Sisters Needs a Retirement Community

I need to state, upfront, that I'm the Community Relations Director with the Aspen Ridge Retirement Community in Bend. One of my primary responsibilities is to attract and retain residents. So one would logically think that I wouldn't be in favor of a Sisters-based retirement community, competition that would pull potential residents away from Aspen Ridge.

But I am. Sisters needs a retirement community, one that provides lifestyle accomodations for seniors (over 55) - and neither politics nor funding should get in the way.

I've lived in Sisters for the past 17 years. My wife and I chose this town over Redmond and Prineville (even though they were closer to family) for the quality of the school system, the small town ambience and safety, and the outdoor recreation opportunities. My new job was also located here - but that was at a time when the town was successfully attracting employers with living wage jobs. (Attracting employers is harder now...but thankfully there is new energy behind it.)

We raised our two children here. God-willing, our plans are to stay for as long as we can afford to, hopefully to see our children return (with their children) to live and prosper in this beautiful place we call "Sisters Country."

We're in our mid-to-late fifties. In good physical shape compared to others of our generation - but clearly starting to feel the accelerating aging process.

As the reality of aging sets in for my wife and me, it's also setting in for many others of our generation, people who moved here for the same reasons, folks who feel their health will never decline to a point where they need "assistance." But we all will, whether it's from a family caregiver or a retirement community.

Let's face it, Sisters can be a challenge for "seniors" (over fifty-five.) There's no 24/7 medical facility, no real senior center (a gathering place for meals, social activities, continuing education, bus transportation, etc.) and no senior living facility where the lifestyle needs and desires of seniors can be fulfilled.

Over the past seventeen years I've seen many seniors move to Sisters, only to see them eventually leave for living situations and/or retirement communities in surrounding towns.

From a purely economic development perspective this is crazy. These people initially invested in Sisters, attracted their extended families to Sisters, then pulled up stakes because the town could no longer meet their physical and/or social needs. This cycle of attraction and lack of retention will continue unless we, as a community, pull together and work toward a well thought-out solution.

I work very closely with seniors (and their adult children) at Aspen Ridge in Bend. Recently I've counseled several Sisters-based residents. I've heard people lament the fact that, while Sisters is the ultimate place to retire, it has no strong support system for seniors. Bend, of course, has a variety of resources. The Bend Senior Center, St. Charles Hospital, and many retirement communities offer everything from independent to assisted to memory care living situations.

Here's a dose of demographic reality. In 2011 the first wave of "baby boomers" (born between 1946 and 1964) will be hitting 65. Experts predict that the demands on both assisted living and "memory care" facilities (Alzheimer's/Dimentia care) will increase dramatically over the next ten years.

Sisters is not ready for this. We are going to lose these potential residents, as well as the additional tax revenue, jobs, and retail sales benefits of a retirement community, to Bend and Redmond.

Some people, of course, will say that Sisters' need for affordable housing is more important than a retirement community. I beg to differ. Ask any realtor in town these days "who is inquiring about Sisters Country homes and property?" - I bet a majority are fifty-five and older. These are people who become devoted to a community, keep their business local and do not disturb the peace.

And these are the very people who attract other residents. I see it every day at Aspen Ridge in Bend. When I ask "how did you find out about Aspen Ridge?" more often than not it was word-of-mouth from an existing resident. Same goes for Sisters. Our "brand" is strong now, and our event calendar so full, that filling a retirement community (and fully utilizing a nearby community center) will be very easy.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mark Adolf recently. Mark is the developer behind the proposed Sisters retirement community next to the McKenzie Meadows subdivision. He has many years of experience developing retirement communities around the country. The guy knows what he's doing - as evidenced by his detailed reasons for the design of the proposed Sisters community.

Although Mark and his wife live in Washington state, he's very close to the Sisters community though both friendships and business dealings. Having seen many "entrepreneurs" come and go (mostly go) over the years here in Sisters, I was wary of Mark initially. After spending a couple of hours with him it's clear both his head and heart are in the right place regarding a Sisters retirement community.

So what's the problem? Funding and, to a certain extent, politics. Retirement communities are not inexpensive to build and, with the price of land in our industrial parkway still out-of-sight, building within the UGB (Urban Growth Boundary) doesn't pencil-out. Our city leaders would love to be able to offer the newly-enacted "incentive package" to Adolf - but the land has to be within the UGB.

Enter the visionary owners of land next to the McKenzie Meadows subdivision. With a clear understanding of demographic trends and businesses that fit our "Vision Statement," the owners have offered the needed land at a price that will pencil-out for Adolf.

Everything would appear to be falling in place, correct? Well, sort of. The city council appears to be getting closer to bringing the land into the UGB. A major hurdle seemingly overcome by a more economic development-oriented 2009 city council.

Funding is the big issue now. Let me explain. Funding for new retirement community buildings typically comes from large, corporate-owned retirement companies or from a few private investors. With private investment the community is typically then "managed" by a professional retirement company. (This is the case with Aspen Ridge.)

Adolf's proposed community would be slightly different. Understanding that "local owners/investors" are better than "absentee owners," Mark has been trying to find interested Sisters Country residents. People like my wife and me who are looking "down the aging road," wondering what the best senior living situation will be for us.

But here's the rub. We're still in a difficult recession, local people's investments have fallen through the floor, and recently many potential Sisters investors speculated on the creation of a new bank (Crown Point) - only to see it fall apart following a long investment-seeking process.

Local investors are holding their money close to their belts.

The need for a Sisters-based retirement community will continue to grow.

The huge "bell curve" of soon-to-be sixty-five year-olds will not disappear. They will be looking for the "ideal" lifestyle community, one that fits their active lifestyle. And we all know that Sisters fits that bill perfectly.

Let's not lose these potential residents to surrounding towns. Seniors (and soon-to-be seniors) need to make their voices heard. You can do this by attending city council meetings, writing your city leaders, even suggesting potential investors who might be interested in making a retirement community a reality.

I'd be happy to provide direction and advice about making your voice heard. Just give me a holler!

George Plimpton and me

I've always admired George Plimpton's approach to journalism. He pioneered "participatory journalism," injecting himself into the culture that he was covering. Throughout his career Plimpton threw himself into the worlds of professional football, ice hockey, played piano at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, and many other adventures.

It's a courageous approach, quickly exposing one's inexperience and lack of knowledge about the culture and lifestyle. It also forces a reporter to use all his or her investigative senses and to quickly relate to the people being covered. Plimpton had the unique ability to be both humble and transparent in worlds that were foreign to his roots, bringing his readers along for the ride.


I never had the pleasure of meeting Plimpton. But, had he been aware of my journey through the world of "work," I think he would have been proud.

When I graduated from U.Mass/Amherst (with a Bachelor of Business Science degree) I thought (rather naively) that the corporate world would be clamoring to hire me. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do or how to search for a job. I did know one thing however - I wanted to make money and live independently.

By mid-summer 1975 I was getting desperate so I started doing what any desperate, aggressive, Boston-bred, ex-hockey player does - I started knocking on doors in downtown Boston. (I also wanted to try city living, having been raised in the suburbs and craving the life of a young bachelor.)

One of the doors I knocked on was Liberty Mutual Insurance Company, right smack in the middle of Boston, just off Boston Common. The conversation with the HR person went something like this:

"You just graduated from U.Mass Bill, correct?"
"Yes I did, with a BBS in Business, marketing major."
"Have you ever worked for a corporation before Bill?"
"No I haven't, but for the past few years in school I've been a bar tender at a pretty large Polish restaurant in North Hampton. I've seen some pretty interesting things there."
"How would you like to be a Group Insurance Underwriter here at Liberty Mutual?"
"A what?"
"A Group Insurance Underwriter. We have about thirty right now. You'd have an assigned territory and determine group insurance rates based on risk factors for companies in that region."
"What's the salary range for this position?"
"Your starting salary would be $18K a year."
Realizing I had no other options and that this guy was actually offering me a job I said "I'll take it!" I still had no clue what an underwriter did.

My naivete really struck me on my first day at work. My new supervisor met me as I stepped from the thirteenth floor elevator. "Welcome to Liberty Mutual Bill, let me show you to your desk," he said. Looking out over the sea of desks, there were no cubicles at all, I thought to myself "I'm going to hate this."

So this was corporate America in 1975. They didn't tell me about this in college and, of course, I was too busy partying and playing hockey to even think about life after college. (Or even, frankly, why I was there in the first place.)

I lasted a year to the day at Liberty Mutual. I spent my lunch time either running along the Charles River or visiting the Boston Public Library, researching career paths that would take me away from city life.

Yes, I quickly realized that living a "city bachelor's life" was not for me, I loved forests and clean air way too much to ever be happy in a city. (Running along the Charles at noon was certainly an escape, as was another newly-found passion - bicyle touring and cycling to work from my hometown of Lynnfield, about 25 miles north of Boston. (My commute time was about the same whether driving or cycling!)

Digging deep into my passions during that awful year made me realize a couple of things about myself. One, I craved muscle-powered adventure and two, I wanted to get the hell out of Boston and New England. (With my reconnections through Facebook, it appears I wasn't the only young guy to hear the "Go West Young Man" call.)

So, in 1976, who was I really and where would be the best place to begin my "passions quest?"

Duhhhh! I was physical by nature (clearly not cerebral), an athlete willing to push and test myself against the world's challenges. So it made sense to pursue an M.A. in Physical Education and combine that degree in some way with my bachelors in business. (How exactly was very unclear of course, I've never been known to plan too far in advance.)

And where would this M.A. be sought? Why of course! A college in northern Arizona! For a young guy from Boston Flagstaff seemed to fulfill my fantasy of the wild west - mountains, sun, fewer people, and clean air - at least from what I could tell from research at the Boston Public Library.

Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff would become my school and home for the next two years. But I had to get there first...

January 1977: time to make the drive to Flagstaff from Boston. Possessions: a '69 Kharmann Ghia (no heat, questionnable windshield wipers, several rusted-through areas in the floor boards - covered with floor mats), a touring bicycle, some clothing, and one pair of inflatable arctic-style Air Force boots purchased at the Army/Navy store in Boston.

The trip was certainly an adventure and full of lessons. Lesson #1: don't travel across the middle of the country by car in January and, if you must, be totally prepared. By the time I got to Oklahoma US 40 was more like the skating rinks I knew so well back in Boston. A blizzard blew in and caught me totally by surprise. I was quite a sight to passing cars. Left arm out the window holding a window scraper (questionnable windshield wipers quit about 500 miles out), heater never worked so the arctic boots came in handy, and snow tires? Didn't need 'em when I left Boston....thankfully they closed US 40 and forced me into a hotel for a couple of days.

But I did finally make it to Flagstaff. At 7,000 feet in elevation Flagstaff has it's own unique weather challenges in January. So excited was I upon arrival that, on my second day, an overcast yet mild day, I decided to cycle a dirt road loop north of town and back to the motel where I was staying. Lesson #2: at 7,000 feet storms blow in very quickly, trapping and killing high elevation neophytes like me every year. At the half-way point of my trip, about 8,000 ft., a snowstorm blew in. Couldn't see the road, didn't have a compass or any survival gear, and the snow was getting too deep to keep cycling. Wound up carrying my bike along (what I hoped was) the road. While slogging through the snow I kept thinking of the headine in Lynnfield's (MA) weekly Shopper News: "Local Man Lost and Presumed Eaten by Bears near Flagstaff Arizona."

Tired, wet, and shaken, I did finally emerge from the dirt road and was able to cycle the rest of the way back to town. Interesting isn't it that, the more you survive situations that could end your life, the more confident you enter life's inevitable challenges. The key is remembering what you've survived - and how you dealt with each situation.

Prior to moving to Flagstaff I had taken up fitness running for both physical and mental reasons (I was getting "chunky" and I found that distance running calmed my aggressive tendencies - a result of years of being a rough and tumble ice hockey defenseman. Who knew that endorphins were being released!) Boston Marathon? That was for those skinny little guys....

The Flagstaff running community, however, turned me into a competitive runner. Several new friends encouraged me to train for the annual 15K coming up during the summer of 1977. Plimpton, I suspect, would have approached the challenge the same way. Interested in the whole "running culture" that was gaining national attention ( a result of Bill Bowerman's book) I decided to challenge myself by training for the race - simply to see if I could finish and what the experience would show me.

I found the running community totally different than the ice hockey community in which I was so entrenced (and totally burned out on.) Runners came from both sexes, many different shapes and sizes, as well as different racial, ethnic, and educational backgrounds. In the 60's and 70's New England ice hockey was composed of white middle class men who, once their playing days were over, did not participate in lifetime physical fitness activities.

Not so with the running community. During the boom years of running in the 70's and 80's both young and old were entering road races and looking to running to add "life to the years."

to be continued....

Cole Still - A Life of Endurance

Cole Still, longtime Prineville resident (and my uncle-in-law), just turned 90 this month. I wrote the following article about his life for the Central Oregon Horse Journal and the Central Oregonian newspaper in 2003.

James “Cole” Still’s life is a study of endurance.

The third of seven children born to James and Mabel Still, Cole was raised on the family's 160-acre farm near Exeter, Missouri. Working with the horses on that farm as a child was all the encouragement Cole needed to begin a life-long love affair with horses.

At 23, Cole met up with the other love in his life, a feisty 16-year-old named Charlotte. They married in 1942. Cole left farming and hauled milk for the Pet Milk Company during the early years of their marriage. Two daughters, Connie and Carolyn were born in 1943 and 1944.

In 1948, Cole lost his milk hauling route to the new tanker trucks which could haul milk more economically. That year, Charlotte and Cole traded their pickup for a family car, packed their two children and all their belongings into it and drove to Prineville, where his brother-in-law Floyd Williamson had lined up a job for Cole at the Evans Lumber Company (which eventually became Consolidated Pine).

The Still family's involvement with horses flourished with their move to Prineville. They joined the Prineville Ridge Riders in 1951, participating in trail rides, play days, and horse shows. Cole has been President of the club for all but two of the past 52 years.

Charlotte and Cole fondly remember the names of all their horses during the 1950's and 1960's, especially those that performed well in competition.”We had a mare named Ginger in the late 1950s that set play day records in the figure-eight event that still stand today. She also won Grand Champion - Showmanship at the Prineville Fair in both 1962 and 1963,” said Cole.

The couple started endurance riding and racing in 1973. One of their most memorable rides took place that year. They rode the Pacific Crest Trail from the Columbia River to the California Border in 17-1/2 days. No easy feat, considering no one had previously ridden it in less than 20 days.

Although Cole has won many endurance races, caring for his horse's health is more important to him than any award. “I've actually got more best-conditioned awards than first place's. It shows that I've had my horses in shape to compete,” said Cole.

July 28, 1988 was a day that Charlotte and Cole's endurance riding skills were put to the ultimate test. Bob Hathrill, a longtime friend from Prineville, joined them on a five-day pack trip along the Pacific Crest Trail from Mt. Hood to the Santiam Pass.

The fourth morning of the trip started perfectly, beautiful weather and wonderful views. However, just after leaving camp at Hunt's Lake near Mt. Jefferson, Bob heard an approaching roar overhead. “It's a plane and it's coming in low,” Bob hollered to Cole and Charlotte, following behind on the trail. Seconds later, two Air National Guard jets raced over the tree tops, spooking the horses and sending them running in all directions.

Charlotte screamed, “I can't hold Stormy!” as she raced down the trail past Cole and Bob. Cole gave chase, while trying to control his own horse, Wendy, and a pack horse. The pack horse broke away and raced off into the forest, leaving Cole trying to contain Wendy.

It was no use. As Cole struggled, Wendy tried to climb the steep embankment, and threw Cole onto a pile of rocks, knocking him unconscious, severely gashing his head and injuring his knee. Meanwhile, not far down the trail, Stormy had thrown Charlotte hard. Lying beside the trail with a broken back and shoulder, she was unable to move or speak. Fortunately, Bob was uninjured and immediately gave first aid to the injured couple.

”I thought we were goners for sure,” said Cole.

With three of the four horses long gone, Bob had no choice but to stabilize the injured riders and ride for help. Many hours later, an Air Life helicopter lifted Charlotte and Cole out of the wilderness to safety. Charlotte spent seven months in a full body cast. Cole recovered more quickly, but his body still aches from all his injuries.

Their horses were all eventually recovered. Two years after the accident, the Air National Guard reached a settlement with Charlotte and Cole, never admitting any guilt for the accident.

Cole was 69 when the accident occurred. Not one to slow down, in 1994 at age 75, he won the Lily Glen 30-mile race on Knight, his jet black Arabian gelding. Cole regularly wins the twenty-five mile race at the Prineville Endurance Rides, a series of races on the National Grasslands behind Smith Rocks. Not only does he regularly win that race, he’s also the Ride Manager for the event, and has been since it's inception in 1972.

”I've tied many a ribbon on the trees in the Grasslands over the years,” said Cole.

Promoting endurance riding is clearly a labor of love for Cole Still. Since 1995 Cole has also been the Ride Manager for the Bandit Springs 30, 50, and 100-mile races east of Prineville. Cole clears trails and ties ribbons for weeks before an event. His attention to the environment and safety is appreciated by both riders and Forest Service personnel.

“I never question the safety of a trail when I ride one of Cole's races,” said Vicky Patterson, a well-known Sisters endurance rider.

Cole and Charlotte were awarded the “Ambassador Award” by the Pacific Northwest Endurance Riding Conference (PNERC) for their promotion of endurance riding in 1995. They helped form the PNERC in 1972. Cole is also the oldest member of the organization, and certainly the most active in his age group.

April 28, 2002 proved to be another test of Cole’s endurance as a rider. Having just completed his turn at the poles and barrels during the Prineville Ridge Rider’s play day events, he backed his Arabian gelding Stormy up to the arena fence to watch the other contestants. For some unexplained medical reason Stormy just “melted” and fell over with Cole still in the saddle.

“One ole boy said he swore that Stormy was shot – he went down so hard,” said Cole.

Witnesses said that Stormy fell once, then tried to recover and fell again, both times with Cole stuck in the saddle. “It happened so fast I couldn’t get my foot out of the stirrup,” said Cole. Knocked unconscious, Cole suffered a broken foot, four cracked ribs, a cracked pelvis, and pulled muscles in his back.

A year later, at 83, Cole is riding again and managing endurance races around Prineville. He won’t compete in this May’s Prineville Endurance Races because his foot cannot take hard riding – yet.

But after 32 years of competitive endurance racing you can count on Cole racing again in the near future.