I was in a really blah mood when I woke up this morning. Perhaps it was post-trade show depression – The OpenNMS Group had a really good time in Boston, and now we have to get back to work.

So it seemed apt that today I would learn about the suicide of Hunter Thompson.

I believe it was my friend Ty who introduced me to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. When I hit the line “I won’t tell him about the bats” I was hooked.

I had the opportunity to meet him in Los Angeles many moons ago. He was speaking at a local community college. The auditorium was less than half full, and Thompson showed up late.

I can’t remember much about his talk – I doubt anyone can. He was promoting a new book about his time as the night manager of the O’Farrell theatre in San Francisco – the “Madison Square Garden of pornography in America” – and he was, well, not sober and he rambled a bit.

I bummed a cigarette from him. I don’t smoke, so I sent it on to Ty.

The only moment of clarity he displayed was when someone in the audience called him on his incoherence. For five minutes he eloquently tore the questioner a new one, and then lapsed back into his former state.

However, when Thompson wrote, it was with the skill of a surgeon. He could cut to the heart of any story and was intolerant of liars. These days we need that more than ever.

Goodbye, Hunter. Rest in peace.