February 20 marks the fourth anniversary of the death of Hunter S. Thompson, Loueyvillager extraordinaire.
The makers of Flying Dog Beer-- whose labels are designed by the HST cohort, illustrator Ralph Steadman-- mark the occasion by blogging reflections on the good doctor's life by people who knew him well.
George Stranahan recalls an episode with a peacock and a badminton net and a perilous climb. He writes, "I was learning that [HST] had an extraordinary sense of his own capacities either drunk or sober." I don't know why I find that statement so lovely, but I do.
Steadman describes his annual HST deathday ritual: "What I do every year is take a large sheet of paper, a bottle of ink and a brush, look up at the moon - even if there isn’t one - then I whack it with the biggest blot I can make, date it and time- and then I sign it and toast his memory in a bottle of beer. I find it the most satisfying thing to do and it frees the frustration and sense of loss."
Lou hearts HST. She's always had a thing for men who are bad for her.
Happy deathday, Dr. Thompson. We hope you're happier wherever you are.