An ode to the amazing Stephen Hibbert
By Wax Trax & Kilgore Books staff
Some people don’t just shop at a record store, they become part of it. Steve Hibbert, our friend and favorite regular, was one of those people. He unfortunately and unexpectedly passed away last month. You can read about it in various outlets (TMZ, Rolling Stone, Forbes, Entertainment Weekly, among many others) that covered his death. However, we wanted to share something more personal about his impact on us.
Steve showed up daily, and dug deep into the CDs, lingered, cracked jokes, and made the place feel more like Wax Trax just by being in it. Over the years of visiting us, he built a sizable CD collection. Right now, we’re putting Steve’s CDs back into circulation at our Cap Hill Used store, each marked with a small “108” on top of the price sticker so you’ll know you’re holding a piece of his collection in your hands.
Wax Trax and Kilgore Books staffers, who will deeply miss Steve’s frequent trips to our Cap Hill corner, shared the following:
Steve was a regular at Wax Trax, always coming in for a new used CD or two, almost daily, and catching up with each of us. An ever positive presence, and generously helpful, even volunteering to help at our new Northside location’s grand opening. He came in early with me and helped me carry and set up a table, and organize small details before the ribbon cutting. I gave him the job of running the prize wheel, and when he was way too generous with the giveaways, I had to take the job away.
He would text me little nice things, like paintings, or an old Hollywood actress glamor shot, or a picture of a small hedgehog with a strawberry, as he did with a regular group of others. He always put a positive and deeply funny spin on things, and along with being an excellent writer, he was an absolute optimist. Even when news of the world felt bleaker than ever, he would find a way to make me laugh and feel hopeful. I invited him to my halloween party and begged him to show up, which he did promptly, and in doing so, graciously endured an evening of my girlfriend’s dad asking questions about being the gimp in Pulp Fiction. I’ll miss him around the shop, and I’ll miss the warmth he leaves the world without.
-Delaney, Wax Trax
Steve, for years, was the highlight of my Saturday shift at Kilgore’s. No matter how bad of a day I was having, one 5 minute visit from him could always turn it around. He was always so positive, kind, and warm and made such a large impact, I always felt the impact of when he wasn’t able to stop in. I loved speaking to him about old Hollywood films, his love for film noirs and the old bombshells of classic Hollywood. I loved hearing him speak about his children, and how proud he was of them. Just truly a phenomenal person who cared about his community, his family, his friends, and for his art. I feel grateful to have had his presence in my life for a few minutes every Saturday, and will continue to miss him greatly.
-Irene Sanders, Kilgore Books
Steve was a regular at Kilgore Books since he moved to Cap Hill 4 years ago? 5? He bought books, traded books, and even sold books when he needed a little cash in his pocket. Mostly though, he liked talking books. But not more than he liked talking movies!
Steve even worked a few shifts at Kilgore in the spring of 2023 when our daughter was born and I needed some extra time off. I never witnessed him behind the counter, but he was born to do the job– or really any job where he interacted with the public. Steve’s friendliness was genuine. He remembered people’s names because he cared about who they were and what they had to say.
That’s how he made me feel anyway, when he’d stop just to say hello or sometimes for an extended chat. Steve was only in Cap Hill a few years, but he was a real neighborhood fixture. I took for granted his almost daily appearances as well as our relationship moving steadily from acquaintances to real friends. I miss Steve so much. I feel like we had a hundred conversations still to tie up. And when I look out the windows onto 13th Ave, I somehow still expect to see the quick gait, the shock of white hair, the various hand/eye signals he employed to convey the messages I see you, and I care.
-John Kuebler, Kilgore Books
It was always a delight to see Steve walk in the store. Casual, slightly rumpled, a little hesitant, as if he didn’t want to interrupt anything, as if you were going to let him slide by you with a smile and a quick nod.
But Steve wasn’t someone you wanted to let slip by you, he was someone you wanted to stop and say ‘Hi’, ask him how his day was going, did he like the weather, what movie he had been to see, what he was listening to…
But that was just the pleasantries because what we really wanted to hear Steve talk about was himself: himself and all the extraordinary things he had done in his life because it turned out this modest, unassuming neighborhood character had the most amazing stories to tell about his adventures with TV and movie Glitterati, from Mike Meyers to David Letterman to Saturday Night Live.
Steve’s best story was The Gimp. Never mind his writing for Letterman, MADtv, Boy Meets World or It’s Pat: The Movie; or appearances in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me and The Cat In The Hat. That was just icing on the cake. The cake was The Gimp.
He told the story of how he met Quentin Tarantino and the crowd of actors in that circle like Harvey Keitel and Michael Madsen as though he had just been walking along Sunset Blvd one afternoon when someone stepped out of a dimly lit dive bar, took him by the elbow, stuck a cold beer in his hand and said, ‘Come here boy, I’m gonna make you famous.’
He never made himself the star of the story. He always seemed surprised that someone had said, OK, write this or do this, or that Quentin Tarantino would say let’s try you out for The Gimp in Pulp Fiction, get in this leather bondage suit, roll around on the floor and make some weird noises. No words, just noise. Oh, and FYI, the suit’s a rental.
I heard Steve tell that story a few times when he stopped by Wax Trax or Kilgore Books. It didn’t get better because it was perfect each time. Steve was a master raconteur, a story teller of grace and wit, somehow both modest and extraordinary at the same time. He was sweet, kind, funny and curious, always interested in everything around him, in you, in your day, in what you thought and felt.
Steve was much loved on our block. He’s missed every day he doesn’t walk in the door, rummage through a few rows of dollar CDs, and come up to the counter to brighten our day.
-Duane Davis, Wax Trax
What struck me most about Steve was his mastery of small talk, which, for a small business, is a building block of community. The highest achievement of any business is being a positive part of its neighborhood, and the primary point of contact is the interaction shared at the register. Almost all of that community is lost in online sales, for instance. And maybe that is part of the reason why people are so hungry for analog and the community around it.
At the counter at Wax Trax a sale can be simply transactional too, when moods on both of the counters are low (a rare occurrence really), but this was never the case with Steve or our staff when they welcomed him. Even when feeling low, he shared a good story with humor. Steve was a master of these small community exchanges and his near daily appearances created a continuity of conversation that endeared him to the staff. He even made it into our family photo album, and as often as he was in he was definitely part of the Wax Trax family. We will miss him greatly, and I think of him daily to remind myself to enjoy all the time I have left, just as he did.
-Pete Stidman, Wax Trax
I miss Steve. I miss him coming in and shyly telling me his jokes he submitted to Colbert and us hoping they would make it onto the show. I miss chatting with him about movies and finding out he’s connected in some way to literally all of them (he was the voice of the screaming eels in The Princess Bride— like, what??) I miss ringing him up for CDs that he would pick up for his daughter and commenting on the funny covers, speculating what the music would be like. I just miss what a ball of light he was that would always brighten up the shop and everyone around him when he came in. The world is less bright now without him.
-Becca Romero, Wax Trax
Steve was one of the first customers back in 2020 coming for his CD fix, masked, friendly and always willing to chat. His joy and gratitude was a balm for me when things were stressful responding to the pandemic, reorganizing the store, building a website, and training up staff on new procedures and safety protocols.
Steve had great parenting advice when Pete and I had our son Odo and will be missed as a customer and a member of the Wax Trax community.
-Erica Pike, Wax Trax
Haiku for Stephen
A tall handsome man
Never asked about “it’s pat”
Digging through the stacks
-Adam Baumeister, Wax Trax
Steve was an enlightened being from another galaxy.
-Mike Buckley, Wax Trax
Thanks for remembering him with us. If you find yourself picking up a CD with a “108” sticker on it at the Cap Hill Used store, know you’re part of keeping his memory alive in the most fitting way we know how: through music, shared space, and the small connections built along the way.
We’ll miss you, Steve.
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