Gonzo.

What the hell is Gonzo?

Damned if I know, but it’s a been a hell of a journey, trying to remember, in the wake of the tragic passing of the incomparable Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, just how it was that I first became aware of his writing, and looking back, just how much it influenced me, both as a writer, and, more importantly, as an American.

As best as I can remember from those foggy days on both sides of the page, I think I first became aware of him from reading his insanely long articles, no make that treatises, for that is what they were, in Rolling Stone magazine, back in the early Seventies, when both the magazine, as well as Thompson, actually made a difference. I remember reading them, in my tender, early teenage years, and thinking ‘I want to do this.’ Maybe not as well, or as Gonzo, whatever that was, as the Good Doctor, but it made me want to learn to write, nonetheless.

The more I think about it, the first articles I remember by him was his amazing, over the top, yet so vital, coverage of the 1972 presidential election. It was a dangerous time. Vietnam and Watergate made us all nearly paranoid. So, what did the Good Doctor do when faced with a one-on-one car ride with incumbent force of nature, President Richard M. Nixon, who was running for re-election that year? He talked pro football with his mortal enemy, that despised Nixon, and Thompson’s story about that ride and conversation was one of the classic American political pieces of that time, or, probably, of any time. It did, in its own way, make us empathize, yet still cower, over Nixon’s persona.

Pro football in election coverage? That was the Good Doctor. Gonzo. Somehow, someway, it all made sense. From there, I was hooked. I bought and read everything he wrote, from “Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas,” not to mention “ Fear & Loathing On the Campaign Trail,” (the latter of which was inspired by his lengthy pieces in Rolling Stone) to “The Great Shark Hunt,” “Generation of Swine,” and a whole host of others, including his hilarious and wistful foray into the heart of American politics, his own unsuccessful run for sheriff in Pitkin County, Colorado. I even followed all of his recent postings on Page Two of the ESPN web site. I was pleased when Rolling Stone, which has kept him in its masthead as “National Affairs Editor” since his Seventies heyday, dusted him off last year to write about the election and the war in Iraq, and he was just as sharp and incisive, and, yes, right, as always.

Through it all, no matter what he was writing about or what illegal substances he might have been on while he was writing, Hunter S. Thompson had just about the best bullshit detector in American media.

Make that in American experience.

Make that Gonzo.

You have to wonder, particularly in these most politically correct of times, just how a alcohol-guzzling, chain-smoking, drug-infested, mad-cap genius/irritant like Dr. Thompson could make such an impact, and, armed with the aforementioned olfactory analyzer, become such an inspiration for those of us in his generation. He was irascible, incoherent, oft putting, and just about the best, and certainly the most honest, American political observer of his time.

Yes, they called it “Gonzo,” but I’m not certain that even that was enough.

Yet, it is literally impossible to describe Dr. Thompson’s work in any other way. A friend of mine recently wrote to me, after the news of Thompson’s passing, that he, Thompson, “probably was the only true rock and roll writer.” And, he’s right. Not a writer of rock and roll, but a rock and roll writer. Thompson could drink a case of rum, drop some blotter acid, careen down a highway (yes, the “Proud Highway”) and write the best damn prose about just about anything in the American experience that pissed him off.

And, I have Hunter S. Thompson to thank for one of my dearest friendships in the world. Back during my freshman days at Uconn, I was taking an English course taught by Anne Beattie (yes, novel fans, that Ann Beattie). At one point in the first class, she asked the roomful of us if anyone had ever heard of Hunter S. Thompson.

Sitting near the front of the room, I proudly raised my hand, and then turned around in my seat to look behind me, searching for any kindred spirits. Near the back, an intent, intelligent looking fellow was the only other person with a hand raised in the class. Grinning sheepishly, he pointed and nodded knowingly at me. After class, I caught up with him in the hallway and we compared Doctors’ notes. Over 30 years later, he remains a dear friend. He’s a closet novelist and one of the finest writers I’ve ever met.

Me? I dabble in writing about rock and roll, although no one would ever accuse me of being a rock and roll writer. Or a Gonzo writer, whatever that may be.

Hunter S. Thompson once wrote one of the finest descriptions of American life that I have ever read. He said, “when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” But, Doc, I gotta ya one better. “When the going got weird, you turned pro,” and your readers, and your country, were the better for it.

Gonzo, indeed. Rest in peace.