Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO JIM SILBERMAN, RANDOM HOUSE:
Frustrated that Playboy had killed his Jean-Claude Killy piece as too wild to publish, Thompson forwarded the article to his Random House editor, along with his latest invoice for expenses incurred in tracking “The Death of the American Dream.”
July 10, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Jim …
Here is an unedited copy of my Playboy article on Jean-Claude Killy. It’ll never run, so I thought I’d send this version along to see if you see any salvageable parts for the book. As I said, the only aspect that looms large—to me—is that accidental return to the Amphitheatre, beginning around pg. 40 and running to pg. 50 or so.
I urge you to read this section, since it comes very close to what I see as the backbone of the book … and for that reason it might be a fine ending. Or maybe the Nixon Inaugural should be the ending … and this Killy/Stockyards thing should come as a mid-book epitaph to the Chicago/Convention section, which is now in the process of shaping itself.
Anyway, read at least the section from pg. 40 to 50 … and the rest of the piece if you have time. It is now in the doom-shute at Playboy. The initial vote, I’ve learned, was 2–1 for it, but the negative vote came from Jim Goode, the article’s editor, who deplored my scurvy comments on Chevy and that crowd … all of which were quite deliberate and even edited down considerably from my original version, which was intolerably vicious, even by my standards. They shoved me into a world that I’ve spent 10 years getting away from, and all it proved to me was that I was right back in 1958, when Time fired me, and in 1959 when I was fired from the Middletown (NY) Daily Record for sending a plate of lasagna back to the kitchen of a restaurant owned by a local advertiser—which led to a massive scene in the publisher’s office, demands for apologies, etc., and thence to the dole at the NYState Unemployment Office.
I have not sought employment since that time, and on balance it’s been a good 10 years … the same 10 yrs that I mean to use as spiritual background for the whole book, for good or ill. I suspect that parts of this Killy thing—particularly the beginning and the end—are pertinent enough to use in some way, but I’m not sure how they will work chronologically. Maybe you can see a pattern. In any case, I’ll be sending a large and vaguely disorganized bundle in a few days. Meanwhile, hang onto this Killy piece and fit it in, if possible, wherever you see fit. As for the NRA/Gun thing, Esquire has yet to render a final judgement. Erickson apparently spent many hours chopping it down to a length suitable for presentation to H. Hayes … and a decision of some sort should be public in a day or so. Lynn will probably know before I do.
Frankly, I’m appalled at the time and space I wasted on all that dead/theory garbage … which amounts to saying that I agree with the style and tone of your comments. The Killy piece suffers from the same kind of affliction—a maddening compulsion to do all my thinking in print. I’m as aware of this problem as you are, but it continues to plague me, and cripple my articles, which would certainly be a hell of a lot more saleable if I could keep the focus on people, words and action—rather than the internal dialogues of HST. Hopefully, I can keep this in mind during the construction of the book …and if I seem to be slipping, for christ’s sake remind me. On other fronts, thanx for the action inre: my various newspaper/magazine subscriptions (the check). I’m not sure how much I really learned from that heap … and I wonder how much time I wasted by reading all that bullshit. Maybe my next book should be a commentary on American Journalism. One of the things that struck me most—in my reading of three daily papers—was the vastly different worlds portrayed in the NYTimes, Denver Post and the SFChronicle. Neither Time nor Newsweek comes close to “capsuling” the vast, mad sprawl that appears in any one of the three—much less all of them. And TV news is a different world entirely. Even on CBS, Joe Benti’s morning news portrays a different world than Cronkite and Sevareid show in the evenings: CBS’s resident philosopher at dawn is Studs Terkel, and at night it’s Eric Hoffer … two worlds, like Joan Baez and Winnie Ruth Judd, Ramsey Clark and J. Edgar Hoover, Mark Rudd and General Hershey29 … with nothing in common except ignorance.
And so much for that. There are, to be sure, several levels of ignorance in this world … just as Faulkner was fond of noting the various levels of cowardice.30 Selah …
My only other question at this time concerns funds. You didn’t answer my query about the chance of my using some part of my expense budget to simply sit here and write. At the moment I have $2,121 in pressing bills to cope with, in addition to Sandy on the verge of giving birth at any moment … and since I’ve spent only half my expense budget I feel it’s only reasonable to apply some portion of it here and now, where it’s needed, instead of casting around for ways to use it up on travel. Accordingly, I’m enclosing a bill (statement??) for $1500, which I hope you’ll see fit to pay. Let me know on this … and if I don’t hear from you soon, I’ll call.
Sincerely,
Hunter
***
July 10, 1969
STATEMENT
Misc. expenses incurred by Hunter S. Thompson in the process of coping with reality on a day-to-day basis while working on the “Death of the American Dream.” The author deems these expenses far more pertinent, at this point, than any he might otherwise be forced to incur by means of ill-advised travel at a time when the progress of the book manuscript can best be served by work at the typewriter—rather than running up bills on airlines and other exotic money-suckers, such as hotels, car rentals, etc.
The author is much aware, on the other hand, of the need for proper accounting language and standard procedures of a sort. Accordingly, let the record show that this “statement” is in fact a Travel Voucher: to wit …
$25
….. per day, for 60 (sixty) days of travel and related motivation to that end
the creation of a final manuscript for the A/D book.
$1500
….. total
Thanks,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO L. A. GORMAN, L.L. BEAN:
Thompson maintained a regular correspondence with the customer service staff of Maine-based outdoor outfitter L.L. Bean.
July 15, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Mr. Gorman …
Thanx for your letter. My general complaint about the “new” Bean style is too general to document without massive effort … but for two outstanding examples let me cite the green duck “lounger” and the (formerly) sheepskin gun case. The Lounger is a piece of cheap crap by any standards: I have two of them, mainly due to my wife’s lapses in judgement. The green canvas is so flimsy that my first one is now torn to shreds after one summer’s use—and the local canvas-artist offers to repair it for a figure of $14.00, which is just about what the thing costs. Needless to say, I’ve abandoned the thing; it now serves as a shade-object for my eight Doberman pups … and also, I might add, as a very bad advertisement for Bean products.
The gun case example doesn’t affect me personally, since I bought mine (the real sheepskin model) before you down-graded to green canvas—at roughly the same price. A friend of mine just bought one of your new models, and when he brought it out to the house recently I was shocked … and of course he reacted badly to the comparison. The “new” Bean gun case looks like a 99 cent Jap model, while my older, sheepskin case is an obvious quality item.
Anyway, that should do for starters. I hope you can reverse this (apparent) trend.
Yours in hazy faith …
Hunter S. Thompson
FROM TOM WOLFE:
Astronaut Neil Armstrong, commander of the U.S. Apollo 11 mission, had taken a man’s first small step on the moon on July 20, 1969. Most Americans agreed it was a “giant leap for mankind.”
July 21, 1969
Dear Hunter,
It all comes back to me out of the mists. … The picture of you was in the USIA31 magazine
that appears in the Soviet Union—or else it was in the Soviet slick magazine that appears here. I’ll tell you who can unravel this mystery: Ted Streshinsky, Box 674, Berkeley, Calif. He is a photographer, and I’m pretty sure it was he who showed that magazine to me. Ted took the pictures that went with the original article I did on the Merry Pranksters.
I gather you’re near the completion of your book—or can at least THINK about same. I wish I were as far along. I’ve got to get serious and quit jumping for every available copout, such as lectures. Lecturing is easy, lucrative and a nice ego melon & prosciutto, but I guess it is essentially a form of the worldwide Grand Jackoff.
Salutes and Bows,
Tom
TO TOM WOLFE:
Thompson leaves unsaid that days earlier, after a number of miscarriages, his wife, Sandy, had delivered a stillborn baby.
July 25, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Tom …
Thanx for the lead; I’ll write Streshinsky and find out which one of those Red swine crossed me. Which hardly matters, really … because it was all a hype anyway.
Your comments on “getting serious” and “copouts” added gas to what I’m beginning to see as my funeral pyre…a long string of articles, all bounced, reflecting a general rage at almost everything. My reflection in every newspaper shows me a festering sociopath, flirting with freakout psychosis … grinding my teeth at every newscast, every headline. I find myself watching the horizon and hoping to see flames … meanwhile dealing steadily in guns, nothing big, just everybody wanting them and asking where, how and what kind to buy. It’s a mean crazy atmosphere for writing books—or even one. Dynamite seems a lot quicker.
Anyway, good luck with whatever you’re working on. Mine will be either very good or a total disaster, depending on how I use the tension that keeps building here. OK for now …
Hunter
TO JIM FLUG c/o U.S. SENATOR EDWARD M. KENNEDY:
On July 18, 1969, Massachusetts senator Edward M. Kennedy had driven away from a cookout on tiny Chappaquiddick Island and off a bridge soon after, drowning his passenger, twenty-eight-year-old campaign aide Mary Jo Kopechne. Kennedy took nine hours to report the incident to the police, and later pled guilty to leaving the scene of a fatal accident. On July 25 he was given a two-month suspended sentence.
July 27, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Jim Flug
c/o Ted Kennedy
Senate Office Building
Washington, D.C.
Dear Jim …
The crush of recent events compels me to send a note, offering my services on a wholly professional basis. Your man very obviously needs writers; that Hyannisport show was a bummer—not even its friends could defend it.
I’m sitting here pondering Esquire’s cut version of my 140-page NRA/Gun Control article, wondering why I ever agreed to do the thing in the first place. I may be able to live with the version they think they want … but maybe not; it may have to be a book-research thing and not an article at all. We’ll see …
Anyway, no matter how I handle this article thing, I can’t possibly blow it as badly as Ted Kennedy just blew his beach-orgy act. Like I say, he needs writers—and as it happens I can see my way clear to offer my services no sooner than the late spring of 1970. Previous commitments will keep me away from politics until then—or at least off the breaking stories.
So, for good or ill, you can feel free to bid for my services anytime after Xmas. They will, of course, come high—given the treacherous realities of a seller’s market. That Hyannisport statement sounded like it was written by and for Melvin Laird.32 All it said to me was “Four More Years of Nixon.”
We can do without that, I think. And by ’76 Teddy will be a sort of pre-aged Kefauver33 figure; while I, and a lot of people like me, will be permanent expatriates from the U.S. political scene. For good or ill … but in the meantime, for christ’s sake tell your man to get himself a competent driver the next time he feels the need for a little head. OK for now …
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO WILLIAM J. KENNEDY:
July 29, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Well …I said I’d write, but I’m damned if I have any stomach for it. Everything that could possibly go wrong here has gone—except for the total failure and rejection of “the book.” And that has to be next. Particularly since I can’t seem to write it. I envy your enthusiasm, the San Juan trip … it all seems Right. Like maybe there really is a Good Troll King, with his one good eye focused constantly on the Great Scoreboard, keeping track. …
Hopefully this is just a passing funk. But it’s been a hell of a long one, more like rot than fever (now, four days later …)
In the wake of riots and violence connected with the CBS-TV feature, done by my friend Hughes Rudd. Watch for it soonest. Fantastic local upheavals, broken nose for the cameraman, etc. … scurvy threats at me: old friends blaming me for not “getting them interviewed,” others claiming I “staged” a fight for the cameras—a real nightmare story, reminiscent of that Shirley Jackson thing, or The Visit.34
Anyway, I need a lot of sleep. [Paul] Semonin threatens to arrive tomorrow. I have two more months to write the wretched “book.” Have a good time in the surf. Ciao …
HST
TO DON ERICKSON, ESQUIRE:
Thompson had received a detailed memo regarding his NRA piece for Esquire magazine.
August 4, 1969
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Don …
I’m still pondering the NRA piece—actually just got back to it after … well, no point in details.
Anyway, I see your point about the failed, fussy ending. That’s an extension of My gun problem, which I never really solved, in print or otherwise. I’ll get that done. I’m assuming, by the way, that I can cut and chop this xerox copy of yours; if not, call at once. I’ll be a day or so sketching the new order—so call quick if you want to preserve this copy.
[Esquire editor Robert] Sherrill’s memo is something else again. I think the man has spent too much time in P. J. Clarke’s. He may have a point or two, but in the main he sounds like somebody from the Greenwich Tweed/Sport and Ralley Club—the owner of a Morgan, two Singers and a Stutz—trying to explain away the Southern California Hotrod Cult. He is talking about a gun-world that I knew for 20 years in Kentucky—and still know when I go back there, despite the twisted reality of a gun-culture flourishing in a land where gun-freaks have killed all the game except a few coons and rabbits. There are still a few deer, I guess, but … well, that ain’t the point, is it?
Sherrill’s rude assumption that I “buy only handguns” clashes badly with his notion of me slaughtering deer and draping their “pitiful, beautiful heads” on my “shithouse wall.” When in fact I gave up hunting about three years ago, despite (or maybe because of) the deer and elk who (which?) graze in my backyard about six months out of the year. If I wanted to shoot the buggers, however, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with a handgun; I have four excellent rifles for that sort of thing, along with four shotguns that I use for 90% of my shooting these days—most of it at clay pigeons. Beyond that, Sherrill’s idea of the .44 Magnum is straight out of Dick Tracy; compared to the Luger he seems to revere, the S&W .44 Magnum is a goddamned esthetic marvel. It is at least 100% more accurate, about 300% as efficient, and as a piece of machinery it compares to the Luger like a Jaguar XKE compares to the basic Volkswagen. Sherrill’s disdain for the M16 (“a gun that sprays bullets like a water hose”) ignores the fact that the original Luger was designed to hold a 29-shot drum clip (like a sub-machinegun) and came with a cheap, heavy-wire shoulder stock—for street-fighting purposes, like the M-1 carbine, the M16, or a semi-automatic water hose.
But to hell with all that, too. I use letters, now and then, as drafts for later things—test-runs, of a sort—and I suspect that’s what I’m doing now. My essential point is that Sherrill’s views amount to some kind
of archaic counterpoint to everything I meant and still mean to say. I can probably incorporate them in some way—as an echo, perhaps, to some wistful woodsmen whose daddies could blow a fly off a pig’s back at 500 yards … which is nice to know, but it doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with skyrocketing gun sales in 1969.
That was the point I tried to make with my little tale about the day my P-38 arrived. All my other guns were bought for Sherrill’s reasons—but seconds after I lifted that piece of cheap shit out of the box I knew I’d bought into a new scene.
Maybe I should explain this better in the piece—along with a few other things. Needless to say, I saw no point in keeping the shards of that D.C. hotel-bar scene as a lead …so I’ll start at the bottom of pg. 3, with the arrival of the P-38 the day after Kennedy died.
That’s easy enough—and a better, cleaner ending won’t be any problem … but I’m not optimistic about incorporating that atavistic bullshit of Sherrill’s. Maybe he should come out of his martini-shelter and write his views in the form of a box—exposing me in BF [boldface] print as a vicious asshole, a demented werewolf of some kind, loping naked across these high mesas on sunny afternoons, fouling the air with my rank breath, clutching a .44 Magnum and with only one thought in my head—to slay these stinking beasts, fetch up a feast for the maggots, make the world safe for green-headed flies.
Indeed. And in fact why not a main feature on the Gun Madness, as it were? Let Woodson D. Scott dredge up a nice, ghost-written piece on how it feels to be the new president of the NRA? Get somebody like that wiggy bastard, Carl Perian, to speak for the other side … or maybe Tydings,35 with his fine sense of prose; he is up next year, and listing badly in the wake of Chappaquiddick. Perian would be better: the truth is not in him; he’s so crooked he has to screw his pants on in the morning … but he talks well, and his No.1 assistant is Gene Gleason, the old World-Telegram crime-buster (a fact I saw no reason to mention in the text, for a variety of reasons …).
Fear and Loathing in America Page 29
