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August 6, 1994, Page 001001Buy Reprints The New York Times Archives

The roots of violent confrontation over abortion in this graceful city on the Gulf of Mexico run deeper than the killing of a doctor and his escort last week and of another doctor last year.

They go back at least a decade, to Christmas Day 1984, when all three abortion clinics here were firebombed, an act that one of the four people convicted of the crime described as "a gift for Jesus on his birthday."

There was nothing unique about Pensacola to explain why that bombing happened here; several clinics across the country had also been attacked.

But after the Christmas bombing, the ensuing trial and the successful struggle to reopen two of the three clinics, Pensacola became a magnet for both sides of the debate, particularly for zealots on both sides who were eager to capture some of the national attention.

"They have a sense that if you want to get your name in the papers, go to Pensacola," said Dallas A. Blanchard, a sociology and anthropology professor at the University of West Florida here who has studied the anti-abortion violence in the city.

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That helps to explain why it is no random thing that three people would eventually be murdered.

"All it took to get this started was one spark of violence," said Brenda Starkey, 35, a lifelong resident of Pensacola. "And because of the violence, we were going to get every fanatic on both sides of the issue coming into town. It's like when a train starts. Everyone just jumps on."

With its endless beaches, blue-green water and many golf courses, the stretch of Gulf Coast around Pensacola has long been called the "redneck Riviera," a favored vacation place for people from throughout the rural South. But it is also widely known as the gay Riviera, a popular spot with homosexuals and home to several gay bars.

And while the Pensacola area is a place full of deeply conservative churches where many people believe that abortion is murder, many military retirees here are ambivalent on the issue, said Professor Blanchard, who is co-author of a book published last year, "Religious Violence and Abortion: The Gideon Project," which focuses largely on Pensacola.

"Many veterans tend to be quite tolerant," Professor Blanchard said. "They've seen the world. They've seen other cultures."

In fact, the clinic escort who was shot to death last week, James H. Barrett, 74, was a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel.

This city of 55,000 people is also home to the only licensed abortion clinics in a broad swath of North Florida that stretches from Tallahassee to the Alabama line.

In the aftermath of the bombings here, the city has been the scene of countless protests. Groups have picketed the clinics regularly, often led by John Burt, a zealous anti-abortion leader, who has a pickled fetus in a jar that he calls Baby Charlie. Vow to Keep Clinics Open

Abortion-rights groups rebuilt and reopened the two clinics, hired armed escorts and vowed to keep them open.

Randall Terry traveled here in 1986, gathering protesters and reporters at the Western Sizzlin' steak house a block from one clinic, to announce the formation of Operation Rescue, which has become one of the largest anti-abortion groups.

In March 1993, Dr. David Gunn was shot to death at the Pensacola Women's Medical Services Clinic by Michael F. Griffin, who was sentenced to a life in prison after he was convicted of first-degree murder. Mr. Griffin had said he was acting in God's name.

Paul J. Hill, the former minister who is charged with killing Dr. John B. Britton and Mr. Barrett, his unarmed security escort, at the Pensacola Ladies Center on July 29, moved here a few years ago. People who know him say he was obsessed with the abortion issue and derisive of groups like Operation Rescue that he said had wimped out because they were not willing to use force to defend their views.

Some abortion-rights groups have insisted that the police in Pensacola could have done more to head off the violence. The police say they were aware of Mr. Hill's strident anti-abortion views and put him under periodic surveillance. But they also say he had no history of violence and could not be tailed 24 hours a day. The director of the clinic where Dr. Britton was shot, Linda Taggart, has repeatedly said she believed the police performed as well as they could with their available manpower.

More broadly, there is the question of why Pensacola has never enforced a buffer zone, a tactic used in other cities to keep protesters at bay. But a police spokesman, Sgt. Jerry Potts, said such zones could be set only by a judicial order; both clinics here indicated that they would go to court to petition for such a measure.

If anything, said Professor Blanchard, who is also a retired United Methodist minister, the violence arises because Pensacola is split down the middle on abortion and many other social issues. Local polls have suggested that people here are split roughly 50-50 on whether a woman should have a right to an abortion.

Residents say the bombings and shootings have created a false impression of their city.

"I think it's more because of the openness of the town," Arnold Pearson, a 46-year-old construction worker, said as he took a break at a building downtown the other day. "It's not restricted against anybody. We let all the nuts in, the good guys and the bad guys. That's why we have the gay movement come in here."

The recent history of conflict over abortion in Pensacola has raised fears that the publicity will attract more fanatics and more violence.

Since last week's killings, the words have been heating up on both sides.

At a rally sponsored by a coalition of abortion-rights groups the other day, one speaker pointedly refused to disavow violence against anti-abortion demonstrators. Then someone showed up at a news conference featuring Mr. Burt, the anti-abortion leader.

"The blood of women is on your hands," screamed Laura Weide, a member of the Bay Area Coalition for Our Reproductive Rights, based in San Francisco. "The blood of dead doctors is on your hands."

Officials are clearly worried about the city's reputation.

"We don't deserve this," said Mayor John Fogg, who met with local business leaders to discuss the problem. "It's a handful of radical people. There is no subculture of terrorism here."

Residents say they fervently hope that last week's murders will finally convince everyone that enough is enough.

"I think it will make people aware that violence is not the answer and make them want to resolve differences peacefully," said Joel Hullet, a grocery store manager. "It's sort of like the Rodney King answer, 'Why can't people just get along?' "

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