Doonesbury on HST

Doonesbury a regular syndicated comic strip is doing a tribute to Hunter S(tockton) Thompson.

Uncle Duke is a character who first appeared in 1974 in the wake of Thompson's hugely popular Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and his vitriolic reports on Nixon. Though the character somewhat irked Thompson at times, and their similarities divirged over time (with Uncle Duke apparently now working for the Pentagon or something like that), it's clear that Garry Trudeau who writes Doonesbury is a genuine fan and Uncle Duke's 2000 attempt at the presidency in the strip recalls Thompson's infamous attempt to be voted Sheriff of Aspen on the Freak Power ticket. Thompson's policies included locking up anyone who charged money for drugs, turning all the roads of Aspen into turf and renaming the town Fat City to deter greedy developers.

The tribute strip began by dropping Uncle Duke into a world reminiscent of Ralph Steadman's work, the illustrator forever linked to HST's articles and books. It risks controversy when Uncle Duke's head explodes - a mind blowing experience - as he learns that HST has died. Surprisingly there were few complaints about the strip as most fans appear to have understood the author's intention.

It's interesting, Doonesbury seems to be one of the few comic's with not only original content, but teeth. Not that long ago it took a swipe at Rupert Murdoch despite being syndicated in some of his papers and throughout he's been willing to have ago at all the sacred crazies of the far right.

By the by, here's an interesting tidbit from his one time long-suffering editor:

The only time I ever heard him humbled was one Sunday night after midnight. He was returning my call. I had been trying to reach him to get his column in. Unfortunately, my wife Myla answered the phone from bed before I could get to it. She lit into him like no one ever had, calling him a prima donna who didn't care about anyone but himself. While I listened with my mouth open to the floor, she hung up before I could grab the phone. Half an hour later the column arrived on my fax. It was terrific as always, but two or three hours earlier than he usually got it in. I learned later from someone who was with him at the time that he was stunned by her diatribe and quietly went back to his typewriter and banged the column out.

It's interesting, I got that link from the Doonesbury pages. He seems quite well tapped in to the people who knew and are publicly and happily remembering Thompson. The Steadman link above is along the same lines. Both emphasise that Thompson's drug habit and difficult personality were not just for show.

Fellow 'New Journalist', Tom Wolfe, adds this:

We were walking along West 46th Street toward a restaurant, The Brazilian Coffee House, when we passed Goldberg Marine Supply. Hunter stopped, ducked into the store and emerged holding a tiny brown paper bag. A sixth sense, probably activated by the alarming eyes and the six-inch rise and fall of his Adam's apple, told me not to ask what was inside. In the restaurant he kept it on top of the table as we ate. Finally, the fool in me became so curious, he had to go and ask, "What's in the bag, Hunter?"

"I've got something in there that would clear out this restaurant in 20 seconds," said Hunter. He began opening the bag. His eyes had rheostated up to 300 watts. "No, never mind," I said. "I believe you! Show me later!" From the bag he produced what looked like a small travel-size can of shaving foam, uncapped the top and pressed down on it. There ensued the most violently brain-piercing sound I had ever heard. It didn't clear out The Brazilian Coffee House. It froze it. The place became so quiet, you could hear an old-fashioned timer clock ticking in the kitchen. Chunks of churasco gaucho remained impaled on forks in mid-air. A bartender mixing a sidecar became a statue holding a shaker with both hands just below his chin. Hunter was slipping the little can back into the paper bag. It was a marine distress signaling device, audible for 20 miles over water.

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