No more fear and loathing
By Sam Chapman
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Editor
My hero is dead.
I've never had idols or celebrity icons that I've worshipped or wanted to be like, but Hunter S. Thompson spoke in a different voice. He had an outlook on society �the politics of it�and life that I've cherished and respected for its wit, sincerity and exaggerated truths.
I've also never felt any sadness when a celebrated figure has passed away, but when I heard about his suicide, I felt something inside of me cringe and keel over, and a disgusting and lonely wave of "what now" jolted my skin and gave me goose bumps.
I came across Thompson's writings somewhere in high school.
Having gorged myself on Ernest Hemingway and Charles Dickens, Thompson represented to me a different fashion in writing that possessed a deeper truth, a deeper understanding and an entertaining feel for politics, sports and the social climate of his times that Time-Life books and history and social studies textbooks gave a clean and polished fa�ade to. He helped me realize that some of the most grotesque people are the ones wearing nice suits and big smiles that don't grip your hand as hard when shaking it.
I've always enjoyed his books�more so his stories like "The Rum Diary," "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and "The Curse of Lono" as opposed to his letters to friends and family. I also always tried to stay on top of his sports column, "Hey, Rube," for ESPN. Although I've never been heavy into sports, his commentary was always insightful and entertaining.
Now that he's gone, I can only reflect on the writings that Thompson's left behind. I'm sure that there will be more collections of his writings published (as happens with almost every dead writer), but it's just not the same when the person who holds the pen doesn't bind the book.
For me, and many others, his words will be missed.
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