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:	post by whiskey_weed_and_women at 2009-02-20 17:36:01

oday marks the four-year anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson’s death. One of the most iconic figures from the last 50 years, Hunter S. Thompson is closely tied to Flying Dog Brewery. Of course, he convinced his friend and Gonzo co-conspirator Ralph Steadman to illustrate our labels. But he also gave us a quote that graces most every label of beer that we produce: Good people drink good beer.

Not a day goes by that we don’t think about Hunter and the indelible mark he left on society. And although it bums us out that he isn’t with us today, Hunter S. Thompson’s spirit lives on in the form of his writings and films. This week, during Conan O’Brien’s last shows in the “Late Night” time slot, Conan has been revisiting clips from the last fifteen years. Tuesday’s show featured a segment shot on location in Upstate New York with Hunter and Conan. Watch them drink whiskey and shoot guns, in typical Dr. Gonzo style:

http://www.nbc.com/Late_Night_with_Conan_O...ps/hunter-s-thompson-21709/1022801/

As is the Flying Dog tradition on this day, we’ve asked those who knew him to write a little something about Dr. Gonzo. Flying Dog Brewery founder George Stranahan and Gonzo Artist Ralph Steadman sent in some stories about Hunter.

We encourage you to toast Hunter S. Thompson tonight with a glass of the beer that was inspired by him, Gonzo Imperial Porter. We certainly will be.

http://www.flyingdogblog.com/2008/02/21/ralph-steadman-remembers-hunter/

http://www.flyingdogales.com/beer-specialty-gonzo.asp

George Stranahan Remembers Hunter

It’s the beginning of my fifth year without Hunter, and I’m feeling like a five year old trying to understand the mysteries and predicaments of the human condition.

The peacock’s shriek was unmistakable. It came at first light and it was close, right over my head, on the roof. To call Hunter at first light was an adventure that had to be taken. He was awake and “still up,” drunk and crazed. “Goddamn birds got outta their cage last night.” He assigned some specific blame here, he himself was blameless. “Two of ‘em were found in Little Woody eaten by coyotes. That’s the last one you’ve got there, I’ll be right up.”

And he was. Shorts, sneakers, Tilly hat and with badminton net in hand. My house is two stories, so the peacock was twenty feet up and so was Hunter, hunched over, tiptoeing along the very edge and coaxing, “you wretched c… sucking bitch sit still for one more second…” I was terrified at his unsteadiness and wondered who do I call for a fallen and almost certainly dead Hunter found at first light on my porch?

With a lurch and a stagger Hunter tossed the badminton net right over the bird, clutched it to his breast and collapsed away from danger. I was learning that he had an extraordinary sense of his own capacities either drunk or sober.

Ralph Steadman Remembers Hunter

Hunter began to speak of images that disturbed his peace of mind. ‘Ralph, I have this horrible image of me strapped inside a wheelchair- and I’m in an Old People’s Home. I look around the room and old people are looking straight at me from their own wheelchairs, lined up against the wall as though they are waiting their turn to go- or maybe to flee! I scan the room dolefully- then- out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a wizened ole crone. She has an evil leer across her wrinkled face and she is crawling across the floor-slowly- towards me. She is cackling to herself and I know, Ralph, what she is going to do- and I am helpless! Yes, Ralph! She is going to fondle my balls!!’

He told me that story just like that as an example of why he was suffering ‘the Death of FUN’. Unimaginable torture!!

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.

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