On any Tuesday morning, retired adman Austin Lempit can reliably be found at a church hall in White Plains in the company of other men of an age ”“ Lempit is 89 ”“ when death, debility and retirement from the active business world have thinned the ranks of one”™s friends. In this company, “He”™s deceased now” is a respectful yet matter-of-fact conversational refrain.
“Hanging out with some of the guys,” says Lempit, describing the prime reward of his weekly trips from Armonk to Memorial United Methodist Church on Bryant Avenue. “That”™s about it.”
He surveys a room where by 10 a.m. about 90 men show up ”“ some with the aid of walkers, canes or wheelchairs and chauffeuring wives ”“ to socialize for two hours among their male peers in the Old Guard of White Plains. There are attorneys, doctors, accountants, municipal employees, a crisis communications specialist, a former owner of a security guard business and a stream plant engineer in the crowd. The Old Guard”™s bridge players, a closely knit and dedicated bunch, will stick around for lunch.
The exclusively male group”™s members range in age from “70s to 90,” says Lempit. “One guy here had his 100th birthday two weeks ago.”
Lempit, who owned the Austin Lawrence Group agency in Stamford, Conn., discovered the Old Guard about a dozen years ago. “I saw an item in the (New York) Times,” he recalls. “My wife went like this” ”“ he jabs sharply with an elbow. “My wife said, ”˜Get the hell out of the house.”™ Bonnie can be blunt.”
“What happened with me, a lot of my old friends died. I was sitting around petting my dog and that”™s about all I could do.” Retirement or even semi-retirement gets old after a while, Lempit and numerous other Old Guard members have found.
For the adman, the friendship bond “was informed by who I was doing business with. Five or six days a week, you”™re on track.” On the seventh day, one rests from the workaday world and the friends one sees there.
The personal isolation that can beset retired business executives and professionals is nothing new. A committee of community services volunteers in White Plains recognized the condition that Lempit describes when they met in 1954 to consider expanding services for older residents and focused on men retired from businesses and the professions.
“These were men who were capable and self-sufficient,” wrote Old Guard historian Edward Hardy, “but somewhat lost in retirement after their long careers. They needed an outlet to find opportunities to make new friends.”
The White Plains group held its first meeting 58 years ago this month. Old Guard founders, led by a retired chief librarian at the New York Public Library, took the organization”™s name from a similar men”™s group in New Jersey, where eight Old Guard clubs flourished at the time.
Today the Old Guard of White Plains has about 170 members who pay annual dues of $150. They see plays and concerts together, sign up for tours and cruises and compete on indoor and lawn bowling teams. The organization, well endowed with collective good humor and bantering wit, puts out a monthly newsletter chronicling members”™ athletic feats, travels, charitable activities and upcoming events. Its title? “Senior Moments.”
“These are very smart people here,” says Herb Heller, who plays piano at the weekly meeting and packs a thick book of sheet music in an otherwise empty briefcase. “The work that I did on Wall Street involved smart people. This is a continuing of that.”
For 46 years Heller worked in institutional sales for a Wall Street firm. “A friend told me about it,” he says of the Old Guard. “He”™s deceased, which is a shame. I said I doubted I would join anything that had ”˜old”™ in it.”
“I was exploring retirement” and how to spend it. “Some of the slots were filled, but this was just the one that completed the balance of what I wanted to do. The Old Guard fills the bill. It”™s opened lots of doors and lots of eyes.”
“Gooood morning, Old Guard,” says James Kelleher, presiding over the 3,022nd meeting of the group in White Plains. Today”™s Guardsmen proudly perpetuate an unbroken string of weekly meetings that dates to November 1958.
“You guys rock,” Kelleher says when the assembled at last return his greeting with sufficiently enthusiastic volume.
Anniversaries of members and their spouses are announced. Kelleher at the lectern and Heller on the piano lead a manly sing-along: “I give to you as you give to me, true love, true love”¦”
“Reminder to you old snowbirds,” says Old Guard secretary Martin Rubenstein, a retired management consultant, “please pay your 2013 dues before departure. Otherwise we”™ll cut off your pensions.”
“Your what?” shouts someone in the audience.
A member steps to the lectern and recites a ribald joke. It has to do with an 87-year-old jogger who attributes his fitness and his “great stamina with the ladies” to the Viagra-like effects of eating rye bread. The joke, which involves a bakery stop and purchase of multiple loaves of rye by the jogger”™s 80-year-old friend, arouses laughter and applause.
Paul Abramson seeks suggestions from members for the group”™s weekly guest speaker program. “Do you want controversy? We had a speaker last week who was certainly controversial. Do you want more of that? Let me know.”
“I”™d like to hear ex-President Barack Obama speak here,” says a member.
“He”™ll be available in five years,” Kelleher, the Old Guard president, counters.
“I would like to hear a continuation of the sexual (advice),” says a man in the rear, “because I don”™t like rye bread.”
“One thing we”™re looking for ”“ people who know what they”™re talking about,” says Abramson. “We are a difficult audience. I”™ve heard that from speakers who come here. We ask too many questions.”
“I would like to hear Romney talk about how I can hide my money,” says a man in the front row.
“Can we stay away from these estate planners?” another member suggests.
“Years ago, members talked about their careers,” says Len Gugick, a retired accountant and life insurance agent. “It got pretty boring if you gave them a whole hour.”
“I usually get bagels every Sunday morning,” says attorney Robert Kurzman at the lectern. “I”™m going to switch to rye bread now.”
“For those who may be interested, the Dow is down 230 points,” an Old Guardsman announces.
“Thanks,” someone dejectedly says.
