That Summer I Didn't Meet Ernest Hemingway -- Part Two

                       (Photo by Julio Ubiña)

It was 1959 in Pamplona, Hemingway had gone on a picnic with a girl 40 years his junior, and we were going to the bullfights. This was the summer Dominguín and his brother-in-law Ordóñez were fighting mano a mano. Hemingway would describe their rivalry in Dangerous Summer. I don’t know whether I could enjoy a bullfight now, but in those days, we were mesmerized by his accounts in The Sun Also Rises and Death in the Afternoon.

I believe I was at the bullfights when I met two tall good-looking Englishmen in their early 20s, who were part of Hemingway’s entourage. They had perfectly ordinary English names like Richard and Gerald. But Gerald insisted his name was French and we call him “Gerá.” Obviously, I preferred Richard. They’d gone to Malaga to teach English, but on a visit to a friend of “Gera’s” parents, they saw a man with a white beard climb out of the pool. They ridiculed “Santa,” until they realized the man they were sneering at was Ernest Hemingway.

“I’m going to Pamplona tomorrow.  Why don’t you boys come with me,” Ernest said and so they joined Papa’s youth entourage.

I needed a ride to Barcelona and a young American offered to give me a lift. He would leave early the next morning. And I would get a second chance to meet one of the greatest authors of the 20th century.

The Plaza del Castillo was empty in the cool at six the next morning. While I waited for my ride, Richard, who was going back to Malaga for his job at Berlitz, sat down with me and ordered a café con leche. Suddenly, Hemingway appeared, alone. Now’s my chance, I thought. His entourage is still asleep. I remember Richard standing, shaking hands, and thanking him. I sat up straight, waiting to be introduced.

I remember Hemingway asking Richard to stay and follow the bullfights with him. I remember smiling my prettiest smile. I remember the two men clasping hands. I remember Hemingway leaving.

“I was sitting right here. You didn’t introduce me!"

“Why?” Richard asked. “What did you want to say to him?”

Two years later, the same week the bulls ran in Pamplona, the world’s most admired writer, the winner of the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature, walked out onto his porch in Ketchum, Idaho and put a bullet in his head.

There may have been a thousand people in Plaza del Castillo the summer I didn’t meet Ernest Hemingway.  Today there are tens of thousands.

Here’s a link to what the fiesta of San Fermin has become: http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2013/07/photos-the-festival-of-san-fermin-2013/100553/

That Summer I Didn't Meet Ernest Hemingway -- Part One

                         (Photo: Paris Match, 1959) 

The Kennedy Presidential Library recently received a trove of photos of Ernest Hemingway’s last summer in Spain. I was in Spain that summer. We were both in Pamplona for the running of the bulls. We sat in the same plaza. We drank at the same cafe. And yet--

It was 1959 and I had just finished a glorious junior year abroad, where I woke up every morning and said to myself, “I’m still young and I’m still in Paris!”

When school let out my mother expected me to come home to our leafy Chicago suburb, but that was the last place on earth I wanted to be after the freedom of a student abroad. “I need to learn Spanish,” I wrote. There was a language school in Palma de Majorca. In those days you didn't make transatlantic flights or calls promiscuously  The dollar was strong. Spain was cheap.  My mother gave a reluctant okay.

I’m sure there were planes and trains, but what was the fun of that? Someone told me about a girl who’d just graduated from Northwestern and who was traveling in Spain. I met her and suggested we go together.

“I’m traveling with Ernest,” she said cooly. She didn’t need to say his last name. She did not invite me to join them. I assumed they would be alone. I was wrong.

I met a couple of girls at the American Express Office in Paris, who had a car and wanted someone to share the expenses. We drove down the coast of France and found a little hotel in San Sebastian. It was there we heard about the Festival of San Fermin—the fiesta Hemingway wrote about in The Sun Also Rises. The next morning I bought a copy of the book and we drove to Pamplona.

It was hot and dusty, but the Plaza del Castillo was filled with young people from all over the world. The excitement was palpable. I did something you only do when you’re young and on an adventure. I said, “I’m staying.” The girls agreed to bring my things the next day, but I didn’t even have a place to sleep, where they could drop off my suitcase.

I saw Hemingway a few tables away, but he was surrounded and I was shy. My first failed chance to meet the great writer wouldn’t happen until the next day, thanks to a student from Stanford named Robby, who had just arrived and was set on running with the bulls the next morning. These are the fighting bulls they ran through the streets to the bullring. I didn’t know much, but I did know men were gored every year.

“Why don’t you watch the bulls tomorrow and run with them the next day?”  This seemed sensible to me, but Robby was set on running the next morning at 7am.

We stayed up all night, drinking raw red Spanish wine in the darkened plaza. I didn’t have a hotel room and Robby was too gallant to leave me alone.  Around 6 am he asked me to keep his passport, tickets home, and traveler’s checks. Then he headed to the place where the runners congregated.

I went to the bullring to watch. This is what I remember. The first bunch of men loped into the ring, followed by men running faster and faster, then sprinting as the bulls came through the tunnel.  After them came another group of lopers followed by runners going faster and faster, then sprinting. I spotted Robby sprinting into the ring, saw him stop, and turn. And then I watched with horror as he ran against the crowd, back through the tunnel just as the bulls were entering.  My heart was pounding as I waited. He never returned.

I went back to our table in the plaza. The smell of café con leche and sugary churros, filled the air, but I couldn’t eat. The girls I had been traveling with must have found me there, because I had my suitcase when I left Pamplona, but I have no memory of seeing them again. I don’t remember anything except feeling sick with dread and not knowing what to do. I thought I should search the hospitals, but what hospitals and where were they? I knew no Spanish. No police were in sight.

Hemingway arrived around noon with his entourage, laughing, joking, and ordering wine and Cuba Libres. I told myself I should break in to their revelry and tell them about Robby.  Surely, they’d know what to do. But just as I was working up the courage, Robby arrived, looking pale and near tears. “I lost my passport, my ticket home, and all my traveler’s checks,” he said. “I’ve been to the police and retraced my route, but—.”

I took his passport, ticket, and traveler’s checks out of my purse and handed them to him. In the excitement of running with the bulls, he’d forgotten he’d given them to me. He stood in the square, raised his wineskin, and poured red wine over his head.

Just then Ernest Hemingway got up from his table. Robby skipped over and asked him to join us for a drink. I was close enough to hear Hemingway thank him, but say with a sparkle in his eye, “I’m going on a picnic with her.”

I thought he pointed to the girl from Northwestern, but it could have been 19-year-old Valerie Danby-Smith, the girl with the creamy complexion and wild dark hair, who became his secretary, married his son, and in 2004 wrote her memoir Running with the Bulls. Whoever she was, he seemed as excited as a teenage boy on a first date.

I would get another chance to almost meet him the next morning.

TO BE CONTINUED…

If You've Got It, Flaunt it

"If you've got it, flaunt it -- within reason.  Too much Southern Exposure will get his attention, but-- lose his respect."  Rule #64

At least that's what the Southern Belle's Handbook, Sissy LeBlanc's Rules to Live By says.  But if you have another ending for this rule let me know. 

Finally The Southern Belle's Handbook has become available for download to your Kindle, Nook, or iPad or smart phone.www.LoraineDespres.com

What Would a Southern Belle Do?

A Southern Belle doesn't have to give into temptation, but--

How would you finish this?

Wonderful Readers

I have the most wonderful readers.

Kathy Stewart  wrote me this a while back:

Dear Loraine ,

I have read all 3 of your books in the past 2 weeks ( checked out from Library ) , and loved them so much that I hated when I read the last written word !  I am now a Fan of yours .  I am looking forward to reading your next book . Do you have one in the works ?  If so , when should it release ?

 

From a Georgia Girl , Southern drawl and all ,

Kathy Stewart

And when I asked if I had her permission to post her email she responded:

I'm asking God to be right there with you while you are working on your next novel . He knows your gift of writing that He blessed you with.

Writers always hope they will be able to move readers.  So thank you Kathy.  

The Southern Belle's Handbook has been difficult to find in bookstores but I'm happy to let you know that it's finally available for download at Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com.

 

More Rules from the Southern Belle

THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF MEN

The ones who are interested in you and the rest.  The second kind are so misguided, they're not worth your time.  Because if a man doesn't have the sense to appreciate you, he obviously doesn't have any sense at all.  Rule #71

Never marry a man too stupid for you.  He'll spend the rest of your life getting even.  Rule #43

HOW TO KEEP A MAN HAPPY

Forget his stomach.  The surest way to keep a man happy is to become his cheerleader.  Rule #33

Men fantasize about being a knight and rescuing a maiden in distress.  Encourage this.  It's a good thing.  There's no reason for you ever to struggle pushing a heavy bag into an overhead compartment.  Ask him to do something easy for you and thank him sweetly.  He'll feel great about himself -- and you.  Rule #48

Starting today you can download the Southern Belle's Handbook for you Kindle, Nook, iPad, Tablet, or Smart Phone.  

Southern Belle Rules

ATTRACTING MEN IS EASY 

How to Make Conversation: 

Men always find themselves the most fascinating subject of any conversation.  When in doubt, let him talk about himself. He’ll think you’re a brilliant conversationalist. Rule Number 11

Laugh at his wit, and he’ll admire your sense of humor.  Rule Number 13

Let him know you think he’s intelligent and he’ll be awed by your perspicacity, even if he can’t pronounce the word. Rule Number 15

How to Get His Attention at a Party:

Look at him over your shoulder or up at him through your eyelashes, and he’ll salivate like a Pavlovian dog.  Pat the seat next to you and he’ll come bounding across the room.  It’s usually ok, to let him sit on the furniture.  Rule Number 5

The Southern Belle's Handbook will be available for download January 29.

It's Ok for a Woman to Know Her Place. She Just Shouldn't Stay There.

That's Rule #48 in THE SOUTHERN BELLE'S HANDBOOK, Sissy LeBlanc's Rules to Live By. 

This witty little book includes Sissy's secrets on: How to attract a man, How to keep him happy.  And How to tell if he's good enough for you. 

And now the Handbook will finally be available to download on January 29 at Barnesandnoble.com, Amazon, and independent bookstores:  http://www.dieselbookstore.com/search/kobo/loraine despres 

Of Course I Gained Weight Over the Holidays, Didn't You?

Rule # 5: Living a good life is more important than shedding a few pounds.

What are holidays for if not for feasting with friends?

We had company on New Year's Day for black-eyed peas, rice, cabbage, ham, cornbread, and chocolate pie.  I love my own cooking, especially Southern country cooking, and I managed to gain 3.5 pounds.

When I got on the scale the next morning,  I knew I had to pay attention.

I doubled down on vegetables and logged everything I put in my mouth.  I ate nothing I didn't love.  And although I didn't go to the gym, I tried to exercise every day, either walking or jogging on the elliptical trainer.

I have a theory about exercise.  It's not exactly calories in and calories out, but perhaps our bodies are better able to consume the calories if we get moving.

I lost 2 pounds already.  But tonight we're going to a sushi restaurant.  Opps.

So I'm trying to lose in public.  I'll keep you posted and I welcome you to post with me.

Rule #2 Better in the Garbage than On My Hips

In August 2011 my weight was down to 146.  I wanted to find out how low I could go, so I joined losit.com and started keeping track of what I ate and how much I exercised.  I chose loseit.com because I'd heard of it, but there are other sites MyFitnessPal, etc.

Using a database taught me that walnuts (my go-to snack) were a lot more fattening that almonds (my new go-to snack.)  Also cheese, which I love, is more fattening than hummus for an afternoon pick me up.  I like hummus, too, but I still eat cheese, maybe not so much.

Since I could only eat a limited amount of food, I decided I could to be picky.  Very picky.  Now, if something is not up to my gourmet standards, into the garbage it goes. Things I threw away: cookies with only one bite out of them, inferior chocolate candy, frozen pasta, mushy apples.  In our land of plenty: throwing away food is no longer a sin it's a necessity, no matter what your mama told you.

How to Lose Weight without Suffering #1

RULE #1 Eat whatever the hell you want…

Just not everything you want.

I lost ten percent of my body weight and have kept it off for over a year without pain, without “dieting,” without combining stupid foods. Southern Belles don’t suffer on purpose.

It all started on June 15, 2011, but I didn’t know it, I thought I was just going to spend a month in Europe.  At the time I said I weighed 150.  It was more often 152, 153, but I didn’t want to be petty. I also said, my weight fluctuated between 152 and 147.  (The only time I hit 147 was when I had the flu.)  But I thought I looked OK and at 5’4”, I wasn’t unhealthy.  Five pounds overweight, according to the CDC, but what’s 5 pounds? 

In London I joined my cousin who was going through a divorce and had lost 60 pounds on the misery diet. Misery aside, she looked great and was determined not to stay that way.  We walked everywhere.  She ran and swam.  I just walked.  She cut out sugars, starches, and breakfast. I ate breakfast and bread, but I wasn’t going to pig out on cookies around her.  Still we ate in restaurants almost every night and sometimes at lunch. She counted calories, I was just aware that I didn't want to overeat. "I didn't eat everything I wanted."

When I got home on July 15, 2011 I weighed 148.  A month later, I weighed 146 without suffering. That’s when I decided to get serious and see how much I could lose while living my life.  My goal was 130.  

In my next posts I’ll let you know how I did it and some easy rules that I follow.

The Dallas Decoder Asked Me How Should J.R. Die

So sorry to hear about Larry Hagman's passing.  He was a lovely guy, funny and generous and JR, the character David Jacobs created which Larry so ably brought to life, will go down in the annuals of pop culture history.  He became the archtypal villain you loved to hate.

A few days ago The Dallas Decoder contacted me and asked:  How should J.R. die?  I said he should die as he lived, shot by a jealous husband.  http://dallasdecoder.com/2012/12/12/dallas-decoder-asks-how-should-j-r-die/

HOW TO NAVIGATE HEALTH CARE IN AMERICA –DAY 2

Thursday night Carl’s mother fell and broke two bones in her wrist.  She spent six and a half hours in the ER.  Friday morning we call the orthopedic surgeon the hospital recommended.  The person answering the phone said we could have an appointment.  In three days.  THREE DAYS!  

Now my mother-in-law is in pain with only a soft cast and we don’t know what to do, we don't know how to bath her, we know nothing about physical therapy, and if she falls on the soft cast, she may break the bone again.    

Something positive: the doctors at this hospital are able to access the hospital x-rays on their computers.  Half an hour later the receptionist called back and said, “Ouch,” and gave us an appointment for that afternoon.  The orthopedist reset her arm and created a hard cast in half an hour instead of the six and a half hours in the ER. 

I asked the nurse for referral to a service to help her get back in her home.  The orthopedic nurse claimed she’d never been asked for that before, but found three brochures.  The surgeon didn’t like any of these agencies and scribbled a note for one he liked, but neither he nor the agency told me how to access their services. Now it's Friday evening.

We took my mother-in-law back into our cramped guest room.  Her hand was turning blue.  The doctor had said it would swell and become blue, but how blue?  Should we worry?  And if so where do we take her?  It’s Friday night.  Do we go back for another 61/2 hours in the ER?  The possibility brought her to tears. We applied ice to the cast and the swelling went down a bit.

Saturday:  We spent the day trying to navigate the system. This is what we learned.

Check insurance coverage.  She has Medicare and AARP.  AARP said she had the “best policy” and would cover what Medicare didn’t but didn’t tell us how to get any medicare services.   

Find a doctor.  It’s Saturday.   Her private doctor was out of his office.  At three o'clock the wonderful doctor covering for him called back and said the magic words, “I’ll write a prescription for a service and if they don’t call within three hours, call me back.”  At six o'clock Saturday evening we had a service.

Sunday morning a nurse came to the house, ordered a physical therapist, and said she could go back to her own apartment.  Monday morning, we were there along with the housekeeper she loves, who offered to spend the night with her for the next week. 

Everything was perfect until the physical therapist arrived, took one look at her blue, swollen hand and said he couldn’t do anything.  She needed immediate medical care and we found ourselves in of health care hell once again.

TO BE CONTINUED

America.  The Best Healthcare?

Thursday night my elderly mother-in-law fell and broke her wrist.  She called 911 and the paramedics took her to one of the major hospitals in Los Angeles.  We were at the theater.

Fortunately a friend in her building happened by and saw her on the floor and called our house.  Fortunately, we had a houseguest staying in our guest room.  Fortunately the friend was home. Fortunately we saw the message at intermission and sped to the hospital. 

Otherwise, they might well have sent her home in a taxi, drugged, confused, and very unsteady on her feet, with no support at all.

When we arrived around 8:30, she had been there for two hours, confused and in pain.  They had x-rayed the arm, wrapped it in a soft cast, hung her fingers unwrapped in wire hangers to let the arm set and pumped her full of pain medication.  Six hours later, around 12:30 they took some more x-rays and said we could take her home with a prescription for pain pills she was to take every 6 hours and a referral to an orthopedist. 

I asked for a social worker or case manager so we could get home health services.  “Don’t have anything like that,” the nurse told me.  “No discharge planner?”

 “No.”(The hospital actually has a home health department with an emergency number.  We found that out two days later from their website.)

I asked the ER doctor, “What do we do with her?”

Her answer did not include “I’ll write you a prescription for a visiting nurse to evaluate her.”  Her answer was, “She’ll have to go home with one of you.”

(Note: they did not even give us one extra pain pill that she could take at 6am.  Instead, my husband had to drive from 1:30am to 2:15 in search of an all night pharmacy.  Fortunately I was at the house and could take care of her, while he was gone.)

TO BE CONTINUED:

WriteGirl Creates Music

 You can't write all the time.  One of my other favorite activities is acting as a mentor for a beautiful high school girl, Cree Nixon.  There's a photo of her at the Grammy Museum.


I met her through WriteGirl, a nonprofit which links high school girls with professional writers.  Although almost half the students in the Los Angeles Public Schools drop out,  100% of the girls in WriteGirl go to college, most of them with scholarships.  Their slogan: Never underestimate the power of a girl and her pen.

Every month WriteGirl holds workshops in different genres.  Yesterday we went to the Grammy Museum where the girls learned the basics of writing lyrics.  At the end of the day, a group of professional songwriters put each of the lyrics to music.

So much fun.

Rush Limbaugh and His Prurient Interest in Sex Videos

Mr. Limbaugh has long called any woman who disagrees with him a feminazi.  This logic impaired spokesman for the ridiculous right recently said: “So Miss Fluke, and the rest of you Feminazis, here’s the deal, if we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something for it. We want you to post the videos online so we can all watch.”

Mr. Limbaugh, two questions:  Do you have a prurient desire to watch sex videos?  And who's this "we" you're speaking for?  Are you speaking for men?  

Because here's the deal Mr. Limbaugh,  women don't need contraceptives to have safe sex. We only need them when we have sex with men.  

Valentine's Tips from the Southern Belle

THE TRUE NATURE OF MEN

As liberated women we want to think of men as extensions of ourselves, but with more body hair.  This unfortunately is not the case.


Men are exotic creatures with great upper body strength and a poor self-image that continually needs feeding and stoking.  They have this strange blind spot when it comes to women, probably because they don’t pay attention when we talk.  Even Freud asked, “What do women want?”  And he had all those women on his couch telling him.  So if he didn’t know, how can we expect the average man to figure out what we want. 

HOW TO ATTRACT A MAN

You’ll find these rules work for all men, whether they’re lovers, colleagues, or bosses.  So don’t limit yourself.


Rule Number 11. Men find themselves the most fascinating subject of any conversation.  Let him talk about himself, and he’ll think you’re a brilliant conversationalist.
Rule Number 13. Laugh at his wit, and he’ll admire your sense of humor.
Rule Number 15. Let him know you think he’s intelligent and he’ll be awed by your perspicacity, even if he can’t pronounce the word.

HOW TO TELL IF HE’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU

Rule Number 71. There are two kinds of men: the ones who are interested in you and the rest.  The second kind are so misguided they’re not worth your time, because if a man doesn’t have the sense to appreciate you, he obviously doesn’t have any sense at all.

A GIRL AND HER LOOKS

Rule Number 24. A girl has to look her best while she’s still young enough to look real good.
Rule Number 80. Men have always drooled over beautiful women, but there’s no point obsessing.  There are plenty of women who starve themselves to perfection, work out every day and sit home every night, while at any supermarket you will find lots of women who are fat, feisty and married.  You’ve got to keep things in perspective.

HOW TO KEEP HIM HAPPY

Rule Number 33. Forget his stomach.  The surest way to keep a man happy is to become his cheerleader.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Holiday Blues

About this time of year, I feel over loaded. Don’t you?

Instead of joy and holiday fun, I have cooking anxiety—what’ll I cook? Will it come out all right? Does my stove work? Will anyone want to eat it?

And oh Lord, there’s the shopping anxiety. Did I forget someone? Will everyone like what I get them? (Oops everyone and them is not grammatical. But will everyone like what I get him—that sounds terrible. Her—worse.) More holiday pressure to do it right! More pressure to be perfect. Even writing about the holidays trips me up.

Before anxiety overcomes me I channel Sissy LeBlanc. What would Sissy say: “When attacked by the holiday blues, a smart girl takes a glass of wine into a soothing bath and lets the rest of the world fend for themselves. It will help them appreciate her.” Rule number 106 The Southern Belle’s Handbook. (You won't find this rule in the book. Sissy just made it up.)