All I’d like to know is How Much? I am sending a copy of this letter to my London literary agent, Deborah Rogers, who will be in touch with you shortly. I trust you can shuck off your devious bullshit long enough to deal with her in a straight fashion and sell me a print of a film that covers an episode in my life that remains very close to me—despite the lame/corporate interpretation your people managed to put on it.
In any case—since you’re obviously selling prints of the film—I can’t imagine any reason why you wouldn’t sell one to me. My agreement with your producer/director is obviously defunct, so we might as well get down to straight dollars.
Tell me how much you want for a print (the title, as I recall, is: “High Noon in Aspen”) … and I’ll send you the money.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
cc: Deborah Rogers
TO JOSEPH DOLAN:
Thompson had encountered Joseph Dolan—another Democratic candidate for Colorado’s U.S. Senate seat in 1974—at an Aspen cocktail party.
June 2, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
Joe …
Thanks for the letter & the obvious good instincts.
And just for the record, by the way, I assumed you knew who I was when I slouched into Diane’s apartment—since she’d formally invited us, and we’d called at least twice to say we were coming. There was no malice in the “grilling” you mentioned. The people with me were some of the activists in my sheriff’s campaign, and they merely wanted to know if you were any different from the other politicians … and in all fairness I should add that they were not immensely edified by your Presence, your answers, or the symbolic alternative you posed to Politics as Usual.
Also, in fairness, I know Gary [Hart] well enough to assume he wouldn’t have fared much better under the same circumstances. The kind of people I spend most of my time with—friends, readers, constituents, etc.—tend to share my uneasy conviction that Democrats are no better than Republicans.
As for my own political plans, I’m entirely unsure at this point—but if I decide to do anything serious, I’d like to talk to both you & Gary about it, before I crank up. I have no “political ambitions,” per se, but I think we have a very flux situation in Colorado & it may be one of the few states in the country where we can make a start on the drastic structural changes that we all know will sooner or later be necessary, if we have any honest hope for the survival of the democratic process.
My quarrel with you & Gary is that neither one of you seems to understand that [GOP candidate Peter] Dominick is not the real enemy—and not even a symbol of the real problem. You could scour the noontime streets in Denver & come up with one person out of every ten who would be a better Senator than Dominick … but so what? That’s like calling for a national referendum on the question of whether Haig is a better Nixon flunky than Haldeman.7
Which is drifting off the point, I think. Maybe you should risk a trip to your local bookstore and spend some of that massive fortune I understand you recently piled up for a copy of my book on the ’72 campaign. It won’t cure what ails you, but it might save us a lot of useless haggling.
You might also take a long look at your advance-staff. Anybody running for the U.S. Senate who can be hassled for almost 2 hours by a potential opponent & four of his henchmen without any idea who’s hassling him would appear to be in serious trouble when the going gets heavy.
Jesus, I went out of my way to be nice. What if I’d come there to really fuck around with you?
Maybe we can talk about this when I get over to Denver in the next few weeks. If nothing else, we can have a drink or so and try to get things focused.
Cazart,
Hunter
TO FRANK MANKIEWICZ:
Frank Mankiewicz had been a lawyer in L.A. and director of the Peace Corps under LBJ before he was hired as Robert F. Kennedy’s campaign press secretary in 1968. Four years later he joined George McGovern’s staff in the same capacity, quickly rising to campaign manager and then political director of the 1972 Democratic effort—“The Man Behind the Man,” as Thompson put it.
June 4, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
Frank …
It’s snowing heavily out here for the third straight day, and after watching the CBS Morning News I’ve about decided to make the big move to the Washington Hilton and start fucking around with the Watergate story. Lynn [Nesbit] says you could use some competent help on your book—getting the facts straight, etc.—and there seems to be pretty general agreement in NY publishing circles that I’m the help you need.
But first I have to finish off this goddamn Playboy article8 & nail down a New Deal with either Random House or somebody else for the new book—a sort of neo-novel, more on the order of Vegas than the Campaign ’72 thing.
Meanwhile, however, I have to make at least a lame stab at writing something for Rolling Stone, and Watergate is about the only thing that interests me right now, so I’ll probably see you in D.C. sometime around the middle of June. Until then, I’m counting on you to cause a gross public upheaval by displaying the poster I’m sending you under separate cover…. I expect you to crash it right into the Hearing Room, using Josh [Mankiewicz, Frank’s son] to fight off the cops while you explain your (our) position to the TV cameras. A scene like that might go a long way towards atoning for all your media-crimes during the campaign.
Yeah—speaking of Josh—tell him I tried to get his threat to kill me into a footnote for the second printing, but I was too late; it went down the tube along with the 422 other major corrections I’ve been trying to insert ever since the first galleys came back. Hopefully, I can get at least some of them into the third printing, which is set for July. Selah.
On other fronts, my ’74 Senate campaign is picking up a fearful head of steam. Both Gary & Joe Dolan are trying to head me off somehow (pleading letters, phone calls, emissaries, etc.)—but I get Muskie-style flashes off both of them and I suspect it’s all over. Neither one of them seems to understand that what I’m doing is for the Greater Good, as always.
For the moment it’s all I can do to keep control of my supporters, who want to croak both Hart & Dolan at once & then do a Godzilla-trip on Dominik (sp?). Shit, I can’t even spell his name—but then I could never spell “sheriff” either. In any case, I don’t want to peak too early. But you should probably start getting your affairs in order, because when we move it’ll be like a fucking whirlwind & I’ll want you well-rested.
Okay for now …
Hunter
FROM WILLIAM J. KENNEDY:
Kennedy enclosed galleys of a friend’s new novel for Thompson to endorse.
June 9, 1973
Hunter …
The last time I talked to you you were much younger. I don’t know how this communication gap developed. Have you stopped writing letters or have I?
The occasion for this is somebody else: Valerie Petersen, wife of Don Petersen, the author of Does a Tiger Wear a Necktie, a play. Valerie is going by the alias of Kohler Smith in her novel, which is coming out from Dial in the fall. I helped her get into Dial and am trying to get her some recognition with it. I think it’s one of the funniest novels I’ve read in years. Almost as funny as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. If you feel up to it and also magnanimous, send a blurb on the book to Donna Schrader, the publicity girl at Dial. If not, not.
I met Kurt Vonnegut for dinner about a month and a half ago and he talked of your book, full of praise. Said you were due east one of these days, which I presume now has come and gone. I assume you no longer communicate with easterners.
I’m about to go to Ireland for some magazine pieces, one for the Atlantic and one for the [New York] Times Magazine and maybe some travel stuff to cover whiskey expenses.
I seem to be finishing my novel, which is about as much as I want to say about it at the moment. More later if I ever see you.
I can’t afford to buy your book but have read much of it as it went along and r
ecently eulogized you and Gonzo in a journalistic summary I wrote for Empire State College, quoting the new book. You’ve done well for an upstart. I can’t say the same for all those Stone writers who are also riding the gonzo trail.
I see [Bill] Cardoso’s name in print out there. Give him my best when you see him.
I had a good visit with McGarr in New York about six months ago. First time we ever really talked to one another, it seemed.
Maybe you heard from Peggy [Clifford] the news I wrote her about Lee & Laurie [Berry]’s house burning down; they stayed with us about a month or more and are now in a friend’s summer house, building a new place near the old site. They had some insurance. Talked to Rosalie [Sorrels] this week. She’s got a new record coming out, all songs about the ’50s. She’s living at Saratoga with Lena, or maybe by this time is sharing a place with Bruce Phillips. Dana has opened two clothing stores, Grand Rags Ltd., in partnership with a friend & help from her tycoon brother. Doing nicely but no family profits yet. All right. And is the senatorial race real?
Kennedy
TO JIM SILBERMAN, RANDOM HOUSE:
June 18, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
Jim …
Yeah, I’m definitely serious about buying the remaining copies of Vegas—but my seriousness is based on what I assume is a mutual understanding that the best you can do with them is a mass Remainder-Rack Dump at about 30 cents each, or more like 19 cents … let’s use 22 cents each as a working standard.
If this is the case, I’ll have to make some fast logistical arrangements—inre: Storage, etc.—before I can tell you anything definite. My notion would be to Buy Low and Sell High in a pretty quick time-span. Like egg futures. …Anyway, before I can do anything I’ll have to know what I’d have to pay you for the mass of unsold copies: $10 or $12 thousand, as I understand it.
(On the other hand—now that I think on it—there might be a high & definitely perverse kind of satisfaction in sticking you with them, and forcing you to sell the whole bunch at patently ridiculous prices … tacitly admitting a bad botch on the sales front, eh?)
Sometime soon, by the way, I plan to force a readjustment in my long-time status (or role)—from RH’s House Freak & Subsidized Looney to the role of an actual, profit-churning Writer. It’s been fun all around—no argument about that—but I get the feeling it’s about time we tried to establish a serious relationship. (Which is not to say that I plan to start taking myself seriously; all I’m talking about here is my work, as it were….)
Anyway, you should let me know how many Vegas books you have on hand, and how much you want for them…. Then I’ll make you an offer.
And, yes … Inre: the Guts Ball tape, please return it to me ASAP. I promised Rinzler a valid shot at the book before signing any contracts with you, and that tape is about as close as I plan to come to anything resembling a Real Outline. I should have made a dupe before I sent it to you, but I didn’t … so I’d like to have it back pretty quick, in order to make a few copies.
Okay for now. I came back from LA on a DC-10 & saw the whole story unfolding right in front of me. I also saw massive possibilities for the Video tape gig I tried to sell you on about 3 years ago … but this time I’ll do it on my own and then sell it to you, when you finally figure it all out.
Yrs. in Sloth &
Complacency …
HST
TO JOHN HOLDORF, A. L. JOHNSON LIBRARY, UNION COLLEGE:
Washington Post national affairs reporter William Greider would join the Rolling Stone staff as a political columnist in the summer of 1982.
June 18, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
John Holdorf
A. L. Johnson Library
Union College
Cranford, N.J. 07016
Dear John:
Bill Greider of The Washington Post has pulled himself together long enough to forward (to me) your letter of 5/25 … and he also sent along a copy of his letter to you, in re: The Meaning of the word “Cazart.”
Surprising as it might seem to those of us in The Trade, as it were, Bill’s definition of the word is essentially correct. His dim Appalachian background has been both the curse & the catapult of his career at the Post. There is also a thin Princeton influence, which probably explains why he missed the root meaning of the word….
“Cazart” goes beyond Greider’s surface definition of mere shock & surprise; it also implies an almost doom-rooted acceptance of whatever grim situation has suddenly emerged. Bill’s Ivy League/Foggy Bottom background probably explains the missing dimension in his understanding of the word—to wit: “I took the meaning to be roughly ‘holy shit.’”
Which is nice, but not enough. “Cazart” goes far beyond mere shock, outrage, etc. If Bill had a better grip on semantics, he would have told you it meant: “Holy shit! I might have known!”
Fatalism, I’d say. It’s a mountain word, but not commonly used—one of those finely-honed words (or expressions) more common to Brazilian Portuguese (the Mato Grosso, in particular) than to everyday English. In contemporary terms, we might compare it to the first verbal outburst of a long-time cocaine runner who knew he was bound to be nailed, eventually, but when it finally happens he instinctively shouts “Cazart!”
I hope this will clear the thing up—and, in addition to all that, your note that “none of the standard dictionaries list this word” will soon be remedied. I am forwarding your letter to Jim Silberman, Editor-in-Chief at Random House, and I’m sure we’ll see “Cazart” in the next edition of the RH Dictionary.
Sincerely,
HST
TO WILLIAM J. KENNEDY:
Thompson expressed his thanks for the gift of a stranger’s galleys to read.
June 20, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
Bill …
Thanx, you scurvy pigfucker. All I really wanted for my birthday was another goddamn Uncorrected Galleys of another stranger’s book. I’m being driven fucking mad by them. I didn’t even know the fucking things existed until last month (I’ve never seen one of my own books in that form), but all of a sudden my box is full of the goddamn things, from people I’ve never even heard of.
About 2 wks ago I finally read one of them (from Holt, Rinehart, etc.) and sent a thought-out one-page comment to the editor—who swiftly denounced me, by return mail, as a useless asshole because I failed to understand the entirety, or some such bullshit, of his product. Actually, I liked the book—and tried to say so, in my way—but it didn’t seem to work out.
That’s the third time I’ve tried it, and the third failure. The other two cost me two friends—George Kimball & Charles Kuralt. Luckily, this last one only caused me to know hatred for a stranger….
In the meantime I am, as you’ve noted, much younger. Not many people have noticed that, but I figured you would. As for my rumored trip to the east, it never happened and I doubt if it will anytime soon. I have come to agree with [Arizona senator Barry] Goldwater that NY should be chopped off and sunk in the Newark Lagoon. The entire east coast from Miami to Boston is a petrified scumbag.
It is now 5:18 A.M. on a Wed. morning and I’m trying to finish my annual reject/effort for Playboy. I quit Rolling Stone about 2 months ago, but they … well, fuck that … we should keep that stuff in the family, as it were.
Anyway, I’ll try to crank myself up for reading that goddamn thing you sent—but it better be good.
On other fronts, I have very little to say. My next gig will be what looks like a massively unsaleable novel that will keep me busy—regardless of whether or not anyone buys it—for at least the next year: Flying back & forth from Washington to LA on a DC-10. I was supposed to spend the summer covering Watergate for RS, but I couldn’t live with the horror of all that time in D.C. and it’s better on TV anyway.
As for my Senate race, it’s mainly a threat—but not entirely. By next fall I might be unnaturally hungry for a new adrenaline rush. But I’m not really planning on it.
I’
ll let you know if & when it jells.
Saw Cardoso in LA last wk; he’s doing some stuff for RS & I’m leaning on Wenner to make him The Man in LA—for good or ill. That ugly news about Lee’s house was a bummer; he seems to have more than his share of bad luck. I live in fear of that (fire) thing happening out here. I finally bought the place, but it’s not insured for anything & the taxes are ungodly. Save up some money so I can borrow it from you next year. I have a powerful feeling that I’m about to shit in my nest again. OK … and hello to Dana …
HST
TO HUGHES AND ANNE RUDD:
CBS Morning News correspondent Hughes Rudd and his wife, Anne, had sent Thompson a clipping of one of the many glowing reviews of Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72.
June 21, 1973
Woody Creek, CO
Hughes/Anne …
Thanx for the weird NY Post clip. This book seems to be settling nicely into the mold of the other two—incredibly “good” but disastrously-ignorant reviews and less than half the minimum-sales anticipated by the editors. (The R. House version of Vegas never got above 18,000, they tell me, and Straight Arrow says we’ll be lucky to hit even that with the Campaign book.) I’m not sure just what kind of a book you have to write to Sell Big in this country but all I can say for sure is that I’ll never write it.
Meanwhile, however, I’m sitting out here in stone poverty—having taken a “leave of absence” from RS about 3 months ago—and juggling an outline for a novel (Jesus, what kind of lunatic would try to sell anybody a goddamn novel at this foul stage in our history???) … but the flip side of my perverse refusal to cover Watergate seems to be the idea that I should finally write A Novel; I’m fucked if I know why but there’s damn few things I ever really understood anyway, so why worry about this one?—(shit, this goddamn [IBM] Selectric typewriter won’t work anymore—but I bought it from extremely dubious sources, so I can’t turn it in for repair; which means I have to go out and get another one on the same dark market).
Fear and Loathing in America Page 71
