Putting the ‘Gold’ in Golden Years

The team from Charlotte is graying and a bit stooped here and there, but as brassy as prime-time Muhammad Ali when it comes to smack talk: 

“We’re back! We’re better! We have no fear! 

Nothing can stop us. This is OUR year!”  

The eight men and six women, ranging in age from 72 to 94, hail from The Barclay at SouthPark, one of the many senior living communities strewn across North Carolina and the Southeast like the gems embedded in a boxer’s championship belt. 

The Barclay battlers crossed 172 miles to compete against elite squads from 11 other senior communities in the Carolinas, Tennessee, and Florida owned and operated by Wilmington-based Liberty Senior Living. 

For three brisk March days, Raleigh’s Hayes Barton Place was host to the 5th Annual Liberty Games. This year’s competition featured 150 contenders in seated bowling and shot put, standing table tennis and bocce ball, a water balloon toss and a water balloon drop, Scrabble, bridge, and a handful of other contests spread across a heated indoor pool, putting green, and activity rooms.

The showdown mirrors the fierce competition between senior living Shangri-las to win the trust and treasure of the silver-haired set flocking to the state. According to the N.C. Office of State Budget and Management, by 2030, one of every five Tar Heels will be 65 or older. By the early 2040s, more residents will be over 65 than under 18. 

The games show just how action-packed the “active lifestyles” at these facilities can be. In its marketing materials, Liberty promises a program “to help residents improve all aspects of their physical, emotional, spiritual and mental health.” Society once called retirement havens “rest homes.” Today’s upper echelon models are revved up and on the move. 

At Hayes Barton Place, an elaborate opening ceremony included a color guard and a keynote address from 2012 Olympic swimming gold medalist—and friend of Michael Phelps—Charlie Houchin (a Raleigh native). But the pièce de résistance are the cheers, composed and vigorously delivered by each of the 12 competing squads.

Tricked out in purple and teal jerseys à la the Charlotte Hornets and brandishing matching pompons, the Crown Town team knuckles down on the competition: 

“We’re back! We’re better! We have no fear! 

Nothing can stop us. This is OUR year!”

On the second stanza, a few of the Barclay scrappers wag their index fingers squarely at the team from The Templeton of Cary, the three-time reigning champs.

The wagging fingers send a lightning bolt zagging through the crowd. Some titter. Some snort. The Templeton team is quiet, cool. They know, as one of the members later says, “We have a target on our back.” 

The effect is like Ali goading champ George Foreman on the eve of the Rumble in the Jungle. Or Joe Willie Namath’s “guarantee” of a Jets Super Bowl victory. 

It’s the stuff of legend—if Barclay lives up to it. 

Baby-Chasers and Superstars  

From the podium, emcee Haley Kinne-Norris watches the cheer, then, wide-eyed, chortles, “You pointed!” 

Kinne-Norris, Liberty’s 30-year-old spark plug corporate director of life enrichment and wellness, created the games as a celebration of “comradery, sportsmanship, and connecting with peers.” 

The boldness of the chant shouldn’t come as a surprise. These are competitive and accomplished people, and their coaches have stoked the fire. 

“A.B.T.,” says Anna Eagle, Barclay’s wellness director, with the raise of an eyebrow. “That could mean All ’Bout Team. Could mean Anyone But Templeton.” 

And the athletes know time may not be on their side. Carpe diem, indeed. “We came in second at the last Games,” says The Barclay’s Marilyn Prensky, 81. 

“But we’re much older now,” deadpans her husband of six decades, Ira, 83. 

Marilyn laughs: “Yes! A year is a LONG time at our age.” 

To determine their lineups at the Liberty Games, each community held hotly contested qualifying rounds. My parents, Bill and Nancy Warden, performed well in the water balloon drop at Hayes Barton Place, where they’ve lived for about a year. This contest involved ascending to a fifth-floor apartment and dropping softball-sized water balloons off the balcony with the intention of hitting a bull’s-eye stretched out on the grass below. 

Marilyn Prensky is a quadruple threat, making the cut in shuffleboard, bridge, cornhole, and swimming, even though she only learned to swim a few months ago. “Better late than never,” she remarks.  

The Prenskys are “baby-chasers”—seniors who migrated to be near their families. They abandoned Tucson to be closer to their daughter and sole grandchild in Charlotte.

Marilyn glows like a kid herself, ambling between the themed food stations at the post-opening reception, from a Low Country shrimp boil to Tennessee brisket. A signature cocktail helps send all this down the hatch: the Gold Medal Margarita.  

Artie Lynnworth, 83, of Wellington Bay, Florida, is no stranger to medals, having earned a half-dozen at previous games, gold and otherwise. He’s a Liberty Games superstar, the event’s own Mr. Sunshine, beloved for brightening each opening ceremony with a cartwheel. 

Since retiring from the chemical industry, Lynnworth has penned three self-help books, including Slice the Salami: Tips for Life and Leadership, One Slice at a Time. He also teaches tai chi, which emphasizes balance—the best way to avert a broken hip. 

With a few of Lynnworth’s friends ill, the Wellington Bay team was smaller than in previous years. But that doesn’t dim his spirit. “We’re highly energized,” he assures. “Eager for the win.” 

After the reception, he and the other visiting competitors head off to the Hilton Raleigh North Hills, where they are lodging on the tab of Liberty and 19 event sponsors, which include banks, health care providers, a “wedding and elopement” photography shop, and a purveyor of fitness equipment. 

“Age doesn’t define you,” Lynnworth offers before departing. “Attitude does.”

Surfing the Silver Tsunami

If it’s high stakes competition you seek, try developing and operating senior living facilities these days.  

“There is nothing more difficult,” said Michael Sandman, a lead developer of The Cypress of Raleigh. “It’s incredibly complicated.” 

The Cypress is officially called a Continuing Care Retirement Community, or CCRC. These are designed to accommodate seniors with a variety of needs, from independent living to on-site assisted care, should dementia or other debilitating malady take hold. But that’s like describing a Lamborghini Veneno Roadster as a mere motor vehicle. 

Upmarket CCRCs and senior living communities are retirement heavens with soaring lobbies in place of pearly gates, small armies of attendants, a variety of eateries, and endless opportunities to exercise, socialize, and otherwise squeeze the most out of dear, sweet, precious life. 

Behind the polished marble and leafy courtyards, operators navigate complex regulatory and health care requirements.   

As if delivering all of that isn’t enough of a challenge, the product is pitched at one of the toughest audiences imaginable—discerning people of means—with competitors huffing down your neck or vaulting past you. 

Sandman describes the clientele as “educated, sophisticated, and affluent” with “high expectations.” The Cypress opened in 2008, just in time for the retirement of the mighty Baby Boomer generation. The 80 million people expected to retire between 2007 and the early 2030s make up the “Silver Tsunami.” 

Developers have been eager to ride the wave. Over the last two decades, a dozen CCRCs have opened across North Carolina, while older models have modernized and expanded—from Brunswick Forest near Wilmington to Raleigh’s Cardinal at North Hills with its 18-story penthouse apartments to Legacy at Mills River, a self-described “laid back luxury living” environment now under construction near Hendersonville. 

“As challenging as it was, The Cypress is the most personally satisfying project I’ve ever been involved in, no question, hands down,” said Sandman, who’s also developed hotels and condos. 

“It’s a hard mental hurdle to leave a home that you presumably love. You look in the mirror, and you see someone 10 years younger than you really are,” he said. “We’re helping people plan what’s next. The expectations should be high.”

The CEO and the Cowboy

After the first day of competition, Barclay’s vision of triumph lies in tatters. They are ranked 11th out of 12.

Eagle, the hardcharging Barclay wellness director, assesses their performance in the staccato style of poker-faced NFL coaches: “We didn’t have as good a day as anticipated. But we have a strong lineup for tomorrow.”

You could argue, though, that in the big game of life, everyone at the Games is, by at least one measure, a winner. Not only are they up for travel and competition, they have the resources to live well. The cost range for independent living arrangements at The Cardinal, for example, runs between $7,500 to $18,000 per month depending mostly on the size and location of the residence. A penthouse atop the tower will cost you a pretty penny compared to a more earth-bound apartment. 

The players at the Liberty Games put the gold in “golden years.” Their ranks include retired CEOs, senior VPs, MDs, and PhDs.

Dan Strittmater, 85, is a resident of Brightmore of South Charlotte and a former CEO who traded the boardroom for the cornhole court. Broad of chest, his demeanor throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close—even if his hands remain in his pockets.

“I’ve met a lot of nice people here—and I like some of the old ones, too,” Strittmater cracks. 

But at the cornhole finals, he meets his match: a cowboy with a countenance that would give Clint Eastwood the quivers. 

Glenn Lewis, 94, doesn’t say much. “I grew up on a horse,” he allows in a low tone that’s as much gravel as voice. “Out west. In California. Reagan country.” 

Lewis lost his wife of 70 years in 2024. In his ball cap, Mountain Strong T-shirt, baggy blue jeans, and butter-colored belt he takes top honors in cornhole and bocce ball, helping to lift the Pisgah Valley team to within striking distance of the leader, Hayes Barton Place.

Meanwhile, cartwheel king Lynnworth delivered his team, Wellington Bay, medals in the water balloon toss, shuffleboard, table tennis, water walk, track walk, and shot put. 

But it’s the Barclay team that puts together the most impressive winning streak of Day 2. They take seven medals in the swimming events, including a silver for Marilyn Prensky. 

In a display of unfailing style decorum, one competitor reportedly slips into the heated waters still wearing her pearls. The clamor of the spectators surrounding the cavernous indoor pool is so raucous it nearly blows out my dad’s hearing aid.  

The Comeback Kids

In the evening, the players trade their active wear for pantsuits, slacks, blazers, and, in one case, a lemon-yellow chiffon gown for the annual banquet. Hilton staff supply the ballroom with chicken, salmon, and steak, but the main event is the big reveal of the overall winning team. 

Before the big moment, Kinne-Norris, the event’s tireless creator, and a phalanx of wellness directors bestow blingy medals on each of the individual winners. They also vamp through a series of tech problems. “Call my grandson!” an audience member jokes. “That’s what I always do!”

Lynnworth smiles sagely as he accepts a surprise medal for embodying the spirit of the games. Few in the room know this could well be his last appearance. 

In January, his wife died after a protracted bout with Alzheimer’s. Lynnworth wasn’t alone during that ordeal. His friends and neighbors rallied around him. And he had Corrolla, his wife’s caretaker, to lean on. 

Earlier in March, Lynnworth proposed to Corrolla. When they marry, he will become stepdad to her 7-year-old son—who is a few decades shy of the age requirements to live at Wellington Place. So the cartwheel king will move out, move on. “People might say I’m crazy,” he says with a catch-me-if-you-can glimmer. “But that’s me.”

Finally the emcee gets to the countdown of team finishes. Templeton, the three-time reigning champ, lands at No. 5. Hayes Barton Place, the home team, settles for second. 

And the 2026 Liberty Games champion is … Kinne-Norris milks the moment … Charlotte’s Barclay at SouthPark!

The tenacious team who’d dared to promise victory during the opening ceremonies comes darn close to leaping out of their seats, still wagging their purple and teal pompons. 

They lunge for hugs, then carefully steady each other. Tears erupt when the team FaceTimes a staff member back in Charlotte. “We never gave up!” Marilyn Prensky proclaims. “We kept pushing through!”

Coach Eagle staggers around, delightedly dazed before sinking to her knees, crying, “Oh my God! Oh my God! From second-to-last to first!”   

Nearby, Ira Prensky breaks from the hurrahing to take a big bite out of tonight’s dessert, chocolate cake. He’s no longer in training, after all. 

“It’s good,” he says, not of the cake, but of the win. “It’s encouraging. There’s life after 50, 60, 70, 80 … 90. Pick a number. There’s life.”