So I show up, around 10:00am, and there is Doc. I briefly expressed my admiration for his writing, and proceeded to hit on the bartender. But I ended up talking with Doc. He was reading his mail and drinking bloody mary's. We had a debate about Clinton (Thompson's book Better than Sex: Confessions of a Political Junkie was coming out) and the end of the Reagan/Bush administration. Doc insisted on buying a bloody mary for me. I hate tomato juice, but I drank one anyway. Doc was about as smart and crazy as I thought he would be. We drank and talked for a few hours, and then he invited me back to Owl Farm for "a feeding". This meant food and drinks and some other things.We had passed the legal limits, so I'm going to be discreet about what follows.
Doc showed me his gun collection, and offered to go target shooting. I grew up with guns. but also with gun safety. The thought of shooting with someone who I knew was drunk when I was drunk felt unsafe . But I did it anyway.
We shot a bunch of rifles and pistols into an old 50 gal. drum. And we became Friends.
It was a few years later that I got email. Doc Thompson was a main email contact. He never failed to amaze me with his wisdom, cynicism, and biting wit.
When Doc quit this life, I felt a huge hole. One of the smartest, most unique people I have ever known was gone.
Oh, and the bartender? We spent two weeks finding out that we really weren't meant for a long term relationship.