Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
In any case, I sent him the first 41 pages of the final draft. He should have them by Monday—at which time he plans to announce his decision to send me $33,333 for openers. He’ll probably deny this when you call, but it’s true. Take my word for it.
In any case, the Vietnam book arrangement seems settled. You’ll have to work out some arrangement whereby the “joint” aspect of publishing [it] is between RS & RH. I don’t want anybody fucking around with the author’s share.
OK for now. Jann, by the way, has no idea that I’m doing this “Phase Two” of the Vegas thing. Silberman agreed to underwrite all expenses on the old “American Dream” account—so all I owe RS is first refusal rights. Which hardly matters, because nobody else is likely to publish it anyway. (Silberman suggested the Police Gazette; do you have any good contacts there?)
In any case, I think it’s safe to assume RS will publish the Drug Conference thing, as a follow-up to the Mint 400 nightmare. I spoke at some length tonight with Dave Felton, de facto asst. editor of RS, but he doesn’t have the money authority to make $2000 assignments to lunatics. And Jann is still in England. So as far as RS is concerned, I’m going to Las Vegas this time for Random House—and if we get a good RS-type article out of it, they’ll be happy to look it over.
Very complicated, eh? But I think I have it all under control—as always. The program for the next four months looks like this:
a) Go to Las Vegas on 4/25 & do another 15,000 words on the DAs’ drug conference … then sell this to RS for $2000 or whatever you can get.
b) Take the same piece—in addition to the first Las Vegas article—and sell them both to Random House for a quick short book, for autumn publication.
c) Finish the Aspen article for RS, collect another $2000, then send a copy of that article to Silberman—as the final chunk of bulk copy for the “American Dream/Battle of Aspen” book.
d) Collect $5000 from Random House for the “first third” of the AD/BA book, then spend June and July whipping that book into some kind of recognizable shape—with the help of some workhouse editor that Jim said he’d assign to the task.
e) Around Aug 1, collect another $5000 from RH—with the ms. almost finished—and prepare to leave for Vietnam for RS.
f) Leave o/a Sept 1 & begin writing articles for RS and also for joint RS/RH book. Finish final editing of AD/BA book in my Bangkok villa, collect another $5000, and continue writing articles until Jan or Feb, 1972.
g) In the Spring of ’72, return to this country and run for President on the Freak Power ticket—a Man on a Weird Horse.
OK for now. Let me know if any of this leaves you un-settled. Also let me know if you know anybody who’d like to rent my Aspen villa next winter. John Sack had first option, but he decided it wasn’t elegant enough. How can I explain that to my friends?
Yours in Fear & Loathing,
Hunter
TO JANN WENNER, ROLLING STONE:
Back from his trip to Las Vegas with Oscar Acosta, Thompson was broke, trying to iron out the details of his upcoming trip to Vietnam, and all the while steadily shaping his classic Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
May 7, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Jann …
Thanx for the various xerox things (payments list to Lynn, Saigon letter, etc.). …I sent a note to that fellow Garstang (see enc. Copy), and I definitely want to talk to him before I go. Be nice to him if he calls or comes by …and consider that “Saigon Notes” idea. Also, it might be good to trade subscriptions with the Vietnam Guardian … that could provide a good check-in point when I get there. If nothing else, the astrology charts are extremely weird in the context of Vietnam/combat. Maybe worth reprinting as a tail to Saigon notes. (There’s also the idea that anybody who subscribes to RS from Vietnam will probably be a long-time subscriber—for reasons too complex for exploration here; just take my word for it—us vets know how it is.)
On other (money) fronts, it seems beyond any question that you owe me a few hundred bucks … which I need, right now, so I can send off a check to L.L. Bean for some special Saigon action-clothes. At the moment I have $92 in the bank, and the Bean check is $96—so I haven’t sent it, and I won’t until I get some funds.
Anyway, according to your list, you still owe me $500 on the Salazar fee. This assumes, also, that $520.85 has already been paid against my Salazar/Vegas expenses … which according to Sandy’s figures amount to $922.04. (No, I already sent a bill for that $20.85—phone calls item—so the remaining unpaid expenses come to $422.04.) This, plus the $500 more for Salazar, means you owe me $922.04. Nine hundred & twenty-two dollars and four cents.
That should bring us up, in time, to the Second Las Vegas gig (not counting expenses, which will be split between RS & Random House—with Spts. Illust. absorbing a chunk of the expenses like hotel & room service, etc., from the first Las Vegas trip … but I haven’t sent them anything yet. I just keep playing “One Toke Over the Line …” And “Let It Bleed.”14 As a matter of fact right now I’m trying to put them together with some of my super/secret/weird/voice tapes from Vegas II (Two) … driving around the countryside with my attorney, asking for the American Dream. We got some very strange replies: “… burned down by junkies” … “got electrocuted while taking a shower in the car” … “The American Dream? In this town?”
Anyway—and by all means correct me at once if I’m wrong—once you pay me for that outstanding $922.04, we’ll be even (except for your share of expenses on Vegas II) up to now. In other words, the $922.04 should cover all fees, expenses & retainers to date, including Salazar & Vegas I—which still has 1000 or so words to come; not necessarily to finish it, but to tie up some loose ends and launch us into Vegas II.
Has Alan [Rinzler] talked to Silberman inre: book/possibility arrangements on that? I’m working on the assumption that we’re talking about a 30,000 word shot in two (and possibly three) sections. I say three because the night before I left, this last time, I found the American Dream, and it might be necessary to go back and drill some wisdom out of the freak who put it together.
But that won’t be necessary until the first two parts are finished and ready. Then we can see if we need that wrap-up. I think we will, but why haggle about that now?
***
I assume you got my clip inre: the Aspen elections. Total disaster for our side. Arthur Rock’s candidates survived, but just barely. For the past two days [Tom] Benton’s gallery has been full of people we’ve never seen before—all of them wanting to know who should be hit first. I think we’re into a long, nasty summer here. The next election is a year and a half away, and in the meantime we’re stone fucked. If Aspen is a political preview of the national scene in ’72, god’s mercy on us all. We’re back into a total underground scene here—which is fun, now & then, but a bummer for the long haul.
Anyway, we’ll see. Come on out when you get time. I’m concentrating on setting up this “Vortex” thing in this valley … which means that between now & Sept. I have to find a buyer for this big mesa just west of me. Maybe you should send Max out here to look it over. He could build a huge stone tower in the middle of 100 or so acres, then fence the thing off and establish a grazing preserve for wolverines & wild boar all around him (and when he wasn’t around, the tower could be used for “Rolling Stone Scholars in Residence.” Whose only extra-cranial duty would be to feed the boar and exercise the wolverine(s)).
OK for now. Send the
cheque. Thanx,
Hunter
TO MAX PALEVSKY:
In 1961, Palevsky and five fellow technicians left their jobs in L.A.’s nascent small-computer industry to form Scientific Data Systems with their own $80,000 and another $1 million from Wall Street investors. Eight years later, electronics giant Xerox Corporation bought the company for $94 million, making Palevsky good potential neighbor material for Thompson.
May 7, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
My Dear Doctor Palevsky:
On other fronts, I ran into a friend of yours at the Aspen Airport the other day: One James Smith, an oil-dealer of sorts. He spoke well of your house in the desert: it seems he snorted up a hooker of laudanum out there with Tom Braden,15 then came to grips with God. But you know how these oil-men exaggerate….
In any case, I just sent a note to Jann about a lot of things—including an embryo-stage land-use experiment we’re trying to put together out here in this valley about 10 miles out of Aspen. The main man is George Stranahan, whose relationship with Champion Spark Plugs is much the same as yours to Xerox. He’s about your age, but far more suave & intelligent … currently serving out his final year as a physics prof. at Mich. State.
Anyway, after spending several million to buy up this entire valley, which backs into 5 million acres of the White River National Forest, he’s now pondering some very weird ways of dealing with the land—the main idea being to effectively “retire” the land, take it permanently off the local real estate market, by selling a handful of large chunks to people with no interest in re-sale or sub-dividing.
These people would be selected with an eye to some sort of cranial unity. George is already dealing, for instance, with the Rev. James Reston—which appalls me; I figure if I have to live next door to an editor, I much prefer Jann to Reston. Why go to all this trouble to create a St. Petersburg in the Rockies?
But that’s only the Big Sur/Pebble Beach aspect of the thing. The other side involves long-term leases, for little or no money, to a small community of genuine freaks who’d be willing to build their own city on a huge 800 acre mesa that would otherwise become a stone-rotten subdivision.
Well …I see the hopelessness of trying to explain this thing in a short note. And I can’t really speak for George, either, so all I can say for sure is that there’s a very large mesa right next to me for sale at a definitely sub-market price to the right person for the right reasons. If this concept interests you at all, let me know. It’s a weird trip, but it needs a lot of talk to say what it actually is. OK for now …
Ciao,
Hunter
TO JIM SILBERMAN, RANDOM HOUSE:
Thompson braced his book editor for the imminent expense bills from Las Vegas, which he acknowledged might seem “unreasonable,” but were “all in the interest of Journalistic Science.”
May 9, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Jim:
Here’s a copy of the finished parts of “Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas.” For ID purposes, this is “Vegas 1.” And, depending on how #2 turns out, there may have to be a brief “Vegas 3.” Maybe not. The necessity for a #3 would only come after a few hours on the phone with the owner of the Circus-Circus. If he’s the stone-Alger16 freak that he almost has to be, on the evidence, then I think it would be worthwhile to go down there and observe him at close range. Maybe get some insight into how his gig was done, along with some inside wisdom on the financial/leverage ethic of Las Vegas.
Only a genuine freak could have created the Circus-Circus. Which is where I finally found the American Dream … not an easy thing to explain in a few words, as I think I mentioned earlier. This last trip got into far heavier and more serious things than we have in this (Vegas 1) section, enc. What began as a joke and a casual rip-off somehow developed into a serious quest that incredibly yielded up the Main Fruit. I’m fairly certain about what I finally discovered down there, but whether the combined narrative of Vegas 1 & 2 will support that kind of massive conclusion is something we can only guess at right now.
In any case, what you have (enc.) is Vegas 1, about 90% finished. We need one bridge scene between parts 2 & 3, then a short wrap-up to Part Three. This involves maybe 2000 or so words—at which point Rolling Stone will pay me the final $500 and Vegas 1 will be theirs—to publish as is, or perhaps to hold and wait for Vegas 2 & maybe 3. But, unless you’ve made some arrangement with Alan Rinzler, RS is not financially involved in anything beyond Vegas 1.
I had thought, until tonight, that they were into the whole project on the basis of that $500 they sent in reply to my desperate telegram from the Flamingo (yes—that one …), but as it turns out, that was my June retainer, not expense money, so as it stands now—after talking to Jann Wenner a few hours ago—RS seems to have paid $1500 (out of $2K) for Vegas 1, but so far I’ve paid all my own expenses for this thing (except for an original cash nut of $300 from Spts. Illustrated—and the Mint Hotel bill, which I never saw, for a variety of ugly reasons) … but in any event, I have a fairly hefty Carte Blanche bill on my hands, for Vegas 1, as well as Vegas 2, which is in fact quite crucial. This means you’ll be getting a bill for something just under a Grand in the very near future—to be applied, I trust, against the American Dream expense account, which to my knowledge is still capable of absorbing this amount. (Yeah, don’t say it—I know we’re nearing the end; in more ways than one, etc.)
Which is neither here nor there, for the moment. No doubt some of these expenses are “unreasonable.” Like renting a white Cadillac convertible and then soaking the bastard with the hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 grapefruits and 2 dozen coconuts and 26 pounds of catsup and french fry residue—along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of bad dings, dents, and scrapes that were covered, thank christ, by an extra $2 a day for total insurance. The car was not a happy-looking machine when I turned it in …but they just gritted their teeth and took it. (This is/was the Insurance side of the American Dream—the terrifying underbelly of Actuarial Tables.)
Anyway, the point is that you can’t send a man out in a fucking Pinto or a VW to seek out the American Dream in Las Vegas. You want to be able to come roaring into the Circus-Circus in a huge Coupe de Ville and know the insanity of watching people jump and run and salute and all that crap … which is crazy, of course, but the insane truth is that the difference between $15 a day for a Mustang and $20 a day for a white Cadillac convertible is massive in LA or Las Vegas. That extra $5 is a ticket to Their World—that and constantly giving dollar bills to “boys” for quick unctuous service. (Which comes hard when the driver of the Cadillac is a huge gross drunken Chicano wearing a yellow fishnet T-shirt with a long hunting knife & a bottle of rum in his hand; but even that kind of culture shock disappears with a $2 tip, instead of just $1.)
Incredible. And I guess I’m just sort of talking off the top of my head about this—maybe laboring a bit to justify the “unreasonable” side of the expense tab. But of course this is not a reasonable story. This is a tale of gross excess on many levels. And those details are hard to fake. There is no way to understand the public reaction to the sight of a Freak smashing a coconut with a hammer on the hood of a white Cadillac in a Safeway parking lot unless you actually do it … and I tell you it’s tense. They don’t like it at all. It rips their nerve-ends in a very extreme way.
Like ordering two servings of “Crab Louey” in the Flamingo, then sending it back, uneaten, but covered with broken light-bulb glass. With cigarettes put out in the sauce, and the crabmeat floating in spilled gin … with maybe a condom full of Coca-Cola on the tray.
This is horrible. I admit it, and naturally I regret ever having participated in such a spectacle. But it was all in the interest of Journalistic Science. Or maybe Behavioral Science. I’ve always been heavy into Science, on all fronts.
And so much for all that. What we have to do now is figure out what we have here. Vegas 1 is just an article for RS—a 15,000 word drug frenzy. But if Vegas 2 turns out to be another 15 or 20,000 words, then we’re talking about a book-length project—and a book. Which is a different thing from just an article. So maybe you should ponder Vegas 1 and tell me w
The DAs’ conference wasn’t as grisly as I expected. Those dumb fuckers know nothing at all about the realities of the drug culture. The keynote speaker said—and I quote—“We must come to terms with the drug culture in this country.” And from that point on, the whole conference bogged down in 1959-style gibberish. The whole thing was so dank & atavistic that I had no trouble dividing my time between the Vegas drug underworld and the National DAs’ drug conference—leaving The Dunes in the white Cadillac to look for mescaline while the others were eating dinner, then coming back at night to watch films, with the others, about the mind-bending horrors of people given over to drugs. It’s a very strange feeling to walk into a room full of 1000 cops with a head full of mescaline and listen to them telling each other about the terrors of the “drug problem.” (Many strange details and anecdotes on this theme, but no point getting into them here.)
What I’m going to do now is try for a quick finish/run on Vegas 2—although at the moment I’m not sure if I’m writing a long article or a short book, or maybe both. I’ll send a copy of this letter to Lynn (and also to Jann), so perhaps we can put that concept together and figure out just what the hell I’m writing … because I don’t see much point in writing a 35,000 word magazine article that will probably involve all manner of savage editing/cutting hassles, and particularly not in light of all the other time-pressed bullshit I have to do, unless we’re looking pretty realistically at a book. It would be a disaster, I think, to allow this thing—which is essentially a speed-writing project—to get bogged down in one of those open-ended, un-framed “American Dream”-type nightmares, where I just keep writing and writing and writing without any real idea what I’m writing to. What kind of hole, I mean. I keep saying this, and I’m past worrying about whether it’s a terrible failure on my part, as a “writer,” but the awful pragmatic truth is that unless I see the Hole I have to fill—along with a definite honest deadline—I’m never going to finish anything. You simply can’t expect a profligate freak to write on a banker’s schedule; that’s a difficult mix to maintain except at sporadic adrenaline peaks—that special rage that comes with the specter of some real or imagined rip-off. Indeed … yes … let sleeping dogs lie, eh? (Lie? Ly? Lay? Fuck sleeping dogs….)