The recent law in Texas regarding abortion has many people alarmed, while others are ecstatic. Roe vs. Wade, a supreme court case decided in 1973, made abortion legal. But it was a controversial decision that goes on today, nearly 50 years later. My husband was a Protestant minister, and president of the local chapter of Planned Parenthood at the time. Before that, he had risked his reputation and career to support a woman’s right to control her body. His experience is described in his memoir, “A Preacher Called Sinn,” Here, I’m printing two chapters in that book, which explains why a Minister supported abortion rights
UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
As a high profile campus minister, I was asked to serve on numerous charitable boards. I didn’t have the time to accept all of these invitations, but the one agency I strongly supported was Planned Parenthood. I had served as a hospital chaplain during seminary, and witnessed horrifying atrocities inflicted upon unwanted children. After seeing babies maimed, raped, and burned, I had come to believe this organization had an urgent mission. And so, I agreed to join their board of directors.
At that time, abortion wasn’t legal in the state of Indiana so the organization was aimed at helping to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Serving with me were the local Rabbi, a couple of doctors and nurses, and some college professors. Roman Catholics, officially opposed to birth control, didn’t participate in our activities but neither did they put up a fight. When I was elected as chairman of the board in 1970, it didn’t cause much of a stir.
I was dedicated to the cause. As a youth minister, I knew that young people were having lots of casual sex, and it was mostly the females who paid the price. I had learned that free love was not free after counseling many grief stricken girls who had one night stands or affairs that left them with feelings of shame, but worse yet, unwanted pregnancies. Still, my involvement was limited to monthly meetings and occasional fund raisers
.All of that changed on the day I received a visit from a fellow board member. Dr. Leslie King was a tall woman with curly black hair and hazel eyes. She had emigrated from Germany before World War II and graduated from a women’s medical college. Her husband owned a local jewelry store and was known to be so concerned about the threat of a nuclear attack that they had constructed a bomb shelter beside their home. Dr. King had a large practice and was a busy family physician. Her unscheduled appearance in my office on a weekday could only mean she had something serious on her mind. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me to install a bomb shelter in the Wesley Foundation. I offered her a cup of tea or a glass of cola, but she declined both.
We sat down. ” I need your help, Duane,” she said in a strong German accent.
An alarm went off in my head. I couldn’t imagine how we could afford to build a bomb shelter near the building. “I’ll do what I can,” I answered.
Dr. King pushed her glasses up from the tip of her nose. “It’s about the girls who want an abortion. They come to Planned Parenthood for help, but as you know, it’s illegal in Indiana.”
The abortion issue had never been publicly discussed at our meetings. Topics on the agenda were budgets, personnel, and fund raising. “Are you just talking about a few women?” I asked.
She shook her head vigorously. “No, you’d be very surprised. As a woman doctor, I see a lot of girls in trouble, many of them from very good families.”
“So what can you do? As a doctor, your hands are tied.”
“Not really,” she said calmly, “We have contacts in New York.”
“We? You mean Planned Parenthood?”
She waved her hand as if to brush aside my question. “Have you ever been to New York, Duane?”
My mind went back to the day I’d stood in back of a theatre with Harold Martz while watching South Pacific. It was a pleasant memory of a carefree time. “Just once, but I loved it.” I said with a smile.
Dr. King frowned. ‘The girls I send there aren’t on a pleasure trip. And many of them have bad experiences.”
This highly respected doctor was helping women to have abortions? I couldn’t wrap my mind around any of it. I said nothing and waited for her to continue. “These young girls, many of them come from small towns and have never been to a big city. They find the name of a doctor in a New York phone book or newspaper, but all they have is an address. They sometimes get stranded at airports and train stations, with no idea of where to stay. They’re lonely and scared. Worse yet, many of the clinics are dirty, with incompetent practitioners.”
I was still mystified. “You’ve asked for my help, but what can I do?”
Dr. King leaned forward, her voice pulsing with intensity. “I’m asking you to go to New York as my representative. I want you to check out the clinics at a list of facilities I will give you. Make sure these places are clean and comfortable. Also, arrange for a decent hotel where the girls can have a safe stay.”
“But why are you asking me to do this? Wouldn’t a nurse be more suited to the task?”
She shook her head. “No, these girls need more than medical care. They should have counseling from a trained person with spiritual values to help them analyze other alternatives such as adoption, or keeping the child. If they decide upon an abortion as a last resort, they need someone to guide them through that sad journey.”
I broke out in a cold sweat. “Do you realize what a risk I would be taking? My board is upset about my running a coffee house. How would they react if they thought I was helping to run an underground railroad for abortion?”
“I know all about that meeting you had with your board. And I also know you’re a strong man with the courage of your convictions. You have the backing of many prominent people in this town..”
I I felt like I was walking into quicksand. “A coffee house is one thing. Abortion is something else, altogether.”
“Come on, Duane,” Dr. King said. “I know, from my practice, that you’ve counseled many young girls with unwanted pregnancies. They tell me you’re a minister who listens to their troubles without making them feel dirty or ashamed. And I know of at least two young women you’ve talked out of suicide.”
“How do these things get around?” I asked. “I’ve never divulged a word about these situations, even to my own wife.”
“Even so, you know how tragic an unwanted pregnancy can be.”
“Of course.” The tear streaked faces of young women flashed through my mind as I recalled several middle-of-the-night phone calls. At least twice, I’d jumped out of bed and gone straight to the women’s dormitory, although it was against the rules at the time to have a man in their room. I had saved several lives, but unfortunately hadn’t gotten there in time for one girl who succeeded in taking her own life.
Dr. King clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Please help these girls. I know that you are worried about the legal consequences, but…”
I raised my hand to interrupt. “I have to think about my family.”
The doctor shook her head. “Let me finish what I was about to say. Have you heard of the Clergymen’s Consultation Service?”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of this network of clergy that started with the Presbyterian Church. Right now, they have more than a thousand members from various denominations who are willing to take professional and legal risks to change social attitudes and support safe abortion. I will sponsor your membership and pay your fees. The organization will insure you against liability.”
My head filled with internal static. I could scarcely believe that the very same Presbyterian Church in which I had been raised was involved. But of course, it made sense. Presbyterians had always been the most liberal of the mainstream Protestant religions.
“What I’m asking you to do has no financial rewards. Only your expenses will be paid,” Dr. King said
I felt relieved that she wanted to send me on a mission of mercy, pure and simple. My mind cleared as I made my decision.
So there I was, back in New York City after twenty years. It hadn’t changed much, except for many more high rises. The Big Apple still had that same energy and intensity I’d loved—but this time, I would not see any Broadway shows. Dr. King had provided me with a list of four clinics for inspection. I chose the one which had an impressive staff and a spotless physical facility
Within a few days, the modus operandi was set in place: A pregnant woman arriving at the airport was told to look for a lady wearing a colorful straw hat. She would approach the lady wearing the hat and ask for her credentials. As soon as the contact had been verified, the patient would be driven to a clinic, have her procedure, and spend a few hours in recovery. Ideally, someone would drive her back to the airport so she could arrive home that same evening with no one the wiser. If that was not possible, safe lodging at a clean, inexpensive hotel or an overnight stay would be arranged. The cost of the trip and procedure was set at $400, which barely covered expenses
Soon, I was seeing women from every race, religion, and social class who were thinking of an abortion. Many of our city’s most prominent citizens came to me with their daughters. As time went by, I sometimes recognized girls I had helped, but I pretended not to see them. Sometime I worried about being approached by a hostile person who regretted her decision, but in fact, the opposite often came true. In dark shadows along city streets and in quiet corners of stores and restaurants, I’d often feel a hand on my arm while someone whispered, “thanks for helping me.” I would merely nod my head, and move on. However, abortion was an emotional issue which often divided families. I learned that the hard way at, of all places, a wedding
. SURPRISE ATTACK FROM RIGHT-TO-LIFE
I was often asked to perform wedding ceremonies for students who didn’t want to be married in a church. Such was the case when the daughter of a wealthy banker asked me to officiate at her wedding held at the Terre Haute Country Club, a luxurious white stucco building set far back in a wooded area, and overlooking a carefully manicured golf course.
April weather in Indiana is volatile and unpredictable, but on that particular day, the skies were clear, with temperatures in the sixties. I was invited to the rehearsal dinner on a Friday night, and had hurried out to the country club after a long meeting with some students organizing a Vietnam War protest. I arrived as cocktails were being served on the patio. The air smelled of lilacs and expensive perfume, while the setting sun cast an orange and purple glow across the sky
I opted for a glass of Chardonnay, which didn’t go down well on an empty stomach. Feeling a little woozy, I ducked into the men’s room to splash some cold water on my face. As I bent over the sink to turn on the faucet, I felt a hand between my shoulder blades and a low voice in my ear “Murderer.”
Startled, I fell forward against the wall mirror and cracked my head. I turned around and saw the bride’s uncle, a hulking mass of a man with black, oil slicked hair, and a shiny forehead.
He leaned in, spraying my face with saliva. “You think I don’t know you’re killing babies?” he snarled.
Now I understood. This was about my involvement with Planned Parenthood; but it didn’t make sense. Why would the man’s niece ask me to perform her marriage ceremony if her uncle felt this way? I felt blood trickling from my nose, and reached for a towel to wipe my face.
Before I could respond, the door swung open and a thin, dark haired woman in a blue silk dress strode into the men’s room. “Now, Dick,” she called out. “This is my daughter’s wedding. She saw you following Reverend Sinn, and she knew that you were going to start an argument. He is our invited guest. Now, you go back in the dining room and sit down and be quiet. If you can’t do that, then please leave.”
Dick shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
The bride’s mother wrung her hands. ‘I’m so very sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know he would do this. He knows I don’t agree with his stance on abortion, but he’s very active in the National Right to Life organization, and he sometimes gets carried away.”
My first impulse was to walk out the door and tell them to find themselves another minister. But the lady’s sincere remorse persuaded me to stay. If I made a scene and left them without a minister, it would ruin a joyous occasion. Somehow, I got through the rest of the evening. I’m sure a gourmet meal was served, but I could not tell you what was on the dinner table. And I must admit, I watched my back on the way to my car that night.
After the Supreme Court’s landmark decision on Roe vs. Wade in 1973, I assumed the abortion controversy had been settled. Little did I know the storm would still be raging on into the twenty first century and even now, as I write this book.