Showing posts with label Baby boomers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baby boomers. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Finding a Third Act in Life


At 94, Stephen Richardson still competes in rowing and running.

“There are no second acts in American lives,” Scott Fitzgerald famously wrote. That may have been true in Fitzgerald’s day, but now, in the 21st century, as more and more baby boomers are transforming our expectations of old age, retired Americans are discovering third acts in their lives—life-altering experiences that happen after the age of, say, 65.

In October I wrote a blog post, “No, I don’t want to Die at 75!” in response to a widely discussed article in “The Atlantic” by a famous scientist named Ezekiel J. Emanuel.  He wrote that he wanted to die at 75 and that, after he turns 65, he plans to discontinue all his health care because the “manic desperation to endlessly extend life is misguided and potentially destructive,” as it burdens our children with the “wrong kind of memories…We are no longer remembered as vibrant and engaged but as feeble, ineffectual, even pathetic.”

I should mention here that Mr. Emanuel is a youngster of 57, and that I am about to turn 74, which makes me too old even to count as a Baby Boomer (people born between 1946 and 1964.) I wrote in my post, “I submit that my quality of life in my late sixties and early seventies is better than at any previous time in my life,” and I gave examples, ranging from returning to my first love—painting—to visiting a Hindu wedding in India, a butterfly sanctuary in Mexico, sea turtle beaches in Nicaragua, and, especially, discovering the ineffable joys of being a grandmother.

After that blog post was published, I began to hear of fellow senior citizens who had achieved truly remarkable third acts in their lives at an age when, according to Mr. Emanuel, they should have been buying burial plots.

Take Stephen Richardson, who, at 94, still competes in rowing. He began rowing when he was a student at Harvard in the mid-1940’s, but it wasn’t until he turned 50 that he started running marathons as well. He ran at least 28 marathons between the age of 53-68, including a first-place finish in his age group at the London Marathon, and recorded his best-ever mile time at the age of 60.  Now, six years short of his 100th birthday, he still competes in rowing and running.

Three friends, Katherine Southworth,78, Jack Taylor, 80, and Marilyn Wentworth, 84, got together after retirement—when they were all in their seventies and living in RiverWoods  retirement center in New Hampshire--—to write and publish a book about World War II memories.  They collected 75 first-person narratives, including period photos, maps and a detailed index.  Before they ventured into publishing, Katherine was a director at a New York school, then an EMT for the North Hampton Fire Department, Jack earned a PhD in  physics at MIT in 1961, then served at the Army Signal Corps Laboratories doing research on detecting nuclear tests, and Marilyn, after working on Wall Street, entered graduate school at age fifty, earning a masters degree, then becoming a registered dietician and teaching college level nutrition.  All three became first-time authors after the age of 75.

The most unexpected third act I heard about belonged to Nancy Alcock, a native of Tasmania and a biochemist who worked for Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Institute before her semi-retirement as one of the first women faculty members at the University of Texas Medical school.  An independent woman who had never married, the last thing Nancy expected when she quit work at 74 and moved into the RiverWoods community, was to become a first-time bride, but that’s what happened.

Dr. Henry Hood, a retired neurosurgeon who, by coincidence, had worked with Nancy at Sloan Kettering but never knew her there, had also moved into RiverWoods with his wife, who was in poor health.  After she passed away, Dr. Hood became a member of RiverWoods’ Resident Council and got to know his former colleague, Nancy, during council committee meetings.  When they were married in 2008 in the Cathedral of the Pines in Rindge, NH, Henry’s children and grandchildren were in attendance.  Later they flew to Tasmania for a similar celebration with Nancy’s family. Nancy and Henry are not a rarity—in fact, there have been six weddings at RiverWoods alone in the past four years.

RiverWoods is one of 1900 Continuing Care Retirement Communities in the United States, the majority of which are non-profit. A CCRC guarantees that their residents, who join when they are able to live independently, will have lifetime health care at both Assisted Living and Skilled Nursing levels, if and when they need it.

Because such communities provide amenities encouraging residents to discover new activities and creative outlets-- such as art studios, libraries, pools, fitness centers, gardens and access to nearby theaters, shops and sports-- it’s not surprising that many retired citizens have reinvented their lives, because they are encouraged to pursue passions they didn’t have time for earlier. In fact, it appears to me that the Baby Boomers, who basically invented their own style of being teenagers, then campus activists, then deeply involved parents, and environmentally responsible consumers, are now creating a new way of being old, boldly finding third acts in their lives instead of declining into Mr. Emanuel’s characterization of us as “feeble, ineffectual, even pathetic.”






 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Kennedy Assassination, the Media and My Generation





Everyone who was older than, say, five, on November 22, 1963 has a story that begins, “On the day that Kennedy was shot, I…”   Those too young to remember it have filed away Kennedy’s murder in their minds along with other national tragedies: the assassination of President Lincoln, the Hindenburg disaster, Pearl Harbor, the sinking of the Titanic, the San Francisco earthquake.

But the Kennedy assassination was different.  And the effect of that weekend in 1963 on the baby boomer generation is still being measured.

When President Lincoln was assassinated, some Americans in the far West didn’t learn the news until months later.  In 1963, Americans turned en masse for the first time to their television for breaking news of a national tragedy, and that news was very slow in coming—it seemed like hours of agonized waiting before the official announcement was made that the President was indeed dead, (although the back of his head had been blown off by the second shot, and his wife and his bodyguard knew instantly there was no hope.)

The entire nation gathered in front of their television sets, sat down, and didn’t move from Friday through Sunday as they watched the drama play out in real time, from the shots in Dallas, through the shooting of Oswald by Jack Ruby, through the funeral procession, with the rider-less horse and three-year-old John John saluting his father’s casket.

Imagine if the Kennedy shooting happened today—hundreds of people in Dallas would have captured it on video via their cell phones—not just Abraham Zapruder, with his 8 millimeter Bell & Howell movie camera and the shaky 486 frames of film that would ultimately ruin his life.  The nation did not see the entire 26.6 seconds of the Zapruder film until 1975, and Life Magazine, which bought the rights to it for $150,000, did not show frame #313— Kennedy’s head exploding—out of deference to the family and its readers and because Zapruder insisted it be withheld.

Today (remember the Boston Marathon bombing?) the entire event would be on Facebook and Twitter from dozens of different angles, with all the gore, along with all kinds of crazy theories and misinformation—within seconds of the gunfire.

There was nothing instantaneous about the news in those days.   Here’s my Nov. 22, 1963 story:  Two months earlier I had moved to Manhattan from California to enter Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism.  Among the 80 grad students who sat in front of their heavy manual typewriters at desks in the J School’s newsroom was Nick Gage, the man I would marry seven years later, but on that Friday I had a date with another young man, who worked for The New York Times, to attend a ball given by the Newswomen’s Club of New York to collect my Anne O’Hare McCormick scholarship, which would help pay for my tuition.

I had left the newsroom early and gone to my dorm room in Johnson Hall to start getting ready, when I heard on the radio “Shots have been fired in the vicinity of the President in Dallas.” 

Like many of my fellow J School students I immediately went back to the school, hoping to get more information from the teletype machines in the newsroom—the only way to get breaking news in those days before it was read over the radio.  The teletype machines, standing about three feet high, would clatter into life as news bulletins from the Associated Press, UPI and Reuters (they each had a different machine) would be typed on a continuous roll of paper.

We stood around, grim-faced, waiting to learn Kennedy’s fate, tearing off bulletins as they came through (I still have a couple, one of them pictured above.) Not until 2:33 p.m. Eastern Standard Time did the teletype machine make it official.  The president was dead.

We all took this as a personal loss.  Nick, who has been my husband now for 43 years, had met President Kennedy only three months earlier at the White House, when Kennedy presented him with the top Hearst Award for college journalism—which was how Nick managed to afford grad school.

After the official news, we were all depressed and at a loss for what to do next. Everything had been cancelled.  Earlier I had tried to call my date at The New York Times to tell him the ball was cancelled and got screamed at by the man who answered the phone, who yelled, “My god, woman.  Don’t you know what has happened?  Hang up!”

Finally, as a group, we walked over to a movie theater on Broadway and sat silently through a film.  It was “The Haunting of Hill House” starring Julie Harris.

We all went out to the West End Bar after that, and Nick and I spent the rest of the weekend together, devouring the newspapers as succeeding editions came out. Unlike the rest of the nation, we did not have access to a television set (although there must have been one at the J-School.)  Nowadays, the students sit down to their computers.  The manual typewriters and teletype machines are long gone.

Over the years, when anyone asks us, “How did you two meet?” we take turns telling the story, beginning, “It was the day President Kennedy was shot.”

Three weekends ago, Nick and I were in San Francisco, attending the Elios Foundation’s Hellenic Charity Ball when we started chatting with California Congressman John Garamendi and his wife Patti, who have been married even longer than we have.  Turns out that they met the same day we did. 

They were both attending the University of California at Berkeley (where I had graduated five months earlier.)  He was on the California Golden Bears football team (and an All-America offensive guard), but the game scheduled for that night was cancelled, so John walked over to visit a girl he knew in a sorority house, and she introduced him to a pretty blonde named Patricia. 

Like so many of our generation, John and Patti had been inspired by Kennedy’s creation of the Peace Corps. They spent their two-year honeymoon serving in the Peace Corps in Ethiopia, teaching local school children that if they could work together, they could achieve anything (including building a bridge). John has devoted his life to legislature creating a pathway to the middle class for poor Americans.  Patti has served as the Associate Director of the Peace Corps and arranges the distribution of American food and aid to famine and refugee centers in war zones and developing countries.


Everyone in my generation has a story about how Kennedy’s life and death affected them, and in many cases, the ripple effect is still being felt.  For my generation, it was the first time the nation pulled together and mourned together as a family, while the now-outdated medium of television made us participants in the drama.   

Monday, May 20, 2013

Do You Want to End Your Days talking to a Robot?



An article in today’s (May 20) New York Times business section drew my attention with the pull quote: “Should we entrust the care of people in their 70s and older to artificial assistants?”

Since I’m over 70 and one of my parents died with dementia, I read the article avidly and learned that the future is here for us seniors, and it’s scarier than any science fiction movie.

The article, by Nick Bilton, begins by citing a film called  “Robot & Frank” about an overly busy son who presents his elderly, live-alone father with a humanoid robot called  VGC-601.  The dad, Frank, protests, “I’m not this pathetic!”

The reporter then cites facts showing that, as the baby boomer generation ages, the number of elderly people needing care is skyrocketing (72.1 million Americans by  2030—double today’s number)  while the number of  potential poorly paid caregivers is dwindling.  Hence, a variety of robots are already available to take care of  elderly patients.

There’s Cody, a robotic nurse who is allegedly “gentle enough to bathe elderly patients” .

There is HERB (for Home Exploring Robot Butler) who can fetch household objects like cups and  can even clean the kitchen.

Hector is a robot that can remind patients to take their medicines, keep track of eyeglasses and even help in the case of a fall.

There’s Paro, a therapeutic robot that looks like a baby seal and has a calming effect on patients with dementia and Alzheimer’s.


PR2, A robot designed at Carnegie Mellon works with people who have autism—it can blink and giggle as people interact with it.  The man who designed it said, “Those we tested it with, love it and hugged it.”

Wendy A Rogers, a professor at Georgia Tech and director of its Human Factors and Aging Lab said, “We are social beings, and we do develop social types of relationships with lots of things.”  She noted that patients with Roomba, the vacuum robot,  tend to give their machines names and even buy costumes for them.

Some people, like me, react to all this news about helpful robots with serious reservations. Sherry Turkle, a professor at MIT and author of the book “Alone Together” said she was troubled when she saw a 76-year-old woman sharing stories about her life with her baby-seal Paro robot.  “This is sad,” Professor Turkle said.  “We have been reduced to spectators of a conversation that has no meaning.  Giving old people robots to talk to is a dystopian view that is being classified as utopian.”

The Times reporter does point out the ethical questions raised by tricking patients into thinking their robots are human and can understand them and adds:  “That’s the catch. Leaving the questions of ethics aside for the moment, building robots is not simply about creating smart machines; it is about making something that is not human still appear, somehow, trustworthy.”

I realized after reading the article that health care robots appear to be the inevitable result of a society that isolates its old people instead of incorporating them as venerated members of the tribe, cared for by all the younger members together.  It takes a village….

Meanwhile, I’ll be desperately trying to hold on to my physical and mental health, in order to stave off the moment when, on Mother’s Day, my kids present me with my own personal robot.




Monday, January 3, 2011

Billy Joel—Talking ‘Bout My Generation



On the first day of 2011, I was in my car, listening to the radio, when I heard Billy Joel’s song “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

I was shocked to realize I hadn’t heard this song in maybe a decade. (It was released in 1989, when Billy Joel was 40.)

I was also surprised that, after all these years, I still could identify nearly every one of the dozens of names and places he mentions in a brilliant list of events and people that filled the lives his generation—the baby boomers.

In the news as 2011 dawned was the grim fact that the baby boomers, who have started turning 65 by the thousands every day,  may discover they’ve outlived  their  pensions and their social security payments, so they had better not retire just yet.

Because I was born in 1941, I’m too old to be a real baby boomer. (My younger brother qualifies.)  And because I will be turning seventy in February, 2011 is a year when I’ll be thinking about and writing a lot about getting old.  Because when you turn 70, there’s no way you can keep on thinking of yourself as middle-aged.  And you can’t help pondering, especially when you wake up in the middle of the night, the stage of life that comes next.   That would be dying.

Maybe Gail Sheehy will write a book, like “Passages”, on “How to Plan and Organize a Good Death”.  (I apologize for being so morbid, but my mother died at 74.  May of my husband’s relatives lived to well past 90, so he makes fun of me and my generally gloomy outlook.)  But let’s face it, our generation, which invented teenagers and rock ’n’ roll, does everything by the book.  And we need a guide to what comes next.

  When I learned that I was pregnant for the first time, I walked out of the doctor’s office and into a bookstore and bought several books on being pregnant—even though women since the beginning of time have been  having babies without reading a how-to book about it.

Anyway, hearing Billy Joel’s song made me realize that my children now in their thirties, who are very smart and  well-informed, probably wouldn’t recognize 50 percent of the names in that song. 

Billy Joel writes very clever lyrics (and his piano playing always fills me with envy).  I started to muse about how much more intelligent, funny and pertinent were some of the songwriters of my generation compared to what you hear today.   (That's just my opinion.  I'm sure Generation Y or whatever is current would disagree.) Take Paul Simon, Billy Joel, and of course John Lennon.  Leonard Cohen.  Judy Collins. Who writes lyrics like that today?  Lady Gaga?

Anyway, so you can share my trip down memory lane, I’m pasting below the lyrics to “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”  See how any of them you can identify.  Now who’s going to write a similar list for our kids’ generation?

We Didn't Start The Fire
   ------Billy Joel

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio

Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe

Rosenbergs, H-Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, "The King and I", and "The Catcher in the Rye"

Eisenhower, vaccine, England's got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye

CHORUS
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it


Josef Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc

Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron
Dien Bien Phu Falls, Rock Around the Clock

Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland

Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Khrushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, Trouble in the Suez

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac
Sputnik, Zhou Enlai, Bridge On The River Kwai

Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California Baseball,
Starkweather homicide, Children of Thalidomide

Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, Space Monkey, Mafia
Hula Hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go

U2, Syngman Rhee, payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Hemingway, Eichmann, Stranger in a Strange Land,
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion

Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson

Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British Politician sex
J.F.K. blown away, what else do I have to say

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock

Begin, Reagan, Palestine, Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan

Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal suicide
Foreign debts, homeless Vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz

Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law
Rock and Roller cola wars, I can't take it anymore

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire
But when we are gone
It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on...