In the "Indian Summer" of their lives, more Americans between 50 and 75 are working well into years that used to be exclusively for the retired. Should we cheer them?
Marion Jackson's airy, light-filled studio is filled with Brazilian art and sculpture. It sits on the third floor of a five-story, 100,000-square-foot industrial building in downtown Detroit that opened in 1927 to house the service department for Pontiac. The Corvette was later designed there. But that was before the U.S. auto industry declined, and the neighborhood became a wasteland of abandoned buildings.
Not anymore. Today, 250 start-up companies inhabit the renovated building, which is the centerpiece of a business incubator called TechTown. Jackson's venture, Con/Vida--in Spanish, "with life"--sells indigenous art from Latin America and curates exhibitions for galleries and museums. Jackson, 70, retired as an art-history professor at Detroit's Wayne State University last year and applied her knowledge of northeastern Brazil to the pursuit of a second career as Con/Vida's codirector.
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This new chapter in Jackson's work life, much like the building the studio inhabits, amounts to a kind of adaptive reuse--of skills instead of space. In this, she has company. TechTown is run by Randal Charlton, a 71-year-old former jazz impresario and serial entrepreneur, whose human-tissue company was the resurrected building's first tenant. TechTown, an independent nonprofit, was launched a decade ago by Wayne State--which recently hired 77-year-old Allan Gilmour, a former Ford Motor chief financial officer, as its president.
By the prevailing definitions, all three of them are in old age--often portrayed as a wasteland of its own. We're set to become "a planet that's a whole lot more crowded--with old people," Phillip Longman, a senior research fellow on health policy at the New America Foundation, lamented in the September/October issue of Foreign Policy. He and other scholars who predict the "hyper-aging" of the developed world--when walkers will outnumber strollers--worry about too few working-age adults having to support too many children and retirees.
But economists such as Stanford University's John Shoven find these gloomy forecasts "deeply flawed" because, he has written, of "the misleading way in which we measure age" as longevity becomes reality for more and more Americans. Our notions of old age are themselves old-fashioned, reflecting a time when the typical 60-something was physically worn out from laboring in an auto plant or some other factory. In recent years, scholars in a range of academic disciplines report seeing signs of a new stage of life between the prime working years and full retirement. Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot, a Harvard education professor, calls this phase the "third chapter," after childhood and younger adulthood, defining it as "the generative space" between 50 and 75 years old. Cultural anthropologist Mary Catherine Bateson--Margaret Mead's daughter--labels the period "Adulthood II."
The creation of a new stage of life may seem counterintuitive. However, phases of life aren't natural phenomena, like the seasons of the year, but rather social constructions. Consider adolescence. The concept didn't exist until 1904, when G. Stanley Hall, a 60-year-old psychologist emerging from his own midlife crisis, wrote a book of more than 1,000 pages titled Adolescence. He was describing an extended period between childhood and adulthood free from grown-up responsibilities. The concept had a romantic tinge, but it grew out of fears that in a period of rapid industrialization, urbanization, and immigration, these minors would be running wild--anxieties that inspired laws requiring high school attendance and banning child labor. Adolescents began to be called "teenagers" after Seventeen magazine began publishing in 1944.