The Burglars Who Broke Into the FBI


All that stood between Keith Forsyth and the thousands of confidential papers belonging to the Federal Bureau of Investigation was one simple door.

It was early 1971, and war protestor Forsyth had been tasked with picking the lock that kept the FBI’s satellite office in Media, Pennsylvania, secure. Inside was believed to be evidence that the organization had been engaging in unlawful surveillance of private citizens, infiltrating civil rights groups, and spreading a message of paranoia. Forsyth’s allies, an informal assembly calling themselves the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI, planned to offer proof by disseminating the papers to media outlets all over the country.

A cab driver, Forsyth had rallied against the Vietnam war, but his activism had been limited to demonstrations. He was not a skilled locksmith. He took a correspondence course on lock picking, practiced, and waited until the world was busy watching Muhammad Ali fight Joe Frazier to break into the bureau’s offices. What he and the “Commission” found would lead to congressional hearings and widespread changes over the FBI’s alarming conduct.

But first, Forsyth had to deal with the lock—one the FBI had changed just before he snuck in.

Movieclips via YouTube

The idea to steal J. Edgar Hoover’s secrets originated with William Davidon, a well-known activist and physics professor at Haverford College in Haverford, Pennsylvania. Davidon had participated in his share of rallies, but felt no significant change would be effected until the general public could see for themselves what he and other protestors had long suspected—that the FBI had been engaging in unchecked surveillance and sabotage of any group they considered subversive.

In fall 1970, eight men and women had been caught attempting to enter an FBI office in Rochester. All eight were tried and convicted, but the incident led Davidon to pursue a similar plan. How could it be different? For one thing, his group wouldn’t attempt to infiltrate a field office in a major city. Philadelphia was out. But Media, with its quaint FBI arm in an office building that kept banker’s hours, was low on security.

Davidon enlisted John and Bonnie Raines, a married couple, for the plan; he also brought in Forsyth, who had some mechanical knowledge and would make for a quick study when it came to breaching the door. The group was joined by four co-conspirators; all of them spent months learning about the comings and goings of the various office residents.

To case the interior, Bonnie Raines tucked her long hair under a cap and posed as a college student looking to know more about opportunities for women in the FBI. While there, she noticed the filing cabinets were kept unlocked, and that the office only had two entry doors.

On March 8, 1971, Forsyth stepped quietly through the halls of the building. When he bent over to inspect the lock, he found it had been changed since he had last passed through. He went over to the second entrance door and used a crowbar to slowly pry it open. Because the door wasn’t in use, a filing cabinet had been moved against it; when Forsyth began to push against the door, the filing cabinet started to tip over. Realizing that if it hit the ground it would wake the entire building, he ran to his car and grabbed a jack stand (later he told CSPAN, “thank goodness this was 1971 ... when they had real jacks in cars”) that he used as a pry bar. For the next 20-plus minutes, he pushed the cabinet slowly along the floor until he could finally get in.

The Citizens Commission ransacked the offices, filling up as many briefcases as they could with documents and being careful not to leave any fingerprints. Driving to a farmhouse an hour away, they spent days combing through the files, occasionally stopping to hold up a piece of incriminating paper. While the Commission suspected the FBI was abusing its powers, the world was about to be surprised by how far that unchecked privilege had gone.

Movieclips via YouTube

Betty Medsger was one of several journalists to receive a semi-anonymous package on March 23. A reporter for The Washington Post, Medsger noticed the return address was Media, Pennsylvania. Inside were 14 pages of photocopied documents detailing the FBI’s impropriety. One brief read that the common goal of the Bureau should be to “enhance the paranoia” and to make dissenters believe “there is an FBI agent behind every mailbox.”

The mission statement was mild compared to their actions. As Medsger and other journalists from the Los Angeles Times and The New York Times would learn, the FBI had been persistent in keeping tabs on “militant negroes,” mandating that every agent have at least one informant leaking information about civil rights groups; anyone who had written and signed a letter to a newspaper protesting the war was pegged for investigation; even a Boy Scout troop in Idaho was under surveillance because the scoutmaster may have been planning to take the troop to the Soviet Union.

Then-Attorney General John Mitchell implored the Post not to publish information from the papers, insisting they were stolen property and a matter of national security. After hours of deliberation, the newspaper’s staff ran with the story the following day. Before long, the national news media had been blanketed with irrefutable proof the FBI had overstepped its bounds.

The Citizens Commission had only stumbled across the proverbial iceberg tip. In 1973, NBC News reporter Carl Stern became intrigued by a small stub that referred to a project called COINTELPRO, Hoover’s name for the agency’s covert domestic spy operations. After a legal struggle, the FBI released 50,000 pages of files that were even more incriminating. Among them: an anonymous letter sent to Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1964 advising him that his alleged infidelity would be revealed if he continued his activism.

“King, there is only one thing left for you to do,” the note read. “You know what it is.” The message, which was implying King should take his own life, had been a product of the FBI.

In 1976, Congress held hearings to discuss the leak, the first to ever explore the inner workings of a government intelligence agency. Expressing outrage at Hoover's behavior—in which they noted legal restrictions had been ignored—the hearings eventually resulted in the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) of 1978 that required a warrant to monitor a private citizen.

Despite Hoover putting more than 200 agents on the case, only one member of Davidon’s crew was even considered a possible suspect. When the crime’s statute of limitations ran out in 1976, the group still swore to keep the operation a secret, fearing some unknown retribution might still be possible. It wasn’t until Medsger met with the Raineses in 1989 that the couple confessed their involvement, and it wasn’t until 2014 that most of the others went public, in part to support the actions of document leak target Edward Snowden.

With no arrests made, the FBI officially closed the case on March 11, 1976. They had compiled over 33,000 pages relating to their investigation of the break-in. Presumably, they bothered to lock their filing cabinets this time.

Keystone/Getty Images
The Terrible Crime at Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin 
Frank Lloyd Wright
Frank Lloyd Wright
Keystone/Getty Images

Some of the most horrific murders in Wisconsin history involved none other than famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright.

Wright was in the middle of building a home, which he named Taliesin, for himself and his mistress in Spring Green, Wisconsin. He had recently left his wife and six children for Martha "Mamah" Borthwick, whose husband Edwin Cheney had commissioned Wright to build a house in Oak Park, Illinois. Cheney may have a gained a Frank Lloyd Wright house, but he lost his wife—Mamah and Wright became close, even traveling to Europe together, sans spouses, in 1909. The Cheneys divorced in 1911; Wright’s divorce would take more than another decade to be finalized.

On August 15, 1914, Wright was away attending to the construction of Midway Gardens in Chicago when he got a terrible message. “Taliesin destroyed by fire,” it read, and that was all. For the time being, at least, Wright was spared the details: Their servant, Julian Carlton, had attacked Mamah, her children, and Taliesin workmen, pouring gasoline under the door and setting the home ablaze. When some of the victims broke windows and tried to escape, Carlton hacked at them from outside of the house with a hatchet.

The Ogden Standard, September 5, 1914
A news account of the tragedy, September 5, 1914
Library of Congress // Public Domain

While precise accounts of the crime vary, according to biographer William Drennan, Carlton first killed Mamah and her two children, 8-year-old Martha and 12-year-old John, while they were eating lunch on a porch, bludgeoning them with a hatchet. Once Carlton had taken care of them, he went to a dining room where the workmen were eating, locked them in, and set fire to the place.

In the end, eight people died—seven victims and the murderer himself. The victims included Mamah and her children, draftsman Emil Brodelle, gardener David Lindblom, handyman Tom Brunker, and Ernest Weston, the son of carpenter William Weston.

The murderer didn’t die right away, though. He swallowed hydrochloric acid soon after the attack, and died of starvation about seven weeks later. Despite being questioned, Carlton never did give a motive for his killing spree. There’s some evidence to suggest a series of disputes with the workers, however, and that Carlton had recently been told he was being terminated.

Taliesin as it looks today
edward stojakovic, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

As for the absolutely devastated Frank Lloyd Wright, he rebuilt Taliesin in Mamah’s honor. The land may have been cursed, however, because this second reincarnation of the house was also destroyed by fire. In 1925, a lightning storm apparently ignited the wiring, sparking a conflagration that eventually burned the house down. Not one to be deterred, Wright built Taliesin III on the same spot. Today, the home is open for tours and events.

A version of this story originally ran in 2011.

8 Animals That Have Been Imprisoned or Arrested

It might seem like a case of animals just being animals, but when eight donkeys in northern India recently ate nearly $1000 worth of greenery in their small town, they did four days in the big house. (Perhaps part of the problem? They ate expensive saplings that were planted right near the jail. Rookie mistake.) But whether they harmed property or people, were in cahoots with human outlaws, or were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, these eight other critters are proof that "crime" can sometimes be cuddly.


In 2015, officials in India arrested a pigeon they suspected was a spy. The bird’s body was stamped with a message written partly in Urdu—Pakistan’s official language—and what appeared to be a Pakistani phone number. It had landed in a village close to the country’s shared border with Pakistan, near the Kashmir region that’s claimed by both countries and has been the subject of multiple wars between India and Pakistan beginning in 1947. Though there was a ceasefire in 1972 (the current situation is that India controls 45 percent of Kashmir, Pakistan 35 percent, and China 20 percent), because both countries believe they have rights to the area, it's frequently the site of military clashes and infiltration.

So when a 14-year-old boy found the suspicious-looking pigeon so close to Kashmir, he turned it over to authorities. The officials took it to a veterinary hospital for x-rays, and though they couldn’t find any concrete evidence of foreign fowl play, they kept the bird in custody, recording it as a “suspected spy” in their police diary.

That said, not everyone took the news as seriously as the Indian police did: In the days following the bird’s arrest, Pakistani social media was flooded with memes depicting the feathered detainee as a slick 007 type, and amused internet users coined hashtags like #PigeonVsIndia and #IfIWereAPigeon.


In December 2016, a wild beaver must have decided that forest trees weren’t festive enough, because it wandered into a dollar store in St. Mary’s County, Maryland, to browse Christmas trees and decorations. Workers noticed the animal knocking items onto the floor, and called the St. Mary's County Sheriff's Office.

Captain Yingling of the sheriff's office arrived on scene to prevent the "shopping" beaver from ruining the store. “The suspect attempted to flee the area but was apprehended by Animal Control,” the sheriff's department joked on their Facebook page.

Instead of allowing the beaver to finish up its holiday shopping, the St. Mary's County Sheriff handed the critter over to a wildlife rehab center. As for the police, they said the quirky incident just marked another day on the job: “As a law enforcement officer, you just never know what your next call may be...” they mused on Facebook.


In 2015, police in the Indian state of Maharashtra taught a foul-mouthed parrot named Hariyal a lesson in politeness after they “arrested” it for swearing at an elderly woman named Janabai. According to locals, the pet bird had picked up the rude habit from Janabi’s stepson, Suresh Sakharkar. The two were embroiled in an ugly property dispute, and the latter had reportedly spent the prior two years training Hariyal to spout epithets whenever the estranged relation walked past his house.

The situation escalated, and Janabi, Suresh, and his bird were eventually called to the police station. “Police should investigate and seize the parrot,” the embittered stepmother told Indian news channel Zee News. That said, Hariyal must have known he was in hot water, because he kept his beak shut. “We watched the parrot carefully but it did not utter a word at the police station after being confronted by the complainant,” a police inspector told reporters.

Instead of locking Hariyal up, officials gave the parrot over to Maharashtra’s forestry department, where he can presumably fly—and curse—freely for the remainder of his life.


While walking down the street in the West German city of Bottrop in 2015, a woman realized that she had attracted a furry stalker: a tiny red squirrel. The animal was chasing her and acting aggressively. Frightened and unable to flee the rodent, the woman called the police for help. Authorities captured the squirrel, “arrested” it, and brought it back to the station. There, they discovered that the critter was suffering from exhaustion.

Police helped nurse the squirrel back to health by feeding it honey, and a spokesman said the squirrel would be sent to a rescue center instead of languishing away in a cell for its stalkerish habits.



In 2004, a rogue monkey became infamous for terrorizing residents of the city of Patiala, in India’s northern Punjab region. The monkey was guilty of multiple crimes: It stole food from homes, ripped the buttons off people's shirts, threatened kids with bricks, and once even swiped someone’s math textbooks and calculator. To keep the marauding jungle creature off the streets, officials sentenced it to “monkey jail”—a now-defunct detainment center in Patiala that was reserved for ill-behaving primates.

The “monkey jail"—which appears to have operated from 1996 until the mid-2000s—was located in the corner of a local zoo. The 15-foot-wide barred cell was secured with chain-link fencing and wire mesh, and had a sign that read: "These monkeys have been caught from various cities of Punjab. They are notorious. Going near them is dangerous."

Punjab is filled with countless wild Rhesus macaque (Macaca mulatta) monkeys. Some of the animals have moved into cities and towns in search of food, as humans continue to destroy their natural jungle habitat. Others were once used as animal guards, or trained as performing monkeys, and were set loose by their owners once they turned violent. Particularly ill-treated or mischievous primates have been known to destroy property and pester—or even attack—humans. But since Hindus revere Hanuman, the monkey god, killing the creatures is verboten.

Wildlife officers in Punjab took matters into their own hands by opening the monkey jail. They responded to public complaints by capturing the creatures with trapping cages and tranquilizer guns. Once the monkeys were locked up, there was little to no chance of "parole."

As of 2004, there were 13 jailed monkeys, all imprisoned for harassing people or committing petty crimes. Patiala’s primate penitentiary was eventually closed, and authorities announced it was going to be replaced by “reform school" that's intended to train the monkeys to be less aggressive.


On New Year’s Day 2013, a cat took the heat for scheming Brazilian inmates who were likely either planning a jailbreak or attempting to communicate with outlaws on the outside. The white feline was slinking around the main gates of a medium-security prison in Arapiraca—a city in northeast Brazil—when guards noticed that its body was wrapped in tape. They apprehended the kitty, and discovered that it was carrying items including several saws and drills, an earphone, a memory card, batteries, and a phone charger.

Prison officer Luiz de Oliveira Souza told reporters that the cat had been seen entering and exiting the jail before. It had been raised by inmates, and was often in the custody of one of their families. However, officials couldn’t figure out which of the jail’s 263 prisoners had tried to use the feline for their own nefarious purposes: “It’s tough to find out who’s responsible for the action as the cat doesn’t speak,” a prison spokesperson told local newspaper Estado de S.Paulo.

Following the cat’s “arrest” and brief imprisonment, it was taken to a local animal shelter to receive medical treatment.


Courtesy of Eastern State Penitentiary

Unlike some animals on this list, Pep the dog was a very good boy. But in 1924, Pennsylvania governor Gifford Pinchot allegedly sentenced the dark-haired Labrador to a life sentence without parole. Pep was taken to Philadelphia’s Eastern State Penitentiary, where officials jokingly gave him his own inmate number and mug shot. Reporters nicknamed the canine "Pep The Cat-Murdering Dog," as he was said to have killed the governor’s wife’s cat.

Thanks to all the media hype, Pep had quite the tough reputation. But a few years after the canine’s imprisonment, the governor’s wife, Cornelia Pinchot, set the story straight in an interview with The New York Times. Turns out, Pep had never murdered her pet feline; her family simply bred Labradors, and owned too many dogs. Pep, she said, was a gift to the prisoners to lift their spirits.

Today, researchers say that partisan journalists twisted the facts around, and that Pep was actually a beloved prison pet that freely wandered the hallways and was adored by all. As for the "life sentence without parole" part, the Lab was eventually moved to a newer prison; when he died, he was buried on its grounds.



In 2008, police in the southern Mexican state of Chiapas arrested a feisty donkey named Blacky after it bit a man in the chest, and kicked a second man trying to rescue him. Police apprehended the burro and locked it in the jail’s drunk tank. “Around here, if someone commits a crime they are jailed, no matter who they are,” said Officer Sinar Gomez.

Police said that the donkey would remain behind bars until its owner, Mauro Gutierrez, paid the injured parties’ medical bills and salary for the days they missed work. The boisterous burro served three days in jail, and Gutierrez settled the score by paying Blacky's victims.


More from mental floss studios