Hemingway, Bogart, Capone and me

If you love to hate people who drop names to try to impress you, the following story might make your day.

But then again, dear friends and readers, after reading this bagatelle and taking whatever time you might require to consider the real reason I wrote it, maybe you will look more kindly upon my story and not hold it too much against me this merry go round. We'll see.

Here goes: I now personally associate myself with Ernest Hemingway, Humphrey Bogart and Al Capone.

I thought this surprising public declaration of mine was going to be much harder for me to type out. I must be getting bolder in my advancing years - and before even receiving my third booster shot to boot. Well, I'm impressed, anyhow.

What do I imagine my connection is to those three highly notable American personages? It's simple: Hemingway, Bogart and Capone were all born in the same year, namely 1899.

So what? you might be saying to yourself. How does that year connect me to that historically notable trio?

Because another American was born that same year, one I doubt you ever heard of, yet he was an American that meant the world to me: Eugene Frederick Barker, my father.

That's it. For now, in the ever-curious way my mind cranks out thoughts, whenever I read or see or hear anything about Hemingway or Bogart or Capone in some article or movie or documentary - in any newspaper or magazine or book, or over the radio or on TV or the internet - the first person I think of is not the famous writer or actor or mobster, but my dear old dad, a boy born in Brooklyn in 1899 (just like Capone).

Only my father grew up to become a hard-working, blue-collar bricklayer, not a notorious beer baron of America's Prohibition era.

Of course, this scribe has often been likened to Hemingway, as in, "You know, pal, you ain't no Hemingway." To which I'm always tempted to reply, "Yeah, and I don't use double negatives either."

But more likely, being the friendly kind of fella I like to think I am, I'd agree with the wit, and maybe say something to the effect of "Yeah, I know: My sentences are longer."

As for Humphrey Bogart, another guy born in New York City like my father in 1899, I will confess, he has been one of my favorite Hollywood actors since early boyhood.

And being an old sailor now myself, you must admit Bogey made some memorable impressions with audiences playing roles while in the water, be it in fresh or the saltier type, as in the "The African Queen" or "The Caine Mutiny." So there's that connection too.

My dad was 50 when I was born and my mom 46, so I was probably somewhat of a surprise to them and the five children they already had at the time.

But after me, that was it. I guess they figured they had each done more than their fair share of populating our planet and contributing to the census tally of Americans born that year.

Eugene Frederick Barker died many years ago, in my adolescence, in January 1964, at the age of 64.

Some might say this bricklayer from Brooklyn did not bequeath his children much. But this one begs to differ. On Monday, Oct. 4, 2021, my dad would have turned 122.

Yes, that'll be the same age as one of America's greatest writers and actors, and perhaps our nation's most notorious bootlegger - all would have turned 122 this year.

So happy birthday to them all, I say, as I raise a toast of a nice, cold brewski this following week. And here's looking at you all and mud in your eye, dear friends and readers.

Bill Barker hails from the greatest Garden State in our union. The U.S. Navy sailed him out to The Evergreen State, washing him ashore as a civilian once more beside the sublime South Salish Sea a while back (for which he is most grateful) after a somewhat exhilarating seven-year stint in its storied submarine service. He has steadfastly refused to live anywhere else ever since. Bill retired from the U.S. Postal Service and now considers himself merely a different type of Man of Letters. He may be reached at [email protected]