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Rhonda Kittle honestly doesn’t know why someone would write an article about her. And she’s embarrassed there’s a plaque hanging on the wall in her honor at the new St. Vincent Hospice. “I’m just not a plaque-on-the-wall kind of person,” she laments.

But how else do you thank the woman responsible for making a difference in so many lives?

Raising $7 million for the cutting-edge facility is just a start for Rhonda, who envisions a lifetime of continued philanthropy. After all, she learned from an expert — her late husband, businessman and humanitarian James L. Kittle Sr., who spent the last years of his life doing full-time charitable work. Before he died, he lay in his hospital bed, rolled his hands and said to her, “Ronnie, there’s so much more to do, there’s so much more to do.”

But this isn’t the path her life was supposed to take. Fifty-two-year-old Rhonda Swaim Kittle was raised far from the glitzy world of charity benefits. Her parents and grandparents were farming people who lived a modest life and taught her solid “feet on the ground” values. She graduated from Purdue University with a degree in home economics and a simple dream: to become a wife and mother. “I love home,” she says. “It’s what life is about.”

As time went on however, her dream withered. With no plans for marriage on the horizon she tried for a teaching job, but nothing was available. Desperate for employment in the early ’70s when jobs were scarce, the 26-year-old reluctantly took a job at an Indianapolis furniture store managing its drapery and wallcovering department. Her fate was sealed by the location of her desk — right in front of the executive offices where storeowner Jim Kittle often would pass by.

After four years at Kittle’s, because of her education in home economics, she got an offer to manage the Kittle home and be a companion to Kittle’s wife, Alice, who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.

Wanting a new job, but hesitant about “living under somebody else’s roof,” she turned to God for an answer just as she had done in the past and would continue to do throughout her life. “Take me where I’m supposed to go,” she prayed. Before she knew it, a van pulled up to her double in Broad Ripple and her things were moved to her new residence with the Kittle family on Sunset Lane.

She oversaw the household staff and took care of Alice, with whom she fell in love. They shopped together, took walks, talked and laughed. “She (Alice) was a marvelous, wonderful person” who was devoted to her sons and grandsons and who encouraged Rhonda to get involved in church. Alice was a good example of living in faith day to day even as her illness consumed her.

When Alice died six years later, it was decided to sell the house on Sunset Lane and build a new one. Some of the staff continued on with Kittle; Rhonda was one of them.

Her relationship with Kittle changed in the ensuing years from a respectful employee-employer friendship to a different kind. Though nothing romantic had been budding while Alice was being cared for, the two grew to depend on each other for support and became closer over time. They had become each other’s best friend.

Five years would pass before Jim would give her an engagement ring, and when he did on that Christmas Eve, she was “completely shocked.” She had given up on her dream of marriage years before. It took her two months and more praying before she gave him an answer. But at age 41, Rhonda’s dream of marriage finally came true. Jim was 74.

When Rhonda talks about her late husband, she could be describing someone almost superhuman. She adored him. Her love for him radiates. It’s hard to get back on the subject of Rhonda when she starts talking about Jim.
“You couldn’t tell his age by looking at him.”

“He thought so out-of- the-box, he couldn’t even find the box.”

“He was always thinking about tomorrow and how to make tomorrow better.”

“He was a phenomenal person and fun. He was filled with fun.”

“He made you laugh all the time.”

“He was always impeccably dressed.”

“He had a marvelous positive sense of well being.”

“He was everything to me.”

After Jim turned the family business over to his sons, he directed his attention Downtown and became involved in the city’s redevelopment. “This city wouldn’t be the same if Jim hadn’t lived,” says Rhonda, referring to all the projects he had a hand in.

Also a philanthropist, he eventually would spend all his time in charity work. He was most passionate about St. Vincent Hospital, Second Presbyterian Church and the YMCA, serving on boards, set ting up scholarships, raising money or working on committees. The main hall in St. Vincent Hospital is dedicated to him and is called James L. Kittle Hall of Honor.

One day Jim sat Rhonda down and asked her what she was going to do with her life after he was gone. She didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine life without him. His influence on her was profound. He had exposed her to things she never would have dreamed of. His philosophy reinforced what she had learned from her parents — put others first and don’t live just for yourself. With no children to raise, she began to wonder what her purpose was.

In April of 1998, before their seventh anniversary, the unimaginable happened. Rhonda “lost her heart” when the man she cherished died of cancer. She still cries about it today. “I lost everything my life was about.”

He spent his last 12 hours at the old St. Vincent Hospice. Those few hours changed the way Rhonda thought about dying. She still draws strength from the nurses and volunteers involved in the hospice program who helped her through the “black tunnel” that was her husband’s death. “They lifted the pain. They knew what to say, how to touch me, how to deal with me. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”

In contrast to the caring, uplifting staff, the facility itself was dark and drab and the equipment and furnishings old. She was unhappy that Jim, who loved to look at nice things, had to close his eyes in those surroundings. It was a beautiful spring day and yet she couldn’t open a window for him. She wasn’t aware of it at the time, but a seed was planted that in a few years would grow into a luxurious new 25-bed hospice with cheery rooms, patios and gardens.

She says: “Why Duke came to me out of all the people he had to choose from …”
He says: “Rhonda was on a short list of one.”

F. Duke Haddad, vice president of development for St. Vincent Hospital and executive director of the St. Vincent Foundation, knows how to pick ’em. Approaching Rhonda with the task of chairing the Hospice Capital Campaign to raise $1.5 million for a new facility was brilliant.

Rhonda had been around the St. Vincent Foundation board a lot over the years. Jim was a member and often had meetings in their home. “For a long time they thought I was the hired help,” she laughs, because when they came for meetings she’d always be working in the kitchen or out in the yard looking like “some disreputable person off the street.” She’s affectionately known by the group as “Piglet.”

Six months after Jim’s death, however, it was Rhonda the foundation wanted to meet with about a certain fund-raising project they had in mind. A plan had been developed for the building of a new hospice, and they were walking her through it when she stopped them. “I won’t do it this way, but if you do it my way I’ll do it,” she said, the words surprising even herself. She knew in a minute the way it should be done. Her vision had been forming since that last day with Jim.

“Her way” increased the cost to $5.3 million.

To date, $7 million has been raised and the new facility, true to Rhonda’s vision, opened in April of 2000. “Rhonda was a chair whose imprint is all over this place,” Haddad says as we tour the complex. Gardens with statues, benches and wide pathways — bubbling waterfalls — patios with French doors that open wide enough for beds to roll through — beds that roll — windows that open — homey furniture — pretty decorating — a kitchen, a dining room, a TV room, a sunroom — these were Rhonda’s ideas.

“She could have sat on the sidelines,” Haddad says. But she got out of the huge shadow that was Jim Kittle and built her own career. Haddad says she honors his memory by continuing what he started.

And she’s good at it. “She lights fires,” Haddad says. “Wherever she speaks she lights up the room.”

She has also served on the boards of both the YMCA and YWCA, is very active at Second Presbyterian Church and is currently chairman of the St. Vincent Foundation’s Development Committee.

Hospice always will be her pet project, however, and new ideas for it just keep popping up. She has plans to build a screened porch so patients can get air without the worry of mosquitoes. And she wants to install labyrinths both inside and out for contemplation and spiritual enrichment.

Has the hospice project given her the purpose she had been looking for in her life? “It’s a start,” she says. To have been given the opportunity to do something that benefits others was a gift to her. But she continues to plan for tomorrow and to find ways to “earn her paycheck.”

Jim’s death left a gaping hole in her personal life, but she’s gradually starting to fill it. She has made a family out of good friends who say nice things about her like: “She’s a fantastic cook.” “She would do anything for you.” “She’s a lady who never speaks an unkind word about anyone.” “She’s good inside and out.” And some even have made her legal guardian of their children.

Her puppy Penelope is her baby and third in a line of beloved dogs she’s had, which includes Lillie Mae and Tiffany Belle. She loves tennis, is passionate about scuba diving and has taken up golf. And after nearly four years of being unable to attend church without Jim, she finally started going again — thanks to some prodding on the part of the concerned congregation.

For Rhonda, life is “forward moving” and she will find new things and new people as it goes on. While she hopes that someday she might find another with whom she can share her life, what she has found is a purpose, and for now she is content.