Hemingway's La Bodeguita del Modio

[Finca Vigia-de Cuba]blood for me, and Habana was simply a stopping spot
Who would be better than I to tell this story, I thoughtfor spring vacation.
about it and I could not come up with anyone but me. IMy property is what supported me on my long trips,
was in La Habana Cuba it was in the months ofand writing. I had three books out, all self-supporting. I
March and April of 1948. I liked toasting and eating atwas more hopeful than anything. And here was the
the bar-café-club, called La Bodeguita delman of the century talking to me. It reminds me of
Medio, I knew the manager slightly, and my wife Delia,when Jack Benny bumped into me, that is, bumped into
loved to sit with me at the front bar, as the musiciansmy arm when I was in Erie, Penn, some time ago, in
played against the wall, and the crowd would standthe Russian Club, I was sitting at the counter and he
halfway outside the door: --everyone singing together.bumped me, I said 'hay,' you know how you get when
James would capture a picture of me now and then;you got a few drinks, than I paid no attention, as I was
sell them to me for a buck and save the rest. Had meturned about, and continued my drinking, I turned
sign a few, I was a writer back then, or trying to be, I'maround, and the guy walked away: Jack Benny. I really
retired now, that's when I met Mr. Hemingway in thatonly knew the name Jack Benny slightly as a
very bar. He was standing behind me. Matter-of-fact, itcomedian on TV, not much else, the drunk next to me
was on three different occasions I met him, once in thesaid
front, that day with my wife sitting at the bar when"...it's just that Jack Benny again, he never talks to any
James took all them pictures, also in the backroomone, thinks he's too good."
where another promising writer was, named GabrielI paid little attention to him also. When I got to a TV set
Garcia Marquez; or at least I thought it was him. Heagain a few days later, he was on it, and I check it out,
was there one night and James took a picture of him,it was he all right. Then I found out it was a place he
they put it up on the wall the next day, as they did withwent to when he came to Erie each time, a drinking
Hemingway's.hole, one of his drinking holes; and he was Russian like
Anyways, Hemingway was back their once in Aprilme.
when I was eating, and once in the front, in back of meFunny how you meet people sometimes: well, as
as I was saying. And then there was the time I seenHemingway was putting some of his famous drinks
him in the month of March there, it looked like he wasdown, he ordered me one, they called it Mojito and as
talking to the bar keep, or perhaps he was thewe got talking and I guess now drinking together he
manager.mentined a farm boy who was a baseball player, or
I introduced myself to him and my wife, he was hugecould be one some day. But needed a job in America
compared to me, at 5'8", 160 lbs; he was also veryto get him started, you know, while he was seeking
rustic looking. In 1948, I was a young man he was closeout the teams. Well, I told him I was not a player of the
to fifty I think, I was thirty-three, again I say trying to besport, I liked boxing, and karate, and other such
a writer, as I explained to him. I had been living in Sanone-to-one sports, and I think it was the Saints, back
Francisco, California for a while, coming down from thethen who played in St. Paul, Minnesota, and I didn't
Midwest, and I worked for Lilly Ann, a dress designingknow them well.
top-notch label. Oh well, that didn't turn out. I work forAs the night went on he asked for my address, and if
Adof Shoeman, an anxious kind of guy--a Jew with ahe sent a Cuban boy to Minnesota if I could rent an
sensitive disposition. He once told me not to drop theapartment out for him, while he sought out possibilities,
fabrics, he actually fired me, but the general managerand if possible even call the Saints manager up for him,
of the three-story shop rehired me back--instantly, thatif the boy wanted to. I said sure. And we exchanged
is to say, as soon as he walked out the door, and hehandshakes; I gave him a card of mine. And that was
went back to having his models chasing him aroundthat.
the premises. One new gal he was stroking had thisThe boy from the farm land never did show up, and I
huge pearl ring on, man she held the door tight andnever did follow through on this, and so I cannot tell you
asked me to take it and I said no, for I had gotten intothe rest of the story, except, I did once stop at
enough trouble with him. That was the end of myErnest's apartment, sat in his wooden chair, typed on
dress-designing career.his typewriter, looked over the street from its 5th story,
But back in old Habana, Mr. Hemingway was verythat was in April, 2002, when I went back to Cuba with
gracious with his time for me. And although this wasmy wife, and visited the Hotel, Ambos Mundos where I
our only real conversation, for when he seen mewalked by his apartment 100-times before, never going
before he'd just nod his head, that was when I wasup to it.
eating, and the time I saw him with the manager heNotes: Historical Fiction: never before in print, and of
looked up, and that was it, he acted as if I didn't exist.some actual events that took place. Written 2001, from
But he was a busy man I suppose writing all thoseinformation gathered from a letter written by
books and drinking and so on and so forth, and I knowHemingway, now kept in England, that the Author
our conversation went well.received a copy of and was going to purchase the
As I was saying, he was behind me in the bar, and Ioriginal. The author went to Cuba in 2002, to
was talking to the barkeep, and my wife and I ownedinvestigate, and to the bar mentioned here, and the
a business in Minnesota, a Rental Business. I had athotel he stayed at in Havana itself; gathered additional
that time several things going through my head,information concerning this event, and here is the story,
wanting to be a business sort of person, and looking atwith his added fictional characters. In 1972, Jack Benny
designing cloths, but being a writer was thicker thandid bump into the author in a Russian Club in Erie, PA.