<table><tr><td>PHILADELPHIA.</td></tr><tr><td>SEP 3</td></tr><tr><td>5:30PM</td></tr><tr><td>1926</td></tr></table>

Miss Gwendolyn B. Bennett
Howard University

Washington D.C.
Art Dept.

<table><tr><td>SESQUI-CENTENNIAL</td></tr><tr><td>EXPOSITION</td></tr><tr><td>PHILA.</td></tr><tr><td>JUNE 1-DEC. 1</td></tr><tr><td>1926</td></tr></table>

Miss Gwendolyn Bennett
1615 D. Street
Washington, D.C.

1333 R St. N.W.
Washington, D.C.

June 21, 1935

Darling Gwennie:

Did you ever dream a beautiful dream, wake up, and then seek to go back to sleep and catch again the dream - and do it? Did the ghost of a loved one ever rise from the grave to haunt you as you with unbelieving arms reached out to embrace it? Can you realize how I feel after all these years to find one I loved and lost through death?

I do not know exactly how to write this letter. As you have surmised I have been thinking- thinking even as you have. I have been marveling at life and love. I have been wondering at the strange tricks of Fate and at something too intricate to understand, yet trying to understand.

During the first week in November 1926, nearly nine years ago, one Gwennie, whom I loved very dearly, passed away. She may have died a bit earlier, but it was at this time that I found it out. In her place was one Gwendolyn, with whom I became friendly because she looked so much like Gwennie. June 15, 1935 Gwennie, thru some miracle came back to life! The same old Gwennie with the same tears and the same smiles and the same love for me! I am non-plused, astounded, unbelieving and, strangely enough, thrilled.

Do you realize the magic of this? Do you understand yourself well enough to explain where you have been? Do you comprehend how different Gwennie is from Gwendolyn?

I wrote you all this once, on November 10, 1926 to be exact. I told you in that letter how I loved Gwennie and how impossible it was for her to have told me dispassionately, "I don't love you any more, Eugene." You did not receive that letter Gwennie, or may-be Gwendolyn received it and tore it up and forgot.

But here we are nearly a decade later. I have not forgotten Gwennie with her all consuming love. There is something of the old Genie left, but he is hardened with sophistication; beaten down by the realities of life; forever dreaming of love, but doubting its permanency; loved by many, but always loving with reservations; sad and happy; con- quering and regretful of victory; dreaming but always knowing that I will awaken.

Into all this you come from the dead to disturb by equilibriu-m, to give the lie to my theory of the impermanency of love, to haunt me with promises, which somehow, in spite of everything, I believe are sincere.

Your call just came over the phone! You impulsive creature. I enjoyed hearing your voice -from New York, even as I enjoyed years ago talking to you for hours over the phone when I had just left you. And you asked me the silly question, "You do, don't you?"

I do not know any more about the future than you do. We are in a swirl of something greater than we are. I do not know even what time has actually done to me. I do not know what I want or why I want it. There are many things to be discussed face to face.

I have enjoyed each of your letters, read them over and over again and wondered at the miracle. I should have written you long before this, but aside from the fact that I am sort of dazed and love letter writing is sort of out of my line, I have been plunged into a whirlpool of work. You know, I do many things to eke out a precarious living. I have three offices; my real estate and law offices; my office at the Public Assistance Division of the Board of Public Welfare; and my office at Howard University for my General Alumni work. At the office of the Public Assistance I have suddenly, or apparently suddenly, become somebody. On my return here I was designated as the person to preside over all of the workers in the division, white and colored and to lead a discussion on proper investigation of relief cases. I had to draw up the report and all of the higher officials are high in their praises of the report. The Alumni office has kept me busy, because my predecessor left a most disorganized place. I had a conference with the Registrar of the University today and tomorrow I am to have a conference with the President. Tonight I must write a letter to the Treasurer and to the former Alumni Secretary against whom I may have to file a bill of injunction if he attempts to publish an issue of the Alumni Journal as he is planning to. I should have collected some rent tonight, but wrote you instead.

Can you arrange to see me Sunday week, if I come up on the excursion? It will be the only way I can get to New York now since I have no more leave at the present time. I am going to try to hold down both of these jobs for the present, certainly until early winter. I need the money and also I am not quite sure yet of the regularity of the money from the Alumni job. Real Estate is still slow, but may break for the better at any time.

Mimi Francis is an old girl of mine. She used to be quite dizzy and enjoyed "Dizzy" as her nickname. But now she does not drink at all and knits. I am getting her a divorce from her husband, so that now she is more of an old friend and client than anything else.

I send you oodles of love and thank you for kissing the palm of my hand. Where have you been all these years? Do you go and come very often? "Forever" is a long time. I still love Gwennie.

Genie

250 West 154th Street,
Apartment 123,
New York, N.Y.
August 31, 1936.

Dearest Mother,

I write this letter with fear and trembling in my heart, a prayer on my lips and deep shame filling my breast. I pray to whatever Gods there be that somehow this letter will reach you and that you will find enough pity in your heart to forgive my long, unexplained silence. I am deeply ashamed of my actions and only the fact that you are my mother makes me dare to write even now trying to seek your forgiveness. There is so much in real mother love and understanding that overlooks everything that hurts that I know, if I can find you, you will listen to my plea.

I have only this excuse to offer and as I do so I realize that it in no way explains what I have done to you. I was young and full of silly dreams and fancies when I met you again after sixteen years separation; during those sixteen years I had dreamed of what we would mean to each other, if we were ever reunited. Then when I met you, we started a long series of misunderstandings and incriminations that at that time I could not understand. I couldn't understand some of the things you said and did at that time - some of them I don't understand even now but years of experience and hardship have made me more tolerant of other people's ideas and beliefs. I offer no excuse for my actions, I only ask that you try to forgive me.

In the hope that this letter reaches you I will just give you the bare outlines of what has happened to me during the years in between. I married, went to Florida to live for two years and then returned to Long Island, New York, with my husband. After eight unhappy years of marriage, the last year of which Jack and I were actually separated, my husband died suddenly after just about a week's illness. He left me shouldered with debt but just as you felt with Dad I loved him despite all I felt he had done to me. His passing left me completely at loose ends. He died May 12th, 1936. The two years in between have been hard ones with much adjustment, happiness of a momentary character snatched here and there, and many tears and much heart-ache. I am employed in a responsible position as director of the Harlem Community Art Center, a WPA Federal Project that has a reasonable chance of becoming permanent. Briefly, that is the outline which I shall be glad to fill in when I see you and talk to you. I know the story of your suffering during the years between must make what I've been through seem like nothing.

I want to do everything I can to make it all up to you, if it is within my power to do so. Write to me so that I can arrange to see you and talk with you.

Despite the way I have acted please think of me as

Your own daughter,

I hope my actions will not make you doubt that my heart is full of love for you.

THE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
CHESTNUT AT NINTH STREET
PHILADELPHIA

Dec. 10.

<table><tr><td>REGISTER</td></tr><tr><td>OR</td></tr><tr><td>INSURE</td></tr><tr><td>VALUABLE MATTER</td></tr></table>

Miss Ewendolyn B. Bennett
1615 "I" Street, N. W.
Washington, D.C.

Besqui-Centennial
Philadelphia

Ansona Hotel

214 S. Eighth Street

Philadelphia, Pa.

Miss Gwendolyn B. Bennett
Box 251
Howard University
Washington D.C.

Miss Gwendolyn B. Bennett,
1615 "D" Street,
Washington, D.C.

my Dear Children

Feb 14, 1968

With a double share of love
This Valentine is sent
On this special day that's set apart
For expressing sentiment—
And it comes to tell you both
That today and all year through
It's very wonderful to have
A Daughter and Son like you

Today's Winner

Editor Daily News:

Mothers are the angels of the earth! God bless them! How many times do they make sacrifices for their children? How many times do they grieve for us, pray for us, that we may travel the right road, that we might grow up to be fine men and women.

If you are wealthy, she is your friend; if you are poor, discouraged, friendless, shunned by the world—in other words—an outcast, you will find that same dear little mother still your friend. It is not only her sympathy that draws her to you as each day rolls by—it is love. Pure, honest-to-God love that cannot be bought nor stolen from the depths of that loyal, brave heart.

ADELAIDE F. BOSWELL,

42 Windsor ave.,

Highland Park, Upper Darby, Pa.