I believe my first introduction to the work of the late Hunter S. Thompson came via a dog-eared paperback copy of his perennial classic, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” which was handed to me by my grade school chum Walter just prior to my departure on a three-week bicycle trek across the verdant expanse of Massachusetts. Walt put the book in my hand as if he was handing me a loaded weapon (which, in a way, he sorta was) with a look on his face that seemed to say, “you’re finally ready!” For some people, it was their first viewing of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” For others, it was the first few amplified barre chords off The Ramones. For Walter (and millions like him), it was “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
I’m actually not as “gonzo” about Thompson’s writing (sorry) as some others. I loved “Fear & Loathing…” and his book on the Hell’s Angels, but I can’t say I’ve read too much of his stuff beyond that. But I know people who can recite chapter & verse of Thompson’s thorny prose and have lovingly-detailed tattoos of Ralph Steadman’s iconic illustrations for “Fear & Loathing.” For all his myriad eccentricities, Thompson commands – even from the grave – an army of acolytes.
In any case, my good friend and former colleague “Hot Johnny” Flowers has been following my vocational trajectory of late and sent along something that he thought might put a bit of a spring in my step. Composed sometime prior to his elevation to a veritable deity of counterculture, check out this cover letter Hunter S. Thompson penned and sent for a newspaper gig in 1958. As my dad noted, it’s “not exactly the kind of pitch that would work today, however, is it?”
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