For three years our father Tim Barron was an escort at the Broome County Women’s Center and in those years he did not encounter any opposition out of the ordinary. Being a big man, he was not naturally fearful of anyone who hoped to push him around or intimidate him. Of course, the protesters at the Center were mostly peaceful. The most they did was shout at the women entering the Center, sometimes—they did not physically threaten them. The majority participated in prayer vigils and tried to provide counseling to the pregnant women if any would listen—of course, they never did. But when Gus Voorhees came to head the Center, that was changed. There was a lot of publicity and much of it was bad. The protesters were angrier and more confrontational, and there were more of them. Dad noticed the change almost overnight. He would say somebody was going to be hurt. Stronger security was needed from the police. Right away too, nasty things appeared on anti-abortion websites. Broome County was singled out. Dr. Voorhees was singled out. Army of God is strong in Ohio especially rural Ohio. Operation Rescue is still strong. (We all know people who are involved in these organizations. Some of us went to school with them. But we did not ever think any one of them would murder any one of us.)
Now I am not intending to upset you, Naomi. But it was widely believed around here that your father behaved provocatively in giving interviews as he did to the local newspaper and on local TV. I know, Dr. Voorhees believed that if people understood the mission of the Women’s Center, which is to give medical care and advice to “any and all” women regardless of their ability to pay, they would not be angry; but Dr. Voorhees seemed not to understand that just his presence, his words, whatever he was saying, was inflammatory in some quarters, and only made things worse. He was brash and outspoken and believed himself “in the right.” I think that Dad tried to tell him this but if he did, Dr. Voorhees did not listen.
Dad understood the risk he was taking every day he went to the Center. He was a brave man but he was not an abortion doctor himself, he should not have been shot down as he was.
It was claimed by the pro-life people that Luther Dunphy did not shoot my father, that someone else did. Because Luther Dunphy refused to acknowledge that he pulled the trigger.
It is still being claimed that one of the law enforcement officers shot Dad, not Luther Dunphy. Which is ridiculous since law enforcement had only hand guns, not shotguns. And witnesses saw Luther Dunphy turn fast after he’d shot your father—and aim his shotgun at our father—then he pulled the trigger again. They said there was a “glazed” look in Dunphy’s face and no emotion.
He was a cold-blooded murderer with a heart of stone. He did not deserve to live and breathe in the same air shared by decent people.
Those weeks before his death Dad was getting up early to drive the doctor to the Center. He had particularly volunteered to drive Dr. Voorhees in case there was an attack on the van. The plan was, the doctor would duck down, and Dad would drive the van as fast as possible to escape. Dad did not sleep well the last eight years of his life, so getting up early was not difficult for him. He had undergone chemotherapy for cancer—colon cancer. It had been just stage two when the doctor caught it, but Dad had a hard time with chemo that wiped him out, he’d say—“Like something rubbed off a blackboard.” All of Dad’s curly hair fell out—when we first saw him, with no hair, we burst into tears, it was such a shock. But Dad laughed at us—“Hey kids, I wasn’t going to win any beauty contest anyway, was I?” That was Dad’s kind of humor. Everybody loved him.
By the time Dad met your father he was finished with the chemo and his hair had grown back, but not like it was, not curly, and very thin and dry. He did not tell your father about his medical history because he was not the type to speak of private things. He was not the type to cause others to worry about him. So, almost, we never quite trusted Dad, after the cancer—we’d ask him how he was, and he’d say “Fine” but we never knew what that meant; so we’d ask Mom and she would say, “Why do you think he’d tell me?” The opposite of self-pity was what our father was but that left us feeling anxious. Once, he said, your father happened to mention to him that he—that is, your father—was going to have to postpone some of his surgical appointments because he had bronchitis and “couldn’t stop his damn coughing”—and Dad thought that was such a confidential thing to say, to share, like he and Dr. Voorhees were old friends or even closer, like brothers—Dad was very touched . . .
He was a good man, murdered like a dog.
We are not sorry that the Broome County Women’s Center has closed. In all the stories of the Center, the staff did not speak of Timothy Barron except slightingly. Of course they will say—“Tim was a wonderful man”—“Everybody loved Tim”—“We miss Tim.” But that was it. All serious focus was on Dr. Voorhees. All the media gave a damn for was Dr. Voorhees. We understand the reason for this but it did not make it any easier to bear. When people talk of Gus Voorhees as a martyr even today we want to say yes and our father Tim Barron was a martyr too.
Excuse me, I am feeling very upset. It has been a while since I have spoken like this to anyone. In our family we never speak of it now and the young children know nothing of it, and we don’t want to upset them and make them bitter. But I think—I am not able to speak with you any longer now.
What is your name?—Naomi?
I am sorry, Naomi. Please turn off that damned machine and go away now.
The next interview was friendly, even chatty. Far from being kept outside at a rickety picnic table Naomi was invited inside to sit at a Formica-topped table in a kitchen, and to share a sixteen-ounce just-slightly-flat bottle of Diet-Coke with the daughter of a Muskegee Falls police office who had “passed away” several years before.