We were at the Ritz Bar. I was on my third
martini and Hemingway was on his fourth when the bartender made a speech. Though the accolades were directed at
him, Hemingway leaned into my ear and said, “Bartenders should stick to what
they do best – bartending.” I had to agree. The acoustics weren’t conducive to
formal speeches, especially long ones.
Besides, our cocktails were getting warm. We chinked glasses, exchanged nods and sneaked sips during
the toast.
1929? 1949? Nope: Aug. 24, 1999. The Hemingway in question? Jack
Hemingway, son of Ernest and Hadley, father to Margaux and Mariel. The
occasion? An exclusive party to
celebrate the 55th anniversary of Ernest Hemingway’s “liberation” of
the Ritz.
For those of you who don’t know this particular
footnote in Hemingway lore, just after the Allied troops declared victory on
Aug. 24, 1944, Hemingway, with a band of irregulars just outside the Paris
periphery, sped straight to the Place Vendome.
Their self-appointed mission was to relieve
the Nazi officers of their occupation headquarters: the Hotel Ritz. That night, as word spread that the war
was over, Papa and crew played host to one of the most jubilant parties the
Ritz has ever seen. Fifty-five years later, people were still celebrating, and
still remembering.
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