It began with a cryptic telegram received by a guest at a New Orleans hotel on July 10, 1872. The guest, who was registered as "Felix Somers" opened the telegram which was written in a rather elaborate cipher he decoded on the spot. The message in full read: "Will you feign insanity; enter Doctor Baldric's mad-house as a patient, and write expose? If you accept, come to New York. Answer." It was signed "W.F.G.S." Despite the hidden message, the guest had no difficulty decoding the message and replying with a single word, "Yes". And so he began making arrangements for what would be one of the most challenging assignments of his career.
In reality, "Felix Somers" was 22-year-old Julius Chambers, one of the world's first investigative journalists, and the assignment was nothing less than to have himself committed to Bloomingdale Asylum, a private hospital for the mentally ill located in New York on the site where Columbia University now stands. 
As a private hospital, Bloomingdale Asylum was reserved for those patients who had families able to afford their care (the very poor went to the asylum located on Blackwell's Island instead). Despite its reputation for humane care, there were still allegations of patient abuse which led to the Julius Chambers' rather unusual undercover assignment. Ironically, the idea for the assignment had come from the asylum's head who had suggested that a reporter be sent in to see that the allegations were false. Chambers' editor had decided to take the doctor at his word, but not in the way that he had intended.
Not only would the reporter be committed, but it had to be done in a way that would make him seem like a regular patient in need of psychiatric care. To make this happen, Chambers had to do things just right. That involved careful research into different symptoms that mental patients might display and then recruiting friends and colleagues who would play their part as well. After spending the next week "cramming" for what would be his best performance, he then traveled to New York to put his plan into action.
Along with researching the role, Chambers also prepared himself physically as well. As he would later write:
"Up to this moment, if I have made myself clear, you have taken the best care of your bodily health. You have lived the regular, laborious life of an enthusiast. Now cast all regularity of life to the winds. Stop your hearty dinners: substitute for the ale two large cups of black coffee or strong green tea. If four cigars have been your daily allowance, now smoke fourteen - so that the sudden abandonment of tobacco three days later will, at the end of forty-eight hours' abstinence, smash your nervous system into fragments. Any regular stimulant, taken in excess for a short time and then suddenly stopped, will produce the same result. Never for a moment lose confidence in yourself, or in the power of your constitution to sustain all the shocks from which it is to suffer. There is no danger from a temporary and systematic overstrain: the human mind can endure severe trials under which the physical frame would be shattered forever."
On August 13, 1872, a doctor was called to an upscale hotel in New York City to see one of the hotel guests who had been acting strangely. The guest, a young man named Felix Somers, looked exhausted at being up for eleven hours straight, sitting next to the open window in his room. According to hotel staff, Somers had spent the entire night demanding that the hotel porters bring boiling water up to his room (hot water apparently being his preferred drink). By morning, he had made dozens of these strange requests.
That same morning, Somers was visited by a friend who came to his room along with a hotel clerk. At least, it appeared to be a friend, though Somers claimed not to know him. That, along with the glazed look in his eyes and general unkempt appearance, led to a doctor being called in to make a medical examination. When the doctor arrived, things got even stranger. Though Somers claimed not to know his first visitor, he greeted the doctor (whom he had never met) as a long-lost friend. "Sampson," he exclaimed, "How's Delilah and the baby?" The doctor, who happened to be named Dromio Johnson, consulted with the friend, Dinfor, and learned that Somers had been recently ill. He also learned that he had an uncle in town though he had apparently decided to stay in a hotel rather than go to the uncle's house. Dr. Johnson recommended that Somers be placed in a nurse's care and that the uncle be called at once.
The "uncle" (actually a confederate named Foster) arrived that afternoon and spent some time with the two other men until the doctor returned. At this point, Chambers resumed his "mad" act by pretending to talk to himself and not taking notice of anyone else in the room. When the doctor examined him and noticed that his pulse was racing, he concluded that his patient "presents all the visible symptoms of mental aberration." After arranging for a nurse to tend him through the night, the doctor concluded that the patient be sent to an asylum if he failed to improve. Along with the nurse, a burly man named McFinn, Chambers was transferred to a larger hotel room to wait until morning.
Chambers then spent the evening feigning madness (since the nurse needed to be fooled as well). In his book, he describes his bizarre antics that night including ribald singing, covert exercise to boost his pulse, rambling to himself, and even leaping on and off his bed. The noise was enough to rouse other guests and hotel staff who all came to his door to see what was wrong. At one point, the poor nurse pleaded with the doctor to have another nurse sent in to help him since he was fearing for his own safety. A medical student was sent for and Chambers was obliged to continue his mad act for him.
By the next morning, Dr. Johnson and Chambers' two confederates met to discuss what had happened the previous evening. Then came the biggest challenge since Doctor Johnson arranged for a medical expert on lunacy to examine the patient. At that time, there were certain standard "tests" of insanity that were given to patients though the most extreme of them were usually reserved for prisoners suspected of feigning insanity to avoid execution. Chambers had prepared himself to pass all of them, either on his own or with help from one of his confederates. To his relief, the expert didn't carry out any tests but simply relied on the statements from people who had been dealing with "Felix Somers". Based on this evidence, the expert agreed that Somers/Chambers should be sent to an asylum.
After a trip to a police courtroom to arrange for a judge to sign the commitment papers, a sanity hearing was quickly held. With testimony from the two physicians along with the that of Chambers' two confederates, the judge agreed to have Chambers transferred to Bloomingdale Asylum. Again, there was little actual debate and the warrant the judged signed concluded that "Felix Somers is INSANE, and by reason of this Insanity, is so far disordered in his senses as to endanger his own person, or property of others, if permitted to go at large." According to Chambers, "It was only a matter of ten minutes, two affadavits, and two legal blanks." With the signed warrant in hand, Chambers and his two confederates traveled by coach to Bloomingdale Asylum and the undercover assignment could finally begin.
Though probably more pleasant that what someone who couldn''t afford private care could expect, the asylum that Julius Chambers intended to infiltrate wasn't a particularly inviting place. Despite being located on very spacious grounds that were well-maintained, much of the hospital complex was made up of dingy brownstone buildings. On Chambers' admission to the asylum, the first thing the admitting doctor verified was whether the patient's family could afford to pay for his stay. Though $52 for thirteen weeks boarding (paid in advance) doesn't seem that much by today's standards, it was still well beyond what most New York families could afford at the time. As well, this was an era before psychiatric medications were available and most people committed to asylums tended to stay there for the rest of their lives (or until their families could no longer afford their care).. ![350px-Bloomingdale_Insane_Asylum,_Manhattan[1]](https://drvitelli.typepad.com/.a/6a00d834523c1e69e201bb07d6dc2a970d-320wi "350px-Bloomingdale_Insane_Asylum,_Manhattan[1]")
Once the doctor received the money and examined the commitment warrant, he then gave the new patient a very brief examination (basically, he just took Chambers' pulse). No questions were asked about his condition or why he had been admitted. After his two confederates left, Chambers was on his own but there seemed little risk of his being discovered. In his book, he described the hospital as "three doctors, ten attendants, and nearly two hundred patients - all more or less deranged." During his stay in the hospital, Chambers would conclude that long-time association with mental patients had an adverse effect on doctors and attendants causing them to acquire a "morbid state of mind" (today, we would call this burnout).
From the moment patients entered the asylum, they were systematically cut off from the outside world. Not only were most people on the outside completely indifferent to what was happening in the asylums, but the doctors and staff seemed determined to keep their patients as quiet as possible. Though Chambers had gone to elaborate lengths to get himself committed, he scarcely needed to make any pretense after he was inside. Once two doctors signed the commitment papers, no asylum doctor seemed at all interested in reversing that decision regardless of how normal the patient seemed to them. Even if a patient pleaded to be released, that would simply be considered as evidence of their mental instability.
After being admitted, Chambers began taking notes using scrap paper taken from the New York Herald in which he pricked holes to hide what he was doing from staff (he would later smuggle this paper out in the toe of his shoe.) To ensure that he would get the full asylum experience, he acted up enough to be sent to the "manic wards" located in the back of the buildings where the padded cells were kept. Though the asylum had many attractive features, including beautiful gardens and a bowling alley, only the least troublesome patients were allowed to go there. As for Julius Chambers, he was placed in a small cell six feet by nine feet in length with only a small iron cot and a straw mattress. There were only a tiny grated window and the only real lighting available came from the open doorway. This meant that the cell was completely dark whenever the door was locked (as it usually was). And please remember that this was the asylum for patients from well-off families. You can probably imagine what it must have been like in the public asylums.
Julius Chambers' words describing the conditions under which he was kept are as true today as they were then:
No means was ever resorted to which proved so effectual in breaking the will, destroying hope, and inspiring madness as solitary confinement in a cell whose walls or ceiling were bare of a single object to direct the thoughts or the attention of the unhappy prisoner. The dungeons of feudal Germany, revolutionary France, or inquisitorial Spain, were no better calculated for these results than was the cell in which I found myself immured.
Along with the usual sounds and smells of the asylum, Chambers could also hear the screams of other patients throughout the night which added to the general sense of terror.
When he was finally allowed to interact with other patients, he noted that many of them seemed unable to understand what was happening. To get them to enter the dining-hall for their meals, the attendants often resorted to slapping them on their ears or simply shoving them in the right direction. Those patients who could understand seemed too apathetic to offer much resistance and simply did what they were told. Presumably, these were the patients considered well enough to be allowed out with minimal supervision. As for the food, it was served in an eating-room that seemed substandard even for a prison. Not only were the knives and forks completely filthy but the entire room was dingy. As for the food itself, it was barely edible and the attendants were openly mocking at anyone who asked for larger portions (shades of Oliver Twist!).
Chambers discussed his fellow patients at some length in his book. Though many of them were lifelong mental patients, others came from distinguished families and had been important members of society before coming to the asylum. Despite many of them being fairly high-functioning, even to the point of being entrusted with helping to care for other patients, there were also some who seemed downright catatonic. Chambers focused on a few of them in his book with names such as "the Count", "the Professor," "the Senator," etc. One of them had been a professor at an eminent European university while another was heir to one of the wealthiest families in America. There were millionaires, elected politicians, and former Wall Street brokers but all of them were simply asylum patients when Chambers saw them.
And these were the relatively well-treated patients. As for the worst patients, they were kept in padded cells from which they were never allowed to emerge. Not only were they fed through grates, but the attendants also hosed them down whenever they got too filthy. Whatever they had been on the outside, they were largely just left to themselves in their squalid cells. Chambers was able to watch as one attendant "fed the animals" (the attendant's own words) though he took careful notes all along. As for their symptoms, they ranged from delusions of grandeur, paranoia, and extreme violence at times (Chambers saw one of them bite off another patient's nose). Many of these symptoms of mental illness are seen in psychiatric hospitals even today.
The attendants were also quick to slap patients who acted out in any way and they showed very little patience for patients who were in distress. Though there were differences between them in terms of abusiveness and general attitude, the long-term attendants were also the ones who appeared the most uncaring. Any time Chambers asked to be allowed to communicate with the outside world, or even to read a newspaper, he was put off and even mocked by more than one attendant.
The only time conditions improved was when the Board of Trustees came to visit. Not only were the wards scrubbed but many of the walls were whitewashed prior to their arrival. The Board was made up of a panel of distinguished businessmen and politicians and Julius Chambers was especially careful not to meet any of them. As a reporter, he had dealt with all of them and he was afraid that one of them might recognize him. This was never a real danger since the Board hardly spent any time interacting with the patients. This meeting with the Board, and the yearly report the hospital was obliged to submit to the State Legislature, was the only real oversight into what was happening in Bloomingdale Asylum. Again, this was a private hospital where patients supposedly received better care than the patients sent to public asylums.
All told, Julius Chambers was only in the hospital for ten days though this was long enough to turn him into a lifetime advocate for psychiatric reform. On that tenth day, his confederate Dinfor returned and questioned the doctors about the condition of "Felix Somers". Although the doctors were reluctant to allow him to talk to Chambers (since he wasn't a relative), they finally agreed. Though careful not to be overheard, Dinfors managed to let Chambers know that his newspaper was working on his release. Unfortunately, that involved having him return to court to overturn the commitment order.
Interestingly enough, Chambers wrote that his treatment at the hospital improved dramatically during his last two days there, largely because the doctors and staff members knew that people were arranging for a legal writ for his release. Even the other patients seemed to treat him differently.
Doctor Baldric emphatically insisted that his patient wasn't fit to be released. He went so far as to speak with the man he thought was the patient's uncle to prevent this from happening. He even asked that the writ be withdrawn so they could release him without involving the courts at all. This was after they had told Dinfor that Chambers would need months of treatment before his release. Since Baldric had no luck with the two confederates on the outside, he went to work on Chamber/Somers directly (along with trying to discover how he had managed to arrange the writ in the first place). When that failed, all that remained was to go to court and what would prove to be a complete debacle for Doctor Baldric and his hospital.
It was during his sanity hearing that the lawyer for "Felix Somers" argued that his client was perfectly sane and that there had been no reason to commit him to an asylum. Though Doctor Baldric became visibly upset when the lawyer reported similar cases of false imprisonment who had been "victims of a persecution worse than the Inquisition," there was even worse to come. Not only did the lawyer present numerous affidavits verifying that the client was sane, but he also described the horrors that he had been forced to undergo while in the asylum. It was only then that he threw in the real revelation: that the client was actually a journalist who had deliberately infiltrated the asylum as a test of the Lunacy laws and that none of the doctors involved, including Dr. Baldric himself, had any idea that he was really sane.
Doctor Baldric's lawyer didn't speak at all. What could he really say at that point? The lawyer and his client simply left the courtroom while a group of lawyers and journalists surrounded Chambers to congratulate him on a magnificent performance. When the judge restored order, and it took a while, he simply declared Chambers to be sane and released him. After the court adjourned, news of what had happened spread throughout the courthouse.
Though rival newspapers promptly announced what Chambers had done, it was still up to him to tell the complete story. Going straight to the Tribune's editorial offices, he began writing up what he had experienced based on his memory and the notes he had managed to smuggle out of the asylum. The expose was released in installments over the course of the next two weeks though the public response seemed muted at best. Still, it says something about the impact of Chambers' revelations that, within thirty-six hours of the events in court, twelve out of the one hundred and eight-six patients in the asylum were released into the community as cured.
Chambers would also write about how the doctors at the Bloomingdale Asylum responded after his expose came out. Part of this expose including confidential information that had been leaked by a staff member describing the hospital's annual income. This revelation apparently outraged the doctors and hospital board who then arranged for Chambers to be followed by a private detective for a few months afterward. Chambers described one innocent encounter with a released patient he named "Staunton" who greeted him on the street to express his appreciation for the expose. Shortly afterward, Staunton, who had been functioning perfectly well in the community after his release, was reportedly kidnapped and forcibly committed to an asylum in another part of the state. What became of him afterward, Chambers was never able to determine.
Despite the hospital's attempts at punishing the ones responsible for the expose, the damage was already done. A few days after the expose come out, then-Governor of New York, John T. Hoffman, appointed a Commission to investigate the allegations of abuse that Chambers had brought to light. The Commission was charged with investigating Bloomingdale Asylum as well as several other private and public asylums in the New York area. Julius Chambers appeared at the first meeting of the Commission to give a verbal report of what he had experienced in the asylum and his own recommendations for improving patient care. The members of the Commission met at the asylum shortly afterward and verified all of the details that Chambers had provided. Though the staff were on their best behaviour (they knew better than to hit the patients with observers watching), the Commission members saw for themselves what conditions at the hospital were really like.
Based on the Commission's findings, which were reported directly to the New York legislature, a new act was drafted to improve conditions in the asylums and to appoint a Commissioner of Lunacy who would oversee mental health care in every asylum in the state of New York. As Chambers pointed out in his book however, there was only so much that new laws could accomplish. Ultimately, it would be up to the medical profession to reform itself and develop better ways of dealing with mental illness and for dealing with doctors who provided substandard care for patients.
Along with his groundbreaking expose, Chambers included all of his experiences at Bloomingdale Asylum in a book, A Mad World and Its People, which was published in 1876. His book provided full details of his undercover assignment and still remains one of the classic works in the history of investigative journalism. Though he would continued to be an advocate for psychiatric reform, Julius Chambers worked as a journalist, editor, and travel writer up until his death in 1920.
Did Chambers' expose and later crusading for reform creating lasting change for mental patients? That likely depends on who you ask. Certainly allegations of abuse continued at other asylums, even with the supposedly more stringent laws that Chambers helped bring about. When journalist Nellie Bly carried out her own daring undercover assignment by posing as a mental patient at the Blackwell's Island Insane Asylum for female patients in 1887, she found many of the same abuses that Chambers had reported years earlier. Her own book, Ten Days in a Madhouse, would also lead to a grand jury investigation and greater funding for mental health care.
Through their pioneering work as journalists, Julius Chambers and Nellie Bly continue to be powerful inspirations for the countless journalists who came after them. Their exposes also demonstrated the important role that investigative journalists could play in ensuring that people unable to speak for themselves would get the treatment they deserve. While skeptics may argue that many of the issues surrounding mental health care are still with us today, focusing public attention on abuses within the system is still the only real way that true reform can happen.
