Part Four: The $10,000 Question

A few years ago, I was contacted on Facebook by an estate sale lady. She said she was representing a family in Porterville that had 40 boxes of my father's stuff, and did I want them? I wrote back, "Yes, I can arrange for a pick up. I have a sister that lives nearby."

The estate sale lady responded, "the family is asking for $10,000."

I was gobsmacked. What on earth did this family think was in those boxes? I told the lady that I was interested only in the personal items in the boxes; photographs, letters, things like that. I said I didn't have ten thousand dollars for these boxes. Even if I did, WTF?

Back in 2009 when our dad died, my sister Lisa called to tell me that things from his house were missing.

"What things?" I asked her.

"His book collection, all his reference books, plus all the copies of The Encyclopedia aren't there. It's like the house has been cleared out," she said.

We were both perplexed by this, not sure if Dad decided to store all his stuff somewhere else, with one of his many girlfriends perhaps? His house was small, maybe he had a secret storage unit somewhere? He could be incredibly candid and open, and at other times paranoid, evasive, and secretive.

Now I had the answer. Somehow, all my father's belongings ended up with Ted. I knew that Ted and my father became friends despite the debts and the big falling out they'd had in the 1980s, and Ted had helped me greatly when I visited my sick father in the nursing home in Porterville. But I wondered if the boxes were taken as collateral, and then ended up with Ted's children.

Ted had recently died, and I knew he'd invested in my Dad's work, "The Encyclopedia of Folk Music." Back when I was a teenager, I was mortified that my father was in so deep to Ted, who'd been Porterville's mayor. Maybe the surviving kids thought the project was going to make money eventually. Early on, it became clear to me the "Encyclopedia" manuscript was probably never going to be published, and it wasn't something I was desperate to have. I wanted the personal stuff, which was only valuable to me and my siblings.

When it became clear that I wasn't going to pay for the boxes, the estate sale lady said in a telephone call, "The family has decided to ship Riley Shepard's boxes to the Nashville Country Western Hall of Fame."

Baffled, I said, "Please don't do that. My father wasn't famous. They won't know what to do with it." Fearing it would end up in the recycle bin behind the museum, I asked her again for the personal items, even though I wasn't sure at the time what the boxes held. I assumed the estate lady and Ted's family had looked inside the boxes.

Later, Ted's son agreed to be interviewed on the Hidden Brain episode based on a story I wrote for Radix Media. He told the host, Shankar Vedantam, that my father's boxes were split up, some sent to the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, and some to the Buck Owens Museum in Bakersfield, California.

The photograph above is a snap I took of a pile of his writings. This is what I've been sorting through, with help from friends.

If I hadn't submitted my story to the Hidden Brain podcast, I don't think I would have ever been reunited my father's missing boxes again. Although at times I wasn't sure I'd done the right thing by pitching this complicated story to a formatted show, the team ended up with a compelling narrative based on their own thoughts and assumptions, plus the hundreds of emails I sent them, the research I sent, and all the people I connected them with.

The podcast was titled "The Cowboy Philosopher." In the end, someone was moved by that story. So moved, they told me the name of the person who ended up storing my father's stuff for Ted. It turns out, a songwriter in town named Larry told Ted's family he would store the boxes until they figured out what to do with them. Larry was kind and thoughtful. After looking through the material inside the boxes, he knew that the boxes belonged with family, but he didn't know about me. When we finally talked, he said, "When I read what was inside some of those boxes, I told my wife, this is not for us to look at. This belongs with Riley Shepard's family."

More than ten years after my father died, I have the extensive notes he kept, extremely candid notes about his entire life, notes he referred to when deciding what to include in the 30 pages he sent me. I'm glad to have them back, and relieved they didn't end up in a dumpster somewhere. I found out as an adult that I have at least five half-siblings, and maybe more. My father had multiple families, but he simply vanished from their lives.

Fact check: Here, in italics below, is a section of the transcript from the "Hidden Brain" episode titled "The Cowboy Philosopher." Ted's son Steve told Shankar some of the boxes had been shipped off to these two museums:

  • VEDANTAM: "When Ted Ensslin died, Steve gave the encyclopedia to another man in town, who happened to be a country music songwriter. Steve says he was told the pages of carefully indexed entries were eventually split up. Some were shipped off to Nashville and some to the Buck Owens museum in Bakersfield, Calif."

That never happened. After the show, I called both museums to keep up with the fact checking, which is so important these days. Both curators loved the episode, but they didn't have the boxes. I was pleased to learn from the curator at the Country Music Hall of Fame that they always had a few of Riley Shepard's songbooks.

All the boxes went straight into a storage unit, paid for by Larry.

I'm going to begin the task of editing our father's notes down so that the events are in order. He begins a time period, then ends, then begins again, adding in different things each time. These notes go all the way back to his childhood, through his troubled teen years, his first performing gigs, the recording industry, and who he worked with during the transition from Hillbilly music to Country Western.

My friends helped me sort through the boxes,(free drinks!) reading and organizing the loose leaf notes. Thank you Heidi Parker, Betsy Jones, Thomas Schworer, John Boylan, Claire Boynton, Lisa Shepard, Mary Fields, and David Silverman.

Larry, you are a thoughtful, kind, considerate person. Thank you.

Next, the beginning of Riley's childhood. Everyone was a little kid once, at the mercy of those around them.

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©2020 by Stacya Silverman.

All photos on this site were taken by Thomas Schworer or David Hiller unless otherwise noted.