As a reporter, I normally write about crime that happens to other people. And yes, it does feel awkward to write about a personal experience, if not embarrassing. But I hope it leaves a lasting impression that will make you and our community safer.
My husband Mike was scheduled for cataract surgery last Thursday morning, but there was a thick blanket of snow to shovel that had us running late. Mike made quick work of it, left the car running, then went inside to get me, so I could drop him off at the hospital. Minutes later, we stepped outside to discover that “poof,” our car had disappeared from our driveway.
It took a few moments to shake out the morning cobwebs, to realize our car had been stolen, but we shouldn’t have been shocked. Although our midtown street was once described as a neighborhood time forgot – and I still cling to that --it now reflects the modern realities. A neighbor had his car stolen a couple of years ago, one of those older cars that had been well taken care of -- more like an old friend.
My Toyota Highlander was like that. She was gently used when my husband bought her from a woman who had taken pains to keep her nice and clean. He knew she was the perfect car for me.
Although the Highlander was a 2004 model, she was such a pleasure to drive and handled so well on Anchorage’s icy roads -- some of the thoughts that came to mind, as I reported the theft to the Anchorage Police Department’s 3-1-1 number. A staffer kindly took down information but sadly seemed very practiced in explaining how APD handles these cases.
The number of car thefts in Anchorage has come down considerably from a peak of 3,341 in 2018. From 2018 to 2023, the city had an average of about 1,639 thefts a year. In 2023, it dropped to 757 thefts. About six hours after the theft, we got a call from Officer Andy Titus.
“We have good news and bad news for you,” he said. “We found your car, but it isn’t drive-able anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. He said the thief had hit several other cars while driving erratically down West Northern Lights Boulevard, approaching the intersection at Minnesota Drive.
Police later counted a total of four cars that were struck by my Toyota. The bumper car ride came to a crashing end at the curb of a mini mall, right in front of the Beauty Room.
Witnesses told police a blonde man, who wore a blue jacket and grey baggy pants, emerged from the wreckage and fled on foot.
Fortunately, the other cars weren’t so damaged that they couldn’t be driven away.
Officer Titus was polite and helpful as he went through the contents inside my car. He pulled out a crumpled, grey hoody, “Is this yours?” he said, “And how about this?” He pointed to a pile of dirty jeans, a couple of pairs of brand-new tennis shoes, and an empty backpack. He also fished out a several partially empty bottles of alcohol.
But the one thing the thief didn’t leave behind --my car keys, which also had keys to our house and a second vehicle. So far, we’ve spent $800 replacing our locks. And old cars like our Highlander probably won’t have much insurance value, even though we just invested in a new set of brakes for $2,000.
But here’s the bottom line: No one got hurt, and for that I am extremely grateful. As much as we want to trust the world, a car left running unattended, even for a few minutes, can turn into a lethal weapon.
There’s an epilogue to this story that’s chilling. After going through the contents of our poor dead car, my husband found a hunting knife under the driver’s seat, that police apparently missed. I thought, “Oh my goodness, what if Mike had come out of the house in time to try and stop the thief?” My mind doesn’t want to go there.
The next day, a video of the Highlander’s last ride made it to me through a chain of personal connections.
Justin Mast can be heard on the video. He was driving his truck on Fireweed, with four co-workers. They had just returned from lunch, when my olive-green Highlander almost hit him.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mast told me. “He actually missed us and came back and got us.”
Mast believes the second swipe was intentional and said the driver had already struck other cars before hitting him, so there may been more vehicles damaged than what police initially counted.
Mast followed my car as it turned from C Street to Northern Lights, and Bailey Bleakley, a co-worker captured what happened next on her cell phone camera.
You can hear Mast talking with the APD Dispatcher.
“We’re at Northern Lights and Arctic. We have a vehicle that is purposely ramming into cars,” Mast told the dispatcher, who said, “Is he hitting vehicles?”
“Yes,” Mast replied, “and he just tried to hit a pedestrian.”
The pedestrian had a narrow miss. When the car struck a curb, it miraculously bumped out of harm’s way.
In the video, the car can be seen careening down the street. It rammed several cars stopped at a red light on Spenard, then continued.
This is just one man with miserable addiction, who is still out there and might still be on a path of destruction. We can only hope that he gets help before it’s too late, if not for his own life but for others who might cross his path. Had it not been for the curb which kept the car from jumping the road, we might be mourning the loss of another pedestrian.
Years ago, when I covered early morning crimes and car crashes for TV news, I used to ask Det. Dave Parker, APD’s Public Information Officer, “What is the teachable moment?”
Det. Parker has since retired, and reporters have missed how good he was at talking about what we could learn from a situation. I think, however, I have answered my own question. I hope my teachable moment helps you.
