Journalism’s North Star Blinks Out
I’ve had a couple of pieces gently rejected by Gordon Lish, as well as had a short story lovingly eviscerated by Jane Smiley. That’s the extent of my brush with literary fame. With journalism it’s even more tenuous; I covered a university journalism seminar where Hunter S. Thompson gave us bloody hell and then ended up drinking with him for 2 days straight. Yes, 2 days.
We started innocently enough (I thought) at the Churchill Bar in the Brown Palace and finally crashed in a pair of backyard hammocks at an acquaintance’s house in Evergreen. I have episodic flashes of memory concerning the intervening two days, but nothing concrete. Also nothing horrific; one of the astonishing things I discovered about Thompson was that his charm and graciousness was almost of the Old South; he could be very courtly.
But that’s all by the way; Thompson was as close to meeting David Carr as I would ever come. The two knew each other, of course: Carr had reviewed any number of Thompson’s work. And everyone within typing distance of journalism, even shallow university newspaper editors/reporters, knew who David Carr was. He was that which Thompson admired and that all of journalism aspired to.
in a rush
the first voice decides: