Ernest Hemingway

Two days in Ketchum, Idaho with Jack and Angela Hemingway was one of those “pinch me, I must be dreaming” adventures. We were there to interview Jack for the upcoming release of the Hemingway line of furniture being introduced by Thomasville. What we found was one of the most unique travel experiences of a lifetime.

“There’s a Picasso in there somewhere” said Angela Hemingway, wife of Jack …eldest son of author Ernest Hemingway. “I have to run some errands and will be back in about an hour…just make yourself at home.” (The Picasso was a fake, however)

We went inside the solid concrete structure. The furnishings were the latest of the 50’s and early 60’s. The overall decor of the home where Ernest Hemingway lived his final two years seemed to suspend time.

“This house will survive a nuclear attack,” remarked Jack. “It was built to last..as will the writings of my father.”

We wandered through the house, stopping frequently to admire various items of memorabilia placed throughout the living room. There was a bronze bust on a shelf which was surrounded by other items. Hemingway had a way of expressing our deepest desires to know the world in which we live.

We stood in the very spot where Ernest Hemingway pounded the keys of his typewriter inspired by the view through the picture window in front of him which looked upon the beauty of Sun Valley..a view that anyone would find breathtaking.

I couldn’t resist…I slid a piece of paper into the typewriter but my mind went blank. Finally I typed “This was typed on Ernest Hemingway’s typewriter.” It hangs in a frame in my house now.

When we finished our work for the day we joined Jack and Angela at the favorite hangout of Ernest Hemingway in Ketchum…the Olympic Bar at the Christiania Restaurant. Having just finished reading “A Moveable Feast” I couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding around me.

There we sat with the man who sat with his father at those outdoor cafe’s in Paris in the 1920’s. Our waitress was the granddaughter of actress Anne Southern. The owner, who joined us later, was the Olympic trainer for athletes such as Picabo Street. Others who dropped into the bar were world travelers who knew Jack and Angela.

Larry Frank and I kept looking at each other knowing that we were both thinking the same thing…”we’re living an Ernest Hemingway novel!”