"Finding a new name was surprisingly easy. A Weatherman would drive out to a rural graveyard and look around..."

"... until he found the headstone of a person who would have been about his age but had died as an infant. Then he’d head over to the county courthouse and ask for a replacement birth certificate. Soon, he would have an official government license with his photo, but a new name and a whole new identity. My dad grew his beard out. My mom cut her hair short, dyed it red, and started dressing like a California hippie—big glasses and flowing dresses—rather than in her signature black leather, miniskirts, and knee-high boots. They set up safe houses—cheap apartments in working-class neighborhoods. They took jobs as construction workers, longshoremen, and nannies—work that didn’t require a Social Security card and always paid at the end of the day, in cash. Meanwhile, their bombing campaign intensified.... The method they used was simple: a young white woman dressed up as a secretary would walk into a building, place a bag or a purse in an empty rest room or office, set a timer, and walk out...."

Writes Zayd Ayers Dohrn, in "My Childhood in the Weather Underground/My parents founded the radical revolutionary group, then became fugitives. I was born in hiding, and spent my early years on the run" (The New Yorker).