Within hours after Hunter Thompson’s death was splashed across the newspapers, websites, and radio/television, Ebay, the online auction site was doing a brisk business in Hunter Thompson related items. Everything from first edition copies of his first book, ‘Hell’s Angels’ to gonzo posters, t-shirts with Thompson witticisms scrawled across the front and a Hunter S Thompson for Sheriff memorial mouse pad. Also, a set of seven Hunter S Thompson gonzo fridge magnets. At a quick glance, I saw about 300 plus items and my first thought was that Thompson really would’ve appreciated not only the type of stuff on offer but also the speed with which it all came together.

I didn’t know Thompson personally and therefore, can’t say this with any sort of certainty, but everything that I’ve read of his and what I’ve heard him say, indicates that he would’ve appreciated, with his trademark irony, the predictable way his beloved fellow-Americans carried on with the business of commerce and celebrity, especially dead celebrity or, to extend this further, freshly dead celebrity.

I can see it now - somewhere in middle America - Mike (let’s call him) is drinking coffee, hears the news on the radio, mentioning Thompson’s death by gunshot wound, an apparent suicide. Immediately Mike jumps up, frantically searching for his Hunter Thompson paperbacks from years ago (Damn it, I know I just saw that copy of ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ on the shelf). After looking and looking, Mike finally finds his battered copy and rushes to put it up for sale on Ebay, before the rest of the world catches up with the news and does the same thing. Meanwhile, the body is not even cold.

Since I didn’t know Hunter Thompson except through his writing, I’ll leave the personal tributes to those who did know him. I’m grateful for the hours of enjoyable reading that he provided and on a deeper level, admired both his literary and personal fearlessness. Literary, in challenging journalistic convention at the time by inserting himself into the situation and documenting it from that vantage point. He was part of the action, usually the main focus as opposed to a sideline observer. Personal, considering what happened to him while researching his first book, ‘Hell’s Angels’ - this, netting him a savage beating from several disenchanted Angels.

California, Labor Day weekend…early, with ocean fog still in the streets, outlaw motorcyclists wearing chains, shades and greasy levis roll out from damp garages, all-night diners and cast-off one-night pads in Frisco, Hollywood, Berdoo, and East Oakland, heading for the Monterey peninsula, north of Big Sur…The Menace is loose again, the Hell’s Angels…

Marc Goldin currently lives in Chicago, with three cats, each one more long-haired than the last. Interests have ranged from medieval monasticism to discontinued stations on the London Underground – literary likes too diverse (some would say schizo) to list here although the last several years have been witness to an intimacy with Scottish and Irish literature. American Southern and Beat era lit also account for some of the ‘missing years’. Music tastes run the gamut from Cuban Danzon to Ska (all three waves but having a specific attachment to the second, two-tone period) to the Tuvan throat singers. Has written book reviews for a now defunct Irish literature site and has several short stories in various stages of development. Mad for black and white photography and aspires to someday have a complete collection of photos documenting every close in the Grassmarket area of Edinburgh. Works in the IT dept. of a French company in the current political climate. In football, supports Chelsea, Hibs, and for the sake of employment security, Marseille.

© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.