It’s a poignant thought, isn’t it? That the final written words of a literary giant might be tucked away in a humble book, a gift to a caregiver. For Ernest Hemingway, days before his death in 1961, this became a reality. His signed copy of "The Old Man and the Sea," a novel that had already earned him a Pulitzer and a Nobel Prize, is now embarking on a journey to the Nobel Prize Museum in Stockholm.
Hemingway was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, undergoing treatment for depression. His stay, though brief, would be the last chapter of a life lived so vibrantly, so intensely. Six days after his discharge, he died by suicide at his Idaho home. The circumstances cast a long shadow over the inscription he penned in that copy of "The Old Man and the Sea."
He gifted it to Sister Immaculata, also known as Sister Helen Hayes, a nurse in the psychiatric ward where he was treated. The inscription, penned in clear, easy-to-read handwriting, reads: "To Sister Immaculata (also known as Sister Helen Hayes), This book, hoping to write another one as good for her when my writing luck is running well again. And it will. Ernest Hemingway, St Mary’s, June 16, 1961." The underlined "And it will" feels almost like a desperate whisper, a hopeful plea against the encroaching darkness.
This precious artifact, a tangible link to Hemingway's final days, has been carefully preserved. After Sister Helen Hayes’ passing in 1992, it passed through the hands of other Sisters of Saint Francis of Rochester, Sister Lauren Weinandt and then Sister Tierney Trueman, before its recent presentation. Professor Curtis DeBerg, a Hemingway scholar, coordinated its donation to the Nobel Prize Museum. He'll be transporting it to Sweden early next year.
It’s fascinating to hear about the human side of such an iconic figure. Sister Edith Zamboni, now 101, shared a memory of sneaking into Hemingway's room with another sister. They found him sitting on the edge of his bed. He expressed regret that his wife wasn't there to meet them, a small gesture of politeness amidst his personal struggles. This contrasts sharply with the experience of a Post Bulletin reporter, Kenneth McCracken, who Hemingway famously swore at and threw a dinner tray at when he tried to get an interview.
For four months, Hemingway stayed at Mayo Clinic, with two separate stints in the winters and springs of 1960 and 1961. His room, at the end of the corridor, held this signed book, a relic tucked away in vaults and storage until its recent re-emergence. It’s a reminder that even the most celebrated figures grapple with profound personal battles, and sometimes, their most intimate thoughts are shared not in grand pronouncements, but in a simple, signed book.
It’s a story that truly resonates, isn't it? A testament to the enduring power of literature and the quiet moments of human connection that can transcend even the most tragic circumstances.
