12:45 PM

Laurie in the Bathtub, Ward 81, Oregon State Hospital, Salem, Oregon, USA, 1976 photographed by Mary Ellen Mark

WARD 81 was my first in-depth photographic project. In 1975 I worked on Milos Forman’s film One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The film was shot at the Oregon State Mental Hospital. While working on the film, I met Dr. Dean Brooks, the director of the hospital. He gave me a tour of the facility. The most memorable ward he showed me was Ward 81, which was a maximum-security ward for women. The women there were hospitalized because they were a danger either to themselves or to others.

Dr. Brooks and I communicated for a year. In February of 1976, he granted me permission to live at the hospital and photograph in Ward 81. Some months later, I returned to the Oregon State Mental Hospital with a writer named Karen Folger Jacobs. We slept in an old deserted ward next to Ward 81. We were each given a private cell and also a key to the ward. Each morning we would leave our cells, walk down the hallway, and enter the world of Ward 81.

During the six weeks we were there, we came to know the women very well. They learned to trust us. We got to know their moods…I learned on Ward 81 what access was. I learned how far you can go before you must put your camera down. Trust became a very important issue.

Even though the hospital discouraged it, the writer, Karen, felt better having our own passkey to the ward. One morning we were all sitting in the community room. Karen put her keys down on a table and started speaking with one of the patients. When she turned around, the keys were gone. I’ve never been more embarrassed. It turned out that the passkey to the ward was a passkey for the entire hospital. When you’re working on a project like this, it’s important not to disrupt the routine of an institution. The staff hated our presence anyway. Now we were really in deep trouble.

All the women were sent to their rooms. They had to stay there until the key was returned. They felt angry and betrayed and banged on their doors. I felt like an idiot. Finally, Laurie, a sweet, soft-spoken girl, admitted to taking the keys. She looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “The keys are the name of the game, Mary Ellen.” After that, Karen and I returned our ward keys to the hospital.

from here