Key West - In Loving Memory

The social watering hole in the garden of the Porter family compound in Key West

I had been blessed to sip cocktails by, and cool off within, the swimming pool Patrick and Bumby Hemmingway frolicked in whenever they came over to play with their Tomboy friend, Miss Jeane Porter – the same pool enjoyed by poet Robert Frost on his winter vacations at a cottage on the Porter family compound.

Heritage House Museum and Robert Frost Cottage at 410 Caroline St. in Key West

When I first arrived in the Conch Republic, I had the pleasure of renting a room at the Porter compound on the second floor of what came to be known as the Heritage House Museum. The room had formerly been Miss Jesse’s, the then deceased mother of Miss Jeane Porter. The room still had its original furnishings, including Miss Jesse's decorative iron bed. The bedroom had an adjacent full bath, and a back door to a modest wooden balcony, with stairs leading down to the courtyard and garden below. The inside door led down to the museum which had daily public visitation, so I always kept that door locked.

I slept in Miss Jesse’s bed and bathed in her iron claw tub. I honestly believed the ghost of Miss Jesse haunted the room. Odd things, small things, harmless things, occurred randomly, mostly in the still of the night. I made peace with Miss Jesse and all the famed Porters who came before her and often thanked them for the privilege of staying at their home. Eccentric but that’s me.

Jesse Porter Newton Kirk

I sat, more times than I can recount, in peaceful repose, pen and pad in hand, waiting for divine inspiration in the garden where Robert Frost once loved to sit and relax, watching the children play out their adventurous, swashbuckling fantasies, or splash about in the pool. The very garden where mama Jesse Porter Kirk frequently hosted intimate social gatherings that commonly included Patrick and Bumby’s dad, writer Earnest Hemmingway, poet Robert Frost, play writer Tennessee Williams, and philosopher John Dewey, to  name a few.

Fireplace in the garden of the Porter family compound in Key Wes

Shaded repose in the garden of the Porter family compound in Key West

Miss Jeane, now family matriarch, had an in-residence man servant/care giver by the name of Augusto, a Brazilian in his mid-forties. Over time, Augusto and I formed a friendship on the down low. Miss Jeane frowned upon his fraternizing with guests. Augusto was very mild-mannered and tried his best to stay ahead of Miss Jeane’s demands – and she was quite demanding. Miss Jeane would often send Augusto up to my room as the afternoons grew late. He would knock and announce that Miss Jeane required my presence at the pool at six for cocktails. And he would add that she was expecting me to bring along copies of whatever I was presently working on for her review and criticism. Then, placing his face close to the door, he would quietly emphasize, “Please do not be late.”

Scene of poolside cocktail hours in the garden at the Porter family compound in Key West

I had shown up in street clothes at my first invite. Miss Jeane promptly corrected that the proper attire for future invites to the pool was swim trunks. So, from then on, I donned my swim trunks, grabbed some recent writings, and timed myself to arrive at poolside precisely at six. Already in the pool holding a cocktail in hand, Miss Jeane would check her watch. Augusto would take the papers from me. I would slide straightway into the pool, Augusto would hand me a cocktail, and then, when Miss Jeane requested, he would hand my writing samples to her - same routine flawlessly repeated each time.

Poet Laureate Robert Frost

Augusto stood by at the ready. I sipped. Miss Jeane, reading over my work, would randomly make head movements and vocal sounds of approval or disdain. Her criticisms were most often very valid and well worth taking into consideration. That formality out of the way, additional cocktails would be served, and Miss Jeane would wax nostalgic. “You have big shoes to fill.” She would remind, referring to her family friend, Robert Frost.

Earnest Hemingway in Key West with sons Patrick and Bumby

Play Write Tennessee Williams

Philosopher John Dewey

I loved our poolside chats over cocktails. Miss Jeane was quite liberal with her childhood memories. From these moments I learned about her playmates - the Hemmingway boys - and the trio’s adventures along Whitehead Street between the Hemmingway’s house and the Porter compound. Getting buzzed in the pool is how I learned of her mama’s many social soirees with writers, poets, play writes, philosophers, and many other persons of note. Her memories of it all were from her childhood. She had no appreciation then for the fame and notoriety of her mama’s guests, not until she matured and took up Miss Jesse’s social baton and ran with it after her mama’s passing.

Robert Frost Cottage at the Heritage House Museum in Key West

Augusto resided on the Porter compound in what became known as the Robert Frost Cottage. In the cooling down of the evening, some nights, when I saw him sitting outside drinking a beer, I would put a few beers in a tote and go join him. We formed a bond, a mutual trust. My ears got filled with the drama and secrets of the Porter compound and family. Augusto covertly hosted me once at the Robert Frost Cottage when I had almost gotten asphyxiated by a sudden coolant leak from the refrigerator in my room. He harbored me until my room could be completely aired out, and the refrigerator replaced. While recovering there, I got to sleep on the bed that Robert Frost had slept on.

I stayed at the Porter compound for six months before getting my own apartment. The time I spent there was priceless to me. Very few coming to Key West would ever find themselves so suddenly, and deeply, immersed in the island’s history, the personalities and personal lives of historical figures that had shaped its future, its culture, its deep infusion with the arts. Key West has so much more to offer than simply the world-renowned carnival atmosphere of its famed Duval Street.

On my fifty-fifth birthday, Miss Jeane had Augusto call and invite me back to the compound for what would be our last poolside cocktail time together. The pool was symbolic at this time, as were the cocktails. Miss Jeane’s health had been rapidly failing. Augusto took her out from the house to the pool in a wheelchair. She was on oxygen. “So, it’s your birthday,” she said. “I’ve a little gift for you.” I was amazed that she knew. The topic must have come up during my stay there and she made note of it.

“Bring the man a chair,” she ordered Augusto. Augusto promptly brought over a chair. “Please have a seat,” she politely said to me. “The book, Augusto,” she commanded, to which he looked at her inquisitively. “The book!” she reminded, clearly losing patience. “You must have left it inside on the counter.” In a flash, he went in and came out holding a book, which he handed to her. “The pen, Augusto,” she said with exasperation. Again he rushed inside and back out holding a pen which he gave to her. She opened the book, took a moment to write something in it, then ordered Augusto to present it to me. It was her book, the one she had written four years earlier, titled: Key West Conch Smiles. 

Jeane Porter's Key West Conch Smiles

Autographed copy from Jeane Porter given to me by her on my birthday.

We briefly reminisced. I couldn’t thank her enough for the thoughtful gift, and continued to do so as Augusto began wheeling her to the house. Miss Jeane emphatically responded with the last words I would ever hear from her, “Oh, please!”

Matriarch, author, friend, Jeane Porter Poirier