M.B. Gibson Books

According to Ernest Hemingway, “all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Our recent trip to Key West required a visit to the enigmatic author’s home. As an admirer of his sparse writing style and fascinated by his audacious life, the tour of his home did not disappoint.

Built by Asa Tift in 1851, the local entrepreneur made most of his fortune in the marine salvage business. Called ‘wrecking,’ our guide, Scott, said it involved retrieving merchandise lost to sinking ships. Also known as ‘pirating,’ where salvaged goods sold for four times their initial worth.

The charming house has much of Asa’s mid-nineteenth-century furniture still intact. Its surrounding tropical gardens are home to fifty-nine cats. Over half the creatures have six toes, likely descended from Snow White, Hemingway’s cat given to him by a ship’s captain. The cats have free reign over the place, even sleeping on the antique beds.

Hemingway brought from Europe (I think) the scrolled door of a closing monastery, which he had made into one such bed. Placed at its foot is a birthing chair that caught his interest. The avid fisherman thought its handles made for an excellent seat from which to wrangle a catch from the deep sea. It became popular, leading to the design of today’s marlin fighting chair.

Other interesting artifacts include a depiction of Hemingway and Captain Gregorio Fuentes, the real-life old man from the sea. Another showed the author with “Sloppy Joe,” the guy who ran one of Hemingway’s favorite watering holes. We paid a visit there ourselves.

Beside the house was the cottage where much of Hemingway’s writing took place. Before a 1940s hurricane blew it away, a catwalk connected the buildings. That allowed him, upon waking, to head straight to his sanctuary and type away until noon. Amazingly, his actual typewriter is still inside this room.

In the afternoons, he was known to have edited his work on the gorgeous veranda that surrounded his house. Before World War II, its view extended to the sea. Soft breezes made for a balmy locale. A writer’s paradise, from my viewpoint.

Yet, Hemingway’s personal life was stormy. He lived in Key West with Pauline Pfeiffer, his second of four wives. When Sloppy Joe’s Bar moved to a new location in the middle of the night, he and the aforesaid Joe carried the bar’s urinal to the author’s house to be used as a fountain or water bowl for the cats. It’s still there. Pauline dressed it up with a large urn, apparently quite upset with this tasteless addition to their garden.

Ernest Hemingway often drew a crowd to watch him spar in his own backyard boxing ring. Their romance waning, Pauline had the ring removed to the local brothel (now the Blue Heaven restaurant) while Hemingway was off on a writing assignment. In its place, she had built the only in-ground pool for hundreds of miles. When her husband returned, he was furious at its expense. It’s said he held up a penny from his pocket and yelled for Pauline to take it—his last cent! He dramatically threw the coin to the ground.

Pauline was not intimidated or repentant. She had the penny encased where it lay. That ended the marriage, but became the center of entertainment at her future parties. The penny is still there.

This only scratches the surface of the fascinating aspects of Ernest Hemingway, the man and his home. If you ever get to Key West, don’t miss the Ernest Hemingway Home at 907 Whitehead Street. You won’t regret it!