Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman (109 page)

OK for now. I'll finish off the things I have going and see what happens on the Kerista thing. One of the big “ifs” is whether I get some kind of assignment on the coast … something I could do in conjunction with
Kerista. I'll let you know. But meanwhile, advise those people that I'm serious about not offering any hospitality here. Beware.…

Hunter

July 12, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

William—

I have just captured a young skunk … and have paid the price. It's 12:45 a.m. here and the smell is ungodly. Everything—me, the dog, the car, the house—a hideous odor. The thing looked so small that I figured he wouldn't have much of a blast. But he did. I now have him locked outside in the horse trailer. Tomorrow, the scalpel … and then the whip. I shall prevail. This skunk will write the Great American Novel.

Along those lines, yes, I'm writing a few letters tonight. Severing all connections. Agents, editors, publishers—all the scum. Even the innocent. I just wrote
Harper's
, saying I couldn't write the article they bought because I don't want my agent to get 10%. And I wrote Random House, demanding all my money, at once. There will be no Rum Diary as long as that contract exists. Nor will there be any “non-fiction project.” I feel experimental these days. Something new is wanted. A new novel, perhaps. Something the ten-percenters don't have their hooks into yet. Those soul-fuckers should all be killed.

Anyway … what are you up to? The last time I talked to you it was off the job and into the marketplace. Beware. You mentioned a loan, and right now I have 197 dollars to my name. My only concern is getting my royalties from RH. They won't even send me a statement. So far, I've made $1500 off the book. If and when I get some royalty money I'll send you some. Beware of agents. Get a good lawyer instead. That's what I'm looking for now. Send word on your movements. And hello to Dana.

Hunter S. Thompson

July 13, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Don.…

Here are two more ideas you might ponder: 1) a profile on Joan Baez, and 2) a curious look at the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

1) I know Joanie in a weird sort of way that might or might not make for a good piece. We lived next door to each other in Big Sur in 1960, before she crashed through, and we had a bit of a hassle then about violence and non-violence. I've seen her off and on since then, but not in a personal way, as it were, until we were both on the same CBC show in Toronto last March (a few weeks after I saw you in New York). We had a sort of reconciliation, and I got a new sense of the real roots of non-violence (put that in quotes). Anyway, she interests me considerably, both as a person and as a totem figure in a cult that can't afford to understand itself. Joanie, for instance, has some fairly violent instincts. But that's a fuzzy thing to say. It would take me a while to distill that contradiction down to an article. I think she'd talk to me, but I might be wrong. She's home in Carmel now and I could zap over there pretty soon, if the idea interests you. Let me know if it does—and also how much you could pay. I don't want to call her until I have something definite. Thanks.

2) See enclosed
San Francisco Chronicle
clip. This is something I've been thinking about for several months. Who in the hell
are
these people? This “small group” around Lyndon? Every time I read something about the “Joint Chiefs of Staff” I wonder if they really exist, as human beings, or whether they might be werewolves or maybe a clique of White Russians. They're hardly ever mentioned by name or context, but apparently they're the people who call the national shots these days. I'm personally curious about who and why they are. A recent bill fixed their terms at four years, rather than having them at the mercy of the executive temper … so they're going to become a hell of a lot more powerful than they were.

It might be interesting to take a long look at them—collectively and individually. It has the shape of an
Esquire
-type piece: a gallery of full-page photos, along with a vaguely menacing title and a lot of earthy background material on each man … plus a bag of commentary on their influence. I think it would raise a nice bit of hell in that Boston-to-Washington strip city you call home.

Let me know about both of these things. Frankly, I'd rather do the thing on Joanie right now, because the other would require a hell of a lot of time and effort that might not be worth my while. And it would obviously cost you more. But they're both good seeds, either for
Esquire
or somebody else.

My own situation is pretty rabid right now. I'm engaged on all fronts and barely holding my own. It's the same old story: contracts, shysters, liars, thieves, etc. The net result, unfortunately, is that I'm somehow prevented, legally and financially, from writing another book. It's a weird situation—the
dirty underbelly of the writing industry. The foul crotch of literature. How's that for a title? Or this: “Royalties or Dingleberries?” Hot damn! But that's what Krassner wants, and since he's already paid for it, I think it's his.

OK for now. And if Scott Meredith or any of his henchmen ever mention my name to you again, tell them you've never heard of me. I was arrested last week in San Diego, for unspeakable crimes. Selah.

Hunter S. Thompson

^**
check the current (Aug)
Pageant
(yeah,
Pageant
) for my article on hair-fairies. I daresay it will make some weird reading in all our dentists' offices. The dry-rot runs deeper than we know.

KERISTA
Pope DAU the Pied Piper Philosopher at Large Avant Garde Therapy, Nirvana Sessions for Donations Revivals at Tompkins Square Park 982-xxxx 7th Street & Avenue B or 4-xxxx

July 25, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Ralph.…

Pope Dau of Kerista finally got the message and sent a crotch-thumping apology for menacing my peace of mind in Woody Creek. Thanks for getting through to him … but even so, I think I'll back off that article. Pope Dau strikes me as a bad combination of Billy Graham and an Oregano dealer.[…] His first letter turned me off completely and his second convinced me that he should be croaked for the greater good.

Anyway, I suspect there might be some decent people hung up in Kerista and I'd just as soon spare them the kind of mean bias I'd bring to any article concerning Pope Dau. If you'd put me on to one or two of the love goddesses I might have stayed interested … but the last thing I need right now is a lot of bullshit from a phony priest. It couldn't work at all, and you probably wouldn't want the article.

So let's scratch it. If you get any more ripe ideas, let me know. I'm usually game for almost anything weird, but Pope Dau struck me as a depressingly familiar sort of con man. You can tell him whatever you want about my reason for copping out on the article: tell him I'm a secret fag and his charisma was so fucking powerful, even on paper, that I knew I'd go all to pieces if I ever encountered him in person. I'm sure he'd buy that.

OK for now. Let me know if you want a piece on The Love Slaves of Kiwanis, or something like that. Gross libel and madness. I'm getting bored with straight writing. Ciao.…

Hunter

August 14, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Kunkin.…

I was standing in a bar in New York about three days ago when one of my lawyers who was supposed to be in San Francisco rushed out of the beery darkness and announced that I was being sued (along with
Cavalier
) for $5.5 million and also that I was suing the
Free Press
. And the reason I was standing in the bar in the first place was to talk with my New York lawyer who's defending a lawsuit against my lawyer. I have many lawyers; one just went to the loony bin.

Anyway … well, no, I probably shouldn't put anything like that in print because I no longer trust you people. I don't think you're dishonest; just incompetent. Your man H. Lawrence Lack wrote me to ask for my reply to that piece of vicious libelous bullshit that you published about my book … so I sent it to him … and you didn't print it. In other words, you took advantage of your position as a publisher to libel me in terms you couldn't possibly defend in court … and then, while eulogizing yourself as a hard-pressed, honorable champion of the “free press,” you won't even acknowledge receipt of my reply to the abovementioned libel—much less print it.

That's all I asked, and I can't see how it's anything but fair. So what the fuck am I supposed to think when you ignore my efforts to at least correct the obvious, indefensible lies that you printed about me? What kind of “free press” are you running?

But that's your problem for now, and next time you read about it … it won't be in a letter. Beyond that, I'm going to let my mad-dog torts lawyer push his case for whatever he thinks he can get. I don't have much stomach for the suit, but I don't have much stomach for being stabbed in the back, either … and, given a choice like that, I'll spend everything I have to on a mad-dog lawsuit if you want it that way.

Frankly, I can't understand what the fuck you're thinking about, but, again, that's your problem. I just wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten that thing … and now that I know I'm suing you, I'm not going to forget
that either. If you want to talk about printing that piece I sent, I'm open … if not, well, I guess I've said all that, so to hell with it.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

A public debate erupted in Aspen because Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara had decided to purchase a home in the valley. Thompson was infuriated that the local newspapers were asking citizens to embrace the U.S. overseer of the Vietnam War when he arrived because it would he “good for the tourist business.” Thompson took part in a vigilante march to try and burn McNamara's house down
.

August 15, 1967
Woody Creek, Colorado

Dear Sir.…

Please pass this message along to the good people of Aspen. It is, after all, for their own good.

My friend, Martin Bormann, will be visiting here next week, and I think we all agree that he needs a rest. His wife, moreover, is recovering from a recent hoof operation and his doctor insists on total calm. She wants a separate peace.

So I urge the population to keep their own best interests in mind and refrain from bothering the Bormanns during their short vacation here. Demonstrations and howling will not be tolerated; we have ways of dealing with such things.

Fortunately, at least half the local press has already gripped this question in a responsible manner. Indeed (and here I quote from the
News
of 8/10), “Aspen's total dependence on tourism dictates that we play host to people seeking rest and relaxation. In our own self-interest we should make sure that they leave here rested and refreshed. If we don't supply the privacy and relaxation they seek, people will soon go to some other place that will.”

This is true. It was only my considerable influence that prevented Herr Bormann from taking his rest at Vail. The same editorial in the August 10
News
explained my thinking with an eloquence that I could never hope to achieve. To wit: “Our top public officials are already burdened
with tremendous responsibilities, endless criticism and pressures from dissenting groups and the tensions of mountainous work loads. Too much criticism voiced against these officials is irresponsible, negative and hate-inspired. Many capable people retire from public office, discouraged by the endless barrage of criticism, misunderstandings and lack of public appreciation of their efforts. They must be able, periodically, to renew their energy, enthusiasm and perspective if they are to continue functioning efficiently.”

Well said! And shades of Dink Stover.
²⁰
Thank god not all the press has gone to pot. In any case, my purpose in writing this message is not to debate Herr Bormann's policy or behavior. He's only doing his duty, implementing directives from his superiors. Surely this is understandable.

We must also keep in mind that Herr Bormann is both tougher and smarter than the rest of us. He never backs down. In our conversations by wireless, he assured me that any half-mad
schwein
who disagrees with him will be given a fair hearing at the proper time,
memo a memos
. (Note: the first
memo
is singular, the second is plural—delete this note from the published version.)

In closing, perhaps I should add that Martin has agreed to keep off the public playgrounds and out of the meat markets. Certainly we can ask no more—except perhaps that he takes all his meals at Guido's Restaurant. For his own peace of mind.

So let us rally now, around our long tradition as a hospitable community. Martin Bormann wants to get away from it all, if only briefly. We can make him feel welcome in Aspen. Our hippies can give him flowers, our liberals can take him to lunch, and our conservative gentry can seek his advice on the international gold and currency exchange. Despite various foul rumors, Martin doesn't care what Aspen can do for him, but only what he can do for Aspen.

Lets take advantage of his visit. He won't be with us for long, and, as the responsible press has noted, let us not forget that “Aspen lives entirely on tourist satisfaction and approval.” We have a responsibility to ourselves, our heritage and our children, to make Martin Bormann feel at home here.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Caen was the
Chronicle's
most popular local columnist
.