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Excellent post.

Robert Ruark drank himself to death. So did F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Hemingway's death may have been by suicide on the death certificate, but booze should have been on the list of contributory causes (after all his years of boxing, I have to wonder if he might have had Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy?).

The only thing that's kept us from the sad spectacle of those great writers being on video in their dotage was the fact that videography was not ubiquitous in their day.

Hemingway may have been a functioning alcoholic, but he had hemochromatosis, which has depression as a symptom, as did his father, who also committed suicide. (As did his brother and sister too.) Hemingway also had over ten electric shock treatments just prior to his death, and was a mental wreck. He shot himself four days after being released. I don't think drink had much to do with his death. Or boxing.

Toltecgriz is the only person who regularly posts on this site that claims to have shared a safari camp with PHC, so I choose to believe what he has posted about his on-site experience with PHC.

Yes, we know what you think about PHC. You've only repeated it about 50 times. Give it a rest.

CarlsenHighway "Hemingway may have been a functioning alcoholic, but he had hemochromatosis, which has depression as a symptom, as did his father, who also committed suicide. (As did his brother and sister too.) Hemingway also had over ten electric shock treatments just prior to his death, and was a mental wreck. He shot himself four days after being released. I don't think drink had much to do with his death. Or boxing.

Robert Ruark drank himself to death. So did F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Hemingway's death may have been by suicide on the death certificate, but booze should have been on the list of contributory causes (after all his years of boxing, I have to wonder if he might have had Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy?).

The only thing that's kept us from the sad spectacle of those great writers being on video in their dotage was the fact that videography was not ubiquitous in their day.

Hemingway’s Accidental Journey
Loren Kantor


Sep 5, 2020

Ernest Hemingway was no stranger to accident and injury.

In 1954, Ernest Hemingway took his fourth wife Mary Welsh to Africa. He chartered a sightseeing plane to show her the Belgian Congo and glorious Murchison Falls. While flying low over the trees, the plane struck a utility pole and crash-landed in heavy brush. Hemingway suffered a concussion. His wife broke two ribs.
That night they camped in the bush waiting for a response to their distress call. A passing plane saw the crash and reported no survivors. Word spread around the world that Hemingway was dead. The next day, Hemingway and his wife were picked up by a bush pilot. Amazingly, the second plane caught fire and exploded during takeoff. Hemingway slammed his upper body and head against the exit door to escape. He suffered burns and a concussion severe enough to cause leaking cerebral fluid.

The injured travelers were driven to an Entebbe hospital. Hemingway joked with journalists and spent weeks recuperating and reading his erroneous obituaries. Restless and bored, he left the hospital and took Mary and his son Patrick on a fishing trip to Kenya. A bushfire broke out and Hemingway helped extinguish the flames. He suffered burns on his legs, torso, lips and arms. He was also diagnosed with two crushed vertebra, a ruptured liver and spleen and a broken skull.

Hemingway was no stranger to accidents and illness. In 1918 he enlisted as a World War I ambulance driver on the Italian front. While bringing chocolate and cigarettes to the front line he was struck by mortar fire. Despite serious shrapnel wounds to both legs, he carried an Italian soldier to safety earning him the Italian Silver Medal of Bravery. He underwent an operation and spent six months recuperating.

In 1927 while honeymooning in France with his second wife Pauline Pfeiffer, Hemingway contracted Anthrax. A few months later in Paris, he pulled a skylight down on his head thinking it was a toilet chain. This left him with a permanent scar on his forehead. In the early 1930s, Hemingway took writer John Dos Passos elk hunting in Montana. After driving Dos Passos to the train station, Hemingway crashed the car and broke his arm. The surgeon bound the bone with kangaroo tendon. He was hospitalized for two months and it took more than a year for the nerves in his writing hand to heal.

In 1933, Hemingway and Pauline went on safari to East Africa. The trip inspired Hemingway’s short story “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” and his collection Green Hills of Africa. The trip also gave Hemingway a bout of amoebic dysentery and a prolapsed intestine. He was evacuated by plane to a Nairobi hospital.

In 1944 while in London writing about World War II, Hemingway was involved in another car accident. He suffered a concussion and a head wound requiring 50 stitches. (His driver hit a truck at night during the blackout) He traveled to Normandy with a head bandage to witness the D-Day landing. He found himself under fire at the Battle of the Bulge. The stress caused him to be hospitalized with pneumonia. (Actually, he was caught by intense artillery fire in the battle the Hertigen Forest and had another head injury.)

In 1945 he returned to Key West, Florida. Guilty about his failed marriage to third wife Martha Gellhorn, he drank heavily. One night after too many daiquiris, he had another car accident, smashing his knee and suffering the third (serious underestimate) of many concussions.

Hemingway fell into a deep depression as his literary friends passed away. He lost W.B. Yeats in 1939, Scott Fitzgerald in 1940 and Sherwood Anderson and James Joyce in 1941. Gertrude Stein died in 1946 and his long-time Scribner’s editor Max Perkins died in 1947. Hemingway suffered headaches, weight problems and tinnitus. He was diagnosed with diabetes.

From late 1955 to early 1956, Hemingway was bedridden. His doctors urged him to stop drinking to heal his damaged liver. He disregarded the advice and was treated for high-blood pressure and arteriosclerosis. By 1959, he was having trouble organizing his thoughts. Always the master of brevity and concise prose, he lost control of his writing. He was commissioned by Life magazine to write a 10,000-word article on bullfighting. He submitted a 40,000-word opus and asked writer A.E. Hotchner to help him trim the piece. Hotchner found Hemingway to be “unusually hesitant, disorganized and confused.” His eyesight was failing him. He’d become anxious about money and was paranoid the FBI was monitoring his movements. (J. Edgar Hoover opened a file on him during WWII.) (Largely because he cavorted with Spanish Loyalists -i.e. communists vs. the Fascist Nationalists during the Spanish Civil War) He drank heavily to combat the pain from his lifelong injuries. (Book written by Arnold Samuelson who spent a year with Hemingway in Key West in the mid 1930s indicated that at that point of his life he was not an everyday boozer)

In 1960, hearing that Fidel Castro wanted to nationalize property owned by Americans, Hemingway and his wife Mary left their beloved Finca Vigia ranch in Cuba and moved to Ketchum, Idaho. He became seriously ill and checked into the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. Doctors diagnosed him with a psychiatric illness and treated him with 15 rounds of electroshock therapy. In early 1961 he was “released in ruins.”

Hemingway had always been plagued by suicidal thoughts. His father Clarence committed suicide with a gunshot to the head in 1928. Hemingway commented at the time, “I’ll probably go the same way.” Like his father, Hemingway had been diagnosed with the genetic disease hemochromatosis. This caused the inability of the body to metabolize iron resulting in mental and physical deterioration. Hemingway’s sister Ursula and brother Leicester also committed suicide. Years later, Hemingway’s granddaughter Margaux took her own life.

On June 2, 1961, Hemingway awoke early, careful not to wake Mary. He donned a favorite dressing gown that he called his “emperor’s robe” and entered the basement where he kept his guns. He grabbed a double-barrel 12-gauge Boss & Co. shotgun, inserted two shells, walked into the upstairs foyer, put the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The story reported to the press was that Hemingway “accidentally shot himself while cleaning his gun.” Months later, Mary admitted the death was suicide.

Hemingway had been a swashbuckling, hard-drinking adventurer. He was a hunter, a pugilist, a war hero and a writer who defined his time and mastered his craft. In 1954, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He opted not to travel to Stockholm. Instead he sent a speech to be read aloud defining the writer’s existence. “Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness but often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.”

I don't know whether he really did all the things he wrote. Frankly, I don't care. He transported me as a young farm kid to places I'd never be and allowed me to accompany him on adventures I'd never do in real life. I may have been hoping weeds out of beans or attending school during the day; but at night... At night, I'd be listening to hyenas, elephants, and lions.

He and Patrick F. McManus made this kid's world bigger, more exciting, and infinitely more enjoyable.

I thank them both for that.

I don't know whether he really did all the things he wrote. Frankly, I don't care. He transported me as a young farm kid to places I'd never be and allowed me to accompany him on adventures I'd never do in real life. I may have been hoping weeds out of beans or attending school during the day; but at night... At night, I'd be listening to hyenas, elephants, and lions.

He and Patrick F. McManus made this kid's world bigger, more exciting, and infinitely more enjoyable.

I thank them both for that.

I don't know whether he really did all the things he wrote. Frankly, I don't care. He transported me as a young farm kid to places I'd never be and allowed me to accompany him on adventures I'd never do in real life. I may have been cutting weeds out of beans or attending school during the day; but at night... At night, I'd be listening to hyenas, elephants, and lions.

He and Patrick F. McManus made this kid's world bigger, more exciting, and infinitely more enjoyable.

I thank them both for that.

PHC was a very entertaining author. I can't comment on anything else, but he was very entertaining, and I appreciate that.