Time Travelin' Back To 2005- Remembering Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson was one of the greatest writers of the 20th Century, a man who chronicled The Death of The American Dream with humor, wit, and the utmost respect of his subject. Although his words and sentences were meticulous, he was so versed in his material that his pieces always had a carefree and spontaneous vibe that nobody could copy. Years before the person who coined the word “blog” was even born, Hunter S. Thompson was writing the sort of personal freewheelin’ journalism that millions call blogging.

The Good Doctor’s work has resonated for five decades because he was not only a verbal artist, he was an accidental prophet. Reading “Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas” was a watershed moment of my life. I never knew a book could be socially incisive, brilliantly written and hysterically funny at the same time. How could something drop serious wisdom on my brain AND make me laugh? H.S.T. did the same thing with “Fear & Loathing on The Campaign Trail”, “The Great Shark Hunt”, “Songs of The Doomed”, “The Curse Of Lono”, “Better Than Sex”, “The Rum Diary”, and his collection of letters. Especially his collection of letters.

“The Proud Highway” & “Fear & Loathing In America” will educate and entertain you about what really happened in the 60’s & 70’s like no one else can. Hunter S. Thompson was always right in the middle of history, and we’re lucky to have his letters that chronicle those turbulent and important decades. That's why it was so sad to see Doc go, because he had much to say about the 80’s, 90’s, and 21st Century. His 3rd and final collection of letters, which will concern the late 70's until his death in 2005, are supposed to finally appear later this year.

Here is my obituary of Dr. Thompson shortly after he took his own life:

02/27/2005

"He was an old, sick, and very troubled man, and the illusion of peace and contentment was not enough for him- not even when his friends came. So finally, and for what he must have thought the best of reasons, he ended it with a shotgun."
-Hunter S. Thompson, writing about Ernest Hemingway in 1964.


It's been nearly a week since I learned of H.S.T.'s suicide, and I still don't know what to say. Just about all of my favorite writers were long dead before I began reading them. Hunter was different. Here was a guy- not only a gifted writer and chronicler of America, but also a free spirted legend that could rival the intensity of any movie or rock star- who was still at it. Who was still providing a running commentary on the events that were happening in my life. Not only that, given the right circumstances, I could have met him.

But I never did and never will.

It didn't make much sense when I first learned of his death, and it only makes a little now. I guess with all the living he'd done, his body at 67 was probably that of a normal man who was ten years older. There was also his hip replacement surgery and back injury that caused nagging pain. But Doc still seemed- in his recent books and espn columns- like a man still having a great time. He had a 32-year-old wife, many friends, money, a wonderful home in the Rockies, and- something very important to a writer- an interested audience. Sure, he wasn't the artist he was 20 years earlier. And I bet the drugs and alcohol didn't make him feel as good as they once did. But I can't help think of my grandfather who is 21 years older than Hunter Thompson, and who still drives and lives on his own and still gets a kick out of life.

Ernest Hemingway's suicide, I've learned, can be attributed to the two near fatal plane crashes he endured and shock therapy. Most people don't know of either reason. Although the physical pain of having his body hurtled thousands of miles down to the ground in seconds had an enormous toll on Hemingway, it seems the electric shock treatments really did him in. Believing it was a wonderful solution to depression, top doctors in the 50's and 60's would run volts of pure electricity directly to a patient's brain. For Papa it ruined his memory, and he could no longer remember the details of his life. Writing would prove to be impossible. His last days were spent alone and confused in a tiny mountian town in Idaho.

Maybe someday we'll learn that H.S.T. had some sort of disease or that his brain cells had completely abandoned him due to too much fun. Maybe we'll never know. But even though he called it quits when millions check out of this world involuntarily, I still feel sad. His articles, books, letters, and the way he lived his life made the world a much more interesting place for me. I never met him, but I will miss Hunter S. Thompson.

"I have already lived and finished the life I planned to live-(13 years longer, in fact)- and everything from now on will be A New Life, a different thing, a gig that ends tonight and starts tomorrow morning."
-H.S.T. at 40 in 1977.

"My life has been the polar opposite of safe, but I am proud of it and so is my son, and that is good enough for me. I would do it all over again and never miss a beat, although I have never recommended it to others. That would be cruel and irresponsible and wrong, and I am none of those things."
-H.S.T. at 65 in 2003.

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