Also,
we were to become fully aware of our peculiar relationship to the
law and the police.
For some
counselors the issue of death arose only once—early in our third
year when a woman who came through the service died.
For others, death was a moral issue encountered each time
we performed an abortion.
From
the beginning, we discussed the moral implications of abortion from
all angles. We listened to right-to-lifers, Catholic clergy. population-control
freaks and women’s liberationists.
We heard
legislators and lobbyists and political commentators arguing fine
points of “fetal viability.” When does a fetus become a
person? When it can survive outside the womb (after six months)?
When it begins to move (after four months)? Or from the moment of
conception?
Many
opponents of abortion called it “murder.”
We argued
the logical counter-arguments: if a fetus is a person, then why aren’t
abortionists and women who have abortions charged with murder?
Or if
the fetus has the rights of a person, then does the woman who carries
it become subject to its rights? What happens when the rights of
the woman and those of the fetus come into conflict?
All philosophical
and legalistic positions lost relevance when we began viewing and
doing abortions.
It’s
true that none of us could relate to a five-week embryo as a person.
But for some of us, the first time we saw a recognizable fetal part—a
tiny hand or leg—we knew that we were grappling with matters
of life and death, and no philosophical arguments could alter that
belief.
Others
of us were morally undisturbed by a D&C, but had trouble dealing
with the complete and perfect fetus passed during an induced miscarriage.
Often,
if the cord hadn’t been cut when it induced, the fetus would
move its limbs for a short time after the miscarriage. Was this not
life?
Still
other counselors refused to be moved by any feelings about the fetus.
A newborn baby might be a precious human being, but a fetus was nothing
more than a potential—one that could be stopped without qualms.
We found
that patients shared the same range of views about their own abortions.
Some women were totally unmoved by their abortion except as it affected
their own physical and financial well-being.
Others
suffered intense conflict— especially in the earlier days of
the service when abortion was still socially taboo— but they
felt that abortion was their only possible alternative. They were
ready to face the emotional and religious consequences of their act.
These
women often referred to the fetus as the “baby,” both in
counseling sessions and during the abortion.
Regardless
our range of views on the life or death of the fetus. all counselors
shared a common conviction: that the life and freedom of choice of
the woman took priority, and the job of the service was to keep those
choices open.
When
we joined the service, we accepted that position. The moral and emotional
conflicts that we hashed out at meetings served to remind us of the
gravity of our actions, and to make us more sympathetic with the
conflicts of the women we counseled.
Early
in the second year of the service, “Dr.” C and his nurse
dissolved their partnership.
By the
time it came, the split was welcome from all sides. The nurse had
never been sympathetic to women’s liberation and did not relate
well to the patients, especially the growing numbers of young, black
and poor. She was more comfortable with the old ways—meeting
on street corners and motel abortions.
Women
from the service had gradually been taking over her functions. By
the time she left, she was doing little besides obtaining medications,
taking money and just being there.
She had
been obtaining the drugs from a doctor friend, but told us that he
was balking at the growing demand.
In fact,
several times in her last months of work the supply of drugs had
run short and counselors had to run from place to place in the middle
of the day begging individual prescriptions from sympathetic doctors.
The extra
cost, risk and inconvenience of scrambling for drugs this way was
intolerable. After several such experiences, we decided to get the
drugs ourselves rather than complaining again to the nurse and “Dr” C.
“Dr.” C was doing about 40 abortions a week with our help at this time,
and we were doing another 10 a week independently.
Each
patient received a shot of ergotrate and eight c.c.’s of xylocaine
during the abortion, as well as a box of 12 ergotrate and 12 tetracycline
tablets to take after the abortion. We also used pitocin for induced
miscarriages and penicillin for secondary infections.
We needed
at least 50 ampules of ergotrate, 10 bottles of xylocaine, 100
disposable syringes and 600 tablets each of tetracycline and ergotrate
every week.
We also
needed more sets of instruments and a source for replacing worn
and damaged instruments.
How does
a lay person obtain that volume of drugs, especially ergotrate,
in a society where abortion is illegal? How does she obtain a dilator
or forceps or a set of curettes? Not from the corner Walgreens.
We talked
with the few doctors who knew of our activities, and found them
sympathetic, but not very helpful. One could give us a week’s supply of tetracycline
and another could provide a few syringes and an occasional bottle
of xylocaine.
But we
would have to look elsewhere to meet our major needs. A pharmacist
in a local movement-type clinic smuggled out two 1000-tab bottles
of ergotrate and tetracycline for us—at substantial personal
risk—and we had a 10-day leeway to find a steady source for
drugs.
We discussed—and
quickly discarded— the established black-market avenues for buying
illegal drugs. We couldn’t jeopardize the service with street
deals, and any such deal would be prohibitively expensive. Besides,
ergotrate was not a stock black-market item.
We sent
for catalogs from large drug distributors and found we would have
to have a physician’s name and narcotics registration number
to buy drugs this way.
We also
discovered through the catalogs the outrageous difference in cost
between generic and name-brand drugs For example, 1,000 capsules
of generic 250 mg. tetracycline cost $13.95. Achromycin, the brand
name for the same drug put out by Lederle Company, cost $126 per
thousand.
In other
words, a physician who prescribes a specific brand name of tetracycline
forces a patient to pay nine times as much to fight an infection.
Dr. "C",
who was as concerned about the drug crisis as we were, came up with
easy answers, in his own inimitable style:
“It’s
simple,” he said. “Just walk into a medical supply house
like you know what you’re doing and make an order. If you act
sure of yourself. .. and pay cash - . . they won’t question
you. By the way, you should wear a medical coat.”
The next
day a counselor clad in blue jeans and a collegiate jacket (we
decided the medical coat was not our style) walked into a large
medical supply house and asked to talk to a salesman.
“Hi
I’m Dr Benson. I’m a second year resident In gynecology
at Cook County, and I’d like to pick up a few things you can
bill me, or if you’d prefer, I’ll pay cash.”
She walked
out 10 minutes late with a complete set of curettes, a sponge forceps,
two boxes of gauze squares, and a dilator on order—as well as
a promise to come back and buy more because the service was so good
compared to the supply house down the way.
At another
supply house, we realized that we could even buy instruments under
the name “Dr Quackenbush” as long as we paid cash.
But neither
supply house stocked the kinds of drugs we wanted. Both advised “
Dr Benson” to order directly from a distributor. We got the
same response elsewhere.
Then
an angel appeared.
A local
gynecologist who had sent us some particularly difficult cases
told us he knew of a large druggist who might be able to help us.
“This
guy is always ready to make some extra money, and he’s a decent
person as well,” the gynecologist said. “I told him you
ran a women’s clinic with an M.D. on the staff.”
When
we met the druggist, we decided to level with him. After all, he
had a right to be informed of the risks he was taking.
The man
turned out to be sympathetic, understanding and helpful as well.
In fact, he was downright fascinated when we described our activities
and the volume of drugs we used.
We worked
out the details at a business relationship that was to be thoroughly
positive (for more than two years).
He requested
only reasonable precautions: that he deal with only one or two
women from the service and that his name not be revealed to the
service at large; that we never transact business over the
phone; that we remove all labels as soon as we got the drugs home,
and that we promise, even if arrested, never to give his name.
It’s
questionable whether he made much money from supplying us with drugs,
relative to the inconvenience and risk. He bought drugs at distributor
prices and sold them to us at low wholesale. We dealt only in cash.
The first
time we drove home from his store with a trunk full of contraband
drugs and syringes, our paranoid eyes saw police on every corner.
Much
later, we learned that there were indeed police watching our every
move, but for a combination of practical political and humanitarian
motives they had decided not to arrest us at this time
An
illegal underground organization continually has to deal with the
prospect of a bust. The first concern is how to avoid one, and
the second is how to act if one happens—what to say and do, who
to protect, how to spread the rap or limit it,
When
we organized the service our strategy in case of an arrest was
to make it a major political event.
An arrest
of one would be an arrest of all. It would test the law and, more
important. It would provide an issue around which many women could
join in political opposition to the sexist system.
To this
end, we collected in the first year thousands of complicity statements—admissions
by people of participation in and support of our illegal activities.
But during
the first year, our policy regarding an arrest changed steadily
and significantly along with a change in the nature of the service
and the type of women it served.
As we
did more and more abortions at lower and lower prices, we had more
poor, young, black and long-term patients. For these women, the
only alternatives were to have the baby or to try to self-abort
with chemicals, catheters and coathangers.
Gradually,
the importance of the alternative service Jane provided became
even more important than the political statement we might make
if we were arrested. At the same time, other companion groups in
the women’s
movement began to organize on the strictly political front for a
change in the laws and the attitudes towards abortion.
So Jane—the
code name for the abortion service—moved out of the political
arena to concentrate on improving and expanding the underground service.
More and more, our position became that our first responsibility
in case of an arrest was to protect the service and keep it functioning.
In fact,
we were not arrested until the third year of the service... and
then it was more a renegade action on the part of a few policemen
than the well-planned political arrest we had been led to expect.
But continuing
police harassment and threats of a bust which didn’t materialize
became a difficult and nerve racking problem in itself.
The police
continually reminded us of their presence—sometimes subtly,
sometimes directly. From the beginning they watched us, followed
us, tapped our phones, called and questioned us, and harassed ex-patients
for information, often with threats of arrest and imprisonment.
Sometimes
patrol can would drive past the work place every few minutes during
the day. Occasionally, they were parked in front when the driver
arrived with a group of patients, and she would drive on to a nearby
telephone to alert us, while reminding the patients how to act
in case of arrest.
Then
the paramedic crew would speedily finish the abortion at hand,
pack up the instruments and leave by back doors to continue the.
days work at an emergency place.
Individual
counselors on the street or at stores would sometimes he greeted
by police by name or else simply with ‘Hi, Jane.”
Several
times counselors met patients at restaurants to counsel them only
to have two plainclothes policemen walk in and sit down
at the nearest table.
Other
times, police would appear at a counselor’s house late at night
or early in the morning, asking questions about a former or a prospective
patient. They often had affidavits extracted from women who had gone
to the hospital for a miscarriage, and had been forced to answer
questions while in labor.
They
were always around and yet they didn’t close in. We pondered
this, and kept our guard up.
Certain
evasive actions became second nature—use the phone as seldom
as possible, and never mention specifics over the phone, such as names,
addresses, dates or the word “abortion.”
Unfortunately,
our main means of communication with patients and with each other
was by phone. Often Jane or a counselor would have to go to a public
telephone with thirty or forty dimes and spend several hours contacting
people.
Sometimes,
especially when setting up times and places to work, counselors
would have to prearrange in person times when they could talk to
each other, both over public phones.
We rehearsed
with each other how we would act in case of a bust, and we counseled
patients on how to act if the police stopped them, and warned them
not to tell even friends or family specifics about their abortion
plans.
One of
our closest calls occurred when a prospective patient casually
mentioned to a co-worker that she planned to have an abortion the
following Monday. The co-worker, a devout Catholic, called
the local suburban police.
When the
woman left for her abortion. the police picked her up less than
five minutes from her house. They searched her car and found the
address of the day’s work place in her purse.
They
told her that if she did not accompany them to the work place,
they would take her to the station and book her.
While
the women could not evade or dissuade the police, she had enough
presence of mind to ask the police if she should stop at home with
them and make sure the baby sitter had arrived.
But instead,
she gave them the address of a neighbor, and when they arrived,
she whispered to the neighbor: "They’re police. Call Jane!"
The neighbor
rushed to the woman’s house and, by chance found the phone number
of the counselor on tine kitchen table. She called it - and said "Do
something quick. The police are coming!"
The counselor
did not know the work place. For security reasons, only Jane and
the people who were working on a given day had the addresses. She
received only a recorded message when she called Jane. It might
be an hour till Jane picked up the tape, and by then, it would
be all over.
So she
began calling other counselors she thought might know. A frantic
telephone chain started, and finally one counselor who load been
tentatively scheduled to work that day remembered several possible
places that had been considered.
She took
a guess at the most likely one and ran over on foot to find business
as usual—the paramedics working that day had no notion that
trouble was close.
The paramedic
crew folded up work and were out of the place in five minutes and
the counselor stayed behind to wait for the woman. If no one answered
when she and her companions arrived, they might break down the
doors, search the place and find incriminating evidence.
Less
than five minutes later, a suburban police car pulled up down the
block, accompanied by a Chicago patrol car and a paddy wagon.
The doorbell
ring and the woman came in accompanied by a young man in
plainclothes who said he was her boyfriend The woman was visibly
nervous, but that wasn’t unusual for patients who were coming for abortions.
The counselor
said, “I’m glad you brought your boyfriend along. It’s
good to have a friend with you when you come for a counseling session”
Then
she launched into a long and tedious discussion of various places
the woman might go to obtain a legal abortion—Washington DC,
London, Japan and Mexico City.
After
a hour-half of this dissertation. the man said abruptly, “Come
on, let’s go.” And the counselor watched out the front
window as the couple walked out, talked briefly with the waiting
police and left.
In the
meantime, the work of the day was proceeding with only slight delay
at another emergency work place.
The woman’s
counselor arranged for her to get a legal abortion In Washington
DC.
After
this experience, we set up the “front” system, in which
patients were given only the address of a counselor’s house
to assemble before they were driven by another counselor to the work
place. The front system had many advantages aside from security.
It provided a place for last-minute counseling and a place
for a friend or family member to stay while the woman was having
an abortion.
It was
a last stop where a woman could change her mind if she was in doubt,
or could build confidence and camaraderie from talking with other
waiting patients.
Counselors
working at the front started group discussions on women’s issues
and sometimes set up follow-up meetings for women who expressed interest
in the movement.
Often
patients and companions became deeply absorbed in publications
given out at the front, such as “Our Bodies, Ourselves” or “The
Birth Control Handbook.”
But the
main advantage of the front was that it was one more barrier between
the police and the abortionists.
One year
went by... and then another. It was a continuing and baffling mystery
to us that we were not arrested. Were we politically too hot? Did
the legal system appreciate the service as a safety valve that
was meeting needs the society was not ready to handle legitimately?
Or was it because we wouldn’t make payoffs?
While
we went on worrying but working, other Chicago abortionists were
regularly feeling to the hand of the law. The story would make
page one, the state’s attorney would collect his credits, the defendants
would make their payoffs, the case would stop short of trial and
the would soon be back at work.
The
periods when harassment was heaviest added horrendous strains to
our already super-stress work. It seemed like most of our energy
went into avoiding being busted.
But the
periods that were relatively free from police harassment were times
that the service grew and improved in medical care, efficiency,
scope of activities and political organizing.
For example,
in one such period, we bought a professional teaching microscope
and learned to take and read pap smears for early cancer detection
From then on, we provided free pap smears for each woman who came
through the service.
In another
police-free period, we began organizing “self-help” clinics,
in which a small group of women meet to learn how to insert their
own speculum, examine themselves with a mirror, and do pelvic exams
on each other.
The goal
of the self-help clinic was to help women become familiar with
their own and each other’s bodies, in large part so they would not
be so helpless in dealing with the male-dominated medical profession.
Then,
after a few months without arrest threats, we would become so absorbed
in the expanding activities of the service that we became careless
in protecting the service from the law.
We would
think of ourselves as quasi-legitimate, almost immune from arrest.
In revolutionary terms, we became “undisciplined.”
We would
use the phone too freely, be seen in the same working places
too often, fail in counseling to stress the mutually illegal action
of the service and the patient.
Then
. . inevitably . . . reality would suddenly descend. lt. might
be an angry boyfriend who called the police because his girl
friend split with him after he paid the tab. Or a woman who went
to the hospital with a miscarriage and gave in to pressure to
talk.
Then,
early one morning, a counselor would answer her door to find
two plainclothesmen standing there ... and the whole cycle would
begin again.
(Continued)
We do
not have the next part as the Hyde Park Voices ceased publication.
Please read Laura Kaplan's The Story
of Jane to find out more about this remarkable group of
people.
