Luke LaManna

Another document said that every black student at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania, regardless of their political affiliation, was under surveillance. Metzger was stunned. This was a bombshell of a story if she'd ever seen one. But before she could do anything, she knew she had to confirm the legitimacy of the documents. She went over to her editor's desk to tell him what she had just read.

While Metzger spoke to her editor, another reporter overheard the conversation and joined in. He told Metzger that word around Washington was that two government officials had received similar documents about the FBI. He said that Hoover's office had already called the Post to urge them not to publish the reports. This confirmed Betty's suspicions.

While Metzger spoke to her editor, another reporter overheard the conversation and joined in. He told Metzger that word around Washington was that two government officials had received similar documents about the FBI. He said that Hoover's office had already called the Post to urge them not to publish the reports. This confirmed Betty's suspicions.

The documents were authentic, and the FBI didn't want the public to know what they contained. That was all the ammunition Metzger needed to start writing. She grabbed some coffee and got to work. By 6pm that day, she was done with her first story. She was brimming with excitement as she went over to her editor's office. She placed the story on his desk. But her editor didn't glance at it.

The documents were authentic, and the FBI didn't want the public to know what they contained. That was all the ammunition Metzger needed to start writing. She grabbed some coffee and got to work. By 6pm that day, she was done with her first story. She was brimming with excitement as she went over to her editor's office. She placed the story on his desk. But her editor didn't glance at it.

Instead, he looked up at Metzger with hesitation in his eyes. He explained that it might not be published. The Attorney General had called the newsroom several times that day. Somehow, he knew Metzger had received the documents, and he did not want them published.

Instead, he looked up at Metzger with hesitation in his eyes. He explained that it might not be published. The Attorney General had called the newsroom several times that day. Somehow, he knew Metzger had received the documents, and he did not want them published.

The AG was adamant that the documents could put the lives of federal agents at risk and jeopardize the security of the entire United States. Metzger tried to tamp down her anger. She understood the documents were embarrassing for the FBI, but nothing she read indicated that releasing their contents was a national security risk.

The AG was adamant that the documents could put the lives of federal agents at risk and jeopardize the security of the entire United States. Metzger tried to tamp down her anger. She understood the documents were embarrassing for the FBI, but nothing she read indicated that releasing their contents was a national security risk.

The only issue she could see was that the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI had stolen the documents. That could complicate things. Even so, she said the information was simply too important to keep secret. Metzger tried to argue with her editor, but she knew the final decision wasn't up to her. It was up to the Post's team of lawyers.

The only issue she could see was that the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI had stolen the documents. That could complicate things. Even so, she said the information was simply too important to keep secret. Metzger tried to argue with her editor, but she knew the final decision wasn't up to her. It was up to the Post's team of lawyers.

As Metzger made her way out of the newsroom, she hoped her bosses would make the right choice. By 10pm that night, the Post made a decision. Metzger's article was quickly sent out by the paper's wire service so that it would appear in newspapers around the country. Metzger was thrilled her editors had decided to publish the story after all. She was even happier the next morning.

As Metzger made her way out of the newsroom, she hoped her bosses would make the right choice. By 10pm that night, the Post made a decision. Metzger's article was quickly sent out by the paper's wire service so that it would appear in newspapers around the country. Metzger was thrilled her editors had decided to publish the story after all. She was even happier the next morning.

On March 24, 1971, the story was on the front page of the Post. It was titled, Stolen Documents Describe FBI Surveillance Activities. By the end of the day, the article accomplished the burglars' goal. People wanted to learn more about the FBI's undercover activities.

On March 24, 1971, the story was on the front page of the Post. It was titled, Stolen Documents Describe FBI Surveillance Activities. By the end of the day, the article accomplished the burglars' goal. People wanted to learn more about the FBI's undercover activities.

Over the next few months, Metzger and other reporters published additional stories about the FBI's alarming investigation tactics, and Metzger continued to receive even more packages filled with stolen documents. One of them mentioned a mysterious FBI program called COINTELPRO. She had no clue what that meant, but made a mental note to look into it.

Over the next few months, Metzger and other reporters published additional stories about the FBI's alarming investigation tactics, and Metzger continued to receive even more packages filled with stolen documents. One of them mentioned a mysterious FBI program called COINTELPRO. She had no clue what that meant, but made a mental note to look into it.

Months later, on August 22, 1971, the FBI's assistant director, William Sullivan, sat at his desk at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. Although it was around 2.30 in the morning, Sullivan was wide awake. As Hoover's second in command, Sullivan was ordered to suppress an anti-war protest at a draft office in Camden, New Jersey.

Months later, on August 22, 1971, the FBI's assistant director, William Sullivan, sat at his desk at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. Although it was around 2.30 in the morning, Sullivan was wide awake. As Hoover's second in command, Sullivan was ordered to suppress an anti-war protest at a draft office in Camden, New Jersey.

He had more than 80 agents waiting at a nearby funeral home until it was time to swoop in and arrest the activists, who the FBI believed were planning to break in and destroy documents. Sullivan knew the protesters wanted to prevent young men from being drafted to fight in the war. If he had anything to do with it, they wouldn't succeed.