On the Trail of Hemmingway

Key West was my first introduction to the legacy of Earnest Hemmingway. His famous six-toed cats and the walkway to his writing tree house kept me in suspended animation. That was long before I decided to focus my attention on writing and creating stories of my own for others to enjoy

That was a long time ago.

But it was Cuba that gave me a new insight into the man and his passions. It solidified the image and the legend of Papa as he was affectionately known.  Wandering the narrow cobble-stone alleys and walkways of old town, Havana brought back a plethora of sights and sounds that Hemmingway must have embraced and embellished when he was around.

Rumors abound about the Hemmingway of old and his escapades in the Hotel Ambos Mundos  in Old Town Havana. The lobby is adorned with large photographs of Papa when he hung around the lobby, mixing stories with other ex-pats in town and eyeing the local scenery.

Mojito

So as I sat in one of the old leather chairs that Hemmingway supposedly sat in and listened to the jazz combo playing something from the forties I couldn’t help but imagine another world in which he lived and loved and grew his legend. I let myself ask what, if anything, I shared with that genius with a tortured soul. He was a man obsessed with his own image and his place in literary history. I just want to write.

Despite his wonderful writings, Hemmingway was a tortured writer and a conflicted human being. His father and brother both committed suicide and he followed suit. Hemmingway represented an old fashioned vision of what it meant to be a man. I think it was this narrow focus and blind determination that caused him so many of his internal conflicts.

I don’t think a man should be judged by the size of his gun barrel or his capacity to get stinking drunk. I don’t think the number of wives a man acquires or outside marital interests mark his greatness as a man.

I’m guessing near the end of his life, Hemmingway felt a tremendous insecurity at the thought of his sinking ability to write something great. It was almost as if He was doomed by the same passion, focus, determination and blind faith that lead him to greatness in the first place. Whatever balance that might have existed in his life had dissipated by then.

Hemmingway solidified his place in literary history but at a terrible price by my Midwestern standards. He had four wives, numerous liaisons and a serious drinking problem. In the end, he made the literary grade while I’m still plugging away. But I’ve got my health, a solid relationship and great kids. Probably not much of a comparison but I like where I’m at. I’ll still climb mountains, ride bikes and do other physical things but nothing in comparison to Hemmingway.

In the end, that’s OK. He did it his way even to the end. I’m in control as he was and I’ll do it until I can’t any longer…my own way. Good for both of us.