Michael Reynolds - Hemingway: The Homecoming

B Y M ICHAEL R EYNOLDS

The Young Hemingway

Hemingway: The Paris Years

Hemingway: The Homecoming

Hemingway: The 1930s

Hemingway: The Final Years

Michael Reynolds

This book is for my daughters,
Dierdre Alisoun and Shauna Iseult

Remember to forget I told you
To remember all I told you.

Like October light on certain afternoons, there is a sadness that sometimes pervades acknowledgements, for they come last saying that the book is done, another chance exhausted for well or worse. Then to remember supporting friends is to admit that you will not pass this way again, lending a funereal cast to the writers eye. I, however, write this section with a smile, thinking of my favorite reviewer who never reads past my acknowledgements, which he finds vastly entertaining. To focus his amusement on the index or perhaps the text itself, I will stop thanking my wife, who knows her contribution better than I. The support of others cannot be dismissed so lightly.

For kind permission to quote from unpublished Hemingway manuscripts and letters, I am deeply indebted to the Hemingway Foundation. I am equally in the debt of the Hemingway Estate John, Patrick, and Gregory Hemingway for opening materials to scholars and in whose name copyright in all previously unpublished Hemingway material herein rests. I also thank Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, for permission to quote from Nicholas Gerogianniss edition of Ernest Hemingway: 88 Poems, and Charles Scribners Sons, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing Company, for permission to quote from Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters, edited by Carlos Baker.

The National Endowment for the Humanities helped with a summer grant to finish my research. John Bassett and the English Department at North Carolina State University provided research assistance, encouragement, and sabbatical leave when it was most needed. Charlene Turner kept me humble when I was in residence and informed while I was away, and Stephan Chambers never lost faith in the project. For primary and secondary materials, obscure interlibrary loans, and equally obscure microfilms, I am indebted to the D. H. Hill Library at North Carolina State University. Without the Hemingway Collection at the John F. Kennedy Library and its archivists, Megan Desnoyers and Lisa Middents, who never failed me, this book could not have been written. To the public libraries of Oak Park, Monroe County (Florida) Library, Piggott, Arkansas, and Santa Fe, New Mexico, to the libraries of the University of New Mexico and Princeton University, and to the Library of Congress, I am also indebted. To the Readers Corner I am grateful for keeping me in mind.

Without more than a little help from my friends, this book would be far less than it is. Paul Smith was boundless in his sharing, firm in his critique, and exemplary in his scholarship. Matt Bruccoli, Bernice Kert, Barbara Ballinger, Rose Marie Burwell, and Fern Kory provided vital information on short notice. John and Marcia Goin, Maury and Marcia Neville, all shared most generously. Jerry Kennedy kept Paris straight; Linda Miller confirmed my guesses and corrected errors; and Don Junkins forced me to write at the top of my bent. Patsy and Hal Hopfenberg, Jen and George Bireline crucial companions in all kinds of weather kept my excesses to a minimum.

In Santa Fe, where I spent the year writing this book, many contributed to my well-being. Bob and Esther Fleming at the University of New Mexico did favors without end. Lee Martinez gave me fair housing. B. Calico-Hickey kept all my parts in place, and Mariel Webb kept things from falling down. For special effects, I thank Ross Lew Allen, David Rettig, Sandra Martinez, and Arleen Lew Allen. Charlie Carrillo, with his attention to detail, gave me inspiration and took me to the morada. For extraordinary food at El Farol, Wednesday afternoons at the track, and friendship always, David Salazar was matchless. For conversation, caring, and Fundador, I have Richard and Helen to thank behind the bar, Tom and Sandy in front of it, good friends all. Tom Riker, who remembered when Annie was still a working girl, must be thanked for all his favors, including books most rare. Without these remarkable friends, my year would have been quite lonely.

It was also the year I buried my father, Raymond Douglas Reynolds, a geologist and historian who never stopped dreaming. It came with the territory.

M. R.
Santa Fe/Raleigh

1926