Hunter S. Thompson dead at 67 - Feb 20, 2005
I first read about the news on-line after dropping my father off at the airport. The headline read, "Hunter S. Thompson dead". That was it. I cannot explain the sensation that came over me. Shock, pure, unbridled shock; I re-read it, then re-read it again, to make sure that's what it said. But it really said it. Hunter S. Thompson, dead.
It truly is the end of an era.
I read the report and was shocked even more to learn that he'd committed suicide. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. There was no note, or final statement of any kind on his behalf.
His son, Juan, found his body Monday morning. Friends and family are in shock.
I have several problems with this. One, Thompson was not the kind of man who would take his own life. As a matter of fact, Thompson personally denounced the act in several passages, calling it a coward's death. Quite frankly, he had no sympathy for the likes of Hemmingway, et al. Suicide was not his thing.
Two, he had shown no signs of depression, mental illness, or symptoms of suicide. Of course, I've never met the man, so I can't say that for certain. But in all of his late appearances he seemed to be as fiery and acerbic as ever.
I, too, thought Hunter S. Thompson was immortal. It's the same childish feeling I have when I think about my aging grandparents. They won't die. They can't die. They're going to live forever. But Hunter... he was one-of-a-kind. The truest of the true originals. He was a mutant. He was the Keith Richards of journalism. He sought for truth and found it; he stabbed people with it. He didn't ruffle feathers, he plucked them. His essays and articles were sharper than a surgeon's scalpel, and he pissed off a lot of people.
I spoke with my friend Jeremy Price, in Chattanooga, who said, "You do realize, Bill, that the government has killed one of our heroes." And my other good friend, Matt Dyer, thinks Thompson may have finally found out the truth, and was subsequently erased from the equation.
It's no secret that Thompson was a dope and booze fiend from the beginning. I mean, just look at the opening parapraphs of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas: "We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold ... We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-power blotter acid, a salt-shaker half full of cocaine, a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, a pint of rum, tequila, a case of Budweiser... and a quart of raw ether. Not that we needed all of that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as it will go..."
He also loved firearms. He had an arsenal at his Woody Creek compound outside Aspen, Colorado. He used to fire at nickel-plated bombs with shotguns. He accidently shot and injured his assistant in 2001 while chasing a bear off his property. He would often arm himself with a cattle-prod and descend like an angry Mongol on the local tavern.
In the 60's, Thompson risked life and teeth by willingly throwing in with the Hell's Angels for over a year; he got a serious stomping for it.
He hated Nixon with a passion that rivaled Jesus' love.
In the 70's, he ran for sheriff of Aspen, Colorado, in the 70's, on the Freak Power Ticket.
No one will ever know what those final moments for Hunter were like. At this point I can see a number of different scenarios. A maltav cocktail of Wild Turkey and a galaxy of possibly (no, probably) illegal and lethal pharmecuticals can bring a man to the brink... But Thompson... he's cradled guns in his hands before, and under the influence, too... But what could he have possibly been thinking?!
But none of these possible scenarios make me feel any better about this tragedy. On one hand, I want to believe he was killed in some sort of wild conspiracy involving the FBI, the CIA, the drug czar, and the warlords. Hunter made a lot of enemies during his tenure as the world's foremost gonzo journalist, and he rubbed the underbelly of society often. On the other, I'm left with fact: self-inflicted gun-shot wound to the head. It almost makes me angry... Why did he have to do it? He still had so much left to say... So much more to do... And could he have done it? Really? Evidently he did... but did he??!!
Was this the sort of shock and confusion he wanted to leave behind?
I can't really think of words to apply to this situation. It's going to take a day or two to really ingest this... and accept it.
Please read my friend Matt's blog post. He says it better than I can, right now.
"... I wanted to stay in the shadows and act like I was dead, and others tried to act the same way. Mistah Thompson, he dead... We all understood that their work and their lives and their long-range professional Fate would be a lot easier if I went out on a slick Ducati motorcycle one night and never came back..." - HST, Dec. 13, 1996
Hunter S. Thompson. Rest in peace.
It truly is the end of an era.
I read the report and was shocked even more to learn that he'd committed suicide. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. There was no note, or final statement of any kind on his behalf.
His son, Juan, found his body Monday morning. Friends and family are in shock.
I have several problems with this. One, Thompson was not the kind of man who would take his own life. As a matter of fact, Thompson personally denounced the act in several passages, calling it a coward's death. Quite frankly, he had no sympathy for the likes of Hemmingway, et al. Suicide was not his thing.
Two, he had shown no signs of depression, mental illness, or symptoms of suicide. Of course, I've never met the man, so I can't say that for certain. But in all of his late appearances he seemed to be as fiery and acerbic as ever.
I, too, thought Hunter S. Thompson was immortal. It's the same childish feeling I have when I think about my aging grandparents. They won't die. They can't die. They're going to live forever. But Hunter... he was one-of-a-kind. The truest of the true originals. He was a mutant. He was the Keith Richards of journalism. He sought for truth and found it; he stabbed people with it. He didn't ruffle feathers, he plucked them. His essays and articles were sharper than a surgeon's scalpel, and he pissed off a lot of people.
I spoke with my friend Jeremy Price, in Chattanooga, who said, "You do realize, Bill, that the government has killed one of our heroes." And my other good friend, Matt Dyer, thinks Thompson may have finally found out the truth, and was subsequently erased from the equation.
It's no secret that Thompson was a dope and booze fiend from the beginning. I mean, just look at the opening parapraphs of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas: "We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold ... We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-power blotter acid, a salt-shaker half full of cocaine, a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, a pint of rum, tequila, a case of Budweiser... and a quart of raw ether. Not that we needed all of that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as it will go..."
He also loved firearms. He had an arsenal at his Woody Creek compound outside Aspen, Colorado. He used to fire at nickel-plated bombs with shotguns. He accidently shot and injured his assistant in 2001 while chasing a bear off his property. He would often arm himself with a cattle-prod and descend like an angry Mongol on the local tavern.
In the 60's, Thompson risked life and teeth by willingly throwing in with the Hell's Angels for over a year; he got a serious stomping for it.
He hated Nixon with a passion that rivaled Jesus' love.
In the 70's, he ran for sheriff of Aspen, Colorado, in the 70's, on the Freak Power Ticket.
No one will ever know what those final moments for Hunter were like. At this point I can see a number of different scenarios. A maltav cocktail of Wild Turkey and a galaxy of possibly (no, probably) illegal and lethal pharmecuticals can bring a man to the brink... But Thompson... he's cradled guns in his hands before, and under the influence, too... But what could he have possibly been thinking?!
But none of these possible scenarios make me feel any better about this tragedy. On one hand, I want to believe he was killed in some sort of wild conspiracy involving the FBI, the CIA, the drug czar, and the warlords. Hunter made a lot of enemies during his tenure as the world's foremost gonzo journalist, and he rubbed the underbelly of society often. On the other, I'm left with fact: self-inflicted gun-shot wound to the head. It almost makes me angry... Why did he have to do it? He still had so much left to say... So much more to do... And could he have done it? Really? Evidently he did... but did he??!!
Was this the sort of shock and confusion he wanted to leave behind?
I can't really think of words to apply to this situation. It's going to take a day or two to really ingest this... and accept it.
Please read my friend Matt's blog post. He says it better than I can, right now.
"... I wanted to stay in the shadows and act like I was dead, and others tried to act the same way. Mistah Thompson, he dead... We all understood that their work and their lives and their long-range professional Fate would be a lot easier if I went out on a slick Ducati motorcycle one night and never came back..." - HST, Dec. 13, 1996
Hunter S. Thompson. Rest in peace.
posted by Billy at 9:18 PM
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