Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
And so much for all that. I can do the piece sooner, or later; I’d prefer sooner, but what the hell? We’re into it anyway, and by autumn a hell of a lot of people are going to be leaving this town: The only question is Who they’re going to be.
***
As for the Wallposter …Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and say we’ll sell individual issues for 25 cents each, but only to people who mention Rolling Stone when they write. The painful truth is that it will cost us forty-five (45) cents to do this, but we may glean enough subscriptions to break even. That 45 cent figure is based on printing costs averaging—for the first 3 issues—between 21 cents and 29 cents per poster; plus 13 cents for each mailing tube, plus 7 cents for each stamp. But we’ve given it some thought, and decided to go ahead and spring for whatever happens. The only condition is that we’ll cut off the supply whenever we run out of back issues—which probably won’t happen, since we can always run off another 1000 or so, when we run low. This is the only advantage in dealing with Aspen’s only printer; the disadvantages are obvious—although we beat a lot of them on #3, by refusing to let the printer do the layout, copy-editing, etc.
Well ……3 days later now, & I’ve just talked to Warren Hinckle about doing a piece on the Kentucky Derby for Scanlan’s. I’m leaving in a few hours for Louisville, so I want to get this off quick—so here’s the word on the Wallposter.
25 cents each for “sample copies” to anyone writing on the basis of whatever they read in RS … this will cost us money, & we’ll cut it off whenever it starts looking like a serious loss … but in the meantime, along with the 25 cent each offer, we’ll also sell cut-rate subscriptions (to RS readers) for $10 each—for 12 issues. Our normal rate, for tube-mailed posters, is $25 for 12—and believe it or not we have about 100 takers, on the basis of two issues. Without pushing it; we didn’t want subscriptions—for obvious reasons, mainly the work involved, and that’s why we said $25 for 12. But now, since we’re into subscriptions anyway, I figure we may as well get all we can … particularly since a 12-issue subscription, including all back issues, would naturally end around November of 1970, a date that happens to coincide with our local political climax. In other words, at this point we’re not willing to guarantee anything beyond 12 issues. Because, like I said earlier, if I run for sheriff and lose, I’ll be gone from here by Xmas.
Right now the political balance looks about 40/60 against us—but that’s without the crazed brilliance that we’ll naturally bring to any serious effort we decide to make. So I figure the real balance, right now, is roughly 50/50—which means, if we don’t make any serious mistakes, we’ll probably control the town & the county by November of 1970. This includes the Sheriff’s race, the (more important) County Commissioner’s race, and also the referendum to change the name of the town to “Fat City.”
So there is a definite ominous weight to the notion of Wallposter #13—which will announce either our victory, or our wretched defeat. Or maybe, if the timing works out, we can make #13 our “election issue.” That would be fitting—no matter who wins.
Meanwhile, we are being sued by the County Attorney, who claims that Wallposter #1 forced him to quit his job. He wants more money than the Meat Possum Press Ltd. can ever earn, so fuck him—we welcome his action. In WP #4 we intend to go for his throat & goad him on to further frenzies. The town is empty now; #3 ain’t selling at all, but after this lull—when the summer session begins—we will get on the fuckers for real, with #4. And then bear down even further with #5, 6, 7, etc.—up to 12 (or 13), at which point we’ll re-assess our leverage here, and do whatever’s right.
So that’s it for now; I’m off to the Derby. Let me know when you’d like the Sheriff article—and write the Random Notes Wallposter note however you see fit; we’ll honor it. OK …
Hunter
TO WARREN HINCKLE, SCANLAN’S MONTHLY:
Thompson was leaving for Louisville the next day to cover the Kentucky Derby for Scanlan’s. His first choice for illustrator was The Denver Post’s Pat Oliphant, who had won the 1967 Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Cartooning, but Oliphant couldn’t make the trip—luckily for Ralph Steadman and the future of Gonzo journalism.
April 28, 1970
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Warren …
Inre: the KyDerby piece—I just talked to Pat Oliphant & found him darkly unhappy at having his unlisted veil pierced at 2:15 a.m. I didn’t tell him, but he was dealing with a veteran of midnight calls to James Reston15 (collect) from phone booths in places like Arco, Idaho—wild queries from the far interior, demanding to know why the Soviet Army chorus wasn’t allowed to perform in the U.S. One Sat. night I tracked Reston all the way from Times Sq. to his weekend hideout in Leesburg, Va. And I got an answer that I should have taped—wild screeching in the night. Very rude, I felt. But the call was not in vain.
Anyway, Oliphant said he probably couldn’t go to the Derby, but he’d like to do some drawings & would call you tomorrow (Wed, 4/29). At that point I called a friend in SF, a good photog named Bob Chamberlain, formerly of Aspen, but I couldn’t reach him either. By then it was too late to call eastward, so I postponed queries to Danny Lyon at Magnum and a fine young photog in Chicago—Rob Guralnick, who once worked with me on a word/pic feature on Nixon’s Inauguration for The Boston Globe. Lyon, Chamberlain and Guralnick all have the same kind of camera-eye, & from an editor’s POV I don’t see much difference between the 3. From my POV, I’d prefer drawings by Oliphant—or maybe Searle.16 But shit, by the time you get this we’ll have settled all that anyway … so no point in hassling it any further for now. I’ll be talking to you in a few hours.
So … as far as I’m concerned, I’m off tomorrow for Louisville. The first step, as I see it, will be to rush up to the horse-breeding country around Lexington (80 miles), if there’s time …or, if not, get out to the track and hang around the stables for a day or so, then hunker down in the awful social whirl. The story, as I see it, is mainly in the vicious-drunk Southern bourbon horse-shit mentality that surrounds the Derby than in the Derby itself. And—as a human product of that culture/mentality—I think I can see it pretty clear.
My first stop in Louisville will be at my mother’s apt., or Mrs. Virginia Thompson at the Louisville Free Public Library. You can reach me through her, although I may or may not be staying there—depending on whether my brothers are there with their families. And if all else fails—assuming you want to reach me for some (or any) reason—try calling me c/o Jim Pope at the Louisville Courier-Journal & Times. I’ll check with him tomorrow about press credentials, etc.
Otherwise, I’ll figure on getting you at least 5000 words, or somewhere between 5000 and 10,000, by Thursday of next week—May 7. I’ll try for Wed, or maybe even Tuesday if I stay in Louisville to write the thing, instead of rushing back here. Probably I’ll do that … and also probably call you on Monday to see how we stand on time & space.
As for expenses, I can’t say for now what they’ll run, but between RT plane ticket, car rental and clubhouse (Derby) ticket/expenses, I can’t see less than $500. That’s assuming I can stay at my mother’s apt—which I think I can. Otherwise, we might have nasty rental problems, because Derby Day in Louisville is like Xmas in Aspen, Carnival in Rio, or a motel-frenzy at the Indianapolis 500. But I have enough friends in Louisville so I’m not worried about finding emergency space for myself and whatever artist/photog we decide to send along.
The $1500 fee-money looks good from here—and so does the article. I think we’ve stumbled on a good genetic accident. If you see any problems, call me in Louisville at the (above) number or call Sandy here and have her track me down.
OK for now. If I can keep it in mind I’ll be after you tomorrow for the names, etc. of Berkeley Barb17 distributors—who might also distribute the Aspen Wallposter. I’m enclosing a copy of #3—which posed such space problems that we had to drop about half the copy, including our list of advertisers and also our non-advertisers, along with local subsc
Yeah …& I’m serious about running a Hinckle mug shot with the genealogy-statement, so if you have one around for general PR purposes, send it along. But for christ’s sake don’t send anything slick or straight; we need photos that will make people puke and howl for their lawyers. With only one page, you have to bear down.
And that’s it for now. I have to get some sleep before rushing off to confront my festered childhood. God’s mercy on us all.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO PAT OLIPHANT, THE DENVER POST:
April 29/30, 1970
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Pat …
Your call a few moments ago caught me on the way to bed, hoping to get around 3 hrs sleep before zapping off in the great white sky to Louisville for the annual horse shit & bourbon orgy. Sorry you couldn’t make it. As I told Hinckle, I can’t think of anyone who could do that kind of scene as well as you could—even Searle or Magnum photographers; so probably what I’ll do now is locate a kid (photog) in Chicago who worked with me on a Nixon-Inaugural piece—he had a fine strange eye.
Anyway, I won’t be getting to bed today—blowing off for Ky. in a few hours, but if I get hung at the Denver airport I’ll give a call and maybe we can have a drink. Otherwise, I’ll try to catch you on the way back next Wednesday (May 6)—and maybe we can figure out a fine American folk-scene we can do together. Maybe the Indianapolis 500, or a Labor Day picnic in Detroit. Whatever’s right …
Meanwhile, I’m enclosing copies of the first 3 issues of the Aspen Wall-poster—a total experiment in the un-worked fields of the newest New Journalism. Sometime this summer we may try to pressure you into doing a cover for us—on the order of Mauldin’s18 covers for the Chicago Journalism Review. But I’ll talk to you before then …& if I miss you in Denver, come on over to Woody Creek for a few crazed days. Anytime … just give a ring far enough ahead to be sure I’m here, which is almost all of the time. We have a huge house with plenty of space for anything you want to bring: kids, dogs, bikes, guns, whatever … even wives.
As for the Wallposters, I can’t apologize for all the wretched mistakes … but if you read the copies in order (1, 2, 3) you’ll see that we’re beating them; mainly by firing all the printer’s “experts.” Fuck them; they should be put in welfare camps—for the congenitally incompetent.
OK for now. I have to get upstairs and call Hinckle. And get my plane ticket—and call my poor mother to warn her that I’m coming back, once again, to whip the shit out of everything I was raised and brought up to hold dear. Selah.
TO BILL CARDOSO, THE BOSTON GLOBE:
At the last minute, Scanlan’s Monthly assigned British illustrator Ralph Stead-man—known for his work in The Times of London and England’s political satire magazine Private Eye—to accompany Thompson to the Kentucky Derby. Steadman’s savage, dead-on drawings would define the Gonzo look.
May 15, 1970
Woody Creek, CO
Billy …
Your letter was waiting for me last week when I got back from Louisville. Very weird. I went there to write a strange piece on the spectacle for Scanlan’s Monthly … and the whole scene nearly killed me, along with the British illustrator on his first trip to the U.S. See Scanlan’s #4 (June, I think) for details. It’s a shitty article, a classic of irresponsible journalism—but to get it done at all I had to be locked in a NY hotel room for 3 days with copyboys collecting each sheet out of the typewriter, as I wrote it, whipping it off on the telecopier to San Francisco where the printer was standing by on overtime. Horrible way to write anything.
Anyway, you should have given a ring or hung around long enough to get into the Derby action with us. I was there about 7 days, then up to NY for the final writing. Horrible, horrible. … Maybe you can zap out here and do a story on New Journalism and Newer Politics in Aspen. I am running for sheriff in the fall; we’re about to take over the town. OK for now; let me know if you or Susan can find us any outlets. Thanx. …
Hunter
TO WARREN HINCKLE, SCANLAN’S MONTHLY:
Thompson and his new British cohort put themselves in quite a mint-julep haze through Derby week in Louisville; the result was the brilliantly written and illustrated article “The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved,” which appeared in the June 1970 issue of Scanlan’s. The bylines read: “Written under duress by Hunter S. Thompson” and “Sketched with eyebrow pencil and lipstick by Ralph Steadman.”
May 15, 1970
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Warren …
Well, what the fuck can a human being say after a scene like that last one? I just read over the Derby article for the first time and it strikes me as a monument to whatever kind of limbo exists between humor and tragedy. I wish there’d been time to do it better—or room to run all that bullshit about Louisville’s super/Agnew society. Goddard19 & I cut about 4000 words on Sunday night, dropping most of the socio-philosophical flashbacks and weird memory jogs in favor of the straight chronological narrative … and in retrospect I think that was the only way to go.
With another week I might have honed it down to a finer, meatier edge … but in fact we were lucky to get anything at all. Returning to the scenes of my youth was not, all in all, an exceptionally wise idea. After 4 days without sleep—due to all-night, soul-ripping doom & disaster talk—I arrived in NY in a state of crazed angst, far gone in a pill-stupor and barely able to think, much less write. Goddard’s ominous patience was all that kept me functioning. He’s a first-class head to have on your side in that kind of crunch and I’m sorry to hear he’s leaving. God only knows what will happen to the NY end of your action without his calming influence. On the several occasions when I nearly ran amok—particularly when I lost my wallet (with all cash & credit cards) in a tavern mob watching the Knicks-Lakers game on TV—Goddard’s steady head was the only anchor in town. Once again—he’s good, and I hate to see him go.
Which is neither here nor there, for now; particularly in light of the heinous imbroglio I made myself a party to last weekend. I was never sure what was happening, or why, in terms of timing, but early on I had the feeling that I should have gone to SF instead of NY, to do the writing. The Royalton was fine, but I’d have been a hell of a lot happier—and probably more functional—if I’d been in a position to know what was going on.
But what the hell? We’re over that hump now—for good or ill—and my only consolation, in reading the article, is that I helped Steadman get his drawings. He’s good; probably better than anybody working in this country—but they didn’t like him in Louisville. And not at the NY Times, either; the Times offered him a job, but turned down all his extant drawings of Nixon, etc. …
As for Scanlan’s general action … well, what little I saw of the NY scene leaves me slightly worried. Something is badly lacking in the focus, the main thrust—and $10,000 ads in the NY Times only emphasize what’s missing. Which is none of my business, really—and most definitely out of place after putting you through all that jangled action last week—but under normal sleep-cured conditions & a fairly straight head I’d like to see Scanlan’s work. Maybe it is, but the vibes I got in NY were somewhat mixed—and the only cure I can see is impossibly drastic.
The fucker should work. It’s one of the best ideas in the history of journalism. But thus far the focus is missing—or maybe it just seems that way to me; perhaps something missing in my own focus. And I won’t argue that, but … well, I suspect there’s a heavy difference between Scanlan’s problems, and mine.
But maybe not, and fuck the whole business anyway. I have enough problems with this goddamn one-page Wallposter and my slow-boiling sheriff’s campaign. Fear & Loathing in the Outback. Fuck them; we will beat them like gongs. Not many months left in t
Which hardly matters, for now. All I really meant to do here, when I started, was to say that I wish I could have written a better Derby piece … and also to advise you to send my cheque to Lynn Nesbit at the International Famous Agency, 1301 Avenue of the Americas, NYC 10019. My advisors have warned me that agents get 10% of everything—fair, foul, or otherwise.
Why not? And if ever, in small moments, I might chance to feel a hair guilty for not coughing up a super-organized soul-piece … all I have to do is summon up the memory of Sidney20 booming off, at dusk, to Gallaghers and then to The Garden, hunkered down in the soft back seat of that grey Cadillac with his evil chauffeur and bodyguard. Christ, I asked that surly middleweight fucker if there was any ice in the bucket (in Sidney Zion’s office) and he looked at me like it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping out my floating rib and eating it. I was tempted to Mace the bastard, but instead I backed off and went downstairs to have a Scotch with poor Steadman. Indeed. And, in closing I remain,
Yours for Peace in our
Time …
Hunter
TO JIM SILBERMAN, RANDOM HOUSE:
May 17, 1970
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Jim …
By now you should certainly have received your copies of the Wallposter; I sent them at you from three different angles, hoping that at least one batch would get thru. So I’ll proceed on the assumption that you have some notion of what I’m talking about in terms of the Aspen political scene.