Katherine Ann Power: A new play spotlights the fugitive turned realtor

The Double Life of Katherine Ann Power

It’s not every day you hire a real estate agent who spent over two decades as one of the most wanted women in American history. Katherine Ann Power, now a 77-year-old grandmother, lives a quiet life in Concord, Massachusetts, helping people find their dream homes. But for 23 years—from 1970 to 1993—she was living a secret life on the run from the FBI.

Before she was a fugitive, she was a Brandeis University student caught in the heat of the anti-Vietnam War movement. Following the assassinations of MLK and RFK and the Kent State shootings, some student activists turned to militancy. Power admits feeling "utterly powerless" during that time. In 1970, she joined a group that robbed a Boston bank, acting as the getaway driver. During the robbery, her accomplice William "Lefty" Gilday shot and killed a police officer, Walter Schroeder.

Giving Voice to the Victims

While Power spent years building a new identity as "Alice Metzinger" in Oregon, the Schroeder family was dealing with a massive loss. Walter was a decorated veteran and father of nine. For years, the public narrative focused heavily on Power’s story, while the Schroeder family’s pain remained a side-note.

That’s exactly what the new play The Getaway Driver, opening October 29 at the Central Square Theater, hopes to shift. Playwrights Charlie Thurston and Deborah Salem Smith aim to give equal weight to both stories. It’s a move that feels particularly relevant, given recent campus protests mirroring the intensity of the 70s.

Clare Schroeder, who was 17 when her father died, eventually became the first female officer in Waltham. She has been vocal about the life her family lost, noting that her father wasn't around to celebrate his children's milestones or comfort them after other family tragedies. While Power eventually turned herself in during the 90s after struggling with her own "shame" and depression, the trauma for the Schroeder family remains an "open wound."

Why it matters

America has a long history of romanticizing outlaws, but this story hits differently by forcing us to look at the collateral damage behind the myth. By centering the voices of those left behind, the production challenges the "warrior" narrative often painted by the media, reminding us that there’s a real human cost to radical actions that lasts way longer than any news cycle.