WORK FORCE

By TAD BARTIMUS

The customer stared at the fruit vendor as she counted out his change. Accepting the coins and his bag of bananas and oranges, he seemed on the verge of asking something. Then he abruptly walked away.

"He probably wonders why this old lady is standing on her feet all day in a tent," chuckled the 89-year-old fruit seller. "I bet he thinks I need the money. Most people think that's why you work. But I don't. I do this because I enjoy it. I give the money to my grandchildren. I'd rather visit with people and sell my son's fruit than do nothing."

Not much chance of that. Every week I marvel at my elderly friend's attitude and stamina. Always beautifully groomed, her white hair perfectly in place, she is a cheerful fixture at the Thursday farmer's market where her five jars of homemade jelly always sell out fast.

My friend also keeps her own house, tends her flowers, balances her accounts, chauffeurs her grandchildren and gives back to her community. Since the death two years ago of her husband, shortly after their 66th anniversary, she also changes light bulbs, takes out the trash and gets her car serviced on schedule. This year, for the first time, she strung the Christmas tree lights by herself, then cooked dinner for 12.

Why does she fill her days so full?

"I've always worked," she said, adding with a shrug and a grin: "It keeps me going."

My friend Roy Rowan, a correspondent and editor for TIME, LIFE and Fortune magazines for more than 50 years, still writes occasional cover stories for them. His reporting career began with the Chinese Civil War in the 1940s; this spring he plans to travel to Vietnam to cover the 25th anniversary of the Communist takeover.

Rowan has no "spare time." He also is president of the Overseas Press Club and writes books, among them the popular "First Dogs," a whimsical look at White House canines that was adapted for television by the Discovery Channel. His latest release from Lyons Press is "Surfcaster's Quest: Seeking Stripers, Blues, and Solitude at the Edge of the Surging Sea." His wife Helen is a master furniture painter whose pieces are highly prized by collectors; next spring she'll teach a workshop in France. The Rowans do not sit around waiting for their children and grandchildren to come visit.

"Life is very precious," said Rowan, who survived melanoma in the 1980s and undergoes monthly treatments for bone cancer. "I don't want to waste a minute of it."

Yesterday, while waiting in line at the grocery store, I thought of my fruit seller friend, and of Roy Rowan, and of a lady sheep herder friend in her late 70s in Wyoming, and of a dozen other active, hardworking septuagenarians and octogenarians. In front of me was a tanned, muscular man in his early 20s wearing a fancy wristwatch, $50 tennis shoes and a designer T-shirt. He was buying a gourmet lunch with a food stamps credit card. The checkout clerk asked him how things were going.

"Great, man," came his reply. "I'm just hanging out, enjoying myself. Beats workin'."

Not really.

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