The Burglary (39 page)

“They just missed me,” she recalls years later. The memory brings back how she felt that day—frightened and also extremely lucky.

As of that day, the Raineses knew John was a suspect. They had no idea whether his unusual response to the agents convinced the agents he was not involved, or, they wondered, did the agents think—or know—that he was involved? And did they have a plan for approaching him again? The questions that came to mind were all frightening and impossible to answer.

Later that evening, after the children had gone to bed, they searched the downstairs rooms for hidden listening devices. John Raines's shower had given the agents time to move about on the first floor with ease. They could not be sure, but they saw no sign of listening devices. Finally, at the end of the day there was something to laugh at. In the kitchen, the one recently painted so beautifully by Raines and the man who dropped out of the group, they noticed the newspaper clipping they had taped to the
refrigerator door weeks earlier. It was a boldly drawn editorial cartoon of a melting J. Edgar Hoover—a meltdown caused by the burglary of the Media FBI office. They liked that cartoon. Years later it was still on their refrigerator, a daily reminder of their big secret—and of their hope that the FBI agents didn't wander into their kitchen that day while they waited for John to finish his shower. They also wondered if their kitchen painter had had anything to do with the agents' visit.

The Raineses had another visitor in early summer, someone whose presence at their house must have raised the antennae of the FBI. John Peter Grady, the affable Catholic peace movement leader, showed up in late June or early July asking for a place to stay for a few days. They readily obliged. Though they had agreed with the other Media burglars that Grady should not be invited to be part of the Media burglary because of the need for especially tight security, they liked him very much and welcomed him into their home. He had just been mugged at 30th Street Station, the major railway station in Philadelphia, and felt pretty down and out by the time he knocked on their door. The warm family atmosphere of the Raineses' home must have been a healing balm during the few days Grady stayed there to rest and recover.

Within the space of a few weeks, they had been visited by two FBI agents and by two people who were prime suspects in the MEDBURG case—the man who dropped out and now Grady. The FBI investigators were still convinced that Grady not only was involved in the Media burglary but was its leader. Because the Raineses had no idea that Grady was a suspect in Media, nor that the FBI thought he was the leader of the Media burglars, they didn't realize that at that moment he was a radioactive guest in their home. To them, Grady was just a friend from the peace movement who needed a place to sleep and a calm and peaceful atmosphere. It never occurred to them that FBI agents might be stationed outside their home looking for him in connection with the Media burglary.

They also had no idea that a major recent development in the Media investigation had convinced Hoover and FBI investigators that the Media burglars would be arrested soon. New life had suddenly been breathed into the investigation when someone walked into the FBI office in Camden, New Jersey, with a tip about a draft board raid being planned for late that summer. He wondered if the FBI was interested.

Were they interested?!?

Does a cat chase a mouse?

This news again prompted the FBI to dramatically shift its MEDBURG
investigation in a new direction. Now massive resources were focused on what they thought was going to happen in Camden. Ultimately, this decision would reveal one of the FBI's major weaknesses, then and now—excessive manipulation of informers to produce desired results. The bureau immediately went out on a limb, supporting one crime in order to solve another: MEDBURG.

Because Grady was deeply involved in planning the Camden raid, he probably was under constant surveillance at the time he was staying with the Raineses. The bureau must have taken a keen interest in the fact that John Raines, whom they had interviewed after a tennis game in May, and Grady were associated so closely that Grady stayed at Raines's home for a few days. Ironically, though, they still did not know Bonnie Raines was the “UNSUB,” the other Media suspect they were searching for as intensely as they were searching for evidence directly implicating Grady in Media. Just as the Raineses did not know that Grady was a suspect in Media, Grady had no idea they had been involved in the break-in. Many other people in the Catholic peace movement had heard the rumors about a connection between Grady and Media, but the Raineses had not heard the rumors because at the time they were then staying away from gatherings of activists.

Actually, there was confusion about Grady's role in Media not only in the FBI but also among his fellow activists. Sometimes he responded to questions about rumors that he was involved in Media in ways that gave the impression he enjoyed hearing them.
At such times, he often smiled his wide smile but was silent. He never said yes. He never said no. Many people close to him, even some family members years later, assumed that meant he was involved in Media. The FBI was sure he was, and later that summer they went after him in a very powerful way.

IN JULY
, the Raineses' thoughts turned to Glen Lake, the beautiful spot in the Michigan woods where they had met ten years earlier and returned nearly every summer since then. The investigation of Media was like a continuous tornado in Philadelphia that summer. They were never at the center of the storm, but they never knew when it might edge toward them. They were eager to escape its ever-present threat. As a result, they were looking forward to their annual trip to Glen Lake more than they ever had before. It turned out that being a burglar was exhausting, especially in the aftermath. The time at the lake was also going to be special because it would be the first
summer in several years that they would be there without a baby. Nathan, two and a half by the time of the trip, walked on his own now and didn't require constant attention.

As they did each year, they started the twelve-hour drive to Grand Rapids late one evening. They did it that way so the children, and their two dogs, Coco and her son Catcher, could sleep through the night in the back of the maroon Ford station wagon (a.k.a. the Media getaway car) all the way to Bonnie's parents' home, where they would spend three days before driving to the lake. They took turns driving that first night. The children and the dogs snuggled in the backseat, sleeping soundly. As they tunneled through the darkness of Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana before turning north toward Michigan, they talked about what they would tell her parents about
the burglary. They had a lot to tell them, as well as a big question to ask them.

They had decided before the burglary that they would ask the Muirs if they would be willing to raise the children if John and Bonnie were convicted and went to prison. They didn't like the idea of burdening them with their dangerous secret, but they also wanted to make sure that John's brother Bob and his then wife, Peggy, were not the only people willing to care for the children if they went to prison. They had wanted to discuss these important matters with the Muirs earlier, but they felt they couldn't risk discussing them on the phone or in letters that might be intercepted if they were under surveillance.

They felt safe telling Bonnie's parents what they had done. The Muirs had come a long way in their thinking since 1964, when they expressed concern about their pregnant daughter, Bonnie, going to Washington to protest the filibuster against the civil rights bill. Now, seven years later, they accepted, even approved, of their daughter and her husband being deeply involved in the peace movement. Now they themselves were very opposed to the war. They were worried in the summer of 1971 about whether their son, their only other child, would be drafted and sent to Vietnam.

Still, it seemed remarkable that Bonnie Raines's parents were not particularly surprised when Bonnie and John told them they had burglarized an FBI office. They told them about some of the important revelations in the files and that there was a national search for the burglars. Trying not to be alarmist, they told them they had no idea what the outcome would be, but they wanted to be prepared in case the worst—their arrest—happened. In case agents ever questioned her parents, they revealed few details about the burglary. They tried to convey this news in a way that would not cause Bonnie's parents to be consumed by worry. Bonnie remembers expressing more optimism to her parents than she and John actually felt at the time.

The Muirs readily agreed that they would raise the children if John and Bonnie went to prison. John and Bonnie talked with them about what might happen if they were arrested. Bail would be set by a judge and probably would be raised on their behalf, and then they would be free while waiting to go to trial. “We wanted them to know everything wouldn't come crashing down at one time,” Bonnie recalls. “We wanted them to know that we had talked with Bob and Peggy. We also let them know that we had not told John's parents. We were protecting them as much as possible and did not share as much with them as we did with my parents. We thought his parents would be quite upset, particularly about my involvement, so we didn't want to tell them unless something happened.”

Before John and Bonnie and the children left Grand Rapids, they were assured again by the Muirs that if they were arrested, they could be confident that the Muirs would care for the children as long as necessary. Bonnie recalls sensing at the time that “my folks assumed that everything was fine, that we could handle things.” Her parents wished them a happy time at the lake, and her mother said, “Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope that nothing happens.” Many years later, Dorothy Muir expressed great pride in what her daughter and son-in-law did in 1971. “I believed they wouldn't do it unless they thought it was important, and unless they thought they could get away with it. But I knew there was a risk.”

As they drove away from Bonnie's parents' home, waving goodbye, the Raineses had an enormous sense of relief and gratitude for the promise and moral support they had just received. On the drive to Glen Lake and the respite it promised, they realized again that part of their original willingness to risk arrest and imprisonment came from the confidence they had that these loved ones, her parents and John's brother and his wife, “cared a great deal about us and our children, and that if the worst happened, those four people would strategize about how to care for the children.” They also realized now—ten years after they met and nine years after they married—that they were able to take the serious risks they took at Media “because we thought our marriage could stand up under considerable stress and pressure.”

In the backseat, unaware of the lofty thoughts of their parents, Lindsley, Mark, and Nathan couldn't wait to go swimming in the lake. Bonnie
and John felt the same way. At his family's secluded lakeside home, they thought, at last they would push the pressure of being wanted by the FBI to the back of their minds. They would relax, soak up the sun, motor on the lake, and let the wonderful peacefulness of this green, tranquil, remote place soothe their souls. Exposing J. Edgar Hoover had by now brought on an exhaustion they hoped Glen Lake would cure.

It was great to see the familiar old red frame house come into view. As they turned up the dirt lane, even the memory that agents from the nearby Traverse City FBI office knew where the house was—they had come here the previous summer looking for Daniel Berrigan, then underground and refusing to voluntarily turn himself in to begin serving his sentence for his
Catonsville Nine conviction—didn't diminish their certainty that they were about to begin the first truly relaxed and happy days they had had since long before the burglary.

Just twenty-four hours later, it turned into the worst vacation ever.

The day after they arrived, Bonnie and John, the children, and their two dogs leisurely walked down the hill to the dock after breakfast. They felt so good about being in this old familiar place and knowing that their children also loved being there. Their outboard motor was resting on top of the boat hoist. Nathan was walking behind them, so they aren't exactly sure how the catastrophe occurred. A two-year-old should not have been able to do what Nathan did. He released the safety catch on the boat hoist, causing the handwheel to whip around powerfully. Nathan's head got caught in the wheel and he was knocked out. The Raineses blanch many years later as they remember, as though it happened yesterday, the moment they turned around and saw Nathan unconscious on the dock. They thought he was dead. Later that day, a doctor told them that, given the great force that hit his head and whipped his small body, it was amazing he was alive.

Their station wagon was parked up the hill, near the house, impossible to reach quickly. But
Chuck Knight, a neighbor, was at the next dock and, hearing their screams, ran over and said he would drive them to the hospital twenty-three miles away in Traverse City. His car was nearby. John carried the bleeding and unconscious Nathan to Knight's car. Off they went, speeding down country roads, John cradling Nathan in his arms. Bonnie gathered Lindsley and Mark and the two dogs together and walked with them as fast as she could up to the house, where she told John's parents what had happened, jumped into the station wagon, and sped away toward the hospital.

Meanwhile, as Knight raced to the hospital on narrow roads, his car ran out of gas. Bad luck was abundant that day. Knight flagged down a stranger, who drove John and Nathan the remaining miles to the hospital.

After a few hours at the hospital, they were assured that Nathan would live, but, they were told, he had been injured very seriously. He had sustained severe trauma on the left side of his head. For several weeks he remained paralyzed on his right side and could not speak. Compensating for the paralysis, he began using his left hand and would remain permanently left-handed. It was a very long and slow recovery. Immediately after they left the lake, it included a period of treatment at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore while the entire family lived for several weeks in the pool house on the grounds of Sargent and Eunice Kennedy Shriver's Maryland estate. They were there because John Raines had been hired by the Shrivers to help organize an international conference on bioethics in fall 1971 to mark the opening of the Kennedy Institute of Ethics, the international center for teaching and studying bioethics the Kennedy family had recently established at Georgetown University.