Monthly Archives: January 2020

Part 2: Hemingway’s “Last Red Cent”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Part 2: Hemingway’s

“Last Red Cent”

The stairway to heaven has 19 steps.

Before climbing the outdoor flight leading to Ernest Hemingway’s second-floor writing studio in the backyard, spitting distance away I toured the main house at 907 Whitehead Street in Key West’s Old Town. It is a mansion masterpiece.

The Spanish antiques and African artwork throughout, much collected by Hemingway himself, are stunning. However, I was more captivated by the wordsmith’s seven typewriters – three Underwood models; one Remington portable; two Corona machines, one black and the other forest green; and one Royal – displayed in various rooms.

Hanging out with Hemingway in his Key West home.

The black Royal portable, Hemingway’s favorite, naturally resides in his next-door upstairs studio. The spacious room has robin-egg blue walls and red terra cotta tile floor. Sun pours through ample windows, one of which affords a view of the Atlantic Ocean.

In addition to bookcases fully filled, the décor features taxidermic hunting trophies plus a mounted fish – albeit greatly smaller than Santiago’s great marlin in “The Old Man and the Sea.”

The showpiece of the room, however, is a modest round table the master used as a desk paired with a lone wooden chair. Upon the well-worn tabletop sits Hemingway’s prized typewriter as well as a notebook with a pen resting on its open pages.

When I came through, an orange six-toed cat was also resting on the table-turned-desk. One could imagine the tabby was waiting for its master to return because a sheet of typing paper was in the Royal, as if Papa had just stepped out for a moment.

“There is nothing to writing,” Hemingway famously said. “All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Hemingway bled profusely in this den from 1931 to 1939, writing nine books. The prolific period began with “Death in the Afternoon”, included “The Green Hills of Africa” and “For Whom the Bells Toll”, and ended with “Under Kilimanjaro.” His process was to rise at dawn and hunch over his Royal until early afternoon, always quitting while still in the flow so it would be easier start anew the following morning.

The magic one feels standing before the Mona Lisa or the marble David, I experienced here. Oh, how I would have loved to give the Pulitzer Prize winner’s antique Royal a whirl for a sentence or three!

Too, I would have liked to dive into the magnificent swimming pool some two dozen strides from the writing studio and directly below the master bedroom in the main house. Dug into solid coral ground, it took two years to complete and was the only swimming pool within 100 miles.

Measuring 60 feet by 24 feet and 10 feet deep at the south end, half that at the opposite point on the compass, the rectangular pool cost a staggering $20,000 in 1938. Understand, less than a decade earlier the entire home and acre of land was purchased for $8,000.

Hemingway was exasperated at the pool’s final cost and at his second wife who oversaw its construction while he was away as a correspondent for the Spanish Civil War. Upon his return, he is said to have flung down a penny and complained: “Pauline, you’ve spent all but my last red cent, so you might as well have that!”

Offered as evidence that the story is true and not apocryphal, Pauline had a penny embedded heads-up in the cement on the shallow-end deck. Superstitiously, I left a shiny penny behind on top of that famous red cent.

Soon thereafter, I left a few dollars behind in the gift shop for a leather bookmark with the image of a lucky six-toed cat.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

 

Hemingway’s Home Is Cats’ Meow

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Hemingway’s Home

Is The Cats’ Meow

            A seven-block walk from the celebrated red-black-and-yellow concrete buoy marking The Southernmost Point in the Continental United States brought me to the North Star: The Ernest Hemingway Home & Museum.

Inside the brick wall and front gate awaits the home.

Nestled in the heart of Key West’s Old Town, the white-black-and-gold manor at 907 Whitehead Street is where the master wordsmith lived for a prolific writing span from 1931 to 1939. In 1968, seven years after Hemingway’s death, the estate became a registered National Historic Landmark.

Architecturally, the home seems transplanted from the French Quarter in New Orleans with a black wrought-iron balcony wrapping around the second story. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows framed by gold shutters add to the southern charm.

Majestic trees, including skyscraper palms, surround the home. The one-acre lush grounds are in turn framed by a brick wall, tall as a man. Not surprisingly, there is a tale behind the wall.

It seems that when the town’s red-brick streets were being torn up in 1938, Hemingway and some pals, including renowned Sloppy Joe’s Bar owner Joe Russell, surreptitiously followed behind the work wagons helping themselves to Baltimore pavers. After the pilfering was discovered – for the bricks had in fact not been headed to the scrap heap – Hemingway settled up by paying a penny apiece.

A Hemingway portrait greets visitors inside.

The wall had become necessary because of an earlier visit to Key West by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. To capitalize on the event, a map was printed for tourists and among the sites highlighted was Hemingway’s home complete with address. Suddenly, strangers were knocking on the front door and roaming the property uninvited.

Emphasizing the dangers of the period, Hemingway expert Chris Parsons told me in a private visit following a public tour: “Key West was like the Wild West when he lived here. You needed a knife or gun if you went out on street after dusk. Hemingway, of course, didn’t need a weapon because he was larger than life – ”

Nodding towards the brick wall’s entranceway, Parsons added, “ – with a gait wider than that gate.”

Strolling through that gate an hour earlier, I was immediately greeted by a sense of overwhelming reverence. In my mind’s eye, I could see Papa Hemingway; in my heart’s imagination, I felt his presence.

Too, I was greeted on the front porch by a grey tabby rubbing up against my leg. Inside, more cats awaited. In some rooms, the felines seemed as numerous as the butterflies at the nearby nature conservatory.

The famous six-toed Hemingway cats roam everywhere, outside and inside.

It turns out about 60 cats live out their pampered nine lives at Hemingway’s home. To give you an idea, they are even allowed to sleep on the priceless antique furniture that is roped off from the public visitors.

The resident cats are of all shades and colors: gray, black and white, red. Most are likely distant descendents of a Snow White, a rare six-toed cat given as a gift to Hemingway from a local boat captain. Six-toed cats, even black ones, were considered good luck at the time.

Cats normally have five toes on each front paw our tour guide informed us, but the majority of the Hemingway housecats are “polydactyl” meaning they have six front toes. The polydactyls are easy to spot because their paws are so large it looks like they are wearing mittens.

“One cat leads to another,” Hemingway liked to say of his caboodle, although he had fewer back then than the current five dozen.

He also liked to name his cats after famous people, a practice that continues today with Lucille Ball, Winston Churchill and Cary Grant among those all in current residence.

To be continued next week.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Psychedelic Snowfall in Key West

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Psychedelic Snowfall

in Key West

            In “A Moveable Feast,” a memoir of his halcyon days – and nights – in Paris in the 1920s, Ernest Hemingway wrote of F. Scott Fitzgerald: “His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust of a butterfly’s wings.”

My key reason for traveling to Key West recently was to visit The Hemingway Home & Museum in Old Town. Five minutes away by foot, on the same block as the popular Southernmost Point in the Continental United States, is The Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. Being so near, I decided to see some butterfly wings.

Entering the humid sanctuary with a soaring glass ceiling that seems to touch the clouds was to step into a time machine. Within seconds, I became a 59-year-old kindergartener on his first school field trip.

One of the psychedelic snowflakes in Key West.

“Look!” I reflexively exclaimed to my wife, pointing at a butterfly fluttering a few feet ahead.

“Look! … Look!” I quickly repeated, almost singing, as two more painted marvels danced through the air in slow motion.

Seeing a single butterfly in one’s backyard lightens the heart; here, inside the artificial outdoors, there are more than 3,000 representing 65 species. I had anticipated spotting butterflies would be like an aerial Easter egg hunt requiring eagle eyes and luck. Instead, it was like being in the midst of an NBA championship celebration with confetti – oversized and alive – floating all about.

My reaction to this psychedelic snowfall was as if watching Fourth of July fireworks: “Oooh! … Ahhh! … Wow! … Look at that one!” So unbridled was my childlike delight that I may have half-skipped along the winding pathway.

The climate-controlled paradise boasts beyond butterflies. There are plants and trees enough for a rain forest; a meandering stream with resident turtles; and two gorgeous flamingos, florescent pink as a Key West sunset.

Scarlett, or perhaps Rhett, struts her stuff.

Long-legged Scarlet and Rhett were not always so radiant. After two years of bureaucratic pink tape to secure them, they arrived sickly and gray. Loving care, and importantly a diet rich in brine shrimp containing a natural dye called canthaxanthin, returned the “Gone with the Wind” pair to “flame-colored” per the Portuguese derivation “flamenco.”

Rhett and Scarlet, each 7 years old with life expectancies up to 75, now enjoy the feathered company of 20 other species of exotic birds. All seem to have had their feathers colored in by imaginative children using the 64-count box of Crayola crayons.

Indeed, the fabulous fowls – “Look! … Oooh! … Another one over there!” – come in purples and pinks, reds and oranges, greens and golds, vibrant hues all. I wish you could see them.

And yet it is the butterflies that steal the show. One of the guides called them “flowers of the sky” which I think is perfect. I bet Hemingway would have liked that description, too.

Two especially memorable moments occurred on my breathtaking stroll through this Land of Ahhs. First, a bird of a royal blue variety lighted on my left shoulder and remained perched for what seemed like a minute, although surely it was 10 seconds at most, before flying off.

Shortly thereafter, a “flower of the sky” as luminously turquoise as the local shallow ocean waters, lighted upon my right forearm. With its wings opening and closing ever so slowly for thermal regulation, it rested there for a true minute before bidding me farewell.

On a sheet of paper in a typewriter at Hemingway’s nearby home, a copy of a letter he wrote to a friend begins: “Having a wonderful time!!!”

That aptly describes my visit with the butterflies!!!

To be continued next week.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Kindness Makes Ball Drive Beautiful

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Kindness Makes Holiday

Ball Drive a Beautiful Success

            “Beauty lives with kindness,” wrote Shakespeare, perfectly describing kind Star readers who made the holidays more beautiful for local disadvantaged kids by donating to my annual ball drive.

Tim Hansen, dressed as Santa Claus but with a more impressive real beard, gave 10 assorted balls.

Draza Mrvichin donated 10 basketballs, three footballs and three soccer balls; Kay Giles and Michael Mariani donated five assorted balls; and Pat McGovern donated three basketballs in honor of his “darling grandsons.”

Jerry and Linda Mendelsohn involved their grandchildren – Garrick, Dannika, Parker, Asher and Joy – in a field trip to donate 10 basketballs and 10 soccer balls.

Shelly and Steve Brown donated four basketballs; Corey, Danielle and Paige Clayton gave three basketballs; and Sheila and Tom McCollum dished in two basketballs.

Karen and Dave Brooks donated two footballs, three basketballs and three soccer balls. Additionally, Karen noted: “My husband and his golf buddies donated dozens of Titleists to the depths of the water hazards at River Ridge Golf Course.”

Tennis legends and legendary role models Mike and Bob Bryan served up 25 assorted balls.

Ian Eaton gave two soccer balls and one football while his dad, Lance, added two basketballs “in honor of Jim Cowan who was my football coach in 1958 at Ventura High and in 1962 at Ventura College as my counselor. We continued to be lifelong friends.”

Steve and Bobbin Yarbrough gave one basketball; Steve Richardson donated one soccer ball and one basketball; and Audrey Rubin kicked in two soccer balls “in honor of my two incredible grandkids.”

Brad and Mia Ditto donated 10 assorted balls, plus a bat, in honor of Brad’s late father who was a high school coach.

Brent Muth, with an assist from The Mob Bike Shop in Ojai, held his third-annual “Ballapalooza” and collected 31 various balls “in memory of Mike Sandoval and Gerry Carrauthers.”

Jan and Tom Lewis donated 21 basketballs, the figure bearing significance because their three “point guard” daughters – Cory, Emily and Maddy – all wore jersey No. 21. Noted their proud dad: “We would like to recognize VYBA, Ventura Stars and Buena Girls Basketball of years gone by. A special thank you to coaches Mike Giordano, Joe Vaughan, Ann Larson and David Guenther.”

Glen Sittel donated one basketball and two soccer balls and Sandy Tubis and Don Rodrigues donated five basketballs from “on behalf of Jim Cowan.”

An anonymous donor gave four basketballs “in memory of longtime youth coach, YMCA leader and Channel Coast referee Jerry Nelson” and Steve Askay donated two basketballs “memory of Cal Houston a longtime teacher, coach and official.”

Jim and Sandie Arthur donated three balls and Linda Peddie gave two basketballs, noting: “I’m especially motivated to participate in getting kids off their screens and out to play.”

Wendy Spasiano donated 30 baseballs in memory of her father, Tom Pitkin, who for many years coached Little League and Pop Warner teams in Ventura.

Kelly Lanier gave four basketballs; Lynn and Jim Kenton donated one each basketball, football, soccer ball; and Chris Werner donated two footballs, two soccer, and two basketballs.

“In memory of Mr. & Mrs. Fred Zielsdorf” an anonymous donor gave two each basketballs, footballs and soccer balls, plus a dozen baseballs.

Kate Larsen donated three soccer balls; Sally and Tom Reeder donated eight various balls, plus a baseball glove; and Maya McAuley donated three basketballs as did Jess Ahoni.

The finally tally . . . drumroll, please . . . is a whopping 551 new sports balls – nearly 100 more than a year ago!

Thank you, dear readers, your kindness is as beautiful as our coastal sunsets.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …