Terrible Typhoid Mary: Chapters 1–4

A good servant wasn’t uppity. She knew her place. If a servant was smarter than her employer, she never showed it. She was humble.

A good servant wasn’t uppity. She knew her place. If a servant was smarter than her employer, she never showed it. She was humble.

Mary had worked for some of the most prominent and socially elite families in New York City—families whose names appeared alongside the Warrens’ in Who’s Who and in the society pages of the New York Times—and for this she was well paid.

More than 80 percent of Irish-born women working in America toiled as domestic servants. Employment agencies touted them as excellent workers.

They praised their Irish servants for “quick wit” and “strong arm and voluble tongue.” They called their servants “industrious,” “pious,” and “chaste.” They noted that Irish servants had “sterling integrity” and were rarely in trouble with the law.

They praised their Irish servants for “quick wit” and “strong arm and voluble tongue.” They called their servants “industrious,” “pious,” and “chaste.” They noted that Irish servants had “sterling integrity” and were rarely in trouble with the law.

They praised their Irish servants for “quick wit” and “strong arm and voluble tongue.” They called their servants “industrious,” “pious,” and “chaste.” They noted that Irish servants had “sterling integrity” and were rarely in trouble with the law.

They praised their Irish servants for “quick wit” and “strong arm and voluble tongue.” They called their servants “industrious,” “pious,” and “chaste.” They noted that Irish servants had “sterling integrity” and were rarely in trouble with the law.

Did Mrs. Warren hold these stereotypical views? We don’t know. But we do know she hired Mary on the spot.

A cook’s life wasn’t easy. But here, there was no dingy flat on the Lower East Side, where immigrants like Mary lived. There was no sweltering city heat and crowded streets and noise and squalor.

A cook’s life wasn’t easy. But here, there was no dingy flat on the Lower East Side, where immigrants like Mary lived. There was no sweltering city heat and crowded streets and noise and squalor.

Hand-cranked rotary beaters and peelers made some tasks easier, but she did most of the work by hand—the mixing, the rolling, the kneading, the beating, the paring of vegetables, the slicing of apples and peaches.

Hand-cranked rotary beaters and peelers made some tasks easier, but she did most of the work by hand—the mixing, the rolling, the kneading, the beating, the paring of vegetables, the slicing of apples and peaches.

She emptied her chamber pot into the servants’ outdoor privy and washed her hands at the cold-water tap in the kitchen.

Once the stove was lit and the dirtiest work done, Mary changed into a clean cotton dress, pinned her hair into a tight knot, and donned a clean white cap.

It was hard work to prepare all those meals, morning, noon, and night, and even harder when the Warrens entertained guests and threw lavish dinner parties.

This was a tall wooden hutch with a wooden work surface and drawers and cupboards for holding sugar, flour, salt, spices, milk, eggs, and molasses. Extra provisions were stored in the kitchen pantry.

Sour milk was curdled into cottage cheese. Leftover potatoes reappeared as potato cakes. Not even eggshells were discarded: they were used to clarify, or remove the sediment from, broth, jellies, and coffee.

That summer, the peaches were especially sweet and succulent.

Perhaps she breathed in the briny scent of the bay that stretched all the way from Long Island Sound to the Atlantic Ocean.

We know that Mary never lost her Biting Irish brogue, though it softened over the years.

One day toward the end of August, nine-year-old Margaret Warren felt too tired and listless to run and play with her sister and brothers.

“All that is necessary is a few doses of Chamberlain’s Colic, Cholera, and Diarrhea Remedy, followed by a dose of Castor oil to cleanse the system” promised an advertisement in the town newspaper.

Her fever persisted, spiking as high as 105 degrees and causing delirium.

And then news of the telltale skin rash flashed through the house. Right away, Mrs. Warren sent for the doctor.

The doctor confirmed the diagnosis. Margaret was stricken with typhoid fever—a highly contagious, deadly intestinal disease that killed one out of five victims.

As landlords, the Thompsons knew that the stigma of typhoid fever would make it difficult—if not impossible—to rent the house again.

Worse yet, if the house was sick, if it had an underlying problem that couldn’t be resolved, it might be condemned or even burned down.

When a typhoid victim used the toilet, the infected urine and stool were passed into outdoor privies or flushed into a cesspool.

As the days passed, Mrs. Thompson fretted. The local people were gossiping about her house.

Even though health inspectors had examined every nook and cranny, even though every test had been performed, even though every test result had come back negative, even though the health inspectors had closed the case, the townspeople continued to speculate that the water was bad.

Without street cleaning, sewers, and regular garbage removal, this garbage, rubbish, and filth was left in the streets to rot. It eventually wended its way into the drinking water, contaminating it and spreading disease.

These improvements helped reduce the incidence of typhoid disease by sixty-seven percent.
But for an ambitious epidemic fighter like George Soper, 67 percent wasn’t good enough.

It was a small case, too, for a man with Soper’s experience and reputation. But he had a curious mind, and the case intrigued him, so he agreed to investigate.

Soper searched for her but was unable to find the woman. With the advent of winter, she had rolled up her tent and left.

That growth happens quickly and profusely: one single bacterium cell can grow to eight million cells in less than twenty-four hours.

Soper put the facts together this way: the seemingly healthy Mary Mallon had a gallbladder and intestines teeming with typhoid bacteria.

After using the toilet, Mary had failed to wash her hands carefully before handling food, Soper conjectured.

In the act of peeling the peaches and cutting them up and churning the ice cream, she transferred the bacteria to the dessert—and then served it.

“If this woman could be found and questioned,” said Soper, “it seemed likely that she could give facts from which the cause of the epidemic could be ascertained.”