Ernest Hemingway was a complex man. Like Teddy Roosevelt, he was a man who suffered from a insatiable desire to prove himself a man to the point that history has made him a caraciture of himself. That's what your mom dressing you as girl and telling friends that you were her daughter for the first years of your life will do to a man. He was one of the first celebrity outdoorsman and spent considerable time on safari in Africa. George Plimpton was interviewing him for an article about boxing, when Hemingway flipped over the breakfast table and demanded they spar in the kitchen. He spent years marlin fishing in the Gulf. One one occasion swore off a man's friendship because the guy got seasick. He survived two plane crashes. The list goes on.
The late Hunter S. Thompson wrote a piece shortly after Hemingway's death on why he chose to live his final years in Ketchum, Idaho. In the late 50's, Hemingway was forced to realize his poor health and the changing world around him. Cuba was over. Likewise, the Keys as he knew them were a memory. Paris had changed decades earlier. Thompson pointed out that the only place that had stayed the same was Ketchum, Idaho and its people. These were simpler people in a relatively isolated location. My dad lived in the capital, Boise, in the early 50's and he swears that you could drive 15 minutes from downtown and see deer and bears. In the last days, he drank too much and treated family pooly. He was nothing more than a mean, old man.
Discussion questions include: Was Hemingway hiding? Is there anything wrong w/ hiding? Was his rugged masculinity a cover? Is that kind of masculinity a thing of the past? What are the demons which might follow you around until old age? How do you want to age in your final years? How does that start now?
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