Jann/
I’m making these final correx (galleys) on the plane to NY—going over it all again & finding typos I missed the first time.
No doubt I’ll miss some on this round, too. All writers tend to read over their own mistakes. So you should definitely have somebody look at this for typos, missing words, etc.
One thing I want to add, up front, in Vegas I is a set of directions on how to read it ... what music to play at top volume, what drugs to eat, (“read only between 2 & 6 a.m.,” etc.)—Just a box, about 250 words, at the start. Do I have time to get this in?
Letter from HST to JSW
10/15/71
Owl Farm
Woody Creek, Colorado
Jann/
My mail today contained a wholly unreadable Xerox of the galleys for Vegas II. Totally worthless—& also totally unnecessary. I can’t even read the fuckers, much less correct them. What’s so fucking difficult about sending me some galleys? And whoever initialed these grey-hazy things should be fired. On G-45, I notice the word “teach”—in big black caps—spelled “TETCH.” Uncorrected & apparently un-noticed . . . which makes me wonder what kind of typo-horrors might be lurking in that fog of grey shit I can’t even begin to read or even see. (Jesus! I see another gross error just one inch down from “TETCH.”
Fuck it—I refuse to search for any more. Only 2 of the 14 “galleys” are even initialed—it looks like even the proofreader gave up. (The “TETCH” pg. is not initialed). Jesus, what a mess. I’d appreciate another set of veloxes ... along with some galleys I can read & work on.
Thanx
HST
MEMO FROM THE SPORTS DESK (UNDATED)
To all employees without exception
Why is the staff so fucking lazy? It’s getting so I can’t even walk fast through the hallways any more without stumbling over some freak on the nod.
Is it drugs? Has it come to that?
If so, by God, we’re going to clean it up pretty damn fast. My attorney has worked out a series of disciplinary measures that will zap this thing where it lives.
Henceforth, anyone caught with narcotics, crazy pills, or other stupor inducing agents, will be dragged down to the basement and have his scrotum torn off ... and, conversely, any offender without a scrotum will have one permanently attached to her.
We feel such measures are necessary, even vital, to the health of this organization. This is the unanimous opinion of the Sports Staff, & as editor, I mean to enforce it.
We will play no favorites. Beginning on the day after Christmas, any employee caught nodding out, jacking off, or otherwise squandering company time will pay the penalty.
This is a business—not a goddamn dude ranch, and any salaried person who feels he/she cannot abide by these new regulations had better get out now.
There will be no second warning. Copies of this notice will be posted in every corridor and they shall not be defaced.
Sincerely,
Raoul Duke
Sports Editor
Letter from HST to JSW, August 23, 1971
82371
Jann:
This thing is so fucking strange (to me) that I’m afraid to comment on it. I showed it to [Hunter’s son] Juan, who’s right in the middle of what Officer Bill says is the “impressionable age” ... and he just smiled and tossed it aside after a quick scan. I got the feeling he thought I was putting him on. Anyway, don’t lose the thing; I may need it later on. It was, by the way, part of Officer Bill’s anti-drug package that I got in Vegas ... and it strikes me as a good sample of the super-shrewd cop wisdom they were handing out there.
OK for now. Send it back if you don’t see any place for it in the Vegas art stuff.
HST
Undated letter from National District Attorneys Association
National District Attorneys Association
211 East Chicago Avenue, Suite 1204
Chicago, Illinois 60611
TO: All Las Vegas Drug Conference Attendees
FROM: Patrick F. Healy, Executive Director
It is my sincere pleasure to enclose your certificate of achievement in connection with your attendance at the Las Vegas Drug Conference.
If the NDAA can ever be of assistance to you, please feel free to call upon us.
Hunter writes to Jann as he nears completion of “Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Part II.”
Jann . . .
The hole between our talk with the Georgia lawyer and “Back Door Beauty” should be properly and quite adequately filled by Steadman’s art.
The hole between Back Door Beauty and “my attorney left at dawn” could use a slice of art, too ... following the tape transcription.
The central problem here is that you’re working overtime to treat this thing as Straight or at least Responsible journalism ... whereas in truth we are dealing with a classic of irresponsible gibberish. You’d be better off trying to make objective, chronological sense of “Highway 61,” The Ginger Man, “Mr. Tambourine Man,” or even Naked Lunch.