 "Photo: Illustration courtesy of RalphSteadman.com")
Saturday marked the five-year anniversary of the eccentric journalist Hunter S. Thompson’s death. He left behind a heritage of unique stories about a dynasty this world will only know through his writings.
A cult following has been garnered in the wake of his death, both in literary and drug circles, but all unite and can attest to the fact that Thompson was one of the greatest journalists of the twentieth century.
Thompson had a short temper about him and was fired from a number of writing agencies before finally settling into his groove with “Rolling Stone” (who would eventually publish “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” as a 2-part series).
He wrote his words with finesse, throwing most caution to the wind, and writing in explicit detail all of his actions that were mostly deemed illegal in the United States.
He was, however, a devout American and took pride in his fair country. He saw his nation struggle through tough times and make mistake after mistake concerning politics, human affairs and the balance of money. But he knew that beneath a rocky surface was a country full of hope, happiness, fun and freedom.
Undoubtedly, his words were often soaked in cynicism because he was, after all, a very skeptic man. One person Thompson counted on was his attorney, Oscar Acosta. Accompanying Thompson on his infamous journey to Las Vegas in 1971, Acosta saw to it that Thompson was taken care of concerning his legal rights, hotel suites and even the good times they shared together when they both teamed up for a very “wasted” night on the town.
Thompson’s lifestyle was raucous and belligerent, not taking into concern his own well-being or those of the people around him. Both men turned into wild and youthful savage beasts on those warm nights in Vegas (according to Thompson, that was the only way to cure the pains of being a man).
The appeal of Thompson’s work was resurrected and revamped in 1998 when Terry Gilliam directed “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” a film adapted from the classic Thompson exposé of the same name, written in 1971. In a lot of ways, this movie brought to life the twisted mind of Thompson. His writing manipulates language so that, at first glance, it does not necessarily make a whole lot of sense. With those words turned into images on the silver screen, however, the pieces begin to fall into place and reason finally rears its ugly head.
Logic was never one of Thompson’s strong points and he never took it in to account for himself or his actions. Often on drugs and notions of twisted delusion, Thompson let his body run its fumbling course across the United States, as the inner workings of his mind ran their idiosyncratic course as well.
Recording and remembering everything he possibly could from his strange nights during the 70s made Thompson the distinctive icon he is today. People can easily misconstrue his intentions when they hear of all the drugs he took and how often he spent his time inebriated on one thing or another. Nevertheless, this is how he (and many) people during the 1970s acted on a daily basis. It was a time of freedom and self-exploration.
Something valuable did come out of his bizarre antics, and that was his own style of journalism — gonzo journalism. The spirit of gonzo journalism encourages the writer to fully engulf themselves in their experiences and to write about them from a truly personal perspective; what results are words and thoughts that the reader could never possibly experience in the same way. Gonzo journalism fuses metaphoric elements of storytelling, through a very experiential writing style that involves the writer immersing themselves into the story entirely.
As Thompson aged, he felt that the line between his own reality and the life he lived in his writings became increasingly indistinguishable, sometimes creating an unbearable pressure that other people demanded he live up to the expectations he set for himself.
Thompson always said he did not want to live past the age of 50, claiming that 50 years is enough time to get everything done he would ever want to. Thompson was 67 years old when he committed suicide, 17 more years than he wanted to experience. He was found by his family with a single bullet wound through his head, slumped over his typewriter with the date (February 22, 2005) and one word written on the piece of paper: counselor. Quite simply, the man had run his course in life and he had come to peace with that. Thompson’s death was planned as a result of his prolonged cynicism about life and his many chronic medical conditions. Running 17 years over his desired age left Thompson bored, tired and easily aggravated on a daily basis.
Think of all the things he saw in those extra 17 years. Did the good outweigh the bad? Was the bad too much to handle? If he did decide to kill himself at age 50, however, then he would not have been alive to see his most famous work come to life in a movie starring one of his good friends, Johnny Depp, who portrayed Thompson in exact fashion.
How people choose to remember Hunter S. Thompson to this day seems to vary, since the moral majority had mixed emotions about him when he was alive. His funeral was an elaborate display of affection bestowed upon him by the close friends and family who will forever miss him, launching his cremated ashes in a firework that exploded over a 153-foot tower of his own design depicting a double-thumbed hand clutching a peyote button. Thompson’s legacy is carried on whether he wanted it to be or not, setting the future’s stage to be a place for good times amidst good people. Personally, I feel inspired to be a little “weird,” living in the wake of Thompson’s words, “When the going get weird, the weird turn pro.”
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