Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman by Hunter S. Thompson
Book: Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman by Hunter S. Thompson
Read Free Book Online
Authors: Hunter S. Thompson
Ads: Link
through my copy of the 1955
Spectator
and gazing fondly on names and faces which made up the âamazing world of Hunter Thompsonâ for those three hectic years.
Seeking a suitable climax for my orgasm of reflections, I soon resolved to answer your card with a letter of unparalleled pithiness. But as seizures must, mine came to a sputtering close soon after I got the first sheet of paper in this machine and I now feel drained of what little energy I had accumulated during the day.
However, I can console myself with the knowledge that I have had the required monthly spasm, drunk a silent toast to old friendship, and am keeping in shape for the 100 year celebration. I feel confident that, by that time, I shall be universally hailed as the new [Grantland] âGrannyâ Rice and will be borne into the main hall of the Pendennis Club on the shoulders of seven burly Oklahoma linemen. In one hand I will have a football full of gin and in the other, a Belmont racing form. Drawing on my fantastic salary, I shall engage the Anvil Chorus to sing the ALA [Athenaeum Literary Association] song for 112 consecutive hours and will hire scores of hand-shaking specialists to properly perpetuate tradition, leaving all the celebrants with both hands free to hold drinks. Ah, fortune and fame shall follow me â¦Â and I shall dwell in the world of the chosen for a few moments of fleeting ecstasy; ere the seven burly lads turn into creditors and hustle me off to debtorsâ prison at last.
As you see, coming out of these nostalgic comas produces strange effects. This was not exactly what I thought I was going to say as I wiped atear from my eye and began my letter to âgood old Dave.â My tender thoughts of yesteryear seem to have gone haywire and I shall now bring this unfortunate abortion to a rapid close.
In all seriousness, I always enjoy hearing from you and would appreciate some sort of report as to what youâre doing with yourself up there in the cold and conservative land of our fore-fathers. [â¦]
Until then, I remain,
your friend,
Hunter S. Thompson
A/ 2 C, AF 1554 68 79
3201 AB Wg, Hq Sq, Box 152
Eglin AFB, Fla.
These weird addresses are driving me mad. I will have a P.O. Box in Fort Walton when I begin my new job. Donât let it keep you from writing; it could be you!
TO JUDY STELLINGS :
Thompson enjoyed keeping up with his old Louisville gang. Life was going well for him except for constant bouts of âaccidentalâ insubordination toward his superior officers and keeping secret his civilian life as Thorne Stockton. At this time he was penning two weekly columns: âThe Spectatorâ for the
Command Courier
and âWorld of Sportâ for the
Playground News.
March 3,1957
Eglin AFB
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Dear Judy,
I am astounded by your scholastic prowess. I drop to my literary knees and beg forgiveness for ever doubting that you were indeed a scholar of renown. Just where I got the impression that you were majoring in typing, Iâll never know; but you have now set me straight and I stand in the ranks of the true believers. Selah.
For that matter, it cheers me considerably to know that at least someone from Louisville has not fallen before the educational battle-axe. The list of flunkees and potential flunkees is imposing and lends credence to the popular theory concerning the inadequacy of the Derby town schools. But by far the most blood-curdling news was the bit about Chip 1 donning theAF blue. To me, he was the personification of utter degeneracy and the old way of life, a virtual bastion of depraved strength, stemming the tide of progress and change which threatens us all. To see such a figure fall is a sad thing, for he was the last of a breed, a hellish lot of misfits and eight-balls who made up an era. One by one they sink into oblivion; first me (I exploded out of sight) then Butler, Bier, Pinky, Sam, Willis, Roy, Rabbit, Lord, Smitty, and many others too
Spectator
and gazing fondly on names and faces which made up the âamazing world of Hunter Thompsonâ for those three hectic years.
Seeking a suitable climax for my orgasm of reflections, I soon resolved to answer your card with a letter of unparalleled pithiness. But as seizures must, mine came to a sputtering close soon after I got the first sheet of paper in this machine and I now feel drained of what little energy I had accumulated during the day.
However, I can console myself with the knowledge that I have had the required monthly spasm, drunk a silent toast to old friendship, and am keeping in shape for the 100 year celebration. I feel confident that, by that time, I shall be universally hailed as the new [Grantland] âGrannyâ Rice and will be borne into the main hall of the Pendennis Club on the shoulders of seven burly Oklahoma linemen. In one hand I will have a football full of gin and in the other, a Belmont racing form. Drawing on my fantastic salary, I shall engage the Anvil Chorus to sing the ALA [Athenaeum Literary Association] song for 112 consecutive hours and will hire scores of hand-shaking specialists to properly perpetuate tradition, leaving all the celebrants with both hands free to hold drinks. Ah, fortune and fame shall follow me â¦Â and I shall dwell in the world of the chosen for a few moments of fleeting ecstasy; ere the seven burly lads turn into creditors and hustle me off to debtorsâ prison at last.
As you see, coming out of these nostalgic comas produces strange effects. This was not exactly what I thought I was going to say as I wiped atear from my eye and began my letter to âgood old Dave.â My tender thoughts of yesteryear seem to have gone haywire and I shall now bring this unfortunate abortion to a rapid close.
In all seriousness, I always enjoy hearing from you and would appreciate some sort of report as to what youâre doing with yourself up there in the cold and conservative land of our fore-fathers. [â¦]
Until then, I remain,
your friend,
Hunter S. Thompson
A/ 2 C, AF 1554 68 79
3201 AB Wg, Hq Sq, Box 152
Eglin AFB, Fla.
These weird addresses are driving me mad. I will have a P.O. Box in Fort Walton when I begin my new job. Donât let it keep you from writing; it could be you!
TO JUDY STELLINGS :
Thompson enjoyed keeping up with his old Louisville gang. Life was going well for him except for constant bouts of âaccidentalâ insubordination toward his superior officers and keeping secret his civilian life as Thorne Stockton. At this time he was penning two weekly columns: âThe Spectatorâ for the
Command Courier
and âWorld of Sportâ for the
Playground News.
March 3,1957
Eglin AFB
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Dear Judy,
I am astounded by your scholastic prowess. I drop to my literary knees and beg forgiveness for ever doubting that you were indeed a scholar of renown. Just where I got the impression that you were majoring in typing, Iâll never know; but you have now set me straight and I stand in the ranks of the true believers. Selah.
For that matter, it cheers me considerably to know that at least someone from Louisville has not fallen before the educational battle-axe. The list of flunkees and potential flunkees is imposing and lends credence to the popular theory concerning the inadequacy of the Derby town schools. But by far the most blood-curdling news was the bit about Chip 1 donning theAF blue. To me, he was the personification of utter degeneracy and the old way of life, a virtual bastion of depraved strength, stemming the tide of progress and change which threatens us all. To see such a figure fall is a sad thing, for he was the last of a breed, a hellish lot of misfits and eight-balls who made up an era. One by one they sink into oblivion; first me (I exploded out of sight) then Butler, Bier, Pinky, Sam, Willis, Roy, Rabbit, Lord, Smitty, and many others too
Similar Books
