goodbye good doctor, goodbye
Without the great Doctor, there would be no FNL. Hell, there would be no Jackson Smith. To say that he was my inspiration is cliché and cheesy and inadequate. He was my idol, a man that was on a pedestal so high that no amount of stupid behavior, mean-spiritedness, or violence could knock him down. If anything, his outrageous behavior just fueled the fire. I wish I could capture whatever it was that I saw in his writing, whatever it was that called to me and forced me to my computer again and again to attempt my own cheap imitation, but there just aren’t words to explain it. I thought him a genius, a master, creativity unleashed and raw. His reckless behavior spoke to me of bravery, of ridding oneself of self consciousness in a way that I can only dream of. I will never come close to that bravery, that amazing stupidity and disregard for safety and respectability.
I’ll never be that free.
He was a political madman, his brilliance shining through the stories of excessive drug use and crazy travels. Many people my age only know him from his drug addled trip to Las Vegas, but there was so much more to him than that. People say that he wasn’t one to care much about the “facts” when reporting, but in him was a strange sharp honesty that I admired greatly. Much of my feelings on politics have been shaped by his words.
His death really came as no surprise; you can’t live so recklessly for so long without death coming quickly. The fact that he had survived to the ripe old age of 67 confounded most people, including him. It was the suicide part that really shocked me at first. The idea that this man who I saw as uniquely brave committed an act which to me has always been rather cowardly was unexpected. The more I think about it, however, the more fitting his end seems. He was growing old and according to some sources was suffering from a great deal of pain. His travels were limited and he could no longer be out in the world as he once was. His death was as his life: strictly on his own terms. I can’t imagine him simply wasting away somewhere.
What else is there to say? I guess nothing. Those of us he left behind will always have his words, which in some small way are the closest thing to immortality that any of us can experience. So with that, I’ll raise a toast to the immortal Dr. Thompson, god of gonzo, whom I will never forget.
