Rebecca Broach handed Anna Arcamone a small cup of soda and ice Friday and said, "Here, give this to Lucille."
Arcamone took the cup from Broach, the activities coordinator at Bloom at Belfair -- an independent-living facility in Bluffton -- and paused.
She looked at the residents gathered in the activity room and reached for her walker with the cup-free hand.
"Lucille ..." Arcamone repeated in a booming Brooklyn accent. "Which one?!?"
Yes, statistically there was bound to be more than one Lucille in this crowd, all of whom were born in the early part of last century when the name was at the height of its popularity. There were Lucilles, a Dolores, an Edith, a Mel, a Frank and a Jean, among others.
They sat together at tables, among parked walkers, and snacked on Pop-Tarts and Popsicles in honor of Andy Warhol's birthday.
"Where's the POPcorn?" someone joked.
They were waiting for a slideshow to begin, but not of Warhol's art. No, this was of something even more off-beat.
Days earlier this group of octo- and nonagenarians had been riding on Harley-Davidsons, and now they wanted to see the photos that proved it.
When Arcamone first heard that life enrichment coordinator Erika Pyle had arranged for the Praetorian Guard Riding Club to visit the residents and let them ride on the backs of their bikes, she was hesitant.
"I thought 'She's crazy. Who's going to go on a motorcycle?' And we were the first ones on," she said, looking at her friend, Lucille Lipsitz. "I'm 93. I was on a motorcycle. And we were sober!"
Lucille Pastore, who was standing nearby, gave me a serious nod.
"They were. I saw them."
(I swear, I never doubted it.)
Riding a motorcycle was one of the items on what 85-year-old Lipsitz calls her "bucket list," but what I'm sure her kids call their "oh no, please, please don't list."
Last year, Lipsitz went sky-diving. Next year, she's hoping to fly with the Blue Angels.
This year's stunt, she said, was no big deal.
"I didn't tell Barry, though," she said of her sons. "But Neil saw the pictures and said, 'I saw you on the Internet!'"
Among the photos, which were posted Thursday on the riding club's Facebook page, is Lipsitz in a big black helmet, grinning on the back of Allen Dick's bike.
"He was my postman," she told me. "My grandson used to call him Papa Smurf."
While the Praetorian Guard Riding Club might cut a rough figure in their bandanas and leather riding vests -- and indeed some of the Bloom residents referred to them as a motorcycle gang -- the group is anything but, said David "Skids" Rawls, who took photos for the event.
"People say, 'Are you "Sons of Anarchy"?' No, I tell them, I'm more like a Grandpa of Anarchy," he laughed.
The club was formed for men and women who simply enjoy riding together and improving the community. They raise money when neighbors are ill. They help other members in times of need. They volunteer. And they work on charitable projects, such as creating gift boxes of toys for kids at Beaufort Memorial Hospital.
"We had no idea what to expect," Rawls said of their visit to Bloom, a first for the group. "But they had a blast. We had a blast. I think we had even more fun than the residents."
The residents who participated seemed thrilled by their exploits. Some told me about how they couldn't believe they had done it -- especially considering how often they had told their kids they couldn't ride on a motorcycle. And speaking of their kids, many had no plans to tell them what they had done at all.
Frank Hess, who is 90, said he had been on a motorcycle before, like 80 years before.
In one photo from Wednesday, he's seen with his oxygen tank strapped to the back of the bike and his right fist raised in the air.
"Go Navy!" he told me the gesture said.
"What's on your waist?" I asked him, referring to a black rectangle strapped to his belt, thinking it was another piece of medical equipment.
He pulled out his iPhone 6 Plus.
"Oh," he said to me with a small pause for drama, "I'm cool."
Hess' girlfriend, Marie, wasn't there to watch the slideshow but she was among those who went for a ride.
"She didn't wear a helmet," Hess told me. "She didn't want to mess up her hair."
Jean MacBain, 92, told me she got on a motorcycle for a very different reason.
For her, this wasn't a lark.
In fact, it was heartbreaking.
MacBain's youngest son, Fred, was killed in a motorcycle crash when he was 21.
"He was on the bike and stopped at a stop sign, but the car behind him kept going," she told me. "I've had bad dreams ever since thinking about it."
When she heard about the riding club's visit, she knew what she had to do.
"I got on the bike to stop the dreams," she said quietly. "And you know what? I think it's helped."