The next chapter

Former TCNJ President R. Barbara Gitenstein looks back to move on.

Words by TCNJ Editorial Staff

Barbara Gitenstein at her home in Manhattan

EVERYONE LOVES A GOOD LOVE STORY, and Barbara “Bobby” Gitenstein says the one she had with her husband, Donald Hart, was “remarkable.” So much so that she plans to tell a chapter of their story — through their letters — in her next book.

Hart passed away in August. While he was sick, Gitenstein read to him each night. It started with books, but then she remembered a box of letters from the fall of 1969 to the spring of 1970 that captured their budding relationship while she was finishing her undergrad at Duke and he was studying at the University of Alabama. They had just spent the summer together in their hometown of Florala, Alabama, and the letters were what kept them connected across their 616-mile divide. It was just a couple of weeks before Hart died that Gitenstein read the last letter to him. Her book will be about “the importance of remembering people as they were, and as you want to remember them,” says Gitenstein. She graciously shares snippets from a few of their first notes — and the last — here.

SEPTEMBER 16, 1969
Dear Bobby,
The proposition “out of sight, out of mind” may be true, but only in reference to Descartes and not toward you. (Translation: I love you).
I am way over my head this semester — but I will read my way to the surface. Just for the record — 18 hrs. of philosophy. I am spoiled, for intellectual companionship in Florala (Alabama!) was more stimulating than here with 4,000 “scholars.” Thank you again and again for being (ontologically and existentially) Bobby.
I have an address, General Delivery, University, Ala. 35486. I also have a telephone — and although I’ll probably never call you, you may call me collect any time you want to: 205-348-4593. (That sounds terrible, but you know what I mean.)

Please write.
I love you,
Don

SEPTEMBER 19
Durham, N.C.

Dearest Don,
What a wonderful welcome back to school your letter was! Reading it was (and of course is and will be) almost as beautiful as speaking with (or talking to) you. And just like my relationship with you — it wasn’t really the first reading — but the second, etc., which became Don. And it has evoked that feeling which is characteristic of most of the time I’ve spent with you this summer — a sort of quiet, almost contained (which is almost unheard of in my nature), but intense, limitless joy. I do love you.

I’ve finally gotten myself unpacked. Frankly, I can’t believe it’s done. But what a nice thing to have finished. I dislike it so. Already I can see how pleased I’m going to be with these living arrangements. I just don’t think I could put up with a roommate for another year.

I certainly hope that won’t be an impossible work load for you. I can’t imagine taking eighteen hours of one subject! I’m ashamed to even tell you how many hours I’m taking — just twelve.
I love you,
Bobby
P.S. And in the same way in which you gave me your phone number, I give you mine: 919-684-2132. It’s just in case you should need me one night when a letter just won’t do. I miss you.

MAY 3, 1970
University, Ala.

Dear Bobby,
For me to say “I love you” seems so redundant to me, but then I know (and remember) that you like for me to tell you. But can you really, honestly, doubt my love for you? I am in love with you! In fact, I don’t even want you to know just how important to me you actually are, for you might be frightened or made conceited. But I think not. You would still be Bobby. You would still love me. I’m not making any sense. I am trying to say I love you this week more than ever; each day I now realize things about you which make me love you more.

I hope to get something done on my paper tonight. Right now, I have a headache, for the library was noisy (60 cycle hum from the lights, which drives me batty). I think I shall lie down and let my eyes rest just a few minutes, but will write more later tonight.

Later:
I want us to form a partnership and build, together, two whole lives, which will be richer and more beautiful than 1 or 1/2 or 2 or 3! I have made up my mind that the who (i.e., Bobby) is more important (now and forever) than the what (i.e., philosopher-teacher).

I need to leave Alabama. Don’t feel guilty, and don’t be conceited. I am not coming to N.C. just for you, Bobby, but yes, partly for Bobby, partly for Don, but mostly for “us.” (I really don’t think that deserves quotes anymore, do you?)
I must sleep. Maybe a few more lines in the morning.
I love you,
Don

MAY 16
My Darling,

Please, Don, know now, I love you. You are the most beautiful, wonderful thing in my life. And that’s no mean feat, for most of my life is beautiful and wonderful. Most of my experiences have been good, and out of all those “goods,” there’s Don, the very best happening of my life. You make every bad thing seem OK. Even the ugliness of the great big world is bearable.
Don, you are gentleness and are beyond belief. I never hoped for half of what you are. The thought of being together for really long periods of time really thrills me beyond my love of even now. But the thought of a life together — that is so beautiful, I almost cannot bear the thought. Sleep well, darling.
I adore you,
Bobby

JUNE 2
Durham, N.C.
Dearest Bobby,

In case you were wondering why I wrote you a letter when you are just a few blocks away — I’ll just tell you frankly — did you really think that I would let you get the last word in? Thank you for each word you wrote to me this year. Thank you for each moment that you missed me. Thank you for each thing you learned to say, and, more than I know words for how to say thank you, thank you for not being able to say things, for running out of words, for needing new words or better words or just words. Have you considered just what not having the right words means? I consider it empirical evidence that we love one another.
I love you,
Don

Photo: Peter Murphy