Leisureville Read Free Page B

explains the building’s colorful past. “Katie Belle Van Patten was the wife of Jacksonville businessman John Decker Van Patten, who, along with a number of other investors, built the luxurious hotel in 1851. …”
    The plaque looks so authentic that I have to remind myself I am standing on what was pastureland a mere decade ago. Inside the saloon the walls are covered in dark wood, and heavy draperies hang from several large windows. An enormous Tiffany-style skylight catches my eye, as do two dozen line dancers keeping time to a country and western tune. Many of the stools along the bar are filled with retirees holding draft beers. I look at my watch. It’s just past two in the afternoon. “Line dancing is very popular here because you can do it without a partner,” Betsy explains. “They say the only problem with being a widow in The Villages is that you’re so busy you forget you
are
one.”
    Although I’ve sat for a beer at an American Legion Post before, I’ve never been to a bar solely reserved for senior citizens. The first thing I notice is that no one is what I would call particularly beautiful, at least not to my age-biased eyes. But they all look as if they’re having a good time.
    Ever the host, Betsy suggests I drop my luggage off at their house and join them for dinner. “They call it ‘Florida’s Friendliest Hometown’—and that’s just what it is,” she says as she gets into her Miata. “Everyone’s so friendly because everyone is so happy. So make yourself comfortable at our house and enjoy your stay.”
    I decide to first take a walk around alone to get my bearings, and perhaps acclimate, before popping over to the Andersons’ house later in the afternoon. Although “hometown” is a relative term given that everyone here was born someplace else, damned if, as I look around, everyone I make eye contact with doesn’t greet me with a big friendly grin.
    I retreat to Starbucks to catch my breath; the coffee shop with its generic interior design feels like a portal back to the real world. I pick up a
New York Times
and scan the headlines. I’m oddly comforted by the fact that there’s been continued violence in the Middle East.
    Back outside, I walk down the street to a little room with a large display window—the main WVLG broadcast studio. A DJ with a large potbelly and a graying chinstrap beard talks into a microphone while pressing colored buttons on an extensive control board. An outdoor speaker hangs from the building. The DJ repeats the mantra that I will hear so often during my stay: “It’s a beautiful day in The Villages!” Then it’s a Lesley Gore classic: “Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows.”
    The studio is attached to the chamber of commerce. Inside, I look at a rack of brochures, but I note that all the information pertains exclusively to activities within The Villages. I purchase a map for five dollars. It is large and double-sided and depicts only streets inside The Villages. Anything outside the community—even something just across the street—is represented by a white void. Curiously, there is a large white empty space in the center of the map as well.
    I ask the woman at the desk about the big white space, but she doesn’t know why it’s there; nor does she know why there are nobrochures for any businesses outside The Villages. Typically, a chamber of commerce displays information from a much wider area. “I guess there just isn’t space for more brochures,” she says, adding, “People ask us the darnedest things.” When I ask to use her phone, I notice that The Villages’ sales office is the first number listed on her speed dial.
    From Spanish Springs, I drive for what feels like a good twenty minutes until I finally approach the Andersons’ village. I’m a bit concerned because much of the muffler seems