Norma McCorvey, the Jane Roe at the middle of Roe v. Wade, was an imperfect plaintiff.
When she undertook Roe as a young single woman in Dallas, she gave no thought to the fight for reproductive rights. She was barely getting by as a waitress, had twice given birth to children placed for adoption, and easily wanted an abortion. She later lied about how she got pregnant, saying that she had been raped. When, greater than a decade later, she got here clean and wished to hitch in earnest the movement she had come to represent, its leaders denied her a meaningful part of their protests and rallies.
“I feel they’re embarrassed,” McCorvey told Texas Monthly in 1993. “They would love for me to be college-educated, with poise and little white gloves.”
Still, Roe remained central to McCorvey’s life, sure to her by those self same two crosscurrents that might frame the abortion debate in the US — religion and sex.
McCorvey had tons of of partners, nearly all of them women, she said. She also worked for a time as a prostitute in Dallas. But she had been raised a Jehovah’s Witness and saw sex as sinful. That her plaintiffship had made abortion legal left her fearing for her soul. That was a part of the explanation she became born again in 1995, she said — the higher to hitch the fight against Roe.
Still, despite her public reversal, McCorvey — like a majority of Americans now — felt that abortion should be legal through the primary trimester. She shared this in the primary interview she ever gave, days after Roe, and he or she shared it again in her last, speaking with me from a hospital bed at the tip of her life. (During my decade of research for “The Family Roe,” a book on Roe and its plaintiff, I spent tons of of hours interviewing McCorvey.)
Her private papers — which I discovered within the garage of her former partner, just before the home was lost to foreclosure — offer a firsthand insight into McCorvey as she really was: a lady whose torments and ambivalences about abortion mirror people who divide the country, and who continues to be relevant in the brand new, post-Roe world.
Here’s a sampling of the fabric.
McCorvey was sent to a Catholic boarding school, and later, at 16, to a state boarding school for “delinquent girls.” She enjoyed being away from her family, and had a run of girlfriends. But her mother, Mary Sandefur, beat her for being gay, Sandefur said in an interview, and McCorvey got here to see sex and her sexuality as sinful and illicit. Years after she got pregnant for the third time, and sought an abortion, she told those that she been raped, presenting herself as not a sinner but a victim.
McCorvey was the third consecutive generation in her family to get pregnant out of wedlock, in accordance with documents and interviews with members of her family. Her grandmother quickly married, while her mother was made to go away town, give birth in secret and give up her child to her parents.
McCorvey worked many roles to get by — waitress and drug dealer, prostitute and painter, respiratory therapist and bond-runner. Money was a relentless struggle. And when, in 1969, she got pregnant and located an unlicensed doctor who would perform an abortion, she could neither afford his $500 fee nor the price of flying to California, where abortion was legal.
In time, McCorvey turned her plaintiffship right into a profession, and altered her public stance repeatedly, depending on her audience. But her private opinion on abortion didn’t change: On the day after her Christian rebirth, in addition to at the tip of her life, she repeated what she had first told The Baptist Press in 1973: that abortion must be legal through the primary trimester.
Leaders within the abortion rights movement were understandably sick comfortable when, in 1987, McCorvey acknowledged having lied about being raped. But even after she apologized, and devoted years to educating herself about Roe and abortion, she was all but shunned — “scorned, rejected, snubbed, discredited and excluded,” within the words of Barbara Ellis, an activist with the movement.
In April 1970, Linda Coffee and Sarah Weddington, the 2 lawyers representing McCorvey, amended Roe v. Wade to make it a class-action suit not only on her behalf, they wrote, but in addition including “all other women similarly situated.” They detailed that situation in an affidavit, asserting, amongst much else, that their pseudonymous plaintiff couldn’t afford to travel to where abortion was legal and secure.
McCorvey found comfort in religion, particularly within the patron saints and rosaries that became an element of her day by day life after she converted to Catholicism in 1998. But she also told a filmmaker in 1995 that, had the abortion rights movement embraced her, she never would have left it. Most upsetting to her, she said, was learning in 1992 that her lawyer Weddington, who had not tried to assist McCorvey have an abortion, had had one herself.
This was entirely false. The primary time McCorvey spoke of being raped was in an article in Good Housekeeping that ran in June 1973, five months after the Roe decision. Her lawyer, Coffee, said in an interview that the article was the primary time she and her co-counsel had learned of McCorvey’s rape allegations.