Susan Campbell Bartoletti's career in kids' fiction is impressive, with such successes to her name as The Boy Who Dared and Down the Rabbit Hole, Chicago, Illinois, 1871: The Diary of Pringle Rose, but nonfiction is where she piles up the awards, including a Sibert Medal (Black Potatoes: The Story of the Great Irish Famine, 1845-1850) and a Newbery Honor (Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler's Shadow). When Ms. Bartoletti writes on issues of historical or cultural significance, teachers want their kids to read it, for few are more precise with facts and can better turn a distant historical event into a relevant lesson for today, engendering emotional understanding for people who lived many years ago and the tragic mistakes they made. Such is the case with Mary Mallon in this book, victim of a perfect storm of cultural biases and mitigating factors that stole her liberty for no real fault of her own in an age when bureaucracy held ultimate power to wreck the lives of innocents if they considered it the right move to make. Was "Typhoid Mary" a pawn in a cruel game played by public health officials prejudiced against her divergences from the cultural norm for women, or were their concerns legitimate that she was dangerous to society and must be contained? Buckle up for a tumultuous ride; Terrible Typhoid Mary: A True Story of the Deadliest Cook in America sorts through these issues and more to arrive at some surprising conclusions regarding the handling of the affair. You'll never view Mary's strange case—or the everyday spread of germs around and on you—the same way again.
The wealthy Warren family was pleased with the cook they hired to manage the kitchen of their Oyster Bay, Long Island mansion in 1906. Mary Mallon ran a tight ship, keeping her kitchen meticulously clean and crisply delegating responsibility to the domestic staff. Her job included preparing food for the family and all the servants, so she was rarely afforded time to sit and rest, but relaxing was foreign to her nature anyway. An unmarried Irish Catholic who immigrated from the Emerald Isle as a teen, Mary parlayed her culinary efficiency into gainful employment in America, earning a nice salary for a young woman on her own. The Warrens liked the dishes she whipped up, in particular her specialty: homemade ice cream with fresh peach slices stirred in, a mixture of sweet and tangy no one could create quite like Mary. Her arrangement with the Warrens appeared to be a promising career track.
But then nine-year-old Margaret Warren took sick, a slight fatigue and fever at first that degenerated into violent, life-threatening illness, and the girl was rushed to the hospital. The other Warrens and their servants began falling ill as well, though not Mary, who helped care for Margaret as her symptoms worsened. Doctors identified the contagious malady as typhoid fever, an infection that slew one out of five sufferers at the time, but they diagnosed it soon enough to spare the Warren family and their servants. Fearing contaminated water or typhoid germs in the house itself, the Warrens deserted Oyster Bay, and Mary was on her own to find new employment. Mrs. Thompson, whose husband owned the Oyster Bay manor and let it out to well-off families like the Warrens, was concerned about the incident. Investigators couldn't trace the typhoid outbreak to bad water, milk, or other perishable products, and close inspection of the house turned up nothing alarming. If the mini epidemic couldn't be dealt with to assure prospective tenants they weren't at risk of contracting typhoid, no one would rent the Thompsons' lovely shoreline property. Mrs. Thompson hired George Soper, sanitary engineer and private health detective of modest renown, to solve the mystery. With all the gusto and ambition that drove him when he eventually came face to face with Mary, Soper took up the trail and started asking questions.
George Soper was no doctor, but he knew his business, and began systematically ruling out causes of the typhoid outbreak just as public health officials had done. He, too, was headed for a dead end, until he found out there had recently been someone new in the Warren household at the time of the infections: the cook. Immediately Soper hypothesized that Mary, described as healthy and immaculately clean, might be a "healthy carrier" of typhoid bacteria, a former sufferer of the disease whose body hadn't fully eradicated its germs. If Mary were a healthy carrier, her gallbladder could still teem with bacteria that would get into the food she prepared and make anyone sick who consumed it. The discovery of a healthy carrier would be a godsend for Soper's career, vaulting him into the conversation with the great medical pioneers of his day and bringing him fortune. Piecing together Mary's employment history, he found a trend of typhoid outbreaks at most places she worked, reinforcing his theory. But the sanitary engineer had a major hurdle to clear: where was Mary now? Soper had no solid leads on where she'd gone after parting ways with the Warrens. He had to find her forthwith, however: if his idea was correct that Mary was a carrier, anyone she prepared food for would be in jeopardy. Life or death could depend on Soper's detective skills.
By the time he located the cook, now working at a Park Avenue house, the family's twenty-five-year-old daughter was dying of typhoid. Soper confronted Mary in her kitchen with his theories regarding her unusual status as a healthy carrier, wondering how the spunky thirty-something immigrant would respond, and Mary showed she was more wild Irish rose than shrinking violet. Incensed that Soper would question her sanitary habits (he suggested she didn't wash her hands after using the bathroom) and her health (Mary didn't understand how a healthy person could spread deadly bacteria), Mary grabbed a sharp carving fork and attacked Soper, expelling him from her kitchen. The nerve of that man, demanding specimens of her blood and excretory waste for study! If Soper was to confirm Mary as the cause of the typhoid cases that seemed to surface wherever she worked, he'd have to come up with a Plan B.
George Soper later wrote that he only wished to help Mary devise a strategy for preventing the spread of her germs, and was disappointed that she showed no concern for the harm she inflicted on others. He followed Mary to the apartment of decommissioned police officer August Breihof, a close friend she regularly visited, and Soper became pals with him behind her back. But cornering her in the apartment yielded no better result than the kitchen confrontation, so Soper enlisted the help of Dr. Josephine Baker to reason with Ms. Mallon, again to no effect. When Soper, Baker, and three policemen showed up to force Mary to comply with their request for physical samples, she took off running and hid, but was discovered on the premises and taken into custody. The Irish spitfire who wouldn't demurely accept Soper's ridicule of her professionalism was out of options.
Thorough analysis of Mary's specimens proved George Soper correct: she was a healthy carrier of typhoid, the reason for the Warren outbreak and every other occurrence of typhoid at the houses that employed her. A big question could no longer be delayed: what was the New York City Board of Health to do about this woman? Removing her gallbladder was one recourse, though surgery in the first decade of the 1900s was a dubious proposition, and would by no means guarantee the end of the threat posed by Mary. She could be released if they trained her in special cleansing measures and she promised never again to take a job as cook, but what would she do for a living? Mary didn't trust the health board or their scientists, fearing they were railroading her not because she presented any actual peril to people she came in contact with, but because they wanted a patient to experiment on. She wasn't about to consent to that. Refusing to cooperate with Soper and his colleagues in every way she could, Mary gave the Board of Health no other option: she would be remanded into custody at Riverside Hospital on North Brother Island, where she would be free to walk the grounds and live in a small shack by herself where she couldn't infect the population of New York. Besides a fox terrier that lived with her, she would be utterly alone.
Important as decisions pertaining to Mary's freedom were, the average American knew only limited specifics of her case until June 1909, when William Randolph Hearst's New York American newspaper blew her anonymity to bits by publishing every detail of the case on its front pages. Paranoid and fearful before, Mary's anxiety was at an all-time high as the last vestiges of her privacy were snatched away. For a woman forced to live in exile and dependence on others for her every need after a life of diligent work and proud independence, this was as low as it could get. Yet it was the New York American headlines that began turning the tide of public opinion in Mary's favor. Attorney George O'Neill followed up on her personal information and offered the quarantined woman representation in court, a basic right she had been denied by the unilateral authority of the New York Board of Health. Dressed to the nines and exuding quiet dignity, Mary showed up in court to hear O'Neill deliver an impassioned defense of her civil rights to the judge. Mary was a healthy woman, yet the government had ignored her rights and subjected her to indefinite incarceration without due process. If this were permitted to continue, the precedent set would imperil the American justice system. Were civil rights mere suggestions the courts could waive if they wanted to, or an ironclad contract they were obligated to honor? Not only that, but other healthy carriers identified in New York and elsewhere had been allowed to resume normal lives without government inhibition. Why was Mary any different? A double standard was being employed, and it had to stop. Many Americans agreed with George O'Neill's eloquent arguments, raising the hue and cry for Mary's liberation, but the judge saw it differently. The New York City Board of Health had the right to protect its citizens from a typhoid pandemic, he decreed, and Mary was to remain on North Brother Island. After all the positive press and hype for Mary's day in court, O'Neill's representation amounted to little.
It did not, however, amount to nothing. Under increasing public pressure to do right by the nation's most famed typhoid carrier, new health commissioner Ernest J. Lederle offered Mary a deal: if she promised not to cook, and to abide by precautions taught her by the health department to prevent disseminating germs, she would be released. She also had to check in with the health department on a monthly basis to be reevaluated. Mary sullenly agreed to the conditional release, for she had been detained on the island three years, and freedom was immeasurably preferable to incarceration. Without an occupation and no training in another field of employment, though, Mary's prospects were bleak, and there wasn't much improvement over the next several years. The public forgot about her; George Soper and the New York Board of Health eventually did, too, and when she stopped reporting for her monthly reevaluations in 1914, few took notice. This would mark the start of her second wave of typhoid epidemics.
In early 1915, typhoid engulfed Manhattan's Sloane Hospital for Women, infecting twenty-five people. The hospital kept strictly sanitary conditions that should have limited a typhoid outbreak; it was a mystery, and for health mysteries in New York City, George Soper was now more than ever the man to call. It didn't take long to trace the rash of typhoid occurrences to the arrival of the new cook, who vanished before authorities could apprehend her. But police caught up with her in less than a month, and Mary Mallon was remanded for a lifetime stay on North Brother Island. What else could be done if she couldn't be trusted not to prepare food for unsuspecting victims? Mary's youthful feistiness had dimmed, but her spirit wasn't broken by being sentenced to lifelong isolation. She made friends at Riverside Hospital, including Dr. Alexandra Plavska, who trained Mary in laboratory work and hired her as an assistant. Mary approached her new field of employment with the same enthusiasm she brought to the kitchen, earning her decent salary and providing outlet for her self-discipline and desire to contribute to society. In a day and age when the average American woman's life expectancy was fifty years, Mary lived a healthy life into her sixties, before suffering a stroke and becoming bedridden in her twilight years. She died at sixty-nine in 1938, having led something of a full life despite her permanent quarantine, holding on to as much privacy as possible by revealing little about herself publicly, speaking only with trusted friends who never broke confidence. Thus ended the life of a person the public couldn't decide between labeling as a hero or villain, an innocent martyr or loathsome scourge to society. How you think of Mary Mallon is up to you.
Terrible Typhoid Mary encourages hot debate not just about civil liberties, but fundamentals of right and wrong. What is the proper course of action if a majority of society agrees someone is a public menace, for whatever reason? Is it okay to lock them up even if they appear to present no danger, and insist they wouldn't hurt a soul? Does might make right, majority consensus overruling all else? What happens, then, when government starts arresting people for having opinions contrary to those of the bureaucracy, declaring them "dangerous" individuals? Is the passage of laws an absolute that suddenly makes a behavior morally wrong even if it was considered not objectionable—or at least not worthy of legal repercussions—a short time ago? What about the people affected by these changes to the moral code, people whose lifestyle may be infringed upon as Mary Mallon's lifestyle as a professional cook was by accusations that her food preparation harmed others? What standard should be employed in order for someone to be declared objectively dangerous to innocent citizens so the government has a responsibility to stop them? It's a massive quagmire, brimming with implications for any organized society. Mary Mallon couldn't be blamed for the fact that her body harbored typhoid bacteria; it wasn't her choice, yet the Board of Health and the judge who upheld their decision kept her marooned on an island for decades. What would you do if authorities decided something about you that you can't change is reprehensible, and you must be punished for it? Would you have turned into a despicable person overnight? Of course not, but you'd be treated as though you had. The personal nature of the accusations is what goaded Mary, as we read from her initial encounter with George Soper. "Soper's words may have sounded preposterous to her. How could a healthy person make someone sick? Soper's accusation must have struck at the very core of her self-worth. Mary took great pride in her work. She kept a clean kitchen. She herself was clean. Mary's reaction surprised Soper. Instead of sharing his concern, she grew angry. She told him that she had never had typhoid. She had never been sick, but had nursed those around her who were sick, helping them through the terrible disease." If one takes pride in being a nurturer, cooling the brow of feverish sufferers and talking them gently through their travails, no accusation could hurt more than that you're the cause of the trouble, that you are harmful to the people you care for. This must have contributed heavily to Mary's refusal to believe the typhoid outbreaks that followed her were her fault. Who wants to believe their life's work is, at best, undoing damage they created themselves?
But the persecution of Mary can also undoubtedly be attributed in part to her nonconformity to contemporary standards of how women should act, Terrible Typhoid Mary notes. "In 1907 society had strict ideas about womanhood and marriage, too, based on something called 'the middle-class ideal.' This ideal said that a proper woman should be married and have children. That she should be a good mother and the foundation of the home. That she should not work outside the home. That she should attend to the needs of her husband and children. That the welfare of society—and even the fate of a nation—depended on her." Mary's brash demeanor and unapologetic independence caused Soper to suspicion her immediately, as in any era the quirks of those who don't behave like everyone else often bring retribution down on their heads. Disturbing the universe is risky business, and refusing to conform to mainstream standards is the surest way to cause noticeable disturbance. Soper assumed Mary would be grateful for his intervention, that she'd want to work with him to defuse the bacterial time bomb in her gallbladder, but the cook wasn't interested. This, too, raises a question: when society says something's wrong with us and they can fix it, how are we to respond if we don't believe we have a problem? Others may see us as in need of alteration, but what if we're happy with ourselves the way we are? What if society joins forces to make us undergo the change, or be branded for life as a pariah? These considerations are part of Mary Mallon's story, and are given thoughtful treatment in this book. As Susan Campbell Bartoletti concludes, "This I know for sure: Life is, as Mary says, uncertain. As a society and as individuals, we must protect healthy people from disease. We must also treat those suffering from disease in an intelligent, humane, and compassionate way. We need to be rational and keep our fears in check." Only if we make that our priority can we end the cycle of Typhoid Marys chewed up and spit out by societies that fear and hate them for reasons beyond their control, for aspects of themselves they have limited power over. After we've tamed our impulse to punish those different from us, we can approach our issues in mutual understanding, and that is where the battle is won.
"There's a danger in writing a person's life from a historical vantage point, for hindsight can be smug." Susan Campbell Bartoletti leaves us this warning about judging people of the past, a vital reminder for those who pay attention to history. Too often we live as prisoners of today, seeing modern society as superior to everything that came before, regarding ourselves as better and more open-minded than our predecessors. That isn't true, of course; we're no better or worse than people of another era. We're just as given to shortsightedness, prejudice, and not living up to our potential as individuals and a society, and it's counterproductive to pretend otherwise. We can, however, humbly learn lessons from the past and apply them to our lives, and there's virtually no limit to what we can learn from Mary Mallon. Empathize with others, and don't casually throw away human life. Be tolerant, merciful, and guard the rights of those bullied by society. Terrible Typhoid Mary is one of Susan Campbell Bartoletti's best, most provocative nonfiction books, and I highly recommend it. Use it well.