What we should never forget, though, is that the majority of Latins are with us, even though they hate to admit it. But only so far as we believe in ourselves, and only as long as we keep proving, over and over again, that we are not as mean and greedy as were our forefathers.
In a way, Latin America is like a woman who has been wronged so often that she no longer believes what any man says—although she wants to, and keeps giving it one more try. Our problem with the lady is to convince her that we are Right—because Latins are as emotional as women on that subject—and also to convince her that we are strong enough to sustain our Right, because both women and Latins are pragmatic enough to know that one is not worth much without the other.
And that, placed in its proper feminine context, is the job cut out for the gentlemen who run our Alliance for Progress. At the moment it is very definitely “ours,” and it will stay that way until we can convince the Latins that it is theirs, too. Which may take quite a bit of doing.
OK, Clifford. It’s 3:45 AM here and I have to get up early and drive all the way to Durango on two bald tires. I hope this will do you, or at least help. And if I think of anything else in the next day or so I’ll send it on. Probably you wanted more pure color, but I got off on my sermon and I think my conclusion—especially the final note on Latin and feminine nature—is a far, far better thing that I do. Amen.
HST
TO THE BUSHNELL COMPANY:
Thompson was dissatisfied with a Smith & Wesson rifle scope he had purchased in Florida. This letter got him a refund.
August 29, 1963
Aspen, Colorado
Bushnell Co.
c/o Angevine’s Gun Shop
Deland, Fla.
Gentlemen:
Here is a nutshell of this scope, purchased by me from Mr. Angevine about June 20, 1963. I mailed the postcard registration to you a day or so after the purchase.
In the gunshop, the scope was mounted with little difficulty. I then took it out for sighting in, but after four rounds from a .44 Magnum the cylinder expanded against the mount and would not swing open. I took the gun & scope back to the gunshop, where Mr. Angevine and I worked on it to secure a closer fit. This was done mainly by gently tapping the mount closer to the topstrap, then tightening the mount screws as far as they would go. After several hours of this, on successive days, the cylinder would swing out, with pressure, after 10 or 15 rounds, and the scope was more or less sighted in.
I then left Florida for New York, where I stayed a few weeks before going to Las Vegas and then to California, where I intended to hunt boar with the .44/scope combination. During the period of travel I dismounted the scope & repacked it in the box, doing the same with the pistol. I did not deem it wise to travel across half the states in the union with a scoped .44 Magnum riding loose in one of my suitcases. It would have been difficult to protect, and even more difficult to explain if I’d had an accident.
Upon arriving in California, I unpacked both instruments and attempted once again to mount the scope on the gun for a new, and relatively permanent sighting in. It was during this attempt—the second mounting—that the metal base of the scope gave way under pressure on the mount screws with the Allen wrench. No other instrument was used; there seemed no need for anything but human hands, since I had successfully mounted the scope by that method once before. Nor am I a brute of some kind. But I began to notice, as I tightened the screws, that one of them was oddly loose. Upon inspection, I found the metal in exactly the situation it is in now.
I also discovered the word “Japan” engraved on the bottom of the scope, and was not happy to see it. This was the third time I had bought something with an American label, but which was actually Japanese. If my Smith & Wesson revolver had blown up on the third shot, and had I then discovered that it had been made in Japan of Japanese steel, I think I might have had grounds for complaint. It did not, however, and I don’t expect it to. As I might have if the label had been Asahi, instead of S … W.
My point is that I am not returning this scope to have it replaced with another of Japanese make. I am asking Mr. Angevine for a full refund, and I assume you stand behind him. I note, on the guarantee, that my refund offer ceased after thirty days. But since I was traveling during that time, and had the scope packed in its original box, I don’t consider it quite the same as if I’d been using it. All in all, I fired no more than 25 rounds through the gun while the scope was on it, and all I got out of it was a series of circular score marks on my new cylinder—the result of your mount not fitting snugly enough to allow the cylinder to swing freely. All in all, my experience with this scope has been unsatisfactory in the extreme and I have no use for it.
I trust I will hear from you in the future.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO CLIFFORD RIDLEY, NATIONAL OBSERVER:
The “Culture Shock piece” Thompson refers to had been published in the August 19 National Observer as “Why Anti-Gringo Winds Often Blow South of the Border.” Thompson considers it the high-water mark of his Latin American reportage. The Thompsons were no longer staying with Semonin in Aspen but had found a ranch house fifteen miles from town in the mountain hamlet of Woody Creek.
September 9, 1963
Woody Creek
Dear Cliff:
Just a quick note to say I thought my Culture Shock piece on August 19 was one of the best and most original pieces I’ve ever read on Latin America or any other place. I was pleased as hell with it—mainly because you didn’t put any words in my mouth or change the ones I wrote, and because it was interesting as hell and smacked of authenticity. It also rekindled my interest in a subject I’ve been avoiding—namely, that of plunging once again into the Latin bughouse. I’ve been reading everything written out of LA, and I wasn’t impressed until very recently with the real “reader interest” importance of having a guy right there where they’re driving golf balls off the roofs—instead of the herd of “veteran interpreters” operating out of Washington or some other capital and all writing the same stale hokum that I tried to foist off on you in the other “owed” piece. Massive concepts, as it were, and I as a reader, for a change, am getting damned tired of them. That golf club lead—with potbelly and gintonica—was worth every LatAm piece I’ve read since my return.
Also the layout and placement of the piece were fine, as were the head and the little cartoon. In a phrase, I dug it, and after reading it about six times I feel like a writer again—which is a feeling that became very diluted during those long and endless “drinking hours” in Rio.
Please send as many tearsheets as possible on that one. It may be the hook for pre-selling a book on my movements in LatAm.
Also, and to completely change the point, this guy Ed Fortier who works for you in Alaska is the greatest comic writer since James Thurber. His story on rampant bears completely broke me up. And I recall some of his others on moose, etc. You ought to have him do one on the (mainly rich Texas) hunters who fly into Alaska for the hunting season. With that fine, straight-faced style of his, he could do a classic. But don’t tell him he’s funny; it might kill his style if he tried. In all seriousness, with the natural exception of me, I think he’s the best writer you have going for you, staff or no.
Also, I liked your review of It Is Time, Lord,13 and will send off mine on Red Lances14 (which I liked for odd reasons) on the morrow for the … no, guess the 16th is Monday, but maybe you’ll want it for that week anyway. Next week, Dos Passos, and, I suspect, a .44 Magnum-type review. (Today, by the way, I hit a beer can at 120 yards with my own .44—iron sights, no less—and if that doesn’t stand your hair on end, ask somebody who knows pistols.)
Also, that “Quotables” column (September 2) was a sparkler, but the editorial on Vietnam (“New View …”) purely stank. Ralph Nader did a good piece out of Buenos Aires; I know the name from somewhere, but can’t place it. Like Job and Machiavelli. A better look at Vietnam came from Dennis Warner, whose stuff I
used to see regularly in The Reporter. He’s a bit stuffy, and nowhere near Jerry Rose for my money, but it’s good to see you getting some solid people and away from those abominable wire rehashes.
For Africa, you might want to write Smith Hempstone in Nairobi. He works for the Chicago Daily News, but I know he writes for other things as well. You can reach him c/o the News in Chi., but if you don’t want to do that I can look up his box number for you. He’s good & he’s been in Africa a long time.
Also, another subject change, I forgot to ask you on the phone about circulation. How goes it? The September 2 issue looked uncomfortably slim on ads. The paper, however, has been a hell of a lot livelier of late, and your Freedom March coverage was first-rate. […]
Ok, now to the old bugaboo of my travel plans, currently non-existent. I still feel like a paroled LatAm correspondent, but I guess I’ve stalled long enough. But, as you surely understand, I’m in no position now to undertake a protracted tour. Sandy would border on a breakdown if I mentioned leaving for a month, but I’d do it (and tell her 2 weeks) if I thought I could make some money at it. I’m thinking of Mexico. But the only trouble is that I know damn well I won’t come back with any cash in the bank. Living is cheap in Mexico, but travel isn’t. Travel never is, especially when you have to pose as a respectable correspondent. I could, however, come back with something to show for my efforts if you paid at least some of my expenses. I mean really minimum stuff like plane fare & hotels. You try it sometime if you don’t think it’s a hard deal to call the President’s press secretary and don’t dare let him return the call because you don’t want him to know you’re staying in some fleabag where yours is the only gringo name on the register.
At $200 per, I could I guess make $800 for a month in Mexico, but at least $600 of that would be expenses—and hell, that would mean a month away from a pregnant wife and my first real home in nearly two years, a month of bad food, hard work, dysentery and generally unpleasant living—and all I’d have to show for it would be $150 or $200, less the $35 a week that Sandy would need to get along here by herself.
What would you think about it if you were me? Christ, my life is genuine pleasure for the first time since I left Big Sur nearly 2 years ago. This place is like a rest-home for me. I have a dog, a woman, guns, whiskey, plenty of time to work, and a Disposall. And it’ll only last for three months, because on December 1 the rent goes up to $100 and I plan to move on to California. For the $100 or so I’d salvage from a Mexican trip, I could whip up another story around here and come out even, without losing a month out of a fine life. […]
Anyway, that’s my position, and if you put yourself in my place I don’t think you’d call it unreasonable. I’ll go to Mexico for a month if I can come back to the States with something to show for it, but otherwise it doesn’t make sense. In the long run, of course, I may break down and be willing to go for the same old, grueling pay situation, but it will only come about if and when I get a real travel itch, which is not unlikely in time, but which I don’t feel now. And on top of that, I know of too many boobs who are making $800 to $1200 a month, plus all expenses and in many cases a living allowance, for doing stuff that I could do with my left hand. Which doesn’t really matter, as long as I can remain objective, but that ain’t always easy when you sit with people, as I did, who tell you they are using your stuff for reference, and in the next breath tell you that they’re getting a $400-a-month living allowance (name & paper on request).
Well, that’s my “short note.” Now I look to my left on this queer-shaped desk and see again my Culture Shock piece. And I feel an urge to get back into the fray, because I can’t see it getting anything but much bigger in the next few years and I think I have a good head start, which I’d hate to waste. There’s nobody around who can do my kind of stuff, and—although a few others can do a few other things better—as a reader I’ll take mine any day. I hate to close on such a big-headed, ambiguous, money-grubbing note—and needless to say I’ll continue writing whatever I can for you wherever I am—but I simply don’t think I can face another situation wherein I work like hell to make enough to pay for the next ordeal. It just doesn’t seem sane.
OK again. That’s it for now. Book reviews coming, plus a few others. Send word, in detail, when you get a relaxed moment. Sandy says hello. There’s an extra bed any time you feel like using it, and the view up the valley gets better every day. Come on out and we’ll see how you do with the .44.
Slothfully,
HST
TO AL PODELL, ARGOSY:
Thompson was piqued by an Argosy magazine article on wild boar.
September 11, 1963
Woody Creek, Colorado
Come on, Al baby, you think ole Hunter’s gone soft in the head? “… we’ve got to get stories of great national importance.” Yeah. Like, “I was buggered by the horned monster of Lake Mobewoke.” How’s that?
Here I queried you on a natural piece, bloody as hell, and you told me it was too much for you. Then a year later you come up with the same piece, poorly written by my standards, and with photos nowhere near as horrible as mine. What am I to think? Is your format getting bloodier, or what?
OK, and so you were off at camp when my Vegas film arrived. I guess that’s the breaks. As it turned out, I had one or two good shots. I’m enclosing one of the worthless ones to give you an idea.
And then you come on with this “national importance” bit. Ah, spare me, Al.
Well, it so happens I’m heading out on an elk hunt in a few weeks, and I have certain knowledge that I’m going to be attacked by a herd of WILD BOAR. The boar are multiplying, Al, and moving east in great vicious herds, ripping and killing all in their path. Reliable sources report the razing of several towns in Nevada and Utah. In some cases the boar have made off with girl children, and god only knows their fate, but surely it is awful. Some estimates place the combined, east-moving herd at 3.4 million, spawning at the rate of 5% daily. Do you grasp the significance of that, Al? How about an advance?
As for other, more plausible possibilities, Colorado as it happens is in the early stages of a mining boom. A world shortage of silver has jacked up the price and made it worthwhile to open a lot of old silver mines that were closed when the silver market crashed about 50 years ago. One of them happens to be about 20 miles from me, the Midnight Mine, up in the hills behind Aspen. Others are spotted around within a day’s drive. This is the heart of the silver country—places like Leadville and Silverton were roaring at the turn of the century, and today are virtually gone. But the new demand for silver looks like it might open a few places up—not a rush, or at least not to begin with, but, like you say, one of those deals where some people are going to get rich.
Let me know if it interests you, and how much it interests you. Needless to say, I guarantee Magnum-grade photos.
Bingo,
HST
TO EDITOR, DENVER POST:
September 14, 1963
Woody Creek, Colorado
Editor
Denver Post
Dear Sir:
I trust the Post will make a point of publishing the votes of all Colorado senators and congressmen as regards the bill, now pending in Congress, to make it illegal for anyone to sell goods at a price lower than that fixed by the manufacturer.
The bill is a crude and pernicious attempt at nationwide price-fixing, and I would make a point of voting against, regardless of party lines, any congressman who went along with it. Since I buy goods at the lowest price I can find, and deal with merchants who offer discounts, the passage of the bill would cost me several hundred dollars yearly and would make me mad as hell.
The manufacturers have their lobbyists going for them in this affair—a sleazy-sounding outfit called Quality Brands or something like that—but the man who’s going to be hit in the wallet if the bill passes has no way of exerting pressure on his “representatives” in Congress. His best hope, as I see it, is the voice of the press, which often turns ou
t to be a very effective lobbyist.
Why don’t you run an editorial about this vicious thing? The consumer is already oppressed, badgered and deluded in every conceivable way, and the idea of having to cope with legalized price-fixing on a vast scale is almost too much to bear.
I trust you will follow the dubious progress of this bill, and see that no Colorado congressman’s vote goes unnoticed.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson
TO LIONEL OLAY:
Trading jobs with his “old jousting friend” Lionel Olay, Thompson levied a harsh critique of comic Lenny Bruce.
September 20, 1963
Box 7
Woody Creek, Colorado
Dear Lionel:
Thanks for the good advice to stay poverty-stricken until I can come through with a nice, esoteric little novel that won’t make any money. I’m trying Kesey’s book15 now; it’s good, I guess, but so what? Books like that are like water when you want whiskey. Fuck ’em.
I’ll file the advice, of course, but in the meantime, what kind of money would Cavalier pay me for a short story or two? Better than Rogue? And how about a lewd article or two? Maybe a crotch-eye view of Aspen. I need money NOW.
And who should I write to? What editor handles fiction? I am learning fast and hard that a good contact is half the ballgame. Nobody knows what’s good and what’s not; the shits are killing us, as little Norman [Mailer] once said, and the only thing that depresses me more than dealing with an editor is arguing with a vicious cop. Mentally, it’s the same league, the soft and the hard of it.
Your thing on Lenny Bruce was a lot better than Aldous Huxley. Not so pretentious; it rang true. Even so, I think Bruce should be locked up, if for no other reason than to get him out of the way so a better man can carry the ball. I don’t like the idea of my right to free speech riding on the fate of a flea-bitten punk like Bruce. It’s like you said about the Faulkner quote I had: “A writer don’t rob his mother to write articles for the Rogue.” Bruce is a phony, but I could forgive him even that if he were funny. The best thing about your piece is that you resisted the common temptation to bracket him with Patrick Henry. My reaction is, “Move on, Jack, don’t block the aisles.”