''That's It.''

About the Book

When the blare of yellow finally swept over Charles Bukowski and enveloped him forever, as he had foreseen in the last paragraph of Pulp, a man greater than life died. Someone who challenged my understanding of this sad and glorious world as only two or three others have.

Many of those who met Charles Bukowski can and will say the same. But most of his readers never met him. And to them my confession about Bukowski the Man might sound like the uncritical adulation of a fan. They may think I was unduly impressed by someone who, in his last years, rose from being an outcast to a celebrity.

In my experience, however, Charles Bukowski was the exact opposite: a minor celebrity, though a major writer - and an extraordinary person. Hence, before I pay my dues to the people who made this book possible, let me tell you a few things about myself. It might prove my point that it was not Bukowski the Celebrity that left such a lasting impression on me.

When I met with Charles Bukowski for the last time in 1993, I was 38 years old and had been a professional writer for almost 15 years. I had written half a dozen non-fiction books and two novels and I had just started a third. To pay the bills, I had also dabbled in other, less solitary work. For five years, I had taught literature at Berlin’s Free University, and I had slaved as a reporter since the early 80s.

In that line of work - profitable, but uncomfortable for a shy writer like me - I had interviewed quite a lot of nice and intelligent people. And even more not-so-nice and not-so-intelligent, but famous - actors and actresses, rock stars or, for that matter, best-selling authors. Though I had become a bit jaded and tired over the years, quite a few of the many men and women I met managed to amaze me in one or another strange way.

There was, for example, Jerry Lee Lewis. He drove a shimmering Redneck-Rolls Royce with spurs for hubcaps through a hot Memphis night and stopped to make his young wife pump gas at a self-service station. This, by the way, was in 1985 and only a few days before I met Charles Bukowski for the first time.

There was Andy Warhol. He frantically signed everything within his reach - my notes, my bare arms, the poster of a truckers convention that’s now hanging in front of my desk – while he kept non-answering most of my questions with dead-pan retorts like: “Please, ask the janitor. He knows so much more about this place than I do …” This place being Warhol’s legendary factory.

And there was Hunter S. Thompson. He was so sweet and nice and courteous, basically as calm as a hurricane’s eye, that he almost scared me to death during that long and fuzzy night that we spent in his kitchen cum office consuming mostly legal stuff in almost illegal quantities.

Several others, of course, stood out from the many people a busy reporter interviews year after year. Weird, wonderful and singular geniuses like Chuck Berry and Umberto Eco, Robert de Niro and Billy Wilder, Traci Lords and Tom Wolfe. But only a few of them made a real difference by changing my view of the world, of courage and honesty, of life and death, of everything.

One was Hans Sahl, who during World War II had helped many others to flee the Nazis before he himself escaped to New York. He died in 1990 virtually unknown in this country where his only novel, as well as his heartbreaking and intelligent and cold-blooded memoirs, have never been published.

Another writer who has become more than an interview subject is Curt Siodmak, author of the classic Donovan’s Brain. Curt will turn 98 this summer, and his sharp insight and unforgiving memory have forever shaped my view of Germany, where I was born, as were Hans Sahl, Curt Siodmak - and Charles Bukowski.

For him, of course, I have written this book, a mixture of reporting, literary essay and personal memoir. However, not every gift is welcome. I deeply hope Hank would have liked it, b

About the Author

Gundolf S. Freyermuth is the author of three novels, and eight non-fiction books, all written and published in German. He studied comparative literature and worked as senior editor and reporter for stern, Tempo and other German magazines. His ca. 300 essays, articles, and short stories have appeared in major German magazines and newspapers. In 1989, he moved to the US. His English writing credits include articles for the Los Angeles Times, Buzz, and Telepolis. Currently, he is completing work on a book exploring the digital future of the Arts and popular entertainment. Gundolf, his wife Elke and their two children Leon and George live on a ranch in the White Mountains of Eastern Arizona.