A Missing Child of the 1980s, All Grown Up
Scott Rankin’s father hatched an elaborate plot to kidnap him and start a secret life, while his mother searched desperately for six years. That was only the start of Scott’s traumatic life journey.
One morning in 1984, the school principal walked into the classroom where I taught fourth grade and whispered to me, “Scott is a missing child!”
I looked at 9-year-old Scott, who was present in my class that day. I was quite aware what was implied. The term “missing child” had been seared into the nation’s psyche in the 1980s following a few high-profile cases, including the kidnapping and murder of 6-year-old Etan Patz in 1979. None of us at the school had any idea that Scott had been kidnapped from his own home just a few months before Patz.
The principal explained that Scott had been kidnapped by his father, and over the past six years, including the four-plus he’d been enrolled in our school, his mother, who lived on the other side of the country, had been desperately searching for him. I did not know the depth of the story beginning to unfold. It would be weeks before I understood the immediate implications for Scott and his family — and decades before I learned of the full dimensions of Scott’s remarkable experience.
12/29/78, I picked up Scott on time. Martha knows nothing. Today is the day…I have reached the point of no return.
— Entry in Scott’s father’s journal
My first encounter with Scott had occurred the previous year, when he was 8 years old, and it had resulted in a memorable tantrum. That day, I was supervising several classes together for gym. The school rules forbade black-soled shoes because they scuffed up the gym floor. Students with street shoes removed them and took part in their socks. Scott refused to take off his shoes and made a scene about it. I let the disobedience ride and focused on supervising the other 75 students. Other staff members had dealt with Scott’s outbursts before. The principal had become aware of Scott’s temper on his first day of kindergarten, when he threw a large chair across her office.
The following year, I became more familiar with Scott as his fourth-grade homeroom teacher. I soon realized that telling him to remove his shoes was not the only issue that could lead to a meltdown. His temper was unpredictable. He might become upset during a transition from one activity to another, or in the middle of a lesson, or when working on a task.
I tried to address Scott’s conduct by allowing him space and time to calm down. I arranged his desk to be close to mine so I could be more responsive and proactive. I did not raise my voice and I did not confront him. I hoped that my patience, consistency and occasional humor would win Scott over. I also noticed that he enjoyed staying after school to help in the classroom, and I framed the activity as a reward rather than a punishment.
I knew Scott was volatile, but I had no idea about the traumatic experiences that were the source of his behavioral and emotional challenges. I only started to learn about them that day that the principal walked in.
Scott was known to me then as Scott Kolodziey, but his real name was Scott Rankin. Scott’s white, middle-class parents had separated before his birth. His father, a Vietnam veteran, had undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), was an abusive alcoholic, and once pulled a gun on Scott’s mother.
“I was terrified of Scott’s father,” his mother, Martha, stated years later. “When you’re in an abusive situation, you never know what you might do to trigger an untoward response — either physical violence or psychological trauma…if I leave him, he’ll kill me, but if I stay, I’m also likely to become another statistic.”
Scott’s father strongly disliked the limited visitation rights that had been permitted to him and made a plan to abduct his then 3-year-old son. He obtained fake IDs, a new birth certificate, planted false leads, bought a van with cash, picked up Scott for a Christmas holiday weekend, and fled from the Cleveland area to Seattle. Along the way, he called Scott’s mother from a pay phone and told her she would never see her son again.
Once settled in Washington, they assumed their new identities, with a new last name and new lives. Scott’s father eventually told him that his mother was dead.
Scott’s father kept a journal during the first six months of the abduction.
12/30/78, Scott woke up and won’t let go of me. He seems terrified without me. He wants his mommy.
1/11/79, Scott and I slept in the van at a truck stop. He woke up scared in the night, but I explained, and he went back to sleep. Scott knows his new name now. He seems to have forgotten Martha. Too bad.
1/17/79, I had to hit Scott twice today. I tell him to do something. He says no. I don’t feel bad about what happened in our situation. I still love having him. Maybe I’ll change my mind when I start working.
2/15/79, I tried to cut his hair, and I really got mad at him. Took him out of the bathtub and threw him in bed. I then got him up and apologized and then we had ice cream.
2/23/79, Went to a dance. Drank half a gallon of wine. I was smashed and fell asleep on the couch. Scott woke me up on the couch at 7:00 a.m. then he let me sleep until noon.
3/7/79, I have absolutely no sympathy for her. I still feel I’m right.
3/21/79, I got so mad at him because he threw up on my newly washed bed. I told him he was going to sleep in the bathtub. He couldn’t help it, I’m sure. I feel anxious and frustrated at my situation not having any help in this crisis.
3/30/79, Scott woke me up at 7:00 a.m. saying, “pee in the bed.” I dressed him and put him in bed. That really ticks me off because I feel like he did it on purpose since this is the second time he messed up a brand-new bed.
5/9/79, Scott is not better he’s throwing up 30 to 40 times…I finally had enough and hit Scott when he threw up with a bowl a foot away and he threw up on the couch. I’m beginning to believe he’s doing it on purpose.
6/23/79, Scott and I had another long discussion about Martha. He wants to see her and it’s getting hard to be neutral discussing her. I stopped by the curb and told Scott to get out and walk to Martha’s house, but I posed some questions, and he decided he needed me.
Scott’s mother tried to locate him for six years. During that time, she remarried and had two more children, but she never stopped looking for him.
Meanwhile, Scott’s father worked at his own business while Scott went to preschool. They lived in a Seattle-area neighborhood filled with young families and potential playmates. Our elementary school was within walking distance. When he turned 5, Scott enrolled in kindergarten with the fake surname and fake birth certificate. Four years later, he landed in my class.
In 1984, Martha registered with a group that helped find missing children called Child Find. This period predated the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and AMBER Alerts, so they operated without the aid of a national electronic database.
Child Find arranged for Martha to briefly share her story on television, at the beginning of an episode of The Dave Patterson Show about missing children. During a commercial break, she was asked to join the panel and go into further detail about her story and share a photo of Scott.
Remarkably, one viewer of the syndicated show was a woman who soon moved to Seattle. Against all odds, she happened to meet Scott’s father, who made a positive first impression with his charm. Eventually she moved in with him and Scott. She didn’t have any suspicions until she noticed a photo displayed on Scott’s nightstand of Martha and a younger Scott — the same image that had been shown on the television show. Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, she left the house and notified an agency for missing and exploited children.
Soon after, Martha received a call from the agency explaining that her son had been found, and that she should phone a detective in Seattle.
“I was hesitant to make the call,” Martha recounts. “There had been so many times I had followed what I thought were credible leads over the years, only to have my hopes shattered yet again.” But she did contact the detective, and then flew across the country — to bring Scott home.
When law enforcement first alerted the principal about Scott, they stated that the father was considered armed and dangerous. Arrangements were made for the recovery to take place at Scott’s school. Strategy and timing were critical to ensure everyone’s safety.
I agreed to meet with Scott’s mother during the school day, while a staff member covered my class. The plan was that after our conversation, Scott would enter the room and meet his mother. As I pondered what I might say, it occurred to me that I likely knew more about 9-year-old Scott than his mother did.
The plan nearly went awry because there was an early dismissal scheduled, before Scott’s mother planned to arrive. If he went home, it would throw the entire plan into disarray. Time was of the essence. I was tasked with keeping Scott after school.
As the students filed out the door heading home, I convinced Scott that I needed his help for a while after school. After about 40 minutes, he became anxious and told me that he had best be off, or his father would be worried. I again persuaded Scott to stay a while longer, though I could see him becoming more agitated.
Thankfully, a friendly plainclothes detective wearing a trench coat soon arrived. The officer wanted to speak with Scott alone, and I adjourned to the principal’s office to meet with his mother. I saw the family resemblance in her face as I entered the room. Her pleasant, calm presence was reassuring. I shared that below Scott’s hard veneer was a heart of gold, a child who glowed when given attention and the opportunity to succeed.
After a while, the principal’s office door opened, and in walked the plainclothes detective, encouraging Scott to follow. He entered the room, showing confusion and fear when he saw the gathering of adults: his principal, his teacher and the plainclothes detective. Then he saw his mother — whom he believed was dead. He took a step backward.
What transpired next did not follow a script I might have written. Scott’s mother did not rush over to hug her lost son. She remained in her chair.
Then she calmly said, “Hello, Scott. How would you like to see some pictures of when you were a very young boy?”
Before long, we were all passing around photos. There was much to talk about. Though it seemed so natural on the surface, I could not fathom the range of emotions held in check.
Martha recalls being apprehensive about several things: “Would Scott remember me? How would he react? What could I do to ease his pain?”
Only the principal let down her guard. The commanding leader of a not-so-docile staff, raised by a military family to project confidence, she nevertheless reached for a tissue to dab her eyes.
Afterward, I accompanied Scott back to the classroom to collect his belongings. As we walked together, it was clear that Scott was overwhelmed and confused.
“Do you know what is going on?” he asked.
His question caught me off guard. “Yes,” I replied. “Your mother found you.”
“Why didn’t she come before?”
“She tried,” I responded, adding that she’d been looking for him for six years.
We gathered the things Scott had brought for the day, along with his other belongings. He would soon fly to a home, different from the one he knew, with his mother, a stranger to him, and he would not return to our class. I realized I would likely never see him again.
Before heading home for the evening, I asked for my principal’s counsel on how to manage the “missing classmate” story with his peers. She advised me to explain that Scott had moved to another state to be with his mother. Further discussion would be inappropriate. I heeded the advice. There was no mention of the kidnapping or recovery in the local news in Seattle or Cleveland. “I was reluctant to put him in the spotlight,” Martha says. “Can you imagine the stigma? He had enough stuff going on in his life without that added to it.”
Three days later, the principal interrupted my class to say that I should take a phone call. With her eyes bulging wide, she told me that Scott’s father was on the line and asking for me. I wondered what he could possibly want from me.
This was not the first time I had spoken with Scott’s father. He had come to the parent-teacher conference, and we had talked on the phone occasionally to discuss Scott’s progress. He seemed reasonable and supportive, although some of the other staff members found him to be intimidating.
When I picked up the receiver, I heard a different voice. It was the voice of a broken man.
“I am not a criminal,” he said. “I brought Scott here so he could live with me, his father. I did it out of love.” I didn’t know what to say, so I simply responded with a few words that indicated I was listening. I didn’t yet know about the way he had treated Scott and his ex-wife; I assumed he was honestly speaking from the heart, although I did wonder if I was too gullible. After the call concluded, I hung up the phone and cried.
I learned years later that he was not prosecuted for the abduction. Parental abduction was a misdemeanor in both Washington and Ohio in the 1980s. “I think society viewed parental kidnapping as a nonissue, a parental dispute,” says Scott, “and didn’t see the child [as being] in any danger because it is a parent, after all.”
Nancy Rider, executive director of Child Find of America, states, “One of the things we run into a lot is that people, especially law enforcement, don’t take parental abductions seriously enough because if it’s dad or mom, that’s fine.”
Bill Henne, the Seattle detective who solved Scott’s case as well as 130 other parental abduction cases, says, “For the most part, the abducting parent would tell the child their other parent was dead. How mean can that be? It just tore me up when I saw it. Child stealing is child abuse.” Yet Detective Henne also told me that in nearly all of these cases he helped solve, the non-custodial parent was not arrested, unless another crime had been committed.
In the following weeks, I received two phone calls from Scott — and this was during a time when long-distance calls were not that common or affordable. I asked him how he was doing. We talked for a while. I felt assured that he was adjusting nicely. Soon after, I received a card. He wrote:
Hi Mr. Robb. How are you? Do you miss me? Well, I miss you.
My new teacher…yells a lot. But she can’t replace you. No, she can’t
replace you. I hope you still like me. You probably can’t write to
me. But you still are my favorite teacher out of all my 18 you are my favorite.
I wrote back and assured Scott that I still liked him, that I missed him, and that soon he would enjoy making new friends and having different teachers. He just needed to give it time and be patient.
A few months later, the principal and I received a letter from Scott’s mother, informing us about Scott’s progress. She wrote that he was too busy playing football and soccer and building forts to write a letter. He was seeing a psychologist, and he had done very well on his last report card. He was also singing in the church choir. There was, however, a period of adjustment during which Scott was learning appropriate ways to deal with his anger. She also stated that Scott rarely mentioned his father. Near the end of the message, she wrote,
I do appreciate all that you’ve done for Scott and hope you’ve not
had any second thoughts that his coming here might not be in his
best interest.
It was the last I heard from them for three and a half decades.
Over the years, I wondered how Scott was doing.
“Why not find out?” my wife suggested one day.
“What?” I replied. “Locating Scott?”
The idea seemed daunting 36 years later. It was 2020. His mother could be deceased. Names and addresses might have changed. After my initial reluctance and some gentle prodding from my wife, I registered with a people search company I had once used to locate a former classmate. In Scott’s case, there was little to go on, and my online search proved unsuccessful, as I’d feared. Next, I enlisted my 45-year-old daughter, who, like many of her generation, lived online for work and pleasure. A background in law enforcement enhanced her superior internet-sleuthing skills.
After hearing about the kidnapping account, her first response was, “Why didn’t you tell me this story before?”
Less than 24 hours later, she called and said, “Dad, I found him, and we spoke on the phone!”
Later that same day, Scott called. We talked for two hours, a mere 36 years after he’d left my classroom. He offered to send my phone number to his mother, who in the coming days contacted me as well. Scott and I agreed to stay in touch. Over the following four years, I learned about how his life had unfolded.
Initially, it pleased me to hear that he was in a good place, happily married with two children, one grown and one finishing high school. As a police officer, Scott had worked his way up to a patrol commander appointment. On one occasion, he’d saved the life of a young high school boy who had collapsed from cardiac arrest. Scott had quickly retrieved a defibrillator, administered CPR, and restored the young man’s heart. He’d received two awards for his heroic act, as well as an inspiring spot on the evening news.
Before joining the police force, Scott had distinguished himself during his stint in the Marine Corps, graduating first in his basic training class, out of 300 recruits.
Apparently, the kidnapping experience of his early childhood had not seriously affected Scott’s development and adjustment to adulthood — or so I thought. As we continued to talk over time, I learned that Scott had in fact suffered mightily from his trauma.
Scott says that he has few memories of his early childhood. Perhaps he repressed them as a natural coping mechanism. Living in hiding had also minimized the existence of other memory aids, such as photos, home movies and even discussions of past events.
After Scott’s father died in 2008, Scott discovered his father’s journal among his personal effects. He learned how his father’s fears of being caught had superseded treating Scott properly, including at times not seeking medical attention.
“It was hard to read some of the things, but it also validates that I’m not just being dramatic,” says Scott. “It gave further insight into the physical and psychological harm caused by the abuse and neglect.”
Scott does not recall much from our class either, although he vividly remembers the detective with a long trench coat appearing in our classroom after school — and feeling anxious about getting home too late that afternoon. He recalls flying back across the country with his mother, who was essentially a stranger, and meeting a whole new family. Being separated from the parent he knew, his father, may have felt like another abduction.
The adjustment did not go well. He felt he did not belong. He did not trust anyone. He considered his 4-year-old half sister and 2-year-old half brother to be annoyances.
His stepfather was the breadwinner and a good provider. Yet, Scott recalls, “I didn’t feel there was a father-son dynamic or much of an effort to be a caring adult.” There was very little interaction between the two. Scott simply did not feel like he was a part of their family. He describes himself then as being extremely angry, closed off and distrustful of anyone.
“The anger was a secondary response to the pain and sadness from many layers of betrayal, neglect, manipulation, fear,” he says, “and all the lies that led to questioning everything I had been taught.”
“As far as fitting in the family,” says Martha, “he really chose to not allow us to get close to him. I’m sure it was a defense mechanism, as he had been so badly hurt.”
Yet Scott made friends and has fond memories of playing with his neighbors, and he says he stayed out of serious trouble.
Then, when Scott was 15, his stepfather’s job was transferred to a new location, and he made plans to relocate the family. The announcement seemed catastrophic for Scott. He could not imagine leaving his friends. “Moving somewhere else was a nonstarter,” he recalls. “I had established some friendships, joined athletic teams and things that I related to — more than my family.”
During an argument with his mother, Scott threatened to go live with his father if he didn’t get his way. His mother responded, “Then go,” knowing that children after the age of 12 had the right to choose between parents.
“I was heartbroken,” his mother recalls. “It was déjà vu all over again. It was one of the most difficult things I had to do. I just had to believe that I had done the best I could do for Scott for the limited years I was with him.”
Her husband and other children were somewhat relieved, because this source of constant chaos in the family was no longer there. “It was bittersweet — devastating, but a sense of relief at the same time,” Martha says.
Though it may seem counterintuitive for Scott to have wanted to return to his abusive father, it is not uncommon for victims to choose the familiar rather than face uncertainty. “I was driven by the idea of going somewhere I knew versus starting all over again with a family I had no connection to,” Scott says. His father had stayed in contact with Scott via occasional supervised phone calls and visits that included attending an NFL game and amusement parks. Scott had no conscious memory of abuse.
“My brain has locked out most of it in order for me to survive,” Scott reflects years later. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a huge dose of normalization. That’s just the way things are.”
So, Scott flew back across the country.
There was little supervision living with his father. His home was both a shelter and a prison. Some physical abuse occurred. Scott recounts being punched in the nose for being lippy, among other incidents. Even so, it was the psychological abuse, the manipulated realities (including his identity), gaslighting and lying, that had a much greater impact on his brain than the physical abuse. He once attempted to run away but was unsuccessful.
During one of our conversations, I asked Scott if he was familiar with the Adverse Childhood Experiences study (ACE). The ACE study and follow-ups found that people who had had four or more categories of adverse childhood experiences were much more likely to have issues with substance abuse, depression, learning problems and educational attainment beginning in childhood and tending to result in shorter lifespans.
Scott responded that he had taken the questionnaire, regarding 10 different categories of adverse experiences, and not only passed the threshold of four adverse experiences — he reported experiencing all 10 categories. At first I assumed he was mistaken, though after further discussion, there was no question about his score. How was it possible to have gone through all of this and come out seemingly unscathed? I wondered how he’d beaten the odds and avoided all-too-common sources of escape like smoking, drugs and alcohol. Scott said that his father’s alcoholism was deterrent enough.
Graduating high school on time was also no minor achievement, given his circumstances. What prompted him to attend school every day? Scott says it was his life outside the classroom, extracurricular activities, friends and caring adults that motivated him to keep showing up. School represented a safe place where he belonged to a community.
One adult stood out as a mentor — his Junior Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (JROTC) instructor. He demanded a high level of commitment, promoting teamwork, perseverance and resilience. Before dawn each day, he drove his jeep around the neighborhoods, picking up students before their 6 a.m. practice.
“He for sure cared,” Scott recalls. He “was always present and steady — somebody who made you feel seen and respected. He was someone you didn’t want to disappoint.”
Scott’s profound JROTC experience, including winning the National Collegiate Championship with his school team, gave him a sense of resilience and a leg up in the Marines, then the police force, settling him into a seemingly normal, productive adult life.
After more conversations with Scott, I learned that the Marines’ aim of achieving strength through ignoring pain — though critical on the battlefield — has its downsides. “It’s a mentality to neglect oneself to accomplish a mission,” Scott says. “That approach to life, especially with relationships, becomes incredibly detrimental.”
As a younger man, he believed that being emotionally sensitive was a sign of weakness. He avoided being open and honest with himself or addressing the deep emotions related to his past trauma and betrayal. Despite his accomplishments in the Marines, his first civilian job application with the state patrol was unsuccessful. They concluded that he was unqualified due to anger management issues. Not to be deterred, he soon signed on with a local police department.
Scott’s personal life proved to be more problematic. His self-sabotage in relationships first played out soon after high school. Before heading to basic training for the Marine Corps, Scott had arranged to marry his girlfriend, who was pregnant. But standing outside the courthouse, he froze. He could not go through with it. He knew he had been unfaithful. Feeling shame and lacking the courage to talk about it, he ran. His ex-fiancée gave birth three months later. Her parents persuaded their daughter to put the child up for adoption when Scott did not commit to parenting.
“It felt sort of surreal to be signing the documents to give up the baby for adoption,” he says now. “I was in no shape to do much differently.”
Joining the Marines was Scott’s transition to adulthood after living with his father throughout high school. Their relationship was complicated, but Scott sensed some shared respect once he entered the military.
“I think he was genuinely proud of me but was very difficult to interact with. He was someone who would always raise my blood pressure by being overly controlling, manipulative and dysfunctional. I chose to not be estranged and accept him for what he was, because I didn’t have a chance to pick [my father].”
Scott also stayed in touch with his mother. He visited her back in Cleveland during a summer or two in high school. Their relationship improved over time.
“Though we are closer now, I’ve never been real close to anyone in my family,” Scott says. “So, that’s sad and tragic. She definitely did the best she could.”
During his military service, Scott met a woman who would soon become his wife. Following his honorable discharge, he settled into, from all outward appearances, a conventional life complete with two children. But Scott’s baggage did not go away. Ill-equipped to address his emotions, he struggled with infidelity and intimacy with his wife.
Scott’s marriage endured for 22 years — until 2017 when his wife learned he was having an affair, then subsequently learned about previous affairs and kicked him out. Finding himself unable to sleep or work, Scott sought relief through medications and, eventually, therapy. His therapist challenged Scott to begin doing “the work.” Even though he greatly feared making himself vulnerable by exploring his inner self, he took on the challenge.
Scott’s wife ultimately agreed to reconcile and work on building a healthy relationship together. Recognizing their need for support beyond therapy, they discovered a faith community with a robust ministry and support groups focused on the challenges of marriage, trauma and addiction.
Scott recently completed a battery of psychological assessments, following a few months of therapy with a new psychologist. The result was a diagnosis of anxiety, depression and complex PTSD, a consequence of repeated traumatic exposures that can cause diminished well-being. Scott received the maximum score on that battery of tests as well. The psychologist strongly recommended inpatient treatment.
Upon beginning the inpatient stay, Scott texted me: “25 years of trauma on the job on top of the Marines on top of childhood have taken their toll. No more sucking it up and driving on.”
Scott’s therapist commented that his life has been like a marathon run uphill wearing weighted boots.
Following Scott’s C-PTSD diagnosis and inpatient care, the doctors determined that it was not in his best interest to continue working in law enforcement. The negotiations with the department for a medical retirement were disheartening and upsetting. There was a lot of uncertainty about how it would work out. After 26 years of service, his departure was not acknowledged in any communication from management. “They wanted to pretend like I didn’t exist,” says Scott.
Scott and his wife are now doing well enough to manage a fresh start by relocating from Seattle to Florida. They both work with an organization that helps couples who have suffered from betrayal and trauma heal. “That’s definitely our story,” Scott says. “We believe, similar to the 12th step, that once you’ve had your awakening and healing, it’s your responsibility to pass it on to others.”
Since reuniting, Scott and I have stayed in touch over the past four years through texts, emails, phone calls and Zoom. I am deeply grateful for his willingness to share the experiences and emotions of his courageous journey. I now have a deeper awareness and empathy toward loved ones and others who are struggling with their mental health.
Scott’s struggle with trauma is not an outlier in our society. Over two-thirds of American children report experiencing at least one traumatic event by age 16. At least 1 in 7 children experience abuse and neglect annually. Had I known in 1984 what I know now about childhood trauma, I hope I would have been more aware, understanding and helpful in supporting Scott and other children in need of extra care and protection. Even so, I did provide Scott something. I showed up every day. I had a calm, soft-spoken presence. I was consistent, respectful and kind. And for one small moment in time, despite all my inadequacies, I may have been that one stable adult in Scott’s young life, someone he may have dared to trust.
A high school student once shared with me that “teachers should care about their students and just listen. They could be going through things you have no idea about.”
You don’t know what you don’t know.
As Scott says, “Pain that’s not processed and transformed will be transmitted at some point and adversely impact the people you love the most. My hope for sharing this story is to encourage you to not dismiss your own or others’ trauma. Whatever you or someone else experienced is real.”
Intrigued by this story? Want to know more? Check out the footage from our a live conversation with Scott Rankin and Paul C. Robb.
Paul C. Robb, Ed.D., principal faculty at City University of Seattle, teaches graduate students in the School of Education and Leadership. He is a contributing author to Implementing Evidence-Based Academic Interventions in Schools Settings, and to Innovations in Teaching Adults: Proven Practices in Higher Education.
Well-written essay. Very much needed to be told and heard.
This story opened my heart not only for Scott but for humans in general. May I have more compassion and patience when someone doesn’t behave the way I think they should. We never know what they’ve been through.