Among the unspeakable crimes which man, in the name of humanity, has perpetrated against his fellow man, none has been more gruesome, more merciless, more fiendishly cruel than the abuse of the private sanitarium.
There is a notion in the public mind that the private insane , the horrors of which were so by Charles Reade, Edgar Allan Poe, and other writers, are things of the barbarous past, and that in our own enlightened, , practical twentieth century, when the liberty of the individual was never so jealously safe-guarded, it would be impossible for any unscrupulous person, actuated by interested of his own, to "railroad" a relative to an institution, and retain him there indefinitely against his or her will. The startling truth, however, is that, under our present lunacy system, nothing is easier.
The madhouses of half a century ago, with their secret , their living skeletons in chains, their keepers who the soles of hapless ' feet to drive them into hysterics in of the annual perfunctory visit of the State examiners in lunacy, have, it is true been driven out of business; the existing sanitariums are now more or less under State control, yet this official is not always adequate protection against misrepresentation and fraud. By the free of money and with the coöperation of unscrupulous physicians, wrongs are frequently on the most innocent and unoffensive people. At the present moment it is not only possible for scheming persons, interested in getting a relative safely out of the way, to accomplish their purpose, but each year in the United States dozens of perfectly sane persons are actually in private over the country.
The medical of a prominent State hospital, in a paper read recently before the Bar Association practically admitted the truth of this. At the same time, reviewing the laws bearing upon the commitment and discharge of the criminally insane, he proposed certain changes suggested by the actual operation of the present laws. He also drew attention to a statement made by the Medical Record to the effect that, only a short time[Pg 270] since, no fewer than fourteen persons were committed to one small institution by juries in a single year and every one of them was found later to be sane, and had to be discharged. The superintendent very properly insisted that there should be some of the present law whereby lunatics, accused of serious crimes against the person and especially those committing murder, should be dealt with by a tribunal having , continuous responsibility, and that a jury of should not be allowed to decide regarding the mental condition of any person with a view to his commitment to an asylum for the insane or to his discharge therefrom.
The abuses possible under the present loose system are only too obvious, the opportunity offered to fraud and crime only too apparent. Putting troublesome relatives in lunatic asylums might be considered an easy way of getting rid of them by those who are too tender-hearted or too cowardly to murder them . It is scarcely more merciful. Frequently the request for is not brought before a court or jury at all. A commission of experts is summoned by the lunatic's relatives, and if they are satisfied that the patient is of unsound mind they sign a paper committing him or her to some institution.[Pg 271] Sometimes the signature of one physician only is sufficient, and in fraudulent cases, where the persons calling in the physicians are keenly interested in the result, everything is done to make out a bona-fide case, and prove the patient out of his or her mind. , nervous, fearful of everybody and everything, the slightest from control or commonplace speech is used for the patient's .
The mental and actual suffering that a sane person must necessarily undergo when suddenly deprived of his liberty and incarcerated in some , lonely sanitarium can better be imagined than described. To know that one is in perfect health and yet compelled to associate with poor creatures whose minds are really shattered, forced to listen to their senseless all day and to hear their blood-curdling screams all night, to be under constant surveillance, an object of distrust and pity, subject to a severe and humiliating discipline, punished by the cold-water douche when refractory—all this is enough to make a madman of the person. And when, added to these horrors, the unfortunate victim sees himself by all, deprived of means to employ a lawyer, knowing that the enemies responsible for his misfortune are his money and profiting by his , is it a wonder that in a[Pg 272] moment of discouragement and desperation he abandons hope and does away with himself? Then the indifferent world wags its head and accepts without questioning the coroner's verdict: "Killed by his own hand in a fit of suicidal ."
Among the larger private insane asylums in New York State, the institution "Sea Rest" at Tocquencke, bore a fairly good reputation. That is to say, the skirts of the management had been kept free from scandal, and suicides were of comparatively rare occurrence. The institution, under the direction of Superintendent Spencer, was pleasantly on Long Island, overlooking the Sound, and almost exclusively to a wealthy class of patients who, for one reason or another, found themselves compelled to take the "rest cure."
One morning, about three weeks after Mr. Cooley's spectacular arrest of the at the ferry, Superintendent Spencer was seated at his desk in the general reception room at "Sea Rest," reports to a young woman . There was little about the surroundings to suggest the sinister character of the place. Only the heavily barred windows, overlooking the grounds enclosed by high walls, and the massive doors fitted with bolts and locks suggested that padded cells with wild-eyed inmates might be found[Pg 273] in some other part of the establishment. Otherwise it was an ordinary, everyday business office. The large desk near the window was covered with and papers, while close at hand was a telephone and clicking typewriter. To the left of the desk a small, narrow door led to the . On the right a heavy door opened on the vestibule and grounds.
The superintendent himself was a clean-shaven man of about thirty-five. Alert-looking and well , he had the energetic manner of the successful business man. Mechanically, as if it were a matter of routine, to be hurried through as speedily as possible, he went on dictating in a tone:
"Report on Miss Manderson's case. Attendant, Miss Hadley; physician, Dr. Bently. Patient's demand for decreasing, but she calls constantly for bridge-playing companions. Patient generally cheerful—will not retire till 3 A. M. Six packages of cigarettes in her room——"
Buzz! buzz! A disc fell down on the on the wall, disclosing a number.
The superintendent turned quickly and, glancing at the indicator, pressed a button in his desk. This released a bolt in the door leading to the outer hall, a safeguard necessary to prevent reckless patients from wandering outside to help themselves without permission to the fresh air. The big door swung open and an old man, with age, entered.
"Ah, Collins—I wanted to see you!" said the superintendent sharply.
Seized with an attack of coughing, the old man could not reply at once. For thirty years he had been an . When a man is going on eighty, he is not as vigorous as he once was. a waiter at Delmonico's, he found the pace too swift. His mind gave way, and a rich patron, pitying his condition, sent him to "Sea Rest." For a long time now he had been cured, but, broken in spirit, he found he could not return to the old life, so he had remained at the asylum in the capacity of attendant.
"Yes—sir," he , between of coughing.
The superintendent looked at him :
"Collins, did you buy six packets of cigarettes for Miss Manderson?"
The old man . He was afraid of the superintendent. He had reason to those cold douches.
"No, sir," he replied, trembling.
"Are you sure?" demanded the superintendent.
"Yes, sir," answered the old man hesitatingly, his eyes on the floor.[Pg 275]
"Look at me," thundered the superintendent.
"Yes, sir."
He looked up timidly and shook his head.
"Don't you know," almost shouted the superintendent, "that she has come to 'Sea Rest' to from an overdose of social life, and that she must not smoke?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've been a waiter all your life, Collins—and I'm afraid that the old instinct to take tips is too strong."
"It's hard to refuse sometimes, sir," replied the old man, his knees shaking, "but I manage to overcome my feelings—occasionally."
The indicator again rang. The superintendent turned.
"It's the front door," he said, with a gesture to go and answer the bell.
"It's Dr. Bently, sir," rejoined the old man.
As Collins went to open the outside door, the superintendent turned to the stenographer.
"Make a note in your report suggesting that Miss Manderson's money be taken from her while she is an inmate of the sanitarium."
"Yes, sir."
The superintendent took up another paper.
"Report on Mr. Jeliffe's case. Attendant, James Hurst; physician, Dr. Macdonald. Same as previous report."
Suddenly the small, narrow door on the left opened and the head female attendant, dressed in a gray uniform with white cap and , entered. She was a big, muscular-looking woman, the kind of person one might expect to find in her particular business, a woman who looked capable of meeting, single-handed, any emerge............