Leisureville (31 page)

I think of my grandmother, who retired on Social Security and a meager pension. Contributing money to Philadelphia's crumbling inner-city school system must have been daunting, but I don't remember her ever complaining about it. To her, it was just something you did; something that had to be factored into the cost of living in a real community, a community she cared about.

When I first learned of school system de-annexations, I was reminded of Harry Chapin's melancholic song “Cat's in the Cradle,” in which an inattentive father ignores his son, and eventually the son grows up and rejects him. An aging generation that chooses gated secession and de-annexation may ultimately pay a similar price when the next generation inherits the purse strings and starts playing tit for tat.

It remains to be seen how generous this excluded generation will be after a lifetime of peering through the gates at sybaritic seniors. How eager will the new generation be to throw its elders a financial life preserver after being treated as a nuisance and thought of as little more than an expensive “invoice” burdening local taxes? Will it pull the plug on Social Security, pensions, Medicare, and Medicaid when funding for these programs requires too much sacrifice? Who wants to foot the bill for millions of hedonistic young seniors living in gated geritopias? And with an estimated 72 million Americans over sixty-five by 2030, younger Americans will be asked to pay for a whopper of a tab. The Boomers lived large and subsequent generations are
inheriting nearly ten trillion dollars in national debt as well as entitlement programs on the verge of bankruptcy.

Social Security calls itself a compact between generations; but can you maintain such a compact without continued contact? One wonders if up to thirty days of fun-filled visits will be enough to bond the generations, or if the good works of some volunteers in The Villages will be enough to foster goodwill.

I often think about the youngster in Lady Lake with a history of being harassed for skateboarding in the Spanish Springs “Town Square.” How will he and his friends—and thousands of future teenagers—look on this generation of aging Villagers? Will they resent them, or will they merely count the years until they too can live inside the gates? The message many of these Villagers and their compatriots around the country are sending to subsequent generations is that success is defined by secession and perpetual self-gratification. I spoke to countless Villagers who complained that they had “done their share” and were “tired of giving back.” But what exactly have they given? Blessed to be born into one of the richest generations in the history of the world, they've led a life that most people can only dream of. Such good fortune wasn't a matter of luck: it was given to them by previous generations who made untold sacrifices through two world wars and a devastating depression.

Taking a sabbatical after retirement from our grueling modern workaday life is one thing, but a thirty-year vacation is another. Promotional materials for age-segregated communities would have us believe that “life” is really a matter of “lifestyle”—a marketing concept that can be tweaked. But at what point do convenience and leisure bring us diminishing returns? At what point do conveniences make life too easy, so that it becomes insipid and uninspiring? More often then not, enrichment requires struggle and effort.

Surely today's retirees have something more to pass on to us than a love of golf and a perceived entitlement to lock themselves
away in leisurevilles. That's not citizenship; that's secession. It's a form of surrender, an acknowledgement of societal failure.

America is a country that celebrates liberty and individual autonomy, anyone with enough resources is free to secede. But imagine the opposite of disengagement—millions of retirees reengaging and actively working to leave behind an admirable legacy. Today's retirees are among the best-educated people in the world. Never before have so many people had so much knowledge and so much time to impart it. They undoubtedly have wisdom to share with us. It's no secret that strong ties between the generations lead to stronger communities and greater hope for the future.

It's equally important that we as a nation once again recognize the importance our elders, whom we often treat less than admirably. Another way of saying that a society is youth-centered is that it ignores its elders. A recent survey found that fewer than half of all American communities have begun to address the needs of our rapidly increasing elder population. It's time we began discussing things as basic as senior-friendly crosswalks, adult day care, and job retraining so that a skilled generation of workers has more options than being a greeter at Wal-Mart.

Worse yet, elder abuse remains a sad reality: an estimated 5 million seniors suffer from mistreatment by younger generations. Even the millionaire philanthropist and fabled socialite Brooke Astor was allegedly among their number. The stereotype of senior citizens forced by poverty and neglect to eat cat food or live in decrepit nursing homes is at times not far from the truth.

In a society that places less and less emphasis on cultural and institutional traditions, it's worth remembering that seniors are our link with the past. They are our institutional memory, our repository of experience, and perhaps our greatest natural resource. A program in Massachusetts understands this and pairs seniors with foster children, an arrangement that facilitates both interaction and
volunteerism, which is of benefit to both generations. And a promising multistate initiative, called the Experience Corps, encourages people over fifty-five to remain involved in their communities by tutoring and mentoring elementary school children.

The days when a “hoary head” was considered a “crown of gold” may be long gone—we are far more likely to dye our hair at the slightest sign of natural maturity than don a powered wig as a symbol of wisdom and authority—but that doesn't mean our elders have any less to teach us.

It's to be hoped we will take an interest in them, and they will take an interest in us. This should be of concern to all of us, because one day—if we're lucky—we'll all be old.

I took some time to readjust to my less convenient life back home. Although it was already spring, I still found myself occasionally trudging through wet snow to shovel my driveway and brush off my car. As the days grew longer, I spent countless hours prepping the lawn against crabgrass, pruning the hedges, and nurturing new plantings. Somewhere along the way, the lessons of Sun City took root; I gave up the fight to preserve my lawn's artificial monoculture, and opted to scatter clover and wild thyme.

To me, the gardening was hard work, but I took great pleasure in sitting on my patio and surveying my modest accomplishments. I missed seeing Dave mowing his lawn at picture-perfect angles, or strapping on his leaf blower (and outsize safety goggles and headphones) for spring cleanup. And I missed Betsy applauding as I skateboarded shakily past their old house.

But I've become friendly with our new neighbors: a single mom and her charming teenage daughter. What they lack in gardening know-how they make up for with tasty impromptu dinners. Another neighbor, one of my close friends, impresses me with his desire to hang out with younger folks like myself. In his sixties and retired,
he regularly invites me over for home-brewed beer and slow-cooked barbecue ribs. He loves to entertain my toddler daughter with his comedic antics, and my daughter adores him in return. Despite his age, he keeps current with the hip-hop music scene so that he can continue being a disc jockey for middle school dances—a favorite pastime.

Our town, thankfully, remains happily age-integrated for the most part, with strong bonds continuing to keep the generations close. Elected town officials range in age from the mid-thirties to the mid-seventies; and people of all ages routinely mingle on the sidewalks or at our new community center. When the operator of a local cinema butted heads with a sometimes less than endearing crew of teenagers loitering in his downtown parking lot, and attempted to repel them with a device that produces a painfully high-pitched noise heard only by younger ears, most people agreed that he had crossed the line. Neighboring merchants unanimously condemned the action and petitioned the town to outlaw the device. “We feel that young people are welcome members of our community and we enjoy the vitality that they bring to our town,” they wrote. Similarly, many of my peers and I enjoy hanging out with older residents. They are entertaining, and there's a lot to learn from them.

I can't help thinking that the Andersons left something wonderful behind: an authentic community with a rich history. Since moving, they've missed seeing our previously fractured neighborhood pull together mightily to fight the proposed firehouse—and win. Our fellow citizens finally concluded that saving an extra three dollars a month in property taxes wasn't worth giving up our children's green space. A better site was chosen—one that the fire chief actually preferred—and construction has already begun. The senior center remains as is. The town's older citizens are generally a thrifty bunch, and few of them have voiced a desire for a bigger, fancier building. But we do have a newly renovated and enlarged library that is finally wheelchair accessible. Funding for the project was a
contemptuous issue. It was rejected at first, but enough residents—both young and old—banded together and approved it the second time around.

The glow of victory in our neighborhood may be fading, but the park remains and our cohesion persists. Now, I can't walk ten yards without bumping into a neighbor that I know. And we all help keep an eye on the aging seniors in our neighborhood (especially when it snows) and on one another's children, doing our best to keep them all out of harm's way.

My wife and I live on a corner lot, and in the warm weather it's not unusual for half a dozen neighbors to stroll by my backyard and stay for a glass of wine or a bowl of ice cream. To me, the whimsical happenstances in a traditional community—the accidental crossings—give life its vibrancy. My patio's often filled with three generations of neighbors at a time: the adults yapping away while the children run around the yard and swing on the hammock. If it sounds idyllic, that's because it is. Community is precious, and I plan on soaking up as much of it as I can. It fills me with hope.

That said, in some ways Gary Lester was right. I sometimes wish our neighborhood and town had better planning. If they did, I wouldn't have had to dedicate so much time and anxiety to campaigning for our community green. And like any parent, I worry about the safety of our daughter, occasionally allowing myself to dream of the reduced traffic and the sense of security that a gated community provides.

But when push comes to shove, I'm not interested in the Faustian bargain that living in a controlled community demands. I love my town, warts and all, and take comfort in the knowledge that no entertainment specialist designed our downtown; nor can it be bought, sold, or traded like a stock certificate.

As any parent knows, kids can be trying, and it's true that generational peers tend to gravitate toward one another, but I still can't bear the thought of living in community without children. I find
such a fate, improbable though it may be, heartbreaking. As it is, I can hardly stand it when my wife and daughter leave town to visit relatives and the house echoes with loneliness instead of our daughter's youthful wonderment and laughter. One day she will necessarily leave the nest, but if we're fortunate, she'll chose to live nearby and our garden will once again be filled with a new generation of lively youngsters.

“[They] longed to stay forever, browsing on that native bloom, forgetful of their homeland.”

—
The Odyssey

D
EVELOPERS SELLING AGE SEGREGATION CONTINUE TO BULLDOZE
their way across the country, catering to an aging public eager to have the easy life. To my chagrin, several of my friends' parents are moving into age-segregated communities. My friends aren't sure what to make of their parents' decision, but most of them confess a sense of unease and bewilderment, as well as some relief. My own parents are now living in an age-targeted housing development, not because they dread young families but because, much like their new neighbors, they enjoy the amenities, which include easy access to New York City, and the speedy sense of community that living with one's peers provides.

There are already 150 age-segregated communities in my state alone, with proposals for nearly 200 more. Many municipalities have incorporated “vasectomy zoning” ordinances with provisions (such as higher density limits but restrictions on the number of bedrooms) that encourage the creation of retirement communities and accord them preferential treatment, even though there is a critical need for affordable family housing. Some even mandate that a certain percentage of new construction be in the form of “adult” housing, particularly if local school buildings are already at capacity.

Every week I read news accounts from surrounding areas about these and other proposed developments, helplessly monitoring the
trend as it inches closer to our bucolic hamlet. The developments are perceived as a form of tax relief, and most communities can't embrace them quickly enough. There's never any discussion about the larger societal costs of building childproof leisurevilles. Nor is there any attempt to distinguish between adult playgrounds and much-needed care facilities and affordable senior housing. The utter lack of public debate at the local or national level about age-segregated housing continues to surprise me. Press reports of Donald Trump's entry into the market with an age-segregated community north of New York City made much of the fact that he is a baby boomer, but never questioned the premise behind such real estate developments.

As was predicted by the Mexican developer I met in Phoenix, the movement has now spilled south of the border, where an age-segregated community for American expatriates is expected to be up and running in Baja before the end of the decade. Now you can spend the rest of your life at an all-inclusive beachfront resort. Similar communities are establishing beachheads in additional warm weather locales, such as Spain and Panama.