In the misty dawn light of a crisp Rhode Island morning, where the rolling hills of Washington County meet the whispers of the Wood River, tragedy struck with the suddenness of a dropped bass note. On December 6, 2025, at approximately 7:21 a.m., 70-year-old Roderick “Rory” Macleod—beloved bassist, educator, and Grammy-nominated pillar of the blues—stepped out for what should have been a routine walk with his dogs along the shoulder of Spring Street in Hopkinton. The air carried the faint scent of pine from nearby Voluntown Forest, and the road, Route 138, hummed with the occasional commuter traffic heading toward Westerly. Rory, a fixture in Rhode Island’s music scene for over five decades, likely hummed a riff from his days with Roomful of Blues, his faithful companions trotting beside him. But in an instant, that serenity shattered. A Jeep SUV veered wildly from its lane, smashing into two telephone poles with a deafening crack before barreling into Rory, sending him crumpling to the asphalt. He was rushed to Rhode Island Hospital in Providence, where, despite the frantic efforts of trauma teams, he succumbed to his injuries later that day. One of his dogs, miraculously unscathed, bolted home to alert his wife, Sandol Astrausky, in a heartbreaking testament to canine loyalty.

The driver? 41-year-old Shannon N. Godbout of Hopkinton, a woman whose name has haunted local court dockets for years. Police reports paint a harrowing picture: Godbout, allegedly impaired and in possession of illegal narcotics along with packaging materials suggestive of drug distribution, lost control of her vehicle in a reckless swerve that left a trail of destruction. She was arrested at the scene and transported to a nearby hospital for evaluation, where she remained in custody as of December 10. Charged with driving to endanger resulting in death—a felony carrying up to 10 years—and possession of narcotics with intent to distribute, Godbout faces a potential cascade of additional counts as toxicology results and witness statements filter in. But what chills the blood of Rory’s family, friends, and the tight-knit music community is her record: over 100 arrests, 82 outstanding court warrants, and 40 traffic citations, including eight prior run-ins with Hopkinton Police alone. This wasn’t a momentary lapse; it was the collision of a vibrant life with a system that, critics argue, failed to intervene.

Rory Macleod’s story isn’t just one of untimely loss; it’s a symphony of resilience, rhythm, and quiet influence that echoed far beyond the stage lights of Providence’s jazz clubs or the hallowed halls of Brown University. Born in 1955 in Rhode Island, Rory grew up immersed in the state’s rich musical tapestry—a landscape shaped by the blues-soaked shores of Narragansett Bay and the folk traditions of its mill towns. Music wasn’t a profession for him; it was oxygen. By his teens, he was plucking strings in garages and basements, honing a bass style that blended the thunderous groove of Motown with the soulful swing of New Orleans. His breakthrough came in the late 1970s when he joined Roomful of Blues, the Providence-based juggernaut that redefined jump blues for a new generation. Founded in 1967 by guitarist Duke Robillard and harmonica wizard John Upshur “Al” Copley, the band was a horn-driven powerhouse, drawing from the Big Band era while infusing it with rock ‘n’ roll edge. Rory’s tenure in the 1980s marked a golden era: tight, telepathic rhythms that propelled tracks like “Turn It Up, Turn It Out” and “Straight Jack,” earning the group a devoted following from Boston to New York.

The pinnacle arrived in 1988 with Glazed, a collaborative album with New Orleans legend Earl “Uncle” King that snagged a Grammy nomination for Best Traditional Blues Album. Rory’s bass lines—deep, walking grooves that anchored the horns like an ocean current—were the unsung heroes, providing the pulse that let King’s guitar soar. “Rory was the glue,” recalled Duke Robillard in a 2012 induction speech at the Rhode Island Music Hall of Fame, where Roomful was honored alongside Rory. “He didn’t just play notes; he built foundations. Few bassists swing like that on upright or electric—Rory did both with effortless grace.” Inducted in 2012 (some sources cite 2014, a minor discrepancy in archival records), Rory’s plaque stands as a testament to his contributions, etched beside luminaries like Roomful’s original lineup. But his career wasn’t confined to one band. As Robillard launched his solo path in the mid-1980s, Rory served as his original bassist, laying down tracks on albums like Duke (1985) that blended blues with jazz inflection. He crisscrossed recording sessions with folk-blues troubadour Paul Geremia, whose 2013 Hall of Fame nod Rory helped amplify through production credits on gems like Love Has Made a Fool of You (2002). And then there was Jack Smith & The Rockabilly Planet, a high-octane outfit where Rory not only played but produced, infusing their 1990s output with a rockabilly fire that echoed Sun Records’ glory days.

Venturing solo in the 1990s, Rory released a single in 1993—”Midnight Ramble,” a brooding instrumental that showcased his fretless finesse—and followed with a full album, Rory Macleod (1995), a eclectic blend of blues, jazz, and Celtic influences reflective of his Scottish heritage. Critics in DownBeat magazine praised it as “a masterclass in understated power,” noting how Rory’s lines evoked the vastness of the Atlantic, much like his adopted home state. Yet, for all his stage prowess, Rory was equally at home in the classroom. In recent years, alongside his wife Sandol Astrausky—a virtuoso fiddler whose bow dances across old-time string traditions—he served as Teaching Associates at Brown University’s Department of Music. Together, they directed the Old-Time String Band program, mentoring undergrads in the art of Appalachian reels and Delta shuffles. “Rory and Sandol were more than instructors; they were igniters,” said Brown music professor Fred Mauck in a university tribute posted December 8. “He’d sit with a freshman fumbling an upright bass and, in five minutes, unlock a lifetime of groove. His patience was as deep as his low E string.”

Sandol, his partner in life and melody for over three decades, was the yin to his yang—a partnership forged in the smoky clubs of Westerly and solidified through shared stages and string workshops. They met in the early 1990s at a Rhode Island Folk Festival jam session, where her fiddle cut through the crowd like a Highland wind, complementing Rory’s steady thrum. Together, they performed at venues from the Strand Theatre in Providence to intimate house concerts in Hope Valley, blending blues with Celtic folk in sets that left audiences humming for days. Their home at 12B Pleasant Street in Richmond became a hub for local musicians, with jam sessions spilling into the yard where Rory’s dogs—rescues from the Providence Animal Shelter—lounged like contented roadies. “Rory lived for the music, but he loved for the people,” Sandol wrote in a Facebook post on December 7, her words a raw elegy amid the flood of condolences. “He’d walk those dogs every dawn, plotting new riffs in his head. Now the road’s empty, but his bass echoes on.”

That echo was brutally silenced on Spring Street, a two-lane artery slicing through Hopkinton’s pastoral heart. Eyewitnesses, sparse at that early hour, described a black Jeep SUV fishtailing erratically before the chaos: metal screeching against wood as poles splintered, shards flying like shrapnel. Rory, clad in his signature flannel and jeans, was thrown several feet, his body a crumpled chord against the gravel. First responders from the Hopkinton Fire Department arrived within minutes, stabilizing him amid the wreckage. His dog, a mixed-breed named Blue (after the genre that defined him), bolted the half-mile home, paws pounding the familiar path. Sandol, alerted by the frantic animal, raced to the scene only to face the unimaginable. At the hospital, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile scent of antiseptic, Rory slipped away, leaving a void that no encore could fill.

Shannon Godbout’s involvement adds layers of outrage to the grief. A Hopkinton resident at 332 Canonchet Road, Apartment 203—a modest complex near the town’s volunteer fire station—Godbout’s life has been a revolving door of legal entanglements. Court records, unsealed in the wake of the crash, reveal a pattern spanning two decades: arrests for larceny, assault, disorderly conduct, and drug possession dating back to her early 20s. Eight of those collars came courtesy of Hopkinton PD, including a 2018 incident for shoplifting at the local IGA supermarket and a 2022 domestic disturbance call that ended in a no-contact order. Traffic violations pile higher: 40 citations for speeding, failure to yield, and driving without a license, many ignored until warrants accrued like unpaid bar tabs. By 2025, 82 bench warrants hung over her, a scarlet ledger of missed hearings and unserved summonses. “It’s a systemic failure,” fumed Hopkinton Police Chief Mark Carrio in a December 9 press conference, his voice edged with frustration. “We’ve arrested her repeatedly, but the courts release her. This time, the consequences are irreversible.”

At the crash site, officers discovered a cache of narcotics—pills, powders, and paraphernalia—in Godbout’s vehicle, alongside baggies stamped with street monikers. Toxicology pending, but preliminary reports suggest impairment played a role, fueling speculation of a drug-fueled haze behind the wheel. Godbout, treated for minor injuries at Westerly Hospital, was arraigned virtually on December 9 in Washington County Superior Court. Bail denied, she’s held without bond pending a December 15 hearing, where prosecutors may elevate charges to second-degree murder if recklessness borders on intent. Defense attorney Elena Vasquez, appointed from the public defender’s office, entered a not guilty plea, citing “mitigating health factors.” But public fury simmers: X (formerly Twitter) erupted with posts decrying “catch-and-release justice,” one viral thread from @RIBluesFan reading, “Rory Macleod walked to the beat of his own bassline. Godbout? She’s been dodging accountability for years. How many more lives?”

The ripple effects have shaken Rhode Island’s roots music enclave to its core. Vigils sprang up by December 7: a candlelit gathering outside the United Theatre in Westerly, where Rory gigged annually, featured fiddlers playing “Ashokan Farewell” in his honor. The Rhode Island Music Hall of Fame issued a poignant statement on Facebook: “Rory Macleod (1955-2025): It is with great sadness that we mourn the loss of one of our own… His career spanned more than 50 years, a guiding light in roots music as performer and educator.” Tributes poured in from collaborators: Duke Robillard, now 76 and battling health woes, shared a grainy photo from a 1985 session, captioning, “Rory’s groove was unbreakable. This one’s for you, brother—keep walking that low line.” Paul Geremia, the folk-blues elder, remembered him as “a quiet giant, whose bass spoke volumes no words could.” At Brown, students organized a string band memorial concert for December 12, with Sandol Astrausky leading a rendition of Rory’s solo track “Midnight Ramble.” “He taught us that music heals fractures,” said junior violinist Lila Chen in a campus op-ed. “Now, we play for his healing.”

Beyond the personal, Rory’s death ignites broader debates. Rhode Island’s pedestrian fatality rate, already climbing 15% since 2020 per state DOT data, underscores rural road vulnerabilities: narrow shoulders, high speeds, and lax enforcement. Godbout’s saga exemplifies “failure to appear” epidemics, where warrants go unserved due to overburdened dockets—Rhode Island issued 12,000 in 2024 alone. Advocacy groups like Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) and the Rhode Island Coalition for Road Safety called for reforms: mandatory ignition interlocks for repeat offenders, expanded drug courts, and federal funding for rural traffic cams. “Rory wasn’t just a musician; he was a community anchor,” said MADD’s RI chapter head Maria Gonzalez. “His loss demands we tighten the net before another slips through.”

As winter deepens over Hopkinton’s frost-kissed fields, Rory’s legacy endures—not in headlines, but in the strings he tuned and the students he shaped. Sandol Astrausky, steeling herself for a life without her duet partner, plans a tribute album: Rory’s Ramble, featuring unreleased tracks and guest spots from Robillard and Geremia. Proceeds will fund music scholarships at Brown, ensuring his groove guides the next wave. On X, fans share bootlegs of Roomful’s live sets, hashtags like #RorysRhythm trending with 50,000 posts by December 10. In the quiet of Spring Street, where a makeshift memorial of flowers and guitar picks now marks the spot, one senses Rory’s bassline faintly thrumming beneath the wind—a reminder that true music outlives the silence.

For those who knew him, Rory Macleod wasn’t defined by a Grammy nod or Hall of Fame plaque; he was the steady pulse in a chaotic world, the low end that made the highs soar. His death, a discordant crash in an otherwise harmonious life, challenges us to amplify the quiet calls for justice. As Sandol wrote in her eulogy, “Rory walked roads with dogs and dreams. Now, he walks the great gig in the sky. Play on, love.” In Rhode Island’s blues heartland, that command isn’t mournful—it’s a rallying cry, a bass note building to crescendo.