Gonzo In the Age of Gannett, PR Pimps & Blogomania
Hunter Thompson never pretended to be the perfect journalist. God, no! He would "in-your-face fictionalize" at times because it made for a better, psychedelic-woo-woo story. Sometimes it appeared the drugs ate his copy. Years ago, after taking a stab at reading "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" I admittedly dismissed Hunter as too far out, self-referential.
It was the magnificent documentary, "Gonzo: The Life & Work of Dr. Hunter Thompson" (2008) directed by Alex Gibney and produced by Graydon Carter which inspired me to take another look. (Go rent this film...swear it will instill major journo mojo in you!) To reboot on the Doctor, I delved into "The Great Shark Hunt"--a compilation of earlier essays and reportage. It's a must read.
Hunter was an amazingly talented writer: fearless, groundbreaking. His perceptions regarding hypocrises of society, politics, corporations were often razor sharp. Agree with him or not, he had the cojones to take a stand...no qualms about hammering status-quo big shots. An infamous target was Richard Nixon: "The Nixon I remembered was absolutely humorless; I couldn't imagine him laughing at anything except maybe a paraplegic who wanted to vote Democratic but couldn't quite reach the lever on the voting machine." (1)
An equal opportunist (more or less), in the mid-1960s he rode with the Hell's Angels for a year and ended up skewering the then-romanticized outlaw gang: "Listen for the roar of the Harley’s. You will hear it in the distance like thunder. And then, wafting in on the breeze, will come the scent of dried blood and human grease … the noise will grow louder and they will appear, on the west horizon, eyes bugged and bloodshot, foam on the lips, chewing some rooty essence smuggled in from a foreign jungle … they will ravish your women, loot your liquor stores and humiliate your mayor on a bench on the village square …" (2)
And on The Hippies: "(Their) thrust is no longer for "change" or "progress" or "revolution," but merely to escape, to live on the far perimeter of a world that might have been." (3)
Gonzo journalism espoused essential truths. And though the Doctor could be sardonically funny as hell, he no doubt suffered some serious existential angst. Fortunately he channelled this into his work. He was awesomely outrageous, beautifully belligerent. His brash behavior kept interview subjects nervously off-kilter, on the defense. Hunter thrived rolling with...and rolling over... the best and the brightest.
These days far too many reporters cower in quiet cubicles, practice p.r.-orchestrated "pack journalism", work off press releases. They're scared to take on corporate thugs, corrupt politicians, even the local dog catcher. They're tethered to the whims and political leanings of their paycheck signers (i.e. publishers). And to be fair, publishers are pistol whipped by a diminishing ad revs. Serious journalism, for the most part, is in a rather abysmal state.
Recently a number of college-bound kids have excitedly told me that they're going to study journalism. "Really?" I ask. "Why?" They usually mutter something along the lines of wanting to be Lady Gaga's publicist. Further questioning reveals their actual intent is to pursue the amorphous area of "communications". It's astounding how blurred the lines between journalism and certified fluff have become.
How would the Doctor have fared in the world of Murdoch, Gannett's one-size-fits-all newspapers; crack publicists and p.r. pimps; news blog-a-maniacs and local newspaper "editorial letter writers" (i.e. Fred, the guy next door) posing as the real thing? Dunno. He died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 2005, just as the aforementioned crap began to really pummel the fan. His suicide note began with: "Football season is over." Though a gridiron junkie, he certainly meant this in a broader, metaphorical sense. Hunter was dismayed at a lot of things, including the dismal state of change-agent journalism.
Some say Gonzo journalism was a precursor to news or current-events blogging. That would be true if the majority of bloggers actually left their keyboards and traveled campaign trails; reported telling details gleaned only from bearing witness to events, people; chronicled the zeitgeist through a variety of thought-out, polished narratives and wrote brilliantly.
The Doctor threw necessary knives at dirty Watergate-era politicians; fired at fat-cat corporate sell-outs, superficial high-society sycophants and pretend do-gooders. He eloquently chronicled the fading myth of the American dream. That was Hunter, at his best.
"It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die. Who knows? If there is in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix — a clean well lighted place full of sunshine and bromides and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy, except those who know in their hearts what is missing. ...And being driven slowly and quietly into the kind of terminal craziness that comes with finally understanding that the one thing you want is not there. Missing. Back-ordered." --Hunter S. Thompson, Gonzo Papers, Vol. 2: Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the '80s.
(1) Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72
(2) Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga
(3) "The Hashbury is the Capital of the Hippies" essay; also featured in the book, Gonzo Papers, Vol. 1: The Great Shark Hunt: Strange Tales from a Strange Time
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Note: "Inspire, Afflict, Comfort." introduces a series intended to summon the "inner mojo" of writers, journalists and would-be iconoclasts of all sorts. Increasingly it seems we live in a "check-the-box" society where comformity counts more than creativity and ingenuity. Those who have the courage to think authentically and differently are the groundbreakers, muckrakers, game changers. They often end up our heroes. The phrase "Inspire, afflict, comfort" is borrowed from the journalist's creed or vow to make a difference in the world by lending voice wherever it's needed.
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