Remembering Rory MacLeod

Photo by Ken Kay

Like everyone who knew him, I was horrified to learn over the weekend that Rory MacLeod,  while out walking his dog, had been killed by an out-of-control automobile driven by an out-of-control woman early on Saturday morning, December 6th. in Hopkinton, RI.

Doug James, the baritone saxophonist for Roomful of Blues, introduced me to Rory shortly after I started working with Roomful in 1981, and our mutual interest in music drew us together immediately. Rory was then playing bass in a trio led by Duke Robillard, and he urged me to come and hear the band. 'Duke is something else,’ he enthused - an opinion that had been seconded by Doug and others in Roomful - and a few days later, I drove to a gig in Misquamicut, RI to catch the band. Just where the show was now escapes me - possibly it was the Wreck down on the beach, but wherever it was, the memory of the music has stayed with me. The tightness of his rhythm section with Rory on bass and Jack Moore on drums was the perfect accompaniment to Duke’s artistry. They were in the pocket.

That night was the beginning of a long friendship. Apart from music, we had a shared interest in old cars, dogs and the countryside.  Rory hipped me to many aspects of Rhode Island culture that I, a recent UK immigrant, was quite oblivious of. On his fridge was a cartoon  depicting two folks talking, and one of them saying, ‘You know, Freda has gone into the hospital to have her Cranston whine removed.’ Another was my introduction to the Mad Peck, and his four-panel cartoon depicting the class structure of Providence. Humor understandable only by Rhode Islanders.

When Preston Hubbard, Roomful’s long time bassist, left to join the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Rory took his place, and appeared on some cuts on the band’s ‘Dressed Up To Get Messed Up’ album, on all the of the ‘Live At Lupo’s’ album and on the Grammy nominated LP ‘Glazed’, Roomful’s collaboration with New Orleans blues maestro Earl King.

Roomful in 1967: Clockwise from top left, Ron Levy, Bob Enos, Rich Lataille, Porky Cohen, Rory MacLeod, Ronnie Earl, Doug James, Greg Piccolo and in the center, John Rossi.

Having Rory in the band was fun, musically and socially. To be sure, he was always a rock-solid, swinging, and driving bass player, but he was also a gas to travel with. Good humored, easy-going, always ready to help. Life on the road, with its relentless scheduling, lack of sleep, and general discomfort, can get a wee bit tiring, but Rory took it all in his stride. I have warm memories of the band driving thorough the north eastern states during the long and cold dead of winter, snow on the ground, leafless trees stark against the grey skies, and Rory saying, ‘Great thing about this time of the year is that you can see into all these folks back yards, you can see all the old cars they have been hoarding or just forgotten about. This is the best time to be checking out restoration projects, look, over there … see, an old 55 Chevy? Ah, windshields gone. Pity. Did ya see it? Oh look, a 49 Dodge truck! There, just by the side of that barn.’  And then we’d be gone, moving on down the road, a wake of rusting hulks behind us, sleeping the sleep of entropy and decay in those forgotten woods.

Always, the background to our adventures together was music. ‘Have you heard this? Do you know about this guy?’ The boundaries were constantly stretched as new sounds entered our lives. His attitude was one of wonder, one of inquisitiveness, all tempered by a wry sense of humor, a gentility and a genuine humility.

I remember a long tour of Europe, probably in 1965 or 1966, when troubled by the problems involved in travelling with his double bass - it is a very large instrument to haul around - he hit upon the idea of simply removing the neck and thus reducing its length by a half. He constructed a wooden road case with wheels, and pulled it around Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Germany, and Holland for five weeks, reassembling the instrument every night for the show. 

Photo: Mark Morelli, Nightstage, Cambridge, MA 1986. Ronnie Earl, Eddie 'Cleanhead' Vinson', Rory, Greg Piccolo

Rory played in many bands, and I have no intention of trying to enumerate them all here. You can Google him or check out any of the many Facebook groups that celebrate New England bands. 

The Rory I remember was Rory the musician, a fine human and a dog lover. Back in the 80’s everywhere he went, his dog Walter accompanied him. Dear Walter, dear old one-eyed Walter, Walter who doted upon Rory, and Rory upon him.

And I heard that Rory was out walking his dog, probably before he had even had his morning coffee, when the unthinkable happened. I haven’t read all the reports, and don’t know all the circumstances. Suffice it to say that the woman who killed him had previously been arrested on various charges close to one hundred times. Often on drug-related charges. Dope and paraphernalia were found in her car at the scene of the accident.

Thus dear sweet and gentle Rory, a man who would do anything in his power to help anyone, at any time, was taken from this world while walking his dog, no doubt a tune whistling through his lips, taken in a brutal and suddenly jarring earth earth-shattering moment. His dog survived and ran back home.

We hadn’t spoken in a long time, and possibly because of that long gap, he had popped up in my thoughts several times over the last few weeks. I wish I had called, but now it is too late.

Photographer unknown: Rory and Rich Lataille, backstage at the 1968 Long Beach Blues Festival