When he began tinkering with his revolutionary wiper, in 1962, he was an engineering professor at Michigan's Wayne State University and a small-time inventor (his early credits included a comb that dispensed its own hair tonic). Kearns installed an experimental version of his "intermittent wiper" in the family's Ford Galaxie in 1963 and brought it to Ford. The company hired him as a consultant, worked with him for six years—and then dropped him. Instead of the supplier's contract he had hoped for, Kearns got a handshake and a wiper motor mounted on a plaque.
With a wife and six kids to support, the distraught inventor worked as Detroit's buildings and safety engineering commissioner, then moved in 1971 to Maryland to work for the National Bureau of Standards. One day in 1976, he cracked. Kearns landed in a Maryland psychiatric ward, and by the time he emerged several weeks later, his red hair had turned completely white. Shortly thereafter, he retired on disability.
In 1978 Kearns filed suit against Ford. During the legal odyssey that followed, three law firms abandoned him, one judge died, and finally even his wife left. "It got to the point where the only thing that existed was the lawsuit," says Phyllis Kearns, now 58 and an editorial assistant at the National Institutes of Health. "There was no end to it."
Even so, Kearns's children hung tough. Eldest son Dennis, now 35, became a licensed investigator to assist his father and once, during negotiations with Ford attorneys, placed his .45 automatic on a desk, no doubt leaving the impression that he meant business. In another less-than-heroic episode, he also began an eight-month affair with a paralegal in an opposing law firm. The romance ended soon after she turned over some crucial documents, but a judge refused to admit the evidence and fined the father $10,000 for his investigator's underhanded strategy.
By January of this year, when the case finally came to trial, the whole family had rallied to Kearns's side. On hand in Detroit were ex-wife Phyllis, the six kids and Kearns's girlfriend, Jean Ryan, 59, a retired government cartographer he met eight years ago at a meeting for divorced Catholics.
Almost from the start, the case began fueling new debate about the country's 200-year-old patent laws and the wisdom of having jury trials for such complex matters. In the end, Kearns's award was "shockingly low," says Washington, D.C., attorney and longtime patent expert Harold Wegner, echoing the view of many. "It's ludicrous for perhaps intelligent but uninformed individuals to decide such complicated issues."
With interest, if the judge awards it, Kearns's $5.1 million award could double, and he has additional suits pending against a score of other automakers as well. But the case has already cost him $650,000, financed with a small inheritance and his various jobs, and he is still faced with $3 million in outstanding legal debts. Appealing the Ford decision would forestall any award for now and mean further expense. "I've always told people that my greatest fear is that I would be $12 short of getting to trial," he says. "Now it looks like I'll be $1.2 million short," which is the estimated cost of an appeal.
"There's no precedent for a hero like Bob Kearns who's willing to go the distance," says son Dennis, vowing to stick by his father. As for Dad, the inventor insists that money never was the point anyway. "I've done too much hurting," Kearns says. "I want to protect other inventors by showing the little guy can win."
I guess I'm just bitter over how hard it is right now to enter the electronics industry. At very least, I would like to see the length which a patent lasts decrease. The fact that just barely the x86 patents are starting to be freed is crazy. They should last 1 to 5 years tops.
Facebook
Twitter