Excuse me, Mr Steadman, but you are ruining my book

I found this book in the basement. Not sure why it was boxed up with old work stuff, but it was. I was VERY tickled to find this book. It is, in fact, probably my most treasured book, for reasons that will be revealed below.  This book pre-dates my listing of all the books I read.

After Hunter Thompson shot himself in 2005, there was a slew of books that came out, most of them great. All his good friends had a book in them, with their favorite Hunter Stories. His widow, Anita, wrote one. It’s ok. His best friend, though, was the sheriff of Aspen. Read that again. Hunter’s best friend was head cop in all of Aspen. He wrote a really terrific book of his favorite Hunter stories. It’s called ‘the Kitchen Diaries’. So, this book below (The Joke’s Over) was Ralph Steadman’s favorite Hunter stories. Ralph Steadman was Hunter’s artist. All of those amazing and iconic images from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas… that was all Ralph. They worked together for about 25 years.

Ralph is a wonderful man. When Hunter died, he paid off the Owl Farm property in Aspen for his widow (Anita).  This book is Ralph’s stories of his time with Hunter. He was in Denver doing a book tour and speaking engagement. Everybody who does Hunter Thompson related work comes to Denver. We are the closest metropolis to Aspen.  Over a few years, I went to many Hunter related events: books signings, films, speaking engagements, etc. Ralph’s event was super cool. There was a pre event at a local private club/bar/ tavern. Then, there was a bigger event at the Denver Post building downtown. For some reason, there was virtually no one at the pre-event. There was about ten people, all drinking. Hunter’s widow, Anita, was there, as was Hunter’s son, Juan.

I was just hanging out and chatting and drinking with all of them. It was amazing. I had brought my copy of the new Steadman book. It is a first edition hard back. If you were a book nerd like me, you would know how important that is. So, we are standing in a small circle while Ralph (Mr Steadman, to you) holds court. We are chatting and laughing like old pals – at least in my mind. After I had a few drinks in me, I sheepishly asked if he would sign my book. He smiled and took my book and opened it up to the title page, which is where books are always signed. The picture below is the two of them.  Hunter on the left and Ralph on the right.

Then… I watched him go all Ralph Steadman on it. He just started doodling in his super characteristic way. Then, he handed it back and started explaining it to me. He said that is wine and grapes. The creepy figure is Hunter, as detailed by his iconic cigarette holder. He was so nice and engaging. Can you believe this? I have a first edition hardback signed copy with original crazed art by the man himself. You ruined my book, Mr Steadman. God bless you, sir.

Allow me to explain what you are seeing.  The original page just had the title.  Not even the author’s name.  Everything else you see is Ralph’s ink drawing.

Ralph Steadman sketch 2007

Final Final Thoughts on Hunter Thompson

ed. note: Today is Hunter’s funeral service in Aspen

You fucker, you won. You went out on your own terms. How you did it, to me, was bullshit. With your son and grandson in the other room and your wife on the phone? What kind of shit is that? Seriously, that was fucked up. Regardless, the more I have learned since your passing, I understand. You were a proud man who was beaten down by his own body. I am reminded of Salma Hayak as Frida Kahlo saying ‘when I die, I want you to burn this judas of a body that has betrayed me’. I didn’t know for months after your passing that you were confined to a wheelchair. I understand what you did and why you did it. I don’t agree, but I understand.

On the occasion of Hunter’s funeral celebration this weekend in Aspen, Colorado I wanted to say a few words.

I am sad you are gone. I am also angry, but that is more for obviously selfish reasons. Mostly, though, I am sad. I miss your incoherent and paranoid ramblings. Towards the end, I began to dismiss every story you told as a complete fabrication. Then, after you died people would pop up in publications (most notably Rolling Stone) and tell their ‘the first time I met Hunter’ stories… and sure enough the shit you wrote was real. Though a talented writer, was there a worst house or hotel guest in history than you? Probably not… Oh well, fuck them. They are swine and we will march on the road of their bones to glory.

So, I wanted to say goodbye. I can’t be at Owl Farm this weekend, they asked us not to come. Well, maybe next year. We aren’t invited to their elitist Hollywood party this year. Not sure if that is what you would have wanted. Anyhow, we will have our day to celebrate and grieve you. Bummer it can’t be this summer in Aspen, but I will respect your family. They better do something up there, otherwise they will just have 30 years of stalkers cruising around Woody Creek looking for closure.

I always wanted to meet you. You are the reason I moved to Colorado. You are the reason I go online only by the name Lono. People ask me why I go by Lono. I don’t bother with the whole Captain Cook or Hawaiian mythology. I simply say ‘Oh, it’s a Hunter Thompson reference.’ When I moved to Colorado from Northern Arizona about 10 years ago, I only had one place in the whole state of Colorado circled on the map. It was Woody Creek. I wasn’t moving to Woody Creek, I was moving to Denver. However, I always kept that circled atlas as a reminder of why I came here… to find you.

So, thanks for fucking that up. It’s ok, I got to see you speak in person in Boulder many years ago after Juan’s graduation. It was at the Fox Theatre and it was a classic Hunter evening. You were terribly late, wasted, rude, lucid, articulate, and hilarious. I even learned later that night you got arrested for attacking a theatre page with a fire extinguisher. Nice form! In college, Woody and I built a kegball league, I named it ‘Beer and Loathing’.

To your credit, you never sold out. Your work pretty much kept getting worse, and certainly more scattered. That’s ok though, it happens to everyone. You still kept your spark though, and touched everyone along the way. When I say ‘you never sold out’, that means a lot to me. Most great icons seem to end up doing car commercials or schilling apple computers. You could have, and it would have been great:

Hi, I’m Hunter Thompson. When I am winding down Woody Creek canyon at 80 mph in the middle of the night with the headlights off and a head full of acid and bourbon… I drive a fucking Cadillac. Lemme tell you something, Bubba… one of those jap cars isn’t going to hold you in one piece when you pull a John Denver and go smackin’ into a forest liquored up to the teets. No sir, you need a big ass Red Shark and a topless blond too. Take it from me, Hunter Thompson.

In passing, I have some requests. I’d like to visit Owl Farm one day. I won’t touch anything, and would actually be happy to drive up the driveway without getting shot at, and park. Then, I will go. I’d like to see ‘Polo is my Life’ finally get published. This sex book has been at least 10 years in the making. I know that because I got to ask you that question 8 years ago and you fed me some bullshit about it being published. I know there was a piece in RS with that title… but that isn’t. We are men of action, Hunter, and lies do not become us. In fact, isn’t ‘Polo is my Life’ the reason that Palmer Slater came over and the whole lawsuit thing started?
by the way, nice touch on that. I found the article. Here is what they found on their marathon search:

  • suspected drug paraphernalia
    suspicious white powder
    pills
    a few ounces marijuana
    a few sticks of dynamite
    a jar of mushrooms
    a tape labeled ‘child porn’
    39 hits of LSD*****

Normally, I would hyperlink this to a reference. However, this is from a hard copy of actual newspaper – from the actual saved article I have. Sunday, May 6th 1990 – Arizona Republic.

That isn’t what is great, though. After reading you for 20 years, that is about what I expected. What is great is that you got all those charges dropped and went scot-free. I mean, I think we all feel the sexual assault charge was bullshit. Also, we understand the warrant then becomes somewhat unjustified… but seriously:

how the fuck did you get caught with cocaine, pot, pills, acid, and dynamite… and walk free? In fact, you probably had the balls to demand it all back since it was seized illegally. You were fucking nuts, and I think that is why I worshipped you. I lived vicariously through your bad judgment and good friends.

So go live well. We’ll take care of your peacocks, and Juan will take care of the shattered family left behind. Anita made a point about not selling the Owl Farm******. Good! Let’s make it a Hunter Thompson museum. I know Brinkley has probably a thousand pounds of material of yours he is working through. The Owl Farm is the best character in all your books, like the same Rocky Mountains were in Aspen’s other famous talent – John Denver.
You are missed, and I wish you well. Don’t worry, I’m listening to Mr. Tambourine Man and sipping whiskey… you asshole. Take care.

**** udates – the fun part about the search is he was found innocent, and the search totally illegal.  So, they had to return all or most of the stuff they found

****** the wonderful and amazing Ralph Steadman paid off the mortgage on Owl Farm for Anita.  So, it would always stay in the family, and hopefully be preserved

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“There’s a train leaving nightly called ‘when all is said and done’, keep me in your heart for a while”

– Warren Zevon

*** updates are now flying in as we are just a handful of hours away from Saturday’s sunset service. I will be posing links here throughout the weekend.

Here are some decent details about the service, and some words from his widow, Anita.

The cannon is en route to Woody Creek from the fireworks company, who has prepared half of Hunter’s ashes into an explosive device.

This one is about a golden ticket found inside a special brew batch of Flying Dog’s porter that was brewed in honor of Hunter. One bottle label contains a ticket to Saturday’s service.

*** Just added Thursday night – PICTURES OF THE CANNON! I told you people I would get them. Sorry, these aren’t good but obviously security is very tight. I’ll have better pictures after Saturday’s service (I hope).

updated Friday – HST and his ‘Snow Leopards’

Updated Saturday afternoon, another picture of the gonzo fist cannon.

update Saturday evening – it is done. Hunter’s ashes were sent into the sky in a brilliant pyro display… and yes, I have pictures.

HST some final thoughts and details * updated 2/25/05


Posted by Hello

Hey all, this will probably be my last Hunter piece for a bit. The reason is because beginning any day now he will be on the cover of every magazine and a zillion writers and commentators will be telling you how influential he was. They will be telling you what his greatest works were, and how he shaped journalism as it is known today. As I mentioned in my last post, for me to do that would be to demean your personal experience and perception of him. So instead I’d like to share why he was so important to me, and some specifics about how things are going in Aspen right now.

I discovered Hunter in High School. I loved him for the same reasons I loved my other favorite authors; Jack Kerouac, Henry Miller, William s Burroughs, Frank Zappa, and Charles Bukowski. I loved them because at the time I was a long haired hippy freak who loved literature and music and was very influential. I was in that ‘fuck corporate America’ phase where I thought anarchy was cool. You know, you went through the same phase too. Those folks mentioned above thought the same way… but they were grown ups! They were grown ups and they were famous! It completely validated my stupid existence. I thought for the longest time I was doomed to be a weird loner thinker guy with contempt for status quo. These guys showed me there are alternatives.

Around the time I was discovering this art, I realized most of these folks were dead. Burroughs was still alive (barely), Bukowski, Zappa, and HST. Well, they all died off and left me no role models. All except for Hunter. I love his writing because it isn’t just insightful, it’s FUN. Just about every word that comes out of his pen is a damn lie if not an exaggeration. I think I lived vicariously through him for that. For me he kept hope alive, and as I mentioned below he was one of the big reasons I chose to move to Colorado.

Details of what exactly happened and stuff:
At approx 5 pm Sunday evening Hunter called his wife Anita at the gym from home. She was working out and apparently the conversation was not out of the ordinary. He made no mention of any kind about suicide. At home with Hunter were his son, Juan, and Hunter’s grandchild (Juan’s child). Those two were in another room watching TV, and Hunter was in his kitchen. Shortly after his call with Anita ended he put a piston into his mouth and fired. He died immediately. Juan heard a thump of what he thought was ‘a big book falling’ and came to see what happened. There he discovered his father dead. There was never any question as to how Hunter died or who pulled the trigger. People who had seen or been with Hunter even that weekend said he did not appear out of sorts or unusually depressed. However, over the last few years he had discussed suicide on occasion as his body began to fail him.

In the last year he had major surgeries to his hip, leg, and spine. These left him in constant pain and mostly immobile. Hunter knew end times were coming, and didn’t want to die in a hospital without dignity and hooked up to machines… he had told people that over and over. Also interesting to note that one of Hunter’s major influences was Hemingway… who took his own life with a shotgun when he was 60.

Hunter was cremated in Glenwood Springs on Tuesday. His ashes were returned to the family who plan to somehow launch them out of a cannon over his ranch in Woody Creek. This will most likely be done in a private ceremony with family and close friends only on March 5th.

The family is expecting to do some kind of public event ‘in the spring’. I expect details to emerge on that in about a week or so.

I am going to suggest a couple of things you won’t see in all the articles that are about to be published. first off, my favorite book of his is “Curse of Lono” which is about him covering the Honolulu Marathon for ‘Running’ magazine back in 1980. I find it to be his best work. I also recommend buying ‘Breakfast with Hunter’ on DVD. It was just released last year and is a documentary done over the last five years. The reason why I say ‘buy’ instead of rent is because this DVD is mail order only through Wayne Ewing’s site www.breakfastwithhunter.com. Given present circumstances, it may be soon available for wide release now that everyone agrees how swell and important Hunter was. Of course, it is mail order only because before Hunter killed himself no one much cared how or what he was doing. I know the DVD wasn’t a huge release online either because when I ordered it, I got an e mail back from Wayne Ewing himself thanking me and saying it was on it’s way.

That is all for now. Remember, for all your Hunter Stockton Thompson online needs… I again refer you back to Christine’s bitchin’ and thorough site ‘The Great Thompson Hunt’. Even after this post is gone, her link will be on the left with all the others… just as it always has been.

Thanks for your kind words and wonderful remembrances. I hope you can stop in now and again here for a read.

*** Update 2/25 – Hunter’s widow, Anita, spoke today for the first time. She said that she was on the phone with Hunter when he did it. What kind of fucked up shit is that? And left himself dead to be found by his own son? He used to be my hero, now I think maybe he was just a narcissistic jerk.

Mahalo, Bubba