Etan Patz Case Still Captivates 30 Years Later

— -- On the morning of May 25, 1979, Julie Patz finally agreed to allow her middle child, 6-year-old Etan Patz, to walk the two blocks to the school bus stop alone. He had been asking for months. It was not far, through a New York City neighborhood he knew well.

The terrible drama that unfolded in the weeks and months after the disappearance of Etan Patz captivated the country. Now author Lisa R. Cohen has told the entire story, beginning with the morning Julie watched Etan walk down the block and turn the corner, in "After Etan: The Missing Child Search That Held America Captive."

Watch the story on "2020" Friday, May 29 at 10 p.m. ET.

CHAPTER 1

Police hypnotist: About what time is it?

Julie: About 7:00 a.m.

Hypnotist: What do you do?

Julie: Get out of bed.

— Julie Patz hypnosis transcript, August 7, 1979

In August of 1979, nine weeks after Etan Patz disappeared, his mother, Julie, was hypnotized by police to recall the events of Friday, May 25.

She was nervous but eager to do anything to add to the shortage of clues. She began to retrace her steps that day, minute by minute. After a stoic 10 minutes, the NYPD hypnotist stopped her and told her she was doing a wonderful job, but that she had to start all over again from the beginning. And this time, he said, she needed to stay completely in the present tense, as if every minute were just happening now. He thought it would help her to recall the day more easily. He actually used the word "easily." Julie started again. "The alarm clock is ringing," she said. "Stan is shutting it off."

Her husband turns over and goes back to sleep. He had worked late the night before. Julie pulls herself out of bed, unwillingly, but she has a lot to do. Their across- the- street neighbors, Larry and Karen Altman, have invited them to their country place for the weekend. The weather is changeable this time of year—lots to pack. Julie's in-home daycare group will be arriving soon, bringing their daily chaotic mess of arts-and-crafts supplies, spilled Cheerios, and sweet cacophony. The other wild card this morning is Ari, her 2-year-old. A playmate of his had slept over the night before, the toddlers snuggled under blankets on the floor in the front room that doubled as the daycare center. This means an extra wiggly body to keep track of. And when Julie peeks in, sure enough they are awake already, "reading" their books amid the bedclothes.

As usual, when Julie wakes Etan, he hops right out of bed. Eight-year-old Shira is a different story. Once awake, Shira might lie in bed imagining ways to get out of having to go to school. Today is really part of the long weekend, she might argue, and then it's almost the end of the term, and it isn't like anyone's learning anything this late in the year anyway. Julie has already decided she isn't going to push her daughter too hard. She goes to her room to throw on a long blue-and-yellow peasant dress with white flowers and pull her shoulder-length brown hair back in its usual casual ponytail.

Then she checks on Etan, who is putting on his blue pants and a T- shirt. While Julie goes to the kitchen, he laces up his racing sneakers, the light blue ones with the fluorescent green lightning stripe on the side. His best friend Jeff has just grown out of a blue, wide-wale corduroy jacket and Etan is now its proud owner, even though the name sewn inside hasn't been changed. He already has on his favorite hat, the Future Flight Captain pilot's cap he bought for a dime at a garage sale and sometimes slept in, as he comes into the kitchen where his mother is making lunches.

Julie watches as, unbidden, he takes the milk out and pours himself a glass. With a naturally contrary older sister and a typically terrible-twoish younger brother, Etan is an easy middle child. There are the usual qualifications, of course. He actively tries to please, a refreshing change of pace after Shira, but he knows the secret ways to provoke his sister as only a sibling can. He is fiercely protective of baby brother Ari, but equally jealous. He is sunny and sweet, but has a stubborn, moody streak. He is fanciful and full of stories, planning trips to far-off lands with his imaginary playmate Johnny France-America. For a while, he felt like he could walk on water as Jesus had, if only he practiced hard enough, so he spent hours walking flat-footed around the house.

He is on the slight side, but not undersized. His smile reaches up his whole face and through his blue, blue eyes to light up a room. He looks a lot like his mother. She encourages his self-sufficiency, and every morning he fixes his own breakfast of toast and chocolate milk. Now he quickly finishes up both, picks up his cloth lunch bag, the blue one with the white elephants, and heads into the front room to position himself by the door.

Etan has a reason for being one step ahead of his mom. This is a big day. The school bus stop is two short blocks away, down Prince Street, then a quick right onto West Broadway, in front of the corner bodega. All year he has been begging his mother to let him walk it on his own. A lot of the other kids are allowed, why not me, Etan would say, with classic 6-year-old logic. Now first grade is almost over, and he has only a few more weeks to carry out his mission.

Stan and Julie were of mixed minds about this walk to the bus stop thing, but Etan's pleadings wore them down. It wasn't as if there had been one moment when they decided, yes, this was the day. It just sort of happened. His parents also thought it would be a good confidence builder for him— they were concerned about the tentative streak that coexisted with his thirst for adventure. Etan was particularly fearful of being lost. Once, when he was five, he and his mother rode an elevator, and when the door opened, she made it off but he didn't. She turned as the door closed and would never forget the expression on his face. She could hear him screaming all the way to the top and back down safely to her.

But this morning he is so pleased with himself, acting so grown- up, and at the last minute he even remembers to bring the dollar he "earned" the day before. On his way home Etan had run into the neighborhood handyman who'd pretended to need the boy's help in some small task. Now Julie tells her son to put the dollar in his pocket, but he wants to hold it in his hand as he walks. He plans to stop at the bodega before getting on the bus, to spend his pay on a soda for lunch.

Just before eight, Julie calculates it's time to go. Etan walks ahead of his mother down the three flights to the front door. He isn't tall enough to reach the lock himself, and has to wait while she opens the door. Julie looks up the street. It's a gray day, and at the moment the sun is behind her back, hiding around the corner. She feels it rather than sees it, struggling to come out.

The detective poised taking notes beside Julie in the hypnosis session had never sat through one of these. He was skeptical and suddenly confused. May 25 had been a drizzly day; how could Julie see the sun? Later, after she'd gone home, she called him. She'd just realized that the time sensor on a streetlamp behind her that morning had been defective and it had flickered on and off. That must have been what I felt as sunshine, she explained. Looking up the street, Julie hopes the weather will be better for the next few days, since they plan to spend most of it outdoors, on this holiday weekend in the country. She sees the familiar figures of other parents and their children beginning to congregate near the bus stop, which is just barely out of sight around the corner. Mother and son stand in front of their door, heads together, talking briefly about afterschool plans. Come home quickly, she tells him, you have to help pack for the trip. She kisses Etan goodbye.

He smiled and waved, turned around and walked away. She watched him, head down, as though he were counting his steps. She waited until he crossed the first of the two streets that stood between their home and the bus stop. If she was wavering at all, well, there were the babies upstairs, unsupervised. She turned and went inside, back upstairs to contain whatever toddler havoc Ari and his friend had wrought in the few minutes she'd been gone.

As Julie relived those few last moments to the hypnotist, she slipped unaware from present tense to past. Living in that exact moment again seemed to be just too hard.