First Person: My Lunch With Hemingway
An American recalls being drawn into Ernest Hemingway's circle in Cuba.
This had little to do with becoming a writer, but there were compensations: the mystique of an alien culture, the balmy Caribbean, and the fact that my idol, Ernest Hemingway, lived there.
But how could I ever meet this venerated celebrity?
"Oh, you want to meet Papa?" said my new friend Roberto Herrera. Roberto was a Spaniard who had fled the Franco regime. "He goes everyday to El Floridita. I will arrange."
To my astonishment, he did. Somehow, I knew that my life would be changed forever.
On July 21, 1952, El Floridita—possibly tuned in to Hemingway's mood—seemed to hum. It was always lively, but this morning there was an extra beat.
The trio picked up the pace, and a sober-faced Swedish couple jumped
