Thompson had crafted a
lunatic form letter designed to get creditors off his back; it worked about half the time.
(from one of Thompson’s letters to Sally, The Proud Highway)
April 2, 1958
562 West 113th
New York City.
Dear Sally,
Mail
this when you get a chance, will you? If
this one doesn’t scare the bastards off, then nothing will. I think I should
send a copy of this letter to the AMA (American Medical Association) as a
sample of a schizophrenic mind at work: it’s a real whopper. Anyone who would
try to collect any money from the author of this letter would have to be an
out-and-out fool.
If
they come looking for me with nets, tell them I left several weeks ago to go
over to Gainesville, Florida to apply for a job as a religion editor on a paper
there. Just as long as they never discover that I’m in New York, I’m all right.
Thanks,
Hunter.
“Debt Letter”
Say man, what is all this? I just
got back from New Orleans and the first thing I find is a threat from you
people – some wild yap about jail and court and lawyers and such: what do you
think I am – some kind of moneybag? Here I am trying to sell my short story
trilogy, and you people hound me at every turn – howling and moaning about some
idiotic debts! Who are you anyway? I never bought a damn thing from you people.
What kind of rotten business are you in – that you have to hound people all
over the country? I get a bunch of mail about every two or three months, and
every damn time I get some, I find a threat from you!
What
the hell are you trying to do, anyway? Don’t you realize that I can’t work with
all this war coming on us? This atomic fallout is God’s WRATH! With the end of
the world right on top of us, I can’t afford to work. If I don’t get my work
published now, I may never get it published! Haven’t you heard of serving God
and Mammon? With all this sex going on a people forgetting about Godf, how can
you hound me like this? We’re taking the whiskey into our bodies all the time
and drink God’s BLOOD! I can’t hold a job – I get worried all the time and feel
half crazy… what are you doing with all this money… we all have a home in
Heaven… what’s all this trouble?
You
don’t understand the strain I’m under: I’m not the same man I was a year ago.
Worrying about my work and money and jobs all the time is driving me crazy! I
have to get my work published! Why don’t you talk to some of these publishers
you know and get me an advance so I can write a novel? Then I’ll have some
money… then you’ll have it… I won’t get these threats! I got a disease of some
kind over in New Orleans and I can’t even go to a doctor! Everybody thinks it’s
funny, but I have to get a job. I might be the assistant religion editor of the
Gainesville Sun pretty soon… I’m going over there next week to see about a job.
I had a car but somebody took it in St Louis. Oh God, what’s happening all the
time? Everybody wants to steal and drink and sex and take everybody’s money
away from people who don’t even sell anything and there’s atomic fallout
everywhere and war coming on. The whole world is going crazy and I don’t even
have a job. You’ve got to stop threatening me! I’m not well – I have a blister
on my leg and that damn disease all over my stomach. I can’t even think what I
want to say anymore… this worry is driving me crazy.
I
tried to work in New Orleans and they made me quit. If I get this thing in
Gainesville I’ll be a religion editor and publish my own book in the paper.
After that I’ll have a job and get well.
Sincerely,
Hunter S. Thompson.
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