Snowzilla dies at age 4 months

To put it bluntly: Snowzilla, as Anchorage and the world knew him, is dead.

Remember him as he was: The strong, silent type in a classy top hat, an icy behemoth with the simple intent of entertaining neighborhood kids who instead became the city's hottest winter attraction.

The hulking snowman scored headlines across the country -- from California to Chicago to New York. News crews called from as far away as Japan and Russia. USA Today even listed Powers' address.

And as Snowzilla's popularity snowballed, so did traffic volume on once-sleepy Columbine Street: Tens of thousands came to see him, Powers guesses. Cars clogged the street. Some people parked, got out, snapped photos. Others trolled past, windows rolled down, mouths agape.

Children scampered at his base. Grown men -- stroking beards, sipping coffee -- mused at its creation. Couples posed for pictures.

Cameras flashed routinely in the wee morning hours, about the time the bars shut down.

"In my wildest dreams, I did not expect that," Powers said. "Not at all. It was just crazy. One time we had four limos out here at once."

Powers and his kids had simply decided, one slow December day, to make a snowman.

Neighbor Darrell Estes joined the force. So did a gaggle of neighborhood kids. They dragged sleds full of snow to Powers' front yard and kept packing on more bulk. Powers' young daughter, Brook, sewed puffy red gloves, a bright carrot-shaped nose, a draping plaid scarf and a shiny red band for the black hat.

The snowman grew taller and taller. Perhaps it was inevitable -- his discovery, anyway.

And then came the sightseers. And the name, which seemed irresistible.

Powers still can't quite pinpoint what it was about a big snowman that got people so excited.

"Maybe it was just good timing," Powers said. "And it's a PC symbol, you know. There seems to be no issues with snowmen."

Powers stood on the edge of Columbine Street outside his home Monday morning, gazing over his wilted creation.

Time and age have stooped Snowzilla from his original height, when he towered more than 16 feet tall.

And he's sweated off the pounds: Sunlight has sheered flat the southern face of Snowzilla's once-globular body, leaving pockmarked, scarred ice.

"Some of the teenagers from East High said it looks like he's been hit with acid rain," Powers said.

Mother Nature did help strip Snowzilla's accessories: Glass bottles whose round, smooth ends served as Snowzilla's eyes and buttons heated up in the sunshine and popped out, Powers said.

A lone, long stick -- one of his arms -- lay at the snowman's base, one end still stuffed into a bulky red mitten.

Powers is sad to see his snowy buddy go, sure. But he's glad for the time the neighborhood had with Snowzilla. No one ever griped about the traffic or the crowds, Powers said.

"It was a happy thing all the way," he said. "A lot of neighbors would come out for hours at a time and just stand around and talk to each other."

So Snowzilla is survived by his own shrinking shape and happy memories for one pocket of Anchorage. Though he leaves behind no official family members, his brief life seems to have inspired future kin.

"Will we do this again next year?" Powers grinned. "Oh, of course."

Contact reporter Katie Pesznecker at kpesznecker@adn.com or (907) 257-4589.