Thompson's Gonzo Trip Is Still Worth Taking

That's echt Thompson, from the carefully placed italics, to "like frogs in a dynamite pond," to the boyish delight in mechanical gimmickry, to the mixture of disdain and delight with which he viewed this rolling symbol of American vulgarity. Thompson was no H.L. Mencken, but the two shared a view of this country that fell somewhere between exasperated affection and utter revulsion. It was Mencken, after all, who coined the delicious word "booboisie" and famously said (or is reputed to have said) that "no one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people," a sentiment with which Thompson would have heartily agreed, especially with regard to Las Vegas, of which he writes: "No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted."

It isn't just the vulgarity of Vegas that strikes Thompson, though there's plenty of that to go around, but also the thuggishness. Caesars Palace and other hotel/casinos "pay a lot of muscle to make sure the high rollers don't have even momentary hassles with 'undesirables,' " i.e., "public drunks and known pickpockets" or just people who don't look as if they belong:

"The 'high side' of Vegas is probably the most closed society west of Sicily -- and it makes no difference, in terms of the day-to-day life-style of the place, whether the Man at the Top is Lucky Luciano or Howard Hughes. In an economy where Tom Jones can make $75,000 a week for two shows a night at Caesar's, the palace guard is indispensable, and they don't care who signs their paychecks. A gold mine like Vegas breeds its own army, like any other gold mine. Hired muscle tends to accumulate in fast layers around money/power poles . . . and big money, in Vegas, is synonymous with the Power to protect it."

It will be argued that today, nearly four decades later, Vegas has changed, has softened itself up for the family trade. That may be so, but there are more hotel/casinos than ever, and more people to be separated from their money, and Thompson nailed the scene for all eternity, as did John Gregory Dunne in his own "Vegas," published three years later. Still, the real star of this particular show isn't the city but the "doctor of journalism" who careens around it, "a relatively respectable citizen -- a multiple felon, perhaps, but certainly not dangerous" by contrast with others in the vicinity. "Is there a priest in this tavern?" he asks. "I want to confess! I'm a [expletive] sinner! Venal, mortal, carnal, major, minor -- however you want to call it, Lord . . . I'm guilty."

This is lovely stuff, as funny as it is calculatedly outrageous. Yes, like the words of the rest of us who toil in the evanescent precincts of journalism, Thompson's work will fade away in time. At the moment, though, an impressive number of his books remain in print, happy evidence that he'll be around for a good while longer.

"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is available in a Vintage paperback ($13.95).

Jonathan Yardley's e-mail address is yardleyj@washpost.com.