The Miracle Letters of T. Rimberg Read online

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  Title Page

  Dedication

  August 28, 2005

  (Address removed)

  Introduction

  Section I Minneapolis

  Day One (August 10, 2005):

  Transcript 1

  Letter 1

  August 18, 2004

  Day One: Transcript 2

  Letter 2

  August 19, 2004

  Day One: Transcript 3

  Letter 3

  August 19, 2004—11:13 in the goddamn night.

  Day One: Transcript 4

  Journal Entry

  August 20, 2004

  Day Two: Transcript 1

  Journal Entry,

  August 23, 2004

  Day Two: Transcript 2

  Letter 4

  August 23, 2004

  Day Two: Transcript 3

  Letter 5

  August 23, 2004

  Letter 6

  August 23, 2004

  Day Two: Transcript 4

  Day Three: Transcript 1

  Letter 7

  August 26, 2004

  Day Three: Transcript 2

  Letter 8

  August 26, 2004

  Letter 9

  August 26, 2004

  Day Four: Transcript 1

  Letter 10

  August 28, 2004

  Day Four: Transcript 2

  Journal Entry,

  August 30, 2004

  Day Four: Transcript 3

  Letter 11

  September 1, 2004

  Day Four: Transcript 4

  Letter 12

  September 2, 2004

  Letter 13

  September 2, 2004

  Letter 14

  September 3, 2004

  Letter 15

  September 3, 2004

  Letter 16

  September 3, 2004

  Day Four: Transcript 5

  Letter 17

  To the Manager, White Castle, St. Louis Park

  September 4, 2004

  Day Five: Transcript 1

  Journal Entry,

  September 6, 2004

  Day Five: Transcript 2

  Letter 18

  September 14, 2004

  Day Five: Transcript 3

  Section II Western Europe

  Journal Entry,

  September 15, 2004

  Day Six: Transcript 1

  Letter 19

  September 16–17, 2004

  Molly (née Fitzpatrick) Presumably on Some Street Likely in Chicago, Illinois

  Day Six: Transcript 2

  Journal Entry,

  September 17, Schiphol, Amsterdam

  Day Seven: Transcript 1

  Journal Entry,

  September 17, 2004,

  After Dinner with Kaatje and Cranberry

  Letter 20

  September 18, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 2

  Letter 21

  September 18, 2004

  Letter 22

  September 18, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 3

  Letter 23

  September 18, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 4

  Letter 24

  September 18, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 5

  Letter 25

  September 18, 2004

  Letter 26

  September 18, 2004

  Letter 27

  September 19, just after 1 a.m. local

  Day Seven: Transcript 6

  Letter 28

  September 19, 2004

  Letter 29

  September 19, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 7

  Journal Entry,

  September 19, 2004

  Letter 30

  September 20, 2004

  Day Seven: Transcript 8

  Journal Entry,

  September 22, 2004, Still Amsterdam

  Day Eight: Transcript 1

  Letter 31

  September 23, 2004

  Letter 32

  September 23, 2004

  Letter 33

  September 23, 2004

  Day Eight: Transcript 2

  Journal Entry,

  September 25, 2004, under a bridge next to the Seine

  Journal Entry,

  September 25–26, 2004, under a bridge next to the Seine

  Letter 34

  September 26, 2004

  Letter 35

  September 26, 2004

  Journal Entry,

  September 27, 2 a.m., under a bridge next to the Seine

  Journal Entry,

  September 27, under a bridge next to the Seine

  Day Eight: Transcript 3

  Journal Entry,

  September 27, on damn train

  Day Nine: Transcript 1

  Letter 36

  October 3, 2004

  Letter 37

  October 3, 2004

  Letter 38

  October 4, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 2

  Journal Entry,

  October 5, 2004, 3:12 a.m.

  Day Nine: Transcript 3

  Letter 39

  October 10, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 4

  Letter 40

  October 11, 2004

  Letter 41

  October 11, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 5

  Journal Entry,

  October 11, 10 p.m.

  Day Nine: Transcript 6

  Letter 42

  October 12, 2004

  Journal Entry,

  October 12, 2004

  Letter Faxed to Fr. Barry McGinn,

  August 17, 2005

  Day Nine: Transcript 7

  Letter 43

  October 15, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 8

  Letter 44

  October 15, 2004

  Letter 45

  October 15, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 9

  Letter 46

  October 15, 2004

  Letter 47

  October 15, 2004

  Letter 48

  October 15, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 10

  Journal Entry,

  October 18, 2004

  Day Nine: Transcript 11

  Letter 49

  Note: Copy of letter left at Hotel Cammerpoorte front desk. N.K. verified.

  October 21, 2004

  Letter 50

  October 21, 2004

  Section III Poland

  Day Ten: Transcript 1

  Letter 51

  October 23, 2004

  Day Ten: Transcript 2

  Letter 52

  October 23, 2004, just past Poznan

  Day Ten: Transcript 3

  Letter 53

  October 26, 2004

  Day Ten: Transcript 4

  Cover Letter,

  faxed to Fr. Barry McGinn,

  August 19, 2005

  Note 1,

  Faxed to Fr. Barry McGinn,

  August 19, 2005

  Day Ten: Transcript 5

  Letter 54

  October 28, 2004

  Day Ten,

  Transcript 6

  Note 2,

  Faxed to Fr. Barry McGinn,

  August 19, 2005

  Note 3,

  Faxed to Fr. Barry McGinn,

  August 19, 2005

  Day Ten: Transcript 7

  Letter 55

  Written from police headquarters, Warsaw, Poland

  October 30, 2004

  Letter 56

  Written from police headquarters, Warsaw, Poland

  October 31, 2004

  Day Eleven: Tra
nscript 1

  Journal Entries,

  November 3–5

  Letter 57

  November 5, 2004

  Day Eleven: Transcript 2

  Journal Entries,

  November 6–9

  Day Twelve: Transcript 1

  Letter from Josef Rimberg mailed to T. Rimberg on August 15, 2004. Handwritten address nearly illegible. Delivered to T. in Warsaw by Nick Kelly, May 2005.

  Day Twelve: Transcript 2

  Section IV Green Bay

  Letter 58

  Letter left at front desk of St. Vincent's Care Center, Green Bay, WI

  August 22, 2005

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  For my amazing parents

  * * *

  August 28, 2005

  (Address removed)

  * * *

  Dear Council Members:

  We have spoken about this occurrence, which has come to be known as the Miracle of I-43, and have agreed that it does, indeed, have a miraculous, although disputed, character. Immediately after the accident, the council asked me to prepare documentation on the primary actor in this occurrence, Mr. Theodore Rimberg. Due to Mr. Rimberg's compulsion over the past year to document his experiences himself, to write letters and journal entries, we have ample information. Enclosed with this correspondence you will find the documentation we created with his assistance.

  Faye and I have tried to present as fair a representation of Mr. Rimberg as we can. From the conference call of August 23, you are aware that we have grown fond of him. With that said, we have not tried to color his story in a way that would make him appear more favorable to the council than he actually should. We have provided all of his letters, appropriate portions of his journal, and the entire interview transcript except that which is casual and superfluous.

  In truth, Faye and I disagree about the inclusion of some of the information herein. While I feel it necessary to shine a light on Mr. Rimberg's many negatives, she would have preferred we focus entirely on his growth as a human being and his courageous acts. I'm afraid Faye is a bit displeased with me as I submit this examination. For that, I am sorry.

  I want to be clear, however: Although Mr. Rimberg's story, personality, and many of his actions run counter to Church teaching, I find him to be a perfect vehicle for God's work. He is flawed. He is sinful. He is contrary. He is contrite. He is thoughtful. He is hopeful. He is human. I do not want to hide the fact of his humanity. The chips will fall where they may.

  Perhaps this document, which is more of a history than a piece of persuasive writing, will be of little use to the council. If that is true, I hope it is at least of use to someone in the future.

  No matter what, remember Mr. Rimberg's actions on the eighth of August. His courage and his accomplishments are at least commendable and at most miraculous. If only for that fact, we feel his story should be included in the occurrence's larger documentation.

  Of course, we will treat any instruction you give us on this matter as binding and will end our promotion of Mr. Rimberg's cause with this letter.

  Please forgive me if I am overstepping my office by being so forthright.

  Faye and I sincerely appreciate your attention to Mr. Rimberg's case.

  Yours in Christ,

  Fr. Barry McGinn

  Diocese of Green Bay

  Introduction

  * * *

  The following text is organized chronologically. Through interviews, letters, and journal entries, it covers Mr. Theodore Rimberg's life beginning one year ago, until August 22 of this year, two weeks after the accident.

  My conversation with Mr. Rimberg begins two days after the accident, August 10, subsequent to my discovery of a backpack filled with his writings (spiral notebooks, the wire bindings replaced by yarn) at a Motel 6 outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Mr. Rimberg and I spent several hours every day for the next twelve days reviewing his letters and journal entries, reading them aloud, discussing the circumstances of his life at the time of their writing, and in general exploring his story and its connection to the accident. To create the overall narrative, I have inserted typed copies of the letters and journals between transcript sections at the point in the interview during which we read them aloud.

  Final Note

  Because of the length of the transcript and the speed with which I wanted to deliver the documentation to your offices, I asked my assistant to transcribe only his writings and his responses to my questions. Neither my questions nor my commentary are part of the record. I do have audio of the conversations, should you want to hear my portion. I apologize if the results of this decision prove confusing.

  —Fr. Barry McGinn

  August 27, 2005

  Section I

  Minneapolis

  Day One (August 10, 2005):

  Transcript 1

  * * *

  Note: Only Mr. Rimberg's responses were transcribed.

  Yes. Ready. Go ahead, sir.

  Okay, Father Barry it is.

  I'm sorry, Father Barry. I don't remember who you are exactly. I remember you being around . . . was it yesterday?

  Okay. Good. That was yesterday. I've been taking a lot of painkillers.

  What do you want to know? I mean . . . I don't remember the accident. I can't help you with . . . I don't remember . . .

  I'm sorry, you're more interested in the rest? Can you be—

  You have my . . . Where did you get my backpack?

  Letter 1

  August 18, 2004

  * * *

  Dear Jesus,

  I am drunk. I think I just got rich. My dad never came through for me in life, but looks like he's trying to make it up.

  Not a chance. Not gonna work, Dad! Too late!

  My wife took my kids, Jesus. She left me. My goddamn girlfriend left me, too! My job is nowhere, horror, dumbassed, dry eyes always dizzy at a damn computer. I don't care! I just don't care! I am drunk. Just peed in the yard! What do you think of that?

  Here's hi-larious. Here's FUNNY. I'm going to commit suicide. Kill MySelf. I've thought about it for a long time and it is a great choice. Why not?

  Are you laughing?

  I'm not sad. Never felt better, which maybe you'd think would put me back in business (the life business). Wrong, Jesus!

  I'm gonna do it. Why wouldn't I? Name a reason.

  T. Rimberg

  Day One:

  Transcript 2

  * * *

  You have my permission to record.

  I wrote to Jesus because I was drunk, I think.

  Yes. I'm breathing. I'm glad you have my backpack. I'd be very worried if I thought it was still at the motel.

  Okay. My name is Theodore Rimberg. Call me T. I don't know. That's what people have always called me. I'm used to it.

  Date of birth, August 19, 1969. My permanent address is in Minneapolis, Minnesota. But I haven't really lived there for . . . I've been in Poland, mostly, for the last year. Now I am recuperating in a hospital in Green Bay, Wisconsin, after . . . an accident?

  No sir . . . Father. I'm not Catholic. My wife, Mary Sheridan, grew up Catholic. My mother grew up Catholic, too. My dad—well, he lived as a Catholic during World War II. He was just a kid.

  Yes, that's correct. Mary Sheridan is my ex-wife. I'm divorced.

  Three children. A twelve-year-old boy and twin ten-year-old girls.

  I wrote to . . . everybody. I don't know. One day, about a year ago, I started writing and I couldn't stop for months. My dad wrote stuff, too.

  Yes. Dad is important. He was Jewish. I don't know why I wrote to Jesus. . . .

  Because Dad inspired this. I got this . . . money. He's the reason I went to Europe.

  Dad left when I was a kid, actually.

  I was a tiny . . . I was a nine-year-old having heart attacks.

  Letter 2

  August 19, 2004

  * * *

  Dear David my “brother,”

  I just tried call
ing. What in the hell is going on? You're never home or you don't pick up the phone. Aren't you home at two a.m.? I need to talk to you. I have some important news.

  Shh. Listen.

  Herbie, the Love Bug is a seriously fucked-up movie.

  That's the truth. I hadn't seen Herbie since we were kids, David. Didn't we love it? I remember playing Herbie, running through ditches at Grandma's, honking, “spinning” our wheels in the gravel, pretending to do VW Bug wheelies, all in fast motion.

  I'm very serious, David. Listen: It's a fucked-up movie.

  Three days ago, I received Herbie, the Love Bug in the mail from Netflix. Had to be an accident. Never would have rented it. Charlie and the girls (my kids—you remember them?) like that new-style Disney crap (thanks to their mother) (no offense—I know you hold Mary in high regard), and I tried to show them The Shaggy D.A. last year and they were bored, pissing around, poking each other within ten minutes, paying no attention at all to The Shaggy D.A. You know why? The Shaggy D.A. contains no oversaturated colors or big-breasted mermaids to boil their desensitized brain chemicals. So Herbie, the Love Bug? I wouldn't have rented it.

  But there it was, Herbie, the Love Bug, when I picked up the mail on Monday. And I was excited. It's my thirty-fifth birthday today. (You might remember?) Getting Herbie was like getting a birthday present a couple of days early. “This is just what I need,” I said, “a little fun.” But I was too beat after work to watch it, so I slept (poorly) and the next morning, Tuesday morning, I called in sick to work, cooked a big breakfast, brewed some coffee, and sat down to watch, totally psyched to walk down memory lane and ready to get cheered up.

  Not a chance. Fucked up!

  The truth: Herbie, the Love Bug, if you look past all the slapstick, hyperspeed racing scene, is a story about the need for sentient beings to be acknowledged, understood by their loved ones. There's this surreal montage, after Jim Douglas (Herbie's owner) buys a different, ostensibly faster, race car to replace Herbie, in which Herbie drives alone, dejected, through the wet and hazy streets of nighttime San Francisco (very noir) and haphazardly, as if drunk, weaves into a Chinese parade in Chinatown—amidst weird marching band music and muted firecracker explosions and dancing paper dragons—and finally moves ghostlike through wisps of yellow curling fog onto the Golden Gate Bridge, where he attempts to commit suicide by jumping over the railing (this is a VW Bug, remember). Luckily for the viewer, assuming the viewer is made of more hopeful stuff than me, Jim Douglas shows up in the nick of time to save Herbie (who actually ends up saving Jim as Jim's rescue attempt ends with him dangling from Herbie's bumper over San Francisco Bay).