"I say 60 but she says 62," Faye says, firing the opening salvo in a decades-long debate.

Flo smiles knowingly - she's been lured into this battle before - then shakes her head silently in disagreement.

"We had our 60th anniversary party last summer," insists Faye, who still appears a bit unsure, despite the tone of her voice.

"Well, let's see, Walter is 60 and he was born right around the time we started the club," says Faye, calculating her son's age in another attempt to strengthen her position.

It's an argument neither Faye or Flo can settle. But though the pair can't seem to agree on exactly when they and their friends started meeting and discussing books, judging by the number of hearing aids and canes in the room, it was a long time ago.

Here's what we can safely say: 60 years ago, (give or take a year or two) Flo Towbin knocked on Faye Weinberg's door.

"I lived at 901 Leyden and she lived on 10th and Locust," Weinberg recounts, proudly.

Friends since fifth grade, Weinberg and Towbin were then busy mothers and wives. But they wanted something more.

"When you're young and have kids, you're looking for something new to do," says Weinberg, a lively and well-dressed 90-year-old, sporting black slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a crisp white shirt.

Flo suggested they form a women's group. Fearing they'd sit around gossiping without some kind of focus, the pair created a book club.

"We wanted to use our brain a little bit rather than just raise children," says founding member Bess Wagner. "We wanted something more intellectual in our lives."

So, they drafted friends and relatives - all Jewish, mostly residents of East Denver enclaves such as Park Hill and Mayfair. Initially they met at night, when their husbands could care for the kids.

Decades later, children grown and many husbands gone, the women still hunger for cerebral conversation. So they gather on the first Thursday of each month at 12:30 p.m. in the penthouse of the Ambassador Building at Crestmoor Downs, a '60s-era apartment complex where several of the members live.

They eat tuna fish salad and fruit and listen to stories about biblical figures and political leaders. They share news and pictures of children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They come with manicured nails and freshly coiffed hair.

And they wouldn't miss it for the world.

"Where else can you find a group of women, talking like this?" asks member Terry Tockman at a recent meeting, marveling at the group's dedication.

"Where else can you find women in their 90s talking?" laughs Ann Waldbaum, one of five original members left.

Establishing the rules

The club isn't just old, it's unconventional by today's book club standards.

There are no mandatory reading requirements, no arguments about book selections. Instead, each month, a member reviews a book of her choice for the group.

"You can choose whatever you want, but it has to take at least a half-hour," explains Weinberg.

Theories abound about the original reasoning for the structure.

"It was during the Depression and people couldn't afford $2.98 for a book; $2.98 could buy a pair of shoes," says Dora Gurian, an original member. "We decided if it was just one book, you could go to the library and get it."

Wagner politely disagrees: "I don't think that was the reason. That's just the way we wanted it. That way we'd get to hear about more books."

As treasurer, Weinberg seems the ultimate source of official club information, but this is one argument she can't settle.

"I really don't know," Weinberg admits. "Somehow Flo and I came up with this out of a hat."

Gurian gave the first review on Anna and the King of Siam.

"I thought, if I have a hard time, I'll ask my husband," she recalls. "But he said from the beginning, 'Look, you're own your own.' "

Wagner got a bit more help from her spouse.

"My husband was my model," says Wagner. "If he dozed off, I knew I had to cut something out."

The art of conversation

Waldbaum is snoring loudly, head tilted back, mouth open. Every few seconds, her head drops forward and she awakens, startled and disoriented.

She draws a few glances, but for the most part, the group ignores her. At 88, periodic napping is no surprise.

Wagner is reading from the book, Shalom in My Heart, Salaam on My Lips: A Jewish Woman in Modern Morocco.

"This author has such a wonderful way of writing, I wouldn't want to ruin it," explains Wagner of her decision to read entire sections from the book, rather than summarize its contents.

The author, Gloria Marchick, is a Fulbright Scholar, who spent time teaching in Morocco during the Intifada in 2000. She kept her faith hidden during her tenure, fearing an anti-Semitic backlash.

Wagner, an energetic senior with strawberry blonde hair, captures Marchick's voice beautifully. She pauses at all the right moments, applying the right emotion to convey Marchick's highs and lows in the country.

"That must have been quite a problem, not revealing who you are," laments Weinberg, afterward.

Miralee Goldstein has more political concerns. "That doesn't give me much hope for the Arab world if that is the most moderate country," she says matter-of-factly.

Before long, the group is locked in a cultural discussion about Arab attitudes. Genevieve Kramer asks if anyone caught last night's broadcast of The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, which touched on Palestinian and Israeli peace negotiations.

Towbin, who had visited Morocco years before, says that even at that point, many of the Jews she encountered felt there was no future for their children in the country.

"The whole world has been turned upside down because little children have been taught to hate," she complains.

It's the type of conversation most Oprah Book Club followers only dream about and it's par for the course in this group. The years may have taken their toll on the members physically, but mentally they remain engaged.

In fact, ask a few what they like to read and you won't find many "chick lit" titles.

"I have so many favorite books," says Goldstein, almost gleeful. "Right now it's John Adams by David McCullough. But another one I like is The Conquerors, it talks about the remaking of Germany after World War II."

Weinberg cites a book about globalization. Tockman, Madeleine Albright's recent memoir, Madame Secretary.

"You must think we're amazing," says Wagner to a guest.

That's a reasonable assumption from a woman with enough spunk to make Kelly Ripa look like a stick in the mud. Just consider one of the titles still on her shelves.

"My most unusual book - and believe me it was - was All You Wanted to Know About Sex and Were Afraid to Ask," she giggles. "I think I blushed all the way through the book."

Binding friendships

The group is bonded by more than a love of books. Over the years, the women have become good friends with plenty of good memories.

"It's been very rewarding," says Weinberg, almost wistfully. "The parties we had with the husbands have been outstanding. One time we had a game where the womens' eyes were covered and we had to find our husbands' feet. Dave was furious with me because I couldn't find his feet!"

"I could write a book about the beautiful parties we had," Wagner says. "One time we had to come as a comic character. There was another time when we had an international dinner. We went from one home to another with different foods in each. And every house was decorated according to what you were serving."

In 60 years, no one (with the exception of those who moved or passed away) has ever dropped out of the club, which has never been given a formal name.

"This is a club to which you have the greatest loyalty," declares Weinberg.

There's a man in the club Retired Brig. Gen. Mort Gordon is a man's man.

A former navigator in the Army Air Corps (the forerunner of the U.S. Air Force), Gordon flew 90 missions in World War II. He received a Purple Heart after the Japanese sank a transport ship he was on, leaving him stranded in the South China Sea for five hours.

So isn't it a bit strange to see Gordon sipping coffee and munching cookies, surrounded - not by old war buddies - but female bookworms?

"These are very bright women," says Gordon, who joined the club three months ago - the first male, dues-paying member. "There's a tremendous background in these women."

Gordon started attending with his wife, a member for several years, who passed away in September.

"He's the one male that has an interest in something besides masculinity," notes Weinberg.

Gordon's membership has paved the way for other male guests. Though not full-fledged members, both Weinberg's husband Dave an-d Goldstein's spouse, Henry, regularly attend the monthly luncheons.

"I never came until he broke in," says Dave Weinberg, a 97-year-old former engineer, gesturing to Gordon.

Though it was founded as an escape, the club has never been elitist. Nearly every meeting includes a few guests, who are welcomed like old friends.

Once 16 strong, the club now numbers 11. Five of the original members remain.

Goldstein is the club's spring chicken, a South Dakota native who guards her age like an out-of-work actress.

"I tell you my philosophy," Goldstein says, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If you tell someone your age, then all you become after that is a number."

But Gurian stopped worrying about getting old long ago. "Everybody's younger," she shrugs.

About that anniversary

It's a month after the debate about the club's age erupted and Wagner claims to have the issue solved.

"It's 61 years, I looked it up," she says to Weinberg.

Weinberg might still have doubts, but she's done arguing.

"Put 61 down," she says later, exasperated. "I don't care."

gonzaleze@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-892-5350

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