The Wild West has gone north
When bad stuff happens here in the nation’s wildest state, where the distances are vast and the population low, you can’t always count on government officials swooping in for a rescue. Tales of individuals’ gumption — trekking the tundra, fighting off bears, starting fires to stay warm — are as much a part of Alaska’s culture as the midnight sun or the North Star on the state flag.
Now, people like Floyd H. Hall are taking that get-itdone, go-it-alone way of life to the city streets, where crime has soared. Rather than waiting for the police or political leaders to slow the sudden wave of stealing, ordinary people are taking matters into their own hands.
Hall, 53, is a soft-spoken snow-removal worker with a slight paunch, a salt-and-pepper beard and a matched set of .45 calibre pistols. In his spare time, he recovers stolen cars in Anchorage, the state’s largest city, to the occasional annoyance of the police and the cheers of just about everybody else.
Along the way, he has been shot at by a car thief, cited for reckless driving in pursuit of a stolen car and celebrated by fans who showed up to his court case wearing “Let Floyd Go” T-shirts. A lawyer has stepped forward to represent him for free as he fights the reckless driving charge.
“Anybody can do this — I’m not special,” said Hall, who spends four to six hours a day working with a network of spotters who track social media sites such as Stolen Vehicles of Alaska, which have popped up as crime rates have climbed. When a hot car is identified by licence plates or vehicle identification numbers, Hall and others on his team drive out, block the car from moving and call the Anchorage police.
By now, the dispatchers and officers — even the chief of police — know him simply as Floyd. By his own tally, he has found and helped return about 75 vehicles so far this year. The authorities in Anchorage say they have not tracked the number of people who, like Floyd, have taken on roles as self-appointed spotters, watchers, trackers or all-around crime fighters, but they are numerous. Frustration has fuelled their energy and social media has given them tools to coordinate efforts.
Anchorage, a city with nearly 300,000 residents, has long had its share of rough edges, including patterns of homelessness and transience. In interviews around the city, people said they still felt safe walking around, day or night, but the need to lock doors — a new imperative here — has left them unsettled.
The Anchorage Police Department says the number of auto thefts jumped by 52 per cent in 2017 over the number the previous year. In the first two months of 2018, the numbers were up again — 27 per cent over the same period last year.