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09/19/2005: "Belated Eulogy for Hunter Thompson"

Recently I got to rereading my collection of the works of Hunter Thompson, and realized that I had not written up my own thoughts about the man, whose works I've closely followed for more than 20 years. Bogus and bizarre though he may have been, Thompson was a writer that I will never forget!

I studied journalism in college, and my final report was based on Hunter Thompson's work, with my primary focus being on his article, "Presenting the Richard Nixon Doll (Overhauled 1968 Model)". His work was incisive, and the very first paragraph correctly cites Nixon as both a fraud and a dangerously paranoid one.

Ah, if only we had listened!

I've read all of his books except the new one, Kingdom of Fear, which details how he won the 99 day trial which included 3 felony charges. His defense was that he had the right to do what he wanted in his own house. Of course, that was entirely in keeping with his personal style. He was not a man to shrink from conflict, he reveled in it. He once said, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." It took me years to understand the true meaning of the statement, but it makes a (perverse) sort of sense. When things get too strange or difficult, those who have been strange and difficult all their lives will feel at home, and they will get things done.

The book of his that I have enjoyed the most in the last two years was "The Proud Highway" which is a collection of his most early work, from a poem he wrote in high school (wonderful!) through copies of his correspondence, to letters he wrote to his then-girlfriend, clear up to the early work he did for what would become the Hells Angels book. The writings reveal what is frankly a powerful creative force striving for expression. At one point, to improve his writing style, he copies the entirety of F. Scott Fitzgerald's 'The Great Gatsby' word for word. Not content with the plethora of rejections he receives from prospective employers, he offers himself as a foreign correspondent to a fledgling news magazine and tramps off to South America with a girlfriend playing the part of his secretary on the receiving end of a telephone, in order to lend credibility. Thompson was never short on daring or gall.

Throughout it all, Thompson's writings reveal an active, inventive mind caught between the suffocating society of the 1950s & early 1960s and his own inconoclasm. At one point when he is in San Francisco in 1965, he writes to the American Motor Company to complain about the state of his car, and cleverly twists the letter into a form of bureaucratic blackmail: supply him with a new car, or he will show off the wreck, which deteriorated in only three years. Pure inventive maliciousness!

I highly recommend "The Proud Highway".

Another good book is, "Hunter: The Strange and Savage Life of Hunter S. Thompson", by E. Jean Carroll. A good straightforward look at Thompson, covering his painful early years (his mother was an alcoholic) clear up to the obscenity trial which comes across as a horrible frame attempt.

My favorite book, however, has to be "The Great Shark Hunt: Strange Tales from a Strange Time". It's a collection of his freelance work, with the best story being "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent & Depraved", which details his very first team-up with English artist Ralph Steadman.

I was very saddened to hear about Thompson's death, but in a way, it makes a sad sort of sense. In 1965 (I think that was the year) Thompson visited Ketcham Idaho, where Ernest Hemingway spent his last few years (read his story, "What Lured Hemingway to Ketcham?", in The Great Shark Hunt). Thompson's conclusion was that all the great places that Hemingway had known--France, Spain, Africa, Cuba, and all the people he'd loved, were gone. All that was left was a lonely house, acquaintances, memorabilia, and memories. Ketcham had become a living tomb for a man whose time was past. Perhaps that was how Thompson felt.

One can argue that he wasn't alone. Thompson was married to a young wife, his son Juan was visiting at the time, along with his grandson. Thompson had a stream of visitors, and a new movie starring Johnny Depp was being filmed. And yet, that wasn't enough.

Recently a note was discovered, containing what are probably his last words, "No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age." Now, put it in perspective: Thompson was recovering from a broken hip. Undoubtedly his mobility was limited, which eliminated walking, swimming, and certainly hunting, a favorite activity of his. Another favorite (detailed in Carroll's biography, Hunter) was loading oil drums with bombs or dynamite, and shooting them one of his many firearms! So, "No more bombs". All his favorite pasttimes were denied him. Like Hemingway, everything he knew and loved was gone. So, he wrote his own ending.

Someone once said, "If you wish to achieve immortality, write a book or have a child." Thompson did both, and I am sure he will always be remembered.