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Proud Highway

Page 59

by Hunter S. Thompson


  TO LARRY O’BRIEN, SPECIAL ASSISTANT TO THE PRESIDENT:

  June 25, 1964

  Owl House

  9400 Bennett Valley Rd.

  Glen Ellen, California

  Larry O’Brien

  The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  Dear Mr. O’Brien:

  Many thanks for your letter of June 17. Immediately upon receipt of same, I went to Brooks Brothers and purchased several white linen suits and other equipment befitting the Governor of American Samoa.

  When can we get with it? Does Lyndon realize the importance of timing in this thing? It would augur ill for a new governor to be appointed in the fall. I know the thinking of tropical peoples. They set much store by the season. A new governor should arrive when the feazlewood trees bloom, when the fish spawn, and when the sun goes orange on a flat line towards China in the evening sky. No other time would be suitable.

  I am eager to be off. My wife is more eager than I, and my Doberman senses a big move in the offing. Haste will benefit us all, and especially the American Samoans. My arrival will have the greatest meaning for them; it will be the dawn of a new and more humane era.

  Send word at once. Given the present situation in the Far East, a sane appointment in the Pacific might have all the force of a blockbuster in our foreign relations. A massive switch, as it were.

  In expectation of an action-packed reply, I remain,

  quite sincerely,

  Hunter S. Thompson

  TO MR. SUNDELL, PAGEANT.

  Searching for a new outlet for his work, Thompson pitched a list of possible articles to Pageant magazine, a serious competitor to the Reader’s Digest—and they paid well.

  June 25, 1964

  Owl House

  9400 Bennett Valley Rd.

  Glen Ellen, California

  Dear Mr. Sundell:

  Thanks for your comments on my Hemingway piece in the National Observer. I just got back from six weeks up in that country, and did seven or eight more, but the one you saw had the odd luck to come through unedited, and thus is the only one of the lot I have any feeling for.

  At any rate, I’d be happy to write a thing or two for you. Do you have anything in mind? My steady market is the Observer, with an occasional sale to The Reporter; that should give you an idea, although the Observer is just about as general as your book seems to be. In the main, I like the offbeat stuff, the “negro problem,” Latin America (I was the Observer’s man in Rio for a year or so), and anything dealing with writers, writing and contemporary fiction. I do a lot of book reviews for the Observer, but people keep writing from places like St. Petersburg, saying I gave them a bum steer on books like J. P. Donleavy’s Singular Man, to mention the worst offender to date. The senior citizens didn’t dig that one at all.

  This is what I have cooking at the moment

  1) A piece on the horrors of a Tijuana abortion. In California, it’s either that or some dirty table in a midnight suburban kitchen. So far I have four first-hand accounts. The idea of the piece is to shock people into thinking about making abortion legal, but I somehow doubt the Observer will go for it.

  2) A piece on race relations in “the Paris of the West,” as Gene Burdick calls it. I haven’t decided how to slant this one yet; I have two queries out on it, but yell if it interests you, and how.

  3) Some sort of profile on Los Angeles, in light of the new apportionment decision. What is L.A.? I’m curious.

  4) A piece on “the untenable position of the white liberal if negro militants continue to gain power in ‘the movement.’ ” This began as an idea for a seminar at Hot Springs Lodge in Big Sur, where topics like this are bandied about on summer weekends by big names. Mike Murphy, who runs the place, is an old friend (I used to live there), and he thinks we’ll need some guaranteed prestige publicity in order to attract the people who would make such a seminar newsworthy, Maybe so. I’m thinking in terms of Dick Gregory, Norman Mailer, Modeling Carter, Paul Jacobs, Ralph Gleason, Charles Mingus, and one or two of California’s young black socialists. This would take weeks to organize and would cost you a hell of a lot more than that $300 “average fee” you mention in the Writer’s Digest.

  5) I’m also thinking of a trip to Mississippi this summer, but as yet I haven’t talked to the Observer about it. By the time you get this I’ll know their thinking, so let me know if it interests you.

  6) I’m also trying to find an excuse for a trip to New York in July. If you can think of a piece I might apply my touch to, I’m agreeable to almost anything. As a matter of fact that’s the way I usually work with the Observer. I pick a place, make a few suggestions, then zoom in with an open mind and a good eye. One that has always interested me on New York is “The Girl Who Didn’t Make It.” I used to live there and I know a few. They come for the glamorous job, the hotshot husband, the light fantastic and all that sort of thing—and only a few of them make it. Where do the others go? I have a head start on that one, but it would take a week or two of research to get it done. Let me know on this.

  That should do for now. Your letter was a bit of a surprise, by the way. I’ve never paid much attention to Pageant, mainly because of the name and the housewifey covers, I guess, but the inside sort of surprised me. Especially the publetter calling for a new look at Red China. Anyway, give me a ring if you think we should talk. Thanks.

  Hunter S. Thompson

  TO MIKE MURPHY:

  Novelist Murphy and Thompson were considering holding a seminar at Big Sur’s Esalen Institute on “White Liberalism and Black Militarism.” Race relations was the subject of the day: on July 2 President Johnson had signed the most sweeping civil rights legislation in the history of the nation.

  July 8, 1964

  9400 Bennett Valley Rd.

  Glen Ellen, California

  Dear Mike:

  Seems the only way I can say anything sane and sober to you is by mail, and so be it; that’s par for my course. I’ll be down again when I regain my health, and midweek next time, so maybe we can talk. In the meanwhile, consider what we talked about last time.

  To wit: A seminar on the position of the White Liberal in the event that negro “militants” gain a dominant voice in the “civil rights” movement. (The reason for my quote marks is too complex to explain right now.) The subtitles would be full of meat: 1) Are negro militants really racists? Or, what is the difference between Malcolm X and Dick Gregory? 2) What is a white “liberal”? (Clare Boothe Luce said yesterday: “I’m still a Liberal, but I agree with Senator Goldwater on everything except civil rights.” Yeah.) 3) In the event of the various “conflicts” predicted by civil rights leaders if Goldwater is nominated and the civil rights bill proves toothless in their eyes, whose side is the “white liberal” on? Or, as Charley Mingus said to Ralph Gleason, “Man, you gotta know where you stand when the fighting starts in the streets.” Or Louis Lomax29 when he talks about the coming “night of the long knives.” Which way do I point my .44 Magnum if both sides think I’m against them? (For others, that question might have to be paraphrased to some extent, but the meaning is the same.)

  I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I haven’t got moving due to a great backlog of Observer stuff and these godawful binges in Big Sur. I wouldn’t want to do it for the Observer because I think it deserves more space than they could give it and I’m not sure that audience is exactly what we’d need to attract the sort of talent that would give the seminar real meaning. But selling the article is my problem; setting up the seminar would be your end.

  How about telling me:

  1) If it still interests you—in this rough form or some other, but at least the general idea.

  2) When (dates) we could think about getting some people together, so I’d have something to say when I call.

  3) What you pay participants in this sort of thing—if anything—and again, just so I’d know what to say.

  Obviously, I’m not going to start calling around and setting up a semina
r in your lodge, but these are things we should talk about if the idea interests you at all—mainly because these are things any potential participant would ask at once. I could do it as a series of interviews, but I think it would go better as an article if it tied in with Big Sur and a seminar with photos—sort of like the piece I did on the Aspen Institute.

  H

  TO LOREN JENKINS:

  Jenkins, an aspiring journalist, had written to Thompson for some tips on how to become a big-time reporter; a warm friendship soon developed between them. Jenkins went on to win the 1983 Pulitzer Prize for his coverage of the Middle East for The Washington Post.

  July 21, 1964

  Glen Ellen, California

  Loren:

  I thought the Peace Corps took care of your sort, guaranteed jobs upon discharge and all that, no? Well, this writing is a bad racket to fool around with unless you can’t do anything else, which is my case, and if I were you I’d take potluck with the PC placement thing and have done with it.

  I don’t know how good you are so I can only speak in broad generalities. With a Ph.D. in government you should go to work for Lyndon; after last week’s convention I think he is going to need all the help he can get around October and maybe sooner.

  Anyway, New York is by far the toughest nut to crack and I guess San Francisco is next, for different reasons. If you hang around New York until you run out of cash you’ll probably end up working on some trade paper like Baker’s Weekly. The dailies in general won’t touch a man without several years’ experience in the trade; that’s the way the Guild has it set up and exceptions are rare—like editors’ sons, and that. If you are really serious about journalism I’d say the first thing to overcome is the idea that you’re going to stay in New York (or any other decent place) and come up with an “interesting” job. I suppose it can be done, but everybody I know has had to go to the provinces first.

  The idea is to get clippings and parlay them into bigger and better things. With enough good clippings you can virtually buy a job; I’ve come to think of mine as currency. A few good clips and a good idea will generally get you an assignment or at least an interested editor. So the gimmick is to get somebody to print your stuff; a good manuscript won’t do the trick.

  I went to the Headline agency, which came up with five or six offers within ten days, and finally found myself working for the Middletown Daily Record until I was fired almost instantly and then went on unemployment with plenty of time to free-lance. Headline is a good bet for a small paper gig, and they can generally come up with one close enough to New York so you can get in now and then. You might call a friend of mine named Bob Bone, who lives on Cornelia St. in the Village, and ask him about this. He’s closer to the job market; I haven’t held a job in five years and probably never will again, so it may be that I’m out of touch. Or Don Cooke, 58 W. 25th; he managed to get on at McGraw-Hill with no experience and he may have some wisdom. Gene McGarr might know something about the TV end; he is at 245 W. 104th. They’re all in the phone book.

  If you’re pretty good at putting an article together you might query my editor at the National Observer (Cliff Ridley) and see if you can sell him something. Address: 11501 Columbia Pike, Silver Spring, Md. Look at the Observer before trying it; they carry almost anything.

  I got some good clips by writing for the New York Herald Trib travel section; also the Chicago Tribune. They don’t pay much, but it helps to have clips from name papers.

  I’m dealing strictly with the mechanics of this thing because I assume you realize nobody starts out writing editorials for The New York Times or lead articles for The Reporter. Some people might be good enough to start out that way, but Mr. Charley won’t believe it. There is an amazing amount of resentment, among aging hacks, toward a young hotshot trying to bypass the bullshit jobs that none of them could avoid.

  In all, the first thing to do is get some sort of writing slot; I’d say a general reporting beat on some small paper, because that would give you the most leeway to pile up the clips that would interest New York editors. It would also give you a base from which to free-lance for things like The Nation or The New Republic, which don’t pay in money so much as prestige. It would also get you into the writing habit, which is harder than most people think, and put you onto little spacing and countless other habits that make a man’s copy look like he knows what he’s doing. Most editors fear for their jobs and would always prefer to publish a mediocre pro than a talented amateur who might get him in trouble. Editors, by nature, are the sort of people who use condoms.

  This is about all I can say for now; all I have is your name, a brief handshake in the Aspen book store, and second-hand info from Peggy [Clifford] that you’re “looking for a writing job.” I could probably do you more good if I knew more about your situation, experience, interests and that business. Send word if you think I can do you some good. In the meantime, and in sum, all I can say is 1) don’t limit yourself to New York unless you have a good in, 2) avoid San Francisco at all costs; this is a dead end place and if you doubt it, read the San Francisco papers, 3) consider a year or even six months on a small paper that will give you enough freedom to get some good clips, 4) check with Headline and the names I mentioned, register at some of the agencies that handle writing jobs, and generally cast a wide net.

  Like I said, it’s a shitty business, in all, and unless you think you can put up with it I’d consider just about anything else. Anyway, let me know.

  Sincerely,

  Hunter S. Thompson

  Owl House

  9400 Bennett Valley Rd.

  Glen Ellen, California

  TO DON COOKE:

  Thompson had just attended the Republican National Convention at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, at which Arizona senator Barry Goldwater was nominated for president.

  August 19, 1964

  Owl House

  Glen Ellen, California

  Dear Daddio:

  The report from this end is ugly. Mister Charley is leaning on me for real. The wolves have broken down the door and found me too broke to buy ammunition. I was long gone in funk until finding your old March 7 letter tonight; its leaping tone brought me up short. I most definitely need a jaunt to New York for the purpose of reviewing reality with you and others who’ve been dealing with other tentacles. I think I must have come to grips with the main muscle. The brute is sitting on my chest and smacking my eyes whenever I try to roll him off.

  I went to the Republican convention and put on a bulldrunk that scared the shit out of the Observer honchos sent out to put me to work. They got the honest fear and did me in with their reports back to D.C. (Our man in the West is a foaming anarchist, a naked boozer who never sleeps and won’t work and thinks Goldwater is a nazi.) So they wrote and told me to straighten up or fuck off—and I still haven’t decided which way to swing. On top of that my man at The Reporter [Dwight Martin] split with Max Ascoli and his successor is determined to do away with all traces of the old regime, including me. Thus, my income is nil at a time when my expenses are running high and my debts are fantastic. The car is dead, I am two months behind on the rent, they are coming for my phone on Monday, and I have about ten more days before they chop the electricity.

  So much for that. I can flee, of course, but that would portend a shift back to that other league. I would have to learn to play the guitar, and bum cigarette butts. At the moment I have slim hopes of obtaining a loan in Big Sur and making a move to somewhere, but I have no idea where. San Francisco, Montana, Alberta, Mexico, Los Angeles, New York—all possibilities, at least in theory. I don’t want to stay here and I can’t think of anyplace else; that is the nut of the thing. I was hoping Semonin would have some wisdom in this area, but his one call from Louisville had to do with black nationalism or some such swill and right now I don’t feel up to joining a movement. If the idea is to bring down the government, I’m all for it. But you don’t do that on a grant from the Ford Foundation.

  Hudso
n has sailed to Tahiti. McGarr is due on the coast in a few days. I am off to LA next week to do a piece for Pageant magazine (yeah) on why people are moving to S. California. They wrote and asked for the privilege of publishing me. But at the moment I don’t even have gas money to get to San Francisco, much less LA, and before I go I’ll have to lay hands on another car. There is a possibility of a truck in Carmel, a real hotrod that will handle the Big Sur road at night doing 100 on the straightaways and 80 on the curves. I’ve put it to the test, but every time I take somebody along with me they get hysterical. I’ll know about that in a few days; take over payments. Yeah. Take over the car and move out like a big hyena.

  My shack has been full of people for two months, even including my mother and little brother. Steady visitors for two goddamn months. Two just left, a folksinger from Boston and a doomed young bride from Florida. Another singer due tomorrow, and then McGarr. At times like these I think seriously of British Columbia. I got a $71 phone bill last month, and another $50.24 today. Fantastic. Everybody makes calls and gives me fifty cents, which I promptly spend. Then comes the ticket, the sharp jab, and then severance. My landlady plays the organ. My guns are in pawn. My sanity hangs by a thread.

  I think perhaps the only answer is an instant rewrite of The Rum Diary and a quick sale to the movies. My gimmick is an interracial orgy that should stand hair on end from London to Long Beach. The KKK will send goons after me if the thing ever appears. My birth certificate will be removed from the files in Louisville, and burned. Semonin, Dylan and Baez will chip in to have me croaked. And if they send me cash on the barrelhead I will buy a gross of .44 Magnum slugs and do a fine dogdance on Jack London’s tomb.

  Otherwise, I have nothing to report. Your last card was vague, saying things about “seeking employment” and “going up the Hudson.” What does that mean? Are you on the dole? What action is up the Hudson? If it’s real I might check that area myself. My man Kennedy is in Albany; see him before making any rash moves in that direction. Bill Kennedy—Albany Times-Union. A fine man with the rum and a christian to boot. I’ve been sending people to see you but can’t say if any showed up. Mostly in the job-advice area. Now you say you were fired up the Hudson. I trust you dispensed good advice to any who called for it. (“Fuck off up the Hudson, boy, that’s where things are happening!”)

 

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