This Day in Literature remembers that Ernest Hemingway placed the barrels of that London Best-Grade 12 gauge Boss against his forehead 52 years ago today, counts up the suicides in the Hemingway family, and quotes granddaughter Lorian Hemingway:
I had visited my grandfatherâ€™s grave in Ketchum the summer I had caught the marlin, arriving at the small hillside cemetery on a scalding July day, a half-finished fifth of vodka in one hand, a filter-tip cigar in the other. Iâ€™d made my way to the simple marble slab marked by a white cross, and stood swaying over the marker for a long time, expecting epiphany, resolution, a crashing, blinding flash of insightâ€¦. I wanted to say something of value to the old man, perhaps that I had met a dare he had set forth by example, but nothing came. The neck of the bottle grew hot in my hand. I tipped it to my mouth, taking a long swig, then poured the rest, a stream of booze, clear as Caribbean waters, at the head of the marker. â€œHere,â€ I said, â€œhave this,â€ and walked away.