A Trilogy of Thefts: A Journey of Loss, Chase, and Recovery

How Persistence, Vigilance and Resilience Helped Me Outwit Thieves and Reclaim My Belongings

(Selfie)

The queue stretched so far it seemed to merge with the horizon of the next terminal. 

Maneuvering my mother in her wheelchair alongside our three pieces of luggage for even a short distance seemed an insurmountable task, let alone to the tail end of this snaking line. Our punctuality had already fallen victim to the notorious 1-95 traffic; caught in the thick of rush hour, our driver overlooked the express lane, trapping us in a gridlock that mirrored a parking lot more closely than a highway in Southern Florida. The vehicle inched forward at a glacial pace, and with 12 miles still to cover before reaching Fort Lauderdale airport, a rising tide of panic warned that we might not make our flight.

During my four month stay in Florida, I had accumulated belongings that filled a 28-inch suitcase to the brim, comprising clothing, essential documents, and several books I intended to bring back to New York.

The driver reassured me, promising to drop us directly at the sidewalk check-in. Once there, I could offload my sizable suitcase, making it simpler to navigate my mother and our two carry-ons through the airport. My backpack, a constant fixture on my back, would leave my hands free to adeptly manage the dual tasks of pushing my mother's wheelchair and maneuvering our belongings.

We encountered a challenge in the form of a hump on the sidewalk, likely a cable protector, that obstructed our path. Despite my efforts, the wheelchair refused to roll over it. Designed for travel, my mother's chair is lightweight, weighing merely 15 pounds, and easily collapsible but this also means it's not particularly robust. Its small, delicate wheels struggled against such barriers. Having navigated the cracked, bumpy, and holey sidewalks of Manhattan before, I quickly figured out the technique of reversing the chair to pull it over such obstacles. Attempting to push it forward could result in the wheels jamming and risking my mother being propelled forward out of her chair.

(Mom in her wheelchair)

Opting to leave my mother momentarily with our luggage, I approached the porter's counter, bypassing the queue after getting the consent of the person I was cutting ahead of. Just as I pivoted towards the counter, a well-dressed gentleman stepped forward, offering his assistance to help navigate my mother's wheelchair over the challenging hump. His gesture of kindness, seemingly sparked by witnessing our struggle, was a welcome relief.

I hooked the handle of my carry-on to the wheelchair's right grip bar so that when I pushed her it moved with us.

After expressing my thanks to the helpful stranger, I engaged the porter, who, understanding our predicament, processed my oversized bag without requiring us to queue. I was grateful and gave him a nice tip.

Upon returning to my mother, I was disheartened to find her wheelchair still marooned behind the hump. Worse, my carry-on bag had vanished. My eyes darted upwards, catching sight of the previously considerate man making his way through the double doors, wheeling my carry-on into the terminal.

I darted towards him, leaving my mother unattended once more—something I didn’t like to do.

"That's my bag!" I screamed.

He acted like he took it by mistake. For one fraction of a second, I thought perhaps he did.
After all, what interest would he have in a bag filled with my personal effects? Items of value to me, like my computer, iPad, and crucially, several hard drives. These drives held not only my data but also my award-winning film about forgiveness which had been helping people all over the world: It was stored on a Digital Cinema Package (DCP), specially formatted for theatrical exhibition and the only one had left.

I found the thief in the nick of time. 

This wasn't my first encounter with luggage going missing during travel. Four years earlier, following a week-long family vacation, we had just disembarked from a cruise ship in Miami.

The evening before departure, the cruise line had distributed bag tags, color-coded to designate the specific area in the terminal where each piece of luggage would be placed for retrieval. As my family members collected their bags one by one and dispersed, I managed to quickly locate my mother’s suitcase. Since we were sharing a room, our bags had been placed outside our door together the previous night. However, despite searching through every aisle, my bag was nowhere to be found, long after most passengers had left.

(Miami Cruise Ship Terminal)

Feeling both concerned and disturbed, I sought out a supervisor to report my missing luggage. Filling out the forms, I tried to figure out where my bag could have possibly ended up. The supervisor radioed for assistance, and after a half-hour wait, they informed me that my bag had been found. It was about to be whisked away by a woman stepping into a car. I could only imagine her surprise when they intervened to retrieve my bag from her. I wish I had seen her face when they took it from her.

They say timing is everything and once again the thief was caught.

You might think that experiencing two attempted thefts would be enough for any traveler. I would be remiss not to share one more tale—promising it to be the last of its kind.

The year was 1994, and I had just finished an Alaskan cruise with a friend. We were both living in Los Angeles at the time. Our voyage began and concluded in the scenic city of Vancouver, Canada, in an era before the advent of smartphones, which now serve as our primary tools for photography and videography. As a TV director and a storyteller, I was equipped with both a camcorder and a still camera to document our adventure. Given that we planned to work on our script during the trip, I also brought along my laptop computer.

After our cruise, we had arranged to spend a weekend in Vancouver, graciously hosted by friends. It was our first visit to the city. Eagerly, we boarded an Avis shuttle at the terminal, joining fellow passengers. We had promised to pick up a crew member to give him a tour before he had to return to the ship later that day. Given our tight schedule, I hurried out of the van to secure our place in line, entrusting my friend to watch over our luggage.

We were all together in our rented car and arrived at our first site. Excited to capture the moments ahead, I opened the trunk to retrieve my camera.

However, my gray camera bag was not there. Despite thoroughly unloading the trunk and searching, the bag, sizable for its era due to the Hi8 camera it contained—a model compact in comparison to professional equipment—was nowhere to be found. Inside, alongside the camera, were substantial amounts of cash, important documents, my still camera, film, and all my videotapes, both recorded and blank. There were additional items I couldn’t immediately recall, adding to the urgency and distress of the situation.

We were now on a mission to find this bag and headed back to the Avis office in downtown Vancouver convinced it must have been left there by mistake. Nope, it was not there. Our minds transitioned into detective mode, speculating that perhaps one of the other passengers had mistakenly taken it, given its generic gray appearance common to camera bags of the time. In our quest for clues, we approached the Avis representative, inquiring if she could provide us with the flight details of the fellow passengers who had shared the van with us. Without hesitation, she printed out the information and handed it to us. It’s important to note that this was before 9/11 when the world changed and so did security procedures. 

Our entire weekend in Vancouver was planned around tracking down three sets of departing passengers, not counting ourselves. We arrived at the airport ahead of the first group's departure. Since we weren't flying out, it was crucial to intercept them before they passed through customs. We spotted a couple en route to the United States. From afar, I noticed a man maneuvering a luggage cart with what appeared to be a gray camera bag nestled in the top basket. Heart racing, I thought, "We've finally found it."

As we approached the couple, the mood was tense. The gentleman seemed less than thrilled by our intrusion. I shared our story, and it soon emerged that he was a police officer from Florida. Upon closer inspection, I realized this was not my bag. At that time, gray camera bags were a dime a dozen, a common accessory among travelers.

My girlfriend remained convinced that we would find it. Meanwhile, I had already given up hope, thinking it had simply gone missing. Perhaps someone had stolen it from outside the Avis office.

I was bummed about losing all those recorded memories of our trip.

We had one last possibility. This time, we planned to separate since there were two different places where you could return your rental car: one in the parking lot and one in the terminal. So, we parted ways and planned to meet in the terminal. Unfortunately, we both missed them. They were a mother and her two adult daughters heading back to Guadalajara.

They were gone. The flight hadn’t left yet but they had gone through customs and passport control–a barrier we had no way of crossing.

It was time to enroll the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). I shared the story with them, highlighting that I had all the serial numbers for both cameras, thanks to having my laptop with me. They seemed impressed.

The officers said they would inspect the gate area. After doing so, they reported back to us that they had observed the mother had a large, opaque plastic bag that seemed to contain something significant. Their strategy was to wait until the family was boarding before approaching them to inquire about the contents of the bag. They assured us they would announce my name afterward and tell us where to meet them.

Meanwhile, as my girlfriend and I waited at a café, she finally accepted that the bag might be permanently lost. The odds of it still being in the possession of the mother and her daughters seemed slim.

About half an hour later, I heard my name through the loudspeaker with directions where to go. My friend and I, in a scene reminiscent of a Marx Brothers film, dashed in opposite directions. She reached the meeting point with the police ahead of me. As I approached, she was shaking her head, and I thought, "Oh, well, it was a long shot." Her expression shifted to a smirk as I got closer, and there, at her feet, was my bag.

I was so thrilled. The officers instructed me to verify the contents of my bag; miraculously, everything was intact. They said the woman told them she intended to mail the bag back to me upon reaching Mexico. We all laughed. It was a dubious excuse.  
Faced with the complexity of initiating a legal case across three countries (Canada, United States, and Mexico) and with the requirement to surrender my bag as evidence, I chose gratitude over retribution. I was simply thankful to have my belongings back, though part of me longed to witness the woman's reaction when confronted by the police.

The RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) were notably impressed with our sleuthing efforts. This experience underscored a valuable lesson: never relent. Persistence truly pays off.