Pilar, Hemingway's fishing boat, built for him in the 1930's, in this picture is completely reconditioned and displayed on what used to be the tennis courts at Hem's house in Cuba, Finca Vigia. Pilar now belongs to the Cuban government, along with the old estate which up until fairly recently (not sure when actually) had been sitting there undisturbed since Hemingway got outta Dodge in 1960 with the revolution overtaking the island. I don’t think Hem knew he might never see the place or the boat again. Paul Hendrickson wrote a book, Hemingway's Boat: Everything He Loved in Life, And Lost covering the Pilar years, 1934-1961. (Skidmore turned me onto it a few months ago and I have it on Kindle now and am much enjoying it.) I have read the Hotchner and Baker bios of Hemingway, and probably, sorry to say, am more drawn to the biography than I am to Papa's original work. With each biography I read, a new dimension of Hemingway opens up. I think probably to some extent, short of 100%, each of the bios is true (and we benefit from the varying angles the writers take), but Hendrickson's book is different and quite compelling. For one thing, it is by no means told chronologically. For another, Hendrickson went out and found some of the surviving relatives and the old friends from the Pilar phase. Because it's ostensibly about the years Hemingway had Pilar, there is a lot of fishing in it, and many runs from Key West to Cuba and Cuba to Bimini, a lot of competitions, boxing, trying to catch the biggest blue marlin, and literary stuff by the bushel (Hemingway and Fitzgerald had the same editor at Scribner's, the fabulous Max Perkins). Perkins, thus, was the meat in the sandwich between these two modernist literary giants who also were jealous back-stabbing drunken jet-setters, one with killer instinct, one not. Guess which is which.
|Hem aboard Pilar, age 50|
Pilar was a beauty, Hemingway's own little clubhouse for action, fun, flirtation, and taking pot-shots at Nazi submarines. He actually owned a tommy gun. One of the most interesting comments Hendrickson makes is about Hemingway's rapid deterioration. He was just shy of sixty-one when, clad in a red robe, he shot himself with both barrels in the foyer of his Ketchum, Idaho home. His wife, fourth, Mary, had taken steps to prevent this, but not very energetic ones considering Papa was determined and perhaps genetically pre-determined. The guns and the ammo were separated, the key to the gun cabinet in the basement not very well hidden.
It was 1954 when Hemingway was in Africa and he and his wife (Mary) were involved in two separate plane crashes inside of a week (http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/07/04/specials/hemingway-safe.htm). Hemingway was terribly burned in the second one. Hands, legs. And burns like that affect the entire system. He already had skin cancer, covered with his famous beard, probably because of all the rays he captured while navigating the Gulf Stream over 25 years. He drank to excess (putting it mildly), Hendrickson offers, because he was uncertain, tormented, and packed inside himself a lifetime ton of Catholic guilt (see the Gertrude Stein quote at the bottom of this blog). He was self-medicating, Hendrickson theorizes, but whatever -- all those malfunctions separately let alone combined aren't good for the brain. I was saying above that Hendrickson quoted several friends of Hem who said he didn't seem to have a middle-age, how he was rather robust at 45 and in his fifties was an old man. The picture of him above was taken at 50, before the plane crashes.
For about seven years, Hemingway lived in a corner suite of the Hotel Ambos Mundos in Havana. This was his transition period between Key West (and his second wife Pauline) and Finca Vigia (Cuba) (and his third wife Martha Gellhorn). He was drinking plenty, and, so he said in letters to his editor, Perkins, he was writing in the morning and fishing in the afternoon. But we must remember my favorite observation from the Baker biography, that after 1930 and The Sun Also Rises, and certainly after the great A Farewell to Arms, Hemingway was more famous in America than Babe Ruth. Check it out: He was a writer (!), more famous than the Babe. After he got his boat in 1934, celebrities, politicians, movie stars, rich people of all stripes and genders, converged on him to deep sea fish, party, and cavort. Writers are of two minds -- they need more privacy than most and get cranky if they don’t get it, but in reaction to that they can be party animals when they get away from the worktable, and in Hem's case, centrifugal force pulled him to his boat and the life of a jet-setter and gifted self-promoter. Well, so, the Hotel Ambos Mundos was a sort of writerly hideout where he got work done – probably more work done than he was accomplishing in the second floor study above the garage in Key West.. Mornings mostly. In the afternoons he might be hosting someone on Pilar. In the evenings and very late at night, often by himself, he cavorted in the seedy back streets of Havana. Hendrickson confesses that he's not sure when the transition from Pauline and his three sons to the beautiful Martha Gellhorn actually began. "Ambos Mundos" means "between two worlds."
|Hemingway in the last year or so, only 59 or 60 years old.|
He was born in Oak Park, IL, suburban Chicago, the son of a doctor. I thought I read in the Hendrickson book that Ernest was raised Catholic, but I couldn't find it when I looked back. Thanks to Rollins College Hemingway scholar Gail Sinclair, I corresponded with Hendrickson and asked about that. He clarified that Hemingway was not raised Catholic but marginally converted in the post-war period and then became only a bit more of a practiciing Catholic when he was married to Pauline and living in Key West. Overall, Hendrickson told me, Hemingway never was particularly religious. This is a revision from my original blog in this space, based on Hendrickson's and Sinclair's input. His father, worried about possible amputations because of the onset of diabetes (well, who knows what all he was worried about -- he did leave a letter but I never believe those) shot himself with a pistol in the master bedroom of the Oak Park house in 1928. Five Hemingways over three generations (email from Gail Sinclair) killed themselves, beginning with Hem's father and ending with his granddaughter Margaux. Few of those suicides were as natural as Ernest's, because for him life was lived large as a blood sport. At least 8 severe concussions in his life, including being blown up in WWI at the age of 19 or so, car wrecks, skylights falling on him, two plane crashes in a week, oh and don't forget the guy loved to box. And then there were the shock treatments. Aboard Pilar trying to shoot a shark; he once shot himself in both legs with a pistol.
While I believe his deterioration happened because of celebrity, self-medication, concussions, burns, shock treatments, and probably some genetic inevitability (many signs his father was bipolar [using a contemporary term]), and began perhaps as late as 1950 (though Hemingway's book A Moveable Feast, some of his finest bitchy writing, appeared after his death, a good part of it was written in the 1940s; in the late 1950s part of his depression had to do with his mournful realization that he couldn't write anymore). Gertrude Stein, such a friend and admirer of his, ruthlessly turned on him as a disappointment much earlier than 1950 and made an enemy for life. She said he abandoned his best literary self around 1925. This is she, taken from Hendrickson's book:
When I first met Hemingway he had a truly sensitive capacity for emotion, and that was the stuff of the first stories; but he was shy of himself and he began to develop, as a shield, a big Kansas City-boy brutality about it, and so he was “tough” because he was really sensitive and ashamed that he was. Then it happened. I saw it happening and tried to save what was fine there, but it was too late. He went the way so many other Americans have gone before, the way they are still going. He became obsessed by sex and violent death.*
*Hendrickson, Paul (2011-09-20). Hemingway's Boat: Everything He Loved in Life, and Lost, 1934-1961 (p. 277). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
I strongly recommend Paul Hendrickson's book about Hemingway and Pilar if you have an interest in the man himself. As a writer (though I'm not Hemingway of course), an Illinois boy, doctor’s son, and a failed Catholic myself, I was pulled through it like a man obsessed.