For LGBTQ+ elders, a search for safe housing
Sitting on a bench next to his friend Roosevelt Adams, 81-year-old Michael Palumbaro says he is filled with gratitude.
“I never thought that I would become a senior,” he says. “Because I tested HIV positive in 1987, when people were dying left and right.”
Mr. Palumbaro also never imagined that in his 70s, he would become one of the first residents of John C. Anderson Apartments (JCAA). Opened in 2014, the building is America’s first senior affordable housing complex marketed as LGBTQ-friendly. Almost all tenants are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender, with supportive services run by an LGBTQ+ community center nearby.
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Affordable housing is an issue for many older Americans. Members of the LGBTQ+ community are searching for solutions that allow them to live both safely and with dignity.
“Just like I thought there would never be same-sex marriage, I thought there would never be a place […] catering to low-income LGBT seniors,” Mr. Palumbaro says.
A lover of cooking, he makes food for fellow tenants every week. He always brings some to Mr. Adams, a fellow AIDS survivor: peach cobblers, pecan pies, blackberry shortcakes “with tons of whipped cream.”
“He’s dangerous,” says Mr. Adams, laughing.
The sunlit garden where the two are sitting on a summer afternoon is the work of resident enthusiasts. Small stone statues peek out amid shrubs and trees. Nestled in downtown Philadelphia, the space feels like an island of calm.
In recent years, the United States has seen growing efforts to create friendly living spaces for LGBTQ+ elders, as needs for such services grew amid a burgeoning demographic wave. Some gay, lesbian, bisexual, and trans elders say they are reluctant to live in dedicated housing, fearing that it could, once again, make them a physical and political target. But choosing to go back in the closet to secure senior housing also can be a heartrending choice.
“More senior housing developments and long-term care facilities are recognizing that LGBTQ+ elders are a part of their community, which is part of a culture shift,” says Sydney Kopp-Richardson, who directs senior housing initiatives at SAGE, a national advocacy and social service organization for LGBTQ+ elders.
However, she adds, “There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done.”
Going back into the closet
There is no federal census of LGBTQ+ Americans, but a 2017 report by SAGE and the Movement Advancement Project estimated there were 2.7 million people age 50 and above. The population may reach 7 million in 2030, according to SAGE, as more elders come out and as younger generations, who identify more often as LGBTQ+, grow older. The LGBTQ+ community often uses the term “elder” for older adults as a sign of respect.
Today, 18 states allow housing discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity. A 2018 survey of LGBTQ+ people age 45 and above found that a third worry about having to closet themselves in order to access suitable housing, and 3 out of 4 worry about lacking social support as they age.
Historically, the LGBTQ+ community has often relied on mutual aid to find safe housing, whether it was forming a “chosen family” with roommates or setting up communes in rural areas.
Today, a variety of retirement homes geared toward them exists around the U.S. A cohousing complex with 28 single-story homes stands in Durham, North Carolina. Fort Myers, Florida, is home to a 50-acre property catering to lesbians, with 278 home and RV lots.
The JCAA housing complex was the fruit of a yearslong effort by activists, government officials, and agencies. The 56-unit building is located in Philadelphia’s “gayborhood,” an area downtown with easy transit access and LGBTQ-friendly businesses. The William Way LGBT Community Center offers supportive services for residents, from birthday parties and free grocery days to AIDS support groups.
“Whatever we do is like, How is that going to connect people?” says Ed Miller, who oversees supportive services at JCAA.
A 2023 study found that a quarter of LGBTQ+ adults age 65 and above live alone, compared with 15% for U.S. seniors. Gay men in particular face higher risks of isolation.
Phil, who requested his last name not be used for privacy reasons, was 70 years old when an acquaintance outed him against his will to his Pittsburgh neighborhood. The man came to Phil’s home one morning, spit on him, and called him antigay slurs. Two days later, he tried to physically attack Phil when he was walking his dog.
The incidents occurred three years ago, Phil says in an interview. Suddenly, his neighbors went “from friendly to polite.” They used to chat about sports and neighborhood goings-on. Now, they only exchange quick greetings. A man who used to walk his dog with Phil would see him coming and tell him he couldn’t talk because he was on a call.
Phil, who lives alone, now keeps a distance from his neighbors, afraid he might say something that would make them uncomfortable, or vice versa.
“I was dodging bullets all my life about my sexuality,” he says.
Among long-term care communities, only 18% have policies to protect LGBTQ+ residents, says Ms. Kopp-Richardson of SAGE.
Sadiya Abjani, who is part of SAGE’s training efforts, says her organization receives daily calls from care facility residents who are seeking help. Some common complaints: Caregivers do not understand the concept of gender identity or the idea of chosen family – that one’s support network may not be one’s relatives. There is also bullying among residents, Ms. Abjani says.
Criss Smith, a 64-year-old transgender man living in New York City, says he and his friends plan to support one another for as long as possible to avoid going to a nursing home.
He lives in a subsidized one-bedroom unit and works part time as a substitute teacher to supplement his Social Security income. He is thankful that fellow residents cannot tell he is trans, he says. His friends, many of whom are transgender women, do not always “pass.” Last year, Mr. Smith confronted a doorman for treating his friends dismissively when they came to celebrate his birthday.
“I want to make sure [my friends are] treated fairly when they’re in the elevators, or the hallway, or shared spaces,” Mr. Smith says. “That’s my support system.”
The second Trump administration has issued executive orders targeting transgender people and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives, prompting legal challenges from civil rights groups. And conservative legislators in at least 11 states have introduced measures that would roll back LGBTQ+ marriages.
It has become harder for SAGE to find older adult service providers for its LGBTQ-awareness training program, the group says in a statement to the Monitor. “Potential clients have stated that it has become difficult to justify spending money on what they consider a DEI initiative, when in actuality our training work is vital to person-centered, trauma-informed care provision for LGBTQ+ older adults,” the group says.
At JCAA, many tenants fear that government assistance programs, which contribute to their health care and rent, may be cut, says Mr. Miller. Funding for supportive services may also be reduced, he adds.
In New York, Mr. Smith has attended several protests for trans rights this year. His long-term goal is to move abroad, he says, as LGBTQ-friendly cities in the U.S. are less affordable for him.
Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Connecting the community
Since he moved to JCAA, Mr. Palumbaro has never worried about facing bigotry from his neighbors.
“I just automatically feel accepted and secure,” he says.
He enjoys weekly movie nights with fellow tenants, and hosts a friend for dinner every Sunday. Most evenings, he walks a block from his home to the LGBTQ+ community center to join a 12-step recovery group.
Mr. Palumbaro has been sober for 32 years, he says, but still attends the group to stay on track – and support others.
During the AIDS epidemic, he lost more than 100 friends and acquaintances. He remembers a time when two or three friends died every week, to the point where he could not bring himself to answer the phone.
Mr. Palumbaro cooked for two friends who were too weak to prepare meals for themselves, bringing food to them every week until the end.
By 1995, AIDS killed 1 in 10 gay men between the ages of 25 and 44 in the U.S.
Now, again, people around Mr. Palumbaro are dying.
“You have a tendency to go back and pick it all up again,” he says. “So I might spend a couple of days crying.”
He knows about a grief support group for JCAA residents, he says. But he is not yet ready to go.
An oasis or a target?
Affordable housing developments like JCAA are still a rarity. A handful of similar buildings exist in cities like New York, Boston, and Cleveland. One broke ground in Pittsburgh in 2024.
“Creating affordable housing is enormously complicated, and it varies community by community,” says Gretchen Van Ness, executive director of LGBTQ Senior Housing Inc., a housing nonprofit in Boston. The group codeveloped The Pryde, an affordable complex that opened in Boston in 2024. Massachusetts’ commitment to build more housing – and its acceptance of LGBTQ+ people – helped make The Pryde a reality, Ms. Van Ness says.
The Pryde has received more than 700 applications for its 74 units, she says.
But for some elders, moving into a building branded as LGBTQ-friendly creates privacy and safety concerns.
At a weekly gathering of LGBTQ+ seniors in Pittsburgh, a few say they would not feel comfortable living at Mosaic Apartments, an affordable complex that broke ground in 2024.
“I’m not out to a lot of my friends,” says an 82-year-old woman who identifies as bisexual and prefers not to be named. “And what if a lunatic throws a bomb?”
In July 2022, while The Pryde was under construction, vandals painted hate speech around the building, including threats to burn it down. The Boston police were alerted, and residents rallied, covering up the hate speech with homemade posters affirming LGBTQ+ rights.
The following July, U.S. House Republicans removed the project and other LGBTQ-focused programs from a Department of Housing and Urban Development spending bill. The Pryde funds were eventually secured from the Weinberg Foundation and other federal agencies under the Biden administration.
The funding struggles took place amid a spike in anti-LGBTQ+ bills in the U.S. The American Civil Liberties Union identified 533 such bills in the 2024 legislative session, of which 49 passed. As of the end of February, the group was tracking 456 such bills. Hate crimes also spiked against LGBTQ+ Americans last year despite a drop in the overall crime rate, according to the FBI.
“We’ll all learn and get better”
In recent years, long-term care facilities catering to the general public have also worked to better serve older LGBTQ+ adults.
More than 1,100 aging service providers have completed SAGECare, a training program by SAGE that addresses topics like bullying, misconceptions around HIV, and the needs of transgender older adults.
In western Massachusetts, the city of Northampton is known as a hub for LGBTQ+ people. However, at Linda Manor, an assisted living facility in nearby Leeds, LGBTQ+ residents do not openly talk about their identities.
“It’s very there, and it’s very quiet,” says Crystal DaSilva, marketing director at Linda Manor. “[LGBTQ+ residents] do tell the staff. But I really don’t think they confide in peers.”
Most residents at Linda Manor are in their mid-80s, and Ms. DaSilva estimates that 10% are LGBTQ+. Some residents have shown anti-LGBTQ+ bias, she says, by refusing to recognize a family member’s same-sex marriage or gender identity.
“I think that this is the first generation that’s aging that we’re all going to learn from,” Ms. DaSilva says. “We’ll all learn and get better.”
“We wanted to be welcome”
Outside of LGBTQ-centered housing, some older people have found home in communities with inclusive values.
Carole Smith and Marj McCann, a lesbian couple involved in Philadelphia’s early activism scene, found their current home at Kendal-Crosslands Communities through a mix of community connection and personal judgment.
The leafy retirement community on the Pennsylvania-Delaware border has Quaker roots, and aims to “honor the inherent worth of all persons,” according to its website. These values appealed to the couple.
“We wanted to live in a community that not only said, ‘Oh yeah, it’s OK if you two queer ladies live here’; we wanted to be welcome,” Ms. Smith says.
Two of their close friends – famous lesbian activists Barbara Gittings and Kay Lahusen, a onetime reference librarian for the Monitor – began living at Kendal-Crosslands in 2007. Ms. Gittings died later that year, but Ms. Lahusen continued living there until her death in 2021. The women’s positive experiences further reassured Ms. Smith and Ms. McCann. They moved in on Halloween of 2012.
In 2013, the Supreme Court overturned the Defense of Marriage Act, a law that denied same-sex couples the benefits given to opposite-sex couples. Ms. Smith and Ms. McCann leaped at the chance to get legally married, heading to Provincetown, Massachusetts – a historic LGBTQ+ travel destination.
When the newlyweds returned to Kendal-Crosslands, a surprise wedding reception awaited them, complete with a wedding cake.
“As we walked in, they played ‘Here Comes the Bride,’ followed by the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus,” Ms. Smith remembers.
“That’s when we knew for sure we really did choose a good place to live.”
