A Book of American Martyrs(127)
“IT IS ONLY A RUMOR. Unverified.”
Volunteers first heard on the bus that the vigil and burials might be televised on a “Christian-friendly” national news channel. Reverend Trucross was excited that such publicity would surely bring more volunteers to Cleveland and donations to the Holy Innocents Right-to-Life Action League.
In Cleveland there were many more of them arriving in buses, minivans, cars. They knew one another at once, by sight—a wild joyousness spread among them like wildfire. In public places, in parks and on sidewalks they knelt and boldly prayed. Loudly they prayed. They chanted. They surrounded the Cleveland County Planned Parenthood Women’s Surgical Clinic and (some of them) would have to be dragged away by law enforcement loudly praying, chanting. Some of them said the rosary in loud voices. It was boasted that their prayers were loud enough to be heard in Hell.
In public places they held aloft posters proclaiming SEPTEMBER 13 NATIONAL DAY OF REMEMBRANCE FOR PREBORN HOLY INNOCENTS MURDERED BY ABORTION. Eagerly they offered pamphlets to anyone who came near—Respect for Life: Your Baby Is Waiting to Be Born. Of a dozen pamphlets pressed upon strangers though ten might be found discarded on the ground yet two might be kept and (possibly) passed on to others. They marched with picket signs depicting the badly mutilated bodies of infants above such captions as NO BABY CHOOSES TO DIE and I DIED FOR MY MOTHER’S SIN.
The lurid magnified pictures of infant corpses were not well received by the majority of strangers who saw them. In parks and on sidewalks people walked hurriedly past with averted eyes, or spoke harshly or pleadingly to the volunteers, but in the roadway motorists had no choice but to slow their vehicles as picket-bearing volunteers inched out into traffic. They had been cautioned by their leaders not to interfere with traffic and not to be “aggressive” but the most fervent disobeyed precipitating a barrage of horns and shouts—“Get out of the way!”—“Go to hell!”—“You are terrible, sick people.” Police arrived, to drag them out of traffic and onto the sidewalk. Though they were threatened with arrest, no one was (yet) arrested.
Such reactions the volunteers took in stride for they’d been prepared. Many of them had participated in prayer vigils in the past and encouraged the newer volunteers not to be frightened or discouraged. Jesus had not despaired in worse circumstances. Everyone knew they were doing God’s bidding. Even their enemies knew—atheists, Socialists, abortionists knew. At the Planned Parenthood clinic, everyone on the staff knew. In such places there were friends and allies who could not speak out for fear of reprisals as there were friends and allies among law enforcement. And often it happened, so wonderfully, an individual would stop to stare, to be moved, to be drawn into conversation, to take away a pamphlet, even to press money into a volunteer’s hands.
Bless you. You are doing the work of the Lord.
The most daring knelt on the walkway in front of the clinic. By law they were forbidden to trespass on the property itself. Unflagging in their zeal they continued to pray, and to chant. There were priests among them. There were nuns. There were teenagers, and there were children. There were the elderly, the infirm. Some were in wheelchairs pushed by adult children. Proudly they held picket signs aloft. Their banners—SEPTEMBER 13 NATIONAL DAY OF REMEMBRANCE FOR PREBORN HOLY INNOCENTS MURDERED BY ABORTION. Few women and girls would dare to enter the abortion clinic on this day for no one wished to run such a gauntlet past the shouting volunteers.
Yet, the abortion clinic was not shut for the day. Through the windows the enemy watched them covertly and at the door security guards stood.
Did they fear fire? Firebombs? Gunfire? A deserved conflagration as of hellfire, did the murderers fear?
In the street were TV camera crews, adding to the congestion and confusion.
Edna Mae had been brought to the abortion clinic (somewhere in inner-city Cleveland) with others from the Mad River Junction church. This was her first prayer vigil and she would not tire easily. With Dawn, Anita, and Noah she knelt, prayed, chanted. All around them was an army of the faithful who would not tire easily. But soon the younger Dunphy children were dazed with exhaustion and Edna Mae had no choice but to allow them to nap on the walkway. Sulky-faced Dawn knelt beside Edna Mae with her picket sign over her shoulder at an insolent angle.
In a whiny voice Dawn said they needed to go home. Anita and Noah needed to go home.
Edna Mae said snappishly that they were not going home until the Day of Remembrance was over. Of the volunteers from Reverend Trucross’s church, she was not going to weaken and withdraw.
“Momma, for God’s sake!”
“Don’t you ‘for God’s sake.’ Watch your mouth.”
“Maybe you don’t care but Anita and Noah are tired . . .”
“The murdered babies are more than tired. The rest of us should be ashamed.”
From time to time there were shouts, screams. It wasn’t clear what was happening but you might catch a glimpse of Cleveland police officers dragging volunteers away. Had they dared to approach the front entrance of the clinic? Had they tried to prevent a pregnant woman or girl from entering? So often had Dawn been told that police favored right-to-life picketers, it was disconcerting to see how roughly the officers treated them, how angrily they shouted at them—“Keep back! Keep the way clear!”
At last, at dusk, the clinic was darkened.
“MOMMA? Why aren’t we leaving?”