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EARLY
one morning, 50 years ago today, while his wife, Mary, slept upstairs,
Ernest Hemingway went into the vestibule of his Ketchum, Idaho, house,
selected his favorite shotgun from the rack, inserted shells into its
chambers and ended his life. There were many differing explanations at
the time: that he had terminal cancer or money problems, that it was an
accident, that he’d quarreled with Mary. None were true.
 [...]
“The feds.”
“What?”
“They tailed us all the way. Ask Duke.”
“Well ... there was a car back of us out of Hailey.”
“Why are F.B.I. agents pursuing you?” I asked.
“It’s the worst hell. The goddamnedest hell. They’ve bugged everything.
That’s why we’re using Duke’s car. Mine’s bugged. Everything’s bugged.
Can’t use the phone. Mail intercepted.”
We rode for miles in silence. As we turned into Ketchum, Ernest said
quietly: “Duke, pull over. Cut your lights.” He peered across the
street at a bank. Two men were working inside. “What is it?” I asked.
“Auditors. The F.B.I.’s got them going over my account.”
[,,,]
Decades later, in response to a Freedom of Information
petition, the F.B.I. released its Hemingway file. It revealed that
beginning in the 1940s J. Edgar Hoover had placed Ernest under
surveillance because he was suspicious of Ernest’s activities in Cuba.
Over the following years, agents filed reports on him and tapped his
phones. The surveillance continued all through his confinement at St.
Mary’s Hospital. It is likely that the phone outside his room was
tapped after all. [...] - Hemingway,
Hounded by the Feds
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It always interests me when I hear the ferocity with which Hollywood
entertainers, academics, and the media oppose the label of
“communist.” Nevermind the fact that Hollywood was rampant with
communists - it is no longer, according to the communists themselves. -
Average
Joe
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cuzzin ricky
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