About Us

Where do we begin?

We could start with Gary’s lifelong love of music and pop culture that he combined with his commitment to activism. How he started working at Rhino Records when it was only a store on Westwood Boulevard. How he became Senior VP of A&R for Rhino Entertainment

Gary Stewart
1957-2019

through that same knowledge and passion. How he had been called “the Clive Davis of reissues” because of the quality, inclusiveness, and attention to detail that he brought to compendiums and boxed sets of even the most commercially forgotten artists. How he encouraged social responsibility by incentivizing community service by Rhino employees. How he was hand-picked by Steve Jobs for the position of Chief Music Officer at iTunes. How he curated ‘Essentials’ playlists for hundreds of artists, eschewing data and algorithms for curation and care. How he was a tireless advocate for labor rights and social justice, putting in the work from knocking on doors to fundraising.

We could conclude with how missed he is. How his memorial service was held in a room that seated a thousand and was still standing room only. How the same words appeared in every tribute -great or small- and are still used when describing the man Gary was: Kind. Giving. Influential. Passionate. Adamant. Inspiring.

It is our great hope that The Trunk Fund can help keep the name Gary Lee Stewart synonymous with generosity, enthusiasm, and justice.

Our Beginning
Founder's Note

More than once I’ve been asked ‘Why reinvent the wheel?’ when it comes to The Trunk Fund. “Why not work with a musicians' aid charity and establish a fund in Gary’s name?” “Why not join a giving circle? There are lots of arts charities to choose from at Such-And-Such Organization.”

Believe me, I’m right there with you— I did not have “start a nonprofit” on my Bingo card.

I had wanted to do something to keep Gary’s name alive for years. But, life happened. (A lot of it.) Finally, in October 2023, a little spark of inspiration lit a fire under me and I went to work.

I had initially wanted to set up a memorial scholarship in the music department of Gary and I’s alma mater, so I emailed them for some info. $25,000 in perpetuity, they said. I thought it seemed doable. Between Gary and I's mutual friends and our extended network —and maybe with the help of a fundraising concert— I thought I could make that happen.

But when I inquired further, I found that the payout would be one thousand dollars once per year, and the department chairs would decide the recipient. I had hoped for maybe a bit more input in the process; a bit more consideration of the kind Gary might undertake. Were there first-generation students in the course? Single parents? Would this payout go to the person for whom it could do the most good? I had already been a little put off by the used car salesman tone of their reply— they’d very clearly skimmed some online info about Gary and made some big assumptions about where the money should go. The final straw came when they misspelled his last name as ‘Steward’ at the end of the email.

I was livid. Should Gary’s memory really be left to people that couldn’t be bothered to proofread?

‘F--- that,’ I thought. ‘For 25 grand, I can do better than Some Dead Guy memorial scholarship. Actually, we can do better, cuz I'm not gonna be able to do this alone.’

I did some research and found that most charities supported by Gary’s favorite organizations focused on art and music as therapeutic outlets, with a few supplementing public school budgets for arts education. Similarly, most musicians’ aid organizations I could find were often places of last resort: help for people who couldn’t pay rent or medical bills, or needed addiction treatment. There’s certainly nothing wrong with any of those things…but what about the in-between? Where are the opportunities or support if any of those kids decide that they want to make a career in the arts? Who’s making sure musicians get paid before the hardships come? (The answers are “More places than you’d think” and “Some people, but not enough”, respectively.)

I don’t have $500 to be part of a charitable giving circle, and I suspect I never will. But if the lineup is worth it I can definitely put $200 on my Amex for a ticket to a benefit concert and deal with the ramen-flavored consequences later. And l figure there are lots of people who feel the same. As Gary himself said: “If you buy a ticket, or give during a pitch… Guess what? You’re a donor activist.” So why not make donor activists of more people, one concert at a time?

The Trunk Fund came from a desire to bridge gaps. Between talent and opportunity. Between those concerned about livable wages for workers and those whose creative work makes our lives livable. Between those who met Gary at a standing room only gig and those who met him at a gala dinner.

The Trunk Fund was started because we can do better. Together.

Our Inspiration

When we say Gary was an avid consumer and curator of all things pop culture, we mean it.

He kept a supply of albums, boxed sets, films, and shows in a cabinet in his home office, and was known to open it at parties. If that weren't enough, he kept a similar stash in the trunk of his Prius to hand out to friends, colleagues, and sometimes even strangers. If there was a piece of media that Gary thought you needed in your life, he would place it

directly into your hands. This generosity also extended to concert tickets in blocks and charity events by the tableful. Gary liked to remove any barrier —or any excuse— you may have had in experiencing something new or deepening your engagement.