While Hunter S. Thompson was living in Woody Creek, Colorado during the late 1980s. I had no idea who he was at the time, other than a “famous Colorado author” who had stumbled into an evening guest lecture series, where he had been booked to speak. I introduced myself as he was walking in as I was writing for the Denver Clarion at that time and he had made waves at the University of Denver (DU) because he showed up for the lecture with a lit cigarette, alongside a ice bucket, a handle of wild turkey, a glass with ice, and a notebook of current event rants. Turns out, he had been granted a special event liquor license for the speech (no alcohol can be served in lecture auditoriums without the school’s consent in advance). The license only allowed him to drink at the event, not any of the spectators. Turns out he was throwing a fit over the non-smoking policy in the auditorium and the chancellor was there, and under threat that Thompson was walking out with his cigarette in hand before the lecture even started, because he planned to “smoke at least two packs” during the hour long event. They let him stay. It was a decadent and depraved speech and he was unwieldy, to say the least.
Here is one of my favorite bits of Gonzo journalism. Although assigned to cover the 1970 Kentucky Derby, Thompson devoted almost no coverage to the two-minute horse race itself. Instead, he focused entirely on the spectators—the drunken, chaotic, and debauched crowd at Churchill Downs.Satire of the “Whiskey Gentry”:Thompson used the event to dissect class, culture, and Southern aristocracy. He described looking for a specific face in the crowd that would represent the “whiskey gentry”—a mix of privilege, greed, heavy drinking, and decaying tradition. He and his long-time illustrator end up becoming the faces he sought to avoid.
