by Don Felder
Kathrin was an absolute godsend. I’d wake in the early hours with a panic attack, and she’d comfort me. I’d sit with a cup of coffee, staring into the fireplace late into the night, wallowing in self-pity. Sometimes she’d just sit with me, her hand in mine, soaking up the silence and allowing me to cry. I felt like I was dying inside. There wasn’t a single hour of my day when I didn’t mourn my loss.
“How could they treat me so badly after all we’ve been through together?” I’d ask her, my throat closing around my vocal cords. “Don’t I deserve better than this?” I felt helpless in the face of their cruelty, their actions cutting through me like a knife.
It took months and months, but very slowly, Kathrin taught me how to accept what had happened and reinvent myself completely. She made me put the whole event into perspective, to see that I was still extraordinarily lucky and to realize that I had to decide what I was going to do and how to rebuild my life.
With her help, I tried to concentrate on the positives. “Count your blessings,” as my mother would say, whenever I’d complain as a child about not being able to afford a new bike or a new pair of shoes. I came to see that although being an Eagle hadn’t been the easiest of roads, it had enabled me to have innumerable moments of pure exhilaration and unadulterated joy. I’d started as the new kid in town, with long blond hair, a beard and mustache, in a brown leather jacket, driving a battered old Volvo, looking for some session work. Thanks to Bernie’s generous introductions, I was a guitar player who got lucky and wound up in a band that, for thirty years, remained in the fast lane of rock’s superhighway. After years of the kind of life most guitar players would give their favorite Les Paul for, I had weathered the most savage of storms and come through unscathed—well, maybe a little battered and graying at the edges—but I’d somehow survived to tell the tale.
Whatever else I’d achieved, I know I helped make some great music, arguably some of the most enduring of the twentieth century. It was widely agreed that my guitar playing had been a cornerstone of the Eagles’ success. My defining moments had been standing on the stage in the spotlight playing the first few chords of the best song I ever wrote. Between us, we’d made the music that a whole generation had grown up with. They’d laughed and loved and lived and cried to our songs. Some of our older listeners might not be able to remember what they did yesterday, but they can still remember every word of “Hotel California.” We still have an estimated 100 million fans worldwide.
But, my Lord, I paid my dues for the privilege. I spent years on the road away from my family, missing my wife and kids; I suffered stress-related health problems and spent sleepless, drug-fed nights wondering if it was all worth it. I endured untold emotional abuse from people who should have been my best friends. We’d been through so much. We’d laughed and loved and lived and cried to the same songs as our audience, but the bottom line is, we never really got along. I realize that now. From the first day I walked into the Record Plant studio, that band was breaking up. Everyone was at each other’s throat, emotionally and artistically. We just never clicked the way some bands did. A self-destruct mechanism was constantly ticking away. Beneath a rigid code of silence that hid our fractured, contentious side from the public and allowed our mythical peaceful, easy image to continue, our dream of stardom and togetherness slowly morphed into a Hotel California-style nightmare. Terrified of speaking out in case I made things worse, my years of acquiescence meant that I could check out but I could never leave.
I can remember looking at other bands, like Chicago or U2, and en-vying their unqualified camaraderie. Those bands were like brothers. They not only got along well with each other onstage and in the studio, they socialized together, went on vacation with each other, and babysat each other’s kids. Where was the love like that in the Eagles? It never existed. We might as well have been a group of session musicians who’d never met and didn’t give a damn about anything but the music, putting our heads together to create a sound and then going our respective ways. To some of us, money came before friendship at every turn. The minute we came off tour, no one called each other or went over to another’s house to say, “Hey, wasn’t that great?”
There we were, blessed with this amazing success that should have brought us to our knees with gratitude and humility, hailed as the greatest band America had ever produced, but instead of reveling in every moment of it, sharing the joy of this charmed existence with each other and our families, we were too busy tearing each other apart. As Timothy sang in his haunting song “I Can’t Tell You Why,” we made it harder than it had to be. Our American Dream was systematically destroyed by egos and perfectionism and greed. We worried away at each other like the tip of a tongue on a sore tooth.
Then, after years of loyal service, of putting up with all the crap, “The Gods” told me my services were no longer required. That really hurt. Although we’d never clicked socially, after all those years of being thrown together in the most bizarre and extreme of circumstances, these guys were closer than family. Hell, they were my family.
I know now that they had to get rid of me because I was asking too many awkward business questions and was about to expose them for what they were. I guess they’ve been busy with the shredders ever since. Well, all right. So be it. In a way, it came as a horrible relief. I was damned if I was going to just walk away from the legacy I’d helped to create, though. After years of being browbeaten into submission, I was finally going to stand up for what I believed.
Three people own Eagles Ltd.—Don Henley, Glenn Frey, and Don Felder. We own the rights to the name the Eagles, including the right to use that name on record or on tour and the right to license it for use on merchandise. There was a major difference between my so-called departure and that of Bernie and Randy. I never quit, and I never surrendered or offered up my shares of stock. According to our corporate agreement, which is still valid, someone had to leave of his own volition for that to happen. They couldn’t just boot me out of the company, then try to buy my shares back at whatever price they deemed fair. Their offer was both arrogant and misguided. It also made me realize what I had to do.
In February 2001 I filed a lawsuit against Eagles Ltd. in the California Superior Court, Los Angeles. I had two choices, to tuck my tail between my legs and walk away, or to fight back. For way too long, I’d walked away. Now Don, Glenn, and Irving had given me no choice. My attorneys assured me that I had a very strong case of wrongful termination and breach of contract. Judging from past experience, Don and Irving—no strangers to litigation—would fight at first but then settle.
My final suit alleged involuntary dissolution of Eagles Ltd., breach of implied-in-fact employment contract, wrongful termination, violation of public policy, breach of fiduciary responsibility, and breach of written contract, and sought full accounting and declaratory relief. The wording of the suit claimed that Glenn and Don treated me as a “hired hand” for most of my time with the band, and used threats to intimidate me.
By the time my lawyers had finished, I was effectively demanding a complete accounting of every single business transaction by Eagles Ltd. since 1974, including record royalties and revenue from touring and merchandising, in accordance with the contract I signed in 2000, which gave me direct, free, and independent rights to examine the books. Further, I sought all outstanding monies owed to me, a fair market price for my shares in Eagles-related companies, plus attorney’s fees and court costs. In a second, later lawsuit I named Eagles Ltd., and Don and Glenn’s new companies, NEA, Eagles Touring Co., Eagles Merchandising, Eagles Recording Co., and other companies, as defendants. I also demanded a declaration confirming I could retain my share of Eagles Ltd., since I didn’t quit and I didn’t voluntarily walk away from it.
That lawsuit stated: “Despite each being a one-third owner of Eagles Ltd., Henley and Frey have consistently treated Felder as a subordinate, with complete disregard for his rights. . . . They have consistently voted as a block on business decisions and i
mplemented these decisions, whether or not Felder objected. . . . [T]hey have repeatedly abused their authority and acted unfairly toward Felder and former band members Meisner and Leadon. This conduct has, almost without exception, been coupled with constant threats that if Felder did not agree with Henley and Frey, Felder would be thrown out of the band. . . . As the final straw . . . (they) terminated his employment with Eagles Ltd. by way of an invalid and sham board of directors meeting. . . . After years of taking advantage of Felder, Henley and Frey now seek to cause Eagles Ltd. to terminate him in order to force Felder out of the band and to deprive him of his financial interest and rights in Eagles Ltd.”
Don and Glenn’s attorneys countered: “The action of terminating Felder’s relationship with the band was taken because it was in the best interest of the Eagles. The Eagles had every legal right to do so, and any claim by Felder to the contrary is completely without any merit. We don’t feel it’s appropriate to litigate the case in the press. The case will be determined in court, and we’re confident that the position of the Eagles will be fully vindicated.”
In March 2001, a month after my departure, the Recording Industry Association of America officially announced the Eagles as the third-bestselling band in the U.S. after the Beatles and Led Zeppelin. Elektra rated our sales as in excess of 83 million units.
During formal depositions for my pending court case in early 2002, I sat alone giving testimony opposite Irving—who winked at me across the table shortly before being asked to leave the room as he wasn’t a party in the lawsuit. It was an intimidating experience for anyone. Strangely enough, I enjoyed every minute. It was as if my whole life had groomed me for that moment. Every answer I gave felt strong and proud and true. Staring Glenn in the eye, I described what it was like to be bullied and battered and abused. To every tough question, I had an answer. My long silence was finally over, and having found my voice, I wanted to shout from the rooftops.
From the day I first went to court, Don and Glenn deprived me of my rightful share of profits generated by the Eagles. The irony is that Don is still a spokesman for artists’ rights, and on recent tours, some of the money raised went to the Recording Artists’ Coalition. The trial date was set for September 2006, and a settlement was finally reached.
Emerging from the darkest period of my life and recovering my senses enough to focus on my future, I realized that my life stretched unfinished before me. I began work on a new solo project, the keyword of which was fun. Never again would I allow myself to be a pawn in somebody else’s mind game. When it’s done, I expect it to be full of screaming, guitar-driven tracks, melding the two generations and representing the passing of the baton from the senior to the junior players.
The Eagles went back into the studio, resurrecting Bill Szymczyk to produce their first new studio album together since 1979, and the first without me. Six years on, there was still no album. “There’s not a lot of socializing going on,” Don tellingly admitted to one magazine. In another interview he said, “Things don’t really change that much, you know. People don’t change that much . . . they just become more who they really are.” Just as in the old days, to buy some time, they embarked on some short tours instead, playing all the old classics. They never replaced me, just hired a sideman to play all my guitar parts.
For three decades, the moneymaking enigma that the Eagles became has been able to keep our worldwide legion of fans in the dark about our inner workings. They’ve maintained a relentlessly positive image, almost as crucial to the band’s success as its music. I was there every step of the way. In ending my silence and giving the first brutally honest account of what it was really like to be in one of the greatest but perhaps one of the most contentious rock bands of all time, I am not seeking revenge. Only to redress the balance for me, Bernie and Randy.
I’ve learned a great many things, not least that friends and family come before money. You have to stand up for what you believe in, and for too long, I didn’t. That is my only regret. Some might say that only the lawyers emerge winners from such protracted lawsuits as ours. Maybe. But the time had come for wrongs to be righted, and I was determined to fight for justice for the sake of my kids, who sacrificed a great deal by having a dad in the Eagles.
I know I’ve had incredible good fortune. I joined a band that was blessed with phenomenal success. Despite everything, I’ll always cherish what we achieved and remember with great fondness the good times we shared. The lust for money and power ultimately destroyed us. Egos got in the way of the music. It happens in many businesses, not just this one, but rarely has it happened in the arts in such a spectacularly disastrous or contentious way.
Looking at Randy and Bernie, I know we’re better off for being away from the band. Each of us has found himself in the freedom of life beyond the Eagles. Randy has remarried and divides his time between Palm Springs and L.A. He’s had modest success with his three solo albums and has formed a hard-hitting rock-and-roll band called World Classic Rockers, featuring musicians from Steppenwolf, Toto, and Van Halen, which has a lot of fun touring the clubs and corporate gigs of America.
Bernie, who contributed so much to the Eagles and wrote their first Top 10 hit, “Witchy Woman,” is happily settled in Franklin, Tennessee, near Nashville, where he lives with his son. After years of being a performer, session man, songwriter, and producer, working with the greats, he became a “ballplayer turned manager” and is vice president of A&R Pioneer Music Group. We have remained in touch over the years, on the phone and by e-mail, and shall always be friends.
To this day, if any of the band members asked me to play with them, I would. I’d even step up and play alongside Glenn. I suspect Randy and Bernie would too. After all these years, those guys still feel like family to me. And like family members you don’t always get along with all the time, the physical connection is there, underpinning everything. Blood is thicker than water, they say. We shed enough blood, sweat, and tears in the three decades we spent together, and our ties are strong. Despite the inevitable sadness of the litigation against my former band members, we have a unique history together that’s even stronger than the bitterness, the recriminations, and the addictive compulsion to make a dollar.
The future for me has never looked brighter. I’m fit, in good health, and have the love of a good woman. My children are thriving. Leah is about to embark on a career as a singer, thanks to Patrick Swayze’s mother, Patsy, who runs a singing school, and the legendary vocal coach Joel Ewing, who set aside his usual rule against teaching children when he heard her voice. Cody is a brilliant percussionist, working as a writer and producer in Boston, having attended the Berklee College of Music, a few blocks from where Susan and I used to live. He still has his rebellious streak and prefers bands like Rage Against the Machine to the Eagles, but he is doing just fine. Rebecca, who has always been such a sweet-natured girl, has taken over the running of Susan’s jewelry design business. Jesse, my eldest son, now has two kids and runs his own successful financial management company in Oregon.
My divorce from Susan finally came through in early 2002 after months of litigation and negotiation, which we eventually resolved through mediation. We sold the house, the plane, and all the rest of my property, and I gave her half of everything I owned, plus her business, without contest. I tried in every way I could to make that part of the process as painless as possible. My attitude was to lose a few dollars but save a few tears. She still gets fifty percent of all my income from the Eagles and has received half of what I was awarded by the eventual settlement. My Lord, she’s entitled to it. As a bonus, I threw in Wings. She’d always loved that boat, even more than I did. I gave it to her with the message, “May you have sunny skies and calm waters.”
We’d been together through all the tough years and only broke up right at the end. Our marriage lasted roughly the same amount of time as my union with the Eagles. We stayed together all that time not only because we truly loved each other and had four young kids but
also because our parents never divorced. Susan suffered minute by minute and day by day at my side, and she was as much a part of the Eagles as I was. She knew what went on, and yet she forgave me. I guess in the end we just spent so much time apart that we couldn’t hack it together anymore.
“We had four beautiful children together,” she told me during the immediate aftermath of the divorce. “We’re gonna see each other at weddings and births and funerals. For the sake of the kids, it would be great if we can at least get along. The sooner we can arrive at that place together, the happier everyone will be.” We eventually accepted that, and we’re fine. She’s had a couple of new relationships since, and I wish her every happiness.
When I’m not enjoying my new life with Kathrin, I spend my spare time having lunch or playing golf with friends like Randy Meisner, living a very low-key life in L.A. I travel to Europe as much as possible. I enjoy the time I have with my grandchildren and look forward to having more. I don’t live my days in the gossip columns, and I still don’t squander money. I can walk down Sunset Boulevard and most of the time not be recognized. I have a good life.
