The cult of Hunter

I'm not yet at the age where my heroes die. The people who inspire and entertain me and my generation are usually young enough to still be productive. Those people whom I consider my heroes seem so immortal. They're either young enough for me to theoretically know personally or old enough to belong in some pantheon of greatness. \nLast week one of my professional heroes died. At his self-claimed "compound" in Colorado, "gonzo" journalist and unwilling icon Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide.\n"Why bother with newspapers, anyway?" reflected Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. "Journalism is not a profession or a trade. It is a cheap catch-all for ... misfits -- a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage." \nDespite his disdain for the profession, Hunter Thompson is one of the major reasons I went into journalism. As a confused and politically upset person, I wanted to change the world, somehow, but I also enjoyed sneering at those who could not be fixed. Upon discovering the film adaptation of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" -- my discovery of the book would come a few years later -- I was both simultaneously awestruck and utterly confused. Thompson eviscerated himself while tearing open the world, only to find the rot in both. Was this journalism?\nThompson broke the cardinal rule every aspiring journalist was told not to break: He became the story. To him, pure objectivity didn't matter. There was the Wrong and they deserved nothing but contempt. Just by being observed, events were changed. Following in the footsteps of his heroes Ernest Hemingway and Jack Kerouac, he felt that the writer "revels in the struggle of writing." Through his own struggles, he showed us the internal and external struggles the nation endured. The nation had gone crazy, and Thompson decided to go along.\nAside from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," Thompson's work continued to point out the hypocrisy of those in power and the wrong direction in which we were headed. Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: '72, The Great Shark Hunt, Generation of Swine and Songs for the Doomed told sad tales of a country losing its moral guidance. The American Dream was dying.\nEventually, Thompson turned into one of the caricatures Ralph Steadman used to illustrate Thompson's work. Eyes wild from seeing too far, mouth distended into a bitter howl. His love of illicit drugs, booze and guns made him into a reclusive madman living in the Rockies. His generally sports-themed column "Hey Rube" at www.espn.com was only rarely about sports and more often contained rants on politicians and his personal life. His writing became more bitter and twisted as he felt the world around him was collapsing. Instead of being a revolutionary, Thompson had to slink back into being a revered elder, a role in which I'm not sure he ever really belonged.\nDespite what a flawed person Thompson was, I still consider him a hero of mine. He was a zeitgeist of a time long past and never able to return. His critics saw him as a depraved drug addict, while his disciples viewed him as a prophet of Truth for their scene. Thompson's distinct writing style helped define the counterculture.\nThirty-odd years later, there aren't a whole lot of journalists who inspire people like he did. We're jaded by the news and by newsmakers. Thompson could be the last journalist hero and the last reporter people trusted completely. In my profession, there will be no one quite like him.