the death of dr. gonzo
Hunter S. Thompson
1937-2005
Seems a bit silly that HST would shoot himself in the head. I mean, after all this, I would have expected him to get cut down by a covert government firing squad or be torn apart by a pack of wild dobermans. But even that would have been predictable. Hunter acted invincible, so it seems fitting that the only person who could take him off this earth is himself.
Admittadly, Hunter meant much more to the previous generation than my own (indeed, my father always excitedly recounted working with Hunter back in the '80s during his stint as an editor at Running Magazine). But while most people my age remember him as little more than a Johnny Depp immitation or a bastion of unbridled drug use, Hunter certainly had a huge effect on my life, or at least the way that I think about life (I must preface this by saying that I despise it when my peers heedlessly idolize icons of previous generations--blah, what a cowardly way to experience history).
People tend to forget that Hunter started as a sports writer. This seems ridiculous when compared to his public persona--a mumbling, fisherman hat-clad man speeding down the highway with a cigarette peeling back his lips has little to do with athleticism. But sports, and later politics, provided Hunter with the perfect blank canvas for his brand of tangential reflection on societal woes. When Hunter was sent to write about the Kentucky Derby, he turned in a piece called "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved." "We had come there to watch the real beasts perform," Thompson says. As a native of Louisville, Hunter saw the derby as much more than a horse race--this type of insight is commonplace today, but Hunter was a true original in his time.
In fact, it seems like much of Hunter's work was about highlighting the absurdity that normally goes unnoticed in everyday life. He rubbed your face in it, even if it meant he had to sacrifice himself to show you. Hunter showed me that sometimes chaos was more than just chaos, that there can be something elegant in wild destruction. Most of all, he taught me that intelligence and dignity transcends your circumstances--the most lucid revelations can sometimes rise only from the most depraved situations. Hunter lived life and created art with broad strokes, yet his genius was subtle. And really, that's the way it should be. HST wasn't scared of life and, apparently, he wasn't scared of death either.
1937-2005
Seems a bit silly that HST would shoot himself in the head. I mean, after all this, I would have expected him to get cut down by a covert government firing squad or be torn apart by a pack of wild dobermans. But even that would have been predictable. Hunter acted invincible, so it seems fitting that the only person who could take him off this earth is himself.
Admittadly, Hunter meant much more to the previous generation than my own (indeed, my father always excitedly recounted working with Hunter back in the '80s during his stint as an editor at Running Magazine). But while most people my age remember him as little more than a Johnny Depp immitation or a bastion of unbridled drug use, Hunter certainly had a huge effect on my life, or at least the way that I think about life (I must preface this by saying that I despise it when my peers heedlessly idolize icons of previous generations--blah, what a cowardly way to experience history).
People tend to forget that Hunter started as a sports writer. This seems ridiculous when compared to his public persona--a mumbling, fisherman hat-clad man speeding down the highway with a cigarette peeling back his lips has little to do with athleticism. But sports, and later politics, provided Hunter with the perfect blank canvas for his brand of tangential reflection on societal woes. When Hunter was sent to write about the Kentucky Derby, he turned in a piece called "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved." "We had come there to watch the real beasts perform," Thompson says. As a native of Louisville, Hunter saw the derby as much more than a horse race--this type of insight is commonplace today, but Hunter was a true original in his time.
In fact, it seems like much of Hunter's work was about highlighting the absurdity that normally goes unnoticed in everyday life. He rubbed your face in it, even if it meant he had to sacrifice himself to show you. Hunter showed me that sometimes chaos was more than just chaos, that there can be something elegant in wild destruction. Most of all, he taught me that intelligence and dignity transcends your circumstances--the most lucid revelations can sometimes rise only from the most depraved situations. Hunter lived life and created art with broad strokes, yet his genius was subtle. And really, that's the way it should be. HST wasn't scared of life and, apparently, he wasn't scared of death either.
Labels: journalism, literature, obituaries
posted by bfred at 1:22 PM
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