“By the time these gentlemen arrived, the Westward Movement was already beginning to solidify. The ‘California way of life’ proved to be the same old game of musical chairs—but it took a long time for this news to filter back east, and meanwhile the Gold Rush continued. Once here, the newcomers hung on for a few years, breeding prolifically, until the war started. Then they either joined up or had their pick of jobs on a booming labor market. Either way, they were ‘Californians’ when the war ended. The old way of life was scattered back along Route 66, and their children grew up in a new world. The Linkhorns had finally found a home.
“Nelson Algren wrote about them in A Walk on the Wild Side, but that story was told before they crossed the Rockies. Dove Linkhorn, son of crazy Fitz, went to hustle for his fortune in New Orleans. Ten years later he would have gone to Los Angeles. Algren had worked with Linkhorns, and got drunk with them in the midnight roadhouses of Texas and Oklahoma. When the time came to describe them, he did it about as well as it has ever been done …”
It is at this point that I interjected about six paragraphs of your stuff on the Linkhorn ancestry, beginning with, “Six-foot-one of slack muscled shambler, etc.…” and ending with the thing about Fitz and the White Trash convention, using only those paragraphs that seemed to apply to the Hell’s Angels. After your stuff, my own text (or “stuff”) picks up again, to wit: “Anyone who drives the western highways knows the Linkhorns didn’t stay in Texas either. They kept moving until one day in the late 1930’s they stood on the spine of a scrub-oak California hill and looked down on the Pacific Ocean. They had come to the end of the road.…” After this point I was forced to fall back on my own resources for another 200 pages, although toward the end I was tempted to compare an Angel who was killed on his 29th birthday (no, his 30th birthday, or several hours before it) to Bruno Lefty Bicek. The reason I didn’t was that I figured I’d already given you enough credit, and if I mentioned you again some motherfucker like Fiedler5 would call me an Algren fag and put me down the tube as a “naturalist.” I had the same problem with Thomas Jefferson; he said too many good things.
So that’s how it is. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about the Linkhorn angle, but I won’t do anything until I find out from the Random House lawyers just what kind of a law you and Nixon have brewed up to keep me from quoting you. It would be easy enough for me to call the bastards “Buckhorns,” or “Scroggins,” and just paraphrase your stuff about their background. You aren’t the only person who ever wrote about white trash going west, but for one reason or another you just said it better. My whole point is that the Hell’s Angels didn’t jump out of some Hollywood garbage can, and I thought your Linkhorn angle would help to put them in context. I still think so. They are the 1st generation of Anglo-Saxon boomers, and they have a lot of names besides Linkhorn.
I’m sorry if my letter of February 10 led you to believe I was going to steal a portion of your book. Maybe the letter wasn’t very clear. But I should think this letter is about as clear as it has to be, and although it’s not necessary that you reply I wanted to get it down in writing to make sure you don’t sue me for the wrong reasons. If you are addled enough to think you can’t be quoted or even mentioned in the public prints, it makes me feel kind of sad and the best advice I can offer is that you change your lawyers. I find this incredible, but of course you have a right to your own ideas and opinions. In any case, I don’t want you roaming up and down Muscatine Street, brooding and bitching about some punk on the Coast who’s stealing all your stuff. I happen to think you’ve written some very good stuff, and not even the most swinish letter from you will change my opinion or my tastes.
Beyond that, let me emphasize that this letter is in no way a request for either permission or advice. Unless I hear from you to the contrary I’ll assume that you intend to sue me for one reason or another, and naturally I’ll advise Random House to get braced for it. If you think it will help things, I’ll urge you to write them too.
My inclination is to close on a decent note, but I don’t want to lay myself open to another weird blast. Things like that ruin my breakfast. You can rest assured that whatever I decide to do about Linkhorn will be judgment-proof. Changing a name and rewriting a few paragraphs will have no effect on the book. If I have to do it, naturally I’ll be pissed off—mainly because I felt I was paying you a compliment of sorts in deferring to your description of White Trash. It was well done, no doubt about it, and if I still insist on stealing it—or trying to—I hope you’ll feel properly proud.
I also admired that line at the end of your letter: “It’s always a good idea for a writer to do the best he can do with what he has.” You have cultivated some tough ideas since you talked to Donohue. Or were you referring to other writers? Everybody except Algren. You are the only one around with a good right hand, and you haven’t used it for years. I’m curious. Do you ever hear any high white sounds out there in Iowa? I’ll close on that stolen note and get back to work.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO CAREY MCWILLIAMS, THE NATION:
At last Hell’s Angels was completed and Thompson was free to blow off some steam.
March 17, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Dear Carey—
I’m now trying to get a grip on myself after three weeks of running totally out of control. Got the book off by March 1, as planned, and then went into a wild spiral up and down the coast, stuffing myself with every kind of drug and booze imaginable. Now my head feels a bit clearer and of course I’m dead broke again. Something has to be done on the article front.
I’ve talked to Shir-Cliff6 at Ballantine and [Jim] Silberman at Random, both of whom insist I start on another non-fiction book at once. Their first suggestion was an exposé of the “Minutemen,”7 which I quickly rejected. My own idea was to go back to Mexico for 6 to 8 months and do a sort of sketch-book of American expatriates. This didn’t seem to groove them, and when I said I thought I’d write a novel or two they suggested I find gainful employment while doing so. Not really that harsh, but almost. It was as if I’d said I wanted my next project to be a book of LSD poems.
They then asked me what interested me, but I couldn’t explain it on the phone and probably can’t in a letter either. The closest we could come was a sort of tentative idea for a book on the drug-hippie action, which I’m now mulling over. I told Silberman that since the Hell’s Angels idea had been yours in the first place, that I’d consult with you again to see if you had any more ideas for articles that might evolve into a salable book. (Unless they’re putting me on, they seem to think the Hell’s Angels book is going to reap some cash.) But not for a while, and in the meantime my rent is overdue again and the Chinese landlady is getting ugly.
Do you have any ideas? (I think that hotrod thing is too close to what I’ve been living with for too long.) How about getting a Guggenheim? How could I get some information on the mechanics of this? How can it be done … or had? Send word.
Thanks—
Hunter
TO NELSON ALGREN:
March 23, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Dear Mr. Algren:
In the course of tying up loose ends of the Hell’s Angels action I came across your letter of February 16 and remembered that I’ve since heard from Candida Donadio.8 I forwarded her letter to Random House and requested that they deal with the situation in whatever manner they saw fit. As I said, the loss of your six paragraphs is not going to cripple the book. You can now rest assured that you’ve fought off another savage attempt to steal your stuff.
Maybe you have good reasons for acting this way, and for the sake of politeness I’ll assume that you do. But in fact it strikes me as either lunacy or senility or both, and goddamn if I can make sense of it. I suppose I’ll see you somewhere in the public prints, but I ain’t real worried. Good luck on Muscatine St.
Sincerely,
>
Hunter S. Thompson
TO MR. JED STRODTBECK:
Strodtbeck, an independent scholar, had written his own study of the Hell’s Angels.
March 23, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Dear Mr. Strodtbeck:
After finishing the Hell’s Angels book I started going over various mail, loose ends, etc., and came on your letters of last fall. Your questions of August 4 seem more critical, now that it’s all over, than they did at the time. I’m not sure I answered all of them in the book, but I think you’ll find it interesting in one or two ways. I’m not sure how to describe the book, but it’s not at all what I had in mind when I started. I gave the “adults and authorities” a pretty rough time, and my only regret along that line is that I didn’t have another six months to really dynamite them. I don’t really see any “solutions” except to document the madness (and the mad humor) of a society that breeds Hell’s Angels just as surely as it breeds Nixons and LeMays9 and Negro gangs on darktown streetcorners. But maybe we differ here, too. In any case, thanks for the book and the letters. I don’t recall stealing anything from you, but the book gave me a basis of comparison, for good or ill. Mine should be out “this summer,” according to Random, and I’ve told them to send you a free copy.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO DON MCKINNEY, SATURDAY EVENING POST:
At this point the Saturday Evening Post was one of America’s most popular weekly magazines.
April 12, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Don McKinney
Saturday Evening Post
641 Lexington Ave.
New York City 22
Dear Mr. McKinney:
I’ve been meaning to get off a note to you for the past few weeks, but as always I’m running behind schedule. In my letter of October 6, 1965 I said I’d contact you when I got loose and finished the Hell’s Angels book, which is more or less the case now. I still have some revisions to do, but as far as I know the thing will be out this summer.
In the meantime I’m haggling about the subject of my next book and looking around for some article work to fill the money gap and keep me on my rails. I have several ideas, but none that would call for any quick action except the enclosed clip on the Russian fishing fleet, I’m not sure how long they’ll be there, but I imagine it will be a matter of one to three weeks. Last spring a much smaller Russian “fleet” hovered off the coast near San Francisco for about ten days, but with 200 vessels I’d figure this one to be around a bit longer.
I think it would make a good piece, but I couldn’t tell you much more about it without going up to Oregon for a look. My idea would be to go up to Newport [Oregon] and go out with one of the U.S. boats—and then, by any means available, to get aboard one of the Russian boats and get their side of the story. I have a talent for getting into strange places, and my only worry would be finding a Russian who spoke English. There is no Russian consul in San Francisco, but I could probably get some help from the Yugoslav Consul-General. Once I’ve seen the Oregon situation, then I could come back here and talk to consuls from Chile, Peru, Japan, etc., to get a worldwide perspective on the thing. Chile and Peru, for instance, have arbitrarily extended their offshore boundaries as far as 200 miles, and enforced the restrictions with gunboats. This, at least, was the word on tonight’s ABC network newscast. About two years ago in Lima I talked to some U.S. tuna fishermen about their problems, but I never got around to doing the story. It’s an interesting problem with some weird ramifications and I’m sure it will keep cropping up.
Anyway, let me know ASAP if it interests you. I’m loose right now but I can’t say for certain that I’ll be loose next week unless I hear from you pretty quick. Nor can I guarantee the continued presence of the Russian fleet.
As for money, I’d need some expense cash ahead and a guarantee of some kind, but I’d prefer that you work this kind of thing out with my agent, Scott Meredith.
I think photos would be a necessity for a piece like this and I’d be more than willing to shoot as many rolls as you’d want, but I’d want you to know in advance that I’m not a Magnum-type photographer. Josh Eppinger has seen some of my stuff from the era when I was trying to sell you a Hell’s Angels cover photo, so you might ask him if he thinks it’s worth the risk. If I could get on one of the Russian boats I don’t think it would matter what kind of photographer I was, as long as I had a light meter and dry film. To this end I’d be willing to charter a private boat and go right out to one of the Russian trawlers, willfully ignorant of all protocol and that sort of thing. I doubt that I’d be in any danger except maybe from the U.S. Coast Guard, who would probably be nervous about private boarding parties. Perhaps the Yugoslav consul could make some kind of arrangement to get me around this problem, but if not I’d be willing to try it anyway.
So that’s about it for now. There’s not much more I can tell you without going up to Oregon for a closer look. As for the pitch and yaw of the piece, I’m thinking of something focused down on the people involved, rather than international law and industry drum-beating. That would of course be a factor, but more as background than meat, I’d like to let the fisherman tell the story, instead of getting it from a congressman.
Enclosed are some old clips that might give you a vague idea as to how I’d approach a thing like this. Please send them back when you can. My style is not quite the same as it was when I labored for the Observer; I think the Nation stuff would give you a better idea what to expect. Anyway, let me know. I have some other ideas that I’ll send as soon as I can.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO NORMAN MAILER:
Although Mailer never did share with Thompson his views on the Hell’s Angels, he did send a friendly letter commenting on how much he had liked Thompsons articles in The Nation.
April 26, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Dear Norman—
No harm done with the mislaid letter. I barely remember it but I know it was one of those late/drunk ones. Anyway, I was just casting around. At one point I quoted Algren on white trash and got myself in a hell of an argument with him and his agent. He threatened to sue me. I thought I was paying the man a compliment, but he came at me like Nixon. So it’s probably best that you stayed clear.
Anyway, Random House has postponed the Hell’s Angels book until fall and I’ll tell Silberman to make sure you get a copy ahead of time. You might like it. It’s a frontal assault on everybody involved or even implicated. Mainly the press. And the cops. I’m looking for some action when it comes out.
I haven’t seen anything of yours recently, but assume you’re working on something with a bit of thrust. I probably owe you a conditional apology for some of that wild bullshit I sent you from Big Sur a few years back. But it was all in a human spirit, so what the hell? Incidentally, the novel I was working on then (The Rum Diary) has finally been bought by Random. I’ll need the next few months for a rewrite, but it’s nice to know all that work wasn’t wasted.
That’s about it from here. Good luck with whatever you’re working on.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO MARGUERITE GIFFORD:
Gifford, a Louisville portrait artist, was Thompson’s favorite cousin.
April 27, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco
Dear Cousin Marguerite—
Thanks very much for the letter and I’m sorry to be so long getting back to you. Things have been very hectic here and the summer looks about the same way. I finished the book on the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang (to be published in the fall) and just signed another contract for a novel and a second non-fiction book. This is not a particularly lucrative situation, but it gives me a guaranteed minimum income to write books for the next year or two. If one of them happens to sell, that will be a d
ifferent story, but of course I have no control over that. To me it is a matter of getting by from day to day and getting the writing done. I work entirely at night and sleep until noon every day. In the afternoon I deal with the normal problems of life and play basketball with the local hoodlums to keep in shape. Sometimes I take Juan out to the beach around sundown. We just got another Doberman pup and he needs daily exercise, so I guess I’ll be getting to the beach more often. Sandy works two hours a day at a local real estate agency. We lead a pretty quiet life and hardly the sort of thing most people associate with “wild writers.” Writing is very hard work and at times I wish I didn’t have to depend on it, but of course it’s the only kind of work I can do and enjoy. As an artist, you probably know what I mean.
Speaking of art, we have your painting of the boy at Angkor Wat, Cambodia on a wall in the hallway where everybody who comes in the door is face to face with it. I have bought four large paintings since we moved into this place, but yours is the only one I feel any blood relationship with. Our family is not laden with artistic instinct, so I’m happy to have some painted evidence that my own talent didn’t spring out of nowhere.
Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967 Page 72
