Dr. Gonzo
Hunter S. Thompson died on February 20th, 2005, by a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. Family and friends had noted signs, in preceding months, of what would sadly come to pass. Thompson had been regularly cleaning the .45 caliber pistol he would use, his professed lifelong affinity for the act of suicide noticeably heightened by his receding health and enthusiasm. It does nothing to alleviate the tragedy of his death, but it is hard to imagine a life so fiercely lived on a person’s own terms ended by any other means.
Thompson had been no stranger to near-death experience; it is a wonder that his life was never previously claimed in the course of his boundless, foolhardy escapades. But as the countless near misses piled up, so it began to appear that he would most likely check out only at the moment of his own choosing, impervious as he evidently was to any other danger. What’s more, his incredible recklessness seemed to be a necessary condition for the unique critique of America that he offered.
This notion is reflected in the edicts of the ‘Gonzo’ style of journalism that Thompson defined, which made a protagonist of the reporter and emphasized the importance of his wholehearted involvement and subjectivity—imperatives to be strictly honored. If you happened to ignore the story you were supposed to be covering—as transpired in Thompson’s first and arguably finest example of the Gonzo style, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved—choosing instead to spend your time belittling hideous Southern drunks and aggressively brandishing a can of mace, well, that’s the story you write.
This stylistic exuberance always made for hilarious, captivating reading, and no doubt encouraged the author’s wholesale consumption of mind-altering substances. Thompson, however, made no such excuses, considering his own drug use essential not only to his work and survival, but also to the cultivation of a heroism that he had seen and admired in others, which evoked “the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men’s reality.”
Thompson’s attendant mythology is rich with entertaining anecdotes, but it is important that we never overlook the unwavering, righteous principles that were the true measure of the man. Too many iconic ‘counter-culture’ figures are considered as such by virtue of nothing more than their profligate drug use and dubious proclamations. Thompson was unabashed about his hedonism and self-importance, but he was also a serious man who fought a lifelong battle against ignorance and abusive power in accordance with the core values his country’s constitution. He had a cold eye for the political and legislative reality of America, and worked tirelessly to make what concrete difference he could.
His writing had its heyday in the 1960s and ‘70s, the standout examples of which are arguably contained in Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 (a freewheeling, super-involved account of the 1972 Presidential race), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (his comic-absurd, drug-fueled road trip classic), and The Great Shark Hunt (an anthology of articles which collectively reveal the impressive extent of his moral indignation and tireless work to expose miscarriages of justice).
Thompson’s funeral was a suitably grand testament to the dimensions of his life and legacy. His ashes were fired from a 150-foot cannon rendered in the shape of the Gonzo fist that he made famous, and his earthly remains dispersed among the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to the strains of Bob Dylan’s ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’. He had scripted the moment over thirty years ago, its posthumous deliverance the fitting finale to a lifetime of lunacy, egotism and, above all, noble service to the great and sadly unfulfilled ideals of his country.
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