hope he finds a way to have a good future.”
In Indiana, Spider Miller, whose plane Colt took to the Bahamas, said sending Colt to jail for a long time wouldn’t do Colt or the victims any good. He wished the kid could instead be sentenced to something more constructive, “like having to wash a lot of airplanes.”
Out in Idaho, though, former attorney Pat Gardiner thought whatever prison sentence they gave Colt wouldn’t be long enough. When asked by prosecutors to submit a victim impact statement, Gardiner wrote that “Colton Harris-Moore represents a severe danger to the public and will most likely revert to his old ways as soon as he’s released.”
One person who knows Colt well, and passionately felt he deserved a break, is Bev Davis. Bev’s faith in Colt was sorely tested during those strange episodes at the trailer back when he was fourteen, and then again later when she learned he’d been carrying a gun while on the lam. She feared Colt’s run would end tragically. “I’m astounded, given his life, that he didn’t lash out and really hurt someone—or commit suicide. That showed real strength of character.”
When Colt was captured, Bev again reached out a caring hand, and he responded. They began communicating regularly by phone and email. “I’m amazed at the change in him,” she says. “At how much more mature he is than when I last saw him. He truly understands the impact of his actions, and he’s sincerely sorry for the damage he’s caused, especially to the people of Orcas and Camano Islands.”
Bev says that Colt has adapted to prison life fairly well. “But that’s not a big surprise, since he’s already had a lot of practice at dysfunction, discomfort, pain, and fear in his young life. He’s an extraordinary person, and I know in my heart that when he gets out he will be okay and he’ll lead a productive life—like the one he would have had if his circumstances had been different.” Bev says that she’s only one of many who are willing to help Colt transition back into society. Already, friends have pledged to pay for special counseling while he’s in prison, and for college when he gets out.
Colt says that when he’s released, he wants to study aeronautical engineering, and hopes to someday launch that aircraft design company.
COLT’S GLOBAL PLEA PROVED unworkable, so the charges were split into two batches. On Friday, June 17, 2011, he pleaded guilty to seven federal charges including bank burglary for the Islanders Bank attempt on Orcas; two counts of interstate transport of a stolen aircraft for the Idaho and Indiana plane thefts; foreign transport of a stolen firearm for carrying a .32 pistol across the Canadian border; interstate transport of a stolen vessel for his Columbia River crossing; and piloting an aircraft without a valid airman’s certificate for the Anacortes-to-Orcas Island flight during the Winter Olympics.
As part of the same plea, Colt admitted responsibility for more than twenty-five other crimes committed outside Washington State during his cross-country run, from stealing eyeglasses to Escalades, pistols to pleasure boats, to “threatening to inflict physical harm” on Kelly Kneifl in his South Dakota basement. The sentencing recommendation calls for sixty-three to seventy-eight months in prison plus additional time on probation. The plea also stated that the monetary loss attributable to just these federal and state crimes was “not less than $1,409,438.” Of that, Colt agreed to pay $959,438 in restitution to the victims.
As for how a high school dropout could ever begin to pay that kind of restitution in just a single lifetime, a full quarter of the document’s twenty-eight pages dealt solely with Colt’s ability to tell or sell his story. U.S. Attorney Jenny Durkin said that the agreement ensured that Colt would never personally make a dime off his crimes. Even once he’s paid back the victims in full, Colt agrees to forfeit to the government any money he earns from anything related to his crimes or tagged “Barefoot Bandit,” whether movies, books, commercial endorsements, video games, Happy Meal toys, or toe rings. With so many kids looking at Colt as a hero, the prosecutors wanted to send a clear “crime doesn’t pay” message to all of his fans, followers, and potential imitators.
All during his run, even as he became more and more famous and appeared to court the media attention, Colt steadfastly maintained that he would never tell his story. He finally agreed to sell his life rights only once the reality of restitution set in. Normally, crime victims receive piddly payments stretched over many years. Signing away his story rights, difficult as it was for Colt, enables his victims to recoup their losses quickly if a movie gets made. It was also a valuable bargaining chip in the overall plea deal, and could allow him to walk out of jail debt- free as opposed to having his paychecks docked for the rest of his life. As to signing away the money itself, Colt says that was the easy part because he never wanted himself or anyone in his family to make anything off his story.
Shortly after the federal plea was filed, Colt entered into a film contract with 20th Century Fox, which had already optioned this book. If cameras start rolling, more than $1 million will go to Colt’s victims. Even with the movie deal, though, there are parts of his story that Colt refuses to tell. While he admits that he occasionally met and even stayed with friends at times during his run, Colt is never going to name them.
TALK OF THE MOVIE deal again brought up the phenomena of Colt’s large number of fans. Throughout his run, many commentators seemed to take the idea of people rooting for the outlaw Colt as a sign of the apocalypse. Colt himself said he didn’t understand and recoils at the attention—seeing no disconnect between feeling that way and the facts of him signing notes “The Barefoot Bandit,” drawing thirty-nine footprints on the floor of a burglarized grocery store, repeatedly committing high-profile airplane thefts, and telling friends and even new acquaintances to watch for him on the news. The only real surprise, however, is that anyone, including Colt, could claim they’re shocked that he attracted so much notice.
The Great Recession was as fertile a ground for Colton Harris-Moore to emerge as an outlaw hero as the Great Depression was for John Dillinger. The Internet and social networks simply ensured that Colt became a world-famous outlaw at warp speed compared to all those who’d gone before him.
Even though Dillinger and his gang went on a tear across the country that left a dozen dead—including cops and bystanders—people rallied to him just as they would seventy-five years later to Colt, who was much, much safer to root for because he hadn’t physically hurt anyone. In
According to professor Graham Seal, author of
Americans like to believe that our national character still includes a little bit of the frontier outlaw. And compared to most outlaws, Colt was easy to get behind. He was a clean-cut rural kid who was nonconfrontational and hadn’t killed anyone yet. The most repeated plea on his Facebook pages was “Don’t hurt anyone!”
In all outlaw stories, though, the victims are forgotten. They get in the way of the fun, and the outlaw’s fans prefer they’d just exist in the background with their hands in the air. Stopping to look at them slows down the tale and risks impugning the character of the sympathetic bandit. In Colt’s case, some of his supporters caricatured and dehumanized the victims simply as “rich people” and thus somehow deserving of having their stuff and their security stolen. The fact that Colt also stole from middle-class folks and those running mom-and-pop businesses was an inconvenience best ignored. The last refuge was the “So what? They’re insured,” rationalization, obviously made by those who’d never had to deal with an “insured” loss.
ON DECEMBER 16, 2011, Colt stepped into an Island County courtroom to face sentencing for thirty-two Washington State charges. Judge Vicki Churchill, the same judge who sentenced Colt in 2007, presided. Colt’s attorneys filed a mitigation package that presented a narrative of Colt’s early years. It was the most damning report yet of his mother’s “toxic presence that shaped his childhood.” Much of it was in Colt’s own words: “My mom is also a heavy alcoholic… No question that her entire life, house, family and friend relationships have been ravaged by her alcoholism.” Colt talked about Gordy Moore, too, recalling an argument in the trailer about child support payments, when Gordy “literally picked my mom up and threw her across the room,” the event that Colt says Pam claims is when she broke her back.
