Until His Dying Day: Elders' Fear of Crime

By Stacy Torres

Until his dying day, my father ordered, “Don’t open the door to no one,” as though I was still 11 years old, not in my early 40s. In retirement, Dad had more time to warn me about scary news items. Most daily calls involved consulting me about his heavy load of anxieties related to money, health, and physical safety that he dragged around like an overstuffed suitcase. As he aged, his radius shrunk as he transitioned from late nights at the Copacabana Club to making his neighborhood rounds within a few blocks of home, only on good weather days and during daylight hours.

 Dad’s growing unease about his safety mirrored discussions I overheard while conducting fieldwork for my book, At Home in the City: Growing Old in Urban America, which chronicles the experiences of longtime New York City residents aged 60 and older as they navigated myriad late life challenges, including health declines.

Elders in my study often shared their fears of crime and carefully monitored the latest neighborhood misdeeds reported in a local freebie newspaper, exemplifying a tendency that researchers have historically called a “paradox.” Older adults often fear crime more compared to younger people, even though elders have a lower risk of criminal victimization. Recent research adds nuance to these findings, showing that their greater caution, such as avoiding certain places or walking outside after dark, reflects a reasonable response to growing vulnerability and the potential for more severe physical and emotional consequences of an attack rather than irrational terror of crime.

The older people in my study had good reasons for increased feelings of vulnerability. Telephone and mail scams targeted them, and some had experienced crimes of opportunity. Most expressed feeling physically vulnerable on the street, whether they feared someone would harm them or worried about falling. Persistent fears about their risk of victimization, despite residing in a gentrified neighborhood that had seen significant crime reductions, precluded them from enjoying the full benefits of historic crime drops that have occurred in large American cities since the 1990s.

But despite their fears, the majority of people in my study expressed the importance of going outside each day.  The neighborhood spaces that facilitated the development of their social ties with each other provided a reason to leave the house beyond completing daily errands and attending medical appointments. As Sylvia explained, no matter how badly you feel, “You’ve got to get out of bed and put your lipstick on.”

As I approach 45, I feel my own vulnerability growing. In my late teens and 20s, I had more don’t-mess-with-me swagger. But my brief sense of invincibility has evaporated. With age and my autoimmune condition, Sjögren's, I manage many more aches and pains. Injuries take longer to heal, and some things never fully recover. I’m much less confrontational now when slighted in public. No more Ratso Rizzo, “I’m walkin’ here” outbursts, as when I slapped the hood of a taxi and hurt my hand. When a man I don’t know recently glared at me at the gym, I chose retreat.

My secret hero is an older woman that lives down the hall from me. Despite severe hearing loss, leaning on a rolling walker and taking slow, careful steps, she leaves the house every day, rain or shine, sunup or sundown. I see her everywhere in the neighborhood—out my window, at the supermarket, entering the building with me. Most days she demonstrates more energy and determination than I can muster. Like many of the elders in my study, she reminds us that you can’t forge social connections if you’re afraid to leave your home.