Hidden Brain - The Tale of the Cowboy Philosopher

Episode Date: March 3, 2020

In 2009, an old man died in a California nursing home. His obituary included not just his given name, but a long list of the pseudonyms he'd been known to use. In this episode, which we originally released in 2019, we trace the life of Riley Shepard, a hillbilly musician, writer, small-time con man and, perhaps, a genius.

This is Hidden Brain, I'm Shankar Vedanta. Not long ago, I found myself in a subterranean labyrinth below the streets of Washington, DC. I'd come and search of clues. So here we are in Deck 50 in the Stacks of the Library of Congress. I'm opening a door that's marked Door 20. My guide is a tall, shaggy man named Steve Winick. He looks a lot like Hagrid from Harry Potter, which seems about right for somebody with

a title of folklorist. Steve has already let me through a maze of low-ceiling stacks across a small bridge and into a tiny elevator where the flow numbers go up as we go down. But now we've arrived. In here, we find row upon row of collection boxes on the shelves, and I'm looking for this collection, which is number AFC 1979-008. Steve pulls from the shelf a cardboard box. Nobody's really used this collection very much, so it's simply, you know, been there waiting

for you, really. The author of this collection is Richard Riley Shepard, a small time crook and con man who died in 2009. I've been tracking Riley Shepard for a few months. My assumption is that there's nothing of significance in the box. But I'm about to discover that the story I thought I was reporting is not the story I am reporting. The story that is about one fold before me is a story of obsession. one fall before me is a story of obsession. It's power, it's beauty, and it's costs. This week on Hidden Brain we explore the peculiar tale of Riley Shepard, a musician and writer who spend decades on a single grand project. Whether that project was a great quest or a great folly, that is for you to decide.

He was a genius, I think. He just was a compulsive liar. Quite a master. He was getting out of town before he was being tarting together. I haven't got time for that. I gotta get this done. They all hate you, my god. I should forgive them. Albert Riley, Joe Graham, what do you do? I stumbled onto the story as I was contemplating an episode not about obsession, but about fallen

heroes. I'd asked hidden brain listeners to share examples from their own lives. One of the messages, I hope I did this right, was from Stasha Shepard Silverman. She said her fallen hero was her dad, Riley Shepard, whom she still loved. I want to say that I had a great relationship with my father. He was totally cool in many ways and a great cook. When we talk, Stasha tells me that as a young girl, she idolized her dad.

She has memories of those days that feel like tiny, sparkling gems. My earliest memory of my dad is sitting on his lap and him smoking his cigar, and he would make cigar smoke rings for me. Stasha would watch them, transfixed, as they rose in the air before her. I thought the smoke rings were magical.

There was a lot that was magical for Stasha back then. She still remembers their little apartment in Hollywood, with the Symees cat and the cat hair and the hardwood floors. She remembers how much she loved that her dad was around all the time. He didn't have a regular job and he would sit in the middle of the living room usually, wherever we lived, and he would type. So he was working on things. He was working on, I didn't know what,

but I would sit under his desk sometimes while he typed away and we would talk in between the pages and he would tell me things about show business. They were in their own little bubble, Riley in his late 50s and his little daughter, typing, talking, just being together. Sometimes if Riley had a little daughter, typing, talking, just being together. Sometimes, if Riley had a little money, he'd take Starshire out to eat at their favorite Hollywood hotspot, a restaurant called the Brown Derby.

It was a place where Riley could drop shoulders with famous people, charm them with his warm southern accent, and impress his daughter on their way home. You know, the Hollywood stars were all around us. We could walk up the street and my father would tell me about movie stars when we walked. He seemed to know everything. Stasha was certain that her dad was something of a star himself. Sometimes he tell her about his musical career as a successful promoter, singer and songwriter. Occasionally, he might even sing the song, his song.

He told me and he told everyone that he wrote the song Blue Christmas. He told me and he told everyone that he wrote the song Blue Christmas. It wasn't true. Billy Hayes and Jay Johnson wrote Blue Christmas. The person who made it famous? Elvis. If Riley had written Blue Christmas, money might not have been so tight for the family. I was told constantly that we were artists and that there were artists and there were ordinary people and we were artists. Stascha eventually learned about her dad's most important artistic endeavor, not a song, but a writing project. The encyclopedia of folk music.

And that was supposedly his life's work. And it was vast. I mean, there were boxes there, huge boxes of volumes of indexes and things he was working on in books. To fund its creation, Riley solicited money from investors, some of whom he convinced to pour thousands of dollars into the project. Sometimes investors and bill collectors would call to ask when they were going to get paid. He used to get on the phone with all kinds of people and say, you didn't get the check.

What? The post office, he would constantly rail against the post office. So as a little girl, I also became very militant against the post office. I also would rail against the post office. I also would rail against the post office. And if I had a pen pal or a friend that I was writing a letter to, I'd always write on the outside of the envelope, you better deliver this letter.

You know, I was like enraged with the post office that they wouldn't deliver letters because I just thought they're constantly throwing my dad under the bus and not mailing his checks. For many children, there is a moment when a curtain pulls back and parents are revealed for who they are, in perfect beings, with flaws and failings. But for Starscher, the father she saw when the curtain opened, was hard to recognize. It happened one day when she was 12, hanging out at home.

And the phone rang. So I picked it up, I said hello. The caller demanded to speak to her dad. Starscher said he was out. His voice was shaking, and I could tell he was elderly. And he just sounded like a mean old man to me. He scared me. And he told me that my father took his life savings.

The phone is in my ear, and he's saying, your father's a crook. Did you know that? Your father is a crook. In 1946, Riley Shepard released a cover of the hit song, Atomic Power. It was inspired by the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Riley was a rising talent. He had dark, good looks, a soft southern twang, and the guitar skills to make a go of it. He signed with various labels. He seemed headed somewhere.

But Riley Shepard never achieved stardom. Instead, his life took a series of detours. Music historian Kevin Coffey tracked Riley down about a decade ago. Riley at the time was 89. He would die a year later. Kevin was interested in preserving the stories of all-time country western performers. He thought Riley might be worth profiling. He played steel in one of your records.

The conversation they had over a crackly phone line was friendly and nostalgic and full of insider names. Most people wouldn't recognize. That is, the lowest life was played piano, really hard, really, yeah. Gradually, Kevin pieced together Riley's backstory. Richard Riley Shepard was born in a farm near Wilmington, North Carolina in 1918. He dropped out of school in the fifth grade and decided to try his luck at singing.

It was a heady time for music in the region, groups like the Maynars mountaineers were popularizing what was then called Hilbilly Music. just to face it through. Pleasure's in my home, my farm beyond the blues. There are many friends who help me and have gone before, and I can't be there home and as well anymore. Riley started out playing songs and minstrel shows. Soon he told Kevin he was getting gigs with hillbilly groups like the Dixie Reelers. By the early 1940s, Riley had moved to Chicago. He toured with other hillbilly musicians and did comedy and acting work.

He also began cultivating his image as a cowboy crooner. As he created this new persona, he gave himself a catchy moniker, the cowboy philosopher. Where did you come up with that with that? Because I know you were calling yourself the gum-up, whether you knock your head off with no dead head. Because I found an ad from way back in 1945 and you were already using it. That's then.

She came up with that crap. To top off his fancy new title of philosopher, Riley grew a dashing moustache and began scheming up fresh ways to get into the spotlight. The cosmopolitan church presents Dr. Richard Riley Sheppard, Ph.D.D. This is Tasha again. A few years ago, she found one of the old flyers that advertised her dad's lectures. Dr. Richard Riley Shepard, author, historian, world traveler, philosopher, in a series of educational lectures.

The world traveler and philosopher was prepared to discuss a variety of important topics. Saturday, October 10, God, man, and society. Saturday, October 17, marriage, sex, Saturday, October 31, God, Man, and Saturday October 17th, Marriage, Sex, Saturday October 31st, Democracy and Capitalist. Saturday November 7th, Origin and Growth of Fascism. Even as he sought to make a name for himself with his educational lectures, Riley was still churning out songs at a frenzied pace, often releasing a new record every month. songs at a frenzied pace, often releasing a new record every month. But Kevin says, Riley wasn't reliable. He'd signed with one record label, and while his contract was still in force,

he'd signed with another. He'd often use different stage names or pseudonyms with different labels. Dickie Fri was one of the names I do. Dickie Fri, Dickie Fri, and that was all I did. For a time, Riley was able to make it all work, in part because he did have a little star power. He'd done well with atomic power, and later had another catchy tune titled Cowboy. I got me no home, I got me no wife, I've been the cowboy for all of my life. I guess I like being free. My house, my my saddle and me. Riley recorded it under the name Dixon Hall. I looked out the window and I saw a thing called Hall's closing, big sign.

Our Dixon came in. This was our Dixon Hall. That's how they don't take. No wife ever got me, no. This was how Riley operated. He played fast and loose. He also worked as an agent, getting music labels to sign new artists.

You see, I tell him, what do you think a publisher is? He's just a businessman. He wouldn't know a hit song to crawl out from under his desk and get him under late. He sold songs to these executives with a combination of bluster and hype. This role allowed Riley to capitalize on one of his greatest strengths. He was a born salesman. He once boasted that he could have started his own religion. We get about Su City Su, which was written by Dick Thomas. Su City Su, the day he drew your hair is red, your eyes are blue.

I swapped my horse and dog for you. Recorded by him on a small label, and he brought it to me, and I said, if you do what I tell you, you'll make a lot of money. And he did. I got him $7,000 in advance, and $7.00 in copies. It's the biggest money I've ever paid for a hillbilly song. I bet. In those days.

Riley was also a hustler in his personal life, where the consequences of his actions were more serious. Marion Kiminek knows this well. She was adopted at birth. As an adult, she searched for and found her biological mother. From her, Marion learned that her father was Riley Shepard. Marion's mother had met him while working as an actress in Chicago. And she said it was very charming, very good looking. He played the guitar and he sang.

And I guess she was kind of smitten with him and uh... She got pregnant. That she told Marion wasn't supposed to happen. He told her he was sterile. And for what I understand he told every woman he was with that he was sterile. The world will never know the reason. The reason why I said we're through. Whatever he'd achieved in the music industry, it was all winding down by the early 1960s. By then, Riley had picked up and moved on to the west coast. Yieldy high, or guilty high. to the west coast. He first went to Oregon and then to California. He told Kevin he gave

up the music business so he could turn his attention to a new project, an encyclopedia of folk music. But Kevin, things years of lying and cheating and breaking contracts had simply caught up with him. He made it sound like he did these moves for different purposes. I think usually he was getting out of town before he was being tart and feathered. It's perhaps fitting that the place Riley landed for the next chapter of his life was Hollywood. Tinseltown was shiny and bright and full of the kind of transformative stories that Riley loved. He arrived there with his common law wife and young daughter, Stascha. For a while, he thrived in his new role as Riley Shepard, family man.

But like most things in Riley's life, it didn't last. Your father is a crook. After all these years, Stasha still fixates on the memory of that old man's telephone call. Stascha says it was a turning point in her relationship with her father. That night, she confronted him. Right when he walked in the door, I was like, you know, screaming at him, you're a crook, you're a crook. And he looked at me like he turned white and he was shocked. And we argued, we fought.

I don't remember the exact words, but I remember he stormed out and he went out to his car and he sat there and smoked and he didn't come back inside for a long time. He would just, that's what he would do and he was mad, he would go out and he was carin' pout. But the next morning, Riley did what came naturally to him. He turned on the charm. He tried to smooth things over. He made stasha pancakes.

He told her the encyclopedia was going to make a lot of money and that his investors would get paid. Stascha wanted to believe him. Well, you know, I loved my dad and he was very apologetic and sweet and you want to believe your parents and also he was very good at convincing. Stasha didn't know how much money her dad owed, but she got the sense he was constantly evading creditors. She tells one story of calling home to get a ride. And when my dad picked up the phone,

he was pretending to be a Chinese man. He was pretending to be used this accent accent that like from breakfast at Tiffany's, that horrible, you know, was a Mickey Rooney. Anyway, terrible. And but I knew it was him. You know your father's voice. I'm like, dad. And he was like, hung up on me. like hung up on me. Riley took every shortcut he could to make a buck. For a time he wrote porn under the pseudonym Zachary Quill. One of his books, Glowing Heat. Stasha says her mother told her that Riley had worked out of formula. She said,

oh well dad used to get all these cheap novels and then he would write porn scenes and he would have typists insert the porn scenes in these crappy novels and resell them. This was Stasha's life. Things were always off-kilter, confusing. She remembers another time when they had to flee their house before the landlord came, probably because Riley hadn't paid the rent. We got in this rickety old truck with all our stuff jammed in it. And my father's encyclopedia of folk music was in there very carefully packed. Those were the biggest boxes that we took. And all our other stuff was just kind of strewn

in this truck, and it wasn't very well packed. And when we were driving down the highway, I remember that. So it was so weird. You know, people were pointing at us and trying to get our attention. And we were like, I mean, I remember my mother being like, wow, why are they waving at us? And then realizing, oh, our stuff is flying out. Like our slim belongings that we had paired down from selling almost everything else. Those things were flying out, not the encyclopedia folk music, but my clothes and what few things. By the late 1970s, the family had settled in Portoville, California, a town on the western edge of the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Riley spent his days working on his encyclopedia and to Stasha's mind, swindling everyone he could. It all ended when Stascha was 18. That year, 1983, Riley Shepard did what he had done many times before. He disappeared. He told my mother who he had been with for whatever 23 years that he was taking a short trip to Los Angeles. But when she woke up in the morning she realized that he had taken way more than what you would need for a short trip.

And he never, he did not come back. For more than a year, Stasha had no idea where he was. Eventually she found him living about an hour away in Fresno. They reconnected, but everything had changed. She now saw him for exactly who he was. He glamorized the life of being a grifter. He glamorized the life of being a con man. That's what I understand now, that he was a con man. It's even hard to say that out loud. He was, though. For years, Stascha felt torn between her distaste for Riley's behavior and her love for the

dad who made her smoke rings and took her to the brown derby. By the mid-80s, Stascha had left Porteville. A few years later, Riley returned to the town and played the role of the old cowboy musician. Stasha mainly stayed in touch by phone as the year has passed. One day in 2008, she got a call. Her dad had taken a fall in his home. And he ended up in the hospital after being alone on the floor for days. And I called him and he goes, honey, I know I'm gonna die. But he was so sweet.

I can't talk about that, but he said he loved me, and that he was proud of me. It was like beautiful. Riley rallied and moved to a nursing home. When stasha visited, he seemed agitated. And he goes, you don't, you don't know what it's like in here. I thought he meant the nursing home because three beds that I had the TV on, it was loud. I go, what, the nursing home? Because no, you don't, you don't know what it's like in here and here and he was pointing to his head. And I go, what, what are you talking about?

He goes, I'm, I'm, I'm flashing back on all the things I did. And I did some bad things. Stasha tried to comfort him, but in retrospect, she wishes she'd ask a question. What bad things? Tell me about those. What were the bad things? Maybe if you tell me about them, you'll feel better, because I'm wondering what all he

would have told me. But he lived for a little bit in the nursing home. That was the last time that I visited him. After Riley died, Stasha wanted the world to remember her father correctly. So she made sure his obituary included not just his real name, but all the pseudonyms he was known to use. Dick Scott, Hickey Free, Clim Hawley, Johnny Rebel, Dickson Hall, Gene Gilmore, Dick Gleason, Paul Lester, Richard Alexander, Albert Riley, Joe Graham, Richard James Hawley, after Riley died, Stasha had his body cremated. For a long time, she carried his ashes around

with her. She'd scatter a handful here or there, which seemed fitting for a drifter. There wasn't much in the Riley Shepherd estate. estate. Stasha packed up some of his letters, a cookbook he'd written for her, and various other papers. But his life's work, the encyclopedia he'd He'd left that to someone else. And in here, we find row upon row of collection boxes on the shelf. By the time I got to the basement of the Library of Congress, I figured I knew everything I needed to know about Riley Shepard. He was a crook, a con man, a bad husband, an unreliable father. So as folkloreist Steve Winnick pulls out the Richard Riley Shepard collection from the stacks,

I'm not holding my breath. Nobody's really used this collection very much, so it's simply, you know, been there waiting for you, really. Up in his office, Hagrid, aka Folklorist Steve Winnick spreads out the papers from the Richard Reilly Shepherd collection on a table. He picks up a letter. The date of this letter is September 7th 1976. More than four decades ago Reilly wrote this letter to the registrar of copyrights. Stascha was 11 years old. So he was working on things, he was working on, I didn't know what. In the letter, Riley asks for the forms he'll need to copyright and encyclopedia.

He adds a long post script. He says perhaps someone in the Library of Congress would be interested in the following. Over the past 16 years, I alphabetically indexed more than 43,000 titles of songs, including published versions and variants in English, French, Spanish, etc., all of which have enjoyed a folk-type tradition within the borders of the United States and Canada. All the titles, he continues, have been alphabetically cross-indexed and cross-referenced, with the titles of books they appeared in, along with the editors and publishers. Each reference is clearly coded, so that practically every folk song relative to the United States,

plus all its known versions and variants, can be easily located. You may be interested to learn that the 43,000 titles are clearly the outgrowth of only 4,000 songs, texts and tunes. He ends the letter this way. I know only one thing. I am the only person in the world with this amount of cross-index, cross-referenced musical material. Unfortunately, I do not own or have access to a computer in which to feed the information. Perhaps the Library of Congress can offer suggestions.

Riley wanted to get his encyclopedia to a wider audience. The chief archivist at the time wrote back and offered the names of potential publishers. He also said he'd like to see some of Riley's work. So Riley sent in the samples that the library now holds. In a follow-up letter, Riley explained how his indexing system worked. Each title is followed by the first line or lines of the song and or versions thereof.

And this, by the source, example. Goose hangs high, the Civil War Ballad. It deals with Lee's invasion of Pennsylvania and the Battle of Gettysburg. As Steve Winnick sifts through the materials, he slowly grasps the enormity of the project. So he's got 43,000 individual sheets or two sheets of paper however long it takes

that he's got to then sort into 4,000 categories. And then in addition to that, he has to cross reference each of those with all of the places that they've been published. So, there's an enormous number of cross-references within this book that he had to do by hand without the ability to electronically associate one item with another. What Riley Shepard had been working on since 1960 was a monumental accounting of some 200 years of American folk music. It involved a search of nearly every available documentary source. Riley had obtained rare books at great expense, including many that were out of print. He had collated thousands of songs and

organized them according to their provenance discovering common roots and pathways that linked different musical traditions together. Since he did not have a computer, almost no one did at the time, he did everything by hand, cross referencing song lyrics and musical notations and historical footnotes. Crazy as it sounds, the entire system lived largely inside his own head. By the point he wrote to the Library of Congress, he had spent nearly two decades trying to put down on paper what was in his head. Even as his life fell apart around him, and many of his closest friends and relatives came to think of him as a crook.

At the time, as far as I know, no one had attempted something this ambitious in terms of indexing all the songs in America. Riley Shepard, a man with a fifth grade education, an occasional writer of porn, a con man and hustler, had attempted to create something that would require years of effort by a team of PhD archivists and a small army of researchers. The fact of the attempt,

I think, is actually a significant fact in the history of folksong scholarship in the United States. And it's actually something almost nobody knows about. I wouldn't know about it if you hadn't brought it to my attention. And, you know, I've studied this for quite a number of years. I asked Steve to choose a song and explain how Riley had classified it. So he opened volume three, ran his finger down pages filled with typerate entries.

So I'll go to one that I'm quite familiar with. This is Holloway Joe, which is a C-shanty. And it says, this is a short drag or short haul shanty. It was taken from British sailors and American eyes, which means political references were eliminated from the text. American sailors preferred to concentrate on girls. For example, the British sailors sang. Louis was the king of France before the revolution,

but Louis got his head cut off, which spoiled his constitution. American sailors had more important things to sing about and changed the words to, once I had a German girl, but she was change the words to once I had a German girl But she was fat and lazy then I had an Irish girl. She damn near drove me crazy The shanti dates back to around the second half of the 18th century Though only in England in the USA it dates back to the years following the word 1812 For other English and American versions see the works listed below and then He gives a long list of books in

which this song appears. And he actually gives you the music for the song as well? In for many of the songs he does yes he does have music for Hallow H.O. as well. How does the tune of this song go? Do you remember it? When I was a little boy it's all my mother told me way all the way, all the way, Joe. Now, if I didn't kiss the girls, my lips would all grow moldy away, all the way, all the way, Joe. I have to say the impressive thing is you closed the book and you did that. This was all in your head, too. Yeah, it was.

In 1979, three years after his first letter, Riley got in touch again with a library of Congress. He said he'd been unable to find a publisher. And so he writes, Dear Mr. Hickerson, in case you don't remember, I have enclosed a photocopy of your letter to me dated July 8, 1977. First, I want to thank you for your suggestions and the addresses of possible publishers. I followed up, no funds are available for a work such as mine, though they are interested in what I have done and would appreciate a copy of the folk song finder and index. It

is of voluminous work, so I can understand the reluctance of a publisher to undertake the expense of its publication. So here I am, back to you again. It was an act of desperation. If you were our serious about the library reaching some agreement with me, I am ready to proceed. My problem is this, I don't know what to ask for in terms of financial remuneration to myself. I do know that I cannot ask as much as I have spent in terms of time, work, and money, but I would like to recoup at least some of my own expenditures, if not payment for my work and time.

In fact, I must recoup some of what I have spent because I have already signed a lease on a small farm and house in Porterville, California, and expect to move there in approximately six weeks. As I am, as they say, in the country music field, flat-busted. Riley never got what he was seeking. What he was asking was a significant outlay of money that I just think the library couldn't afford at the time or couldn't, you know, a portion to that project because, as he says in the correspondence, in addition to these volumes, there are 54 other volumes of this book. 54 other

volumes. After nearly two decades of painstaking work came the final indignity. Rejection. Yeah, I think he was an early casualty, you might say, of the switch from published books, that is paper books, to computer documentation. And he's aware of this. I mean, because he talks about how it would be great if he could put this into a computer. Would you say that Rhymeshap was a genius? He was a genius, I think. It's very impressive to see the amount of work that he did on this. And he also had that sort of crazy perseverance that you have to have.

So that's a whole other kind of genius. Here is a really amazing part. Riley continued to work on the Encyclopedia for the next 25 years. I mean, it is the case that since he would have sent this to the library in 1979, a lot more versions of traditional songs were published. So if he were trying to keep this book complete, he would have to continue to update it year after year. One of the interesting things is I'm not sure his family actually fully understands what he has done.

When I spoke with his daughter, Starsha, she just thought her dad was sort of obsessed with this project that never seemed to go anywhere, that never seemed to end, that just grew infinitely. And over the years, she had in fact heard from people whom he had borrowed money from and taken money from. And her impression of her dad is not a very positive impression. And in some way speaking with you, I get a different picture of this man.

Well, I think that all scholars, and particularly folk song scholars, have something of the Riley Shepherd in them, we would like to spend all our time and all our life immersed in the texts and tunes of folk songs. We just can't manage it because we have lives. So the amount of yourself that you're willing to give to that might vary for different people, but we certainly have sympathy for someone who gave so much of himself to it. I don't know if you're familiar with the anthropologist Arnold Van Henepp. He's the person who popularized the term rights of passage. And Van Henepp wrote a piece called The Research Project, or Folkler Without End.

And it was about a person who decided to write the definitive work on the evil eye. And he went to his Carol in the library and he began getting all the books about the evil eye and he compiled all of the references that he could find. And he took it to his advisor and his advisor says, this is a great start, but there's still other cultures and there's ancient Greek and Roman sources that you should look at. So he goes back and he works on those. This continues for years and years, and eventually this man dies at his Carol in the library, and nobody quite remembers what he was doing there.

That's kind of the impression that you get of Riley Shepherd. But it turned out there was someone next to Riley in his final days as he labored away in his carol. Before he collapsed and was sent to the hospital, Riley was living in a small house on D Street in Portofil. He was in rough shape. I thought you know he's a little bit disheveled. But Steve Ancelin, a Porteville native, says once you got to know Riley, he grew on you. It was Steve's father, Ted, who really knew Riley. Ted was a retired insurance agent and former Porteville mayor. Steve says his dad and Riley bonded over a shared love of music.

They would just sit and listen to country western music, the old country western music, not the new stuff. They were friends. They were also business partners. They wrote songs together, they recorded a few songs together. Mainly though, they worked on Riley's encyclopedia. Kat saw the genius in it. They spent hours and hours and hours just collecting all the material and then categorizing it. Steve says Riley was still consumed by the project.

Well, he had music spread all over. I mean, he had tables and chairs and floor and everything, and he had had this music spread out, and he was trying to get it in some sort of chronological order, and by the artist, he was trying to get the artist with the song, and he would have the song, and then he would have the artist. He was trying to get the artist with the song and he would have the song and then he would have the artist. And so he would try to cross reference all of those. So it was a labor of love. I'll tell you that, but he was, he just, no, I haven't got

time for that. I don't want to eat. I just, I got to get this done. This is important. And so he would just, I got to get this done. I, this is, this is important. And so he would just, he, he was funny. Stephen's father both felt they were in the presence of an extraordinary human being. Riley Shepard was, was a master. He, he did a lot of things, but he was quite a, quite a, quite a master. Steve's father willingly gave his time to the project, and he gave money, plenty of it.

Steve says after Riley died, Stasya got in touch. She was concerned that her dad had conned his dad. But Steve says the money wasn't important. The money doesn't mean anything as far as I saw the enjoyment that it brought to my dad. Raleigh left his life's work, the encyclopedia of folk music, to his friend, Ted Enslyn. They were 40 boxes. Ted stored them in his old insurance office, and that's where they sat for years. I kept asking dad, you know, what are you going to do with these Dad? What are you going to do with these?

And he says, he says there were a lot of money. And I said, well, I know about what are you going to do with them. Ted never did anything with them. He was old and suffering from dementia. Instead, he just relived his friendship with Riley. After Riley died, my dad had a little record player in his office, and he would put on a lot of Riley's country western music. It was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last long. And he just enjoyed Riley, enjoyed his friendship. When Ted Enselin 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 Bakowen's Museum in Bakersfield, California. Other copies are also floating around. Not long ago, Stascher says a couple who'd invested in Riles and Cyclopedia got in touch. They were willing to sell their copy to her for $500. She bought it. She says it's huge. Well, it's weird to see the whole thing and how much work he actually put into it. Because after I realized how much my father fabricated on various things from, you know, he just was a compulsive liar.

Sometimes you would make things up and I couldn't figure out why, why did you lie about that? Why didn't you brag about the songs you actually wrote? Why did you say you wrote blue Christmas or whatever? And so I became kind of jaded and I began to think that maybe the whole project to the Encyclopedia was not even worth thinking about it all. I loved my dad but I kind of rolled my eyes whenever whenever I thought about these projects, because so much, so much smoke and mirrors around it. Broken heart will never man. It was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last long. You left people so mudd in due time. In the conversation near the end of his life, the one recorded by music historian Kevin Koffee, Raleigh Shepard doesn't sound bitter or frustrated. He sounds like a man still

doing what he loves, honoring the music he had learned as a boy, trying to preserve it. In fact, he told Kevin, there were still plenty of songs and music that were left in him. I'm writing one now. I've got a call to the over you get. The more it's going to cost you to do the thing you did when you were young. When an old man's in love, he just thinks he's in love. He's not cooking with gas. He's just warming it over. He's on like that. Songs and novels are filled with stories about people with great obsessions. We have strong opinions about such people, when they succeed, when they produce the Taj Mahal or Hamlet or the iPhone, we hail the obsessions that built the monuments of this world.

When we count the collateral damage that people with obsessions leave in their wake, especially when those obsessions only produce the unreadable tom on the evil eye, or an unpublishable encyclopedia on folk music, obsessions start to look like folly. on folk music. Obsessions start to look like folly. Trouble is, you usually do not know whether an obsession is a great quest or a great folly. Until it's over. This week's show was produced by Jenny Schmidt and Parth Shah and edited by Tara Boyle. Special thanks to Ashley Messenger. Our team includes Raina Cohen, Laura Correll, Thomas Liu, Kat Schuchnecht and Lushik Wabba.

Engineering support from Patrick Boyd and Andy Huthar. Our unsung heroes today are Hugh Williams and Radio Orkney in Scotland. One of the difficulties we faced with this episode was finding audio of Riley Shepard's voice. Happily, we discovered that music historian Kevin Coffey still had tape of the interview he did with Riley. Our next challenge was connecting with Kevin, who lives in the Orkney Islands. Hugh Williams and his team at Radio Orkney were able to help us record an interview. We are so grateful.

For more Hidden Brain, you can find us on Facebook and Twitter. To see a slight show of photos of Riley Shepard, visit our website, npr.org, slash Hidden Brain. If this episode spoke to you, please take one moment to share it with a friend. A quick update. After this episode first aired, hillbilly music fans came together to try to find the many boxes of Rylees and Cyclopedia. The boxes were found and Stascha delivered them to the Internet Archive in San Francisco. The Encyclopedia is now online. I'm Shankar Vedanthantham and this is NPR.