.......and skid into the afterlife in a cloud of smoke is exactly what eccentric cult journalist and outspoken hell raiser Hunter S. Thompson did. After 67 years of brilliance, madness, and rabble-rousing, the father of Gonzo journalism ended the ride with a single shot from a .45 while sitting in front of his typewriter.
Thompson, who had been suffering a number of painful health ailments and was confined to a wheelchair at the time of his death, had been courting his demise for years. His misanthropic, drug-addled, sometimes savage stories were, in part, reflections of his true self, and his tendency toward self-destruction was well recorded. He often spoke of his own death with family, friends and interviewers, and in a 1977 documentary by the BBC, he casually suggested how it should be properly celebrated – by shooting his ashes out of a cannon encased in a giant, two-thumbed fist clutching a peyote button, an image he had created as his insignia.
In August of 2005, that’s exactly what happened. A 153-ft tower in the shape of Thompson’s iconic fist was fitted with a cannon, and in a private ceremony, his ashes were launched into the Colorado sky along with a fireworks display while Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” jangled dolefully in the background. The price tag on the funeral of his own design is said to be around the $2 million mark, the majority of which was covered by actor and friend Johnny Depp.
A year after his death, a small group of friends and admirers created a shrine for Thompson in the Snowmass ski area, near his home in Woody Creek. The group, who call themselves “GLUM”, standing for “Glorious Leaders of the Underground Movement”, have built a bench and devoted several trees to remembering the fallen anti-hero. The shrine is updated every year on President’s Day, and is a mishmash of photos, relevant articles, and the usual things you’d find at a memorial site, peppered in with more specifically Thompson-esque items – bullet shells, mannequin arms and booze bottles hung from the tree branches.