March 2020 Auction Ends Thursday, March 26th, 5pm Pacific
This lot is closed for bidding. Bidding ended on 3/26/2020
Hunter S. Thompson letter signed ''Mr. Fun'' in type, with Thompson's bright red circle around his sobriquet and also with his handwritten edits and notes. In this letter, written to his friend Paul Semonin, Thompson is eager to capitalize on magazines and publishing houses interested in his material, and feels a time crunch to meet their deadlines. Letter dated 24 August (1965) reads in small part, ''...Spent tonight updating a piece for Pageant, weaving in the L.A. riots. Also tonight trying to finish a book to review for the Nation. Tomorrow a first draft of a Playboy piece on the Hells Angels, and when that's finished, the awful shadow of the book -- not even begun as yet -- hangs on me like a pending shitrain...Sara Blackburn, an editor at Pantheon...has the Rum Diary, which I now consider nearly worthless, but what the hell. She asked for it...I think your stuff would be much more to Pantheon's taste than mine. [handwritten] (In other words, they're a socio-political house)...
I have to go on the Labor Day run with the Hell's Angels, and immediately after that the Playboy thing is due -- a crucial $1700 that I can't miss at this stage of my game. The first half of the book is also due right about now, with nothing done, not even an outline. So I'm going to be writing like a bullfucker for the next few weeks -- running scared, as it were, for either the big business or a very bad fall. I seem to have suddenly made that long corner that has to be turned, and my blockers have done all they can do to spring me. The fucking trouble is that it's happening all at once, with everything due yesterday and ugly letters in every mail...
Today I turned down an assignment from the Nation, to do a piece on SDS and the effort to organize the Oakland slums...I'm still agreed to cover the big Vietnam rally (the Berkeley end of a nationwide gig) on Oct 15-16, and if you're here by then I'll probably be book-desperate enough to turn it over to you, which would put you right in the midst of the action...Beyond those small realities, the big picture is mad beyond belief. I honestly think California is about to explode and fall into the sea. All manner of madness is loose out here. I have just about given up any idea of moving back to NY...The book is due Dec 1, but I doubt I'll make it. On the other hand, I can't miss by much, or we'll lose spring publication, which seems to be crucial. So I'm down to the nitty-gritty, and the only consolation is that now I have an electric typewriter. And some money on the line...
There is also enough room for you to stay here without sleeping under a bleeding carcass...I have come to the point where I believe the relationship between NY and California is about like that between Washington and Vietnam. Every time I go outside there is some new scream in the wind. The other night I heard myself telling an editorial writer for the Chronicle that the first time I had a chance to shoot a cop, I'd probably take it. This was on the basis of the stories I've been doing. He sucked down his martini and didn't even smile.
Anyway, call, but don't expect me to be real pungent on the phone, I hate the fucking thing. It is going to take a few long nights and random days of flak-trading for us to get straight on the main bone. And since I'm nowhere near loose these days, and since you are, there is no real alternative but for you to make the trek and smell the action for yourself. Sandy is atavistically eager to see you, and I suspect Juan feels the same way, for reasons he won't know for many a moon. As for me, you are about the only person I can think of who could boom in anytime, under the best or worst circumstances, and put a fine new edge on things. The moral here is Make Contact at Once, and don't let the Mandarins sock you into NY without seeing this thing first. / Mr. Fun''. Two page letter on two sheets measures 8.5'' x 10.875''. Shallow folds, overall near fine condition. Also accompanied by an interesting letter signed by Sandy Conklin, Thompson's wife.
Hunter Thompson Letter From 1965 While Writing About the Hell's Angels -- ''...I heard myself telling an editorial writer...that the first time I had a chance to shoot a cop, I'd probably take it...''
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