Rodney's rejects will stand and cheer.

Cubs fans will hoist another beer.

Little guys will grin from ear to ear.

Melvin Dummar is making a comeback.

No, seriously.

Dummar, the man who got no respect, couldn't win the big one, and became a symbol for laughable little guys with impossible dreams, is once again fighting for a piece of the multibillion-dollar Howard Hughes estate. It's a percentage that for 30 years he's sworn has been rightfully his according to the so-called "Mormon Will."

It's a percentage that in 1978 a jury said he wasn't entitled to because the will was a fake and so was Dummar, a former Gabbs resident and arguably the most unlikely celebrity of the disco decade.

Thoroughly battered by the judicial system and the press, Dummar went from nobody to somebody to national laughingstock in a few short years. Following the trial, Dummar returned to obscurity in Utah. He parlayed his butt-of-jokes celebrity into a brief lounge-singing career and made headlines again with the 1980 film "Melvin and Howard," but appeared destined to fade into the American fabric of carnival characters and one-hit wonders.

Then he met former Las Vegas FBI Special Agent Gary Magnesen, an organized-crime specialist who had retired to Southern Utah and was introduced to Dummar through a family member. Magnesen had spent 26 years in the FBI as a paid skeptic, but he was intrigued by the story and the sincerity with which the severely ill Dummar told it.

Dummar's long, winding, and dusty tale began on a night in December 1967 when he swore he found a man lying facedown near a dirt road not far from the Cottontail Ranch whorehouse in central Nevada. The man, Dummar said, turned out to be Howard Hughes, who'd wandered away from the brothel after an evening of partying with a diamond-toothed prostitute named Sunny. Dummar gave Hughes a ride home to the Desert Inn.

It was a story as well-worn as Nevada's back roads, but as Magnesen conducted his interviews, he uncovered evidence that made Dummar's tale sound increasingly credible.

In 2004, Magnesen called me about his investigation, which had become a book-length writing project. I wrote a column about it and began to wonder whether Dummar had actually picked up Hughes that December night so long ago.

Fast-forward to this week, when Dummar filed a lawsuit in U.S. District Court in Salt Lake City alleging fraud, unjust enrichment, and racketeering. The lawsuit asks for $156 million plus interest and punitive damages, and on Tuesday the story splashed on the front page of The Wall Street Journal.

Dummar's lawyer, Stuart Stein, told a reporter he was in line to collect a share of any settlement. Magnesen, whose book, "The Investigation: A Former FBI Agent Uncovers the Truth Behind the Most Contested Will in American History," continues to sell well and garner media attention, is also in line for a percentage.

The lawsuit claims new evidence generated by Magnesen's investigation is grounds for a new trial. The key is the affidavit of former Hughes Tool Co. pilot Robert Deiro, who has admitted he flew the reclusive Hughes to Nevada brothels on several occasions, including one time in which the eccentric billionaire wandered off in the middle of the night.

Deiro hadn't thought about it in many years until he read in 2004 about Magnesen and Dummar in the Review-Journal.

Hey, wasn't that about the time that I wrote that column about Magnesen and Dummar?

Put me down for 10 percent, Melvin.

What is that, $15.6 million? That's what I call walking around money.

Before I start writing checks on my new fortune, a disclaimer: Despite what you've read here, there are two sides to every story.

But, frankly, the other side is a real yawn-fest. I like Melvin's story much better.

It pays better, too.

While you're at it, Melvin, you'd better save 10 percent for the diamond-toothed prostitute named Sunny. If you find her, she'll be worth every penny.

But even if Melvin denies my claim and a federal court denies his, thanks to Magnesen's effort the name Dummar will bring more smiles but less derisive laughter in years to come. He'll get respect at last, will win that elusive World Series, and will stand tall.

Don't quit now, Melvin.

You've got them on the run.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.