No Lester Bangs?

(seriously, according to Let It Blurt, Lester and a companion went to visit Bukowski, booze in hand. Over the course of the day, watching Lester guzzle, Buk asked the companion "Is that guy all right?" Impressive.)

Someday, if they open a blog division, I hope to make this list.

Legs McNeil should get an honorable mention at least, too.

The top four (six, including ties) really are great in my book. Then there is a considerable drop off, in terms of my reading pleasure. MORE BOOZE WRITERS!

I missed John Cheever from this list, but I suppose he was more quiet about it, and eventually recovered.

One night in 1994 or so I was home alone, drunk and restless. I called up information for Jacksonville, FL and asked for Harry Crews' phone number. To my bleary surprise, the operator gave it to me. It had to be 11:30 PM or so, so after midnight in Florida. I called him. He answered on the first ring. I introduced myself, told him how much I liked "Scar Lover" and "The Body Artist". He said, "How'd you get my number?" I told him I called information. He paused for a second and said, "Damn. I figured I was more popular than that. You're the first fan who's figured out I'm in the book. Mostly they just show up at the house." Then he invited me to a barbecue. I had to decline, being several hundred miles away.

Harry Crews, class act.

I've never called him again, but I've still got his number in my Rolodex.

That's awesome, BitterOldPunk. Reminds me of a long ago boyfried talking to Alex Chilton's Mom on the phone the same way.

Perhaps I'm one of the top ten Drunk American Readers! Glory!

(There's a blurb from Crews on my beloved Richard Price's Ladies Man praising it to the ceiling. Price couldn't make the list since he was a cokehead, not a piss artist. Also, I once drunkenly left a message on Jim Goad's answering machine. He never called back. Years later, I learned about his love for Slade and told him about their early days as Ambrose Slade and hooked him up with some mp3's. He was very thankful and expressed amazement that they had covered 'Journey To The Center Of The mind)

No Eugene O'Neill? (And personally I'd add Richard Brautigan, but I know I'm in the minority there.)

As an American, I say with shame that none of them could hold a candle to Dylan Thomas. Come to think of it, as an Irishman that also embarrasses me.

No Irishman need ever feel embarrassment as long as Brendan Behan stumbles through heaven's corridors and alleys.

Four of these men died in their forties. That seems to be when alcoholism begins to take a physical toll.

Charles Bukowski - what a drunk. I think I'm somehow in love with him and/or Henry Chinaski.

I'm kind of shocked to realize that Poe died at the age of forty. I'm used to that picture but I assumed that he was middle-aged when it was taken; he must have been in his thirties.

I seem to remember such a list in the old "Book of Lists" which I believe was a bestseller in the 1970's. Perhaps I'm confabulating, or have a false memory, but I seem to remember Ambrose Bierce being described as an "eminent tankyardsman".

netbros: Mid-40s is when *life* begins to take its physical toll.

Kerouac: "As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind."

"also in my twisted version of Catholic theology, drinking yourself to death on purpose doesn't count as suicide."

And since we're all doing it, where the hell is Terry Southern, who claimed a bottle of something was an essential to the writing process as a typewriter? Or is he too damn unpopular these days?

Man, I was getting worried as I scrolled down and didn't see Hank. But then, there he was at number one. Whew.

I dunno if it's right to consider Kerouac a drunk author...his drunkenness was, if I recall correctly, more a part of his latter, less prolific years.

Charles Bukowski - what a drunk. I think I'm somehow in love with him and/or Henry Chinaski.

YUK. Through personal experience. After my life intersected with his, I have a hard time even hearing about him, and the stature of his writing has taken a nosedive, when I saw the source of it.

Woke up this morning, seemed to me, that every night turns out to be, a little bit more like Bukowski. And yeah, I know he's a pretty good read, but god who'd wanna be? God who'd wanna be such an asshole?

/modest mouse

I have had that song on my mind all of last night and all of today thanks to this thread.

John Berryman belongs on any list of that kind, in the top three.

No Lester Bangs?

in the company of Edgar Allan Motherfucking Poe? Bangs?