American History Tellers - Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1793 | Fears & Falsehoods | 2

Episode Date: November 16, 2022

In September 1793, yellow fever continued to ravage Philadelphia. As the death toll mounted, Dr. Benjamin Rush raced to find a cure. Rush used an aggressive and controversial treatment to battle the grisly disease, sparking a political backlash. Soon Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton and President George Washington were forced to flee the disease, leaving government on the verge of collapse. But the Mayor of Philadelphia, and ordinary citizens, stepped in to try to save their city from ruin.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersSupport us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's a cloudy evening in mid-September 1793. You're a widow, riding in a carriage just outside Easton, Maryland, 100 miles south of your hometown of Philadelphia. You've finally left your disease-ridden city behind, and for the first time in weeks, you feel yourself relaxing. You're desperate, though, for a hot meal and a soft bed, and you're hoping to find a decent inn up ahead where you can spend the night.

You startle at the sound of men whooping and hollering in the distance. You crane your neck out the window but can't see anything in the door. You call out to your servant driving the carriage. What's that sound? Why are we stopping? All of a sudden, someone throws open the door to your carriage. A strange man pulls you out of your seat and shoves you to the ground. You try to get up, but you trip over your twisted skirts. You look for your servant. He's also been thrown to the ground. A large man with a musket slung over his shoulder looms over him.

Please, don't hurt us. Just take what you want and leave us alone. Your attacker's upper lip curls menacingly as he stares down at you. He reeks of vinegar. Easton is closed to Philadelphians. Now you understand. You thought these men were going to rob you, but they think you're contagious with yellow fever. So slowly you try to sit up, holding your hands above your head.

Please, I'm not sick. I'm searching for a safe place to ride out the epidemic. We'll find somewhere else. We're not going to let the fever invade our town. Well, where am I supposed to go? I've already been turned away from a tavern in Wilmington. I'm running out of options. Not my problem.

Get out of here. You stand and make your way back to the carriage. but the man steps in your way. Not so fast. Well, if you won't let me stay, at least let me go. The man eyes the luggage piled up in the back of the carriage. And lets you spread this pestilence? No. You watch in horror as your attacker lights a torch and holds it to the wooden wheels of your carriage. Your belongings are infected, but we can't allow you to haul them about the countryside, spreading the fever. Now go back to where you came from. Be thankful we didn't burn you too.

You stare helplessly as the flames engulf all your worldly possessions. You thought that nothing could be more dangerous than staying in Philadelphia, but it's starting to feel like nowhere is safe. All your worldly possessions. You thought that nothing could be more dangerous than staying in Philadelphia, but it's starting to feel like nowhere is safe. wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. From the team behind American History Tellers comes a new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, intimate moments, and shocking scandals that shaped our nation. From the War of 1812 to Watergate. Available now wherever you get your books. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, Your story.

In September 1793, yellow fever continued to cut a deadly swath through Philadelphia. Thousands of residents had already fled to the countryside, and many more tried to join them. The mistaken belief that the disease was contagious caused widespread panic and paranoia. Armed gangs took to the roads to prevent the disease from invading their towns. And they had good reason to be frightened. In Philadelphia, then the nation's capital, dozens of men, women,

and children were suffering grisly deaths every day. Bodies were left out in the streets to decay. Overwhelmed by the misery surrounding him, the city's leading physician, Dr. Benjamin Rush, raced to find a cure. But his treatment sparked controversy as the debate over what caused yellow fever and how to contain it became politicized. Only a handful of doctors remained in Philadelphia. Local and state government officials had already fled, and the federal government ground to a halt as clerks and cabinet secretaries abandoned the city as well. President George Washington weighed his options as the nation's bureaucracy crumbled around him.

Philadelphia was teetering on the brink of collapse, and soon the crisis would fall on the shoulders of a handful of courageous citizens who refused to stand by and watch their city fall apart. This is Episode 2, Fears and Falsehoods. As the fall of 1793 approached, Philadelphia's yellow fever epidemic exploded. In the first week of September, the number of daily deaths more than doubled from 19 to 42. Whole families were wiped out. Husbands deserted their wives and parents abandoned their children at the slightest

sign of infection. Other children were left alone as their parents succumbed to the disease. These orphans were left to wander the streets. Many people died alone, especially poor residents who lacked the funds to pay for care. The city's doctors got little sleep. They visited dozens of fever victims every day. And when they returned home, they found their waiting rooms full of men and women desperate for care. Dr. Benjamin Rush had been the first to identify the epidemic,

and the burden of containing it weighed on him heavily, and his usual optimism began to waver. In a letter to his wife, Julia, he admitted, I even strive to subdue my sympathy for my patients, otherwise I should sink under the accumulated load of misery I am obliged to contemplate. Doctors struggled to devise a treatment that would save their patients from the grave. Some relied on bleeding and purging. Others chose a milder treatment known as the French cure because it was used in French colonies in the Caribbean.

Doctors administering this method had their patients ingest chamomile tea, wine, and laudanum. They recommended cold baths and rest. The goal of this method was to ameliorate the worst symptoms of the fever and let the body heal itself. But Rush tried a different approach. When he first began treating patients in August, he recommended they take cold baths, sit in cool air, and eat light meals. But he also administered moderate purges and bleedings. When those treatments failed, though, he began to experiment. He administered wine, brandy, and tinctures and infusions of medicinal tree bark containing quinine, a substance used to treat malaria and reduce fevers.

He wrapped his patients in blankets soaked in warm vinegar, and he even rubbed mercury ointment on their skin near their livers in hopes of purging bile from their bodies. But Rush's patients continued to die. He became desperate, writing, Heaven alone bore witness to the anguish of my soul in this awful situation. But Rush was convinced there had to be a cure for yellow fever. And he believed that if any doctor had the skills and experience to find it, it was him. So he spent his limited spare time in his library,

poring over books and searching for answers. Finally, he came upon a manuscript about an epidemic of yellow fever that had plagued Virginia 50 years earlier. The author, a doctor named John Mitchell, argued that once a patient's stomach and intestines filled with blood, they needed to be emptied at once

to prevent the blood from turning putrid, which would stop the healing process. Mitchell urged doctors to therefore be aggressive, declaring any ill-timed scrupulousness about the weakness of the body could be fatal. Rush suddenly knew what he had to do. He later wrote, Dr. Mitchell in a moment dissipated my ignorance and fears. Rush decided that his previous methods had been far too gentle. He needed to be as aggressive as the fever itself. So he began using the strongest purge he knew. He had his patients swallow one-third of an ounce of mercury and one-third of an ounce of a dried, toxic root, Jallap, known to have a laxative effect. Dr. Rush was poisoning his patients to induce vomiting and diarrhea, emptying their

stomach and bowels. For each of his patients, Rush repeated the purge three times every day. He also stepped up his bleeding procedures, often draining so much blood that his patients passed out. But Rush was thrilled with the results. On September 5th, he wrote to his wife, Julia, I now save 29 out of 30 patients on the first day of treatment. But what Rush did not realize was that many of these patients likely did not have yellow fever and only suffered from other, less deadly ailments. But he assumed everyone he treated had yellow fever because the disease was so rampant, calling the fever a monarchical disorder.

So for better or worse, he continued to push his aggressive treatments on as many patients as he could. But there were far too many of them in Philadelphia for him alone. While Rush experimented, other doctors grew overwhelmed with a growing number of fever victims. City officials had set up a makeshift hospital at Bush Hill, a mansion located roughly two miles outside the city, specifically to care for fever

patients. They assigned four physicians to staff the hospital, but the doctors visited infrequently, and there were few nurses, carters, or gravediggers to provide essential services. City leaders knew more help was urgently needed, and Rush had an idea about where to turn. In 1793, Philadelphia was home to some 3,000 black residents, making up 5% of the population. Though slavery was widespread in America at the time, both in the North and South, the majority of the city's black residents were free. Pennsylvania had passed a law for gradual abolition in 1780, and many formerly enslaved people flocked to Philadelphia to exercise their

newfound freedoms. Rush was a fierce critic of slavery and a close ally of the Free African Society, a group that provided financial aid to the city's Black community, the first organization of its kind in the United States. But by early September, Rush had noticed that few Black residents had fallen ill. Assuming they were immune, he wrote to the Free African Society and asked its members to care for the sick and attend to the dead. He argued that God had granted them the gift of resistance to the fever, and it was their duty to use it. But Rush's assumption was wrong and would have tragic consequences. In truth, only a handful of black people were immune to the fever, because they carried antibodies from having been exposed to yellow fever in Africa or the Caribbean.

The overwhelming majority were as much at risk as any other resident. The disease just simply hadn't reached them yet. The Free African Society was led by Richard Allen and Absalom Jones, two men who were born enslaved but later gained their freedom. They had gone on to become community leaders, both founding black churches in the city. Philadelphia's free black residents still faced discrimination and limited opportunities. Most were relegated to low-paying work as laborers or servants. Racism and violence remained a threat. And earlier that year, Congress had passed a new Fugitive Slave Act, empowering slave owners to apprehend escaped slaves.

This law made both enslaved and free black people vulnerable to capture. In short, black Philadelphians had plenty of reasons to be suspicious of the local white community. But now their white neighbors were asking for help. On September 5th, the Free African Society's elders gathered to consider Rush's request. But before answering the doctor's call, they decided to go out and visit homes around the city to see the fever for themselves. Imagine it's September 5th, 1793 in Philadelphia. You're an elder in the Free African Society, and you're spending the afternoon visiting

the sick. Richard Allen has sent you and your fellow elders to take stock of the yellow fever crisis and see what your society can do to help. You're willing to consider Dr. Benjamin Rush's plea for assistance, but you have reservations about putting yourself in danger to help the white residents of Philadelphia, especially after spending half your life in bondage. As you walk by a modest brick home, the sound of a pitiful moan stops you. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes to answer, you decide to let yourself in. You walk down a narrow hallway and turn right, entering a small and stuffy bedroom. You lift a rag to your nose as you spot an ashen-faced white woman lying on the bed. Your stomach drops as you realize she's dead.

Two scared young girls are huddled together in the corner. Oh, girls, it's all right. I'm here to help. Your gaze falls on a man sprawled out on the floor beside the bed. He's half covered in black, bloody vomit. You rush to his side and try to help him sit up. Come on, mister. Let's get you up. You reach for a pitcher on the bedside table and pour the man a glass of water. Here, drink. What's your name? The man sips from the glass and gives you a grateful nod.

Henry. Good to meet you, Henry. And I'm very sorry for your loss. The man weakly shakes his head, and his lips barely part as he tries to speak. Her yellow eyes. She wasn't herself at the end. You know, I tried to find a doctor, a nurse, anyone who could help, but there was no one. I couldn't find anyone. I failed. Henry lowers his head, and you pat his shoulder. You didn't fail anyone, sir. It's just not fair what's happening in the city. Yes, sir, I'm terrified. Who's going to take care of my girls? I can't even afford a coffin for my wife. No, no, no, don't you worry about that or a coffin for you. You just focus

on getting better. I'm going to go get help. I'll find you a nurse and arrange for a burial. You are not alone. You shake your head at the scene in front of you and the city's failure to fight the fever. You've heard stories, but nothing has prepared you for the tragedy in this room. Looking at the terrified girls in the corner,

you vow to dedicate yourself to helping your neighbors, no matter their race. On September 5th, elders in the Free African Society visited more than 20 sick families. They were shocked by the horrors they witnessed. Leaders Richard Allen and Absalom Jones later wrote about what they encountered, declaring many whose friends and relations had left them died unseen and unassisted. We found them in various situations, some laying on the floor as bloody as if they had been dipped in it. The elders decided they would help Dr. Rush in his efforts.

They later declared, It was our duty to do all the good we could to our suffering fellow mortals. The next day, Allen and Jones went to Mayor Matthew Clarkson to ask what the black community could do to help. Soon, hundreds of black volunteers were nursing patients, carrying coffins, and digging graves. Some patrolled the streets and found shelter for homeless children. Others cleaned sick rooms, washed clothing and linens,

and went out to purchase food and medicine. Rush even taught black nurses how to bleed his patients. The volunteers accepted one or two dollars from those who could afford to pay them for a full day of care, but because the majority of patients were poor, most black nurses cared for the sick for no money at all. But soon, a controversy erupted. All across the city, demand for labor exceeded the available supply. White residents began to bid against each other for the services of black nurses, driving up prices. Like other workers, these black nurses accepted higher fees when offered, as much as $4 or $5 a day. And at a time when the average income was less than $200 a year, such fees were hard to turn

down, especially after so many nurses had been volunteering for little or no pay. But false rumors quickly spread that the Black nurses themselves were demanding to be paid exorbitant amounts for services. Mayor Clarkson was forced to step in and issue a statement declaring his support for the Black nurses, hoping to quell the outrage. The Black community had stepped up when hundreds of White nurses, business leaders, and civil servants had fled the city. But by mid-September, scores of Black volunteers also began to come down with the fever. Rush wrote, If the disorder should continue to spread among them, then will the measure of our suffering be full. It had become clear that no one was safe from the deadly disease.

The Free African Society's work continued, though, but as more and more black volunteers became sick, their efforts were not enough to fill the growing manpower shortage. For weeks, Philadelphians had endured unimaginable misery. But the worst news was yet to come. Soon, the departure of Philadelphia's top leader and most prominent resident would cause morale to sink to new depths and spark an unprecedented political crisis. now. The show where aspiring entrepreneurs get the opportunity of a lifetime. I wouldn't be chasing it if I didn't believe that the world needs this product. In each episode the entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. This is match point baby. If the

audience like the product, it gets them in front of our panel of experts Gwyneth Paltrow, Anthony Anderson, Tabitha Brown, Tony Hawk, Christian Siriano. These panelists are looking for entrepreneurs whose ideas best fit the criteria of the four P's. Pitch, product, popularity, and problem-solving ability. I'm going to give you a yes. I want to see it. If our panelists like the product, it goes into the Amazon Buy It Now store. You are the embodiment of what an American entrepreneur is. Oh my God. Are we excited for this moment? I cannot believe it.

Buy It Now. Stream free on Freeview and Prime Video. I'm Tristan Redmond, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast

Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. Historytellers is sponsored by ZipRecruiter. Working on podcasts is special. At the end of every episode are the credits, a list of the names and positions of everyone who makes the show possible. The credits are a display of gratitude for a job well done by a team of great people. It's important to have the right people on your team. And if you're looking to expand the list of people in your business's credits, you need ZipRecruiter. Try it for free at ziprecruiter.com slash A-H-T.

But what's to appreciate about ZipRecruiter? One, it uses powerful technology to find and match the right candidates with your job. Then you can review these recommended candidates and invite your top choices to apply. You'll love ZipRecruiter's complete suite of tools because they make it easy to filter, review, and rate your candidates. Just one of the reasons four out of five employers who post on ZipRecruiter get a quality candidate within the first day. So if you want a stress-free hiring process, trust me, you'll be thankful you tried ZipRecruiter. Just go to our special URL to try it for free, ziprecruiter.com slash A-H-T. Once again, that's ziprecruiter.com slash A-H-T. ZipRecruiter, the smartest way to hire.

American History Tellers is sponsored by Sleep Number. It never fails. Every year, the end of daylight savings time catches me by surprise. Suddenly, I'm driving home from the studio in the dark, fumbling to get my key in the lock, because we haven't yet figured out we need to put the porch light on at 4.30 in the afternoon. And this simple change can mess with your sleep cycle. Experts recommend shifting your bedtime and wake-up time

in 15 or 30-minute increments to better align with the sunrise and sunset. But for the best night's sleep possible, get the best beds possible. Sleep Number beds already adjust from feather-soft to supportive and firm, and you can set each side to the perfect Sleep Number setting.

Their Sleep IQ app tracks how well you sleep. It measures your best sleep hours, heart rate, breathing, and movement. And now you can adjust the temperature too with the new Sleep Number Climate 360 smart bed that actively warms and cools on each side. But why choose proven quality sleep from Sleep Number? Because to be your best every day, you need proven quality sleep every night.

Discover special offers now for a limited time at your local Sleep Number store or sleepnumber.com slash tellers. On the morning of September 10, 1793, George and Martha Washington climbed into a carriage in Philadelphia and headed south for Mount Vernon, their plantation in Virginia. In total, 20,000 Philadelphians left the city during the epidemic, roughly 40% of the total population. But no resident's departure disturbed locals more than the disappearance of the president. Washington was the popular leader of the young nation and the hero of American independence.

And in the early days of the epidemic, his presence in Philadelphia buoyed spirits. But now his sudden departure laid bare the gravity of the crisis. Washington wanted to send Martha and their grandchildren to Mount Vernon without him, believing that he had a duty to stay in Philadelphia. But Martha put her foot down, refusing to leave her husband behind. Washington relented, feeling he could not continue to put his family at risk. He also knew there was little point in staying, with the federal government shutting down around him as key officials abandoned the city. His personal secretary had already left,

and Washington's most important ally in the cabinet, Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton, had fled after coming down with the fever himself. On his way out of Philadelphia, Washington met with Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, who announced he was also planning to head for his own Virginia plantation. The Treasury Department and Customs Service were closing their doors. Congress had been in recess when the first yellow fever cases appeared, and lawmakers continued to stay away from the Capitol. In effect, the federal government had ceased to function.

But before Washington left, he put Secretary of War Henry Knox in charge of what little remained of the government. He ordered Knox to send him weekly reports about the epidemic. But just days later, Knox fled the city too. He would spend the next two weeks quarantined in New Jersey. With no one left to run the government, Washington had unwittingly set a constitutional crisis in motion. Still, the shutdown had little impact on the lives of ordinary people. In the early days of the republic, the federal government did not play a major role

in the health and welfare of American citizens. Philadelphians looked to their doctors and local officials to manage the spread of the disease, not the president or Congress. By the time Washington left the Capitol, Alexander Hamilton and his wife Eliza had spent five days recovering from yellow fever at their summer home just a few miles outside of Philadelphia. Hamilton was treated by his childhood friend from the Caribbean island of St. Croix, Dr. Edward Stevens. Stevens was a proponent of the French cure, favoring gentler methods over bleeding and purging. Stevens administered doses of aged Madeira wine and quinine. He ordered the Hamiltons to take cold baths before drinking glasses of brandy topped with burned cinnamon. At night, he sedated them with a tincture of laudanum. And five days after first contracting the fever, Alexandra and

Eliza had fully recovered. Hamilton was so impressed by Stevens' cure that he was determined to promote it far and wide. On September 11, 1793, Hamilton published an open letter to the College of Physicians praising Stevens and recommending his methods. He declared, I trust that I am now completely out of danger. This I am to attribute, under God, to the skill and care of my friend Dr. Stevens. His mode of treating the disorder varies essentially from that which has been generally practiced and reduces it to an illness of little more than ordinary hazard. Hamilton's letter was a veiled attack on Dr. Benjamin Rush, whose aggressive method of treatment had become standard practice.

But by weighing in, Hamilton politicized the clash in medical opinions. Hamilton was one of the leaders of the Federalist Party. But Benjamin Rush was from the rival Democratic-Republican Party, or as they call themselves, Republicans. Rush was also a close friend of Hamilton's chief enemy, Thomas Jefferson. So as time went on, most Federalist doctors followed Stevens' milder methods, and most Republican doctors followed Rush's regimen of purges and bleedings. Politics also infiltrated debates about the causes of the epidemic. Republicans blamed the fever on local factors,

the poor sanitation and foul air that had plagued Philadelphia all summer. Such an explanation fit the Republican agenda of keeping America a rural republic made up of small family farms. To Republicans, the fever was evidence of the dangers of the big city. Federalists, for their part, blamed the epidemic on ships that arrived from foreign ports. Many of these Federalists opposed immigration and feared the influence of radical French politics on American democracy. They scapegoated foreigners and used the epidemic as an excuse to block French immigration and trade with French colonies. Amid this partisan rancor, conspiracy theories ran rampant.

Federalists accused Republicans of knowing that the fever came from French-controlled Caribbean islands but plotting a cover-up to protect their financial ties to the French. They claimed that Republicans put forth their theory of a local cause as part of a plan to discredit Philadelphia and other major cities in order to move the capital to a more rural area. Some Federalists even spread rumors that Republicans had contaminated city wells with the disease. But Hamilton's letter had other consequences, too. More people were seeking out Stevens' gentler treatment. Yet Benjamin Rush was insistent that only his cure was the right one. He had no real evidence to back his claims,

but he viewed any form of doubt or criticism as a personal attack, and he would stop at nothing to persuade his patients and defeat his critics. Imagine it's mid-September 1793 in Philadelphia. You were a delivery man before the epidemic started, but you lost your job when business dried up. And now you've had a fever for the past two days. You're lying in bed in a pool of sweat, fighting off the urge to vomit. And how are you doing, young man? Any better since yesterday? You roll over to see Dr. Benjamin Rush walk into the room. You try to sit up, only to be hit by a wave of nausea. You fall back in bed.

No, doctor, I'm feeling worse. Well, no need to fret. I will have you better in no time. Rush reaches down into his leather doctor's bag to pull out a lancet. You flinch at the sight of the small, sharp knife. No, not again. You drained me dry yesterday. I nearly fainted. Well, it will be all worth it once you start to improve, now won't it? You weakly point to a newspaper on a wooden chair beside your bed, gesturing at an article at the bottom of the page.

No, there's another way. Look here. Can't you give me the cure Secretary Hamilton got? Rush's gaze narrows. Absolutely not. Why? Cold baths and wine sound far preferable to bleeding and purging. Hamilton recovered completely. Rush snatches the newspaper, takes one look and throws it on the floor. Secretary Hamilton doesn't know what he's talking about. The man thinks himself an expert in everything. But did he go to medical school? Does he have three decades of experience? No, he does not. But it seemed to have worked.

It's an alternative. An alternative? No, my treatments are proven effective. They've cured scores of patients. Hamilton's doctor is a Federalist quack, and he attacks me because I'm a friend of Jefferson's. Doctor, I don't care about politics. I just want to get better. Dr. Stevens' treatment might work, and I want a gentler cure. Rush stares at you with his

piercing blue eyes, his hands clenched into fists. Then you better get yourself a new doctor, because if you won't accept my treatments, I refuse to have your death on my hands. As Rush leaves, you turn back over in bed, wincing from the pain in your stomach. You hope you were right to question Rush. You're desperate to recover from the fever, but now it seems you've cast aside the only doctor who's been helping you. Rush grew frustrated as more and more Philadelphians turned to the French cure. He blamed his political rivals for the trend, later writing,

Colonel Hamilton's letter has cost our city several hundred inhabitants. Certain that he was right and his critics wrong, he doubled down on his methods. Rush had become so confident in his cure that he would tell his patients nonchalantly that they have nothing but yellow fever, a disease not to be feared and simply cured. He was working tirelessly, visiting dozens of patients a day, and his workload was mounting. He was only sleeping three to four hours a night, and often woke up to find his bed linen soaked with sweat. Late on September 12, he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. At last, Dr. Benjamin Rush had fallen victim to yellow fever himself. He wrote, My body became highly impregnated with the contagion. My eyes were

yellow, and sometimes a yellowness was perceptible in my face. But Rush continued to work despite his illness. He later reflected, When it was evening, I wished for morning, and when it was morning, the prospect of the labors of the day caused me to wish for the return of evening. Rush was battling two enemies, his own fever, and other doctors who doubted his methods. He believed that the epidemic would end only if other doctors would simply follow his advice. But as more of his colleagues published their own writings in support of the French cure, he felt increasingly isolated.

Rush believed that his fellow physicians were plotting against him, and his critics could be fierce. One colleague described Rush's mercury purge as murderous. These attacks felt personal to Rush. On September 13th, he wrote to his wife, Besides combating the yellow fever, I have been obliged to contend with the prejudices, fears, and falsehoods of several of my brethren, all of which retard the progress of truth and daily cost our city many lives. All the while, his own condition continued to worsen. On the night of September 14th, two days after definitively having caught

the disease, Rush was returning home after bleeding a patient when he suddenly felt feverish. He saw more patients the next morning, but in the afternoon, he suffered a seizure. Rush decided to use his own cure, ordering his assistants to administer a moderate mercury purge and drain his blood. It was a milder version of the aggressive treatment he prescribed his own patients. And within a few days, Rush was seeing patients once again. His fever and cough lingered, and he had trouble climbing stairs. But he took his moderate recovery as further evidence that his cure worked. He wrote to his wife,

I have proved upon my own body that the yellow fever, when treated in the new way, is no more than a common cold. So when news of Rush's recovery spread, Philadelphians flocked to his house for treatment. He enlisted the help of five assistants to meet the growing demand. He and his team saw as many as 150 patients every day. They bled so aggressively that they started running out of bowls to hold the blood. They had no other choice but to bleed patients outside, letting the blood flow into the ground. But Rush's fellow doctors continued to question bleeding and purging. Still, to many

residents, Rush was a hero, a doctor who had stayed and fought tirelessly when so many others had fled. Letters of praise poured in, and when word spread that Rush had so little time that he infrequently ate, Patients began to offer him milk and bread when he visited them. A local judge wrote, Rush has become the darling of the common people. But as doctors scrambled to treat the sick and dying, Mayor Clarkson was trying to lead a city on the verge of falling apart. Taverns, coffee houses, and markets were deserted. Most newspapers had suspended operations. Burials took place all day and night.

They were done quickly and quietly, with no mourners or services. And increasingly, there was little chance of escape. Stagecoaches stopped leaving the city. Philadelphians who tried to flee faced fear and hostility in the surrounding areas. Armed bands patrolled the roads, blocking travelers coming from Philadelphia. So Clarkson knew it was time for him to take more radical measures. Soon he and other ordinary citizens would join together, doing whatever it took to save their city from collapse. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today?

Who created that bottle of red Sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time.

And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo Super Mario Brothers. Best selling video game of all time. How'd they do it? Nintendo never fires anyone. Ever.

Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, the world-altering decisions, and shocking scandals that have shaped our nation. You'll be there when the very foundations

of the White House are laid in 1792, and you'll watch as the British burn it down in 1814. Then you'll hear the intimate conversations between FDR and Winston Churchill as they make plans to defeat Nazi forces in 1941. And you'll be in the Situation Room when President Barack Obama approves the raid to bring down the most infamous terrorist in American history. Order The Hidden History of the White

House now in hardcover or digital edition, wherever you get your books. On the morning of Saturday, September 14th, 1793, Mayor Matthew Clarkson walked up the steps to City Hall, weaving through crowds of vendors, hawking medicine, and coffins. He was on his way to a meeting that he knew might be his last chance to save the city. For Clarkson, the disease was now more than a matter of public policy. He had recently learned that his youngest son had died from the fever. Clarkson felt like the epidemic was invading every aspect of his life. But he had no choice but to leave his grief at home. He was shouldering the burden of a citywide disaster.

The president and the governor were gone. The committees that normally ran Philadelphia had stopped meeting. Most of the local courts had closed their doors. Only three members of the Most of the local courts had closed their doors. Only three members of the Guardians of the Poor, the group responsible for caring for the underprivileged, remained in the city. Conditions at Philadelphia's makeshift hospital at Bush Hill were dismal, and though black volunteers had continued to nurse the sick and cart away the dead, the work had become overwhelming. Clarkson knew he could not manage the crisis alone.

He needed help to run the city, so he published an advertisement calling for volunteers. That Saturday, some two dozen private citizens responded, joining Clarkson at City Hall to discuss the crisis. The men spoke of the horrors they had witnessed around the city, and they knew what must be done. Elected officials had abandoned their offices. It was clear that Philadelphians would have to govern Philadelphia themselves. So the volunteers decided to take the drastic step of forming an extra-legal group. This unauthorized authority would be known simply as the Committee. The Committee issued a resolution describing their goal, declaring themselves as a committee to transact the whole of the business

relative to mitigating the sufferings of those afflicted with the disorder prevalent in this city. Members of the committee had gathered to help the sick and give relief to the poor, but they soon found themselves running Philadelphia. From that day on, the committee met daily in City Hall. It was the sole organization managing the crisis.

Out of necessity, these private citizens had, in effect, seized control of the local government. Mayor Clarkson was chosen as president of the committee. The members authorized themselves to spend money and give orders to fight the fever. Their work began at once. The committee decided to borrow $1,500 from the Bank of North America. They would use this money to buy medicine, supplies, and coffins, as well as hire doctors, nurses, and gravediggers. There was no official institution acquiring the loan.

The committee members would borrow the money as individuals, making themselves personally responsible for the debts they took on. This was no small thing, given that the majority of the committee members were not wealthy, but middle-class workers and artisans. The committee also voted to advance money to poor families afflicted by the fever. The members created subcommittees to divide their tasks, taking on assignments that matched their skills. A coachmaker took on the job of procuring carriages, wagons, and hearses. A cabinetmaker handled the citywide coffin shortage. But by far the biggest problem to address was Bush Hill, the hospital Philadelphians had come to fear.

It had such a high mortality rate that many preferred to suffer in the streets than go to a hospital they believed would guarantee their deaths. At Bush Hill, patients crowded every corner of the mansion, and dead people lay in rooms unburied. Doctors visited infrequently. And despite the efforts of black volunteers, there were not enough nurses to provide adequate care. A local printer described the bleak conditions, writing, The sick, the dying, and the dead were indiscriminately mingled together. Not the smallest appearance of order or regularity existed.

It was, in fact, a great human slaughterhouse. Given these conditions, the committee decided to take charge of the hospital. Two volunteers came forward. They knew the stories, and they understood the dangers ahead. But they were nevertheless prepared to do the seemingly impossible. Imagine it's Sunday, September 15, 1793, and you're on the rolling hills of an estate just outside Philadelphia. You're a successful merchant, part of the committee fighting the yellow fever epidemic. You're walking up the steps to Bush Hill, a stately mansion recently turned into a hospital for fever victims.

You've heard the rumors that the hospital is in shambles, and you're here to see conditions for yourself. You open the mansion's heavy oak front door and walk into the entryway, pulling your collar up to your nose in an attempt to block the foul stench that greets you. Hello? Standing in the entryway, you take in the scene in front of you. There are some half a dozen patients spread out on the stairs and in the corridor,

but there are no nurses. Shaking your head, you walk through a door to your left. You step inside what looks to be a parlor. The chairs have been pushed aside, though, to make room for a bed where two men sleep side by side. You tap the younger of the two on the shoulder. Young man, wake up. Wake up. The man blinks a few times, trying to get his bearings. He stretches his arms above his head and sits up, yawning. What is your name, young man? Charles Caldwell, sir. How long have you been sick?

Caldwell gives you a blank stare. Sick? No, no, I'm not a patient. I'm a doctor. I must have fallen asleep. I try to catch rest whenever I can. You shake your head and point at the older man beside him in bed. And is this one of your patients? How is he? Caldwell turns over in bed to look at the man, puts his hand on the man's arm, and then recoils in shock. Oh God, he's ice cold. You fell asleep beside a dead patient? He wasn't dead when I lay down.

When did you finish your training? Well, technically, I'm a second-year medical student still. I'm studying under the best, though, Dr. Benjamin Rush. I see. What about the doctors the mayor appointed? They never show up. One got sick and can't I couldn't tell you. Maybe a hundred? Between all the deaths and the new folks being carted in every hour, it's impossible to say. I make the rounds myself and tend to as many as I can. You cross your arms in front of your chest, staring at the dead man on the bed. Well, clearly there are not enough beds for everyone. We'll have to hire a carpenter. But first, this place needs to be cleaned, top to bottom. And the patients should be separated by how sick they are. We'll hire nurses as soon as possible.

Caldwell looks at you skeptically. With what money, sir? You leave that to me. In the meantime, I'd like you to show me the rest of the hospital. Caldwell straightens his shoulders and nods. Well, of course, sir, right this way. You give the young medical student a curt nod back and follow him out of the parlor. From what you've seen so far, the conditions here are even worse than you expected. You must do everything in your power to clean up this hospital and save your neighbors from the grave.

On September 15th, two committee members, Stephen Gerard and Peter Helm, visited Bush Hill. They were both shocked by the conditions they discovered. Only a second-year medical student named Charles Caldwell was there full-time, working without pay. Caldwell eagerly agreed to move into Bush Hill after the family he lived with fled the city, leaving him homeless. But he was overwhelmed by the task. And having seen the conditions themselves, Girard and Helm volunteered to take charge of the hospital at once. Helm was a devoutly religious man, a barrel maker known for his kindness and strong work ethic. Girard was a wealthy, French-born merchant and importer. Though blind in one eye, Girard was a master organizer who approached challenges with calm determination.

He had the money to flee the city, but unlike most members of his class, he stayed behind and continued to work. The first thing the pair of committee members did was have the mansion thoroughly cleaned. Then they established procedures for admitting patients and carting away the dead. Then they placed patients into separate rooms depending on how sick they were. They soon found a carpenter to build beds and set up an area for constructing coffins. They arranged housing for the staff and repaired the mansion's water pumps. Then they addressed the staffing shortage, hiring nurses and attendants to triage the sick and carry out the dead. Crucially, Helm and Girard also hired a full-time physician, Dr. Jean Devez. Devez was a Frenchman who had extensive experience treating yellow fever

in the Caribbean. He had contracted the disease twice himself, and he rejected the idea that yellow fever was contagious. He also rejected Benjamin Rush's aggressive treatments, preferring to administer wine and quinine to his patients, as well as nourishing foods like creamed rice and chicken broth. Girard, Helm, and DeVez soon brought order and efficiency to Bush Hill. One local doctor described the hospital's improved reputation, declaring, No sooner was a person affected with a headache than he became anxious to be removed to Bush Hill. Besides transforming Bush Hill, the committee also lent money to scores of poor families and cared for 200 orphans. But the committee could not halt the fever spread.

Daily deaths were climbing. Burial grounds were filling up. Philadelphia was a city cut off and isolated, fighting for its very survival. And as long as the epidemic persisted in the nation's capital, the young government of the United States remained paralyzed. On the next episode of American History Tellers, as the death toll climbs, Dr. Benjamin Rush continues to fight with his colleagues. The epidemic leads to soaring crime and a crippling eviction crisis. And alone and out of touch at Mount Vernon, President Washington tries to avert a constitutional crisis.

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. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bach. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton.

Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rosansky. Our managing producers are Tanja Thigpen and Matt Gant. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered. I'm Rachel Louis for Wondery. web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is the Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses, and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race

against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. And it turns out, convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy. Follow Kill List on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C True Crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening.