Not Dead Yet

On a fall afternoon, when wind beckoned winter with increasing urgency, the conference venue—a low-lying building in a Midwestern university—offered welcome warmth. So, too, did the attendees, a healthy mix of high school and college instructors. My interactive session, on strategies in teaching Latin American history, turned out livelier than I had hoped.

For students in Osher Lifelong Learning Institutes, history courses offer opportunities to look back on their own life events or learn something new. Michael Skok/Unsplash

One participant, however, shied from discussion. He looked up for long stretches, scribbling furiously at intervals. I kept my eye on the slight, silver-haired attendee. Professor, publisher, editor? None of the above, as it turned out: A local resident and a member of the university’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI), he had signed up to audit conference sessions. He waited until the room emptied out to speak up and introduce himself. He confided that he hadn’t ever thought of history as told through the lens of women’s experiences—an integral part of my workshop. Then he asked whether I would I consider doing a talk for his group. Already an OLLI instructor at Kennesaw State University (KSU), where I design and teach four-to-eight-week history courses, I was interested. “You know,” he said, “we may be old—but we’re not dead yet.”

Neither is the study of history. Pollyannaish thought, perhaps, as the number of undergraduate history majors has been on the decline for decades. As is well documented, so, too, have tenure-track positions in the field. But “history is our most popular subject,” said Steve Thaxton, national director of resources for OLLI, an endowed noncredit program for adults over the age of 50. History courses rank first among OLLI students, confirmed Patricia Walker, executive director of Community and Professional Education (CPE) at KSU, which houses the school’s lifelong learning program.

In the shifting landscape of our lives, historians, by dint of trade, raise questions, investigate, and reflect on the past—for many seniors, an accessible venture. But depending on presentation, the process and the “product” can be either a marvelous creation or a terrible bore. More than a few of my OLLI students had shied away from what they had felt was a tedious field taught by even more tedious instructors. Certainly, my own high school experience—quite literally, “chalk-and-talk”—was bad enough that I avoided history until graduate school.

Teaching methods, thankfully, have evolved over the intervening decades to include an emphasis on student engagement. Yet adult interest in noncredit continuing education—including and especially the humanities—is not new. Over 25 years ago, retired banker and CPE volunteer Dick Harp saw an OLLI grant opportunity in a Delta Sky magazine. At the time, KSU already fielded a “Golden University” for seniors. Harp applied for and received a $100,000 grant, the first of over $4 million in funding for the program. Today, OLLI KSU is now a self-sustaining community program. And my “department” is growing, with 18 history courses scheduled for the first half of 2026.

Reaching out to older learners in a low-stakes environment, I’ve found, rekindles or even jump-starts their love of history. Walker suggested that the reason for the subject’s popularity is that older adults now have the time and inclination to appreciate storytelling—so fundamental to sharing history. The outcomes are apparent in course enrollment—and beyond. At present, 25 states, Georgia included, offer tuition-free university to residents 62 or above. Noncredit courses for active adult learners can ease older students into part- or full-time study at accredited institutions. One new retiree, for example, took my eight-session world history course as partial preparation for future study. Having just earned his associate’s degree, he’s now pursuing a four-year history degree at KSU.

Reaching out to older learners in a low-stakes environment rekindles or even jump-starts their love of history.

History gets personal—another draw for seniors. “I’m interested in history now because I am part of history,” a student shared. She confided about one tumultuous historic event: “I was supposed to be at the 1968 Democratic Convention—but my ride never showed up!” My students consider how the day’s class intersects with their lives, past and present. Aware of my background in Asian studies, a Vietnam veteran brought me a centuries-old Chinese coin to translate; this he picked up during his tour of duty. We discussed China’s expansionary efforts through the centuries. “Never could defeat the Vietnamese,” he said. Another student brought in a New York Times article about an exhibit at the Louvre. “I can’t believe it—we just discussed Jacques-Louis David and The Death of Marat!” She handed me the clipping. “And here he is!” Her friend nodded. “Happens to me all the time,” she said, noting that since taking world history, “So much has come into focus.”

“Old guys are hopeless, of course—we have to wait for them to die off,” Isabel Allende said in a TED Talk as she argued for change in a world of injustice. But she could not have meant my own students in the KSU lifelong learning program. Some—the minority—studied history in college. Prior to signing up, most of my students, now retired, had neither time nor inclination to pursue the subject; now they take an entire day (or more) diving in. “Thank you for taking us seriously,” wrote one of my students on a recent survey. Walker, who served as OLLI program manager from 2016 to 2019, recalls an OLLI day trip to the National Civil War Naval Museum in Columbus, Georgia. There, instructor and historian Michael Shaffer “held class” in front of a battle map “for over an hour!” Walker was surprised by the intensity of students as they took notes, asked questions, and raised issues. She reflected that people like a good story, one that “adds value” to their conversations with family and friends. For them, history courses—and the conversations they engender—expand social circles and enliven routines.

A mostly retired crowd, like my students, want to circle back and pick up what they had forgotten—or what they never learned. Current OLLI program manager Melissa Conners noted that our average student age is close to 70 years old. They come from all walks of life and include former executives, engineers, flight attendants, and insurance agents, as well as homemakers whose children have long launched. A student explained her reason for taking my classes: “I never studied history beyond what was required in high school,” she said. “Now I want to know.” A retired airline executive wanted to learn about the history of places before he embarked on travel. Another student shared what she learned with her grandson, an honors world history student, delighting in their mutual love of history and deepening connection.

OLLI students come from all walks of life and include former executives, engineers, flight attendants, and insurance agents, as well as homemakers whose children have long launched.

What’s unexpected, at times, is student reaction to method and material. “Why didn’t we ever learn about women [in history class] before?” exclaimed one student. She, along with over two dozen students, had signed up for my Women in World History series. “I don’t get why we just learned about men! And battles!” She had never pursued history beyond high school and is now hooked. “I can’t wait to tell my son about this,” she enthused after a lively discussion on 17th-century Angolan Queen Njinga. OLLI instructors do not assign homework or administer exams, but we can provide suggestions for reading. After reading Linda M. Heywood’s Njinga of Angola: Africa’s Warrior Queen, an octogenarian burst into class the following week: “That Njinga was a badass!”

Lifelong learning is fueled by openness to new ideas and willingness to rethink old ones—a habit of mind that is honed by “doing” history. Historical thinking skills—so critical to navigating the present—can be shared at any age, but perhaps senior adults most appreciate how these can be put to use. Historians chase down, sift through, and, as needed, discard evidence to create a narrative that makes sense. And collective historical inquiry nurtures creativity and community; many of my students, of the same or overlapping age cohort, pounce on new stories with enthusiasm. They are especially intrigued to uncover and examine the voices of marginalized people.

Across my teaching career, my high school, undergraduate, and now lifelong learning students have understood that they were not expected to remember all they confronted in class—an impossible task, given the complexity of their own lives and sheer volume of content. But they could hone skills. This is especially true of my OLLI students, mindful that they are vulnerable to misinformation, scams, and hacks. We consider and apply Paul Veyne’s Writing History: Essay on Epistemology: “I believe that this document teaches me this: may I trust it to do that?” We sift, question, analyze, evaluate, and compare sources—an exercise, my seniors well know, so relevant to the present.

At best, teaching is an organic activity, an invigorating experience, and a shared venture. Teaching history to active adult learners invites them to reflect on the past, shake up fixed ideas, and dig into their own interests. It’s an exciting, collaborative experience as instructors and students learn from and share well beyond the classroom, sparking cross-generational exchange and more. For our most senior students are not only “not dead yet” but, when it comes to learning history, very much alive.