First, thanks for the link Roxanne (who has lots of linky goodness there):
Tom Wolfe has a great eulogy in the WSJ, including a great story where Hunter sees fit to utlilize a marine distress signaling device (audible for 20 miles) inside a midtown NY restaurant.
Ralph Steadman channels what he supposes would be Hunter’s admonishments from beyond the grave:
Like he is saying, ‘Don’t fuck up on this one, Ralph! Tell it like you knew it, but don’t bad mouth me!! You always knew I was going to do it, so it wasn’t ‘if’ but ‘when’. It was my call, Ralph and now you will have to deal with the flood. Apres moi, Ralph- the deluge!! Did you think it was going to be an easy ride? You knew what you were doing when you bought a ticket. You were there most of the time, but towards the end you couldn’t handle the heat, but you made the Role of Honor by the skin of your teeth. So long Ralph, and thanks for the laughs. And remember- The Crazy Never Die! Look after Anita’
He told me 25 years ago that he would feel real trapped if he didn’t know that he could commit suicide at any moment.
AP – statements from family, including revelations that include Hunter’s ashes being shot out of a cannon. Son Juan has been quoted as saying that he was both not surprised (since Hunter had spoken of the manner in which he’d take his life at least 10 years ago) and surprised (at the timing).
Some deep metaphors from Jarret McNeill.
John Nichols on Hunter’s influence of political journalism
Jackson Kuhl writes one of the more thoughtful eulogies, and shares my concern over what part of his legacy might be left in the dust:
Hunter S. Thompson will be remembered for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. He will be remembered as the sire of “gonzo:” for the bucket hat and the cigarette holder. I wish it wasn’t that way. I wish instead he would be remembered for Hell’s Angels, a piece of anthropology more insightful than anything Margaret Mead produced. I wish he were remembered not for the guns but for the peacocks he bred and sold to Alaskan golf courses. Over everything, I wish he were remembered for the cracks in the gonzo, for the cloud breaks of lucidity in all the craziness. Because that’s the real reason I admired him and why I read practically everything he wrote while sitting in some airport somewhere: Hunter S. Thompson was brilliant. It was his well-read brain and not the intoxicants with which he spliced together the wonderful analogies that he did — it was why he was able to fashion destinations for his trains of thought.
Hunter’s impact on the Aspen area as well as the journalists who wrote for the papers. Aspen Daily News reporter Troy Hooper, who broke the story of Hunter’s death, was a close personal friend.
SF Examiner: Sales of all HST books have understandably soared in recent days. “..Las Vegas” is #15 on Amazon and Vintage books has ordered a reprinting.