Generation Link

By Erin Kelly Reported By Greg Aunapu/Miami, William Dowell/New York, Chandrani Ghosh and Declan McCullagh/Washington, Maureen Harrington/Colorado Springs and Marc Hequet/St. Paul

In the kingdom of cyberspace, youth still rules, of course. But there is an invasion under way, led by the likes of Sara Trabish. This unlikely foot soldier is an 82-year-old great-grandmother who keeps her family connected with e-mail. A grandson in Maryland sends her dirty jokes. Her great-grandniece and great-grandnephew, both 13, love being on her online network and have gotten to know her better. "I feel good about building ties with a younger generation," Trabish says.

Experts differ on numbers, but most agree that people 50 and older make up the fastest-growing group online. Some, like Trabish, want to strengthen relationships with people far away. Others want to manage their investments, plan trips or get medical information. Many take classes at local senior centers or community colleges to learn the basics, then start with an easy-to-use service such as America Online. These services offer e-mail and chat rooms, where several people are online simultaneously and carry on a written conversation. Other seniors like the chat rooms offered by online sites geared to them, such as Third Age (online address: www.thirdage.com) AgeScape www.agescape.com) or SeniorNet www.seniornet.com)

"Many older people are just beginning to realize that at the point in their lives when it's harder to get out and about, they can keep in touch by e-mail," says Michael Putzel, who founded Trysail Inc. of Washington--in part to teach online skills to the 50-plus crowd. "The Internet brings them thank-you notes from grandkids that they never got from the post office."

Of course, some are still put off by the online world's confusing terminology or by equipment that is hard on arthritic hands. Others are wary of scam artists who prey on their age group. But for many seniors, the Internet has provided a sense of community that they are hungry for. It has given them a new perspective on life.

It did for Trabish, who took the plunge three years ago, pushed by her frustration with the conversation over dinner at her son's house. "I didn't know what they were talking about--icons, bytes, software, hardware, mail they got on the computer," she says. "So I asked my son, 'Do you think I could learn all this?' He said, 'Mother, you could do it.' And I said, 'O.K., go buy me a set.'" Four weeks and $2,500 later, she had her "set": an olive-green Acer computer that sits right next to her bed in her Chevy Chase, Md., home. At first it scared her. "I used to think the computer would break if I did something wrong. The first time I used it, I was a nervous wreck, and my son Paul said, 'Don't worry, Mom--it won't break.'" He made her a screen saver that says SARA, QUEEN OF COMPUTERS!!! ALMOST. She signed up for a computer class at a local senior center. Before long, Trabish had sent e-mail to her family: "I think I am going to the head of the class...So far, I am one lesson ahead of the crowd. Not bad for the oldest member of our mishpocha."

That's Yiddish for family. Trabish has used her online skills to keep her mishpocha network connected. It includes her three children, four grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, lots of nieces and nephews and some close friends. And she is keeping the network updated on her latest project: a family history starting with the move from Poland to Brooklyn. Everyone will get an e-mail copy, except for Trabish's two brothers and two sisters, who are still holding out on the revolution. "I am the oldest person in the family," she says impatiently, "and I use the computer. My nieces and nephews keep getting mad with their parents--'Why can't you do it if Aunt Sara does it?' I said, 'I'm enjoying it. I feel you would enjoy it too.' But they think I'm crazy. They say, 'What do you want to do that for?'"

Gerald Schwebke of Kansas City, Mo., had practical and personal reasons for getting online. After his wife died four years ago, he found himself "rattling around in this big house alone." He says, "She was always the one who took care of the books, and I said, 'What should I do?'" The retired regulatory expert decided to learn to manage his money on the computer. Then he got the idea of trading stocks online. "I'm kind of a do-it-myselfer," says Schwebke, 60. While he leaves his ira in the hands of brokers, he took some of the money he inherited when his father died in September 1996 and invested it on his own. So every morning after Mass at St. Therese's, he sits down at the computer next to his twin bed to check on his stocks. He uses the online service E*Trade, which is hooked up to his local bank account so he can wire money into it as needed.

"I like the independence, I guess," he says. "The satisfaction is that you do something and sometimes it turns out good. I could go down to the riverboat casinos and gamble it away, but this works out better."

With Kay Denhardt, the reasons for getting online were not financial; they were physical. Four years ago, she had surgery for a brain tumor. Afterward, Denhardt, now 56, wanted information she couldn't find in her hometown of Newark, Ohio. "It was really hard for me at first after surgery," Denhardt says. "I had memory problems. I lost my hearing, and some of my face atrophied. Doctors don't tell you about things like that." When her daughter Teresa moved home to help, she introduced her mom to the Internet. Denhardt searched the Web, learning about new drugs and joining online support groups that allowed her to communicate directly with people around the world who have the same condition. "I've talked to people from Japan, Sweden, Germany, England and Israel," Denhardt says. Emboldened by her online contacts, Denhardt has decided to get a business degree and plans to start a nonprofit group to act as a liaison between patients and doctors. Says Teresa, who now e-mails her mom from a new home in Paris: "The Internet changed her life. I'm very proud of her."

And Denhardt is proud of her new social network. While some folks become misanthropic as they age, most of us still crave human contact--especially at a time in our lives when it's harder to achieve. Children move away, spouses die and infirmities limit mobility. The Internet widens the reach of those with the resources and the gumption to get online.

Bob Capellini, 70, never figured he would join his fellow seniors online. "Cap," as he calls himself, is not a trendy guy. A product of the Depression, he shops at Sears and clips coupons despite having earned a comfortable retirement for himself and his wife in Temple Terrace, Fla., a Tampa suburb. He has a desktop computer but never thought of going online until his son Steve suggested it so they could e-mail each other. "What do I need that for?" Capellini asked his son. "I was very apprehensive at first. You know, the older you get, the more conservative you get, and I thought it might break my computer." But Steve convinced his penny-wise dad that e-mail was cheaper than phone calls. Soon he got a message from his dad: "Steve, I did it! I'm online!"

Capellini didn't stop there. He read a newspaper column describing www.switchboard.com an Internet database of telephone white pages across the country that could be used to find old friends. He decided to look for a cousin, William Lucini, in Philadelphia, whom he had not seen in 60 years. Capellini found two people with the right name; the second was his cousin. "My fingers were trembling as I punched in the numbers," he says. "I didn't know if he would talk to me." When he said, "This is your cousin Bob Capellini. Do you remember me?" Lucini answered, "Yeah, I remember you. You got me in trouble when I was seven years old!" Capellini recalls, "I got an overwhelming sense of joy when I heard him say that. I knew immediately that he remembered me and had a great sense of humor."

They are planning a reunion. And Capellini has gone on to look up high school chums as well. "Out of everything I've done with the computer, lining up old friends and relatives has been the most rewarding. I guess I could have somehow done it another way, but this just put the tools at my fingertips."

The Internet is a tool that is especially appealing to many people because it's the great equalizer, making age, gender and appearance irrelevant. Betty Kamen, 72, says many seniors like the Web for that reason. "No one knows that it may have taken you longer to type an answer," says Kamen, a nutrition writer. "If there are minor disabilities, no one knows about it."

Kamen came to the world of computers reluctantly at first. She had been writing her nutrition books on a typewriter when her husband came home one day in 1982 with a new IBM PC. The first time Kamen tried writing on it, she split a paragraph on the screen and panicked. "I couldn't figure out how to put it together again. The manuals were written by techies, and they were awful." Within two weeks, she was in love. When Kamen and her husband moved from New York City to Novato, Calif., several years ago, she would allow no one to pack her computer. She carried it on her lap.

When she reached California, her son Paul persuaded her to log onto the WELL, a Sausalito-based online community that predates AOL's chat rooms. Most of the users were men in their 30s and 40s. Says Kamen: "I was female, and I was by far the oldest. The value was being able to log on without being identified by age or anything else. It was really liberating."

When she revealed her age, it was well received. "I enjoyed the fact that I was the oldest woman on the WELL," Kamen says. "I found myself serving as a role model when someone came on saying they had just had their 40th birthday and were feeling over the hill. I could respond to that."

Like Kamen, Jerry Firman, 62, got acquainted with computers years ago. But when he sold his weekly Ohio newspaper, the Coshocton Free Enterpriser, he was looking for a new sense of community. He had taken up residence in an RV and loved the freedom but felt rootless. His solution: to build communities online. Through Third Age, an online site for seniors, Firman founded a chat room called Butt Out, which offers support for seniors trying to stop smoking. He joined another called the Novel Approach, where 16 regulars critique one another's manuscripts.

But Firman has received more personal benefits from chat rooms: last summer he found love. He and Rebecca Gose, 48, met in the Third Age Cafe and started e-mailing each other. Then in September Firman drove the RV to Colorado Springs to meet her. He has been there ever since; his RV is parked where he can see Pikes Peak out the front window when he wakes up. Firman enjoys that view every morning when he makes himself coffee and checks his e-mail on the computer set up on his dashboard. Sometimes there are messages from one of his five children from his three marriages or from a friend he has made in a chat room.

Recently he saw the strength of Internet friendship. A member of a Third Age chat group who calls himself "Skyhook" had a severe reaction to medication while he was online. Skyhook, a quadriplegic, was home alone in Ohio. The online group kept him alert while someone called 911. A few months later, Firman and some other members of the chat group paid a visit to Skyhook. After they saw his mobile home, they contacted Ohio social services, which helped make the dwelling more wheelchair accessible and updated his computer.

"I talk to an awful lot of people who are anxious for friendship," Firman says. The Internet is helping them find it. It helped Skyhook's friends save his life, and it's been a lifesaver for seniors who have widened their social circle, gained confidence and discovered a new world online.

--Reported by Greg Aunapu/Miami, William Dowell/New York, Chandrani Ghosh and Declan McCullagh/Washington, Maureen Harrington/Colorado Springs and Marc Hequet/St. Paul

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