Ernest Hemingway happens to be my favorite author which, I was informed by an elderly man wearing a woolen beret, is unusual for women. We were riding the L train to 8th Avenue. He went on to say that his favorite author was also Hemingway. I had been reading, "A Farewell To Arms," during that particular train ride. It was an unusually warm September and the train car had an air of humidity. I wasn't sure what to do with the information, about Hemingway and women readers, now that I had it. For a moment I felt self-conscious, taking a moment to glance around at other women to see what they were reading. Perhaps something by Danielle Steele would be a better choice? Most people wouldn't have the courage to read her in full public view. Or a relatively neutral work, like "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Plaid," by David Sedaris. Anyway, my deliberations were short-lived as the man proceeded to tell me that he admired women who think for themselves. "Alright!" I thought. "I am a woman and I think for myself. I am reading Hemingway today. See how little he chatters about feelings?"
I heard a story recently that, in 1944, while a war correspondent Hemingway resolved to be THE person to liberate the Ritz hotel in Paris. Allied forces had swept through the city and were still weeding out pockets of resistance. Unfortunately for Ernest, someone had beaten him to it and, when he arrived, the hotel (which incidentally had been operating as normal for some time) was already quite liberated. Troops had secured the whole area and could be seen at times in the lobby of the hotel. So, Hemingway being Hemingway, he resolved instead to liberate the hotel bar in which, so I have heard, he racked up a tab of 51 dry martinis. It is also worth noting that while at the hotel he learned that his wife had filed divorce. After an unsuccessful attempt to flush her picture down the toilet in his room, he proceeded to un-holstered his pistol and shoot the photo, along with the toilet, dead.
I am not certain that anything about this little jaunt is particularly accurate as I certainly have done nothing to verify its authenticity. The bits about the hotel and the liberation of Paris are true but the parts about Hemingway may be another story in a life full of stories. And Hemingway deserves stories, if anyone does. For we DO know that he hung around with F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein and James Joyce in 1920's Paris, challenged (and fought) Morley Callahan to a boxing match, reported from and fought in the Spanish civil war (during which he undoubtedly guarded a bar or two on Las Ramblas in Barcelona), and conducted submarine patrols off the coast of Havana (where he also fished with Fidel Castro).
Now, after writing this I am thinking of an exchange between Lieutenant Henry and Catherine Barkley, which is as good a place to leave you as any.
[Henry] "What should I think about?"
[Barkley] "Anything. Anything but us. Think about your people. Or even another girl."
"No"
"Say your prayers then. That ought to create a splendid impression."
"Maybe I won't talk."
"That's true. Often people don't talk."
"I won't talk."
"Don't brag, darling. Please don't brag. You're so sweet and you don't have to brag."