Ready Or Not, Here Come The Boomers!

I like being a member of the Leisure Class. I like receiving a monthly payment from the Teacher Retirement System of Texas and the Social Security Administration. I like having more "take home money" than I received while working fulltime as a laborer in the groves of academe otherwise known as Almost College. I like not having to be at work. I like not having to hunt for a parking place. Most of all, I don't miss the slackjawed louts who peopled my classrooms. I may call the community where I live, Geezerville, and I may call the Senior University, Geezer College, but I like all of it. Thank you, Del Webb (1899-1974), wherever you are. If this is (fair & balanced) self-indulgence, so be it.

[x Austin Fishwrap]
Time to Rethink Retirement: Is the Concept of the "Golden Years" Still Something to be Longed For?
By Marc Freedman

On New Year's Eve 1959, the team launching the new Sun City retirement community, the first such large-scale venture in America, sat around a table at Manuel's Place, a Mexican restaurant in Peoria, Ariz. The mood was anxious. For months the team had run national advertising touting "An Active New Way of Life" for older people. The next morning was Sun City's grand opening. Would anyone show up?

The group had reason to be worried, according to materials from Sun City Areas Historical Society. Their boss, Del Webb, had sunk $2 million into the community exclusively for the group he called "55 and better." The heart of the company's market research? A quick trip to the retirement haven of St. Petersburg, Fla., where one of Webb's lieutenants interviewed seniors on park benches. Every psychiatrist and gerontologist consulted by the Webb executives had told them they were crazy; older people would never leave their friends and family to head off to the desert of 1960s Arizona.

There were other hurdles. Breaking the uncomfortable silence around the table, Owen Childress, the manager responsible for sales, voiced his long-held fear: "How am I going to get a 30-year mortgage on a guy who is 65 years old?"

The next morning, however, the group saw a scene they could never have imagined. Lined up for two miles, cars filled with older men and women converged on Sun City from all over the country. Their destination: the converted cotton field where six tiny, Levittown-style model homes sat incongruously on the edge of a makeshift golf course.

By the end of the weekend, 100,000 people would turn up.

From this, an entire industry would grow around the dream of retirement as leisure — the "golden years," a phrase coined by Webb and his company. Instead of being dreaded years of decline, retirement would become something for which people longed. Retirement was sold as the beginning of a new, even a better life.

This dream would ultimately sow the seeds for today's alarm about the graying of the baby boom generation and the viability of Social Security and other pension programs. How will we be able to afford a leisure class that makes up a quarter of the population?

Marketing reshaped ideal

Sun City's success was fueled by not only marketing genius but pent-up demand from people unhappy with their lot. A gradual marginalization of older people had taken place over the previous 25 years. Though the goal of the Social Security Act in 1935 had been, as President Franklin Roosevelt said, to "give some measure of protection to the average citizen and to his family against the loss of a job and against poverty-ridden old age," a key side effect was to lure older workers out of the labor market to make room for the hordes of unemployed young people who were seen as a potential source of social unrest.

With the end of the Depression and World War II, growing numbers of Americans retired, cutting themselves off from work and thereby much of society. They assumed "roleless roles," in the words of a leading gerontologist of the time. As people began to live extended, healthier lives, and the period between the end of work and the end of life grew longer, the question of the purpose of this period in life grew more urgent.

"Too old to work, too young to die" was how, in the late 1940s, labor leader Walter Reuther characterized it. Even the language seemed to contribute to this conclusion; the word retirement comes from the old French "retirer," meaning "to go off into seclusion."

So many people dreaded retirement during the early postwar years that it created economic as well as psychological issues. The financial services industry found it hard to sell pensions to Americans loath not only to plan for but even to think about the grim existence awaiting them.

To make retirement more appetizing, pension and annuity marketers in the 1950s seized on the notion of aristocratic leisure, depicting retirement as an age of liberation — from responsibility, from work, from the constraints of midlife. It was the chance at a second childhood. Graying as playing.

It would take the better part of a decade, and Webb's entrepreneurial genius, for this concept to be fully realized. Once communities such as Sun City and its chief rival, Leisure World, emerged as emblems of retirement, developers, the pension industry and a vast leisure sector followed. In a relatively brief period, they transformed the ideal of aging into one of an ongoing vacation.

And a remarkable transformation it was: In 1950, half the men older than 65 remained in the workforce. By 2000 the number was less than 18 percent. Older adults emerged as the biggest consumers of leisure activities in America. The goal of retirement was replaced by a new dream: early retirement.

Balancing work and play

A half-century later, America finds itself in the midst of a demographic revolution, propelled by the aging of 78 million baby boomers. By 2030, these individuals will make up 20 percent to 25 percent of the overall population. A wave of "greedy geezers," some policy experts say, threatens to wash away our fiscal health. While the full force of these demographics has yet to be felt, there is a degree of consensus in much of the current debate over Social Security and national savings: Graying means paying — for those who are younger.

But those who declare that social insolvency lies ahead fail to understand that another transformation is unfolding, as profound as the change during the early days of Sun City.

In 1900, the average American lived to the not-so-ripe age of 47. Today that number is 77, and rising. And that's long enough for retirees to get bored. How much golf can you play?

Now people seldom think of retirement as a final stage of life but rather as an interlude between stages. More individuals are "retiring" for a period to catch their breath before making the transition to a new chapter in life. Surveys show that the ideal of the golden years is going into eclipse.

But what's next for these individuals, many of whom face an identity crisis? Neither young nor old, they are finished with midlife, yet they can look forward to the likelihood of decades of vitality before becoming truly old. What might they rightly aspire to in the next phase? How will they define success?

While much remains unclear, a central, defining feature is emerging. It is work. The vast majority of the boomers plan to continue working — full-time, part-time, paid, unpaid — in their so-called retirement years. A recent AARP study shows nearly 80 percent of boomers plan to continue paid labor during their 60s and 70s. In an Associated Press-Ipsos poll conducted in February, almost two-thirds of Americans who have not yet retired said that when the time comes they will work for pay after retiring. The reason given most often has nothing to do with money: They simply want to stay busy.

This new generation of aging boomers seems poised to swap the old dream of freedom from work for a new one built around the freedom to work — in new ways, on new terms, to new ends.

The trend is welcome news, and not just for public coffers. We now know that work is good for aging individuals, for their health as well as their wallets. At the same time, the nation faces the prospect of a labor shortage in many areas over the coming decades.

In the end, reinventing retirement will take more than marketing, more even than retooling Social Security. It will require a new generation of policies, pathways and priorities.

A tall order, but the history of aging in America is one of innovation. Social Security and Medicare were invented out of whole cloth within the past 70 years. We didn't even have retirement communities or senior centers 50 years ago. In just a half-century, we redefined aging so thoroughly that the "golden" years image seemed as natural as oxygen in the air.

Now, a little more than nine months before the first of tens of millions of baby boomers begin to turn 60, we need a transformation no less bold. We must create an aging America that swaps the old leisure ideal for one that balances the joys and responsibilities of engagement across the life span. And that could produce a society that works better for all generations.

Marc Freedman is president of Civic Ventures, a San Francisco-based nonprofit organization that develops opportunities for older Americans to serve their communities. He is author of Prime Time: How Baby Boomers Will Revolutionize Retirement and Transform America.

Copyright © Austin American-Statesment

Nailing Jelly To The Barn Door

At the risk of making a reader's hair hurt (courtesy of Don Imus), this blog gives you John Lukacs ("Loo-cash") to ponder. A conservative — no, self-described reactionary — who wants no truck with Dub and his ilk. My club — Dub Haters United — will take help from any quarter. Lukacs is a powerful voice. Too bad most folks won't hear it. If this is (fair & balanced) intellectual history, so be it.

[x The Boston Globe]
The Anti-Populist: Traditionalist Historian John Lukacs Laments the Direction of Conservatism in America
By Jeet Heer

POPULISM FIRST EMERGED in America in the late 19th century as a radical political movement pushing for labor reform, progressive taxation, the regulation of business, and economic justice for the little guy. But in recent decades, as observers like journalist Thomas Frank and historian Michael Kazin have pointed out, the populist notion of an embattled people fighting an entrenched elite has evolved into a staple of the conservative worldview. From Joseph McCarthy finding treason in ''the bright young men who are born with silver spoons in their mouths'' to Richard Nixon speaking up for ''the silent majority'' to George W. Bush complaining about those who ''think they're all of a sudden smarter than the average person because they happen to have an Ivy League degree,'' the right has consistently won elections by talking the language of Power to the People.

But criticism of the marriage between conservatism and populism comes not only from the left. In his bracing new book, ''Democracy and Populism: Fear and Hatred'' (Yale), the traditionalist historian John Lukacs-well-known for his elegant histories of the great men and great events of World War II-offers a dark vision of modern democracy being destroyed by nationalist demagogues who gain power by bullying unpopular minorities and pursuing a belligerent foreign policy. Today's politicians of the right, Lukacs writes, have abandoned the conservative values of stability, order, and tradition and instead learned to bind nationalist majorities together by evoking hatred, directed not just against foreign foes but against fellow citizens who are seen as insufficiently patriotic.

These arguments are all the more striking because they come from a man of the right, albeit an idiosyncratic one. A staunch defender of Catholic social policy, Lukacs in his new book takes aim at ''laws approving abortions, mercy killing, cloning, sexual 'freedoms,' permissiveness, [and] pornography.'' But he has hardly been gentle when it comes to contemporary conservative heroes. Ronald Reagan? ''Superficial, lazy, puerile (despite his age), an expansive nationalist.'' George W. Bush? Blessed with a ''mind and character'' that are ''often astonishingly lazy.'' Even William F. Buckley-hardly the image of a man of the people-Lukacs once wrote, is insufficiently respectful of the past, displaying ''hardly any trace of interest in history and only selective references to tradition.''

In both his new book and in his larger career, Lukacs reminds us of a deep fissure that exists between traditional European conservatism and the contemporary American variety. Historically, the great conservative thinkers, from Burke to Tocqueville, have been wary of democracy, let alone populism. In conversation, Lukacs is pessimistic about current American politics, arguing that mass democracy is vulnerable to demagogic manipulation. ''The people do not speak, or they very seldom speak,'' he observes. ''But other people speak in the name of the people.'' In his new book, he expresses the fear that we are witnessing ''the degeneration of democracy'' into an ersatz populism.

The author of more than 25 works of history and countless articles, the Hungarian-born Lukacs has a particularly devoted fan club among conservatives like George Will and Richard Brookhiser, who admire his old-fashioned focus on the role of great men like Churchill and the enduring reality of national character. But while he has frequently contributed to National Review, the American Spectator, and other conservative publications (along with many liberal and nonpartisan ones), Lukacs eschews the label of ''conservative,'' preferring to describe himself as a ''reactionary,'' instinctively skeptical of the claims of progress whether made on the left or right. The reactionary ''is a patriot but not a nationalist,'' Lukacs explained in his 1990 autobiography, Confessions of an Original Sinner. ''He favors conservation rather than conservatism; he defends the ancient blessing of the land and is dubious about the results of technology; he believes in history, not in Evolution.''

Despite the fact that the Republican Party has made populism into a winning ticket, Lukacs reminds us of the intellectual contradiction inherent in today's American conservatism, which stirs up populist resentment toward the elite even as it extols ''traditional'' values.

It was Lukacs's own early experiences in the cauldron of European history that taught him to be suspicious of the kind of mass politics he sees dominating the United States today. Born in Budapest in 1924 to a father who was a progressive-minded Catholic doctor and a bourgeois Jewish mother, Lukacs grew up in the shadow of Hungary's golden age. He attended Budapest University, where he studied history.

Conscripted into the Hungarian army when it was allied with Germany, Lukacs became a deserter, spending the last days of the war in hiding as Budapest was being bombed by the allies. Although he welcomed the defeat of the Germans, he had no illusions of what liberation by the Russians meant. Soon after the war ended, Lukacs made contact with Rear Admiral William F. Dietrich, a member of the American mission in Hungary, to whom he supplied ad hoc intelligence reports about the tightening grip of Russian power in Hungary.

After emigrating to the United States in 1946, Lukacs eventually found a steady job teaching at Chestnut Hill College in Pennsylvania, where he stayed until his retirement in 1994. In his new homeland, Lukacs found himself at odds with both liberals and conservatives. Some liberals, to his chagrin, were full of illusions about the benevolence of Soviet communism, while anti-Red crusaders like Joseph McCarthy were more preoccupied with ferreting out spies in the government than with containing Soviet power in Central Europe.

''Already [in the '50s] the trouble with most conservatives was that it was a negative conservatism,'' says Lukacs, who penned several anti-McCarthy articles for Commonweal magazine when the Senator was riding high. ''They were anti-liberal. And that's not enough.''

From the early '50s onward, Lukacs repeatedly argued in books and articles that the Soviet Union was a brittle and fearful empire that was having trouble holding itself together, and that the United States should focus on pushing for fresh negotiations over the status of Central Europe rather than pursuing blustery ideological combat and pointless wars in Asia. (On this last point he found a kindred spirit in another traditionalist and early anticommunist-diplomat George F. Kennan, who became critical of Cold War excesses and who remains a close friend of Lukacs's.) Since the end of the Cold War, Lukacs has consistently advocated a more modest American role in the world, arguing that it is foolish to get entangled in the affairs of the Middle East and other hot spots.

Among Lukacs's many books two general types stand out: impressionistic reflections on modern history and philosophy with titles like The Passing of the Modern Age and Historical Consciousness, and narrative histories focusing on World War II, including The Duel (about the standoff between Hitler and Churchill in 1940) and, most recently, Churchill: Visionary. Statesman. Historian.

In general, his straightforward histories have received the most attention. ''As a historian I think he is absolutely outstanding,'' says Emory University historian Patrick Allitt, author of the 1993 study Catholic Intellectuals and Conservative Politics in America, 1950-1985, in which he compared Lukacs with more mainstream conservative Catholics like William F. Buckley, John Courtney Murray, and Michael Novak. ''I put him in the very first rank of historians of the 20th century. I think he's utterly brilliant, both in his incredible powers of research and assimilation and his wonderful style [and] psychological insight.''

Yet Allitt believes that Lukacs's elitism limits the practical worth of his political worldview. ''He's never going to be a central figure in the American conservative tradition because he says things which practical politicians mustn't say,'' Allitt argues. ''Because he's an elitist he can be an interesting person to give daring and energetic ideas to conservatives, but they can't take him to the polls.''

Richard Brookhiser, an editor at National Review and a respected historian in his own right, makes a similar distinction between Lukacs's historical work and his more political writing in books like ''Populism and Democracy.'' While exceptionally insightful on World War II, Brookhiser says, Lukacs's critique of nationalism and democracy is based on a blinkered view of American culture and an unwillingness to recognize what makes America different from Europe.

Brookhiser explains his point by way of a history lesson. ''Theodore Roosevelt once wrote that there were two ways in which Jefferson was superior to Hamilton. One was his love for the West and the other was his trust in the people. I think to the 'trust in the people,' John would probably say that is populism, and evil nationalism is probably lurking behind the door. But...a disposition to trust the people up to a certain point in certain ways is an American thing and perhaps it is America's contribution to the world.''

Lukacs bristles at the suggestion that he sees America through a distorting European lens. ''I'm not speaking as a Hungarian,'' he says. ''I've lived in this country now for almost 60 years. My books don't deal with Hungary, but with British and American history.''

In conversation, he's willing to grant praise to a certain form of populism, citing the mass movements that have brought democracy to Central and Eastern Europe. ''The people are often right,'' he notes. ''Just think of my country. The Hungarian Revolution of 1956 was a real popular uprising. Although it was defeated it had very salutary consequences in the long run. It was the Stalingrad of international communism. The repression in Hungary afterward was much less. They did not quite restore 100 percent terror. That is why in 1989 the change of the regime came along without bloodshed.''

But even when pressed, Lukacs has difficulty finding any good words for populism, American-style. To him, the rise of right-wing populism here is troubling because it means that the conservatives no longer serve as a shield against the dangers of mass politics. Instead, ''conservative'' has come to mean simply ''antiliberal.''

''Nationalism is a very low and cheap common denominator that unites people,'' he says. ''It is hatred that unites people. People take satisfaction from the idea that we are good because our enemies are evil. This is a very American syndrome but it is also universally true of mankind.''

''In this country the Republicans are the nationalist party,'' he continues. ''That's why they won the election-on the basis of symbols. I think the importance of economics in people's political choice of vote is vastly exaggerated. We live in such an age of intellectual stupidity that people use the wrong terms. People think this is a 'cultural issue' or a 'moral issue.' These are half-truths.''

Although Lukacs has won his share of esteem in a career that spans more than five decades, he now finds himself oddly isolated as someone who criticizes the Republican party from a traditionalist vantage point.

''What is there traditional in George Bush?'' he asks with exasperation. ''Nothing. Nothing.''

Jeet Heer, a frequent contributor to the Globe and the National Post of Canada, is the coeditor of Arguing Comics: Literary Masters on a Popular Medium (Mississippi).

Copyright © 2005 The New York Times Company