One scene from my novel is set in an insane asylum. Yeah, I know. Scary stuff, right?
Just hearing the words “insane asylum” conjures up images of tortured souls and inhumane treatments: mutilations, lobotomies, electroshock therapy and even castration. In fact, the insane asylum in my novel–the Essex County Hospital for the Insane (also known as Overbrook)–has been featured on several reality ghost-hunting shows. Today, most of its buildings have been demolished to make room for a public park, but home videos such as the following still capture the haunting beauty of the place.
So, am I writing a horror story? Well, no. In fact, the scene in my novel, while sad, is not at all scary. It’s set in 1900, when the first and (at that time) only building at Overbrook had been in use less than two years. Built on 300 farm acres in Cedar Grove, New Jersey, the hospital housed 244 patients at that time, 102 male and 142 female. Its main purpose was to ease the overcrowded conditions of the original Essex County Hospital for the Insane located on South Orange Avenue in Newark. The history that became fodder for its ghost tales had yet to happen.
Instead, during the 1890s, the hospital had gained a reputation as a model for other county asylums across the country. Its superintendent, Dr. Livingston Hinckley, had incorporated many innovative practices to keep his patients amused and occupied, including a day school for the patients and a monthly newspaper, edited by patients. He clearly subscribed to the common theory of the Victorian time period that the best way to treat insanity was to keep the patients busy. Overbrook, with its rural setting, offered opportunities for outdoor activity and plenty of fresh air and sunshine—all benefits that would have been considered ideal for treating the insane.
That’s not to say that all treatments for the patients at that time were benign. Dr. Hinckley was also an advocate of mechanical restraints, such as canvas muffs or padded leather straps, for his more violent and agitated patients.
Another treatment gaining popularity among asylums was hydrotherapy. Used extensively in Europe to calm aggressive patients, doctors championed this method in medical journals as a more humane alternative to chains and handcuffs. Hydrotherapy treatments were varied, with some as simple as an icepack to the head or feet. More extensive treatments included continuous warm baths where a patient was suspended on a canvas hammock in a tub of warm water for several hours or sometimes overnight. Probably most uncomfortable was the practice of wrapping the patient in a cocoon of wet sheets for extended periods of time. Some patients were kept restrained in this manner for days. Another that was often misused was spraying a patient’s spine and legs with jets of cold water.
Still, though unsettling, a trip to the insane asylum in the late 19th century would probably have been no more horrifying than a visit to a psychiatric ward would today.
Year: 2011
The Bane of 19th-century Urban Planners
When doctors told their urban patients to leave the polluted environs of the city to find fresher, more wholesome climates, they had good reason. The urban centers of the industrial age were not pretty places to live. Between overcrowded living conditions, poor disposal of sewage and garbage, unregulated factories spewing their poisonous wastes into the air and water, it’s a wonder any of the city’s inhabitants enjoyed good health at all.
Yet, in researching the sights, smells and sounds of big city living, I was surprised to find that the culprit blamed for most of the urban pollution at the time, described by one New York City authority at the turn-of-the-century as ‘an economic burden, an affront to cleanliness and a terrible tax on human life,’ was not any of the above-mentioned ills, but was in fact, the horse. Yep. That’s right. The horse.
That romantic image of our bygone eras was (in the cities at least) a problem so complex that in 1898 it shut down a scheduled ten-day international convention on urban planning in just three short days. What to do with the poo was the insurmountable question of the day. Sanitary experts at that time estimated that a single horse would produce, on average, 22 lbs. of manure a day and about a quart of urine. Multiply that by the more than 100,000 horses found in New York City alone in 1900 and, well, I’m not a math whiz, but even I can tell you, that’s a whole load of by-product to contend with.
Vacant lots were piled high with the stuff, sometimes as deep as 40-60 feet. One late 19th-century doomsayer predicted that by the 1930s the streets of New York would all be piled in manure as deep as the city’s 3rd-story windows if something wasn’t done about it. Not only was the problem a smelly one, it was also a major health issue. I’ve been around enough barns to know that where there is manure, there are also flies, and lots of them. Health officials in 1900 estimated around 3 billion flies were hatched per day in the horse manure of US cities, each one a potential bearer of disease.
And manure wasn’t the only issue. Urban horses were often the victims of accidents and ill-usage (think Mr. Nicholas Skinner in Black Beauty). In 1880 New York City removed an average of 41 horse carcasses a day from its city streets. The following picture, taken in the early 1900s, shows children playing in the street right next to a dead horse. If that doesn’t scream “health issue,” I don’t know what does.
It’s really no wonder our 19th-century forbears hailed the “horseless carriage” as the answer to all their environmental woes. Ironic, I know, but maybe not as far-fetched as it seems. Did you know that manure produces methane gas that is eight times more potent to global warming than CO2? Certainly something to ponder.
Trolleys & Baseball
Here’s a fun bit of sports trivia I ran across in my research. It has absolutely nothing to do with my novel, but the fact has stuck with me just the same. Did you know that the Brooklyn Dodgers (currently the LA Dodgers) were originally named the Trolley Dodgers? Kinda puts a whole new spin on the name, doesn’t it? Here I’d always thought their name was more sports related, unlike some of their comtemporaries whose only distinguishing characteristic (apparently) was the color of their socks.
In my mind, “dodger” implied they were good at dodging around the bases or dodging foul balls. (Of course, that assumption may very well have been based on my own inclination to avoid the ball at all possible costs when engaged in any type of ballgame, and not necessarily on a particular skill inherent to the game of baseball.) But somehow I never figured the object they were dodging was trolleys. Really? How hard could that be?
And then I ran across this video making the rounds on the Internet at that time.
Suddenly, I developed a whole new appreciation for those trolley-dodging ball players. Apparently, trolleys weren’t their only worry. They might dodge a trolley only to find themselves in the path of a galloping horse or a speeding bicycle or maybe even one of those erratic drivers of the new-fangled automobiles. Traffic rules seemed fairly non-existent.
And keep in mind, this video shows San Francisco, a city of around 350,000 people at that time. Though big enough to be ranked the 9th largest American city back then, it could hardly measure up to New York City with its population of over three million. No, these Trolley-Dodgers were from Brooklyn, a borough that boasted a population of more than a million and was serviced by one of the most extensive trolley systems in the nation. I’m thinking trolley dodging in Brooklyn was not a skill to be scoffed at.
Still, I can understand why the trolley part was dropped. For one, it’s a heck of a moniker to be using in cheers. For another, the age of the trolley was fairly short-lived.
But lest you think I’m being a tad critical of these turn-of-the-century team names, keep in mind, my own state’s beloved Cornhuskers were named the Bugeaters around that time. Thank goodness, that name didn’t stick.
How about you? Know of any other unusual team names?