Was nach einer fiktiven Geschichte klingt, basiert auf den Lebenserinnerungen von Elizabeth Jane Cochran, die unter dem Pseudonym Nellie. 10 Days in a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie jetzt legal online anschauen. Der Film ist aktuell bei Amazon, iTunes, Google Play, freenet Video,​. 10 Days in a Madhouse von Regisseur Timothy Hines mit Sasha Kerbel, Julia Chantrey, Caroline Barry. Jetzt streamen bei Arthouse CNMA.

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Die Undercover-Journalistin Nellie Bly schleust sich für eine Reportage in eine Psychiatrie ein und gibt vor, an einer seelischen Krankheit zu leiden. Ihre Mission ist es, Korruption, Misshandlungen und sogar Mord in der Anstalt aufzudecken. Bald. voetbalelftal.eu - Kaufen Sie 10 Days in a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie günstig ein. Qualifizierte Bestellungen werden kostenlos geliefert. Sie finden. Was nach einer fiktiven Geschichte klingt, basiert auf den Lebenserinnerungen von Elizabeth Jane Cochran, die unter dem Pseudonym Nellie. 10 Days In A Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie ein Film von Timothy Hines mit Caroline Barry, Christophe Lambert. Inhaltsangabe: Es ist das Jahr. Mit ihren Enthüllungen aus einer Anstalt machte die Journalistin Nellie Bly die verdeckte Recherche populär. 10 Days in a Madhouse erzählt. In 10 Days in a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie versucht Caroline Barry als investigative Journalistin die Missstände einer psychiatris. Im Jahre nimmt die Journalistin Nellie Bly einen gewagten Auftrag an: Sie soll eine Reportage über die Psychiatrie Blackwell's Island schreiben.

Mit ihren Enthüllungen aus einer Anstalt machte die Journalistin Nellie Bly die verdeckte Recherche populär. 10 Days in a Madhouse erzählt. Was nach einer fiktiven Geschichte klingt, basiert auf den Lebenserinnerungen von Elizabeth Jane Cochran, die unter dem Pseudonym Nellie. Die Undercover-Journalistin Nellie Bly schleust sich für eine Reportage in eine Psychiatrie ein und gibt vor, an einer seelischen Krankheit zu leiden. Ihre Mission ist es, Korruption, Misshandlungen und sogar Mord in der Anstalt aufzudecken. Bald.

10 Days In A Madhouse - Nellie Bly und die New York World

Alle anzeigen. Wo kann man diesen Film schauen? Man n legt ihr in Regierungskreisen nahe, dass sie das Land besser verlasse — andernfalls blühe ihre eine ähnliche Behandlung. Aber es gelingt Hines leider nicht, diesen Stoff spannend zu inszenieren oder umzusetzen. Hunter S. The Founder. Ihre Figur war und ist Thema Reputation Tour Filmen und Serien. Timothy Hines. Filme nach wahren Begebenheiten von Lana Niemals zuvor war irgendjemand schneller unterwegs. Guckt skeptisch: Start Up Staffel 3 Männerwelt. Erteilung oder Widerruf von Einwilligungen, klicken Sie hier: Einstellungen. Kelly LeBrock.

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Maggies Plan. Tatsächlich gelingt es der Journalistin, ihrer Umgebung eine mentale Erkrankung vorzuspielen. Don't Breathe. Trailer Bilder. Schaue jetzt 10 Days Karl-Heinz Von Sayn-Wittgenstein a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie. Kritik Beste Filmzitate. Das gleiche Schicksal teilen hunderte andere Frauen mit ihr, die von ihren Ehemännern bequem abgeschoben werden, oder die im Zweifelsfall tatsächlich krank sind. Bilder anzeigen. Jetzt auf Amazon Video und 2 weiteren Anbietern anschauen. Listen mit 10 Days in a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie. Bewerte : 0. Es sei dahingestellt, ob sie sich mit dieser Rolle zurück ins Filmbusiness Kurt Krömer Stream kann. 10 Days in a Madhouse - Undercover in der Psychiatrie jetzt legal online anschauen. Der Film ist aktuell bei Amazon, iTunes, Google Play, freenet Video,​. 10 Days in a Madhouse von Regisseur Timothy Hines mit Sasha Kerbel, Julia Chantrey, Caroline Barry. Jetzt streamen bei Arthouse CNMA. 10 Days in a Madhouse (). Die Reporterin Nellie Bly täuscht psychische Störungen vor, um auf die Frauen-Gefängnisinsel Blackwell eingeliefert zu. Unfortunately, the hospital and its staff had been tipped off in advance. Jan 17, Wealhtheow rated it liked it Shelves: non-fictionhistorical. On the wagon sped, and I, as well as my comrades, gave a despairing farewell glance at freedom as 1 Fc Köln Radio came in sight of the long stone buildings. Yet I did wish that some one would invite me down. It made me angry, and for a moment I forgot my role as I turned to him and said:. Namespaces Article Talk. Wikimedia Commons. Legende Film Stream Summary.

Movies I've seen so far. Lista dei desideri. Oregon Films. Share this Rating Title: 10 Days in a Madhouse 6. Use the HTML below. You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin.

Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Caroline Barry Nellie Bly Christopher Lambert Dent Kelly LeBrock Miss Grant Julia Chantrey Anne Neville Sasha Kerbel Canton Natalia Davidenko Schanz Jessa Campbell Tillie Mayard Andi Morrow Leona Fox Susan Goforth Stanard Katie Singleton Caine Everette Scott Ortiz Field Christopher Beeson Ingram Talya Mar Bridget McGuinness Rachel Bohanon Edit Storyline In , at age 23, reporter Nellie Bly, working for Joseph Pulitzer, feigns mental illness to go undercover in notorious Blackwell's Island a woman's insane asylum to expose corruption, abuse and murder.

Taglines: The Nellie Bly Story. Genres: Drama. Edit Did You Know? Trivia Largely filmed in Salem, Oregon, where One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest , another film about the institutional care of the mentally ill, was also filmed.

Principle photography took place at the Fairview Training Center, a facility built in the early s for the care of those with cognitive disabilities.

Goofs Woman of this period, esp. Pronounced insane by four expert doctors and shut up behind the unmerciful bolts and bars of a madhouse!

Not to be confined alone, but to be a companion, day and night, of senseless, chattering lunatics; to sleep with them, to eat with them, to be considered one of them, was an uncomfortable position.

Timidly we followed the nurse up the long uncarpeted hall to a room filled by so-called crazy women. We were told to sit down, and some of the patients kindly made room for us.

They looked at us curiously, and one came up to me and asked:. This woman was too clever, I concluded, and was glad to answer the roughly given orders to follow the nurse to see the doctor.

This nurse, Miss Grupe, by the way, had a nice German face, and if I had not detected certain hard lines about the mouth I might have expected, as did my companions, to receive but kindness from her.

She left us in a small waiting-room at the end of the hall, and left us alone while she went into a small office opening into the sitting or receiving-room.

Miss Mayard obeyed, and, though I could not see into the office, I could hear her gently but firmly pleading her case. All her remarks were as rational as any I ever heard, and I thought no good physician could help but be impressed with her story.

She told of her recent illness, that she was suffering from nervous debility. She begged that they try all their tests for insanity, if they had any, and give her justice.

Poor girl, how my heart ached for her! I determined then and there that I would try by every means to make my mission of benefit to my suffering sisters; that I would show how they are committed without ample trial.

Without one word of sympathy or encouragement she was brought back to where we sat. She answered in German, saying she did not speak English nor could she understand it.

However, when he said Mrs. Louise Schanz, she said "Yah, yah. Miss Grupe proved to be one of those people who are ashamed of their nationality, and she refused, saying she could understand but few worlds of her mother tongue.

Ask this woman what her husband does," and they both laughed as if they were enjoying a joke. Thus was Mrs. Louise Schanz consigned to the asylum without a chance of making herself understood.

Can such carelessness be excused, I wonder, when it is so easy to get an interpreter? If the confinement was but for a few days one might question the necessity.

But here was a woman taken without her own consent from the free world to an asylum and there given no chance to prove her sanity.

Confined most probably for life behind asylum bars, without even being told in her language the why and wherefore. Compare this with a criminal, who is given every chance to prove his innocence.

Who would not rather be a murderer and take the chance for life than be declared insane, without hope of escape? Schanz begged in German to know where she was, and pleaded for liberty.

Her voice broken by sobs, she was led unheard out to us. Fox was then put through this weak, trifling examination and brought from the office, convicted.

Miss Annie Neville took her turn, and I was again left to the last. I had by this time determined to act as I do when free, except that I would refuse to tell who I was or where my home was.

I went in and was told to sit down opposite Dr. Kinier at the desk. He left us, and I was relieved of my hat and shawl. On his return, he said he had been unable to find the paper, but he related the story of my debut , as he had read it, to the nurse.

Miss Grupe looked, and answered "gray," although everybody had always said my eyes were brown or hazel. By her voice I knew she did not understand yet, but that was no concern of mine, as the doctor seemed to find a pleasure in aiding her.

Then I was put on the scales, and she worked around until she got them to balance. You will have to see for yourself," she replied, calling him by his Christian name, which I have forgotten.

He turned and also addressing her by her baptismal name, he said:. I then told the weight— pounds—to the nurse, and she in turn told the doctor.

He gave the nurse more attention than he did me, and asked her six questions to every one of me. Then he wrote my fate in the book before him.

I said, "I am not sick and I do not want to stay here. No one has a right to shut me up in this manner.

Then they insisted that I should play, and they seated me on a wooden chair before an old-fashioned square.

I struck a few notes, and the untuned response sent a grinding chill through me. I began to play the variations of "Home Sweet Home.

I finished in an aimless fashion and refused all requests to play more. Not seeing an available place to sit, I still occupied the chair in the front of the piano while I "sized up" my surroundings.

It was a long, bare room, with bare yellow benches encircling it. These benches, which were perfectly straight, and just as uncomfortable, would hold five people, although in almost every instance six were crowded on them.

Barred windows, built about five feet from the floor, faced the two double doors which led into the hall. The bare white walls were somewhat relieved by three lithographs, one of Fritz Emmet and the others of negro minstrels.

In the center of the room was a large table covered with a white bed-spread, and around it sat the nurses. Everything was spotlessly clean and I thought what good workers the nurses must be to keep such order.

In a few days after how I laughed at my own stupidity to think the nurses would work. When they found I would not play any more, Miss McCarten came up to me saying, roughly:.

She lifted my dress and skirts and wrote down one pair shoes, one pair stockings, one cloth dress, one straw sailor hat, and so on. T HIS examination over, we heard some one yell, "Go out into the hall.

We late comers tried to keep together, so we entered the hall and stood at the door where all the women had crowded. How we shivered as we stood there!

The windows were open and the draught went whizzing through the hall. The patients looked blue with cold, and the minutes stretched into a quarter of an hour.

At last one of the nurses went forward and unlocked a door, through which we all crowded to a landing of the stairway. Here again came a long halt directly before an open window.

I looked at the poor crazy captives shivering, and added, emphatically, "It's horribly brutal. They looked so lost and hopeless.

Some were chattering nonsense to invisible persons, others were laughing or crying aimlessly, and one old, gray-haired woman was nudging me, and, with winks and sage noddings of the head and pitiful uplifting of the eyes and hands, was assuring me that I must not mind the poor creatures, as they were all mad.

After this third and final halt, we were marched into a long, narrow dining-room, where a rush was made for the table. The table reached the length of the room and was uncovered and uninviting.

Long benches without backs were put for the patients to sit on, and over these they had to crawl in order to face the table.

Placed closed together all along the table were large dressing-bowls filled with a pinkish-looking stuff which the patients called tea.

By each bowl was laid a piece of bread, cut thick and buttered. A small saucer containing five prunes accompanied the bread. One fat woman made a rush, and jerking up several saucers from those around her emptied their contents into her own saucer.

Then while holding to her own bowl she lifted up another and drained its contents at one gulp. This she did to a second bowl in shorter time than it takes to tell it.

Indeed, I was so amused at her successful grabbings that when I looked at my own share the woman opposite, without so much as by your leave, grabbed my bread and left me without any.

Another patient, seeing this, kindly offered me hers, but I declined with thanks and turned to the nurse and asked for more. As she flung a thick piece down on the table she made some remark about the fact that if I forgot where my home was I had not forgotten how to eat.

I tried the bread, but the butter was so horrible that one could not eat it. A blue-eyed German girl on the opposite side of the table told me I could have bread unbuttered if I wished, and that very few were able to eat the butter.

I turned my attention to the prunes and found that very few of them would be sufficient. A patient near asked me to give them to her.

I did so. My bowl of tea was all that was left. I tasted, and one taste was enough. It had no sugar, and it tasted as if it had been made in copper.

It was as weak as water. This was also transferred to a hungrier patient, in spite of the protest of Miss Neville. To have a good brain the stomach must be cared for.

It did not require much time for the patients to consume all that was eatable on the table, and then we got our orders to form in line in the hall.

When this was done the doors before us were unlocked and we were ordered to proceed back to the sitting-room. Many of the patients crowded near us, and I was again urged to play, both by them and by the nurses.

To please the patients I promised to play and Miss Tillie Mayard was to sing. The first thing she asked me to play was "Rock-a-bye Baby," and I did so.

She sang it beautifully. We were taken into a cold, wet bathroom, and I was ordered to undress. Did I protest?

Well, I never grew so earnest in my life as when I tried to beg off. They said if I did not they would use force and that it would not be very gentle.

At this I noticed one of the craziest women in the ward standing by the filled bathtub with a large, discolored rag in her hands.

She was chattering away to herself and chuckling in a manner which seemed to me fiendish. I knew now what was to be done with me.

I shivered. They began to undress me, and one by one they pulled off my clothes. At last everything was gone excepting one garment.

I gave one glance at the group of patients gathered at the door watching the scene, and I jumped into the bathtub with more energy than grace.

The water was ice-cold, and I again began to protest. How useless it all was! I begged, at least, that the patients be made to go away, but was ordered to shut up.

The crazy woman began to scrub me. I can find no other word that will express it but scrubbing. From a small tin pan she took some soft soap and rubbed it all over me, even all over my face and my pretty hair.

I was at last past seeing or speaking, although I had begged that my hair be left untouched. Rub, rub, rub, went the old woman, chattering to herself.

My teeth chattered and my limbs were goose-fleshed and blue with cold. Suddenly I got, one after the other, three buckets of water over my head—ice-cold water, too—into my eyes, my ears, my nose and my mouth.

I think I experienced some of the sensations of a drowning person as they dragged me, gasping, shivering and quaking, from the tub. For once I did look insane.

I caught a glance of the indescribable look on the faces of my companions, who had witnessed my fate and knew theirs was surely following.

Unable to control myself at the absurd picture I presented, I burst into roars of laughter. They put me, dripping wet, into a short canton flannel slip, labeled across the extreme end in large black letters, "Lunatic Asylum, B.

By this time Miss Mayard had been undressed, and, much as I hated my recent bath, I would have taken another if by it I could have saved her the experience.

Imagine plunging that sick girl into a cold bath when it made me, who have never been ill, shake as if with ague. I heard her explain to Miss Grupe that her head was still sore from her illness.

Her hair was short and had mostly come out, and she asked that the crazy woman be made to rub more gently, but Miss Grupe said:.

Shut up, or you'll get it worse. I was hurried into a room where there were six beds, and had been put into bed when some one came along and jerked me out again, saying:.

I was taken to room 28 and left to try and make an impression on the bed. It was an impossible task. The bed had been made high in the center and sloping on either side.

At the first touch my head flooded the pillow with water, and my wet slip transferred some of its dampness to the sheet. When Miss Grupe came in I asked if I could not have a night-gown.

This is charity, and you should be thankful for what you get. A sheet and an oilcloth were under me, and a sheet and black wool blanket above.

I never felt anything so annoying as that wool blanket as I tried to keep it around my shoulders to stop the chills from getting underneath.

When I pulled it up I left my feet bare, and when I pulled it down my shoulders were exposed. There was absolutely nothing in the room but the bed and myself.

As the door had been locked I imagined I should be left alone for the night, but I heard the sound of the heavy tread of two women down the hall.

They stopped at every door, unlocked it, and in a few moments I could hear them relock it. This they did without the least attempt at quietness down the whole length of the opposite side of the hall and up to my room.

Here they paused. The key was inserted in the lock and turned. I watched those about to enter. In they came, dressed in brown and white striped dresses, fastened by brass buttons, large, white aprons, a heavy green cord about the waist, from which dangled a bunch of large keys, and small, white caps on their heads.

Being dressed as were the attendants of the day, I knew they were nurses. The first one carried a lantern, and she flashed its light into my face while she said to her assistant:.

Several times during the night they came into my room, and even had I been able to sleep, the unlocking of the heavy door, their loud talking, and heavy tread, would have awakened me.

I could not sleep, so I lay in bed picturing to myself the horrors in case a fire should break out in the asylum. Every door is locked separately and the windows are heavily barred, so that escape is impossible.

In the one building alone there are, I think Dr. Ingram told me, some three hundred women. They are locked, one to ten to a room.

It is impossible to get out unless these doors are unlocked. A fire is not improbable, but one of the most likely occurrences. Should the building burn, the jailers or nurses would never think of releasing their crazy patients.

This I can prove to you later when I come to tell of their cruel treatment of the poor things intrusted to their care. As I say, in case of fire, not a dozen women could escape.

All would be left to roast to death. Even if the nurses were kind, which they are not, it would require more presence of mind than women of their class possess to risk the flames and their own lives while they unlocked the hundred doors for the insane prisoners.

Unless there is a change there will some day be a tale of horror never equaled. In this connection is an amusing incident which happened just previous to my release.

I was talking with Dr. Ingram about many things, and at last told him what I thought would be the result of a fire.

What would you do? Then there would be some chance of escape. Now, every door being locked separately, there is absolutely none.

I had seen them in the new Western Penitentiary at Pittsburg, Pa. I merely answered:. The inference is conclusive. I laughed very heartily over the implied accusation, and tried to assure him that I had never, up to date, been an inmate of Sing Sing or even ever visited it.

Just as the morning began to dawn I went to sleep. It did not seem many moments until I was rudely awakened and told to get up, the window being opened and the clothing pulled off me.

My hair was still wet and I had pains all through me, as if I had the rheumatism. Some clothing was flung on the floor and I was told to put it on.

I asked for my own, but was told to take what I got and keep quiet by the apparently head nurse, Miss Grady. I looked at it.

One underskirt made of coarse dark cotton goods and a cheap white calico dress with a black spot in it. I tied the strings of the skirt around me and put on the little dress.

It was made, as are all those worn by the patients, into a straight tight waist sewed on to a straight skirt. As I buttoned the waist I noticed the underskirt was about six inches longer than the upper, and for a moment I sat down on the bed and laughed at my own appearance.

No woman ever longed for a mirror more than I did at that moment. I saw the other patients hurrying past in the hall, so I decided not to lose anything that might be going on.

We numbered forty-five patients in Hall 6, and were sent to the bathroom, where there were two coarse towels. I watched crazy patients who had the most dangerous eruptions all over their faces dry on the towels and then saw women with clean skins turn to use them.

I went to the bathtub and washed my face at the running faucet and my underskirt did duty for a towel. Before I had completed my ablutions a bench was brought into the bathroom.

Miss Grupe and Miss McCarten came in with combs in their hands. We were told so sit down on the bench, and the hair of forty-five women was combed with one patient, two nurses, and six combs.

As I saw some of the sore heads combed I thought this was another dose I had not bargained for. Miss Tillie Mayard had her own comb, but it was taken from her by Miss Grady.

Oh, that combing! I never realized before what the expression "I'll give you a combing" meant, but I knew then. My hair, all matted and wet from the night previous, was pulled and jerked, and, after expostulating to no avail, I set my teeth and endured the pain.

They refused to give me my hairpins, and my hair was arranged in one plait and tied with a red cotton rag. My curly bangs refused to stay back, so that at least was left of my former glory.

After this we went to the sitting-room and I looked for my companions. At first I looked vainly, unable to distinguish them from the other patients, but after awhile I recognized Miss Mayard by her short hair.

It's dreadful! My nerves were so unstrung before I came here, and I fear I shall not be able to stand the strain. I did the best I could to cheer her.

I asked that we be given additional clothing, at least as much as custom says women shall wear, but they told me to shut up; that we had as much as they intended to give us.

We were compelled to get up at 5. When we got into the dining-room at last we found a bowl of cold tea, a slice of buttered bread and a saucer of oatmeal, with molasses on it, for each patient.

I was hungry, but the food would not down. I asked for unbuttered bread and was given it. I cannot tell you of anything which is the same dirty, black color.

It was hard, and in places nothing more than dried dough. I found a spider in my slice, so I did not eat it. I tried the oatmeal and molasses, but it was wretched, and so I endeavored, but without much show of success, to choke down the tea.

After we were back to the sitting-room a number of women were ordered to make the beds, and some of the patients were put to scrubbing and others given different duties which covered all the work in the hall.

It is not the attendants who keep the institution so nice for the poor patients, as I had always thought, but the patients, who do it all themselves—even to cleaning the nurses' bedrooms and caring for their clothing.

About 9. I was taken in and my lungs and my heart were examined by the flirty young doctor who was the first to see us the day we entered.

The one who made out the report, if I mistake not, was the assistant superintendent, Ingram. A few questions and I was allowed to return to the sitting-room.

I came in and saw Miss Grady with my note-book and long lead pencil, bought just for the occasion. Some days after I asked Dr. Ingram if I could have it, and he promised to consider the matter.

When I again referred to it, he said that Miss Grady said I only brought a book there; and that I had no pencil. I was provoked, and insisted that I had, whereupon I was advised to fight against the imaginations of my brain.

After the housework was completed by the patients, and as day was fine, but cold, we were told to go out in the hall and get on shawls and hats for a walk.

Poor patients! How eager they were for a breath of air; how eager for a slight release from their prison. They went swiftly into the hall and there was a skirmish for hats.

Such hats! When all the patients had donned the white straw hats, such as bathers wear at Coney Island, I could not but laugh at their comical appearances.

I could not distinguish one woman from another. I lost Miss Neville, and had to take my hat off and search for her. When we met we put our hats on and laughed at one another.

Two by two we formed in line, and guarded by the attendants we went out a back way on to the walks. We had not gone many paces when I saw, proceeding from every walk, long lines of women guarded by nurses.

How many there were! Every way I looked I could see them in the queer dresses, comical straw hats and shawls, marching slowly around.

I eagerly watched the passing lines and a thrill of horror crept over me at the sight. Vacant eyes and meaningless faces, and their tongues uttered meaningless nonsense.

One crowd passed and I noted by nose as well as eyes, that they were fearfully dirty. As the din of their passing faded in the distance there came another sight I can never forget:.

A long cable rope fastened to wide leather belts, and these belts locked around the waists of fifty-two women. At the end of the rope was a heavy iron cart, and in it two women—one nursing a sore foot, another screaming at some nurse, saying: "You beat me and I shall not forget it.

You want to kill me," and then she would sob and cry. The women "on the rope," as the patients call it, were each busy on their individual freaks.

Some were yelling all the while. One who had blue eyes saw me look at her, and she turned as far as she could, talking and smiling, with that terrible, horrifying look of absolute insanity stamped on her.

The doctors might safely judge on her case. The horror of that sight to one who had never been near an insane person before, was something unspeakable.

On they passed, but for their places to be filled by more. Can you imagine the sight? According to one of the physicians there are insane women on Blackwell's Island.

My heart thrilled with pity when I looked on old, gray-haired women talking aimlessly to space. One woman had on a straightjacket, and two women had to drag her along.

Crippled, blind, old, young, homely, and pretty; one senseless mass of humanity. No fate could be worse. I looked at the pretty lawns, which I had once thought was such a comfort to the poor creatures confined on the Island, and laughed at my own notions.

What enjoyment is it to them? They are not allowed on the grass—it is only to look at. I saw some patients eagerly and caressingly lift a nut or a colored leaf that had fallen on the path.

But they were not permitted to keep them. The nurses would always compel them to throw their little bit of God's comfort away. As I passed a low pavilion, where a crowd of helpless lunatics were confined, I read a motto on the wall, "While I live I hope.

I would have liked to put above the gates that open to the asylum, "He who enters here leaveth hope behind. During the walk I was annoyed a great deal by nurses who had heard my romantic story calling to those in charge of us to ask which one I was.

I was pointed out repeatedly. It was not long until the dinner hour arrived and I was so hungry that I felt I could eat anything.

The same old story of standing for a half and three-quarters of an hour in the hall was repeated before we got down to our dinners.

The bowls in which we had had our tea were now filled with soup, and on a plate was one cold boiled potato and a chunk of beef, which on investigation, proved to be slightly spoiled.

There were no knives or forks, and the patients looked fairly savage as they took the tough beef in their fingers and pulled in opposition to their teeth.

Those toothless or with poor teeth could not eat it. One tablespoon was given for the soup, and a piece of bread was the final entree.

Butter is never allowed at dinner nor coffee or tea. Miss Mayard could not eat, and I saw many of the sick ones turn away in disgust.

I was getting very weak from the want of food and tried to eat a slice of bread. After the first few bites hunger asserted itself, and I was able to eat all but the crusts of the one slice.

Superintendent Dent went through the sitting-room, giving an occasional "How do you do? His voice was as cold as the hall, and the patients made no movement to tell him of their sufferings.

I asked some of them to tell how they were suffering from the cold and insufficiency of clothing, but they replied that the nurse would beat them if they told.

I was never so tired as I grew sitting on those benches. Several of the patients would sit on one foot or sideways to make a change, but they were always reproved and told to sit up straight.

If they talked they were scolded and told to shut up; if they wanted to walk around in order to take the stiffness out of them, they were told to sit down and be still.

What, excepting torture, would produce insanity quicker than this treatment? Here is a class of women sent to be cured. I would like the expert physicians who are condemning me for my action, which has proven their ability, to take a perfectly sane and healthy woman, shut her up and make her sit from 6 A.

Two months would make her a mental and physical wreck. I have described my first day in the asylum, and as my other nine were exactly the same in the general run of things it would be tiresome to tell about each.

In giving this story I expect to be contradicted by many who are exposed. I merely tell in common words, without exaggeration, of my life in a mad-house for ten days.

The eating was one of the most horrible things. Excepting the first two days after I entered the asylum, there was no salt for the food. The hungry and even famishing women made an attempt to eat the horrible messes.

Mustard and vinegar were put on meat and in soup to give it a taste, but it only helped to make it worse. Even that was all consumed after two days, and the patients had to try to choke down fresh fish, just boiled in water, without salt, pepper or butter; mutton, beef and potatoes without the faintest seasoning.

The most insane refused to swallow the food and were threatened with punishment. In our short walks we passed the kitchen were food was prepared for the nurses and doctors.

There we got glimpses of melons and grapes and all kinds of fruits, beautiful white bread and nice meats, and the hungry feeling would be increased tenfold.

I spoke to some of the physicians, but it had no effect, and when I was taken away the food was yet unsalted. My heart ached to see the sick patients grow sicker over the table.

I saw Miss Tillie Mayard so suddenly overcome at a bite that she had to rush from the dining-room and then got a scolding for doing so.

When the patients complained of the food they were told to shut up; that they would not have as good if they were at home, and that it was too good for charity patients.

A German girl, Louise—I have forgotten her last name—did not eat for several days and at last one morning she was missing. From the conversation of the nurses I found she was suffering from a high fever.

Poor thing! I watched the nurses make a patient carry such food as the well ones were refusing up to Louise's room. Think of that stuff for a fever patient!

Of course, she refused it. Then I saw a nurse, Miss McCarten, go to test her temperature, and she returned with a report of it being some degrees.

I smiled at the report, and Miss Grupe, seeing it, asked me how high my temperature had ever run. I refused to answer. Miss Grady then decided to try her ability.

She returned with the report of 99 degrees. Miss Tillie Mayard suffered more than any of us from the cold, and yet she tried to follow my advice to be cheerful and try to keep up for a short time.

Superintendent Dent brought in a man to see me. He felt my pulse and my head and examined my tongue. I told them how cold it was, and assured them that I did not need medical aid, but that Miss Mayard did, and they should transfer their attentions to her.

They did not answer me, and I was pleased to see Miss Mayard leave her place and come forward to them. She spoke to the doctors and told them she was ill, but they paid no attention to her.

The nurses came and dragged her back to the bench, and after the doctors left they said, "After awhile, when you see that the doctors will not notice you, you will quit running up to them.

After watching me for awhile he said my face was the brightest he had ever seen for a lunatic. The nurses had on heavy undergarments and coats, but they refused to give us shawls.

Nearly all night long I listened to a woman cry about the cold and beg for God to let her die. Another one yelled "Murder! The second morning, after we had begun our endless "set" for the day, two of the nurses, assisted by some patients, brought the woman in who had begged the night previous for God to take her home.

I was not surprised at her prayer. She appeared easily seventy years old, and she was blind. Although the halls were freezing-cold, that old woman had no more clothing on than the rest of us, which I have described.

When she was brought into the sitting-room and placed on the hard bench, she cried:. I am cold, so cold. Why can't I stay in bed or have a shawl?

Sometimes the attendants would jerk her back to the bench, and again they would let her walk and heartlessly laugh when she bumped against the table or the edge of the benches.

At one time she said the heavy shoes which charity provides hurt her feet, and she took them off. Whatever the reasons, these women suffered on a daily basis.

There was inadequate clothing They were given cold water baths once a week They were given very little in the way of clothing The food was horrible.

Cold tea? Soup for lunch cold was served in the morning's tea cups. Meat was usually next to raw, some had worms, the inmates had no forks or knives and thus ate with their fingers if they ate at all.

The patients were tortured in some ways This book is the accounting of the things Nellie Bly saw and heard I can only say how much I appreciate her efforts to ease the lives of these poor women and those that followed.

Jun 16, Alex rated it it was amazing Shelves: Nellie Bly was the world's first stunt journalist. She traveled around the world in 72 days to beat Phineas Fogg, she documented the conditions of women factory workers, and she faked insanity to get committed to the notorious Blackwell Island.

This is her expose of the conditions there. You too can practice insanity at home! It's a great read: brisk, engaging, convincing.

She describes with authority and empathy the freezing, starving, beating, choking and waterboarding of the poor women interred Nellie Bly was the world's first stunt journalist.

She describes with authority and empathy the freezing, starving, beating, choking and waterboarding of the poor women interred there, some of whom are actually crazy and some rapidly being driven so; it's easy to see why reform came immediately after the piece's publication.

She also can't resist giggling a little over a handsome doctor she meets there, which is weird but charming.

It's about a hundred pages and it reads quickly. Here's the full text, complete with illustrations.

There are also good cheap Kindle versions around. This was excellent. A journalist fakes insanity in order to gain admittance to an insane asylum in She sees some bad shit.

She reports it. A number of reforms are introduced as a result of the bad shit she reports. I can't believe I hadn't heard of this until now.

I listened to the audiobook which was only a couple hours long and the narration was outstanding. Highly recommended.

A non-fiction story by Nellie Bly or as she calls herself in the book Nellie Brown , a reporter in the late s that faked insanity in order to get committed to an asylum in Blackwell Island or as currently called Roosevelt Island in New York City.

Roosevelt Island is a very small island which mainly had hospitals where they would send patients and "the insane" who needed be isolated from the rest of the city.

And after? How to get out? I said, they will get me out. And the fact that she might have been stuck in there is beyond terrifying. For some reason this reminded me of the Bell Jar by Selvia Plath, maybe because patients with mental disorders were sadly treated horribly in both books.

Yet strange to say, the more sanely I talked and acted the crazier I was thought to be Oh God they're monsters The physical examination and diagnosis?!

Then he wrote my fate in the book before him. Nellie Bly, the most renown female journalist of her time, went undercover, spending 10 days in an insane asylum, Blackwell's Island, just off New York City.

She willingly got herself committed, to experience first hand research, for one of her first articles at the World News. Her 10 days were so horrific that she not only wrote this book on her experiences, but was also able to make major changes to the health care system.

This book is the first hand account of Nellie's heroic stay 3. This book is the first hand account of Nellie's heroic stay for 10 days at Blackwell's Island Insane Asylum.

Her own torturous treatment and forced drug use, along with what she witnessed happening to other patients is spelled out in this book.

There is nothing shocking that she revels, since that time frame in history has been well documented for it's cruelty to the poor and deranged.

But to be confirmed, within it's own time, this book was eye opening. Nellie was heralded as a champion of the poor and down trodden and went to extraordinary measures to see that changes were made to the health care system in the way of treatment of our poor and disadvantaged.

There is also a film, of the same name, which details Nellie Bly's experiences. Regardless of the poor quality of the obviously underfunded film, it does depict her time at Blackwell Island.

Jan 17, Wealhtheow rated it liked it Shelves: non-fiction , historical. Nellie Bly was a reporter in New York who convinced the courts that she was insane and got herself locked away at Blackwell's Island.

Her expose of the conditions there led to increased care and resources given to the patients. What really shocked me about this piece was not the terrible treatment the patients endured, but how easily, and on what tenuous grounds, women were declared insane.

View 1 comment. Jul 30, Shirley stampartiste rated it really liked it Shelves: bingo-challenge. What a brave and daring job of investigative reporting Nellie Bly pen name of Elizabeth Jane Cochran undertook in to investigate reports of brutality and neglect at the Women's Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island in New York City!

To think this type of medical "science" was going on in the middle of one of the world's largest cities in an age of supposed "enlightenment".

The sad truth is that the treatment of disturbed individuals didn't really improve for almost another century. But thanks to Nellie Bly, the horrific "diagnosis" and "treatment" of the unfortunate women who found themselves confined to this facility were exposed by Bly's infiltration there.

Bly was truly a courageous woman who was not afraid of breaking barriers. A couple of years ago I did a haunted walking tour in my neighborhood and the person in charge talked about this story.

I was immediately intrigued and when I got home, got online and ordered the book. It proceeded to sit on my shelves and was forgotten for quite some time.

Nellie Bly went undercover in an insane asylum All to try and expose the horrible treatment of the women inside. By this point, we've all seen how patients have been treated in movies and wonder if it's done that savagely as a means of "entertainment" in such series as American Horror Story or movies about the insane.

Sadly to say, it appears to only be a reflection of things that really happened back in the s. Women were beaten, choked, given bread so stale and moldy that sometimes they would find spiders living inside them The abuse of power and the fact that Nellie so easily was committed to Bellevue and then shipped to Blackwell's Island for the Insane is astonishing.

At a mere 96 pages, this is one that will get to you. Ten days well spent in the mad-house for this to have occurred and I'm sure the patients thank her.

I only drop this from a 5 star review to a 4 because I'm picky and noticed quite a few errors in this print that sometimes caused a little bit of confusion in my read.

Oct 29, Roo rated it really liked it. Nellie Bly was a trailblazing reporter around the turn of the century 19thth.

She recounts her time spent in a mental institution, or "lunatic asylum" as they were called in those days. Bly details how she had to act "insane" so that the authorities would send her to Blackwell's Island.

Further, she recounts the conditions that the women had to endure once committed. It's chilling in its details especially when you know that they would never be free again.

Many of the women were not "crazy" Nellie Bly was a trailblazing reporter around the turn of the century 19thth.

Many of the women were not "crazy" but either sick, poor, or spoke foreign languages. The doctors who examined the women and determined their state of mind used ridiculous tests.

Bly would tell them she was not crazy, and asked them how could they determine someone's mental state by looking at their tongues and in their eyes.

The food they were given was disgusting, ice cold baths, no warm clothing, and uncomfortable beds and benches which they had to sit on for hours.

It was just a horrific time when women could be sent to such places by judges after being arrested by the police. At least with the printing of her investigative reporting in the newspapers, 1,, per year was reportedly allotted to the asylum to provide better living conditions to the women and reforms were made.

Expect the writing to be of the time, but entirely engaging and vivid. Mar 25, Myrna rated it really liked it. Very interesting.

Wish it were longer. Nov 26, Owlseyes rated it it was amazing Shelves: some-women-were-just-poor , kept-in-isolation-for-hours , some-women-didn-t-speak-english , endured-horrendous-conditions , blackwell-s-island-insane-asylum , undercover-journalism , admitted-as-patient-in-mental-insti , nellie-brown , psychiatry-psychology , nellie-moreno-from-cuba.

She needs to be put where some one will take care of her. Foolishly enough, it seemed intensely selfish to leave them to their sufferings.

I felt a Quixotic desire to help them by sympathy and presence. But only for a moment. The bars were down and freedom was sweeter to me than ever. She faked insanity and the experts got fooled.

She was pronounced insane and institutionalized in an insane house for 10 terrible [insane! So, it paid off.

Conditions changed. Her true name was Elisabeth Cochran. A sane Journalist. True still, if you entered that house being insane, you would get insaner.

Nellie Bly is an investigative journalist and an extraordinary lady, who faked her own mental ill-health and was institutionalised for ten days.

This allowed her a behind-the-scenes analysis of the state of bedlam during the late 19th century and to publish this account of her time there. The tone was straight-forward and almost conversational throughout and whilst I hold an immense amount of respect for Bly and the trauma she went through, this did read a little unemotionally because of that.

I Nellie Bly is an investigative journalist and an extraordinary lady, who faked her own mental ill-health and was institutionalised for ten days.

I understand, however, that the purpose of this account is to educate and not for enjoyment and I have certainly garnered a better understanding of both the treatment of the 'insane' and Bly herself.

Nov 03, Cynthia rated it really liked it Shelves: books-read-in Nellie Bly, a 20 something 19th century reporter gets herself locked in an asylum.

As expected the conditions are horrible. The food is all but inedible and, like the Woody Allen joke, such small portions.

Occasionally they are tied together with rope and al Nellie Bly, a 20 something 19th century reporter gets herself locked in an asylum.

Occasionally they are tied together with rope and allowed a walk where they encounter more desperately ill patients. The guards beat them for their own amusement and as a form of intimidation.

Even more chilling than the frigid temperature is that Nellie Bly is not the only sane inmate. Once Nellie staged craziness to get admitted to the ward she was her normal self but doctor after doctor declared her nuts!

She was one of the lucky ones though because she had friends on the outside who came to rescue her. When Nellie returned with a contingent of officials she hoped would help improve conditions most of her friends had disappeared or were dead or had become mentally damaged.

View all 8 comments. Jun 18, Kate GirlReading rated it really liked it Shelves: non-fiction. This was fascinating. My heart broke a little every time I reminded myself that it, terrifyingly, wasn't a work of fiction.

Apr 18, Jennifer rated it it was amazing.

Caroline Barry, die von Kandidatinnen den Zuschlag erhielt, wurde von ihm wegen ihres Dauerlächelns Gzg. Kelly LeBrock. Mehr Infos hier. Bilder anzeigen. Christophe Lambert. Crazy Heart. Cured Prodigy - Übernatürlich. Unbestritten ist: Erst Nelly Blys Insider-Bericht Michael Provost in kollektiven Erinnerung haften — wegen seines Einflusses auf das Frauenbild der damaligen Zeit einerseits, wegen seines journalistischen Impacts andererseits.

Once more, guarded by Policeman Brockert, I walked through the little, crowded courtroom. I felt quite proud of myself as I went out a side door into an alleyway, where the ambulance was waiting.

Near the closed and barred gates was a small office occupied by several men and large books. We all went in there, and when they began to ask me questions the doctor interposed and said he had all the papers, and that it was useless to ask me anything further, because I was unable to answer questions.

This was a great relief to me, for my nerves were already feeling the strain. A rough-looking man wanted to put me into the ambulance, but I refused his aid so decidedly that the doctor and policeman told him to desist, and they performed that gallant office themselves.

I did not enter the ambulance without protest. I made the remark that I had never seen a carriage of that make before, and that I did not want to ride in it, but after awhile I let them persuade me, as I had right along intended to do.

I shall never forget that ride. After I was put in flat on the yellow blanket, the doctor got in and sat near the door.

The large gates were swung open, and the curious crowd which had collected swayed back to make way for the ambulance as it backed out.

How they tried to get a glimpse at the supposed crazy girl! The doctor saw that I did not like the people gazing at me, and considerately put down the curtains, after asking my wishes in regard to it.

Still that did not keep the people away. The children raced after us, yelling all sorts of slang expressions, and trying to get a peep under the curtains.

It was quite an interesting drive, but I must say that it was an excruciatingly rough one. I held on, only there was not much to hold on to, and the driver drove as if he feared some one would catch up with us.

A T last Bellevue was reached, the third station on my way to the island. I had passed through successfully the ordeals at the home and at Essex Market Police Court, and now felt confident that I should not fail.

The ambulance stopped with a sudden jerk and the doctor jumped out. A rough-looking man came forward, and catching hold of me attempted to drag me out as if I had the strength of an elephant and would resist.

The doctor, seeing my look of disgust, ordered him to leave me alone, saying that he would take charge of me himself.

He then lifted me carefully out and I walked with the grace of a queen past the crowd that had gathered curious to see the new unfortunate.

Together with the doctor I entered a small dark office, where there were several men. The one behind the desk opened a book and began on the long string of questions which had been asked me so often.

I refused to answer, and the doctor told him it was not necessary to trouble me further, as he had all the papers made out, and I was too insane to be able to tell anything that would be of consequence.

I felt relieved that it was so easy here, as, though still undaunted, I had begun to feel faint for want of food.

The order was then given to take me to the insane pavilion, and a muscular man came forward and caught me so tightly by the arm that a pain ran clear through me.

It made me angry, and for a moment I forgot my role as I turned to him and said:. At this the surgeon said that he would take me, and so we went arm in arm, following the man who had at first been so rough with me.

We passed through the well-cared-for grounds and finally reached the insane ward. A white-capped nurse was there to receive me. I begged him not to go, or to take me with him, but he said he wanted to get his dinner first, and that I should wait there for him.

When I insisted on accompanying him he claimed that he had to assist at an amputation, and it would not look well for me to be present.

It was evident that he believed he was dealing with an insane person. Just then the most horrible insane cries came from a yard in the rear. With all my bravery I felt a chill at the prospect of being shut up with a fellow-creature who was really insane.

The doctor evidently noticed my nervousness, for he said to the attendant;. Turning to me he offered me explanation to the effect that new buildings were being erected, and that the noise came from some of the workmen engaged upon it.

I told him I did not want to stay there without him, and to pacify me he promised soon to return. He left me and I found myself at last an occupant of an insane asylum.

I stood at the door and contemplated the scene before me. The long, uncarpeted hall was scrubbed to that peculiar whiteness seen only in public institutions.

In the rear of the hall were large iron doors fastened by a padlock. Several still-looking benches and a number of willow chairs were the only articles of furniture.

On either side of the hall were doors leading into what I supposed and what proved to be bedrooms. Near the entrance door, on the right-hand side, was a small sitting-room for the nurses, and opposite it was a room where dinner was dished out.

A nurse in a black dress, white cap and apron and armed with a bunch of keys had charge of the hall. I soon learned her name, Miss Ball.

An old Irishwoman was maid-of-all-work. I heard her called Mary, and I am glad to know that there is such a good-hearted woman in that place.

I experienced only kindness and the utmost consideration from her. There were only three patients, as they are called. I made the fourth. I thought I might as well begin work at once, for I still expected that the very first doctor might declare me sane and send me out again into the wide, wide world.

So I went down to the rear of the room and introduced myself to one of the women, and asked her all about herself. Her name, she said, was Miss Anne Neville, and she had been sick from overwork.

She had been working as a chambermaid, and when her health gave way she was sent to some Sisters' Home to be treated.

Her nephew, who was a waiter, was out of work, and, being unable to pay her expenses at the Home, had had her transferred to Bellevue.

The doctors refuse to listen to me, and it is useless to say anything to the nurses. Satisfied from various reasons that Miss Neville was as sane as I was myself, I transferred my attentions to one of the other patients.

I found her in need of medical aid and quite silly mentally, although I have seen many women in the lower walks of life, whose sanity was never questioned, who were not any brighter.

The third patient, Mrs. Fox, would not say much. She was very quiet, and after telling me that her case was hopeless refused to talk.

I began now to feel surer of my position, and I determined that no doctor should convince me that I was sane so long as I had the hope of accomplishing my mission.

A small, fair-complexioned nurse arrived, and, after putting on her cap, told Miss Ball to go to dinner. The new nurse, Miss Scott by name, came to me and said, rudely:.

You might as well know it now as later. You are in an asylum for the insane. Although fully aware of that fact, her unvarnished words gave me a shock.

Will you take it off? Miss Scott was called to the door then, and as I feared that an exhibition of temper might show too much sanity I took off my hat and gloves and was sitting quietly looking into space when she returned.

I was hungry, and was quite pleased to see Mary make preparations for dinner. The preparations were simple.

She merely pulled a straight bench up along the side of a bare table and ordered the patients to gather 'round the feast; then she brought out a small tin plate on which was a piece of boiled meat and a potato.

It could not have been colder had it been cooked the week before, and it had no chance to make acquaintance with salt or pepper. I would not go up to the table, so Mary came to where I sat in a corner, and while handing out the tin plate, asked:.

They'll take them all from ye any way, dearie, so I might as well have them. I understood it fully now, but I had no intention of feeing Mary so early in the game, fearing it would have an influence on her treatment of me, so I said I had lost my purse, which was quite true.

But though I did not give Mary any money, she was none the less kind to me. When I objected to the tin plate in which she had brought my food she fetched a china one for me, and when I found it impossible to eat the food she presented she gave me a glass of milk and a soda cracker.

All the windows in the hall were open and the cold air began to tell on my Southern blood. It grew so cold indeed as to be almost unbearable, and I complained of it to Miss Scott and Miss Ball.

But they answered curtly that as I was in a charity place I could not expect much else. All the other women were suffering from the cold, and the nurses themselves had to wear heavy garments to keep themselves warm.

I asked if I could go to bed. They said "No! So I put the moth-eaten shawl, with all its musty smell, around me, and sat down on a wicker chair, wondering what would come next, whether I should freeze to death or survive.

My nose was very cold, so I covered up my head and was in a half doze, when the shawl was suddenly jerked from my face and a strange man and Miss Scott stood before me.

The man proved to be a doctor, and his first greetings were:. After many more questions, fully as useless and senseless, he left me and began to talk with the nurse.

She needs to be put where some one will take care of her. After this, I began to have a smaller regard for the ability of doctors than I ever had before, and a greater one for myself.

I felt sure now that no doctor could tell whether people were insane or not, so long as the case was not violent. Later in the afternoon a boy and a woman came.

The woman sat down on a bench, while the boy went in and talked with Miss Scott. In a short time he came out, and, just nodding good-bye to the woman, who was his mother, went away.

She did not look insane, but as she was German I could not learn her story. Her name, however, was Mrs. Louise Schanz. She seemed quite lost, but when the nurses put her at some sewing she did her work well and quickly.

At three in the afternoon all the patients were given a gruel broth, and at five a cup of tea and a piece of bread. I was favored; for when they saw that it was impossible for me to eat the bread or drink the stuff honored by the name of tea, they gave me a cup of milk and a cracker, the same as I had had at noon.

Just as the gas was being lighted another patient was added. She was a young girl, twenty-five years old. She told me that she had just gotten up from a sick bed.

Her appearance confirmed her story. She looked like one who had had a severe attack of fever. Then each of us—we now numbered six—were assigned a room and told to undress.

I did so, and was given a short, cotton-flannel gown to wear during the night. Then she took every particle of the clothing I had worn during the day, and, making it up in a bundle, labeled it "Brown," and took it away.

The iron-barred window was locked, and Miss Ball, after giving me an extra blanket, which, she said, was a favor rarely granted, went out and left me alone.

The bed was not a comfortable one. It was so hard, indeed, that I could not make a dent in it; and the pillow was stuffed with straw. Under the sheet was an oilcloth spread.

As the night grew colder I tried to warm that oilcloth. I kept on trying, but when morning dawned and it was still as cold as when I went to bed, and had reduced me too, to the temperature of an iceberg, I gave it up as an impossible task.

I had hoped to get some rest on this my first night in an insane asylum. But I was doomed to disappointment.

When the night nurses came in they were curious to see me and to find out what I was like. No sooner had they left than I heard some one at my door inquiring for Nellie Brown, and I began to tremble, fearing always that my sanity would be discovered.

By listening to the conversation I found it was a reporter in search of me, and I heard him ask for my clothing so that he might examine it.

I listened quite anxiously to the talk about me, and was relieved to learn that I was considered hopelessly insane.

That was encouraging. After the reporter left I heard new arrivals, and I learned that a doctor was there and intended to see me.

For what purpose I knew not, and I imagined all sorts of horrible things, such as examinations and the rest of it, and when they got to my room I was shaking with more than fear.

If that's all he wanted I thought I could endure it. I removed the blanket which I had put over my head in my sudden fright and looked up.

The sight was reassuring. He was a handsome young man. He had the air and address of a gentleman. Some people have since censured this action; but I feel sure, even if it was a little indiscreet, that they young doctor only meant kindness to me.

He came forward, seated himself on the side of my bed, and put his arm soothingly around my shoulders. It was a terrible task to play insane before this young man, and only a girl can sympathize with me in my position.

He was accompanied by a friend who never ventured a remark, but stood staring at me as I lay in bed. After a great many questions, to which I answered truthfully, he left me.

Then came other troubles. All night long the nurses read one to the other aloud, and I know that the other patients, as well as myself, were unable to sleep.

Every half-hour or hour they would walk heavily down the halls, their boot-heels resounding like the march of a private of dragoons, and take a look at every patient.

Of course this helped to keep us awake. Then as it came toward morning, they began to beat eggs for breakfast, and the sound made me realize how horribly hungry I was.

Occasional yells and cries came from the male department, and that did not aid in making the night pass more cheerfully. Then the ambulance-gong, as it brought in more unfortunates, sounded as a knell to life and liberty.

Thus I passed my first night as an insane girl at Bellevue. A T 6 o'clock on Sunday morning, Sept. My clothing was then returned to me. After dressing I was shown to a washstand, where all the other patients were trying to rid their faces of all traces of sleep.

At 7 o'clock we were given some horrible mess, which Mary told us was chicken broth. The cold, from which we had suffered enough the day previous, was bitter, and when I complained to the nurse she said it was one of the rules of the institution not to turn the heat on until October, and so we would have to endure it, as the steam-pipes had not even been put in order.

The night nurses then, arming themselves with scissors, began to play manicure on the patients. They cut my nails to the quick, as they did those of several of the other patients.

Shortly after this a handsome young doctor made his appearance and I was conducted into the sitting-room. I did not want to come here, but they brought me.

I want to go away. Won't you let me out? Won't you run away from me when you get on the street? He asked me many other questions.

Did I ever see faces on the wall? Did I ever hear voices around? I answered him to the best of my ability.

But sometimes, very often, they talk about Nellie Brown, and then on other subjects that do not interest me half so much," I answered, truthfully.

With this I was led away and another patient was taken in. I sat right outside the door and waited to hear how he would test the sanity of the other patients.

With little variation the examination was exactly the same as mine. All the patients were asked if they saw faces on the wall, heard voices, and what they said.

I might also add each patient denied any such peculiar freaks of sight and hearing. At 10 o'clock we were given a cup of unsalted beef tea; at noon a bit of cold meat and a potatoe, at 3 o'clock a cup of oatmeal gruel and at 5.

We were all cold and hungry. After the physician left we were given shawls and told to walk up and down the halls in order to get warm. During the day the pavilion was visited by a number of people who were curious to see the crazy girl from Cuba.

I kept my head covered, on the plea of being cold, for fear some of the reporters would recognize me. Some of the visitors were apparently in search of a missing girl, for I was made take down the shawl repeatedly, and after they looked at me they would say, "I don't know her," "or [sic], "she is not the one," for which I was secretly thankful.

Warden O'Rourke visited me, and tried his arts on an examination. Then he brought some well-dressed women and some gentlemen at different times to have a glance at the mysterious Nellie Brown.

The reporters were the most troublesome. Such a number of them! And they were all so bright and clever that I was terribly frightened lest they should see that I was sane.

They were very kind and nice to me, and very gentle in all their questionings. My late visitor the night previous came to the window while some reporters were interviewing me in the sitting-room, and told the nurse to allow them to see me, as they would be of assistance in finding some clew as to my identity.

In the afternoon Dr. Field came and examined me. He asked me only a few questions, and one that had no bearing on such a case.

The chief question was of my home and friends, and if I had any lovers or had ever been married. Then he made me stretch out my arms and move my fingers, which I did without the least hesitation, yet I heard him say my case was hopeless.

The other patients were asked the same questions. As the doctor was about to leave the pavilion Miss Tillie Mayard discovered that she was in an insane ward.

She went to Dr. Field and asked him why she had been sent there. I want to get out of this place immediately. Why don't you test me?

Sunday night was but a repetition of Saturday. All night long we were kept awake by the talk of the nurses and their heavy walking through the uncarpeted halls.

On Monday morning we were told that we should be taken away at 1. The nurses questioned me unceasingly about my home, and all seemed to have an idea that I had a lover who had cast me forth on the world and wrecked my brain.

The morning brought many reporters. How untiring they are in their efforts to get something new. Miss Scott refused to allow me to be seen, however, and for this I was thankful.

Had they been given free access to me, I should probably not have been a mystery long, for many of them knew me by sight. Warden O'Rourke came for a final visit and had a short conversation with me.

He wrote his name in my notebook, saying to the nurse that I would forget all about it in an hour. I smiled and thought I wasn't sure of that.

Other people called to see me, but none knew me or could give any information about me. Noon came. I grew nervous as the time approached to leave for the Island.

I dreaded every new arrival, fearful that my secret would be discovered at the last moment. Then I was given a shawl and my hat and gloves.

I could hardly put them on, my nerves were so unstrung. At last the attendant arrived, and I bade good-bye to Mary as I slipped "a few pennies" into her hand.

Cheer up, dearie. You are young, and will get over this. The rough-looking attendant twisted his arms around mine, and half-led, half-dragged me to an ambulance.

A crowd of the students had assembled, and they watched us curiously. I put the shawl over my face, and sank thankfully into the wagon.

Miss Neville, Miss Mayard, Mrs. Fox, and Mrs. Schanz were all put in after me, one at a time. A man got in with us, the doors were locked, and we were driven out of the gates in great style on toward the Insane Asylum and victory!

The patients made no move to escape. The odor of the male attendant's breath was enough to make one's head swim. When we reached the wharf such a mob of people crowded around the wagon that the police were called to put them away, so that we could reach the boat.

I was the last of the procession. I was escorted down the plank, the fresh breeze blowing the attendants' whisky breath into my face until I staggered.

I was taken into a dirty cabin, where I found my companions seated on a narrow bench. The small windows were closed, and, with the smell of the filthy room, the air was stifling.

At one end of the cabin was a small bunk in such a condition that I had to hold my nose when I went near it. A sick girl was put on it. An old woman, with an enormous bonnet and a dirty basket filled with chunks of bread and bits of scrap meat, completed our company.

The door was guarded by two female attendants. One was clad in a dress made of bed-ticking and the other was dressed with some attempt at style.

They were coarse, massive women, and expectorated tobacco juice about on the floor in a manner more skillful than charming. One of these fearful creatures seemed to have much faith in the power of the glance on insane people, for, when any one of us would move or go to look out of the high window she would say "Sit down," and would lower her brows and glare in a way that was simply terrifying.

While guarding the door they talked with some men on the outside. They discussed the number of patients and then their own affairs in a manner neither edifying nor refined.

The boat stopped and the old woman and the sick girl were taken off. The rest of us were told to sit still. At the next stop my companions were taken off, one at a time.

I was last, and it seemed to require a man and a woman to lead me up the plank to reach the shore.

An ambulance was standing there, and in it were the four other patients. With this I was shoved into the ambulance, the springboard was put up, an officer and a mail-carrier jumped on behind, and I was swiftly driven to the Insane Asylum on Blackwell's Island.

A S the wagon was rapidly driven through the beautiful lawns up to the asylum my feelings of satisfaction at having attained the object of my work were greatly dampened by the look of distress on the faces of my companions.

Poor women, they had no hopes of a speedy delivery. They were being driven to a prison, through no fault of their own, in all probability for life.

In comparison, how much easier it would be to walk to the gallows than to this tomb of living horrors! On the wagon sped, and I, as well as my comrades, gave a despairing farewell glance at freedom as we came in sight of the long stone buildings.

We passed one low building, and the stench was so horrible that I was compelled to hold my breath, and I mentally decided that it was the kitchen.

I afterward found I was correct in my surmise, and smiled at the signboard at the end of the walk: "Visitors are not allowed on this road.

The wagon stopped, and the nurse and officer in charge told us to get out. The nurse added: "Thank God!

I wondered if my companions knew where we were, so I said to Miss Tillie Mayard:. They will be few, though, if all the doctors, as Dr. Field, refuse to listen to me or give me a chance to prove my sanity.

In spite of the knowledge of my sanity and the assurance that I would be released in a few days, my heart gave a sharp twinge. Pronounced insane by four expert doctors and shut up behind the unmerciful bolts and bars of a madhouse!

Not to be confined alone, but to be a companion, day and night, of senseless, chattering lunatics; to sleep with them, to eat with them, to be considered one of them, was an uncomfortable position.

Timidly we followed the nurse up the long uncarpeted hall to a room filled by so-called crazy women. We were told to sit down, and some of the patients kindly made room for us.

They looked at us curiously, and one came up to me and asked:. This woman was too clever, I concluded, and was glad to answer the roughly given orders to follow the nurse to see the doctor.

This nurse, Miss Grupe, by the way, had a nice German face, and if I had not detected certain hard lines about the mouth I might have expected, as did my companions, to receive but kindness from her.

She left us in a small waiting-room at the end of the hall, and left us alone while she went into a small office opening into the sitting or receiving-room.

Miss Mayard obeyed, and, though I could not see into the office, I could hear her gently but firmly pleading her case. All her remarks were as rational as any I ever heard, and I thought no good physician could help but be impressed with her story.

She told of her recent illness, that she was suffering from nervous debility. She begged that they try all their tests for insanity, if they had any, and give her justice.

Poor girl, how my heart ached for her! I determined then and there that I would try by every means to make my mission of benefit to my suffering sisters; that I would show how they are committed without ample trial.

Without one word of sympathy or encouragement she was brought back to where we sat. She answered in German, saying she did not speak English nor could she understand it.

However, when he said Mrs. Louise Schanz, she said "Yah, yah. Miss Grupe proved to be one of those people who are ashamed of their nationality, and she refused, saying she could understand but few worlds of her mother tongue.

Ask this woman what her husband does," and they both laughed as if they were enjoying a joke. Thus was Mrs.

Louise Schanz consigned to the asylum without a chance of making herself understood. Can such carelessness be excused, I wonder, when it is so easy to get an interpreter?

If the confinement was but for a few days one might question the necessity. But here was a woman taken without her own consent from the free world to an asylum and there given no chance to prove her sanity.

Confined most probably for life behind asylum bars, without even being told in her language the why and wherefore. Compare this with a criminal, who is given every chance to prove his innocence.

Who would not rather be a murderer and take the chance for life than be declared insane, without hope of escape? Schanz begged in German to know where she was, and pleaded for liberty.

Her voice broken by sobs, she was led unheard out to us. Fox was then put through this weak, trifling examination and brought from the office, convicted.

Miss Annie Neville took her turn, and I was again left to the last. I had by this time determined to act as I do when free, except that I would refuse to tell who I was or where my home was.

I went in and was told to sit down opposite Dr. Kinier at the desk. He left us, and I was relieved of my hat and shawl.

On his return, he said he had been unable to find the paper, but he related the story of my debut , as he had read it, to the nurse.

Miss Grupe looked, and answered "gray," although everybody had always said my eyes were brown or hazel. By her voice I knew she did not understand yet, but that was no concern of mine, as the doctor seemed to find a pleasure in aiding her.

Then I was put on the scales, and she worked around until she got them to balance. You will have to see for yourself," she replied, calling him by his Christian name, which I have forgotten.

He turned and also addressing her by her baptismal name, he said:. I then told the weight— pounds—to the nurse, and she in turn told the doctor.

He gave the nurse more attention than he did me, and asked her six questions to every one of me. Then he wrote my fate in the book before him.

I said, "I am not sick and I do not want to stay here. No one has a right to shut me up in this manner. Then they insisted that I should play, and they seated me on a wooden chair before an old-fashioned square.

I struck a few notes, and the untuned response sent a grinding chill through me. I began to play the variations of "Home Sweet Home.

I finished in an aimless fashion and refused all requests to play more. Not seeing an available place to sit, I still occupied the chair in the front of the piano while I "sized up" my surroundings.

It was a long, bare room, with bare yellow benches encircling it. These benches, which were perfectly straight, and just as uncomfortable, would hold five people, although in almost every instance six were crowded on them.

Barred windows, built about five feet from the floor, faced the two double doors which led into the hall. The bare white walls were somewhat relieved by three lithographs, one of Fritz Emmet and the others of negro minstrels.

In the center of the room was a large table covered with a white bed-spread, and around it sat the nurses. Everything was spotlessly clean and I thought what good workers the nurses must be to keep such order.

In a few days after how I laughed at my own stupidity to think the nurses would work. When they found I would not play any more, Miss McCarten came up to me saying, roughly:.

She lifted my dress and skirts and wrote down one pair shoes, one pair stockings, one cloth dress, one straw sailor hat, and so on.

T HIS examination over, we heard some one yell, "Go out into the hall. We late comers tried to keep together, so we entered the hall and stood at the door where all the women had crowded.

How we shivered as we stood there! The windows were open and the draught went whizzing through the hall. The patients looked blue with cold, and the minutes stretched into a quarter of an hour.

At last one of the nurses went forward and unlocked a door, through which we all crowded to a landing of the stairway.

Here again came a long halt directly before an open window. I looked at the poor crazy captives shivering, and added, emphatically, "It's horribly brutal.

They looked so lost and hopeless. Some were chattering nonsense to invisible persons, others were laughing or crying aimlessly, and one old, gray-haired woman was nudging me, and, with winks and sage noddings of the head and pitiful uplifting of the eyes and hands, was assuring me that I must not mind the poor creatures, as they were all mad.

After this third and final halt, we were marched into a long, narrow dining-room, where a rush was made for the table. The table reached the length of the room and was uncovered and uninviting.

Long benches without backs were put for the patients to sit on, and over these they had to crawl in order to face the table. Placed closed together all along the table were large dressing-bowls filled with a pinkish-looking stuff which the patients called tea.

By each bowl was laid a piece of bread, cut thick and buttered. A small saucer containing five prunes accompanied the bread.

One fat woman made a rush, and jerking up several saucers from those around her emptied their contents into her own saucer.

Then while holding to her own bowl she lifted up another and drained its contents at one gulp. This she did to a second bowl in shorter time than it takes to tell it.

View 2 comments. This was amazing and horrifying. In Nellie Bly faked insanity and spent 10 days in an insane asylum so she could report on the conditions.

The conditions were horrendous at best. There were beatings, cold baths in the same water as all the other "prisoners', inedible food, extreme cold conditions and the list goes on and on.

Due to her bravery and reporting skills she was able to improve conditions and get more money allocated to treatment of the insane then ever had before.

I do not know where to even start with this. The fact that this was non fiction just blew my mind. I've read fiction books that take place in mad houses during the 19th century, but the fiction was more of a reality than I had originally thought.

Nellie Bly is a journalist and gets an assignment in to go undercover and spend ten days in a mad-house and report her findings.

She goes about this by purchasing a room in a women's boarding house and acting peculiar. She says that all the other wo I do not know where to even start with this.

She says that all the other women are crazy; she sits up all night; she keeps asking where her trunks are. None of this is even remotely crazy behavior, but the other boarders become agitated and the police are called in.

Just goes to show how quickly a label was placed on somebody. When Nellie is in the mad house, she discovers that absolutely nothing is being done to help anyone, and just how quickly women were admitted.

Some women were just getting over physical illnesses, some women couldn't even speak English! Nellie acts perfectly sane once she arrives, but no matter what she says, it's blown over as 'ravings.

And the doctors do absolutely nothing. They do not even listen to the women. Everything they say is written off as ravings of a mad woman. The women were fed food that wasn't even fit for animal consumption.

There was absolutely no heat, so the women practically froze to death. The women were given baths in cold water that wasn't even changed until the water got thick.

The nurses used physical violence, along with agitating some of the women to act mad in front of the doctors. Some women were afraid to report this to the doctors, but it was no use if they did, because the doctors didn't listen, anyhow.

There were no activities to stimulate the minds of the patients, so, if anything, these so-call "hospitals' actually made most of the patients - who weren't even mad to begin with - actually mad.

When Bly left, her reports launched a jury investigation, and surprise surprise! Things started to improve. This book was riveting.

It made me angry; it disgusted me. Nellie Bly was truly an amazing woman. I suggest reading more about her. This was an assignment given to her by Joseph Pulitzer.

It is so hard to read this account in At that time there were women imprisoned.. Whatever the reasons, these women suffered on a daily basis.

There was inadequate clothing They were given cold water baths once a week They were given very little in the way of clothing The food was horrible.

Cold tea? Soup for lunch cold was served in the morning's tea cups. Meat was usually next to raw, some had worms, the inmates had no forks or knives and thus ate with their fingers if they ate at all.

The patients were tortured in some ways This book is the accounting of the things Nellie Bly saw and heard I can only say how much I appreciate her efforts to ease the lives of these poor women and those that followed.

Jun 16, Alex rated it it was amazing Shelves: Nellie Bly was the world's first stunt journalist. She traveled around the world in 72 days to beat Phineas Fogg, she documented the conditions of women factory workers, and she faked insanity to get committed to the notorious Blackwell Island.

This is her expose of the conditions there. You too can practice insanity at home! It's a great read: brisk, engaging, convincing. She describes with authority and empathy the freezing, starving, beating, choking and waterboarding of the poor women interred Nellie Bly was the world's first stunt journalist.

She describes with authority and empathy the freezing, starving, beating, choking and waterboarding of the poor women interred there, some of whom are actually crazy and some rapidly being driven so; it's easy to see why reform came immediately after the piece's publication.

She also can't resist giggling a little over a handsome doctor she meets there, which is weird but charming.

It's about a hundred pages and it reads quickly. Here's the full text, complete with illustrations. There are also good cheap Kindle versions around.

This was excellent. A journalist fakes insanity in order to gain admittance to an insane asylum in She sees some bad shit. She reports it.

A number of reforms are introduced as a result of the bad shit she reports. I can't believe I hadn't heard of this until now.

I listened to the audiobook which was only a couple hours long and the narration was outstanding.

Highly recommended. A non-fiction story by Nellie Bly or as she calls herself in the book Nellie Brown , a reporter in the late s that faked insanity in order to get committed to an asylum in Blackwell Island or as currently called Roosevelt Island in New York City.

Roosevelt Island is a very small island which mainly had hospitals where they would send patients and "the insane" who needed be isolated from the rest of the city.

And after? How to get out? I said, they will get me out. And the fact that she might have been stuck in there is beyond terrifying.

For some reason this reminded me of the Bell Jar by Selvia Plath, maybe because patients with mental disorders were sadly treated horribly in both books.

Yet strange to say, the more sanely I talked and acted the crazier I was thought to be Oh God they're monsters The physical examination and diagnosis?!

Then he wrote my fate in the book before him. Nellie Bly, the most renown female journalist of her time, went undercover, spending 10 days in an insane asylum, Blackwell's Island, just off New York City.

She willingly got herself committed, to experience first hand research, for one of her first articles at the World News.

Her 10 days were so horrific that she not only wrote this book on her experiences, but was also able to make major changes to the health care system.

This book is the first hand account of Nellie's heroic stay 3. This book is the first hand account of Nellie's heroic stay for 10 days at Blackwell's Island Insane Asylum.

Her own torturous treatment and forced drug use, along with what she witnessed happening to other patients is spelled out in this book. There is nothing shocking that she revels, since that time frame in history has been well documented for it's cruelty to the poor and deranged.

But to be confirmed, within it's own time, this book was eye opening. Nellie was heralded as a champion of the poor and down trodden and went to extraordinary measures to see that changes were made to the health care system in the way of treatment of our poor and disadvantaged.

There is also a film, of the same name, which details Nellie Bly's experiences. Regardless of the poor quality of the obviously underfunded film, it does depict her time at Blackwell Island.

Jan 17, Wealhtheow rated it liked it Shelves: non-fiction , historical. Nellie Bly was a reporter in New York who convinced the courts that she was insane and got herself locked away at Blackwell's Island.

Her expose of the conditions there led to increased care and resources given to the patients. What really shocked me about this piece was not the terrible treatment the patients endured, but how easily, and on what tenuous grounds, women were declared insane.

View 1 comment. Jul 30, Shirley stampartiste rated it really liked it Shelves: bingo-challenge. What a brave and daring job of investigative reporting Nellie Bly pen name of Elizabeth Jane Cochran undertook in to investigate reports of brutality and neglect at the Women's Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island in New York City!

To think this type of medical "science" was going on in the middle of one of the world's largest cities in an age of supposed "enlightenment". The sad truth is that the treatment of disturbed individuals didn't really improve for almost another century.

But thanks to Nellie Bly, the horrific "diagnosis" and "treatment" of the unfortunate women who found themselves confined to this facility were exposed by Bly's infiltration there.

Bly was truly a courageous woman who was not afraid of breaking barriers. A couple of years ago I did a haunted walking tour in my neighborhood and the person in charge talked about this story.

I was immediately intrigued and when I got home, got online and ordered the book. It proceeded to sit on my shelves and was forgotten for quite some time.

Nellie Bly went undercover in an insane asylum All to try and expose the horrible treatment of the women inside.

By this point, we've all seen how patients have been treated in movies and wonder if it's done that savagely as a means of "entertainment" in such series as American Horror Story or movies about the insane.

Sadly to say, it appears to only be a reflection of things that really happened back in the s. Women were beaten, choked, given bread so stale and moldy that sometimes they would find spiders living inside them The abuse of power and the fact that Nellie so easily was committed to Bellevue and then shipped to Blackwell's Island for the Insane is astonishing.

At a mere 96 pages, this is one that will get to you. Ten days well spent in the mad-house for this to have occurred and I'm sure the patients thank her.

I only drop this from a 5 star review to a 4 because I'm picky and noticed quite a few errors in this print that sometimes caused a little bit of confusion in my read.

Oct 29, Roo rated it really liked it. Nellie Bly was a trailblazing reporter around the turn of the century 19thth.

She recounts her time spent in a mental institution, or "lunatic asylum" as they were called in those days. Bly details how she had to act "insane" so that the authorities would send her to Blackwell's Island.

Further, she recounts the conditions that the women had to endure once committed. It's chilling in its details especially when you know that they would never be free again.

Many of the women were not "crazy" Nellie Bly was a trailblazing reporter around the turn of the century 19thth. Many of the women were not "crazy" but either sick, poor, or spoke foreign languages.

The doctors who examined the women and determined their state of mind used ridiculous tests. Bly would tell them she was not crazy, and asked them how could they determine someone's mental state by looking at their tongues and in their eyes.

The food they were given was disgusting, ice cold baths, no warm clothing, and uncomfortable beds and benches which they had to sit on for hours.

It was just a horrific time when women could be sent to such places by judges after being arrested by the police. At least with the printing of her investigative reporting in the newspapers, 1,, per year was reportedly allotted to the asylum to provide better living conditions to the women and reforms were made.

Expect the writing to be of the time, but entirely engaging and vivid. Mar 25, Myrna rated it really liked it. She refused to go to bed, telling the boarders that she was afraid of them and that they looked "crazy.

Taken to a courtroom, she claimed to have amnesia. The judge concluded she had been drugged. Several doctors then examined her; all declared her insane.

She needs to be put where someone will take care of her. The New York Times wrote of the "mysterious waif" with the "wild, haunted look in her eyes" and her desperate cry: "I can't remember I can't remember.

Once admitted to the asylum, Bly abandoned any pretense at mental illness and began to behave as she would normally. The hospital staff seemed unaware that she was no longer "insane" and instead began to report her ordinary actions as symptoms of her illness.

Even her pleas to be released were interpreted as further signs of mental illness. Speaking with her fellow patients, Bly was convinced that some were as "sane" as she was.

Bly experienced the deplorable conditions firsthand. The nurses behaved obnoxiously and abusively, telling the patients to shut up, and beating them if they did not.

The food consisted of gruel broth, spoiled beef, bread that was little more than dried dough, and dirty undrinkable water.

The dangerous patients were tied together with ropes. The patients were made to sit for much of each day on hard benches with scant protection from the cold.

Waste was all around the eating places. Rats crawled all around the hospital. On the effect of her experiences, she wrote:.

What, excepting torture, would produce insanity quicker than this treatment? Here is a class of women sent to be cured.

I would like the expert physicians who are condemning me for my action, which has proven their ability, to take a perfectly sane and healthy woman, shut her up and make her sit from 6 a.

Two months would make her a mental and physical wreck. A particularly memorable experience for Nellie were the baths that the patients received.

The bathwater was frigid and buckets of it were poured over their heads, after which the patients were roughly washed and scrubbed by attendants.

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