It started with a simple request. In 1965, Heather Booth, a student at the University of Chicago, helped a friend's sister find a doctor to perform an abortion. At the time, the procedure was illegal in almost every state. One referral turned into two. Two turned into five. Pretty soon, the phone wouldn't stop ringing.
Booth didn't set out to run an underground medical syndicate. She was just a civil rights activist who saw a problem that needed fixing. Eventually, she realized she couldn't do it alone. She recruited other women, mostly from the Chicago Women’s Liberation Union, and formed what would officially be known as the Abortion Counseling Service of the Women’s Liberation Union. But to everyone else, it was just Jane.
If you were looking for help in Chicago in the late 60s, you didn't look for a clinic. You looked for a flyer or a tiny ad in an underground newspaper. "Pregnant? Don't want to be? Call Jane."
The Logistics of an Illegal Lifeline
The system was honestly brilliant in its simplicity. When a woman called the number—which was often a hijacked answering machine or a sympathetic neighbor’s line—a member of The Jane Collective would call her back. They’d meet in a "front," usually an apartment rented for the day, to talk through the process. Then, they’d be moved to "The Place," where the actual procedure happened.
It sounds like a spy movie. It felt like one, too.
They weren't just passing out business cards. These women were vetting doctors, driving patients to secret locations, and holding hands during procedures. They were the bridge between a desperate need and a criminalized reality. Initially, they relied on male doctors. Some were compassionate. Others were just in it for the cash. One of their regulars, known as "Mike," was a bit of a mystery. He was skilled, but he wasn't exactly warm.
The turning point for the group came when they discovered Mike wasn't actually a doctor.
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Imagine the shock. You've been trusting this man with lives, and it turns out he’s just a guy who learned how to do the job. But instead of panicking, the women of Jane had an epiphany. If he could do it without a medical degree, why couldn't they?
Taking the Tools into Their Own Hands
This is where the story of The Jane Collective shifts from activism to radical self-sufficiency. They asked Mike to teach them. He did. Soon, the women were performing the abortions themselves.
By cutting out the middleman, they dropped the price from $600 to $100. If a woman couldn't pay? They did it for free. They became experts in the D&C (dilation and curettage) method. They learned how to manage complications. They treated their patients with a level of dignity that the sterile, patriarchal medical establishment of the time couldn't—or wouldn't—provide.
They were thorough. They kept records. They followed up.
By the early 70s, Jane was performing roughly 60 to 100 abortions every single week. It’s estimated they handled around 11,000 procedures over their years of operation. Think about that number. 11,000. All without a single death reported. It’s a staggering safety record for a group of "amateurs" working in secret apartments.
The police mostly looked the other way. Why? Because the wives and daughters of the Chicago elite—and even the police themselves—needed Jane. The "Great Silence" kept the operation alive. But silence never lasts forever.
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The Bust and the Seven of Jane
Everything crashed in 1972.
Acting on a tip from a disgruntled relative of a patient, the Chicago police raided an apartment in the Hyde Park neighborhood. They expected to find a doctor. Instead, they found seven women in aprons. There were no men in sight. The police were baffled. They actually kept asking, "Where is the doctor?"
The "Abortion Seven" were arrested and charged with multiple counts of homicide and abortion. They faced decades in prison.
Their lawyer, Jo-Anne Wolfson, was a legend. She knew she just had to stall. She played for time, waiting for a specific case to make its way through the Supreme Court. That case was Roe v. Wade. When the decision came down in 1973, legalizing abortion nationwide, the charges against the Jane members were dropped.
The group disbanded shortly after. Their mission was, ostensibly, accomplished.
Why the Jane Story Matters Now
Today, we talk about Jane like it’s a legend, but for the women involved, it was a full-time, high-stress job. They were moms, students, and workers. They were also radicals who believed that bodily autonomy was a fundamental right, not a legal gift.
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The story of The Jane Collective highlights the massive gap between what is legal and what is necessary. It also challenges our ideas of who is "qualified" to provide healthcare. They proved that with proper training and a commitment to patient-centered care, community-led health initiatives can be incredibly effective.
There’s a lot of misinformation out there about the safety of these underground networks. People often picture "back alleys" and coat hangers. While those horrors were real, Jane provided a different model: a safe, supportive, and community-run alternative that focused on education rather than just the medical act.
Lessons from the Underground
If you're looking to understand the legacy of Jane, you have to look beyond the history books. You have to look at how they organized.
- Radical Education: They didn't just perform a procedure; they explained it. They showed women their own bodies with mirrors. This was revolutionary in an era where doctors rarely explained anything to female patients.
- Sliding Scales: They pioneered the idea that healthcare cost should be based on what you have, not what the market demands.
- Democratized Skillsets: They broke the monopoly on medical knowledge. They proved that skills can be shared and decentralized.
Practical Steps for Understanding Abortion History
To get a deeper, more factual grasp of this era, don't just rely on social media snippets. The history is dense and deserves a real look.
- Read the Primary Accounts: Look for "The Story of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service" by Laura Kaplan. She was a member, and her book is the definitive account of the group's internal dynamics.
- Watch the Documentaries: "The Janes" (HBO) features interviews with the original members. Seeing their faces and hearing their voices as they describe the fear and the triumphs makes the history feel much more tangible.
- Research the CWLU: The Chicago Women’s Liberation Union (CWLU) Herstory Project maintains an online archive of original flyers, internal memos, and position papers from the Jane era. It’s a goldmine for anyone interested in the actual mechanics of 70s activism.
- Analyze the Legal Shift: Compare the pre-1973 laws in Illinois with the current legal landscape. Understanding the specific statutes that the Jane members were charged under provides context for the risks they took.
The Jane Collective wasn't just a group of women breaking the law. They were a group of women creating a new world because the one they lived in didn't care if they lived or died. They operated on the principle that if the law is unjust, you ignore it. And in doing so, they saved thousands of lives.
Actionable Insight: The most significant takeaway from the Jane story is the power of community-based mutual aid. When formal systems fail to provide essential care, grassroots organizations often step in to fill the void. Understanding this history requires looking at the logistics—the phone lines, the carpools, and the training—as much as the ideology. To support modern health equity, look into local mutual aid funds that provide direct assistance to those navigating barriers to healthcare access in your own region.