2008 Woodie Awards
Mistah Thompson. He dead.
The creator of Gonzo journalism, Hunter S. Thompson, dies from self-inflicted gunshot
Elizabeth Sinclair-Smith
Date created: 3/4/05 Section: FEATURES
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"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold."
With the legandary opening of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's journalistic masterpiece "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," these few words seared themselves upon the collective conciousness of writers, weirdos and drug-addled freaks alike. And, with an exit as fiery as his entrance, it is related with heavy heart, that on Feb. 20, the good doctor passed away by the work of his own hand.
Some writers have tried flogging his passing as a way to get good press clips, and others have mocked/mimicked his style in lame tribute. Still others have claimed his death was a bad publicity move. What does it all mean, anyway?
For starters, "Fear and Loathing" blew minds with the sheer amount of drugged debauchery that goes on in the story. It also made Rolling Stone magazine edgier, and, aside from that, really got the ex-Flower Children realizing that things weren't so great. After all, it was 1971. Socially and culturally speaking, a lot of things had hit the fan. To those writers, weirdos, and drug-addled freaks, Thompson's work was a wake-up call, but especially to journalists.
Thompson reinvented journalism as it is known. Not only did he change The Rules of what acceptable forms of writing are, he changed The Rules altogether. Hell, he played a whole different Game. While most hack writers at the time were busy fumbling with their marbles and pennywhistle stories, Hunter seemingly said, in his drug-induced manner, "F--- off, you pimps. I'm playing roller derby," then proceeded to knock Spiro T. Agnew on his haunches.
Why All You Liars Who Call Yourselves Writers Need to Give Kudos to this Man:
The word "I." Obviously, he didn't invent the word, but he gave it new life in his works, sticking himself smack in the middle of his stories. If you've ever taken any writing class where the dried up prune of a professor tries to bark jive at you about being objective in your written works, you'll know that sometimes that's just not possible. If you've been stomped within an inch of your life by the Hells Angels, taken more drugs than some small-town police stations have confiscated in years, and given slimy politicians verbal pool cue beatdowns, how on earth can you be Impartial?
With the legandary opening of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's journalistic masterpiece "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," these few words seared themselves upon the collective conciousness of writers, weirdos and drug-addled freaks alike. And, with an exit as fiery as his entrance, it is related with heavy heart, that on Feb. 20, the good doctor passed away by the work of his own hand.
Some writers have tried flogging his passing as a way to get good press clips, and others have mocked/mimicked his style in lame tribute. Still others have claimed his death was a bad publicity move. What does it all mean, anyway?
For starters, "Fear and Loathing" blew minds with the sheer amount of drugged debauchery that goes on in the story. It also made Rolling Stone magazine edgier, and, aside from that, really got the ex-Flower Children realizing that things weren't so great. After all, it was 1971. Socially and culturally speaking, a lot of things had hit the fan. To those writers, weirdos, and drug-addled freaks, Thompson's work was a wake-up call, but especially to journalists.
Thompson reinvented journalism as it is known. Not only did he change The Rules of what acceptable forms of writing are, he changed The Rules altogether. Hell, he played a whole different Game. While most hack writers at the time were busy fumbling with their marbles and pennywhistle stories, Hunter seemingly said, in his drug-induced manner, "F--- off, you pimps. I'm playing roller derby," then proceeded to knock Spiro T. Agnew on his haunches.
Why All You Liars Who Call Yourselves Writers Need to Give Kudos to this Man:
The word "I." Obviously, he didn't invent the word, but he gave it new life in his works, sticking himself smack in the middle of his stories. If you've ever taken any writing class where the dried up prune of a professor tries to bark jive at you about being objective in your written works, you'll know that sometimes that's just not possible. If you've been stomped within an inch of your life by the Hells Angels, taken more drugs than some small-town police stations have confiscated in years, and given slimy politicians verbal pool cue beatdowns, how on earth can you be Impartial?
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