Cleaning up my act

Making the world a better place, one small deed at a time

“But I’m trying, Ringo. I’m trying real hard to be the shepherd.”

— “Pulp Fiction”

Note: this column first appeared in the Idaho State Journal, August 2021.

Bruce Conte, the original guitarist of Tower of Power, passed away this past week after a long battle with leukemia. It was a shock nonetheless. Bruce is another one of those artists who are irreplaceable, if you happen to be a fan.

I write frequently about artists who’ve passed in this space. Most of them I didn’t know beyond appreciating their work. But I actually had a connection with Bruce Conte. Years ago, when Facebook was new, I came across his personal page and sent a friend request. Much to my delight and surprise, he accepted. A while later, after observing how he interacted with others, I sent a personal message with some performance questions.

I expected this to go nowhere. I was wrong. Not only did Bruce answer the questions, he initiated a conversation. Since he was living in the Philippines, these took place late at night for me. But he was incredibly generous with his time. Tone on the guitar solo in “Don’t Change Horses?” Gold Top ‘57 Les Paul, neck pickup, 67 Fender Twin Reverb, clean. Advice on funk rhythm? Play along with a lot of records until you get the feel for it. It went on like that for a good while.

I later found out that this was just Bruce’s way. He was incredibly gracious and generous with his time — especially if he thought that you had some potential. In the wake of his passing, there are tributes all over the web from guitarists, singers and others who discussed the night Bruce Conte introduced himself to them during a break at their show, asking them to join him at a future gig. His page was filled with photographs of bands he put together with other musicians that he met casually.

How cool is it to play a show with a legend who reached out to you? Think about that.

As I think back on my life, I’ve met more than my share of Bruce Contes. I’ve encountered many people who, without any motivation other than kindness and goodwill, reached down and pulled me up to their level, even if just for a little while. That’s happened in music, pro sound, physics, climbing and motorcycles.

I got to jam with Steve Vai once (though it was pretty one-sided). Legends in the motorcycle world have shown up for the Tour of Idaho. Just a couple of weeks ago I got to perform a piece for Jon Herington (principal guitarist of Steely Dan for the past couple of decades), and he did not burst out laughing when I finished. Eileen Ivers asked me to take a bow after a show I engineered at the 2002 Olympic festival — one of the most gracious acts I’ve ever encountered.

None of these people (or many more) needed to do any of this for themselves. These were small acts of kindness that I’m sure they’ve all long forgotten, though I never will.

The night that Bruce died, people from all over the world connected through Facebook, posted tributes. Since Bruce had a personal page (as opposed to a fan page), it was easier for us to interact. Everyone had a story like mine to tell. Bruce may have passed onto whatever comes next, but he’s still here with those that he left behind because of his kindness and generosity. If you knew Bruce, even casually, you are not going to forget how he treated you.

In a very weird turn of events — one of the types that makes you wonder if the universe is not as random as you generally think that it is — I was doing my weekly “PBR Monday” Tour of Idaho-related web show, around the time that I got the word about Bruce’s passing. On this particular show I was interviewing a team that finished last year. It was one of the best interviews in the two-year history of the show. It was also one of the few times I’ve ever watched the show again immediately after the webcast.

During the course of the interview, it became very clear that the Tour was a life-altering event for this team — in a good way. They spoke of how The Tour affected their lives, and how they still think about it every day.

I’ve interviewed dozens of guests on this show over the past few years and they’ve all said some version of the same thing. My reaction has always been some light-hearted variation of “mission accomplished.” But I don’t know if I ever fully considered what they were actually saying. If you think about something every day, it means something to you. There are several things, people, adventures and places that I think about every day, too. They all are important to who I am, and mean a lot to me.

To have been a part of something that means so much to someone means that you made the world a better place, whether you meant to or not. That’s the part that’s got me thinking.

In the wake of all this, I’ve been struggling with the responsibility that goes along with being the shepherd. If you have the power to create something or do something that makes the world special for someone, obviously you should do it. But does it stop there? Don’t you also have an obligation to live up to a higher standard — especially if that’s what you are encouraging in others?

I think that maybe you do. And on that score I have some work to do.

So I don’t know. This has been a different week. Straight up, I’m in a transitional phase. I’m trying real hard to sort some things out. I don’t know where it’s all going, but I’m pretty sure that I need to clean up my act.

Associated Press and Idaho Club award-winning columnist Martin Hackworth of Pocatello is a physicist, writer and retired Idaho State University faculty member who now spends his time with family, riding mountain bikes and motorcycles and playing guitars. His writing on Substack, “Howlin' at the Moon in ii-V-I” may be found at martinhackworth.substack.com