09-20-2008, 09:05 AM
Fear and loving: Gonzo revisited...
The Kitchen Readings...
The Untold Stories of Hunter S. Thompson
Many will recognize the name of Pitkin County Sheriff Bob Braudis, the co-author of “The Kitchen Readings” a wonderfully warm and often hilarious collection of events which took place at The Hotel Jerome Bar, The Woody Creek Tavern, and in gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson’s kitchen at Owl Farm.
Braudis was Thompson’s closest personal confidant, oftentimes treading a thin line between best friend and sheriff. By his own admission, Braudis had choices to make.
“Kitchen Readings” begins one early ‘70s snowy day in the Jerome Bar with a gut-splitting encounter between Thompson — who always held court at the end of the bar — and a hippie couple from Vermont who’d made a long pilgrimage to meet him.
As always, a friend or two at hand try to run interference for the good doctor, but he takes things into his own hands, literally.
One thing all of Thompson’s closest friends agree upon: He cherished his close friends, neighbors and community. In the book’s introduction, Braudis and co-author Michael Cleverly, an artist, write: “The good folk in Woody Creek embraced Hunter, and he was a good neighbor; a neighbor was a neighbor no matter what. People who were political opposites felt very warm toward him because they knew he was truly a good neighbor who was cordial and courteous and could be counted on if he were needed.”
Some of the things we’ve heard about regarding Thompson's penchant for drugs, alcohol and fast cars are detailed here with little hesitation on the part of participants.
The famous car race on main street between Thompson in his “Shark” — a convertible Chevy Caprice with a mammoth 454 engine — and Tex in his Cadillac DeVille, during a raging blizzard, in reverse, seems tame compared to the fall of Saigon in 1975, but Thompson was a nucleus for such things.
The famous trout poisonings up at the neighbor’s gawdawful mansion is here, through the eyes of the sheriff. When the gentleman’s trophy trout turn belly-up, all eyes turn to Thompson. So what if there was a rash of automatic machine-gun fire and a pile of spent cartridges at the driveway to the manse? Thompson could not have ever poisoned fish, or could he? You’ll have to read this tome to find out. And what of the famous car chase between Thompson and newsman Ed Bradley, who was himself racing into town in a new Porsche to find the bar first? Porsche vs. Chevy? Bradley vs. Thompson? Who wins?
Since Thompson's death, the start of every NFL season rings just a bit hollow. He lived for the NFL. His house parties were legendary. A Kentucky native, Thompson's annual Kentucky Derby gatherings turned into family day at Owl Farm, where even some of the children were picking horses and laying bets.
The book’s title refers to the fact that Thompson did all of his creative work, his writings, in the kitchen at Owl Farm. If you were lucky enough to be in the kitchen on any given night, and he was in a good mood, Thompson would ask friends, acquaintances, even strangers to read from his books. In 40 years of writings, Thompson had every word memorized; he would sway with the reading and correct anyone who skipped a word.
Loren Jenkins, Saigon bureau chief for Newsweek during the fall refers to Thompson as two people: “the pyrotechnic Gonzo character of booze and drugs of his public persona; (and) the amazingly engaging, caring and brilliant Southern gentleman who held court in private from his kitchen stool,” adding that The Kitchen Readings presents the “smart, amusing, and passionate soul behind the Gonzo mask.”
The latter chapters spell out the agonizing decline in Thompson’s health from hip-replacement surgery, a broken tib-fib during a trip to Hawaii, and, after several wonderful nights in “the kitchen” with friends, regrettably, his suicide. The last long chapter describes in detail the final sendoff, bankrolled by Johnny Depp’s $4 million promisary note. Sure, Thompson goes out in a burst of pyrotechnic glory, but the chapter seems anticlimactic after the warmth and intimate look at his life.
I met Thompson once. A fluke. I was waiting for Warren Zevon to play at the Double Diamond one night in '95 or '96, so I walked up to the Ritz Carlton to check out the artwork. I came out through the valet parking entrance just as a puke-green '74 Cadillac Eldorado convertible came screeching to a halt.
A woman jumped out of the passenger seat and ran inside. Thompson crawled out of the driver’s door, tettering and leaning on the car to walk around it: Bermuda shorts, yellow shooting glasses, black gloves. He had to walk by me. I said “Nice ride! Front wheel drive, four-fifty-four.” He immediately straightened, shook my hand, then went off into the night.
Breckenridge resident Matt Krane is a rehabilitated English major who wrote an entertainment column for a large Los Angeles daily back in the early 1980s.
Original article
The Kitchen Readings...
The Untold Stories of Hunter S. Thompson
Many will recognize the name of Pitkin County Sheriff Bob Braudis, the co-author of “The Kitchen Readings” a wonderfully warm and often hilarious collection of events which took place at The Hotel Jerome Bar, The Woody Creek Tavern, and in gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson’s kitchen at Owl Farm.
Braudis was Thompson’s closest personal confidant, oftentimes treading a thin line between best friend and sheriff. By his own admission, Braudis had choices to make.
“Kitchen Readings” begins one early ‘70s snowy day in the Jerome Bar with a gut-splitting encounter between Thompson — who always held court at the end of the bar — and a hippie couple from Vermont who’d made a long pilgrimage to meet him.
As always, a friend or two at hand try to run interference for the good doctor, but he takes things into his own hands, literally.
One thing all of Thompson’s closest friends agree upon: He cherished his close friends, neighbors and community. In the book’s introduction, Braudis and co-author Michael Cleverly, an artist, write: “The good folk in Woody Creek embraced Hunter, and he was a good neighbor; a neighbor was a neighbor no matter what. People who were political opposites felt very warm toward him because they knew he was truly a good neighbor who was cordial and courteous and could be counted on if he were needed.”
Some of the things we’ve heard about regarding Thompson's penchant for drugs, alcohol and fast cars are detailed here with little hesitation on the part of participants.
The famous car race on main street between Thompson in his “Shark” — a convertible Chevy Caprice with a mammoth 454 engine — and Tex in his Cadillac DeVille, during a raging blizzard, in reverse, seems tame compared to the fall of Saigon in 1975, but Thompson was a nucleus for such things.
The famous trout poisonings up at the neighbor’s gawdawful mansion is here, through the eyes of the sheriff. When the gentleman’s trophy trout turn belly-up, all eyes turn to Thompson. So what if there was a rash of automatic machine-gun fire and a pile of spent cartridges at the driveway to the manse? Thompson could not have ever poisoned fish, or could he? You’ll have to read this tome to find out. And what of the famous car chase between Thompson and newsman Ed Bradley, who was himself racing into town in a new Porsche to find the bar first? Porsche vs. Chevy? Bradley vs. Thompson? Who wins?
Since Thompson's death, the start of every NFL season rings just a bit hollow. He lived for the NFL. His house parties were legendary. A Kentucky native, Thompson's annual Kentucky Derby gatherings turned into family day at Owl Farm, where even some of the children were picking horses and laying bets.
The book’s title refers to the fact that Thompson did all of his creative work, his writings, in the kitchen at Owl Farm. If you were lucky enough to be in the kitchen on any given night, and he was in a good mood, Thompson would ask friends, acquaintances, even strangers to read from his books. In 40 years of writings, Thompson had every word memorized; he would sway with the reading and correct anyone who skipped a word.
Loren Jenkins, Saigon bureau chief for Newsweek during the fall refers to Thompson as two people: “the pyrotechnic Gonzo character of booze and drugs of his public persona; (and) the amazingly engaging, caring and brilliant Southern gentleman who held court in private from his kitchen stool,” adding that The Kitchen Readings presents the “smart, amusing, and passionate soul behind the Gonzo mask.”
The latter chapters spell out the agonizing decline in Thompson’s health from hip-replacement surgery, a broken tib-fib during a trip to Hawaii, and, after several wonderful nights in “the kitchen” with friends, regrettably, his suicide. The last long chapter describes in detail the final sendoff, bankrolled by Johnny Depp’s $4 million promisary note. Sure, Thompson goes out in a burst of pyrotechnic glory, but the chapter seems anticlimactic after the warmth and intimate look at his life.
I met Thompson once. A fluke. I was waiting for Warren Zevon to play at the Double Diamond one night in '95 or '96, so I walked up to the Ritz Carlton to check out the artwork. I came out through the valet parking entrance just as a puke-green '74 Cadillac Eldorado convertible came screeching to a halt.
A woman jumped out of the passenger seat and ran inside. Thompson crawled out of the driver’s door, tettering and leaning on the car to walk around it: Bermuda shorts, yellow shooting glasses, black gloves. He had to walk by me. I said “Nice ride! Front wheel drive, four-fifty-four.” He immediately straightened, shook my hand, then went off into the night.
Breckenridge resident Matt Krane is a rehabilitated English major who wrote an entertainment column for a large Los Angeles daily back in the early 1980s.
Original article