THE BEST OF TIMES

Dear Ernest,

What a year! It's 1922, and you're 23 years old this year. WOW! What you've seen and experienced in your life, dear Hem, in those 23 years could fill a book. By 19 you were immersed in the war, in Italy, and wounded. You've survived the streets of Chicago as a cub reporter; you've fished, hiked and canoed your way from Canada to Michigan; you've loved, lost, and loved again; and you've married and moved to Europe - Paris in particular. That's what I call action packed, my friend.

And now... biggest WOW of all! You're living your dream, married to the woman you're mad about, hiking and skiing in Switzerland, enjoying the life fantastic in Paris. What more could you ask for? 

In January, 1922 you wrote your family, "Bones (your term of endearment for Hadley) and I are living up here at about 3,000 feet above sea level and having the most gorgeous time... It is Les Avants, above Montreaux on Lake Geneva and wonderful mountain sports." You write them of your your new apartment in Paris, "It is on top of a high hill in the very oldest part of Paris. The nicest part of the Latin quarter. Just back of the Pantheon and the Ecole Polytechique." You write your good friend, Katherine Smith, "My gawd the fun a man has...It is so beautiful here that it hurts in a numb sort of way all the time,only when you're with somebody you're lovers wit the beauty gets to be jost sort of a tremendous happiness. It's so damn beautiful, Butstein, and we have so damn much fun."

My dearest Hem, you are fully, totally, and completely smitten - with Hadley, with Paris, with Switzerland...with life! These are truly the best of times. And the people you are meeting! You write of dining with Gertrude Stein who, as you share, "is keen about your poetry." You go on to share, "Me and Ezra Pound are getting to be great pals." The literary mix you are immersed in is impressive.

I am so very please to hear that you are writing. This wonderland that you inhabit, these creatives that you are entrenched with, it all comes together to create a rare and fortunate opportunity. The experiences you're amassing, whether hiking the Black Forest of Germany, or fishing the pristine streams of rural France, are all fodder for the literary pieces you will create and the works you will put forth.

Remember, dear Hem, to take the time to appreciate and enjoy this time. Life is so uncertain and change is inevitable, but for right now the world is your oyster. Enjoy!

With Warmest Regards,
Betsy

OFF TO PARIS TO WRITE

Dear Hem,

WOW! 1921 was one whirlwind of a year! If you weren't immersed in writing, socializing with your friends, and camping and fishing, you were getting married and preparing to go abroad. By October, 1921 you had arranged with the Star to go to Paris as a roving correspondent. With the modest income you were going to receive from the Star combined with Hadley's trust income, your return to Europe and your wish to focus on your writing is really starting to take shape.

You write your family on December 20, 1921 of your passage, "We've had a fine trip. Stopped at Vigo in Spain and went ashore in a motor launch. Only very rough one day. Then a regular hurricane...Hash (his nickname for Hadley) is very popular aboard the ship because of playage of the piano...There are a funny lot of people aboard but many a few very nice ones. We land in Havre tomorrow about noon and will be in Paris tomorrow night." 

Another letter that you wrote to Bill Smith, during that same time-frame personified the "manly" Hemingway. (You so love your characters, even in how you personify yourself to the different people in your life!) "Vigo, Spain. That's the place for a male. A harbor almost landlocked about as big as little Traverse bay with big, brown, mountains. A male can buy a lateen sailed boat for 5 seeds. Costs a seed a day at the Grand Hotel and the bay swarms with Tuna. They behave exactly like lainsteins - sardines for shiners - chase them the same way and I saw 3 in the air at once - 1 easily 8 feet. The biggest one they've taken this year weighed 850 lbs!" What a "fish story!"

Paris! What an amazing city, and to be young, in love, and brimming with creativity and drive - ah, dear Hem, you are in your element! You wrote of it to your friend, Sherwood, "Well here we are. And we sit outside the Dome Cafe, oposite the Rotunde that's being redecorated, warmed up against one of those charcoal brazziers and it's so damned cold outside and the brasier makes it so warm and we drink rum punch, hot, and the rhum enters into us like the Holy Spirit. And when it's cold night in the streets of Paris and we're walking home down the Rue Bonaparte we think of the way the wolves used to slink into the city and Francois Villon and the gallows at Montfaucon. What a town."

With the letter of introduction from Sherwood Anderson that you brought with you, introducing you to the likes of Lewis Galantiere, Sylvia Beach, Exra Pound, and Gertrude Stein, your immersion in the literary world of Paris is guaranteed! How exciting!

The rate of exchange in France makes living comfortably very reasonable indeed, and by January 8,1921 you wrote your friend, Howell Jenkins, that you and Hash were moving to an apartment at 74 Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. Amazing, Hem! You went from living in those boarding house conditions as a street reporter for the Star, to Paris where you share that, "We're not going to keep house till we get back from Chambry Sur Montreaux in Switzerland where we're allezing for a brace of the weeks to shoot some winter sports." You must be black-and-blue from pinching yourself to see if you might wake up from this dream!

Dearest Hem, throughout your letters written in 1922 I read about your happiness, your wonder at your life and your passion for immersion in what you love. You revel in the literary world you're becoming a part of. You delight at the life you are leading with the woman who you love and who shares in your wonder and delight. This is an amazing time in your life that shines brilliantly. It is all so new, so rich, and at times so overwhelming. You, sir, have the bull by the horns. I encourage you to enjoy this time and write "like there's no tomorrow." This is the beginning of something great. 

Give my love to Hash.

With Warmest Regards,
Betsy

CHOOSING A LIFE OF FULL IMMERSION

Ernest Hemingway and Hadley Richardson

Dear Ernest,
Wouldn't you know it! You no sooner fall in love then your friend James Gamble invites you to travel with him to Italy for an indefinite indulgence in "romance spaget and fleas again." Your reply telegram speaks of the truth of your current life outside of the ideals you continue to paint your life with, despite the truth, " Rather go to Rome with you than heaven STOP. Not married STOP. But am broke STOP. Sad STOP. Too sad for words STOP Writing and selling it STOP. Unmarried but don't get rich STOP. All authors poor first then rich STOP. Me no exception STOP. Wouldn't we have a great time STOP. Lord How I envy you. Hemmy

You never do make that trip with James, though you seriously think about it as you wrote Hadley on December 29, 1920, "Things are all up in the air. I'm liable to leave Tuesday for Rome, not Rome N.Y. via Washington to pick up passport and will leave from here to St. Louis and then to Washington. Here's the chance - 5 months of writing under Ideal conditions..."

I have to wonder, Hem, if you chose not to go because you may have had a foreshadowing of what might happen based on your experiences with Ag. In your mind I have to wonder if you don't seriously doubt the old adage that, "absence makes the heart grow fonder." In the end you chose not to go to Italy and to stay Stateside, work, and court Hadley.

Hem, I am constantly impressed the the level of your knowledge around literature and the arts. It is obvious you are a voracious reader. In your letter to your mother, dated January 10, 1921, you write of Levin (1892-1981), a Russian-born journalist who worked at the KS Star; Mischa Levitzki (1898-1941), an American pianist and composer; Josef Hofmann (1876-1957), Polish-born pianist - and the list of composers and writers you mentioned in your letter goes on and on. It's impressive!

As I read this letter to your mother I sense that you may feel a real sense of inadequacy as you try to shine in your mother's shadow. It always seems that you're doing your darnedest to try and impress her and possibly prove to her that you are worthy, somehow. Coming from a Mother's perspective that saddens me as I would hope that she would choose to affirm your worthiness, whatever your career or educational choices, but that space of kind, unconditional love does not seem to be the space that your mother operates from when it comes to her children, or at least when it comes to you.

I love that you mentioned the poet Carl Sandburg in your letter to Bill Horne, dated January 26, 1921. I too am very fond of Sandburg's acerbic style of writing:

"Your head ain't screwed on wrong, I trust.
Use your noodle, your nut, your think tank,
your skypiece. God meant for you to use it.
If they offer to let you in the ground
floor take the elevator."

This year,1921, was a pivotal year for you, Hem. You launched into a life of full immersion in your writing and networking. The year is peppered with letters to editors and publishers and submissions of manuscripts and ideas. Your prolific creative nature is becoming more focused and, as such, is carrying you forward in a time span of perpetual motion and creativity. In this time span you have also made the decision to marry Hadley and that has set reactions and plans into motion that are pivotal to your future.

Congratulations on your pending marriage to Hadley! I see that you will be married on September 3, 1921 at the small Methodist church in Horton Bay. How wonderful! You happily share your satirical view of the event in your letter to your sister, Marcelline, dated August 11, 1921, "The enditer is to become man and wife on September the 3rd at Hortense Bay, Michigan, as yet I do not realize all the full horror of marriage, which was plainly visible on the Blights face, you recall his face?, and so if you wish to see me break down at the altar and perhaps have to be carried to the altar in a chair by the crying ushers, it were well that you made your plans to be on tap for the date. It is a Saturday."

I am thrilled for you as this marks a turning point in your life and career. Before the end of the year you and Hadley will set sail for Europe and the start of something very different from your life stateside. Well done, Hem! Well done!

Warm Regards,
Betsy

RECOVERING FROM A BROKEN HEART

Angnes Von Kurowsky

Dear Hem,

I am so very sorry that things didn't work out between you and Ag. Distance and time are two obstacles to love that can sometimes bring those involved to their knees. I'm sorry to see this happen to you. You write of your loss and suffering in your letter to Bill Horne, dated March 30, 1919, "She doesn't love me Bill. She takes it all back. A 'mistake' one of those little mistakes you know. Oh Bill I can't kid about it and I can't be bitter because I'm just smashed by it. And the devil of it is that it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't left Italy...

But Bill I've loved Ag. She's been my ideal and Bill I forgot all about religion and everything else - because I had Ag to worship. Well the crash of smashing ideals was never merry music to any ones ears. But she doesn't love me now Bill and she is going to marry some one, name not given, whom she has met since. Marry him very soon and she hopes that after I have forgiven her I will start and have a wonderful career and everything...All I wanted was Ag and happiness...

I'm writing this with a dry mouth and a lump in the old throat and Bill I wish you were here to talk to. The Dear Kid! I hope he's the best man in the world. Aw Bill I can't write about it. 'Cause I do love her so damned much... And the pefectest hell of it is that money, which was the only thing that kept us from being married in Italy is coming in at such an ungodly rate now...I've got to stop before I begin feeling bitter because I'm not going to do that. I love Ag too much."

My heart breaks for you, dear friend, as I see your idealistic view of the world struggling to not shatter and fall in splinters at your feet. Your letters over the next couple of months frame your intent to wipe Ag from your heart and from your mind. You engage in a whirlwind of social engagements and spending time with friends up at Windemere. the family cottage, in upper Michigan. There's plenty of fishing and time in the great outdoors with friends, and by yourself, and the healing seems to be happening.

It must have been a bit of a shock to get the letter from Ag! Your response speaks to the healing work you're doing to recover from your broken heart, "Had a very sad letter from Ag from Rome yesterday. She has fallen out with her Major. She is in a hell of a way mentally and says I should feel revenged for what she did to me. Poor damned kid I'm sorry as hell for her. But there's nothing I can do. I loved her once and then she gypped me. And I don't blame her. But I set out to cauterize out her memory and I burnt it out with a course of booze and other women and now it's gone. She's all broken up and I wish there was something I could do for her tho. But that's all shut behind me - Long ago and far away. And there ain't no buses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay."

Hem, one of the risks of being a raging idealist is that the constant disappointments can harden you to real world events. I truly hope this isn't happening to you as you have a good heart and an expressive soul, and I'd hate to see that become jaded and judgmental. It is good to see that you are moving on from the devastation you felt when Ag broke it off with you. Surrounding yourself with good friends and enjoying your time up north is a great salve for healing those wounds.

By November, 1919 you'd spent an amazing summer fishing, hanging out and having fun with your buddies and it seems to have done you a world of good. Your passion for life and your idealistic view are back full strength and you've hit the pavement running as you start back to writing and getting published.

So you continue to carouse, write,eke out a living and try to get published, and weave stories of an exotic life lived on the edge. You have lots of friends and buddies who you move freely among and between as you burn both ends of the candle at once. 1920 is a whirlwind of engagements, friends, writing, and drinking that goes by in a blur until the end of 1920 when your letter to Hadley Richardson, dated December 23, 1920 speaks of the softening of your heart towards this young lady. You close your letter to her with, " 'Night my dearest Hash - I'd like to hold you so and kiss you so that you wouldn't doubt whether I wanted to or not -"

Ah, dear Hem, I think you're in love again! 

POST WAR RECOVERY

Dear Hem,

As you share in your letter to Bill Horne, dated December 13, 1918, "And so I'm coming home and start the battle for buns or the skirmish for stew or the tussle for turnovers as soon as I can." You are back stateside and ready to hit the bricks and make up for lost time in your writing and reporting. This is good news.

My heart goes out to you, dear friend, as you are "homesick" for Italy now and yearning to get back to the lady you love, "Don't for the Lord's sake come to this country as long as you can help it. That is from one who knoweth. I'm patriotic and willing to die for this great and glorious nation. But I hate like the deuce to live in it." This you wrote in your letter to Jim Gamble, dated March 3, 1919.

It must be quiet a change to be on the speaking circuit sharing your stories of the war. From what you share, I get that you are not comfortable with the way those around you perceive you, "They've tried to make a hero out of me here. But you know and I know that all the real heroes are dead. If I had been a really game guy I would have gotten myself killed off." 

Dear Hem, your guilt about surviving the war and your sense of not being worthy having been rejected during the draft, and having to go as a part of the Red Cross has you feeling like an impostor compared to the "real" soldiers who fought, were wounded, and who died. That sense of being an impostor will follow you and goad you throughout your life. 

You returned home sooner than you wanted to only to find that you needn't have, "Coming home with high resolves to start in at once on the battle for buns and expecting to find all finances very low I'm greeted with this from the Dad, 'Never better. Everything going great. Why didn't you ask me for some kale and stay over if you wanted to!' That was the last straw. I had everything sized up wrong."

This isn't the homecoming you had expected or dreamed of, and it marks the beginning of a really difficult time for you. Hem, I wouldn't have wished this on you for anything. I had hoped you'd get back to feeling good and feeling good about yourself and your life, but that's not the way it is, and that's not to be.

Hem, sometimes absence makes the heart grow fonder, and sometimes not. I'm afraid that Ag may not be weathering your separation well. You write in your letter to Bill Horne dated March 5, 1919, "(My) Ag does not know when she is coming home. She doesn't want to come home at all. I can't blame her cause I didn't either. But either one has to cross the ocean. I can't cross and have anything when I hit the other side. So I guess it will end in the little C. around the C." You go on to further share, "I'm still as much in love as ever Bill. Hope Ag stays that way. 'Cause if she shouldn't life wouldn't be worth living."

I hope it works out for you and Ag as I'd hate to see heartbreak added to your burden. 

Sending you hugs and best wishes.

Your friend,
Betsy

IN ITALY AND IN LOVE

Ernest Hemingway and Ag in Italy and in Love

Dear Ernest,

It's good to hear that you are "on the mend" from your wounds. It may be that leg of yours will continue to challenge you throughout your life. Wounds like that leave lasting scars and damage. In your letter dated 20 November, 1918 you wrote your family, "My blame leg is worse than a barometer, it aches with every change in temperature and I can feel snow two days in advance." I don't blame you for wanting to extend your stay in Italy where you have the opportunity to heal and convalesce in much more hospitable conditions than winter in Chicago might offer.

In this same letter you write of your expectations for rest and relaxation, "The Bellias want me to stay a couple of weeks at Turino. And I've promised Nick to go shooting with him in Abruzzi and there is a chance to go pig sticking in Sardinia. They have boars there you ride them down with a spear on horse back. It is regarded as quelque sport. Captain Gamble wants me to go to Madeira with him for two months. It is tropical there and very cheap living and a wonderful place... In the south of Italy the weather is great though they say."

Hem, I am concerned for you, my friend. In your heart of hearts I feel you know what will serve you best and yet you seem to continually subjugate your own best interests for the expectations of friends and family that may not be in your best interest. After making all these wonderful plans to "winter" in Italy you finally give in to your families sentiments that you need to get back to the states and pick up the yoke of your responsibilities. 

I have to say that I believe in what your heart of hearts is telling you. Sometimes, Hem, the choices others would make for us, even though they may feel they are advising us "in our best interests," in the end simply aren't. You have the woman you love within reach. You are on the mend in a country that you love and that loves you. Staying however long you feel serves you is not a bad thing. How different your life might have been if you had chosen to stay? I can't help but wonder.

In your letter dated December 11, 1918 you write your family that you've booked passage to the states. Your choice will forever change and shape your life in ways you could not foresee. This choice will haunt you. You write, "For a while I was going to go down to Madeira and the Canaries with Capt. Gamble but I realize that if I blow down there and bum I never will get home. This climate and this country get you, and the Lord ordained differently for me and I was made to be one of those beastly writing chaps y'know. You know I was born to enjoy life but the Lord neglected to have me born with money - so I've got to make it and the sooner the better."

Your love for your dearest girl, Ag, is evident in what you write to your friend, Bill Smith, "Bill this is some girl and I thank God I got crucked so I met her. Damn it I really honestly can't see what the devil she can see in the brutal Stein but by some very lucky astigmatism she loves me Bill. So I'm going to hit the States and start working for the firm. Ag says we can have a wonderful time being poor together and having been poor alone for some years and always more or less happy I think it can be managed... Why man I've only got about 50 more years to live and I don't want to waste any of them and every minute that I'm away from that Kid is wasted."

You, my dear Hem, are head-over-heels in love! You close your letter to Bill with, "And so I'm coming home and start the battle for buns or the skirmish for stew, or the tussle for turnovers as soon as I can... Bill I am undoubtedly the most lucky bum in the world. The temptation comes to rave - but I won't."

Ah, dear Hem, hold to your hearts desire but know that life is a fickle mistress and just when you're on top of the world is when you have to watch out for the slippery spots. I love your idealism and your passion but my fear for you is that the game of life plays no favorites and sometimes it's when we think we have the world by the tail that things can get out of hand. When happiness is within our reach why do we so often think we need to walk away in order to make it better?

Give my best to the family. I look forward to reading more about your adjusting to life back stateside.

Your friend,
Betsy

WW1: THE FINAL DAYS

Ernest Hemingway Recovering for WW1 Wounds

Dear Ernest,

Your letter dated October 18, 1918 speaks of missing home and your appreciation of your continued correspondence and sharing of photos with home in order to stay connected, "If you only realized how much we appreciate pictures, Pop you would send em often. Of yourselves and the kids and the place and the Bay. They are the greatest cheer producers of all, and everybody likes to see everybody elses pictures." You are still on the long road to recover from being wounded at the front, and I'm sure that, at times, spirits can wane and homesickness set in. 

What your Dad wrote about "coming home," and your reply sheds light on your feelings of being part of of a brotherhood and something that's important. At the same time your reply reflects your hurt at being rejected during the draft process when you initially tried to enlist, "It would be foolish for us to come home because the Red X is a necessary organization and they would just have to get more men from the states to keep it going. Besides we never came over here until we were all disqualified for military service you know. It would be criminal for me to come back to the states now. I was disqualified before I left the states because of my eye. I now have a bum leg and foot and there isn't an army in the world that would take me. But I can be of service over here and I will stay here just as long as I can hobble and there is a war to hobble to. And the ambulance is no slackers job. We lost one man killed and one wounded in the last two weeks. And when you are holding down a front line canteen job, you know you have just the same chances as the other men in the trenches and so my conscience doesn't bother me about staying."

And hobble back to the font you did, only to come down with a raving case of jaundice. There is an up side as you say, "I had the satisfaction of being in the offensive any way and now I can rest up in the hospital and get cured and finish the treatments on my leg." Your plans, as you share them, are to heal up and then take the two weeks leave that you have coming to see some of Italy: Rome, Naples, Sicily, and Florence.

The time you spend exploring Italy will mark the beginning of a lifelong love affair with this country. It's people have already endeared themselves to you, "The Italians have shown the world what they could do. They are the bravest troops in the Allied Armies. The mountain country is almost impassible to skilled Alpine climbers and yet they fight and conquer in it and by the time you get this they'll have the Austrians all the way out of Italy."

On November 11, 1918 you wrote your family, "Well it's all over! And I guess everybody is plenty joyous. I would have liked to see the celebration in the States, but the Italian Army showed the wonderful stuff it is made of in that last offensive. They are great troops and I love them!"

You also wrote that you plan to stay in Italy for awhile as you are still going through treatments on your leg and you have invitations to visit with friends there, do some fishing and decompressing, and have chosen to put off passage to the States because, as you put it, "I don't like the Atlantic in the Winter!" I don't hold it against you one bit, Hem. You've just come through some rough times and the thought of days of dark water and a stormy passage would put off anybody. Particularly when you compare that to the sunny, warm embrace of the Italian countryside and a country and people who are grateful to their hero. Yes, by all means, bask in that, and take the time to heal, for as long as you need.

You write of your opportunity, "After my treatments are finished I've been invited by an Italian officer to take two weeks shooting and trout fishing in the province of Abruzzi. He wants me to spend Christmas and New Years at his country home and guarantees fine quail, pheasant and rabbit shooting. Abruzzi is very mountainous and is in the south of Italy and will be beautiful in December. There are also several good trout rivers and Nick claims the fishing is good. So I'll take my permission there. After that I'll come back to Milan and out to the X front and when I'm not needed I'll come home."

Hem, dearest, there is so much healing that has to happen because of this awful war and I hope you take all the time you need to make that happen for you. 

Wishing you the best on your journey of recovery.

Warmest Regards,
Betsy