Celebrating Hunter S. Thompson

Today we celebrate the would-be 75^th birthday of Hunter S. Thompson, a true innovator in the world of journalism

Thompson was virtually unheard of in the beginning of 1965. He was living in San Francisco, recently quit the National Observer and was adequately broke. That all changed when The Nation contacted him, requesting he write an article for $100 detailing the lives and adventures of the notorious motorcycle clan, the Hell’s Angels.  His story became a widespread sensation, and soon, after dozens of book offers, Thomspon was off living and riding with the Angels for one full year. This led to the 1966 birth of “Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs,” which the New York Times hailed as an “angry, knowledgeable, fascinating and excitedly written book,” that shows the Hell’s Angels “not so much as dropouts from society, but as total misfits, or unifts—emotionally, intellectually and educationally unfit to achieve the rewards, such as they are, that the contemporary social order offers.”

I started reading the book last week, and although I haven’t gotten too far, I have to agree. He personifies each character in a way that… well, let’s just say the police officers dealing with them wouldn’t always agree with.

He then moved on to his disgust with the hippie generation and the “Summer of Love,” the summer of 1967. An avid drug user himself, he condoned the hippies, saying they lacked the social and political conscious that their fight needed, and that they had no other purpose in live then to blissfully indulge in drugs. This, along with his newfound interest in the New Left, led to the 1971 creation of his most renowned novel, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream, which later was morphed into a film starring Johnny Depp.

Again, Thompson became political involved in the early 1970s. His new love for the New Left party aided in the harboring of a deep repugnance for Republican presidential candidate, Richard Nixon. And rightly so, knowing now what is to come in the next few years.

As the story goes, Thomspon burst into the Rolling Stone Magazine headquarters one day in 1970, six-pack of beer in one hand, the other inquiring for Jann Wenner. He requested to write an article detailing the Freak Power Movement, which he started in his small Colorado town. The Freak Power Movement was actually and surprisingly winning the race for Pitkin County Sheriff, and included ideas such as decriminalizing drugs use—not for trafficking—and de-commercializing the state of Colorado. One of his ideas was to rename Aspen to “Fat City” to deter investors.

This was the start of his political jargons in Rolling Stone Magazine. His most famous piece was undoubtedly Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72, his personal account of the Nixon vs. McGovern presidential race. His hatred for Nixon was seen most evidently in this piece, as he was represented as “that dark, venal and incurably violent side of the American character.”

Perhaps most impressive in Hunter S. Thompson’s career, however, was his journalistic invention of Gonzo Journalism. In fact, it was Gonzo that first got me interested in writing as a career. It is the perfect blend of news writing and creative writing, so each news piece is more of a story then just blurting the facts. Thompson often inserted himself into his articles, making him almost the central character rather then what was actually going on around him. Adding that much-needed flair by presenting his point of view.

I do, and always will, credit Hunter S. Thompson as my first inspiration, as the man who inspired me to go forth in journalism.

After writing irregularly for Rolling Stone and various other publications in his latter years, Thomspon took his own life with a shotgun to the head in 2005 at the tender age of 67. A note he left for his wife, Anita, was found, and published in Rolling Stone Magazine in memoriam. They titled it, “Football Season is Over:”

“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. Relax—this won’t hurt.”

R.I.P. Hunter, and happy birthday. You are a man of words and wisdom, and I hope to walk in similar (though not too similar) footsteps some day soon.