ERNIE    (1/11)

     Melaque is a small seaside village about four hours drive south of Puerta Vallarta. It attracts many tourists, but the room rates remain reasonable. Those who visit Melaque are an older crowd, mostly retirees. A lot of them have been coming for decades. They are a slightly heartier
breed than visitors to the more well-known vacation spots. It's a comfortable group to be around and chatting with these old-timers can be a pleasure.

     Midway through a Monday morning, I've found a shaded concrete bench to sit on in the town square. I've got my Scribe notebook with me and I'm using the high armrest as a writing surface. It's a tranquil scene. A light sprinkling of locals are there, chatting, a few play cards. A couple of cabbies are hanging out, waiting for a fare. I glance up every now and then when people speaking English, French, or German pass by. At one point another guy joins me on the bench. He's a big man with grey hair and a sparse grey beard, probably in his seventies. I nod a hello.

     "This reminds me of the last time I talked to someone jotting notes on a pad," he says. "It was in Italy."

     "Is that right?" I say.

     His name is Richard and he's from Colorado Springs, CO. Richard spent 24 years in the Air Force including a stint in Vietnam where he won the Bronze Star. But in 1958, at the age of twenty-one, Richard was stationed at Aviano Air Force base in Italy, not too far outside of Venice. One morning, Richard woke up with a terrible hangover. He was going to see his girlfriend that day in Venice, so on the way he decided to stop at Harry's Bar to see if he could take the edge off of it. At 10AM, he walked into Harry's and ordered a Bloody Mary. There was one other patron there, Richard explains, also drinking a Bloody Mary.

     "He was standing at the bar, jotting down notes just like you. I went up and introduced myself. He said his name was Ernie."

     Ernie showed a lot of interest in Air Force jets.

     "He wanted to know about the latest models," says Richard. "How fast they could go, what they could do, that type of thing. All the while jotting notes on his little pad."

     Eventually, Richard got back to the barracks and shared his experience with his buddies. He says they laughed and chided him for not recognizing his famous drinking partner.

     "No!" I say. "No way! Ernest Hemingway!"

     "The only reason he talked to me..." says Richard, nodding in the affirmative. "...is I didn't know who he was. I guess he drank there all the time."

     After the Air Force, Richard worked as a bail bondsman for twenty years. Now he has a tree farm. I listen to his stories for the better part of three hours. As we part, I shake Richard's hand and congratulate him on a rich life. I leave with one brief request.

     "Don't forget to say 'hi' to Ernie for me."

     "I'll be joining him pretty soon," says Richard.