Inside Ditka’s, that bastion of beer and brotherhood, movie star Raquel Welch was nervously talking about having the right to make choices. Outside, about a dozen demonstrators picketed and proselytized through bullhorns. “You’ll be stars in hell too,” read one sign.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
As in many other antiabortion demonstrations, picketers carried photographs of aborted fetuses, but these were particularly large– almost sandwich-board size–and garish. One showed a bloody fetus severed into several parts. Another showed a separated head, blood dripping from it into a jar. “Choice for the babies. Let the babies live,” shouted the picketers. Many of the kids walking with their mothers on the line winced and averted their eyes from the shocking red photos.
One woman crossing the sidewalk into Ditka’s simply closed her eyes as she went in the door. “I can’t look,” she said, taking off her coat. “What I want to know is, where do they get these pictures? What doctor, what scientist, allows these kinds of pictures to be taken and used so sensationally? Aren’t they breaking some sort of confidentiality law?”
Matronly Pat Durava rested against the bar’s doorway for a few minutes, looked up at Ditka’s logo, and shook her head. “You know, this Webster case is going to bring out a lot of stars who are going to disappoint us,” she said. “I really liked Meryl Streep, but there’s no way I can go see one of her films again–and I really, really liked her.”
“Did you know Mr. Ditka’s sponsoring a prolife dinner tonight?” she asked.
“This isn’t public space, it’s a private business,” retorted Riley. “Ditka’s going to have to go after the people who put this together.
