The conversation is familiar: We love it in The Villages, but . . .

The "but" usually arises after about 12 months, sometimes sooner, sometimes later - and sometimes, in very rare cases, never.

The Villages is billed as the Disney World for retirees, paved with green times galore and a galaxy of social clubs designed to keep tired blood pumping fresh.

When the realization of "but" hits, it often elicits an odd sense of liberation and frustration. Residents feel they can now rightfully and justifiably complain about their community - although in most cases complaining is relegated to mail stations or golf courses.

Although most residents consider "free speech" a precious right granted to them by the Constitution, many fear that freely expressing their opinions or observations in a public venue with their names attached will bring retribution from the "powers that be."

All of a sudden, as if by some secret order, their gate passes won't work or some pesky Neighborhood Watcher will come snooping at inconvenient times.

Imaginary repercussions are enough to keep many people from speaking openly or publicly against their community's hierarchy. Silence is the preferred approach to their grievances.

Dozens of people from The Villages have called me this year with complaints, but we ended out conversations after they refused to tell me who they were.

Recently, a man called me with complaints about loud and drunken state senators and representatives at a local restaurant in Spanish Springs.

After we were able to identify the political party animals, the man's wife later said that "dad" no longer wanted to talk about it. The publicity wouldn't be worth it, she said.

Independent Realtors told me last month about what they saw as the unfair creation of Properties of The Villages, an exclusive real-estate company owned by the developer. But they didn't want to have their names used and suggested I write an editorial.

Sorry, I said. I don't have a story. And I'm not writing an editorial. We're done here. Finally they did agree to go on the record, and now hundreds of Villagers are aware of an unusual business arrangement that may hinder their ability to sell their homes.

It took courage, but the Realtors, outraged at what they saw as unfair business practices, put their money where their mouths are.

One man - who was not only willing to talk about his grievances but did something about them - was Russ Day.

Day, who was a Villages Community Development District supervisor, died last week.

Day was a complainer, a squeaky wheel, a fighter. Day made it his crusade to annoy The Villages' hierarchy for worthy causes. The mere mention of his name used to cause groans and head shakes from top Villages' government folks.

Day wanted answers and demanded accountability. One day he ran against popular and big-money candidate Frank Topper, a former Villages Homeowers' Association president, for a seat on a Villages Community Development District Board.

Day won easily, served illustratively and was even looked upon by his critics as a source of information and insight. Day was respected and refused to be intimidated.

In the last few months of his life, Day even toyed with the idea of running for Sumter County Commission.

Day said he had a secret to his success. At the time, he said he wouldn't tell me, a reporter, what it was, but said he would tell me later.

I'll never know now.

The last time I talked with Day was outside the Villages Community Development office between government meetings.

He was smoking cigarettes. Again. I told him - again - that he ought to quit and that I needed him. He was such a good news source and a good source of information. I was joking; it was just man talk for "you need to take better care of yourself."

He told me he was retiring from the VCDD - and the political life - to get some rest. He was tired, he said, and was plagued by a number of ailments.

Day even looked tired.

But he'd be back, he said. He didn't have the personality to take life lying down.

Day took his fight to the very end. Until one more brave and respected voice had been stilled.