Typhoid Mary | An Invisible Menace | 1
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Imagine it's fall 1906 in Oyster Bay, New York. You're a sanitation expert who's been called to a remote vacation home on Long Island. You approach an elegant two-story house with white arches covering a wide porch. The fresh breeze from the nearby ocean runs through a strand of oak trees on the lawn. It's an idyllic location, but you know it was recently also the site of a typhoid outbreak.

A family from New York was vacationing here and fell ill suddenly, and you're here to find out why. As you climb the porch, you're greeted by a man in an expensive-looking gray suit. You notice tension etched on his face. He introduces himself as George Thompson, the owner of the house. He leads you to a large living room and motions for you to sit.

Across the hall, you notice a door is ajar, and through the opening, you can make out a low, four-poster bed. Thompson follows your gaze. That's the room where their daughter was taken when she first came down with fever. It wasn't long after that her mother became ill, and then the other daughter, too. How many people in total? Six, including some household staff. All in a matter of days. How did this happen? I don't know yet, but I assure you, I will do everything in my power to find the source of this outbreak.

I hope you do. This has made my home a pariah in the neighborhood and my neighbors won't come anywhere near here. In fact, I'm worried that authorities will yield the calls to demolish it. Tell me, how long had the family been staying here? Just a few weeks before the first cases of illness.

You look around at the spacious, immaculate surroundings. From your years of work on the disease, you know that typhoid is common in impoverished areas and that it spreads quickly in squalid conditions. But this home is clean with plenty of fresh air. I understand you recently had inspectors here? Yes. They found that the water was clean. No contamination. Well, we now know there's a bacteria that spreads the disease. If it didn't come from the water, it must have come from somewhere else.

Is there anything else you can tell me about the family staying here? Did they bring their own staff with them, or did they hire locally? They brought their own staff in from the city. I think most had been with the family for a long time. But the cook was new. An Irish woman. She arrived the first week of August. Can you tell me anything else about her? Only that her name was Mary, and apparently she was an excellent cook. Made a delicious ice cream with sliced peaches. The family told me they had it almost every day. Is that so?

and she arrived three weeks before the first typhoid case. I'd like to speak with her. Can you tell me where to find her? I'm afraid not. With respect, sir, I am trying to find the source of this illness, which threatens the lives of many more families. I understand the inconvenience, but I must follow every possible lead. No, you misunderstand. You can't speak with her because, well, she vanished. What do you mean, vanished? After the first cases came to light, she stopped coming to work. She left no information.

But I assure you, she showed no signs of illness. She was healthy as an ox. That may be true, but that doesn't rule her out as a possible source of this contagion. Thompson looks at you quizzically. You stand and leave, your instinct telling you that there could be a connection between the missing cook and the outbreak in this home. You need to track this woman, Mary, down quickly, because many more lives may depend on it.

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On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans. Our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made. And we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now.

In the fall of 1906, sanitary engineer George Soper was called to investigate a mysterious outbreak of typhoid fever. Soper had previously gained a reputation for tracking down the sources of deadly outbreaks in cities like Ithaca and Boston, and now he was called out to investigate a wealthy New York banker and his family who'd been vacationing in Oyster Bay, Long Island.

Throughout the 1800s, typhoid had been one of the leading killers in America, causing widespread illness and death. Doctors often blamed dirty conditions or bad air for the spread of the disease. But the discovery of the typhoid bacteria in 1880 led to the development of new tools to fight the sickness and keep the public safe. And doctors soon discovered that some people infected with the bacteria did not show any symptoms of illness.

But these healthy carriers, as they were known, could still transmit the disease to others through close contact. Soper's investigation in Oyster Bay led him to suspect the family's hired cook was one of these healthy carriers. She was an Irish immigrant named Mary Mallon.

But the only way to know for certain was to test her for the bacteria. And to Soper's frustration, he learned that she had vanished. The ensuing hunt for Typhoid Mary, as she was labeled in the press, would lead Soper and other city officials on a frustrating, winding path through New York in their effort to prevent another outbreak of typhoid. Mary's case would be widely publicized, and in the end, her ordeal would ignite a fierce debate over the government's authority to isolate and detain people it considered dangerous to society.

This is the first episode in our two-part series on Typhoid Mary, an invisible menace. In 1880, German scientist Carl Josef Ebert identified the bacteria that causes typhoid. It was a promising breakthrough in the fight against one of the deadliest diseases of the 19th century. People suffering from typhoid could experience fever, stomach pain, headaches, and skin rash, and in severe cases, infection led to death.

Throughout the 1800s, the disease had proved a devastating killer. More than two-thirds of the casualties in the Civil War came not from battlefield injuries, but from diseases like typhoid. Throughout the course of the war, in the Union Army alone, typhoid infected more than 75,000 soldiers.

After the war, typhoid continued to be a lethal threat, especially as America's population boomed and urban areas grew more crowded. But for years, doctors remained unsure of the cause of the disease and struggled to slow its spread. Many medical professionals continued to suspect the illness was the result of changes in weather or bad air that came from rotting organic material, which doctors called miasma. Prevention primarily focused on general sanitation, which was costly and difficult to enforce.

But Ebert's discovery promised to change all that. In his laboratory in Germany, he had noticed a particular bacteria concentrating in the spleen and lymph nodes of typhoid patients. He reasoned that rather than bad or noxious air, this bacteria was the cause of their illness, and he published his findings.

Four years later, in 1884, two other scientists, Robert Koch and Georg Gafke, confirmed Ebert's observation through their own experiments. And thanks to their identification of a specific bacteria, doctors could now focus on testing people for the infection and stop typhoid spread.

Four years later, in 1888, American physician Charles Chapin established a publicly funded municipal laboratory in Providence, Rhode Island. Chapin was the nation's leading crusader for the role of science in combating disease, declaring that the new discoveries in bacteriology, such as Abert's, drove the last nail in the coffin of the outdated theories of miasma and filth as the primary cause of illness.

Instead, Chapin championed a new concept known as germ theory, the idea that specific microorganisms unseen by the naked eye could invade the body and cause illness. His warnings of the risks of disease and his promises of new methods to combat it found a ready audience with overwhelmed and understaffed health officials in cities like Providence.

Chapin proposed that instead of costly, citywide sanitation programs, public health officials should focus on tracking down and treating people who were sick, and therefore, germ carriers. He also cautioned that even people who showed no outward sign of disease but carried the germs were capable of transferring them to others.

He issued a dire warning about these healthy carriers, saying, Neither you nor I nor the Board of Health know where these carriers are. The occupant of the next seat may, for all one knows, be a carrier. So may the saleslady who ties up the package, the conductor who gives the transfer, or the expressman who leaves a parcel at the door. If these people were sick in bed, we would avoid them. As it is, we cannot. Science has shown this new danger.

News of the existence of these so-called healthy carriers was a terrifying prospect for the public and the health officials in charge of America's increasingly crowded cities who were battling constant outbreaks of typhoid. In 1891, in Chicago, there was more than 2,000 deaths from the disease.

But nowhere was the situation more urgent than in New York City. By the mid-1890s, there were more than a million and a half New Yorkers, and more were arriving every day as immigrants from European countries flooded into the city by the thousands. As the population exploded, living conditions deteriorated.

With many residents packed into crowded tenement houses in lower Manhattan, fear of disease spread. But by 1892, news of scientific breakthroughs in disease detection had gained the interest of public health officials in New York. And they became determined to use this new science to fight back against the deadly diseases that plagued their city.

Imagine it's a stifling hot afternoon in July 1895, in a cramped office in Manhattan. You're the chief medical officer for the city's health department. You're responsible for combating the spread of the many diseases that strike the residents of your city. But it's been a constant uphill battle. You pull at your collar, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your neck, as one of your fellow officers sits across from you behind a small desk, sifting through a pile of paperwork. So, how'd the visit to Hell's Kitchen go this morning?

He gives you a weary look, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. You often send teams of officers out to track cases of illness and encourage proper sanitation in the crowded tenements, but it's a tough job. We barely got through one floor of the apartment building. You know, more cases of pneumonia, a few diphtheria. Two deaths since our last visit. I see. Well, it's becoming increasingly clear to me that we can't keep doing things the same way. Street cleaning, disinfectants, quarantines, it's not enough.

Look around us. The city is changing and we need to develop a better way to stay ahead of these illnesses. And how do you propose we do that? Our staff has spread too thin already. These scientific breakthroughs from Europe are promising. We're learning more about microorganisms and how to track them down every day.

I've decided we're going to set up our own laboratory right here in the city. Instead of just trying to treat people after they're already sick, we should be identifying those who carry the germs and isolating them before they can spread disease to others. That sounds promising, sure, but that will take funding, resources, and our city officials won't lift a finger to help unless there's something in it for them. Leave them to me. I may be a physician, but I've been here long enough to learn a thing or two about how this city is run.

I'll make sure they see that it is in their best interest to fund this. In fact, I've got a meeting with the city comptroller in ten minutes. You can see you've sparked his interest. The defeated look just a moment ago is replaced by a glint of excitement on his face. Well, that is why I came to work at the health department. That's why we're all here. To stop these terrible diseases. To save lives. That's right. This new lab we're going to set up will save lives. Oh, and before I forget, I want you to run it.

His eyes widen in surprise. But before he can say anything, you give him a big smile and rush out of the office, your mind racing because there's no time to waste. Your fight against disease and bacteria starts now.

In 1892, at the age of 43, physician Herman Biggs became chief of the New York Health Department's Division of Bacteriology and Disinfection. Biggs had graduated from Cornell University and later studied in the scientific laboratories of Berlin before returning to New York to assume a role in public health. In his first year as chief medical officer of the health department, he watched in dismay as his staff struggled to keep up with the diseases ravaging the neighborhoods of New York City.

Three years later, in 1895, he set up New York City's first bacteriological laboratory with the hope of stemming the tide of disease. He assigned fellow health officer William Halleck Park the job of running the new laboratory. Park was a well-respected physician who, like Biggs, had spent time studying in European labs.

Both Park and Biggs believed in the power of a new scientific approach. And Biggs believed that the eradication of illness was not just a fight for good medicine, but a matter of political will. He believed that with proper funding of city health programs, New York would soon be able to curb the spread of devastating diseases that killed thousands of the city's residents each year.

Biggs went to work fostering relationships with city leaders and putting pressure on the state to fund scientific research to transform public health policy. Soon, city health officers were trained in collecting specimens and samples from ill patients and in how to evaluate the results. The health department's influence grew as it became a key ally to political leaders in shaping public policy.

By focusing on accurate diagnosis, quarantine, and fumigation, Biggs was able to stamp down several cholera outbreaks in the city. He would also help develop a new antitoxin to combat diphtheria, a fear disease that took a heavy toll on children. But despite his best efforts, typhoid continued to ravage New York. In 1906, the city tracked more than 3,000 cases and 600 deaths from the disease. But Biggs and his colleagues knew many more typhoid infections went unreported.

That summer, a mysterious case of typhoid fever had broken out in the upscale vacation area of Oyster Bay, New York. Six people out of a household of 11 became ill in a matter of days. After they recovered, the family renting the home returned to New York. The owner, worried that the incident would prevent anyone else from renting the property, called in a team to investigate the source of the illness.

But after inspecting the waste system and water sources to the house, they failed to pinpoint the cause. So he turned to a private sanitation expert to track down the source of the infection.

36-year-old George Soper had received a Ph.D. from Columbia University in sanitary engineering and had worked for Boston's Waterworks. He developed a reputation as an epidemic fighter after tracking down the source of a devastating typhoid outbreak in Ithaca, New York, in 1903, which killed more than 80 people, including dozens of students at Cornell University. He was known to be aggressive, exacting, and vain, often making bold statements that burnished his own image.

But he also had a diligent mind and believed in germ theory and the power of science. When he arrived at the home in Oyster Bay, he latched on to a curious detail. The afflicted family said the cook had vanished shortly after the first typhoid cases emerged.

Soper set out to find the woman and track down the employment agency that had helped place her in the affected family's home. He soon learned that her full name was Mary Mallon. After reviewing the Cooks' employment history, he found a disturbing pattern. From 1900 to 1906, outbreaks of typhoid had occurred in seven households where Mallon had worked, the last being the house in Oyster Bay.

Although Mary's co-workers and employers described her as strong and healthy, Soper knew of the recent scientific evidence indicating asymptomatic typhoid patients could be carriers of the disease. Based on her lack of symptoms and her presence in so many households where typhoid had broken out, Soper became convinced that the cook was one of these carriers.

But Soper knew that most of the general public remained unaware that people could transfer illness in this way and that sickness was caused by organisms invisible to the naked eye. Many did not yet understand that even a person who looked healthy could be a threat. If Mary was a carrier, neither she nor anyone she worked for would likely be aware of it. And before the advent of modern treatments such as antibiotics, people often continued to work when ill rather than risk losing their jobs.

Soper knew he had to find her and determine whether she was unwittingly spreading typhoid. But Soper quickly hit a dead end in his investigation. In the months after she disappeared from her job at Oyster Bay, Mary's trail went cold.

Then in March of 1907, Soper had a breakthrough. Through an employment agency, he discovered that Mary was working with a new family in Manhattan. He tracked down an address on Park Avenue, an area home to many of the city's wealthy families. Soper suspected that because Mary had fled the home in Oyster Bay when the family became ill, it was possible that she in some way knew of the threat she carried and was evading authorities on purpose. Either way, he believed that lives hung in the balance.

So Soper decided to waste no more time. He would go to the Park Avenue home where she worked and confront her himself. Looking for your best sleep ever? Sleep Number smart beds are literally made for you. They adapt to your changing needs. So whether you're dealing with sore muscles or running hot at night, your bed automatically adjusts for optimal comfort. Want softer, firmer, quieter,

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On a chilly morning in the spring of 1907, Mary Mallon pulled her long blonde hair back into a tight bun and stoked the fire, beginning her workday in the kitchen of the Park Avenue home where she had recently taken a position as the family's cook. As she surveyed the wide room with its two-chamber sink and hot water faucet, she was thankful for the modern conveniences. Homes like this were much cleaner and easier to work in than the hot, cramped kitchens and laundromats where she started off as a newly arrived teenager to the city years ago.

In the Park Avenue kitchen, Malin stirred a pot of boiling porridge, making a light meal for the house staff before beginning to prepare a more elaborate breakfast for the family, her employer. The simmering pot reminded her of her childhood and how far she'd come in order to call New York her home.

Mallon was born in 1869 in County Tyrone, Ireland, a region known for its beautiful valleys and rugged cliffs. Just 20 years earlier, a devastating potato famine had swept through the country. Hunger and disease killed more than one million people and pushed a million more to flee abroad. In County Tyrone, nearly one-fifth of the residents perished, many as a result of diseases such as cholera and dysentery.

In the years following the famine, nearly every family could recall personal loss and terror during the period known as the Great Hunger. In 1883, at the age of 14, Mallon emigrated to the United States and arrived in New York City. There, she stayed with her aunt and uncle in the Lower East Side and found a bustling city of opportunity and excitement, but also a place where Irish immigrants faced prejudice.

Recent arrivals from Ireland, like Mary, often found themselves pushed into crowded tenements in Lower Manhattan or other pockets of dense housing in the city, such as Hell's Kitchen. Many also found it difficult to gain a foothold in the economy. But from the beginning, Mallon was determined to succeed.

While still a teenager, she began working as a helper in a laundry service, but soon aspired to more. So she joined other young, single Irish women who sought the help of employment agencies to place them as domestic servants in wealthy New York homes. At the time, there was a growing demand for domestic labor, and these agencies served a vital function helping immigrants find work. But soon these agencies became notorious for exploiting the young immigrant women seeking their help.

One 1904 investigation by the Women's Municipal League of New York found that before placing girls in service, the agencies often kept them in miserable, run-down rooms and treated them like cattle to display them to potential employers. And once employed, these young women faced demanding workloads and the possibility of abuse and harassment from their employers. Despite these difficult working conditions, Mallon persevered, earning a reputation as a reliable hard worker with a quick wit.

She was soon promoted to work in the kitchen, which was considered a more skilled job than general cleaning or other household duties. Mallon was a talented cook, known to dash around the kitchen with authority, and by early 1907, she had worked her way up to running the kitchen in the wealthy homes where she worked. At 38 years old, she was sought after, known for her skillfully made delights like homemade vanilla ice cream and pot roast. After many years of hard work, she had achieved a relatively well-paid position, and she intended to keep it.

Imagine it's March 1907 on the east side of Manhattan. You're a sanitation engineer and you walk briskly up Park Avenue, clutching your leather bag against the cool breeze. You come to a stop before a lovely brownstone house, just two doors up from a church. You triple-check the address, gather your courage, and approach the door. A thin, elderly man who appears to be the butler opens the door. You give him a polite nod. Good day, sir.

I am a health expert, and I'd like to step inside and speak with a member of your household, if I may. A health expert? What does that mean exactly? Are you a doctor? Actually, no. Not a medical doctor. An engineer. Well, it'd be more helpful if you were a doctor. We have a few ill people here. Sick with fever. Is that so? Well, perhaps there is something I can do to help them. May I please speak with the cook? The man looks confused. The cook? Well, I suppose. Follow me.

You step inside, then he leads you down a hallway and into the kitchen. Steam from a boiling pot fills the air. A woman with strong, broad shoulders stands at the counter with her back to you. She's taller than you expected and wears a blue apron tied around her waist. Your palms begin to sweat, and you can feel your heart beating in your chest. Good day, ma'am. She turns around and regards you with a suspicious look. You see she's preparing a roast and is holding a long kitchen fork in her hand. Are you Miss Mallon?

"'Miss Mary Mallon?' She narrows her eyes. "'Yes. Who are you?' You're relieved to have finally found the woman you've been looking for for months, but that relief quickly fades as you realize what you have to tell her. "'I am a sanitation engineer. And, well, there's no delicate way to put this, I'm afraid. I have reason to believe that you may be the source of multiple cases of typhoid fever that have emerged in the city.'

Her stare hardens and she places the fork on the table in front of her. You do, do you? Well, yes. It's actually quite a dangerous situation. You worked for a family in Oyster Bay during the summer, did you not? And they became ill? I did, but what's that got to do with me? I'm not sick. You can see that for yourself. Now, if you don't mind, I'm in the middle of preparing lunch. No, you're not visibly ill.

I wouldn't expect you to understand, but science tells us that people like you, who exhibit no signs of disease, may still be capable of spreading disease to others. I don't know what you're talking about. What do you want from me? I need to get some samples to confirm whether you are carrying the typhoid bacteria. Some what? Samples. Urine, blood, fecal...

If I'm correct and you are a carrier of typhoid, we need to inform the proper authorities. I'm not giving you anything of the sort. Now leave me be. I am working. Not to worry. It's quite simple and quick. But I'm afraid I do need them today. In fact, right now.

You begin to move closer, lifting your bag to show her what you've brought to collect the samples. But before you can take another step, she begins shouting at you and threatening you with a long cooking fork she's retrieved from the table. You stumble back in shock, retreating into the hallway. But she keeps advancing towards you, shouting obscenities. Terrified, you dash for the front door. And don't come back. For a moment, you stand on the porch, stunned. That was not how you expected your visit to end.

In March 1907, George Soper confronted Mary Mallon at the home of her employer, but the meeting ended abruptly when Mallon refused to submit to his request to provide medical samples and chased him away.

After the disastrous encounter, Soper reflected, I confessed to myself I had made a bad start, but he was determined not to give up, declaring, I felt a good deal of responsibility about the case. Under suitable conditions, Mary might precipitate a great epidemic. But rather than immediately confronting Mary again, he decided to try a more clandestine approach.

In the days after their first encounter, he followed Mallon from the Park Avenue home where she worked to an apartment on 3rd Avenue in Lower Manhattan. Soper found that she shared the apartment with a man known only by his first initial A and last name Brehoff, who frequently spent time at the local pub. Despite considering him a disreputable-looking man, Soper bought him drinks and spent time with him, getting Brehoff to give him information about Mary.

Eventually, he even managed to convince Brehoff to show him the inside of the apartment where Mary lived. Soper was appalled by what he saw, saying, He took me to see their room. I should not care to see another like it. It was a place of dirt and disorder. It was not improved by the presence of a large dog, of which Mary was said to be very fond.

After learning of her daily routine through Brehoff and concluding that Mary lived in what he considered to be unsanitary conditions, Soper turned his attention to planning another ambush. He hoped to finally persuade Mallon to submit to testing and to the custody of authorities.

So just a couple weeks after their first meeting on Park Avenue, Soper surprised Mallon on the stairway to her apartment. She once again responded angrily. Soper described Mary protesting that there was typhoid fever everywhere. Nobody had ever accused her of causing any cases or had any occasion to do so. She was in perfect health and there was no sign or symptom of any disease about her.

But Soper continued to insist on getting the test samples he needed to determine whether Mary carried the typhoid bacteria. Just like before, the confrontation escalated and he was forced to retreat. Mary stood in front of her apartment, hurling insults at him as he fled down the stairs. Once again, Soper's attempts to get the lab samples he needed in order to prove his theory ended in failure. Knowing he ultimately had no power to force her to submit to the necessary tests, he decided it was time to alert the city authorities.

He contacted Chief Medical Officer Herman Biggs at the health department and turned over the findings of his months-long investigation while warning Biggs that it was impossible to deal with Mallon in a peaceful and reasonable way, calling her a menace to the community and a chronic typhoid germ producer. He recommended swift action to take her into custody and urged Biggs to be prepared to use force. We acting bad, bad, bad, bad. We ain't trying to hurt nobody. For decades, he was untouchable.

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In March 1907, New York's chief medical officer, Herman Biggs, received a disturbing report from sanitation engineer George Soper. Soper claimed that a private cook was spreading typhoid among the city's wealthy families and causing illness among her fellow workers. The warnings in the report were troubling enough, but Biggs was especially concerned by the news that the woman had refused to go to the hospital or submit to testing. The year had only recently begun, but already the pace of typhoid cases in the city was picking up,

Biggs could not afford to let a suspected typhoid carrier remain at large. He knew he needed to convince this woman to yield to testing, even if it meant using force. So he directed his sanitary superintendent to take action, and the superintendent ordered his assistant, Dr. Sarah Josephine Baker, to visit the Park Avenue home where the cook worked.

Since joining the health department as an inspector five years before in 1902, Baker had shown a passion for protecting the city's most vulnerable residents from disease. Baker spent long days working in some of the most crowded immigrant neighborhoods in the city, where she earned a reputation for tracking down cases of disease and convincing families to trust the city's medical staff. Now, her supervisor hoped Baker's skills could be put to use with this uncooperative cook.

After all, Baker had a personal stake in stopping the spread of typhoid. Baker was born in 1873 in Poughkeepsie, New York. She grew up in a wealthy Quaker family, but her early life was marked by tragedy. Her brother and then her father both died from typhoid fever before Baker was 16. From then on, she decided to dedicate her life to medicine.

After graduating from the New York Infirmary Medical College in 1898, Baker and another classmate planned to set up a medical practice. But right away, they were discouraged by friends and family. At the time, fewer than 5% of doctors in the U.S. were female. As Baker noted, medical women were such rare and unusual creatures that they could hardly be said to exist at all. But Baker would not be deterred.

She and her classmate managed to scrape together enough funds to open a private clinic near Central Park, serving mostly female clients from the crowded and run-down shacks along nearby Amsterdam Avenue.

In 1902, while continuing her private practice, she joined the New York City Health Department as a medical inspector. While tending to the sick and dying, she had a realization, later recalling, The way to keep people from dying from disease, it struck me suddenly, was to keep them from falling ill. Healthy people don't die. It sounds like a completely witless remark, but at the time it was a startling idea.

She called this preventative medicine and advocated for improving living conditions so that people would be protected from exposure to disease. She also urged officials to closely monitor those who had already contracted illness. By doing so, she hoped more people could be spared the fate of contracting deadly diseases like her brother and father had.

When Baker received word of a cook in Manhattan who was spreading the typhoid bacteria and refusing to submit to the health department's tests or oversight, she knew she had to convince the cook to provide samples for the lab. But when Baker arrived at the Park Avenue brownstone, Mallon reacted as she had to George Soper's demand and refused to cooperate. Baker recalled, "'I told her what I wanted. Her jaw set and her eyes glinted and she said no. She said it in a way that left little room for persuasion or argument.'"

Baker left the home, but returned the following day with police officers to take Mallon forcefully if necessary, as well as an ambulance to transport her. She found Mallon at the basement door, but the cook was ready for her. Baker described what happened next. Mary peered out, a long kitchen fork in her hand like a rapier. She lunged at me with the fork. I stepped back, recoiled on the policeman, and so confused matters that by the time we got through the door, Mary had disappeared.

Baker frantically searched the house, but it seemed that once again, Mallon had vanished.

Imagine it's March 20th, 1907 in Manhattan. You're a police officer for the city of New York, and you're at the Park Avenue home of a suspected typhoid carrier. An hour ago, you were on routine patrol of the nearby block when a woman from the health department grabbed you by the arm, insisting you help her apprehend a dangerous person. You followed her here, but as soon as you arrived, the suspect fled. You and two other officers have been searching the house since then, but it's starting to look hopeless.

Members of the household staff glare at you with annoyance. You approach the woman from the health department. Ma'am, I'm afraid we're not getting anywhere. We're not even sure she's still in the house. She'd be long gone by now. We must be absolutely sure. We can't afford to let her slip away. Question the staff again. They must know something. That's just the problem. It seems like they're protecting her.

They either refuse to talk to me or are making contradictory statements about which direction she went. One claims she went over that fence, another says she ran out onto the street. I respect their loyalty, but they don't understand the danger they're in. This woman may look healthy, but she's potentially carrying a disease that could kill everyone in this house, in this city. You furrow your brow in confusion. How can a healthy woman who works in a kitchen be so dangerous?

Working in the kitchen makes her even more dangerous. Without proper hygiene, the bacteria she's carrying can transfer from her hands into the food. If it's properly cooked, the bacteria may be killed. But raw foods like fruit and vegetables will carry the bacteria right into the mouths of this family and the staff. Trust me, we need to find this cook. Just then, another policeman rushes into the room. I think I found her!

You both follow the officer down the hallway. Outside, he gestures to a door under the stairs leading up to the second floor. Under the doorjamb, you can see a piece of blue fabric peeking out. You step forward and turn the handle. The woman is crouching inside the cupboard. She glares at you with fierce blue eyes. Before you can say anything, she lunges at you. You grab her wrists and try to calm her down enough to lead her out to the waiting ambulance. Hold still. We're not here to harm you.

Two other policemen step in to help you as the woman from the health department steps forward, speaking forcefully to the cook struggling in your arms. Miss Mallon, no more running. You are coming with us. Gentlemen, do not let this woman go.

You try your best to hold the cook down as she struggles to break free. Slowly, the four of you pull her to the front of the house and toward the ambulance in the street. You feel badly for her, but if what the health department officer says is true, she needs to be taken somewhere and treated. For her safety and everyone else's.

In March 1907, Dr. Josephine Baker, along with several police officers, forcibly took Mary Mallon into custody. After a multiple-hour search through the Park Avenue home where she worked, they discovered Mallon hiding in a storeroom beneath the stairs at the side of the house. Baker would later learn that one of the daughters of the wealthy family living there had been taken seriously ill with typhoid fever.

Baker and the officers dragged Mallon into a police ambulance and took her to the hospital. Along the way, Mallon continued to resist, forcing Baker to sit on her in the back of the ambulance to hold her down. Baker would later describe the wild ride as like being in a cage with an angry lion.

Mallon was taken to the Willard Parker Hospital, which specialized in patients with communicable diseases such as scarlet fever, measles, and typhoid. Once there, Baker and the health department staff finally managed to get the fecal and urine samples they needed for Mallon.

Malin was distraught after being forcefully apprehended and forced to submit to medical tests. She would later describe the ordeal as traumatic, declaring, I was seized, then locked up in a pest house. And by holding her at the hospital, city officials ensured that she would lose her job as a cook at the Park Avenue home.

After testing the samples they obtained from her, the doctors concluded that Malin did in fact carry the typhoid bacteria. They put her in an isolation ward where they continued their tests. They also urged her to get surgery to remove her gallbladder where they guessed the typhoid bacteria was most concentrated. Malin begrudgingly yielded to the ongoing tests but refused any surgery.

Several weeks after Mallon was apprehended, George Soper visited her at the hospital. When he arrived at the isolation ward, he found her lying on her side on her bed. He scolded her for refusing his help, pointing out that the test results from the lab were evidence that he was correct in suspecting her to be a typhoid spreader.

Malin just glared at him silently. Soper tried to explain to her how she was spreading the disease through her cooking, telling her, People who eat this food swallow the germs and get sick. If you would wash your hands after leaving the toilet and before cooking, there might be no trouble. You don't keep your hands clean enough.

Soper then proposed to write a book about her case, promising to give her the profits. Malin stared at him, her eyes gleaming angrily. Then, as Soper recalled later, As I finished, Mary rose. She pulled her bathrobe about her, and not taking her eyes off of mine, slowly opened the door of her toilet and vanished within. The door slammed. Soper gathered his things and left, bitter that his advice and his proposal to publish her story were both rejected.

After less than a month at the hospital, the health department transferred Mallon to North Brother Island, an isolated island in the East River. Since 1885, the island had been home to Riverside Hospital, which held patients suffering from tuberculosis, a highly contagious disease that could be spread through the air. When Mallon arrived on North Brother Island, she was confined in a one-room cottage, apart from the hospital staff and other patients. Over the coming year, Mallon would be held against her will while being regularly tested and strictly monitored.

Fourteen months later, in June 1908, William Park, head of the bacteriology laboratory at the New York City Health Department, traveled to Chicago to present a paper on Mallon's case at the American Medical Association's annual meeting. Never before had a healthy carrier of typhoid been tracked down, taken by force, and kept in isolation, so there was great interest in Mallon's case.

Park described to other physicians how during her confinement, Malin was tested three times a week, and though some of the tests came back negative for the typhoid bacteria, enough were positive to convince Park and other doctors that Malin posed a continued risk to the public. During the discussion after his presentation, a colleague of Park's referred to Malin as Typhoid Mary. Her full name was still being kept from the public, but the press would soon latch onto this moniker for her.

After more than a year in confinement, Malin still did not believe the doctor's claims that she was infected with a typhoid bacteria. So she started devising a plan to find out for herself whether what the doctors were telling her was true. She continued to feel healthy, and authorities had allowed Malin's friend Brehoff to visit her on occasion at North Brother Island. She began giving Brehoff some of her fecal and urine samples so he could bring them to a private laboratory for testing.

Soon, doctors from the Ferguson Laboratory in Manhattan wrote Mallon back with her findings, declaring that none of the specimens have shown typhoid colonies. Mallon had spent over a year at the hospital being treated as an outcast and a criminal. Now, buoyed by the findings from the private lab, she began to believe her resistance to her captivity and to the medical staff was justified. For the first time in months, she felt hope, and she was determined to fight for her freedom.

From Wondery, this is episode one of our two-part series on Typhoid Mary from American History Tellers. On the next episode, Mary Mallon's bid for freedom reaches the New York State Supreme Court and attracts the attention of newspapers across the country. After securing her release from isolation, authorities lose track of her. But when another deadly outbreak hits a maternity hospital, doctors race to end the threat once and for all.

If you like American history tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

If you'd like to learn more about the case of Mary Mauer, we recommend Typhoid Mary, Captive to the Public's Health by Judith Walzer Levin. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship.

Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bogg. Supervising sound designer Matthew Filler. Music by Lindsey Graham. Voice acting by Joe Hernandez-Kolsky and Zara Hanifor. This episode is written by Dorian Marina. Edited and produced by Alita Rozansky. Managing producer Desi Blaylock. Senior managing producer Callum Plews. Senior producer Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

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