(6 of 6) Disappearance of John Iverson
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(C) 1994 THE ABSOLUTE SOUND. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Not one word of this article may be reprinted without the written
permission of the publisher.
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PART 6 OF 6
TAS Journal
Special Report
The Strange Life and
Bizarre Disappearance of
John Iverson
He continued to work hard, and began developing a series of
dynamic powered loudspeakers to bring to market. The two- and
three-way designs were to use bandwidth-limited amplifiers built by
Iverson to take the place of crossovers and maximize the
performance of each driver. At the time of his disappearance, the
prototype for the first model was essentially complete. Iverson
started talking with Don Frick about a partnership on the new
speakers. Iverson would focus on new product while Frick, whom
Iverson had known since his teenage days, could handle the
repetitious work of running the business. "It was a good idea," says
Doug Iverson. "Don was someone he could trust completely."
Iverson was also at work on a new preamp, says Peters, and
was gearing up for a new production run on his amplifiers. The
company had exhausted its supply of pre-built amps, and business
was picking up significantly. Peters and his friend had just begun
building new amps from scratch; Iverson had gotten the necessary
papers to reactivate the corporation, and was in the process of lining
up suppliers. He sat Peters down to have a talk about the future.
But not all was well. His relationship with Kathy was
apparently souring. Though Kathy claims that things were picture
perfect at the time of Iverson's disappearance, several sources
suggest otherwise. The breaking point was supposedly a serious fight
the two had just prior to Labor Day weekend, when Kathy was said
to have lost her temper and viciously dressed Iverson down,
attacking his character, Doug says. "The bubble's been broken," John
told him. "Either she's going to accept me, or I'm leaving. I've told her
by January 1, she either decides or I'm out."
For her part, Munro acknowledges a serious fight she had with
John that summer which resulted in him taking off in his motor
home for three days before returning to make amends. But the
dispute had not been over John's character, she says, rather over a
specific incident in which he was attempting to show off to a friend
by ordering her about. That, she suggests, was the only argument of
any significance the two ever had.
On another note, Iverson was also having doubts about Kathy's
handling of the household account, and told his brother about that as
well. In the last conversation Doug had with John before he
disappeared, they agreed by telephone to sit down the next time
they were together and work out a budget.
In the last few months prior to Iverson's disappearance,
Rahnem noticed that Kathy was no longer accompanying him when
he came to visit, and he had stopped using any terms of endearment
to describe her. Peters heard Iverson fighting with her on the phone
at the shop. Doug heard him complain that she spent day after day at
home in her pajamas. "He said, 'This is ridiculous. She doesn't want to
get out of her bedroom.'" While some observers suspected her
reclusive behavior might be a sign of clinical depression, Munro told
TAS she was emotionally well, but chronically troubled by a bad hip
which had a tendency to keep her homebound.
But Iverson's biggest problems may not have been with Kathy.
Though the IRS will not discuss Iverson's case or confirm the
existence of any investigation, there are indications he was in debt to
the government when he disappeared. He had already been audited
by either the state or the IRS in 1989, says Peters. Then sometime in
mid-1990, Iverson asked him to rummage through the files at the
shop to look for receipts and other documents. "I heard him say
something about a corporate audit," Peters says. "He said, basically,
'I'm going to get screwed again by the IRS.'" Patty Rahnem simply
says, "Oh yeah. Big bucks, they wanted."
Munro confirms that the state of Arizona had indeed come
calling shortly before Iverson's disappearance. The authorities
suspected he had been selling amplifiers within the state without
paying the appropriate taxes. In her role as Iverson's bookkeeper,
Munro had compiled the necessary documents to prove otherwise,
and had shipped off the packet to the tax bureau just a few days
before Iverson vanished, she says.
During the work week that led up to the Friday night that
Iverson disappeared, Peters observed him in a series of odd
behaviors that later became significant for him in light of Iverson
vanishing. First, he came into the shop one day with a little plastic
bag.
"He pulled out this wad of cash," Peters says. "He made the
comment, 'you'd be amazed at what money can buy.' And he made a
cynical laugh about it and put it away. I'd personally never seen that
much money before." The money was later thought to be the
remainder of John's inheritance from the sale of his mother's estate
in Seattle, which had been delivered to him shortly before by his
brother. John's portion came to about $50,000. Iverson had used a
portion of it to pay off the mortgage on his workshop, then
subsequently signed the property over to Munro.
What's more, Peters thought it curious that Iverson was
pressuring him to process several remaining customer-owned
amplifiers before the week was out. At the time, he and a helper
were quite busy building new units. "At the stage we were at, it
would have been normal procedure to finish those up, then get to the
customer units as soon as possible," Peters says. But when the young
men failed to meet a UPS deadline on Wednesday, Iverson "was quite
upset about it. And he said to make sure we get it off by Friday."
Also earlier that week, Iverson came into the shop very excited. He
had talked to Weber about the gun, which Peters also knew about.
"Most of the time he shared his projects with me," Peters says. "He
said, 'Kurt, kick ass! The gun works! It's awesome.' He was very
enthusiastic." Peters had met Weber and his wife at the shop on at
least one occasion, he said, and "every indication had led me to
believe they were friends."
Another curiosity, Peters says, was that payday came twice in
as many weeks. While that may be normal at some businesses,
Iverson's protocol was to wait for his two charges to ask before
settling their hours. That was generally once every couple of weeks.
But Iverson went out of his way to pay the boys the Friday he
disappeared, though he had just done so a short while before, Peters
notes. After settling up, Iverson left the shop, telling Peters he was
going to meet Jack Weber. That was the last time Peters saw him.
Dead or Alive?
Several of John's old friends firmly believe that Iverson was capable
of staging his own kidnapping or disappearance. That is also what
Peters believes, and what the Lake Havasu Police think, though they
aren't ruling anything out.
It was learned that Iverson had gone to visit Stan Rosick in
California in the waning days of December, just a week or two before
he vanished. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in many
years. So at Iverson's urging, Rosick met with him for dinner. They
reminisced about the old times, and Rosick says Iverson inquired
about David and Philip Tan, his old benefactors in Singapore. Patty
Rahnem, meanwhile, says her father, who was close with his nephew
John, had once heard him brag that he had money buried somewhere
on that tiny island country, though it may have just been another
one of his stories.
Also curious was the subsequent disappearance of Don Frick.
Frick, whose divorce had apparently precipitated his move to
Havasu, may have been in a good position to drop out himself. The
Lake Havasu police are also wondering about the significance of a call
they got this past November, involving the house Frick was living in
while he was there. He had planned on purchasing the home, but a
few months after Iverson's disappearance, he walked away from it,
sacrificing his deposit and leaving furniture behind.
Then, last fall, a neighbor reported seeing a strange car pull
into the driveway, and watching someone get out and start digging in
the backyard. When the police checked it out, they found a now-
empty hole about four feet square and four feet deep. It had been
shored up with pressboard, and the female end of an extension cord
was sticking out from beneath the sod. The cord ran, fully concealed,
beneath the grass to the side of the house, where it ended near an
outdoor power outlet.
The police determined that Frick had laid the sod over what
had previously been a dirt yard while he still lived at the house. "I
could have a whole lot of questions for Frick," Funder says.
Those who believe in the foul play theory point to different
things. Munro, for example, notes that Iverson had sent her to buy
liquor during the week prior to his disappearance; the state liquor
tax was about to go up so he had her stock the cabinet to the tune of
$1500. This, she says, was not the behavior of a man who was not
planning on sticking around. Others suggest that Iverson had too
many projects he was excited about to simply walk away.
On the other hand, look at what was pushing him.... His
relationship with Munro was supposedly crumbling, and he had
signed over all his assets to her. His business may have been audited,
suggesting that any success he had with his new products would be
enjoyed only by "the Gov." He was stuck with a seemingly limitless
bank loan, and weekly visits to a probation officer he despised. It is
not unreasonable, when you add it all together, that he might want to
escape. Of course, only a certain type of man would actually do it.
Iverson certainly could be one of them.
And yet, dead or alive, however the story ends, John Iverson's
saga will always remain a tragedy of wasted talent. On the surface,
Iverson's life is, or was, a monument to survival and individual
expression, taken to the nth degree. But on close inspection, it is
more a series of near misses-great flashes of genius denied to the
world of hi-fi and elsewhere by a man unable, or simply unwilling, to
play the game by the rules. Given his history, that seems unlikely to
change, even if Iverson were to turn up tomorrow, healthy as a mule.
For most of his professional career, John Iverson played the role of
the High End's own Icarus. Like the fabled mythological character
who flew too close to the sun, Iverson climbed again and again, only
to self-destruct on each pass, just when success was knocking
loudest. Until finally, his luck or his time ran out, and in the way of
so many brilliant High End designers, he simply disappeared.
-Rob Sabin
Anyone with further information on the Iverson case should contact
Edit...@aol.com.
(C) 1994 THE ABSOLUTE SOUND. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Not one word of this article may be reprinted without the written
permission of the publisher.