COMMENTARY
Camps Without Cares – or Caring
By Arthur Y. Webb
A string of coincidences that started a year ago has prompted me to think seriously about what I call “going to senior camp.”
The first event was a visit to my younger sister at her new home in a “planned community.” She retired last year as a public-school principal, and was now settling in at a Del Webb (no relation) senior community. As others in their 50s are doing, or contemplating, my sister was busy “downsizing.” In other words, she wanted a home that would require little maintenance.
Several weeks ago my wife and I visited longtime friends at another Del Webb-created community, in a beautiful spot near Phoenix, Arizona. More recently yet, while attending a conference in Florida, I heard representatives of one of that state’s famous resorts promise the older adult “everything” he or she needs.
On all three occasions I found myself immersed in a new culture of senior living in America. Through friendly chats in leisure time, I was able to see what “active” seniors, mostly in their late 50s and early 60s, are doing with their lives.
This is a picture of a large group of successful, active people who refuse to be called “seniors” and who engage regularly in golf, walking, biking, swimming, book clubs, and many other activities. All of it takes place in comfortable, attractive settings where everything you need is only a golf car (that’s right, a golf car) ride away. The homes are smartly decorated and color-coordinated with their hosting landscapes – muted oranges and yellows in the desert, for example, or pale blues and greens in coastal areas.
My own work involves dealing with seniors of all ages and conditions who live in various settings throughout New York City. Our organization supports seniors who reside in senior residences, and others who live at home. Because the lives of these urban seniors differ so dramatically from those I observed in planned communities elsewhere, I have come to think of it as a tale of two worlds.
The architects of these artificial enclaves across the nation strive (with considerable success) to include all the components of a traditional community. Still, I see these places as “camps,” where people come for extended periods of time to gain proximity to like-minded individuals. Many of these folks maintain homes “up north.” Everybody is expected to get along and accept unwritten rules of behavior in which past status has limited value. Everyone gets blended into a homogeneous whole, with the common purpose of enjoying oneself. In fact, the phrase I heard most frequently was, “We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”
The Del Webb organization actively tries to create a camp-like environment. Pick a beautiful spot, create a luxurious model home, build a community center that serves as a hub for activities ranging from swimming to lectures. Then make it all accessible by personal golf car. These planned communities guarantee a stimulating existence. And they deliver … at least on the surface. I never saw so many active people apparently enjoying themselves!
No need to worry that you might grow nostalgic for the old rat race; senior communities in places like Florida and Arizona promote all sorts of competitions designed to help you maintain your edge. Because competition breeds success and pride – just as at summer camp where awards are handed out to fastest swimmer, the best tennis player, the most creative basket weaver …
Everybody is expected to leave his or her woes behind and absorb Vitamin D from plenty of sunshine. Conspicuous displays of status and wealth are limited, except for those who have much larger homes or fancier golf cars. The idea seems to be to create a single class of dwellers. (Well, except for those golf cars, many of which are so souped-up with ornaments, stereo systems, and coolers that they become too heavy and fast to actually use on the golf course.)
Also emerging are continuing-care retirement communities, or CCRCs, which provide a wide range of settings and services, usually at an all-inclusive price for lifelong residence. Heavy emphasis is placed on independence and choice; most CCRCs are geared toward meeting the ever-changing needs of the active senior.
I hear testimonials and read in various professional journals about the importance of Del Webb-style communities and CCRCs. While I was playing golf with some of the campers, certain statements that I heard over and over eventually lodged in my head: “I wish I had made the move sooner … I never felt better … Now I can do all things I always wanted to do … This is the start of a new life for me.”
My limited exposure has also made me aware of certain conversational taboos: religion, politics, past accomplishments, or aches and pains. On the other hand, bragging about your children and grandchildren is expected. Designating the best restaurant is a hot topic. Planning for the trip north comes up frequently.
Almost none of these “active” people are dependent on Social Security; most have significant pensions and investments to keep them in this lifestyle forever – they hope. They are representatives of an ownership class, and just beneath the façade of contented residents is a fierce determination to protect their way of life.
I’m becoming concerned that homogenization in camp-like settings will dull the senior voice, which every futurist predicts will drive public policy. Indeed, the future I see emerging encompasses three separate senior worlds: those who live in planned communities; those who remain in urban settings in their rent-controlled apartments; and those who, unable to afford the luxury of choice, end up in HUD-style residential buildings at best.
I found that most of the active people I met in planned communities were not particularly informed on the major issues of the day. Most didn’t seem to care about the war in Iraq, Social Security “reform,” or the value of the dollar. There it was on the nightly news, but not many people seemed to care; these issues had little relevance to life at senior camp.
This seems odd to me, given that many of the folks I met had been socially and political active in their previous communities during their “working” lives. Some, like my sister, were leaders. Perhaps they had exhausted themselves, and now needed to recharge; they gave, and now they want to get a little back.
What this means in terms of broad economic and public policy as the Baby Boomers move toward retirement is uncertain. I envision a substantial gulf emerging between senior haves and senior have-nots, especially with all the recent talk about cutting programs like Social Security and Medicare.
What most disturbs me is that the anticipated monolithic voice of the Baby Boomers (and the political power that many of us have assumed the post-war generation would wield) may not emerge as a demonstrable force at all. In its place could be a fractured constituency, divided between the disengaged and the disenfranchised.
