A Family's Ordeal

For 591 days, one of the nation's most storied families had oscillated between frustration and faith, resignation and hope. It was the kind of roller-coaster existence all relatives of kidnap victims must endure, but for the Randolph Hearsts, somehow, everything about the ordeal seemed more extreme.

First came the initial shock and the sleepless nights. Randolph Hearst, by nature not given to quick and decisive action, managed to keep calm while awaiting, then struggling to comply with, the demands of the S.L.A. Catherine, his wife, genteel daughter of a Georgia telephone executive, was dumbfounded by the violence and noticeably more anxious. A devout Roman Catholic, she spent many hours in prayer. In their helplessness, the parents began to clutch at straws: two psychics were invited to the Hearsts' house in suburban Hillsborough and ran their fingers over a map of Northern California seeking "impulses" of Patty's whereabouts. Searching for a way to reach his daughter, Randolph Hearst paid a call on "Death Row Jeff," an inmate at Vacaville State Prison who was acquainted with the S.L.A.'s Donald DeFreeze. Three months after the kidnaping, Hearst offered $50,000 for information leading to Patty's return.

Perhaps the family's darkest hours descended when six S.L.A. members perished in the Los Angeles Shootout, and it took agonizing time for all the charred bodies to be identified and to be sure that Patty's was not among them. When it was clear that Patty was alive, the San Francisco Examiner--of which Randolph Hearst was the editor and publisher--ran a Page One editorial calling for her surrender. Because of the shootout, the Hearsts were afraid that Patty might be harmed if she was captured by authorities. Mrs. Hearst entered a hospital suffering from a broken wrist and nervous exhaustion.

As the months without word wore on, the Hearsts spent less time at home. They preferred to escape to Wyntoon, the Northern California retreat that belonged to William Randolph Hearst, the press baron who was Randolph's father. Not since early June of 1974, when Patty proclaimed in a tape that she would rather die than be surrounded by "pigs like the Hearsts," had there been any message from her.

Last October, the Hearsts met in Los Angeles with Mickey Cohen, a retired mobster who supposedly had ways of finding Patty. Nothing came of the encounter. Soon after, Hearst withdrew his $50,000 offer, fearing that overzealous bounty hunters might do something that "could endanger the safety and well-being of our daughter."

Early in December, Millicent Hearst, Randolph's mother, died at the age of 92. She had never been told of her granddaughter's disappearance. Catherine Hearst went on radio and TV to implore her daughter to come home for Christmas. "It breaks my heart," she read in a quavering voice, "that you cannot see that you will have no real problems if you will only come in of your own accord."

Mrs. Hearst continued her prayers, but sank into a deeper depression. Both she and her husband questioned whether Patty would ever resume her normal place in the family. William (Willie) Randolph Hearst III, Patty's cousin and Randolph Hearst's protege on the Examiner, recalled last week: "After a certain point, I think they were resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to turn herself in." To get away from "painful memories," the Hearsts moved into an apartment on San Francisco's Nob Hill; it was Feb. 20--Patty's 21st birthday. On Sept. 1, Randolph Hearst stepped down as editor and publisher of the Examiner; he remains the paper's president and chairman of the Hearst Corp., which controls eight newspapers as well as Cosmopolitan, Popular Mechanics, Good Housekeeping and many other publishing properties.

Then suddenly Patty was found. Randolph Hearst was as surprised as anyone; he had not been in touch with the FBI for months. Rushing back home from New York City, he was met at the airport by his wife and two of their five daughters: Anne, 20, a college student who was just finishing up her probation after pleading guilty last spring to a charge of possessing amphetamines; and Victoria, 18, a freshman in college. (The Hearsts have two other daughters: Catherine, 35, is retarded and lives in Los Angeles; Virginia, 26, lives in London with her husband, an American journalist.)

The Hearsts went to see Patty at the San Mateo County jail. Mrs. Hearst entered the cell first, embracing her daughter. Randolph Hearst kissed Patty on the forehead. No one spoke of Patty's life underground. "We were on thin ice," said Vicki later. "We didn't want to make her defensive, so we kept changing the subject if things were getting tense."

Putting on her usual fixed smile and brave front in public, Catherine said she was confident that all the aberrations that might have crept into Patty's personality over the months would soon be exorcised. The fact remained, however, that her daughter faced an arm's-length list of serious charges. I'm very apprehensive," said Willie Hearst--and Randolph Hearst seemed as reserved as he was relieved.

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