I met Elizabeth Cochrane at a convention for woman's suffrage. We got to talking, and I learned that she was currently a writer, but was going to become an investigative journalist. I exclaimed that I was also thinking about being one, and she gave me her address so we could write back and fourth.
About a month later I received an article called What Girls are Good For. I read it, impressed with the author's persuasive writing ability, only to find that Elizabeth had written it! I was so impressed, not only because the article had many reviews, but also because she had gone through with her goals to become an investigative journalist, as I had not yet. Attached to the article was a letter.
Dear Jane,
Greetings! Did you like the article I sent you? I have been praised by women, but brought down by men. I think it might help us gain some rights! How have you been? Have you pursued your career yet? I certainly hope so, because I need your help with something. I recently learned about an insane asylum close to my home that has been rumored to be extremely harsh to the patients being treated there. Would you join me in an undercover mission to prove these rumors to be true? I would love your help
Sincerely,
Elizabeth Cochrane
I looked at the letter, and knew I would be going to New York. It would be the start of my career in investigative journalism! I packed all my suitcases, and hopped on a train to New York City right away.
Elisabeth met me at the station and instructed me to call her Nellie Bly. That was her pen name because women aren't aloud to use their real names when they publish their work. She told me I should come up with one too, so I used Jane Locke, the name I still use today.
Nellie and I arrived at Blackwell Island late that night. She instructed me to have a faraway look in my eyes and walk around aimlessly. We did this so the doctors would think we were new patients dropped off here and had some mental problems. Soon enough, a doctor and two nurses came running out and they grabbed us. The doctor asked for our names, Nellie claimed she was Nellie Brown, I claimed I was Jane Kingsley.
We were inside the asylum. Everywhere we looked there were people sitting on cold, hard benches. Some eyes met mine, others did not. I was surprised to see one woman in the corner getting beaten with a stick! She cried out, but the nurse pretended not to hear. Off in another corner, there were patients with ropes tied around them. These must have been the extremely insane.
Nellie and I were sent to a little room where a doctor examined us to make sure we were truly insane. They believed our cover and confirmed we were "positively demented". They guided us to a room, it must have been a dining hall, so we could eat with the rest of the residents.
I would have rather been starved than forced to eat the food the cooks were serving. With putrid smelling beef, chunky broth, and polluted water, it was enough to make me truly crazy. Rats ran around my feet, and there was garbage everywhere. Nurses were supervising the supper, each armed with a stick. One of the woman at a different table started complaining about the horrible food, and a nurse pointed her stick at her then yelled "Shut up!".
I was guided up a narrow set of stairs to my room, where I was instructed to undress and take a bath. I put a towel around me and was startled to see a nurse waiting in the bathroom for me. I tentatively sat down in the tub. Nothing happened, then glacier cold water was dropped on top of me. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. The water was everywhere, in my eyes and nose, dribbling down my back. I wanted so much to get out of there, and eventually I did.
The next ten days were awful. I met with more doctors, but none of them did anything to help my "fake" condition. mostly when I tried to talk they just sat there telling me to shut up. I think the doctors were crazier than the patients. I met one woman who was just as sane as I was. She told me her husband didn't want to deal with her anymore so he claimed she was crazy and she was brought here. I saw more patients being beat with sticks. More abuse, everywhere I looked.
After ten days were up, we escaped. Nellie wrote her book, Ten Days in a Madhouse, and I decided to pursue a career in muckraking. The asylum's conditions improved, thanks to us. Nellie went on to be an astounding journalist, and I became a muckraker of course. This is how I started my career in investigative journalism.
http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/bly/madhouse/madhouse.html
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