Fieldnotes No. 5 (3/3/10): Care, Control, and Vision: Medical Structures of Sentiment (Bellevue Hospital)- 28th Street, Main Lobby, Secondary Lobby, Prayer Room, Back of Bellevue 1:55 PM-4:05 PM

Mind to Hand Mapping of the Bellevue and Periphery

Link to map: here.

Notes: I want to trace the feeder street (E. 28th) into the “Eye” of the Bellevue, mapping the approach on the street which runs perpendicular to the main lobby (from now on referred to as the “Eye”) of the Bellevue.  Slicing off of 1st Avenue, heading straight into the Bellevue, what are the ways that people can enter the space of the Bellevue? How can people walk there, what are the differing avenues by which people come upon this space? Through parks, past churches, within closed spaces of vehicles?

I feel like I am chipping away at the Bellevue, attempting to understand it from different angles. Connections are being made but I am unconscious of what they are at this time–I have yet to feel a whole picture come to light–I chip away from different physical angles in the hope of seeing differently.

The Approach: E. 28th Street and Park Avenue

FedEx, StoneyBrook, ConEdison building covered in pink and black tiles. Park South Hotel at 124 E. 28th Street, across from it a parking garage and the parking attendant and others passing by watch me as I jot this down. I wonder why I am doing this, how noting specific buildings is going to help me get a sense for the environment through which people wade in approaching the “Eye” of the Bellevue.

The Approach: Lexington and E. 28th Street

Little Michael Corner Deli and Grocery store at 118 E. 28th Street. AY Kitchen across the street, Haandi Pakistani, Indian and Bangladesh restaurant nearby. In the span of one block, three people are caught talking to themselves. The Bellevue is not far. Ajunta Travel Service, Curry in a Hurry. Little India presents itself to me in a myriad of small, hole-in-the-wall shops and bodegas and I continue searching for some meaning that separates E. 28th street from all the other streets in NYC. How will this street tell me anything different? Why focus here as a “feeder street” into the Bellevue rather than 1st Ave?

The Approach: Between Lexington and 3rd Ave.

Bollywood Corner and Bollywood Grocery next to Coup de Couer. Across the street sits Epiphany School, founded in 1888. On a soiled blue and yellow flag waving in the winds on E. 28th is written, “The Epiphany School: A Tradition in Excellence”. It’s architecture is reminiscent of the Old Psych Ward, angels carved in brown stone leer at me over shields and feathered leaves. Next door there is a Catholic Church, erected around the same time period. I wonder if these are sisters to the Bellevue knowing that education, church and madness are never far apart and note a few dates of interest from Wikipedia:

• 1879: A pavilion for the insane is erected within hospital grounds—an approach considered revolutionary at the time.
• 1883: Bellevue initiates a residency training program that is still the model for surgical training worldwide.
• 1884: The Carnegie Laboratory, the nation’s first pathology and bacteriology laboratory, is founded at Bellevue.
• 1888: The first American nursing school for men is established.
• 1889: Bellevue physicians are first to report that tuberculosis is a preventable disease.
• 1892: Bellevue establishes a dedicated unit for alcoholics.

The church next to the Epiphany School has a cross which is etched into the corner stone of the aged building. The stones are painted sky blue, an odd pairing with the mold and grime-encrusted red stones just above. It is a Roman Catholic Church and the sign outside says, “Our Lady of the Scapular and St. Stephens”. There are tarot card readings next door, Thai NY next to that and a Friends Shoe Repair and Tailor aside the 3rd Avenue Quick Stop. An older woman in tattered clothing slaps a yellow cab with the brunt of her cane asking for change. Awaiting the light, the cabbie calmly practices an air of indifference and she grunts and moves on as the light changes and he drives forward. Again I wonder what it is that I am looking for. A parade of crazy people, remnants of the lasting effects of the Bellevue psych ward? I begin to wonder if it is true that many of the old patients of the Bellevue remain in the vicinity of the site of their incarceration and if it is true, what this means? E. 28th Street is a lens through which the Bellevue will be approached.

The Approach: Between 3rd Ave. and 2nd Ave.

The Rosehill Apartment complex, Chesapeake House across the street. I am in the residential areas now filled with apartment complexes and parks. On my left, the Self Realization Center with its gold leaf signage rises, constructed in 1893, not long before the tuberculosis outbreak where the Bellevue was thrown into overtime. Euro Beauty: Men, Women and Unisex and Aurora’s Bead and Jewelry, Basal Deli and Grocery on the corner of 2nd Ave and E. 28th Street.

The Approach: Between 2nd Ave. and 1st Ave.

Kips Bay Court 500.510.520 sits on the outer edges of 2nd and E. 28th. This is the entrance to the park, a buffer between the Bellevue and the wider NYC. Between Kips Bay and other apartment complexes there is a wide, gray-stoned path, each mass-produced brick interlocking with those around it. The plants lining the path are deadened, the tree branches from the aged trees above rattle against one another. I walk down the path, camera in hand and stop to take a few shots of the apartment complexes and the park. An older woman with orange and brown hair pushing a green laundry cart stops at the sight of my camera. She looks trapped and slightly perturbed and graces the presence of the lower section of my photograph. I finish, lower my camera and she shakes her head as if admonishing me for slyly taking her picture. I want to tell her that it was not her that I was focused on but I do not and instead simply walk past. She is gone and I continue walking down the rolling hill towards the Bellevue.

The Approach: Mount Carmel Plaza and E. 28th Street

The Mt. Carmel Plaza cordons off the section of land directly in front of the Bellevue “Eye”: 344 E. 28th Street. This is property of NYC Housing Authority, a towering 15-20 floors of apartment buildings carved in dark red and black brick. At its base, the barren grounds of tiered garden beds lined with railroad ties sit idly by, a soiled and torn American flag flapping in the winter winds and facing the “Eye” of the Bellevue. I wonder if these gardens are ever used and if so, by whom? I wonder who lives here, watching the Bellevue, being watched by the “Eye”. Are they past or present patients, shuffling through a halfway house on their road to the “real” world or are they simply residents, not unlike any other residents marking the streets of NYC and beyond?

I look up from the barren grounds to the “Eye” beyond. The outer facade is constructed of iron “curtain” and slabs of rectangular, clear glass in a manner quite similar to that of a 50′s office building. Many of the blinds are open to 1st Ave. Inside stand the doctors, the patients, the blood pressure gauges hanging on the walls, the patient chairs wrapped tightly in bright, white butcher paper, the doctor’s and nurse’s tools in stainless steel containers. The blinds on 90% of the facade to the modern wing are open and I wonder if this is an attempt to make Bellevue’s practices transparent and visible?

I look down 1st Ave. and take in the parade of the “Eye”, the Old Psych Ward and the NYU “Ceter,” all sitting next to one another. I look up again at the windows on the “Eye” and take notice that none of them are tinted. Hanging on lampposts just outside the main entrance there are small blue signs with yellow and white writing and an NYPD crests that read, “Bellevue Celebrates Peace Officer Week”.

I enter the “Eye” and immediately begin searching for a seat from which I can observe the main lobby. Above the Au Bon Pain cafe in the corner, I notice for the first time that etched into the old building are the words, “Waiting Room” and laugh. I mill around, unable to find a seat and find it odd for me to simply stand for the only other people that are seemingly doing this are policemen and food delivery individuals, of which I am neither. I walk over to the the Au Bon Pain and buy a cup of coffee to attempt normalcy and gain legitimacy through finance and consumption. The police officers, one man and one woman are at the entrance to the “brain” of the Bellevue, blocking entrance to the “optic nerve” hallway. I approach and they stare at me. I feign a fake phone call, draw my cell phone from my pocket and begin a fake conversation to gain some sense of legitimacy, talking to this fictional person at great lengths about what section of the C ward they have been admitted to and how I would go about getting there. They both look away and begin talking to one another. I take the opportunity to memorize the Bellevue map as much as possible, the map precariously set between the police officers and the visitor’s desk which is manned by the Bellevue’s private security force. I continue my fake conversation, finding it comical and I think to myself that perhaps I need to be admitted to the psych ward. One more look to the police officers and the visitor’s desk and I walk through the “optic nerve” into the “brain,” searching for my long-sought C ward.

I traverse the “optic nerve”, see the adult emergency room, the stairs to the prayer rooms and the empty mural room straight ahead and turn left towards the secondary lobby. On my right, at a fold-out table, there sits a blond-haired woman dressed in a tight white suit in her late 40′s manning the HIV and blood pressure testing table. I note that in a place so marked by disease and deep, red blood, white seems to be the color most aptly used to deny that any such things exist in this space as if to say, “This is a place of sterility and cleanliness, far from the earth tones of feces or ruby-red blood.” I look up and see a sign that reveals that the C ward is down the hallway to my right. Too nervous to make the turn and feeling completely out of place, I continue straight to known lands, the secondary lobby where I had visited once before.

Secondary Lobby, 2:50 PM

I face the large, tinted, rectangular slabs of windows lined with iron beams and look outside to the blue parking structure, three stories high. I have stopped here and sat on the orange, modern, bean pod chairs to gain a sense of the space and calm my increasing sense of anxiety in roaming the Bellevue aimlessly. I look across the floor, notice the other section of the lobby which I have never visited before opposite the entrance doors and make my way to that location. The space is vast and empty and the 4′ by 4′ black, stone tiles, well-worn on the edges and curving into the grout, reflect the light from outside. In the middle of the entryway, dividing the two spaces of the secondary lobby, there sits a diamond-shaped art piece that rises up to the gray, bumpy ceiling above from the black tiles below. It is an odd piece, covered in shiny stones in a manner which bespeaks of a young child let loose with glitter and a bottle of glue. From the ceiling jut out sliced, cylindrical lights about 1′ in length that shoot countenanced beams to the floor below.

The oddity of this space by far is the shiny black piano which sits in the middle of the large black tile floor. Upon noticing this, the ghastly smell of a homeless person floats my way: stale urine, unwashed clothes and greased, unkempt hair. I look around me and cannot locate from where this smell might have come from for I am nearly alone in this space and I am unnerved. On the piano there is a sign which reads, “The auxiliary to the Bellevue Hospital thanks Pfizer, Inc. for its donation of the piano and furnishings in the hospital building lobby,” and then at the bottom in all caps, “KEEPING THE HUMANITY IN HEALTH CARE.” A piano cord lies loosely on top of the cover. It is well-polished but seemingly rarely used. I wonder who would use it anyway. Someone from the street? A doctor or nurse on their break? No, this piano seems rarely used but far from disrepair. It is blocked off from the rest of the space and the people by steel posts and cloth, guarded from use by physical barriers. I look over to the windows near the FDR expressway and see three NYPD police officers patrolling the street just outside the Bellevue. They look in and I briefly make eye contact with one of them.

Having built up the courage, I stand and walk back through the optic nerve of the Bellevue, turn left at the hallway entrance to the C ward and walk down. I project an air of confidence and legitimacy and come upon an elevator bank. A white woman with brown hair with highlights, a neatly-pressed red suit, lightly-dusted makeup and a kind face looks over to me and smiles. I smile back and take notice of the name tag she has on her coat lapel. She is a Bellevue employee, ostensibly someone that works in the very ward I am trying to get in to see. I say excuse me and tell her I am lost, that I am looking for the C ward because my friend, whom I call Daniel, was admitted to the psych ward recently and I am here to visit him. She seems to be in her early 60′s, and holds my arm as she speaks to me. “Well, if he was admitted, he is most likely in inpatient,” she says. “That’s not here you see. He’s most likely in building H.” I remember from the map that the H building is in the main hospital as well and includes inpatient care and a number of psych services. She tells me that I need to get a visitor’s pass in the main lobby, the “Eye”, walks with me down the hallway forgoing her elevator which dings in the background. She has taken her time and effort to make sure I am taken care of and know the way. I feel slightly bad and notice that what I have done has directed me away from the very ward I was interested in getting access to. I thank her and remain in the hallway around the corner, waiting for her to leave. I send texts to friends asking if they know of anyone admitted to the Bellevue and get nothing. I know I need someone to visit to get a visitor’s pass and place this firmly in the back of my mind.

I am at a loss of where to go next and see the prayer room sign on the wall in front of me. I climb the stairs, turn to my right and pass a strange art piece lining the wall. It seems to be a 9-11 memory wall and I find it slightly creepy. Opening the main doors to the prayer room corridor, I notice that to my left there is a synagogue. I turn to my right and head towards the Catholic prayer room. I know this space from movies and limited exposure and cross myself as I enter in case anyone else is in the room.

Catholic Prayer Room, 3:10 PM

I am the only one here and I take some pictures of my surroundings. It is completely quiet. Occasionally the elevators open and ding in the background. The occasional muffled chatter of people roll through the hallways, most of it coming from down the long hallway where the HR department is. A woman enters, sits and the benches creak. Her cell phone goes off and she mutters to herself, praying. The elevators ding readily now and I imagine waves of people coming in to pray. No one else enters and no one seems to exit the elevators. Next to the air vent I notice there is peeling paint on the wall next to where the strange combination of white and surgeon green paint meets. It is calm here and quiet, smells of churches and air purified or heavily filtered. I think that perhaps it is the scent of sandalwood and it reminds me of the small, stone church that sat nestled in the woods near my grandmother’s home in California.

This is a good place for me to work and I will return. Another person comes in and I decide to leave. I exit the prayer room and take notice of a bulletin board where people have pinned prayers up. I take a photo, look to the floor and find yet another piece of 9-11 memorial artwork. This too I take a picture of and move on, leaving the hallway, exiting the “optic nerve” and the “eye” and I walk over to E. 26th street. 

E. 26th Street, The Back of the Bellevue, 3:35 PM

I walk down E. 26th, past the modern forensics building and along the darkened corridors cast in shadows from the tall buildings flanking it. There is a row of ambulances and two EMT men exit their ambulance and enter a steel grate door to what looks to be the EMT garage/hang-out spot. I ask them how I can get to the blue parking structure from where I am and one of them stops and points out that I need to walk around the bend in the road and I will find it. He is in his late 30′s it seems, carries a burly mustache across his face and is visibly fit but with great care, explains that I need to cross the street and use the sidewalk because cars won’t be able to see me coming around the bend. I thank him and continue on my way, taking pictures of the FDR Expressway, the strange apartment towers and the “Bellevue Sobriety Garden” which sits at the base of the three story, blue parking structure.

Walking behind the Bellevue gives me a different perspective on things. I think back to the late 1700′s/early 1800′s when the hospital was being built. The East River back at that time was reportedly lined with disease-ridden cesspools and bogs and I imagine what the smell must have been like. NYPD trucks sit parked behind the hospital, “NYPD: The Boldest” emblazoned across the sides. This seems to be the EMT trail, men and women dressed the part carousing the back alleyways of the hospital en route to their chariots. As I walk further, I know this is a space of the Bellevue to explore further, see the views of the Empire State building from over the corners of the Old Psych Ward on E. 30th. There is a strange white tent behind the Old Psych Ward. I take pictures and see as I spproach the many signs warning people not to enter, that guards are armed and the premises are fully on camera. As I walk up E. 30th towards 1st Ave, I look through the gates to the entrance to the structure, note the torn pictures and illustrations and weathered wood paneling lining the entrance way. The place is eerie, a modern-looking structure lined with eons of time-now-past. I take more photos and continue walking up E. 30th. Stopping an older black man, I ask him what the building is. He tells me it is where they kept the remains of the World Trade Center victims and the torn pictures and illustrations now make sense. They are the remnants of loved one’s grieving. This spaces around the Old Psych Ward and the Bellevue as a whole are marked by the stench of death.         

 Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/47478409@N06/sets/72157623441033741/