The Buyer Kept Playing Granddad And Received A Federal Summons

Ruth filed the copyright case in federal court in Des Moines. The will dispute stayed in Polk County probate.

"Different courts, different questions," she told me. "We keep the records clear in both."

The federal complaint named Bracken and Felix. It listed the works used, the rights I held, and the copies and ads we had found. My certificates went with it. So did the assignments.

Seeing my name as plaintiff felt strange.

On repair tickets, my name meant someone expected a machine back by Friday. Here it meant I had asked a court to make people stop.

I paid another $2,000 toward legal costs from my savings.

Then I called three customers who were waiting on parts and gave them firm dates. I could not let Felix turn my whole life into his file.

One customer, Dana, came in while I was boxing a loaner.

"Your uncle called my office," she said.

My stomach tightened.

"What did he say?"

"That there was a family dispute and people should be careful. I told him my machine hadn't dropped a stroke since you fixed it."

She paid her $185 invoice and asked for a copy of the call note for Ruth.

After that, Felix's lawyer agreed in writing that he would stop contacting my customers. I pinned Dana's thank-you card above the parts shelf.

For weeks, my days ran in two tracks.

At the bench, I set spring tension and checked batteries. At Ruth's office, I reviewed sales logs and answered questions under oath.

Bracken asked whether Granddad had understood the assignments.

"Yes," I said.

"Did you explain what he was giving away?"

"His lawyer did. I wasn't in every meeting."

"Did he continue using the recordings afterward?"

"With my permission. That was in writing too."

Ruth handed over the limited license I had given Granddad to keep using his work during his life. It did not allow him to sell my rights. It did not extend to Felix.

I remembered Granddad teasing me about that page.

"You charging me rent for my own voice?"

"A dollar a year," I had said.

He had given me a dollar, then asked for a receipt.

I had kept that too.

By early summer, Bracken had agreed to a court order stopping use of the disputed catalog while the case continued. It had to tell its customers the recordings were not cleared and preserve its copies as evidence.

The order did not decide the final damages. It did stop the noise.

Nell called me after three quiet days of listening.

"No furnace song," she said. "I almost miss being angry at breakfast."

"Try the price of eggs."

"Already on my list."

The administrator's accounting was less funny.

Felix had spent $16,400 of the buyer's deposit. There were car payments, a credit card bill, and a $2,700 booth fee for a radio collectors' show. The remaining $7,600 had been frozen and was returned to Bracken under an agreement approved by the court.

The deposit had never been money Granddad earned. Felix would have to answer to the buyer for the rest.

He had also billed the estate $6,800 for supposed catalog work. The administrator rejected that bill and found he had already taken the same amount from Granddad's account after the funeral.

Bank records made the difference between a complaint and an amount the court could order him to repay.

Then Ruth showed me a motion from Felix's new lawyer.

He wanted me barred from using the name Bell in any music business until the dispute ended.

I read it in the shop with the door locked.

He had my grandfather's keys, then lost them. He had tried to claim my papers, then my lamp. Now he wanted my name put out of reach.

For the first time, I wanted to call and shout.

Instead, I wrote the facts Ruth requested. Bell was my name at birth. It was on my shop license, my tax returns, and my mother's grave record. I had never claimed Felix endorsed my work.

His motion was denied.

The judge's written order was four pages. I read the last page while eating a peach over the sink.

I did not feel grand. I felt able to finish lunch.

Two months later, the probate trial date arrived. Both witnesses to the 2018 will were available. Otis had agreed to testify about the later paper. Nell's original payroll sheet was secured with the other exhibits.

I laid out a clean blouse the night before.

A little tin train sat on my kitchen shelf, a wooden toy Granddad had made from scrap. I straightened one crooked wheel.

At seven, Felix called.

I let it go to voicemail.

"I'll withdraw the will," he said. "But you have to say Nell made a mistake. We can put everything back if you'll just say that."