Outgoing Planned Parenthood leader: 'Are you all ready for a fight?'

Outgoing Planned Parenthood of Indiana and Kentucky CEO Betty Cockrum talks about retirement, Thursday, June 22, 2017.

For one of her last appearances as the leader of Planned Parenthood of Indiana and Kentucky, Betty Cockrum chose a natural audience.

She went to Bloomington, liberal bastion of Indiana, to speak to the Monroe County Democrats, who heralded her a "hometown hero." This was the place that launched her career — before she was the public face of abortion rights in Indiana, before she was "Betty Cockroach" to protesters who showed up shouting outside her home, before she went up against a Republican state that picked away at Planned Parenthood's health care services.

Cockrum's retirement on June 30 marked the end of a 15-year tenure at the helm of one of the most high profile, most controversial and most embattled organizations in town.

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During her leadership, Indiana politicians slammed Planned Parenthood with waves of anti-abortion legislation, attempting to pull federal and state dollars from health centers and institute stricter requirements for abortion facilities and doctors.

Planned Parenthood closed clinics throughout Indiana, citing consolidations, operating deficits and state funding cuts. It now runs 17 health centers in Indiana, compared to 38 when Cockrum took the job in 2002.

Over those 15 years, Planned Parenthood sued the state five times, twice successfully. In three cases pending in courts, Planned Parenthood has won two preliminary injunctions.

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In that low-lit Bloomington banquet room filled with dozens of friends, Cockrum, 64, re-lived it all.

She had 45 minutes to talk about whatever she wanted, so she told her life story — fiercely feminist tales of how at her first job, the union deposed a boss who tried to pressure her into having sex with him; of working with a team of legendary women who ran Bloomington city government, sitting across tables from "white men in suits"; of reading the job description for Planned Parenthood, six pages single-spaced, under the table during a staff meeting with then-Gov. Frank O'Bannon as his state budget director and thinking, "I will die if I don't get this job."

Somewhere between discussing growing up poor on a pig farm in northern Indiana and disputing former Gov. Mike Pence's anti-abortion policies, Cockrum mentions her sister Patty, who had Down syndrome.

Patty comes into the conversation because Cockrum is talking about her own two miscarriages. When Cockrum was a 38-year-old woman trying to conceive, one of the many questions that arose was: What would you do if you were told your child would be born with Down syndrome?

In a family of eight children, her sister Patty consumed much of her mother's time and attention, Cockrum said.

"There is also no question," she added, "that every person she touched was a better person for it."

Her point is that having a child with Down syndrome can be both complicated and wonderful — not an easy, clear-cut dichotomy.

In 2016, Indiana lawmakers banned abortions that are sought solely because a fetus has been potentially diagnosed with a disability such as Down syndrome. Planned Parenthood challenged the law, saying it unconstitutionally intruded on a woman's right and privacy to choose to have an abortion.

A federal judge temporarily suspended the law from going into effect. 

Anti-abortion supporters of the law argued that it was unfair to decide to not have a child just because of a disability. Life is more sacred than that, they said. Families shared their stories of having children with disabilities.

But opponents of the law believed women should have a choice, as tough of a decision as that may be. Raising a child with disabilities comes with financial and emotional burdens, they said, and some families may not want their child to suffer from serious health complications.

When asked about Patty again in her Indianapolis home a couple of days later, Cockrum lights up.

"It's my sister!" Patty would proclaim every time Cockrum brought her two sons to visit the group home where she lived, raising a big, happy fuss at their entrance.

When Cockrum starts to talk about Patty's death at age 55, a much longer life than anyone expected, she sternly instructs herself not to cry.

At the end of Patty's funeral, some 60 developmentally challenged residents of the home filed out of the church — stopping, one by one, at Patty's casket to say goodbye.

It was too much to bear until one of the noisier residents turned to face the church and asked loudly: "Who gets all of Patty's stuff now?"

"We needed it," Cockrum said, smiling.

Then Cockrum shifts back into business mode. How, she asked, could male lawmakers make decisions for women, particularly in the difficult situation when a woman learns her child could be born with a disability?

"They can't know what it's like," Cockrum said. "They can't know what it's like to be told. They can't know what it's like to decide you want to get that diagnosis. ... It's a really emotional, difficult thing. It isn't like scheduling a manicure. It's not cavalier."

Over 15 years, Cockrum said, her job became more political than when she started.

Cockrum is tired of arguments that she said use concerns about people with disabilities, sex trafficking and late-term abortions to cover what she thinks is simply an ideological opposition to all abortions. She's tired of politicians who she said don't seem to care about preventing unintended pregnancies or helping families who choose to see them through. She's tired of fighting proposed legislation that she said seems destined to pass before anyone can say anything otherwise.

"You couldn't have told me 15 years ago how different it is today," she said at the luncheon. "Everything we fought for in the '60s, so much of that, it's already eroded and it's under attack."

Those who know Cockrum describe her as a formidable CEO: smart, persistent and rarely intimidated. Consider, for example, that she was the state budget director without holding a college degree.

She is firm in her opinion, to the point and on the point. Former Bloomington Mayor Tomilea Allison calls her "capable," which sounds simple until others detail just how. A little saying on her kitchen wall — one of the numerous knick-knacks that dot her house — seems particularly apropos: "Out-wit, out-play, out-last." 

During her time at Planned Parenthood, Cockrum advocated to make emergency contraception available over the counter; to allow Planned Parenthood patients to use Medicaid for health care services; and to expand beyond abstinence-only education. She has raised money to pay for services for those who cannot afford it — $250,000 in donations so far this year. And she also paired adoption services next door to Planned Parenthood's abortion clinics, which she said has led to 20 placements of children into adoptive families.

The number of abortions has decreased, with the state recording 7,957 in 2015, the most recent data available. That's down from 10,937 in 2002.

Still, opponents see Planned Parenthood as expanding its emphasis on abortion operations while shrinking other health services.

Planned Parenthood's reputation was also battered by undercover videos claiming to expose Planned Parenthood for promoting "dangerous" sexual experimentation, not protecting young victims of sex abuse and selling fetal tissue from aborted remains.

"It's become very clear that abortion is central to Planned Parenthood's business model," said Mike Fichter, president and CEO of Indiana Right to Life.

He estimated that Cockrum oversaw about 80,000 abortions performed by Planned Parenthood in Indiana, which he sees as 80,000 unborn children.

Nationally, the debate continues on abortion, federal funding for Planned Parenthood's services and insurance coverage of contraceptives.

Before her retirement, Cockrum collected a bounty of awards from groups such as the Indiana Democratic Party, noting her lifetime of achievement.

"She's not afraid to fight for those who are unable to fight for themselves," said Indiana Democratic Party Vice Chairwoman Cordelia Lewis-Burks, "and she's been on the forefront of that fight for democratic principles. Her vision has been to keep the doors open, and even her arms open, for both men and women seeking health care, so that they would have a place to walk into."

Cockrum has told people that she is a bit desperate for a break, a statement that her opponents have rejoiced upon and turned against her. She often presents a steely, unbreakable front, but Cockrum confesses that she doesn't sleep well and chews the insides of her cheeks.

She wants to take a long summer's nap. She wants to oil her wood furniture. She wants to water her tomatoes.

Plus, she wants to tackle gerrymandering.

And so Cockrum ends her last speech before retirement with less of a restful note and more of a rallying cry:

"So, are you all ready for a fight?"

Call IndyStar reporter Stephanie Wang at (317) 444-6184. Follow her on Twitter: @stephaniewang.

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Outgoing Planned Parenthood of Indiana and Kentucky CEO Betty Cockrum shares a whimsical business card with people as she plans for retirement at the end of June 2017.