No truer words were ever written than those penned by playwright Robert Anderson when he wrote: "You can make a killing in the theater but not a living." He later added: "You can also make a life in the theater and I have."

That he did -- beginning with "Tea and Sympathy," from which came one of most classic closing lines: "Years from now, when you talk about this -- and you will -- be kind."

Interestingly, he confessed to me in a letter that Molly Kazan, director Elia Kazan's wife, complained of only two things in the play: The title and those now-famous lines. Fortunately no one listened to her, and the play went on to become a super hit -- as did the film version.

Robert Anderson and I became close friends even though we never met. He wrote in The New York Times that he was considering moving from a typewriter to a word processor and asked if anyone knew anything about them. By then, I was living in Pinehurst, far from New York, so I got his address and wrote.

"Are you by chance the author of 'I Never Sang for my Father'?" I asked. He wrote back that he was and that he still had a copy of my rave review for the play. I did rave because it was one of the most moving plays I ever saw.

That was the beginning of several years of most satisfying correspondence. He sent me videos of plays in progress; I sent him novels in progress. His critiques were incisive, helpful and friendly. We exchanged commiserative notes on rejections, and gradually all barriers were broken down. He was then living with his ex-wife, the beautiful Teresa Wright (of "Mrs. Miniver" fame) and I became privy to their inner thoughts. Oddly, during all this time we never even spoke on the phone.

Then, suddenly, my letters went unanswered. It was puzzling at the time. We did have a mutual friend who was his neighbor in Manhattan. I wrote him and he replied that he did not see Bob very much and added that he thought he was not too well.

All of this came to light last week, when I learned that Robert Anderson had died two months earlier after a seven-year battle with Alzheimer's disease.

That accounted for the unanswered letters. An e-mail I received this week from director/producer Gil Cates confirmed it when he wrote that he had last spoken to the playwright two years ago and Anderson did not even remember having written "I Never Sang for My Father." This was hurtful, since Gil Cates (best known for the yearly TV Oscar show) was the producer of "I Never Sang" on Broadway and the director of the movie version of it.

One of the hazards of living a long life is that you see the loss of so many colleagues, contemporaries and talented people. But you don't forget them and, in the case of composers and writers, you can reach for the products of their genius and renew your acquaintance.

I cherish the pen-pal friendship and cherish even more the legacy Robert Anderson left. Beyond "Tea and Sympathy" and "I Never Sang for My Father" were other theater successes such as "You Know I Can't Hear You When the Water's Running." He was also a noted screenwriter, with movies like "The Nun's Story" and "The Sand Pebbles." He was versatile enough to crank out TV scripts and even a novel or two, but essentially he belonged to the theater -- as do his plays, which even today are constantly revived all over the world.

Robert Anderson was a sophisticate born in New York City who went to a fancy prep school and then Harvard, but he had a down-to-earth human touch that reached out to us all.

Allan Jefferys, a former New York theater critic, entertainment editor and newsman, lives in Pinehurst. Contact him at oldjeff@embarqmail.com.