As if getting old wasn't tough enough, add being gay to the equation and it can be downright brutal.

Elderly gay people are often vulnerable and isolated, said Linda Levin, executive director of ElderSource, a nonprofit resource center for the elderly in Northeast Florida.

The pressure of being gay and elderly is enough to drive some people back into the closet, said Stu Maddux, producer of a documentary on the topic.

"The bullies that were there at the beginning of your life, we've found that they're waiting for you near the end of it too," he said. "And this time you can't run very fast."

He'll be in attendance when his film, "Gen Silent," screens May 17 at the University Center at the University of North Florida. The screening was arranged by ElderSource, which has started an initiative that looks at the needs of older lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender people.

The group surveyed older gay people and found common concerns about aging. What legal protections will they and their partner have? What reaction will they get from those who live in nursing homes or communities?

Some, estranged from their families, wonder who will take care of them when they need help. And some have heard stories of ailing older gay people getting poor treatment from the caregivers charged with helping them, stories which are told in "Gen Silent."

Some, said Levin, choose to isolate themselves, fearing to reach out for the services available to them.

You can feel pretty alone if you let it get to you, said Vicki Wengrow, a one-time English instructor at area colleges and a massage therapist for 33 years.

She was 29 when she came out as a lesbian in 1972. She was a married mother who had become an enthusiastic member in Jacksonville of the women's liberation movement, which made that announcement much easier, she said with a laugh.
She's 69 now, living in a retirement community in Riverside. She's had a few nasty phone calls, some insensitive comments, she said. But she's also found acceptance, even from some of her most conservative, religious acquaintances there.

Many people know of her sexuality, she said, and most try to be understanding. She doesn't have a partner, which makes it easier.
"It's not like I'm quote-unquote flaunting it," Wengrow said. "As a couple of people here said, 'As long as you don't flaunt it.' "
Walter Fitzwater, 64, says he wouldn't put up with such talk.

"For the gays who feel like they're oppressed, they're bringing this on themselves," he said.

Fitzwater was born in Cuba to a Cuban mother and American father, a Marine who was soon out of the picture. He grew up there until leaving for South Florida in 1961. He dropped out of the University of Florida and moved to San Francisco in 1972, where he came out.

He was diagnosed as HIV positive in 1989 and moved to Jacksonville the next year to be near his mother and wait for death. Then he decided to live. He's convinced that he's remained moderately healthy by living well and remaining positive, along with the medications that became available in the mid-1990s.

He's written and performed a play, "Dialogue Between Me and My Virus," all over Northeast Florida. And he went back to Cuba in 2005 to teach caregivers there how to deal with patients with HIV.

Getting older isn't necessarily going to be easy, Fitzwater said, but he believes he has people to turn to: "I have people who love me and I know if I need something they'll help me. Straight, gay bisexual, lesbian — they'll help me."

Lynne Carroll, a UNF professor, heads the LGBT Elder Task Force of Northeast Florida, an offshoot of the ElderSource initiative.
She said they want to continue to learn what older gay people need and want, while training caregivers and organizations to better take care of them.

Raising the visibility of the issue is also paramount, Carroll said. So is convincing gay people that they can get access to the services they need without having to hide who they are.

She went to an assisted-living facility a couple of years ago, doing research on gay and lesbian residents. While there, she spoke to a staff member.

"She said, 'Oh, we don't have any of those here.' That is so funny," Carrol said. "That is a classic line that you sometimes get from people. It's innocent, but it makes you realize that when you're one of a marginalized minority, you may not be totally open about who you are."