blog post by John Hoff
Peter Rickmyer, a Level Three Sex Offender in North Minneapolis who, incredibly, has been wanted on a "non-extraditable" warrant out of Oklahoma County, Oklahoma since the early 1990s for a lewd and terrible thing he did THERE, continues to file stuff in federal court while decent people await a ruling on whether Rickmyer is a frivolous litigant IN FEDERAL COURT.
Rickmyer, (and did I mention he's wanted on a warrant in Oklahoma?) has already been declared a "Rule 9" frivolous litigant in Hennepin County District Court. But that didn't stop Rickmyer from filing in federal court.
Recently, in response to a motion by defendant Will McDonald, a probation officer, asking for summary judgment, Rickmyer filed something along the lines of a response. Click here for that document but be warned, it contains unconnected leaps of thought that could break your mental shinbones...
Though purportedly a response to Will McDonald's motion for summary judgment, the document says relatively little about Will McDonald and just goes on about big, bad Johnny Northside who blogged this and blogged that and also blogged that OTHER thing about sex offender Rickmyer, whose creepy creeping and frivolous litigation have terrorized our neighborhood since roughly the time he left Oklahoma (contrary to the conditions of his suspended sentence in that state) and ended up in North Minneapolis, where he molested children.
Which brings us to today's musing: What DOES a sex offender frivolous litigant terror of the neighborhood do for Thanksgiving?
If Rickmyer would be a good little sex offender, (yes, it's a plain contradiction, but readers know what I mean) he would keep his head down and NOT try to chat up strangers on the bus, at the CVS store near his house, or in the "Skyway" system connected to the Hennepin County Government Center where he is often seen, plainly up to no good. He certainly wouldn't file lawsuits at every turn, which are thrown out of court at every turn, only to file more; and the whole time living on public assistance when there is sh** to be shoveled SOMEWHERE.
Suppose he was a GOOD sex offender rather than a BAD sex offender, who simply kept his yard neat (this has always been the ONE GOOD THING about Rickmyer, he keeps his yard neat) and tried to avoid offense-by-his-mere-presence as much as possible.
SUPPOSE that were the case.
Now imagine it's Thanksgiving.
Oh, wait, you don't have to imagine. Today IS Thanksgiving. Well, happy Thanksgiving, JNS blog readers, and let us return to our holiday hypothetical.
In such an impossible scenario (it's really too late for Rickmyer to be GOOD, unless he were to move the hell away somewhere, like back to Oklahoma to clear up his old warrant) I imagine that on Thanksgiving, there is a knock on the door. It's a soft, polite knock. Not the usual rappy-rappy-RAP!!! knock of Rickmyer's probation officer.
Rickmyer opens the door a bit, careful to keep the chain on the lock. And there upon his porch stands an old lady from a local church. Some distance behind, keeping a watchful eye, is a burly and dangerous-looking, but not-at-the-moment-unfriendly young man.
"Sir," the old lady creaks, holding forth a cellophane-wrapped plate, piled high with Thanksgiving bounty, emitting a steam of deliciousness. "I'm from the church down the street, and we thought you would like a holiday dinner."
"For me?" Rickmyer asks, instantly tearing up.
Somebody thought of him. Went out of their way to perform an act of kindness. He opens the door, careful not to move too suddenly, but even so the old lady takes a small step back. Graciously, and oh-so-carefully, Rickmyer takes the plate and thinks to himself how he can feel the actual warmth of human kindness and Christian mercy upon his hands, calloused from all the work he performs in his fenced in garden and self-made greenhouse, the envy of the whole neighborhood.
"We have a whole bag of holiday food," the old lady says, and the young man reaches down to his feet as if on cue, comes forth with the bag. "Candies and pies and items made by the church ladies. I hope you don't mind if we put in a few tracts about Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Savior."
"Jesus in The Only Thing that gives me Peace," Rickmyer replies. "But for Him, I am lost."
"We do have church services every Sunday morning at--"
"I do better if I avoid human beings!!!" Rickmyer says, suddenly and a bit too forcefully, as the old lady's eyes widen. "Sorry. Sorry to interrupt you, ma'am. I appreciate this. You can't understand how I appreciate this. But I am working on my soul with The Lord, and I do better if I avoid the world, out there. I even order my groceries and have them delivered. I spend all my time in my garden, as Worship of the Lord and penance for my filthy soul."
Rickmyer looks downward and keeps repeating, under his breath. "My filthy soul...my filthy soul..."
"Is there anything we can get you?" the old lady asks, after about the fifth repetition.
"Seeds," Rickmyer says, in a whisper. "I love to try new seeds in the spring, but I can't always afford the really exciting seeds in the garden catalogs. Beyond that..." Rickmyer reaches up to take the bag from the young and burly man who can't help broadcasting a slightly-hostile message with his eyes, a small warning. Rickmyer casts his eyes downward, toward his feet, as he has learned time and time again is the best way to act socially in these thankfully rare situations.
"Do you mind if we come by with food on the major holidays?" the old lady asks. "We can ring the door and...and leave it if you like..."
"That would be more than I will ever deserve," Rickmyer says, withdrawing inward. "Thank you. Thank you again and God bless you..."
The woman returns on Christmas Eve with a different burly young man from the church accompanying her. Instead of hanging back, the young man insists upon escorting her closely, his eyes darting around as if looking for an ambush.
There, in front of the door, is the very plate she'd left Mr. Rickmyer on Thanksgiving. The plate is washed and clean, and in its center is a beautiful green house rose, with every thorn upon the stem carefully clipped away.
In addition to a bounty of holiday foods, the old woman leaves food in disposable plastic dishes to provide many meals. She also leaves a massive seed catalog, with a note.
"Mr. Rickmyer," says the note. "Brother in Christ. Circle the seeds in this catalog you would like, put the catalog back out on New Year's Eve, and by Easter the seeds you want will be left on your door. In His Love, Pastor Dale, Know Me New Life Church."