“In my case, the FBI visited The Weavers’ booking agent, the recording company, my neighbors, my dentist husband’s patients, my friends. In the waning of our career, the Weavers were followed down the street, accosted onstage by drunken ‘patriots,’ warned by friendly hotel employees to keep the door open if we rehearsed in anyone’s room so as not to become targets for the vice squad. It was nasty. Every two-bit local wannabe G-man joined the dragnet searching out and identifying ‘communist spies.’”
