Washington College Magazine
Primary Research: Funeral For A Hero
By Peter W. Knox '06
Peter Knox traveled to Hunter Thompson's estate in Aspen, CO, to witness an unusual farewell.
"I have always looked at [journalism] as a way to get somebody else to pay for my continuing education."
— Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Peter Knox '06 traveled to Hunter Thompson's estate in Aspen, CO, to witness an unusual farewell.
"Hey, guy in the suit!"
It was another misguided freelance reporter who wanted to talk to me purely on the grounds of my dress. And again, I had to tell him that I was just a college student who had traveled from Philadelphia in hopes of being admitted to the tightly guarded high-profile event that was Hunter S. Thompson's funeral August 20. Standing outside the gates of Thompson's fortified compound he named "Owl Farm" in Aspen, my suit was the only thing that separated me from the collected horde of followers paying their final respects to the late author.
A mere 200 feet from those stationed on the outskirts of the property stood the difference between Thompson's and a normal funeral. There, 103 feet tall (two feet taller than the Statue of Liberty), was a $2.5 million cannon in the shape of a long metallic cylinder topped with a red two-thumbed "Gonzo" fist clutching a colorchanging peyote button. It was, in fact, Thompson's final wishes to have his ashes scattered from such a cannon over his property in Aspen. It took only six months to the day following his suicide on February 20, 2005, at the age of 67, to fulfill. And there I waited in its shadow for five hours, as invited guests arrived by the tinted-windowvan full, and those undeterred by the private funeral who were just as content to be on the outside of things, where they imagined Thompson would be too.
My fascination with Thompson began two years ago with my reading of his most notable book, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. After that, I read everything by him and about him, and knew of his suicide the night it happened. Here was a man made famous by his offbeat style of writing, in which the author is as much a part of the story as the event he's covering. He not only changed the nature of journalism (with the labeling of his work as a new genre, called "Gonzo") but affected the lives of many—even those who never had a chance to meet him. I waited, formally dressed, in the grass among many who had also traveled hundreds of miles just to be a part of their hero's funeral. I appreciated their passion for the same books and a lifestyle that never followed the rules, but demonstrated that one could live successfully by his own means.
The sky darkened into evening and the glowing of the peyote button at the center of the cannon was the only proof that something was there. Soon the repetitive drumming of a Japanese tribal band filled the valley as, not 100 yards away, Thompson's son, Juan, raised a champagne glass to the sky and proclaimed: "The King is dead. Long live the King."
At that moment, the sky exploded with two rounds of fantastically colored fireworks high above the cannon, Thompson's ashes among the falling debris, and the air was filled with Bob Dylan's song "Mister Tambourine Man." It was just as Thompson had outlined in a 1978 BBC documentary I had seen a dozen times. A devotional awe had swept the crowd, now on their feet, and suddenly everyone was in their own world, singing along with the lyrics, and I seriously believed Thompson was pleased, laying to rest among those whose lives he had unknowingly affected. The pack of people slowly dispersed, as we all made an emotional walk down the road from Owl Farm to our parked cars below.
The fireworks marked the end of my four-day journey into Thompson's life. I had spent my time in Aspen following his trail through the bars, courthouses, libraries and lives he frequented for the 36 years he spent there. I returned to the East Coast with a notebook filled with interviews, quotes, thoughts, musings and research to use in my undergraduate thesis on his concept of the American Dream, and to feed my passion for years to come. The C.V. Starr Center for the Study of the American Experience had provided me with a scholarship through its annual Comegys Bight Fellowship to make my trip possible and allowed me to present to the campus, a talk on my travels, which I hope served to pass on the legend of Hunter S. Thompson, the Great American Writer.
Peter Knox '06 may be the next Hunter S. Thompson. Five Magazine, a new magazine "devoted to music, film, the Internet, words, art and photography," is publishing his account of Thompson's funeral in its inaugural issue scheduled for publication in November.
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