Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman (105 page)

In a nut, I don't see that I have anything to lose by pushing Random House far enough to break the contract for the next two books. I couldn't possibly do any worse with another publisher—not at this stage of the game, anyway. If the book stopped selling tomorrow I'd be in a good bargaining position, simply on the basis of reviews. And since Silberman doesn't want to bargain, fuck him. He may think Random House is the only publisher in New York, but a look at the
Publisher's Weekly
bestseller list you sent me the other day would indicate that there are at least a few others. Aside from
Hell's Angels
, I didn't see any Random House book either listed or noted as “comers,” So if this is his first “success” in two years, as far as I'm concerned it's going to be his last—at least at my expense.

And so much for that. Let's keep ourselves straight by not arguing any more about the contract situation. I don't blame you for it, and I don't like you putting yourself in a position where you have to defend it. It makes it harder on both of us. Let's keep the human side of publishing separate from the knife-in-the-back side. (Incidentally, I re-read—before writing this—your letters of March 10 and the one from the Boston plane. And I felt like a bit of a monster for yelling at you this afternoon … but then I am a bit of a monster, so what the hell?) Anyway, do us both a favor and keep in mind that we'll get along a lot better if you don't try and mix up your roles on me. I relate to Selma, not Random House … and if you come back at me with company bullshit, then expect that kind of reply. OK for now.…

Hunter

Thompson was conspiring to get his Hell's Angel friend Terry the Tramp free copies of his book
.

March 21, 1967
Owl Farm
Woody Creek, Colorado

Tramp, you worthless beast! Random House finally forwarded your letter through to me. What the fuck is the Angel's Inn?? What are you doing? Whatever it is … beware. Anyway, here's how to get some books: call (collect, during the day, New York time) Selma Shapiro, publicity manager of Random House, and tell her I said to send you five (5) books and put them on my account. Two of these should go to Skip
⁴
 … the crazy bastard came up to Toronto and screamed bullshit at me for an hour on national TV. But I told him I'd send five books, so two of the five are his (they cost me $3 each). Also tell Skip to send me his address and I'll send a check for that mystery keg of beer that everybody seems to think I owe the club. I don't remember agreeing to any specific keg, but the fact is that I intended to have a mind-bending publication-day party that would have made beer a minor consideration. As for free books, I wrote Sonny and told him exactly why I was going back on that agreement.
⁵
I was pretty pissed off about getting stomped and I was disappointed, frankly, that you didn't come around afterward and at least get the story straight. Skip told some kind of incredible tale that made me sound like a combination of Marshal Dillon, Superman, and a Lunatic. He admitted afterward that it didn't make sense, and I was on a radio show—by remote control—with Pete Knell
⁶
and some others last weekend, and we got the story more or less straight.

Anyway, when you call Selma you'll have to convince her that your request is legit—in other words, that I've sanctioned it—so you'll have to tell her that you know the password: “Chicago.” And if that doesn't work, we're both out of luck. My relations with Random House are sinking in shit, due to the fact that they've screwed me so badly on my book contract that not even a best-seller will pay my expenses for two years of work. I get 22½ cents for every book sold; you figure it out.

Anyway, I'm evicted from here as of May 1, and I should be back in San Francisco for the summer freak-out by sometime in June. Send me a line c/o Selma Shapiro at Random House, 457 Madison Ave., New York 22, and tell me how to get hold of you quietly, without violence. But if we're dealing with people holding grudges, forget it. This is a big, wide world, and I have all the action I need without stupid feuds. OK for now.…

Hunter

Downs hosted NBC's Today show, on which Thompson had been interviewed
.

April 1, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Hugh.…

In the midst of working on an article for
The Realist
on that whole, rotten publicity stunt for the
Hell's Angels
book, I remember how much I appreciated your help—first on the “Kup” show
⁷
and then again on
Today
. The Kup thing was the first time I'd ever been on TV, and when he said, “Tell me, Hunter, what do you
think
about the Hell's Angels?” I figured the best thing I could do was walk off the set. So it was a hell of a relief to have you re-phrase the question in manageable terms. I didn't miss that.

As for
Today
, I still can't understand how anybody can function at that inhuman hour and I'm sorry I wasn't more lively, but if you and Paul Cunningham
⁸
hadn't carried me as well as you did it might have been a total disaster. (Oddly enough, I got a lot of comments saying that my wretchedness made the thing seem more “real.”) But everybody agreed that I looked wretched, for good or ill.

Which is a pretty good definition. I could have used some of your help in L.A., where I had 36 appearances in five days. Anyway, I want you to know that I realize you went out of your way to keep me afloat in a bad time … and if I can do you a favor sometime, let me know.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Although Thompson loathed the publicity tour for
Hell's Angels,
he had a great time at his lunchtime interview with journalist Lewis Nichols, who wrote about the experience in his “In and Out of Books,” a regular feature in
The New York Times Book Review.

April 5, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Mr. Nichols.…

I was just reading over your tale of our lunch in the
Book Review
of March 5 and I enjoy it as much now as I did when I first saw it. My main
pleasure in it is that Selma was sure, from beginning to end, that I was living, walking proof of everything you might find offensive. She was still worried after we parted with you, but I told her she was crazy. I enjoyed talking to you and I had to assume it was at least tolerably mutual, because otherwise we couldn't have talked at all. There were some really wretched scenes on that tour—strange plastic freaks babbling at me, asking stupid questions, no hope of human communication. You were a sort of oasis; I had a good time and even a good lunch. Scallops. I am now an authority on the quality of scallops in New York restaurants.

Another thing: thanks (to you or whoever did the deed) for carrying the
Hell's Angels
book so long on the “New and Recommended” list. After my somewhat qualified comments on the
Times
in the book, I was overwhelmed to the point of being addled at the decency of your reaction.

At first I thought it was a sort of massive retaliation in the way of turning the other cheek, but the other day I got a call from Harvey Shapiro (on the [
New York Times
Sunday] magazine), asking if I wanted to do a piece on the history and meaning of almost everything—with anecdotes, personality sketches, geography and wisdom—in 4000 words or less.… I immediately saw the pattern: Benevolent Crucifixion. But I think I might surprise the bastard … and then where will we be? I might have to retire.

OK for now, and thanks again for a good lunch, a good talk and your good ear.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

April 20, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Mr. Lamott.…

I was just reading your piece in
West
⁹
on the Golden Gate Be-In and remembered that I've been meaning to write you for a month or so to say thanks for your
Book Week
review of my Hell's Angels saga. I haven't had time to sit clown and read all the reviews with a hard critic's eye, but I read them all at least once on the run, and—at the risk of sounding like a fraud and a flatterer—I recall yours as being the best and most perceptive of the lot. As a matter of fact it surprised me; I've read some of your other reviews and I remember that some of them read like they'd been written with a hatchet. So if anyone had told me that you were going to review my book
for
BW
, I would not have looked forward to reading it. Needless to say, it came as a very happy surprise.

And so much for that. I'm reading your West piece in connection with a desperate rush job on the Haight-Ashbury for
The New York Times Magazine
 … and I was struck by the weird similarity of your comments on Dr. Tim [Leary] and my own rude judgments in an already written first draft. It makes me uneasy to find myself in agreement with a self-confessed old fogey, but what the hell? I'll be 30 this summer. Here's the deal: I'll trade you a pound of my fallen hair for one knit tie and a pair of
Playboy
cufflinks. That seems fair.

OK for now. I was in San Francisco last week, but I got mixed up with a rotten crowd. Next time I get over I'll give you a ring and maybe we can have a drink—if booze is still legal. Again, thanks for reading my book without a pre-cocked hatchet … and also for hearing the music, for good or ill.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Thompson moved into an abandoned, dilapidated ranch house fifteen miles outside of Aspen. He dubbed it Owl Farm and began massive renovations
.

May 13, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Jim.…

This is my first letter in the new house, new desk, new writing room, etc.… painted red, white and blue by a dope freak that I hired from the trailer court. But the old music prevails … right now it's Dylan's “Desolation Row,” wailing out of an alcove full of paint cans and dirty brushes. And Sandy's still in bed with her half-happened miscarriage. [ … ] I've had to hire a girl to wash dishes and take care of Juan.

I'm doing the hiring these days … which brings me to the point: Rather than get hung up in a long series of letters you never answer anyway I think I'll call and ask you some questions about money. You're aware, I think, that I've so for received a total of $1,000 on
Hell's Angels
. This does not seem equitable in light of even a 20,000 sale. I'm not happy with the apparent death of sales, but then I can't really know figures or even the business, so what the hell? Anytime you want to talk about altering the money situation on that second contract, just let me know. Right now I'm just coasting along on article sales, waiting for [Scott] Meredith's contract to run out. Selma is
the best agent I've ever had … she's the only one who's ever put me in touch with money people. I just sold a second-rate piece to the
Times
, which should be out tomorrow, and a weird, unclassifiable thing to
Pageant
, which is due in July. Both Selma's work. And now I'm working on a piece for
Harper's
, which allegedly sold through Meredith. It's already a month late, but I'm not hurrying because I don't believe anything that comes from Meredith anyway. I think he's blown his mind; he's now signing himself “Sydney.” Other people keep writing me, talking of lucrative sales in strange lands, but I never see any checks so I just put the letters in my big box. Devaney quit and wrote me a letter confirming most of what I suspected all along … jesus, how do you stand that business?

Now … here's a thing I wish you wouldn't ignore or shunt off to your file-clerk in the basement: I'd like an assignment from somebody to do a piece on the great “Grand Canyon Be-In” later this month, or maybe in June if the current rumor proves out. Anyway, the plan is for a half-million hippies to convene in the bottom of the Grand Canyon and I think it would make a hell of a color piece … sort of like the Angels' funeral. I can get down there from here in my car and mix non-violently with the crowd, for good or ill. So if you run across anybody who'd like me to write them a few words on the action, let me know. I won't count on hearing from you, but if you feel up to pushing this, give me a ring so I don't get crossed up with my sales pitches. The only other person I'm thinking of contacting at the moment is Tom Wolfe, who called me the other clay and said he and some other people were going to launch
New York
as an independent magazine—which perhaps I might write for. So that sounds like a logical outlet for the Grand Canyon thing. Anyway, let me know if you have any ideas. I took my phone number with me, so the old Woody Creek number is still reliable. We're all reliable out here in Woody Creek.

OK for now. I'd still like those “ten free books” if you can get around to handling it. Meanwhile, I'll be working on The Rum Diary. The other non-fiction book is rapidly fading into the distance … although I do have a quick possibility which I'll tell you about pretty soon. In light of Wolfe's evaluation of my contract, the thing I have in mind just about fits the bill. Bingo.…

Hubert

RS.… if you see Lynn Nesbit,
¹⁰
tell her I'm still alive and wondering if she is … although, given a choice right now, I think Selma has the action & I'll let her handle things until somebody better shows up.

Meredith was just one in a long line of literary agents who Thompson felt had bilked him
.

May 19, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado