For a mental hospital to receive a nickname like “The Brink,” a great many misdeeds must have happened there. Unfortunately, in the case of Brinkvale Psychiatric Hospital, the statement is historically accurate.
The reputation of this subterranean facility -- built in an abandoned Long Island brownstone quarry in 1875 -- is tainted by frightening tales of patient mistreatment, unsanctioned psychiatric and surgical experimentation, and other unethical practices. Some say the nine-level hospital is haunted by the souls of tormented patients.
“Haunted by ghosts? Balderdash,” says Dr. Theodore Peterson, who has been Brinkvale’s chief administrator for the past 11 years. “But sadly, this place’s legacy is haunted by the acts of several severely misguided individuals. Yes, some of the rumors are true. ... But those days are long behind Brinkvale.”
Such honesty is hard to come by in most health care institutions, but since Brinkvale has been a public relations nightmare for the state for more than a century, Peterson is determined to illuminate for taxpayers “the great good” that now happens at the facility.
“For 10 years, myself and others here have been on a crusade to change public opinion,” Peterson says, here in his cramped Brinkvale office. Stacks of paperwork surround the 76-year-old. There’s not a computer in sight. “This place may appear to be an unlikely locale for true, innovative treatment -- but that is precisely what’s happening here these days. We’re proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
Long gone are Brinkvale’s days of cavalier electroshock therapy, experimental aggressive immersion therapy and prefrontal lobotomies. (Longtime Brinkvale doctor Gerald Schwartz reportedly conducted nearly 200 lobotomies here until his own institutionalization in the facility in 1984; he is still treated on-site.) Peterson and his staff embrace pharmacology, talk/group therapy and other practices approved by the U.S. Psychiatric Association, including art therapy and touch therapy.
The facility, once an overcrowded hospital housing hundreds, is now mostly a desolate place, due to budget cuts. Of all New York’s state-funded institutions, Brinkvale receives the least amount of taxpayer money each year. The result is dozens of empty beds -- “Not because we don’t want to treat the ill, but because we don’t have the manpower,” Peterson says -- and an eerie feeling echoing in its halls. This partly hails from the state of disrepair beleaguering much of the building, and partly from a palpable sense of loneliness and abandonment.
And yes, perhaps the feeling of being haunted by ... something.
Despite that eeriness, the staff is a genial bunch, especially considering the place’s underground locale. Friendly greetings abound from team members: Get affable security guard Emilio Wallace talking about his sons and he won’t stop until prodded by a coworker; therapist Anita Colbrunn chats at length about growing up near Brinkvale and “always wanting” to work here; Nathan Xavier, a charismatic young psychiatrist, claims his experiences at Brinkvale will be “invaluable for my career.”
Peterson says the hospital is committed to progressive treatment, and a progressive self-image. Brinkvale recently debuted its website, which features staff profiles and galleries of artwork, created by patients being treated by the facility’s new art therapist. Also included on the website is contact information for Peterson himself, should New York residents wish to learn more about the facility.
“We’re striving to make Brinkvale’s future as bright and accessible as possible,” Peterson says. He then winks. “One could say we’re bringing ourselves back from the brink.”
