused on controlling nerves, breathing, and concentration with the same precision shooters use to control a rifle, and by his own admission, he wasn't technically much better in Montreal than he'd been in Munich — the transformation was almost entirely psychological. That mental discipline paid off in dramatic fashion: after tying exactly on score with teammate Margaret Murdock, Bassham won gold on a tiebreaker, then made headlines by inviting Murdock to stand beside him on the top step of the podium, calling the tiebreaker rule unfair even in his moment of triumph.

Following that triumph, Bassham channeled the mental training program that had carried him from Munich silver to Olympic gold into a broader philosophy he called Mental Management, formalized in his book "With Winning in Mind." The book distills the psychological framework Bassham developed as a competitive shooter — techniques for controlling nerves, building self-image, managing pressure, and maintaining consistency under the intense demands of elite performance — into principles applicable far beyond the rifle range. It became a foundational text not just for Olympic and professional athletes, but for a strikingly wide range of high performers, from PGA Tour golfers and Miss USA contestants to members of the FBI, Navy SEALs, and Fortune 500 executives, cementing Bassham's legacy as much for his post-competitive teaching career as for the medals he won on the range.

Lanny Bassham joins us on Past Our Prime to revisit that Montreal tiebreaker in his own words — a rule he still calls unfair decades later, even as it handed him the gold, which is why he invited Murdock up to stand beside him on the podium so she could share in that moment as an equal. He'll also tell us about the turning point that shaped everything after Munich: rather than seeking out a sports psychologist to teach him how to live with finishing second, Bassham set out to learn how to win, a decision that led him to build his own mental training system from scratch. And in a twist that speaks volumes about what really matters to him, Bassham reveals that it's actually his 1972 silver medal — not the gold — that changed his life the most. All of that on this weeks Past Our Prime.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week on Past Our Prime, we welcome two legends from one of the greatest Olympic swim teams ever assembled—Jim Montgomery and Brian Goodell. Montgomery made history at the 1976 Montreal Olympics by becoming the first swimmer to break the 50-second barrier in the 100-meter freestyle, while Goodell, just 17 years old and still a high school student, captured two individual gold medals and set world records in both the 400- and 1,500-meter freestyle. Together, they helped lead the United States to a dominant performance in Montreal, and on the podcast they relive the races, the rivalries, the unforgettable atmosphere of the Games, and what it was like to be part of one of the most remarkable weeks in Olympic swimming history.

The July 26, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated arrived during the first full week of the Montreal Olympics, and its cover perfectly captured the optimism and spectacle of the Games. Featuring the Olympic cauldron being lit during the Opening Ceremonies by Canadian teenagers Stéphane Préfontaine and Sandra Henderson beneath the headline, "The Show Goes On in Montreal," the cover symbolized the resilience of the Olympics after political boycotts by more than two dozen African nations and the withdrawal of Taiwan threatened to overshadow the competition. Inside, the magazine shifted the focus back to the athletes and the drama unfolding in Montreal, previewing what would become one of the most memorable Olympics in history, highlighted by Nadia Comăneci's perfect 10s, the dominance of the U.S. swim team, and a remarkable week of track and field that reaffirmed the enduring spirit of the Games.

Jim Montgomery arrived in Montreal as the world's premier sprint freestyler and left as one of the Olympics' biggest stars. The Indiana University standout became the first swimmer in history to break the 50-second barrier in the 100-meter freestyle, winning gold in a world-record 49.99 seconds—a milestone often compared to Roger Bannister's four-minute mile. Montgomery also won gold in the 4x200-meter freestyle relay and the 4x100-meter medley relay, with both teams setting world records, and added a bronze medal in the 200-meter freestyle. His three gold medals established him as the fastest swimmer in the world and helped lead the United States to one of the most dominant team performances in Olympic swimming history.

Brian Goodell was just 17 years old and still a high school student when he emerged as one of the breakout stars of the 1976 Montreal Olympics. The distance freestyle sensation captured gold medals in both the 400- and 1,500-meter freestyle, setting world records in each event and establishing himself as the world's premier distance swimmer. After returning home from Montreal as a double Olympic champion and world-record holder, Goodell headed back to California to begin his senior year at Mission Viejo High School, capping one of the most extraordinary summers ever enjoyed by an American teenager. On this week's episode of Past Our Prime, Montgomery and Goodell take listeners back to that magical week in Montreal, sharing firsthand stories from one of the greatest Olympic swim teams ever assembled.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The July 19, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated landed on newsstands just days before the Montreal Summer Olympics, with a cover that perfectly captured America's hopes. There was marathon legend Frank Shorter, looking to defend the gold medal he'd won in Munich after putting all his focus on the marathon. There was 19-year-old swimming star Shirley Babashoff, ready to take on the seemingly unbeatable East German women. And there was Indiana basketball standout Scott May, hoping to help the U.S. reclaim Olympic gold after the infamous ending to the 1972 championship game. Inside, the magazine previewed a Games already overshadowed by political boycotts from Taiwan and more than two dozen African nations. But history would remember Montreal for something much more uplifting: Nadia Comaneci's perfect 10s, and one of the greatest American swimming teams ever assembled headlined by a young backstroker named John Naber.

John joins us this week on Past Our Prime, and trust us, he's worth the wait... even if we accidentally made him wait twice. At just 20 years old, the USC swimmer nicknamed "The Snake" became one of the breakout stars of the Montreal Games, winning four gold medals and a silver while breaking world records in the 100- and 200-meter backstroke. Along with teammates Jim Montgomery, Brian Goodell, and the rest of a legendary U.S. squad, Naber helped lead one of the most dominant Olympic performances in swimming history. The American men captured 12 of the 13 gold medals available, won 25 of the 33 individual medals, and were so dominant they routinely finished gold-silver-bronze. Naber wasn't just fast—he had flair. He bowed to the crowd, waved the American flag, and embraced the spotlight like someone who knew he was living through a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Now, about that "worth the wait" part. This is actually John's second appearance on the show because, in a masterclass of podcast production, we forgot to record the first interview. That's right—we managed to fumble an interview with a four-time Olympic gold medalist. Thankfully, John is even more gracious than he is competitive. He came back, told the stories again, and somehow made them just as good—maybe even better. He'll tell us how he nearly made the biggest blunder in Olympic history, what it felt like to set a world record with his parents watching from the stands, and why that legendary U.S. swim team became far more than a collection of stars. And because winning four gold medals apparently wasn't enough, he also humbles us with not one, but two Olympic trivia questions that prove he's still going for gold... and we're still coming up short. John Naber on the Past Our Prime podcast. Listen and download and if you feel like it… do it twice!

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Randy Jones was a left-handed sinkerball pitcher who became one of the most unlikely stars of 1970s baseball, spending the bulk of his career with the San Diego Padres after being drafted in 1972. Undersized and lacking overpowering stuff, he relied on pinpoint control and a heavy sinking fastball to induce ground balls, leading the NL in wins and ERA in 1975 before an even better 1976, when he went 22-14 with a 2.74 ERA and an NL-record-tying 25 complete games to win the Cy Young Award. That July, he graced the cover of Sports Illustrated under the headline "San Diego's Confounding Randy Jones — Threat to Win 30," a nod to his 16-3 record at the All-Star break, a mark no pitcher has matched since. Elbow trouble eventually diminished his effectiveness, and he finished his career with 100 wins after a trade to the Mets in 1981, but he remained a fixture in San Diego as a broadcaster and ballpark personality, remembered as one of the most beloved Padres in franchise history.

Ted Leitner, affectionately known as "Uncle Teddy," served as the radio play-by-play voice of the Padres for 41 seasons from 1980 to 2020, becoming one of the most recognizable figures in San Diego sports — as one local comedian joked, "there are only two kinds of people in San Diego: you either hate Ted Leitner, or you are Ted Leitner." A Bronx native, he paired his baseball duties with a long run as a KFMB-TV sports anchor and as the radio voice of San Diego State football and basketball, while also calling games for the Chargers and Clippers. He's best remembered for his decades-long partnership with fellow Hall of Fame broadcaster Jerry Coleman, together narrating the Padres' pennant runs in 1984 and 1998 and the careers of franchise icons like Tony Gwynn and Trevor Hoffman — a bond Leitner never fully recovered from losing after Coleman's death in 2014. His relationship with Randy Jones ran nearly as deep, dating back almost 50 years to when he covered Jones as the Padres' first true star during his playing days; the two later reconnected as club ambassadors together, with Leitner calling Jones "Mr. Everyman." After stepping away from the booth in 2021, Leitner was inducted into the Padres Hall of Fame in July 2022, cementing his legacy as the connective thread across generations of Padres history.

Joining us on Past Our Prime, "Uncle Teddy" Leitner holds court — and folks, holding court is basically his day job. He tells us Randy Jones might've been the most likeable human to ever throw a baseball, a guy so charming he could talk Steve Carlton, Willie McCovey, and other future Hall of Famers into showing up on their pregame show for a soft-tossing lefty who, in his own words, "couldn't break a pane of glass." Case in point: Mike Schmidt once told Jones he should be embarrassed to pitch with stuff that slow — right before Jones went out and shut out the Phillies. Twice. Nothing quite like getting owned by a guy throwing batting practice. Leitner and Jones later became Padres ambassadors together, and Ted doesn't hide how hard it's hit him to lose his old pal — right on the heels of losing another lifelong friend, the legendary Jerry Coleman. And Coleman, it turns out, came with a Hall of Fame connection of his own: a friendship with Ted Williams so tight that Leitner practically got Splendid-Splintered by association with "the greatest hitter who ever lived." There are laughs, there are tears, and there's Ted being Ted for a full hour. It's a Ted Talk, literally, on Past Our Prime — and trust us, you don't want to miss this one.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Frank Shorter landing on the cover of the July 5, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated was perfectly timed — the Montreal Olympics were just weeks away and Shorter was heading back to defend the gold medal he had won in Munich four years earlier in one of the most memorable moments in American track and field history. He had crossed the finish line in Munich in 1972 to a roar from a crowd that had spent the week living through the horror of the Munich massacre — and it was a roar he almost never heard, thanks to an imposter who entered the stadium ahead of him and tried to steal the race and steal his glory. His victory had done something unexpected — it ignited a running boom in America that was still going strong four years later. Now, with Montreal on the horizon, Shorter was the face of American distance running, the defending champion, and the man the entire track world was watching, making him the perfect cover subject for a magazine that understood better than anyone what was at stake when the greatest runners in the world lined up to race 26.2 miles through the streets of a Canadian summer.

He won gold in '72 and silver in '76 — but that silver comes with an asterisk that history has since validated. Shorter always believed something was wrong with the man who beat him, Waldemar Cierpinski of East Germany, who had improved his marathon time by five full minutes in a single year — what Shorter called a "leapfrogger." Years later, after the Berlin Wall came down, documents surfaced showing two members of the East German Stasi corresponding about who was procuring and taking performance enhancing drugs, confirming what Shorter had suspected all along. It didn't give him back the gold medal. But it gave him something else entirely.

It gave him a mission. Shorter got the attention of President Bill Clinton and Senator John McCain, enlisted the support of U.S. Army General Barry McCaffrey, and helped found the United States Anti-Doping Agency — an organization he has been fighting for and through for over fifty years. The man who won Munich and was robbed in Montreal became the most important voice in the war for clean sport, and that fight has defined as much of his life as any finish line he ever crossed.

And in a conversation that goes well beyond the track, Frank also shares what it meant to take the experience of being a child abuse victim and turn it into a lifetime of child abuse awareness advocacy — because it turns out the most important race Frank Shorter ever ran had nothing to do with a stopwatch. This is the kind of conversation Past Our Prime was built for. For the second time, the great Frank Shorter joins us on the podcast. Listen and subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Bowie Kuhn landed on the cover of the June 28, 1976 issue of Sports Illustrated because he had just done something nobody in baseball had done quite so boldly — voided three of the biggest player sales in the history of the sport. When Charlie Finley sold Vida Blue to the Yankees and Joe Rudi and Rollie Fingers to the Red Sox all in a single afternoon, Kuhn stepped in and nullified every transaction, invoking his power to act in baseball's "best interests." Finley called him the village idiot, Billy Martin joked about pitching him, and the entire baseball world stopped to ask one question — just how much power does a commissioner actually have? That was enough to put Bowie Kuhn on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

That same week two other seismic sports stories were playing out inside that June 28th issue. In boxing, George Foreman demolished Joe Frazier in five rounds, knocking him down twice before the referee stopped it — and Smokin' Joe announced his retirement on the spot with a perfect line: "It's time to put it on the wall and go boogie, boogie, boogie." And in basketball, after years of financial chaos and a 44-minute vote, the ABA officially ceased to exist — four franchises surviving into the NBA while the rest quietly disappeared, ending a nine-year experiment that gave the world Julius Erving, the three-point line, and a red, white and blue ball nobody took seriously until it was too late.

Swen Nater's journey is one of the most unlikely in sports history. He grew up in the Netherlands, never played a high school game, and arrived at UCLA with almost no formal experience — spending two seasons as Bill Walton's practice player on back-to-back undefeated championship teams without ever starting. Yet the Milwaukee Bucks drafted him in the first round in 1973, making him the only player ever drafted that high without a college start. He chose the ABA instead, and after the Virginia Squires sold him off he landed with San Antonio and won ABA Rookie of the Year. When the merger came, Nater transitioned seamlessly, eventually becoming the only player in history to lead both the ABA and NBA in rebounding.

Swen tells us what it was like to backup Walton, how Kareem kept him from signing with Milwaukee, and how Wilt Chamberlain taught him to become a ferocious rebounder. He tells us how John Wooden prepared him for the pros, how Don Nelson made him a better shooter, and the story of the time he and Lonnie Shelton got into it — and his wife's 80-year-old grandmother came onto the court to give him some assistance. It's the end of the ABA and the beginning of a great era in the NBA, and Swen Nater was in the center of it all. Listen and download the latest Past Our Prime wherever you get your podcasts. Have your grandkids show you how.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices