- Tropicana Day Trip
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Three hours out of Red Hook and the closest thing New Jersey has to Sin City glitters on the horizon. The daytrippers of the Red Hook Neighborhood Senior Center shift in their plush seats, ready for the dollar bets and spinning cherries of the slot machines. BarBarBar, Cherry, $, Bell, BarBar.
At the casino, we each get a twenty-five dollar comp card, like all the other visiting groups. Some of the ladies attach the card to a spiral cord hooked to their belts or bags so they won't lose it. They take turns taking selfies while they wait in line. Carmen, in yellow head to toe, teaches me her casino rituals: Play the comp card till you're up, cash it out, hide your money, and don't tell a soul what you win. "They'll be jealous," she says.
On the slots there's a button that calls a waitress. The cheap coffee is endless. We lose track of the time. We grow accustomed to the overwhelming dings and jingles and the chime of fake change falling onto fake metal.
You know how all those wealthy, white old men are dying of loneliness in their single-family homes in the suburbs? Hanging out, even gambling, with the Red Hook seniors makes me think that they're on to something. They're not lonely, they're too busy up in everybody else's business. They check on each other, carry each other's bags, swap food and jokes and recipes and gossip. They've weathered Hurricane Sandy, poverty, disability, death, discrimination, old age.
They're more resilient than other demographic groups, which is something worth noting. Doctors talk about how some elders experience a "failure to thrive," not engaging with the world around them. Maybe the lonely just need a week with this crowd.
On the ride home, Maria, the center's program director, is happy. She won, though she won't say how much. She goes through roll call, making eye contact with each person on the list. The bus is quiet on the way back to Brooklyn. Some look tired, some read their phones, others sleep. Maria says into the bus's PA system that a body was found at Coney Island that day. "Have fun in the water—enjoy the waves!" she says, and we all yell at her: "Ewwww!" But the hand of fate isn't too far from anyone's mind. [End Page 15]
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Ann Neumann is author of The Good Death (Beacon, 2016) and has written for Harper's, the New York Times, the Baffler, and other publications.
James Sprankle is a photojournalist who has documented conflict and crisis in East Ukraine, South Sudan, and Greece and has worked with publications such as the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Post, Foreign Policy magazine, and National Geographic Online.