In a fitting end to a life that skyrocketed through the stratosphere of reporting, Hunter S. Thompson’s friends and immediate family are gathering together to shoot his ashes out of a cannon. According to the article below these were his last wishes concerning his remains.
As a long time admirer of his work I can think of no more fitting round up to his life. He lived on the edge, never stepping back from risk. From riding with the Hells Angels in the early sixties, hanging out in the Barrios of east L.A. during Chicano riots, and continually challenging those in authority to silence him if they dared he didn’t just push the envelope he ripped it wide open.
To know that his ashes will be scattered across the sky like thousands of comets that will disperse across Colorado gives me satisfaction that even in his death he will probably piss some people off. He always hated the fat cats and greed pigs who were ruining his beloved Aspen, and the knowledge of maybe some of those ashes dirtying their B.M.W.s would bring a twisted grin to his face.
To many people, suicide is a coward’s way out. But when I think of Hunter S. Thompson I visualise him standing defiant in his trade-mark shades and a cigarette holder clasped in his teeth. His means of ending his life was the act of an extremely proud man unwilling to give in to the illness that was eating him away.
He looked death in the eye and spat. This was not giving in, this was doing it on his own terms. As always he wouldn’t take shit from anyone, including death.
So on an August day in Colorado Hunter S. Thompson will take his last flight. Happy landings!