Philip Gulley

My lifelong pal, Joe Saddler, saved me from going to hell—and so much more.

I have a long to-do list, and getting started on it is probably on there.

I once underappreciated the emotional power of smell, but I’ve come to my senses.

As bad as 2021 was, a few Hoosiers renewed Phil Gulley’s faith in humanity.

I’ve lost my appetite for loud music and television in restaurants.

If you think development is bad, consider the alternative: shuttered storefronts, weed-choked sidewalks, and failing schools.

I’ve spent my life guarding against imaginary dangers.

A lot of great old cars sit in the mind’s garage of Philip Gulley — along with a few clunkers.

To free up space in the garage, people are going to need to begin sharing tools—starting with my neighbors.

This past summer, some friends of mine sold their house, bought an RV, and hit the road. As I write this, on a cold and cloudy Indiana day, they’re camping in New Mexico, where it is 80 degrees and sunny. I’m following their exploits on Facebook and hating them more each day. Worse, they are […]

Philip Gulley plans on raiding his retirement fund and living like a king—just as soon as he can remember his password.

At what were once long, dull Quaker meetings, Zoom lives up to its name.

At most funerals, tears still reign. Our columnist doesn’t want his to be any different.

They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Philip Gulley’s neighbor Brian is both.

One of the many who have lost their lives to COVID-19, my friend Dawn deserved better.