Mike and I arrived at Hunter S. Thompson's shooting range above his woody creek home to thumping bass and fast paced drumming with screams interjecting for two solid hours. A temporary glass roofed building the size of a barn sheltered the 153 foot memorial tower which was covered in red nylon tarps, framed against red bluffs. We found ourselves in front of a twenty foot staircase painted with vertical stripes of green, white and red and bordered in front with a short gravel walkway with posters of the gonzo fist and dagger logo on the front and backed with photos of Hunter from his paper back book covers. As we neared the top of the staircase a waitress held a tray of mint juleps for arriving guests, reminding me of HST's Kentucky derby story. As we entered the glass building I was amazed to find all the furnishings and walls draped in black and red velvet sheets and five chandeliers hung around a central circular bar. Mike and I walked toward the cannon, HST's convertible, a 1967 Caprice Classic with a 454 V-8 engine, was parked 50 feet away from the tower. At the base of the cannon red rocks were stacked twenty feet tall around the base. I set my julep on a large boulder near the tower and it almost fell over "What the crap", I stated, realizing that all the rocks were fake. The Japanese drum troop played without interruption for two hours at thunderous volume while family, friends and neighbors arrived at the memorial service. Among the guests arriving were many from the top of their respective fields, such as Sen. John Kerry, Bill Murray, and other highly visible folk. Juan Thompson, Hunters son called for attention and the drums silenced. He spoke for a short time about his father then introduced Anita, HST's wife for the Anita read a teary "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Coolridge, HST's favorite poem that was gripping for everyone one in the audience, except an extremely strange fellow who in the middle of the poem talked loudly about taking HST's convertible, the red shark, out and, "kicking some ass". Anita finished the poem and received an empathetic applause. Juan then introduced Ralph Steadman the famed Gonzo artist and informed him, "five minutes Ralph". Steadman then talked for fifteen in a thick mumbling British accent with hilarious comments on adventures with HST. Steadman then read some of the correspondence with Hunter which involved this letter from Thompson to Steadman: | "Ralph you miserable bastard. I'll never forgive you for those drawings you did of me. FUCK YOU! Yours in Anger, Hunter S.Thompson." The reading received a great wave of laughter and applause. Johnny Depp who paid the 2.5 million dollars for the extravagant send off then spoke briefly, "Well I don't have much to say...we're here to honor a great man...this is for you Hunter" as he motioned with a broad sweep of his hand from the crowd to the massive red cloaked cannon. Lyle Lovett played a song as flutes of champagne were distributed to the three hundred person crowd. "Mister Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan came on the speakers as the red nylon tarps were stripped away in twenty foot sections revealing a massive chrome cylinder shaped like dagger topped with a red double thumbed fist clutching a neon color changing peyote button. The song ended and a massive explosion of dozens of fireworks containing half of HST's ashes fired in perfect unison to paint the sky with brilliant yellow star bursts. Wild cheers and screaming ensued as the sky darkened and Thompson's ashes settled into the valley that he called home for more than thirty years. |
