Courthouse mourns gregarious greeter
Houston’s criminal courthouse, long known for its outsized personalities, Thursday lost one its loudest and most unconventional characters.
Rick Johnson, an outspoken and gregarious vendor who made a living selling M&M’s and umbrellas outside the 20-story downtown building, died at his home early Thursday after battling colon cancer. He was 59.
Services are set for 2 p.m. Friday at St. John’s United Methodist Church, 2019 Crawford St.
Johnson, who called out to hundreds of people by name as they walked or drove past him on their way to court every day, spent more than a decade making an indelible impression on the lawyers, judges and staff who worked inside.
“He was really the one constant at the courthouse,” said Michael McSpadden, who is the county’s longest-serving criminal court judge at 35 years. “Every day, I would start my day with him screaming, ‘We love you Michael!’ ”
The northern downtown area — home to five courthouses, several county buildings and a host of law offices and bail bond businesses — has attracted other friendly street-corner salesman over the years, McSpadden said. But Johnson was unparalleled. “No one was as friendly or outgoing as Ricky,” he said. “He felt like it was his job to be down here and he did his job very well.”
‘Touched a lot of lives’
On courthouse elevators and corridors Thursday, defense attorneys, prosecutors and bailiffs consoled each other over the loss.
“All he ever did was bring joy to people — and he was helpful,” said Harris County Sheriff ’s Deputy Danny Davis, a courtroom bailiff. “He would give stuff to people who didn’t have anything. He was a good guy.”
After news spread last week that Johnson was terminally ill, supporters pitched in more than $30,000 after a page was set up with a target of $25,000 on the crowdfunding website GoFundMe.
Any money left over after his funeral arrangements and outstanding bills likely will go through probate, said attorney Deborah Keyser, a longtime friend of Johnson’s.
“He touched a lot of lives,” she said. “If, at the end of my life, I touch that many people, I’ll consider it a life well-lived.”
More than a decade ago, Keyser encouraged Johnson to sell more than umbrellas outside the courthouse. The two came up with the idea to sell M&M’s, which Keyser bought for Johnson in bulk at Costco.
With a legitimate business plan to buoy him, Johnson turned himself into a self-appointed courthouse greeter for the regulars and the hundreds of defendants coming to court every day. He attracted customers and made friends by singing made-up songs and dancing with everyone who passed.
Selling the candy became a pretext, with some people giving far more than the retail price or giving cash without taking any candy at all.
Carved out his own place
On the sidewalk where he spent his mornings, a makeshift memorial sprang up Thursday with flowers, balloons and yellow boxes of peanut M&Ms wrapped in somber black tape.
After leaving the courthouse about noontime each day, Johnson would spend afternoons in other parts of downtown where he impressed a different clientele.
Widespread news of his sickness last week saw people from all over town sending cards, emails and money in an effort to help.
Vivian King, an attorney who knew Johnson for more than a decade and who attended the same church, said he carved out his own place in courthouse lore.
“He made us love him,” she said. “At first, we tried to ignore him, but he just forced us. You just fell in love with him because he made you.”