Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman (98 page)

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

At last
Hell's Angels
was completed and Thompson was free to blow off some steam
.

March 17, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Carey—

I'm now trying to get a grip on myself after three weeks of running totally out of control. Got the book off by March 1, as planned, and then went into a wild spiral up and down the coast, stuffing myself with every kind of drug and booze imaginable. Now my head feels a bit clearer and of course I'm dead broke again. Something has to be done on the article front.

I've talked to Shir-Cliff
⁶
at Ballantine and [Jim] Silberman at Random, both of whom insist I start on another non-fiction book at once.
Their first suggestion was an exposé of the “Minutemen,”
⁷
which I quickly rejected. My own idea was to go back to Mexico for 6 to 8 months and do a sort of sketch-book of American expatriates. This didn't seem to groove them, and when I said I thought I'd write a novel or two they suggested I find gainful employment while doing so. Not really that harsh, but almost. It was as if I'd said I wanted my next project to be a book of LSD poems.

They then asked me what interested me, but I couldn't explain it on the phone and probably can't in a letter either. The closest we could come was a sort of tentative idea for a book on the drug-hippie action, which I'm now mulling over. I told Silberman that since the Hell's Angels idea had been yours in the first place, that I'd consult with you again to see if you had any more ideas for articles that might evolve into a salable book. (Unless they're putting me on, they seem to think the Hell's Angels book is going to reap some cash.) But not for a while, and in the meantime my rent is overdue again and the Chinese landlady is getting ugly.

Do you have any ideas? (I think that hotrod thing is too close to what I've been living with for too long.) How about getting a Guggenheim? How could I get some information on the mechanics of this? How can it be done … or had? Send word.

Thanks—
Hunter

March 23, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Mr. Algren:

In the course of tying up loose ends of the Hell's Angels action I came across your letter of February 16 and remembered that I've since heard from Candida Donadio.
⁸
I forwarded her letter to Random House and requested that they deal with the situation in whatever manner they saw fit. As I said, the loss of your six paragraphs is not going to cripple the book. You can now rest assured that you've fought off another savage attempt to steal your stuff.

Maybe you have good reasons for acting this way, and for the sake of politeness I'll assume that you do. But in fact it strikes me as either lunacy or senility or both, and goddamn if I can make sense of it. I suppose I'll see you somewhere in the public prints, but I ain't real worried. Good luck on Muscatine St.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Strodtbeck, an independent scholar, had written his own study of the Hell's Angels
.

March 23, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Mr. Strodtbeck:

After finishing the Hell's Angels book I started going over various mail, loose ends, etc., and came on your letters of last fall. Your questions of August 4 seem more critical, now that it's all over, than they did at the time. I'm not sure I answered all of them in the book, but I think you'll find it interesting in one or two ways. I'm not sure how to describe the book, but it's not at all what I had in mind when I started. I gave the “adults and authorities” a pretty rough time, and my only regret along that line is that I didn't have another six months to really dynamite them. I don't really see any “solutions” except to document the madness (and the mad humor) of a society that breeds Hell's Angels just as surely as it breeds Nixons and LeMays
⁹
and Negro gangs on darktown streetcorners. But maybe we differ here, too. In any case, thanks for the book and the letters. I don't recall stealing anything from you, but the book gave me a basis of comparison, for good or ill. Mine should be out “this summer,” according to Random, and I've told them to send you a free copy.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

At this point the
Saturday Evening Post
was one of America's most popular weekly magazines
.

April 12, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Don McKinney

Saturday Evening Post

641 Lexington Ave.

New York City 22

Dear Mr. McKinney:

I've been meaning to get off a note to you for the past few weeks, but as always I'm running behind schedule. In my letter of October 6, 1965 I said I'd contact you when I got loose and finished the Hell's Angels book, which is more or less the case now. I still have some revisions to do, but as far as I know the thing will be out this summer.

In the meantime I'm haggling about the subject of my next book and looking around for some article work to fill the money gap and keep me on my rails. I have several ideas, but none that would call for any quick action except the enclosed clip on the Russian fishing fleet, I'm not sure how long they'll be there, but I imagine it will be a matter of one to three weeks. Last spring a much smaller Russian “fleet” hovered off the coast near San Francisco for about ten days, but with 200 vessels I'd figure this one to be around a bit longer.

I think it would make a good piece, but I couldn't tell you much more about it without going up to Oregon for a look. My idea would be to go up to Newport [Oregon] and go out with one of the U.S. boats—and then, by any means available, to get aboard one of the Russian boats and get their side of the story. I have a talent for getting into strange places, and my only worry would be finding a Russian who spoke English. There is no Russian consul in San Francisco, but I could probably get some help from the Yugoslav Consul-General. Once I've seen the Oregon situation, then I could come back here and talk to consuls from Chile, Peru, Japan, etc., to get a worldwide perspective on the thing. Chile and Peru, for instance, have arbitrarily extended their offshore boundaries as far as 200 miles, and enforced the restrictions with gunboats. This, at least, was the word on tonight's ABC network newscast. About two years ago in Lima I talked to some U.S. tuna fishermen about their problems, but I never got around to doing the story. It's an interesting problem with some weird ramifications and I'm sure it will keep cropping up.

Anyway, let me know ASAP if it interests you. I'm loose right now but I can't say for certain that I'll be loose next week unless I hear from you pretty quick. Nor can I guarantee the continued presence of the Russian fleet.

As for money, I'd need some expense cash ahead and a guarantee of some kind, but I'd prefer that you work this kind of thing out with my agent, Scott Meredith.

I think photos would be a necessity for a piece like this and I'd be more than willing to shoot as many rolls as you'd want, but I'd want you to know in advance that I'm not a Magnum-type photographer. Josh Eppinger has seen some of my stuff from the era when I was trying to sell you a Hell's Angels cover photo, so you might ask him if he thinks it's worth the risk. If I could get on one of the Russian boats I don't think it would matter what kind of photographer I was, as long as I had a light meter and dry film. To this end I'd be willing to charter a private boat and go right out to one of the Russian trawlers, willfully ignorant of all protocol and that sort of thing. I doubt that I'd be in any danger except maybe from the U.S. Coast Guard, who would probably be nervous about private boarding parties. Perhaps the Yugoslav consul could make some kind of arrangement to get me around this problem, but if not I'd be willing to try it anyway.

So that's about it for now. There's not much more I can tell you without going up to Oregon for a closer look. As for the pitch and yaw of the piece, I'm thinking of something focused down on the people involved, rather than international law and industry drum-beating. That would of course be a factor, but more as background than meat, I'd like to let the fisherman tell the story, instead of getting it from a congressman.

Enclosed are some old clips that might give you a vague idea as to how I'd approach a thing like this. Please send them back when you can. My style is not quite the same as it was when I labored for the
Observer
; I think the
Nation
stuff would give you a better idea what to expect. Anyway, let me know. I have some other ideas that I'll send as soon as I can.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Although Mailer never did share with Thompson his views on the Hell's Angels, he did send a friendly letter commenting on how much he had liked Thompsons articles in
The Nation.

April 26, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Norman—

No harm done with the mislaid letter. I barely remember it but I know it was one of those late/drunk ones. Anyway, I was just casting around. At
one point I quoted Algren on white trash and got myself in a hell of an argument with him and his agent. He threatened to sue me. I thought I was paying the man a compliment, but he came at me like Nixon. So it's probably best that you stayed clear.

Anyway, Random House has postponed the Hell's Angels book until fall and I'll tell Silberman to make sure you get a copy ahead of time. You might like it. It's a frontal assault on everybody involved or even implicated. Mainly the press. And the cops. I'm looking for some action when it comes out.

I haven't seen anything of yours recently, but assume you're working on something with a bit of thrust. I probably owe you a conditional apology for some of that wild bullshit I sent you from Big Sur a few years back. But it was all in a human spirit, so what the hell? Incidentally, the novel I was working on then (The Rum Diary) has finally been bought by Random. I'll need the next few months for a rewrite, but it's nice to know all that work wasn't wasted.

That's about it from here. Good luck with whatever you're working on.

Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson

Gifford, a Louisville portrait artist, was Thompson's favorite cousin
.

April 27, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Cousin Marguerite—

Thanks very much for the letter and I'm sorry to be so long getting back to you. Things have been very hectic here and the summer looks about the same way. I finished the book on the Hell's Angels motorcycle gang (to be published in the fall) and just signed another contract for a novel and a second non-fiction book. This is not a particularly lucrative situation, but it gives me a guaranteed minimum income to write books for the next year or two. If one of them happens to sell, that will be a different story, but of course I have no control over that. To me it is a matter of getting by from day to day and getting the writing done. I work entirely at night and sleep until noon every day. In the afternoon I deal with the normal problems of life and play basketball with the local hoodlums to keep in shape. Sometimes I take Juan out to the beach around sundown. We just got another Doberman pup and he needs daily exercise, so I guess I'll be getting to the beach more often. Sandy works two hours a day
at a local real estate agency. We lead a pretty quiet life and hardly the sort of thing most people associate with “wild writers.” Writing is very hard work and at times I wish I didn't have to depend on it, but of course it's the only kind of work I can do and enjoy. As an artist, you probably know what I mean.

Speaking of art, we have your painting of the boy at Angkor Wat, Cambodia on a wall in the hallway where everybody who comes in the door is face to face with it. I have bought four large paintings since we moved into this place, but yours is the only one I feel any blood relationship with. Our family is not laden with artistic instinct, so I'm happy to have some painted evidence that my own talent didn't spring out of nowhere.

As for travel, we plan to go to Mexico soon, but I think I'll have to finish this second book before we move anywhere. In the meantime it will be the same old grind. Wake up late, work late, and hope for the best.

Thanks again for writing. I always enjoy hearing from you and knowing you're still full of energy down there on St. James Court. I feel a long way from there now. From the window of my studio I can see the Golden Gate Bridge and hear the boats coming through. Foghorns always make me feel like going somewhere … like train whistles. This is a pleasant place to live, at least for a while. It's late now and I have to get to bed. Write again when you have time. Sandy says hello and sends her love.

Yours,
Hunter

May 24, 1966
318 Parnassus
San Francisco

Dear Slumlord—

My flu-deadened brain won't organize all the things to be said, but I'll make a typical 3:00 a.m. effort. First, here is a copy of my poem; I'd appreciate a comment, as usual, with no holds barred. I like the thing, whether it's a poem or not. If I had outlets I'd write a lot of these, but
Spider
folded and the editor is now in jail for “trespassing” (sit-in).

News from here is a fraud. The Rum Diary is sold to Random and Ballantine on the condition that I rewrite it. No suggestions. Dealing with these people is maddening. It seems incredible to me that somebody like Max Perkins
¹⁰
ever existed. I honestly don't believe it; I think he was the creation
of critics who didn't like Hem, Fitz, Wolfe, etc. After pushing me desperately for months, the BalRandom combine required three months to read the finished manuscript (
Hell's Angels
) and make a few penciled comments in the margin. At a glance it seems like the very opposite of magazine editing, but the trouble is I can't believe it. They made fewer changes in my 480-pg. manuscript than Ridley normally made in a 10-page article. Now I have three days to make my final revisions and corrections. Pub. is scheduled for Sept., with the paperback 6 months later. Even if it makes money I won't see any before 1970. The contracts are a horror, but of course I have no choice but to sign them. The last one I signed is for two: The Rum Diary and an un-named, un-specified non-fiction book. At a glance it looks like a $10,000 advance for two books, but what it really amounts to is ill-paid bondage for an indefinite period of time. I am very discouraged with the book business. The money is illusory and the cheap realities are all the more shocking because they are hidden, like rocks in the surf, by decades of paternalistic myth. At the moment I am living on a $100 a week dole from my agent, who has sold me into slavery. It is like the company store.