Ever heard of a guy who built a three-story treehouse with a wood-burning stove and a zip line, only to fund his "Lost Boy" lifestyle by robbing nearly 20 banks? Honestly, it sounds like a rejected screenplay from the nineties. But for the people of Seattle and Olympia, Scott Scurlock—famously known as the Hollywood bank robber Seattle residents couldn't stop talking about—was very real. He wasn't just some guy with a gun. He was a master of disguise who treated bank robbery like a high-stakes performance art project.
He stole over $2.3 million.
That's a lot of cash for a guy who spent his days wandering around his 20-acre property in his birthday suit. Scurlock was the son of a minister, a former pre-med student, and a meth cook who decided that robbing banks was a "cleaner" way to make a living. By the time the FBI caught up with him on a rainy Thanksgiving Eve in 1996, he had become a local legend and a national enigma.
The Disguises That Fooled Everyone
The nickname "Hollywood" didn't come from a love of movies, though he certainly drew inspiration from them. The FBI gave him that moniker because of his theatrical makeup. We're talking professional-grade prosthetics. Scurlock didn't just put on a Nixon mask and call it a day; he used spirit gum, fake noses, and pancake makeup to completely alter his bone structure.
He was obsessed with the details.
Tellers often described him as "intimidating" but "well-mannered." He had this "take charge" energy that kept everyone calm while he emptied the vault. Most people didn't even know they were being robbed by the most wanted man in the Pacific Northwest until he was already out the door.
The Crew and the Craft
Scurlock didn't work alone, at least not always. He recruited friends like Mark Biggins and Steve Meyers. These weren't career criminals. They were guys Scurlock had basically charmed into the life.
- Mark Biggins: A college friend who wore a Ronald Reagan mask during their first heist in 1992.
- Steve Meyers: A sculptor who helped Scurlock build his legendary treehouse and eventually became his lookout.
They used scanners to monitor police frequencies. They had a "mobile base station" meant to white out police signals. They even had code words like "Mama's coming" to signal if a patrol car was nearby. It was sophisticated, bordering on paranoid, and it worked for four long years.
The Treehouse Life: Seattle’s Robin Hood?
If you drove out to his property near Olympia, you wouldn't see a criminal hideout. You’d see a masterpiece. The three-story treehouse was built with stolen lumber and sheer audacity. It had plumbing, electricity, and a wrap-around deck. It was the center of Scurlock’s "tribe," a group of friends who saw him as a generous, free-spirited hippie.
He gave money away.
Scurlock was known to leave $100 tips for waitresses at local diners. He donated thousands to environmental causes and rape crisis centers. To his friends, he was a guy who made his money in "construction." They didn't ask questions because the party never stopped. But the FBI was starting to notice a pattern: Scurlock was spending about $20,000 a month. Whenever the "tribe" ran low on champagne, a bank in Seattle usually got hit a few days later.
Why the Hollywood Bank Robber Seattle Legend Ended in Blood
Everything fell apart on November 27, 1996. Scurlock and his crew decided to hit the Seafirst Bank in Lake City. They were ambitious. They wanted a multi-million dollar score. But the FBI had been waiting. They had been tracking the timing of his robberies and placing agents in "likely" targets.
When Scurlock entered the bank, a teller recognized his "authoritative" vibe almost instantly.
The silent alarm was pressed twice.
They walked out with over $1 million, but the getaway was a disaster. It was the night before Thanksgiving. Seattle traffic was a nightmare. They were stuck in a white van, frantically digging through bags of cash to find electronic tracers. Witnesses saw flashlights waving around inside the van and called it in.
The ensuing shootout was something out of an action movie. Scurlock, ever the protagonist in his own mind, jumped out of the van and fired at police. His rifle jammed. He got back in, crashed the van into a house, and vanished into the rainy Seattle night.
The Final Stand in the Camper
While Biggins and Meyers were captured—bleeding and surrounded by $1 million in dye-stained cash—Scurlock escaped. He spent the night hiding in a small, decommissioned camper in a backyard just blocks away from the crash site.
The next day, as the Walker family was preparing Thanksgiving dinner, they noticed a window open on the camper. When the police closed in, a single shot rang out. Scurlock didn't let the "feds" take him. He ended it on his own terms with a 9mm to the head.
What Most People Get Wrong About Scurlock
People love to romanticize him. They see the "Hollywood" bandit as a gentleman thief who never hurt anyone. And it’s true—he never fired a shot at a person until that final night. But he was also a master manipulator who dragged his friends into a life that ended in decades of prison time for them and death for him.
He wasn't just a "hippie" who liked trees. He was a guy who couldn't stop the rush. He admitted in his journals that his mind was like an "undisciplined child." The money was just a way to keep the fantasy of his treehouse life going.
Actionable Insights for True Crime Fans
If you're fascinated by the Scott Scurlock story, here’s how to dive deeper without getting lost in the myths:
🔗 Read more: Kristallnacht: What Really Happened During the Night of Broken Glass
- Check the Primary Sources: Read the original reporting from The Seattle Times and The Spokesman-Review from November 1996. It captures the raw chaos of the manhunt that documentaries sometimes smooth over.
- Visit the Locations (Respectfully): You can still find the neighborhoods in North Seattle where the final chase happened. Just remember these are private residences now.
- Watch the Netflix Doc: How to Rob a Bank (2024) features interviews with Meyers and Biggins. It’s the closest you’ll get to hearing the "inside" story of what it was like to be under Scurlock's spell.
- Read "The End of the Dream": Ann Rule, the queen of Seattle true crime, wrote extensively about Scurlock. Her perspective adds a layer of psychological depth that's hard to find elsewhere.
The story of the hollywood bank robber seattle still haunts the city because it represents a weird, transitional era. It was a time before ubiquitous GPS, before every person had a camera in their pocket, and when a guy with enough makeup and charm could actually convince the world he was someone else.
Until the money ran out.