Posted: February 20, 2007 in The Roper Files

This world got a little less gonzo two years ago tonight.  Hunter Thompson was found dead of a supposedly self-inflicted gunshot wound in his kitchen. Conspiracy theories abounded on the Net; I can’t say. I wasn’t there. Which I’m sure is for the best.On my last trip to LA in November of 2004, I was sitting in a coffee shop perusing the LA Weekly trying to find something interesting to do. Much to my disappointment I discovered that I had missed a book signing at the Taschen bookstore in Beverly Hills by a mere week.

The employees at the Taschen store told me later that he did his signing in the morning and another at Book Soup in the afternoon the same day. They also told me that he was so drunk by mid-afternoon that he was throwing up on himself. So maybe missing him wasn’t so terrible after all.

So what was the appeal of the good doctor?  Besides his unique writing style, I admired the mans’ gusto, his obvious basic love of life. He was as close to Ernest Hemingway (with a dash of Charles Bukowski) as we’re going to see in our lifetime.

Good-bye Doctor, you are missed.



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