SPECIAL AGENT JOHN GRIMSLEY - "HE WAS VERY SCANDALOUS"

Dear Sir,

I read some of your things on line about Special Agent John Grimsley. I have to agree he is one very strange man. I have a brother who threatened the life of a police officer and the President. I turned him in for doing so. Grimsley was assigned to the case. He never investigated my brother. He instead investigated me. I was 17 when all this happened. Because of John Grimsley I got charged as an adult with two counts of False reporting. That bastard ruined my life. What do you know about this man??? He was very scandalous.

Regards,

I will begin at the beginning:

I first met Grimsley on March 31, 2011 when I arrived in Seattle via AMTRAK from Montana. My first impression was that of a file clerk, or male secretary at some small scale business. I was put on guard because he was too friendly and helpful – heretofore, Secret Service agents had been “professionally friendly” at best and rude/obnoxious/authoritarian at worst. However, Grimsley greeted me like was an old fishing buddy he hadn’t seen in years!

When my two bags appeared finally after about a half wait at the luggage counter, Grimsley grabbed the heavy one, saying “My car is just outside this way and I’ll give you a ride to your hotel downtown.” I should note that I didn’t ask him for a ride or to carry my bag, he just did so as a volunteer. The car he was driving wasn’t the official government issue one like the SS always chauffer me around in before, but his own private automobile. This raised another flag.

On the short ride to my hotel near the famous Seattle landmark of Pike Street Market, Grimsley acted like a tour guide giving a client information on the layout of Seattle and all the points of interest. The third flag in less than the 30 minutes I knew the guy. Did I tell you he had travel advertisements on tours to give me? Maps of Seattle? A lecture on Starbucks being founded in Seattle and how to get to the first store they opened from my hotel located about three blocks away.

When we arrived at the hotel and parked in the passenger unloading zone out front, Grimsley popped the trunk of his late model Lincoln town car by a switch inside and hopped out to grab BOTH my bags and I followed him inside to the registration desk, where Grimsley gave me a lecture on the historical hotel I would be staying in that dated from the late 19^th century gold rush to Alaska, as I checked into the hotel. Another flag – the clerk said hotel policy was for a $20 cash security deposit for the room. I had tapped out my cash on the train buying breakfast on the train, so I asked the direction of the nearest ATM – Grimsley pulled his wallet and threw a new $20 bill on the counter, which the clerk immediately took, very likely thinking Grimsley was my friend or a relative.

The clerk handed the key and verbally announced directions to room – and once again Grimsley grabbed my bags unannounced like he was my valet and led the way to my room located on the second floor. I unlocked the door and Grimsley walked in, placed the luggage on the rack inside the room, walked over to the window and pulled up the blinds, did a quick scan of the bathroom as if he were a hotel valet checking to see if the bathroom was cleaned and stocked. All the while, I’m standing there in shock and thinking about whether or not I should give him a tip. J

When he was finished, he gave me his card (which contained his restricted SS email and phone number that I still have today) and asked me to give him a buzz when I found an apartment. Then he said his goodbye and “have a nice day” and gently closed the door, which I immediately bolted shut! I walked over to the window to pull the blind back down for privacy and glancing out the window, I observed Grimsley have a quick meeting with several other men dressed informally in sports clothes, whom I assumed were fellow SS agents who had closely monitored our movements from the train station to the hotel.

This was my introduction to Seattle and Grimsley. We met approximately every three months, usually for lunch at nice four star eating establishment that specialized in seafood overlooking Puget Sound like “Pier 66,” where Grimsley always paid the tab and I always ordered the most expensive meal on the menu plus desert. J

The conversation at these meetings were pretty much controlled by me and my topic was always about what a shithead communist bastard was Obama. Grimsley never argued politics with me, but would try to change the topic to something tourist like, “Have you visited Mt. Rainer yet? I booked a tour from downtown and had a wonderful day driving up there and seeing the scenery, etc.” When that happened, I would launch an attack on the SS, the federal criminal justice system, etc. Grimsley would give me a wounded smile and ask if I’d been on the “See Seattle by night tour.” J

I should note in passing that my life, like yours, was ruined by the SS in 1994 and I detest them with every fiber of my being. I’m sure you have read my blog article on the details. After I was released from federal prison in 1998, the SS let it be known they would dog my heels for the rest of my life because I was a “Class III Threat” to national security. I used to live in Orlando, Florida, but I finally departed Florida in 2009 because of their harassment. I have tried every tactic I could think of to make them disappear…I have been rude and obnoxious to SS agents…I have moved all over the country…Nevada, Utah, Arizona, California and Montana trying to disappear into America, but the SS always show up with a shit eating smile on their faces wherever I end up.

In fact, in April, 2013 I attempted to defect to Canada! I kid you not! I took the AMTRAK from Seattle to Vancouver in British Columbia, which ends up at the main train and the Canadian customs. I walked off the train and over to a grey haired Canadian border guard I took to be the senior man and told him, “I defect as a political prisoner of the United States.” The Canucks looked at me in shock, but finally focused on their training for defectors and hauled me off – luggage, back pack, overcoat and all – to a jail cell in the train station.

I must say as jail cells went this one wasn’t so bad – it was super clean, the bunk quite comfortable, the desk with writing materials and Canadian customs forms in the drawer, pen and pencil, but best of all I could get Wi-Fi from the train station to surf the Internet on my laptop! I gave my electronic pals a blow by blow description of my Canadian defection. The Canuck border guards amused themselves by yelling absurd questions at me about every half hour from the outside my reasons for defection. I could hear the sound of typewriters, printers and phones being answered from down the hallway – and was thinking that the border guards were doing my defector paperwork.

Lunch was provided by McDonalds that was just outside in the train station mall at my expense. Apparently political defectors in Canada have to buy their own food. Time passed. Then more time. The Canadians stopped talking to me after about five hours and they shut the hallway door. Silence. Footsteps. The cell door swings…and GRIMSLEY is standing there with the official SS shit eating smile and a hand full of official papers that said the Canadian government considered me PERSONA NON GRATA and subject to a heavy fine and imprisonment if I ever attempted to enter Canada again.

Said Grimsley walking with me back to the Seattle bound AMTRAK in the company of about a dozen heavily armed Canadian border guards, “Ron, in case you haven’t got the message yet – no country in the world will take you in – you’re radioactive – especially the 51^st state, which is Canada! You are restricted to the USA and its territories – knock yourself out! Go wherever you want in America, anywhere in 3.5 million square miles, but we will find you.”

I got back on the AMTRAK to the stares of tourists bound for Seattle, who no doubt wondered what the big parade was all about, and I made for the dining car, where I got mildly drunk at the bar, while Grimsley watched me, drinking cup after cup of black coffee......Grimsley picked up the bar tab, btw.

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I knew Grimsley for a period of about three years. He wasn’t married and told me he hated Seattle. I know he was close to his elderly mother in Atlanta, where he hoped to be stationed on his next tour. There was something “sissy” about Grimsley, I thought him to be a homosexual. This would account for his mild manner towards me as a potential “boy toy.” BTW, I’m not queer but I don’t get upset by them unless they get in my personal space. At one point in our relationship – I think it was in 2012 – Grimsley appeared with his face bandaged up and said it was a result of a guy hitting him while riding a bicycle. Maybe so, maybe no. Perhaps he tried arrest the wrong guy and got a fist in the face. Perhaps it was a homosexual tiff with his boyfriend.

Of course, anything is possible with these SS troopers – to me, Grimsley acted like a buddy always looking out for my own good, but to you he behaved like a ruthless Gestapo agent. I’ve often noted many of these SS troopers are psychopaths who can switch from nice to brutal in about a microsecond. The SS is corrupt and everyone in the world knows it from recent incidents, but the corruption goes way, way back – its institutional - and thus no surprise the ranks are well represented by the unindicated psychopathic criminal class usually found in politics.

I can’t think of more to add about John Grimsley, as I said he dropped off my radar screen in 2014, and was allegedly reassigned to Atlanta.

Cheers, Ronbo