10 Abandoned Asylums in New York with a Truly Disturbing History

追加: 2026-05-31

[00:00:00]There is an asylum in New York where doctors tested an experimental vaccine on disabled children. There is another where the staff kept patients locked inside [music] wooden cages the size of coffins and called it treatment. And there is one where after the last patient was transferred out and the lights went dark for good, someone walked into an attic and found 400 suitcases. They'd been packed by patients decades [music] earlier for a hospital stay that was supposed to be temporary. The bags were never opened.

[00:00:30]The patients never left. Their belongings have been sitting in the dark waiting for someone who is never coming.

[00:00:36][music] New York once operated the largest asylum system in America. The buildings stretched across hundreds of acres, employed thousands of people, and held tens of thousands of patients. When the system collapsed, the state did not demolish them. It simply locked the doors. And what is still inside those buildings and buried beneath them is worse than most people realize. This is 10 abandoned asylums in New York with a truly disturbing history. Before we get into it, like this video and drop the place and time you're watching from the comments. I want to see where this video is traveling. And the number one entry on this list left behind something so haunting it changed the way a country thinks about mental illness. Stick around.

[00:01:21]>> Before we continue, one person applied five strategies from a guide I created and freed up over $17,000 in a single year. Same salary, [music] same city, same lifestyle. She just stopped letting New York take money she didn't have to give. It took me 17 weeks of hard work to put this guide together.

[00:01:41]Real life case studies, real numbers, real comparisons across housing, food, transportation, subscriptions, [music] everything.

[00:01:50]It comes with a yearly expense tracker designed to help you manage spending [music] and stay financially disciplined. Click the link in the description to grab your copy. [music] Now, let's get into it. Number 10, Rolling Hills Asylum. In the flatlands between Buffalo and Rochester, on a stretch of Bethany Center Road where the nearest neighbor is a cornfield, there's a four-story brick building that has been standing since 1827. The windows on the upper floors are shattered. The slate roof is pocked and sagging. A wooden sign out front reads Rolling Hills Asylum, and underneath it, a smaller sign advertise is ghost hunts.

[00:02:26]If you walk through the front entrance today, you will find peeling lead paint, graffiti layered over older graffiti, iron brackets still bolted in the basement walls where patients were once shackled, and a hallway on the second floor that [music] visitors call the shadow hallway because of the dark figures they claim to see moving between doorways. This building was never designed to be an asylum. It opened in 1827 as the Genesee County Poorhouse, a catch-all institution for anyone society did not want. Orphans, widows, the elderly, the mentally ill, and minor criminals all lived under the same roof.

[00:03:04]Residents were called inmates regardless of why they were there, and every one of them was required to work. They raised cattle, grew vegetables, baked bread, and in a wood shop on the property, they built coffins. Some of those coffins were sold to local mortuaries.

[00:03:21]>> [music] >> Others were used on site. Over nearly 150 years of continuous operation, more than 1,700 people died inside the building. Many were buried in a cemetery on the grounds that has since vanished.

[00:03:34]An 1886 county report mentions improving the burial ground by building a fence and leveling the earth. But, by the time the building closed as a nursing home in 1974, the cemetery had disappeared entirely. The stones crumbled, the grass swallowed the plots, and the forest reclaimed the perimeter. No one knows exactly where the graves are. No one maintained a complete list of who is buried in [music] them. The building sat empty for decades until the current owner purchased it and reopened it as a destination for paranormal investigators. It now operates on ticket sales alone and sits on New York's official haunted history trail. But the real disturbance at Rolling Hills was never supernatural. It was a system that housed orphaned children alongside convicted criminals, worked them until they died, buried them in unmarked graves, and then lost the records. A place where they built the coffins in the same building where people slept and no one thought that was unusual. Number nine, Middletown State Homeopathic Hospital in the city of Middletown, about 70 mi northwest of Manhattan in Orange [music] County. The remains of a psychiatric campus spread across dozens of acres. Some buildings have been demolished. Others have been partially repurposed. But walk far enough into the complex and you will find corridors with caged stairwells, rows of tiny patient rooms with paint peeling in ribbons from the walls, and murals that someone painted decades ago in a failed attempt to make the space feel less like a prison. The doors are narrow, the ceilings are low, and in the rooms where patients slept, the resemblance to a cell block is impossible to ignore. The hospital opened on April 20th, 1874 and it was genuinely unusual. It was the first purely homeopathic hospital for mental disorders in the United States.

[00:05:31]Treatment included art therapy, strict dietary regimens, a patient-written newsletter, and most famously, baseball.

[00:05:39][music] In 1888, the hospital formed a team called the Asylums made up of patients, staff, and recruited semi-professional players. By 1890, the asylums were competing against regional [music] teams from New York City and winning most of their games. In 1892, they went nearly undefeated, losing only twice, both times to the New York Giants. Some of those players were recruited directly from the asylums into professional baseball. Jack Chesbro, who would go on to set a major league record for wins in a single season, worked as an attendant at Middletown specifically so he could play for the team. The asylum was not just fielding a competitive squad. It was a feeder system for the big leagues. But the hospital's strangest chapter belongs to a patient named Ralph Albert Blakelock, a celebrated landscape painter whose work hung in galleries across the country. Blakelock was admitted to Middletown in 1901 suffering from severe mental illness. He repeatedly told the staff that he was a famous artist. They did not believe him. They treated his claims as evidence of his delusion.

[00:06:49]While he sat in a ward being dismissed as a fantasist, his paintings were selling at auction for record prices.

[00:06:55]Today, parts of the campus have been absorbed into a residential development.

[00:07:00]Other parts are simply gone. But the small rooms with their caged stairwells and locked doors are a reminder that Middletown was still, underneath the baseball and the newsletters and the art [music] therapy, a place you could not leave. An asylum that built baseball team good enough to challenge the Giants, and a place where a famous painter could not convince a single person he was telling the truth. Number eight. Harlem Valley State Hospital, in a Hamlet of Wingdale in the town of Dover in Dutchess County, about 70 miles north of Manhattan. The ruins of a psychiatric campus sit just off State Route 22. Brick buildings line curved streets. A chapel with stained glass windows stands [music] empty. An overgrown baseball diamond disappears into the weeds behind a crumbling grandstand. Somewhere nearby, hidden by decades of undergrowth, two patient cemeteries sit on opposite ends of the property. A cemetery restoration project in 2012 cleared the graves and uncovered the markers. But within a few years, the field grew over again and the headstones vanished back into the earth. The campus opened in 1924, but the buildings were not new. They had originally been constructed as the Wingdale prison.

[00:08:15]>> [music] >> Complaints from local residents forced the state to repurpose the site into a hospital. So, a facility designed to hold prisoners became, overnight, a facility designed to heal the mentally ill. The conversion was largely cosmetic. At its height, the campus sprawled across nearly 900 acres and held more than 5,000 patients alongside 5,000 employees. It had its own bakery, bowling alley, dairy farm with an ice cream parlor, and a golf course designed by the legendary course architect Donald Ross. Doctors played the course for recreation. Patients who behaved well were asked to serve as caddies. In the 1930s, Harlem Valley became the first facility in the United States to use insulin shock [music] therapy, a procedure in which patients were injected with massive doses of insulin to induce a coma. The technique was considered cutting edge [music] at the time. It was also terrifying. Patients convulsed, lost consciousness, and sometimes never woke up. The hospital also played a significant role in the early use of electroshock therapy and experimental treatments that would later be [music] condemned. During the Second World War, government researchers at the facility briefly explored using marijuana as a so-called truth serum on prisoners of war, a program that remained classified for decades. The hospital closed in 1994. For 20 years, the campus deteriorated, visited only by night watchmen and vandals. Ghost stories multiplied. [music] In 2014, an evangelical university purchased the property. Some buildings have been repurposed into classrooms and dormitories. Others remain sealed, their interiors blackened with mold, their hallways painted in shapes and colors that no one remembers the purpose of.

[00:10:06]The two cemeteries sit beyond the campus perimeter, unmarked and overgrown, holding patients whose names the university would prefer you did not ask about.

[00:10:16]>> [music] >> A prison that became a hospital where the golf course had better maintenance than the graveyard. Sticking with us so far? Good, because the next few entries are where the buildings get bigger, the histories get darker, and the things left behind get harder to explain.

[00:10:32]Number seven, Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane. On a 40-acre campus on the west side of Buffalo, there's a building that architectural historians consider one of the most important structures in the United [music] States. It is a massive Romanesque complex built of red Medina sandstone, with a pair of soaring towers flanking a central administration block and long ward wings stretching outward in both directions. [music] The architect was Henry Hobson Richardson, who would become the first American architect to achieve international fame.

[00:11:06]The landscape was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, the man who created Central Park. The building took nearly 20 years to construct, from 1870 to 1889. It was supposed to be a masterpiece of humane design.

[00:11:19]>> [music] >> In theory, everything about the Buffalo State Asylum was therapeutic. Olmsted planted 150 trees and 2,000 shrubs across rolling lawns meant to soothe the mind. Richardson designed wide, light-filled corridors to ease the feeling of confinement. The wards stepped outward from the center in a Kirkbride plan, so that quieter patients lived closer to the administration building and more disturbed [music] patients lived further away, each with their own view of the grounds. The idea was that the building itself would be part of the cure. In practice, the asylum suffered the same fate as every other institution of its era. By the early 20th century, it was chronically overcrowded, underfunded, and relying on restraint rather than treatment.

[00:12:07]Lobotomies and electroshock became standard. The Olmsted landscape deteriorated. The wards filled past capacity. In 1974, the last patients were moved out and the buildings were abandoned. For decades, the complex sat empty and decaying while the state did nothing. Vandals stripped fixtures.

[00:12:28]Roofs leaked. In 2006, a lawsuit secured $100 million in state funding for restoration. Today, three of the 13 buildings have been converted into Hotel Henry, a boutique hotel where guests sleep in rooms that were once patient cells. The remaining 10 buildings are still in a state of what preservationists call suspended ruin.

[00:12:51]>> [music] >> Five of them will never be restored.

[00:12:54]They will simply be left to stand as they are, empty and open to the elements, while guests in the hotel next door order cocktails. A building designed by the architects of Central Park to cure mental illness, where you can now book a room for the night and sleep where patients once were strapped to beds. Number six. Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. In Queens Village, on the eastern edge of Queens, a 300-acre campus sits behind a chain-link fence on Winchester Boulevard. Parts of the campus are still operational. A small outpatient facility treats a few hundred patients, but the majority of the grounds are abandoned.

[00:13:32]>> [music] >> And at the center of the decay is building 25, a former patient dormitory that has been rotting in place [music] since it was vacated in the early 1970s.

[00:13:41]If you were somehow able to walk through its front doors today, you would pass through dark hallways of peeling [music] paint, crumbling plaster, and shattered glass until you reach the fourth floor.

[00:13:52]There, you would find something almost impossible to believe. Decades of unchecked pigeon habitation [music] have produced mounds of bird guano piled several feet high, filling entire rooms.

[00:14:05]The first glimpse from a stairwell looks like gravel.

[00:14:08]>> [music] >> It's not gravel. Creedmoor opened in 1912 as the farm colony of Brooklyn State Hospital. Patients were transferred from overcrowded urban wards to this pastoral campus on the outskirts of the city, where they worked the farmland as therapy. By the mid-20th century, the hospital had swelled to 8,000 patients. Then deinstitutionalization began, and Creedmoor shrank from 8,000 to 500 in the span of four decades. The 1970s were catastrophic. In a span of just 20 months, the campus recorded three rapes, 22 assaults, 52 fires, 130 burglaries, six suicides, a shooting, and a riot. A staff member beat a patient to death with a blackjack. When the violence became unmanageable, building 25 and several other structures were simply sealed and abandoned. They were never sold, never demolished, never cleaned.

[00:15:05]They were left to the elements and the birds. Beneath the pigeon waste on the fourth floor, you can still see murals painted on the walls. Images of faraway landscapes, country gardens, religious figures. They were painted for the patients to to them something to look at besides [music] the walls. Now, the paint is peeling back in layers, revealing the images slowly, as if the building is remembering something it tried to forget. One urban explorer who entered the building found a man sleeping peacefully [music] in a light-filled dayroom on a lower floor, apparently living in the abandoned ward by choice. The explorer left without introducing himself. Building 25 is not [music] fenced off from the rest of the operational campus. It sits right there, within sight of the outpatient clinic, slowly decomposing while the city pretends it does not exist. A hospital where the murals outlasted the patients and the pigeons inherited the ward.

[00:16:04]Number five, Utica State Hospital. On Court Street in Utica, in the center of the Mohawk Valley, a long Greek Revival building with massive white columns still stands. The columns are genuinely imposing, designed to project authority and permanence. The building stretches an enormous distance along the street.

[00:16:24]Most people driving past assumed it is a courthouse or a government office. It is, in fact, the oldest state-run asylum in New York, and it opened its doors on January 16th, 1843, at a time when the mentally ill in the state were routinely chained in cellars, locked in attic rooms, or held in county jails. The asylum was supposed to be different.

[00:16:46][music] Its first superintendent, Dr. Mariette Brigham, was a reformer who believed madness was a medical illness, not a curse. He introduced music therapy, art programs, and a patient-run monthly publication called The Opal. He founded the American Journal of Insanity in 1844, which became one of the first psychiatric journals in the country.

[00:17:09]>> [music] >> Under Brigham, the Utica Asylum was considered a model of progressive care.

[00:17:14]Dignitaries came from around the world to tour it. But, Brigham also championed a device that would become the institution's most infamous legacy. The Utica Crib was a wooden box roughly 6 ft long and 18 in deep, covered with a hinged lid of wooden or metal slats. It looked exactly like an oversized child's crib with a cage on top. Patients were placed inside and locked in, sometimes for days. The hospital insisted no one complained. A British doctor who examined the device wrote that it inevitably suggested, when occupied, that you were looking at an animal in a cage. Another physician, Dr. William Hammond, reported that patients sometimes died inside the Utica Crib when attendants assumed they were sleeping and left them unattended. The device remained in use at the hospital until 1887, >> [music] >> and it was adopted by asylums across the country. The last patients were transferred out in 1977.

[00:18:13]Today, the first floor of Old Main serves as a records archive for the New York State Office of Mental Health. The upper floors are sealed. Behind the public-facing archive, the old wards sit in darkness, [music] their doors locked, their patient rooms untouched. The columns still stand on Court Street, and most people still assume the building is a courthouse.

[00:18:35]Nothing on the exterior suggests what was invented inside. A building that was built to end the caging of the mentally ill, and then invented a cage of its own. Still here? Good. Because the top four entries on this list involve things that were done to patients that were not made public [music] until decades after the doors closed. Number four, the Blackwell's Island Lunatic Asylum. On Roosevelt Island, >> [music] >> a narrow strip of land in the East River between Manhattan and Queens, there's a luxury apartment complex called The Octagon. [music] It has a gym, a rooftop terrace, and floor-to-ceiling windows with skyline views. The centerpiece of the building is an octagonal tower that dates to 1839. It is a handsome, restored structure, and real estate listings describe the property as historic and elegant. What the listings do not always mention is that the tower is the last surviving piece of a New York City Lunatic Asylum, one of the most notorious psychiatric [music] institutions in American history. The asylum opened in 1839 on what was then called Blackwell's Island, a place the city used to warehouse everyone it wanted to forget. Alongside the asylum were a prison, a poorhouse, a workhouse, a charity hospital, and a smallpox hospital. The asylum was designed for 1,000 patients. By the late 1800s, it held nearly 1,600, most of them poor, many of them immigrants who spoke no English and were committed simply because no one could understand them. In September of 1887, a young journalist named Nellie Bly accepted an assignment from the New York World. She was to feign insanity and get herself committed to the women's ward on Blackwell's Island. She fooled several doctors and a judge, and spent 10 days inside. What she found was a systematic cruelty. Patients were given ice cold baths in filthy water. They were fed rotten meat and thin broth. They were beaten by nurses and confined to rooms crawling with rats. Women who protested were moved to the lodge, a ward for the violent, as punishment. Bly later wrote that the asylum was a human rat trap. It was easy to get in. Once there, it was impossible to get out. Her exposé, published as 10 Days in a Madhouse, triggered a grand jury investigation and led to an increase of $850,000 in the annual budget for the Department of Public Charities. The asylum closed in 1894.

[00:21:08]The building was taken over by Metropolitan Hospital, which used it until 1955.

[00:21:14]After that, the structure sat abandoned for decades, open to the weather and to vandals, until the octagonal tower was eventually incorporated into the luxury apartment complex that stands there now.

[00:21:26]In 2021, a monument honoring Nellie Bly called the girl puzzle was unveiled in Lighthouse Park on the northern tip of the island. Steps where patients once walked the grounds. A place Nellie Bly called a human rat trap is now listed on real estate websites with a concierge and a fitness center.

[00:21:44]>> [music] >> Number three, Hudson River State Hospital. Outside of Poughkeepsie, on a ridge overlooking the Hudson River, there is a ruin that architects and urban explorers have called one of the most hauntingly beautiful and most [music] physically dangerous abandoned buildings in existence. The main structure is a high Victorian Gothic masterpiece. Six stories tall, including the attic, with stained glass windows, ornamental stone carvings, expensive yellow pine floors, and a scale of opulence that triggered a public scandal when the construction costs were revealed. The grounds were designed by Calvert Vaux and Frederick Law Olmsted.

[00:22:23]The land was purchased from James Roosevelt, the father of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The building opened in 1871 with just 40 patients. By the 1940s, it held more than 6,000. The hospital was built under the Kirkbride plan, the same philosophy that governed [music] the Buffalo Asylum. The idea was that architecture and landscape could heal the mind. Wide corridors, natural light, pastoral views, but overcrowding destroyed the theory. By the mid-20th century, patients were warehoused in conditions that bore no resemblance to the founders' [music] vision. Lobotomies and electroshock therapy were standard.

[00:23:02]A ward for the criminally insane called Rhine house >> [music] >> held violent patients in locked cells.

[00:23:08]The building that was supposed to cure people with sunlight and gardens became a place people feared. The campus was shut down in stages beginning in the 1970s with the administration section closing for good in 2001. In 2007, a massive fire, later determined to be arson, gutted the wings. The combination of decades of water damage, structural decay, and fire destruction has left the interior in a state of almost total collapse. Floors have buckled, ceilings have caved in. The expensive yellow pine that outraged taxpayers [music] in the 1870s has rotted through entirely in places. Photographers [music] who have entered the building describe it as one of the most treacherous abandoned structures they have ever documented with stairwells that end in open air and corridors that sag under the weight of rainwater pooling [music] on the floors above. But, the most disturbing feature of the campus is not the building. It's what surrounds it. Scattered across the grounds are an estimated 25,000 unmarked graves belonging to patients who died at the hospital and were buried without headstones. The site is now being redeveloped into a mixed-use community called Hudson Heritage with homes, shops, and commercial space. The development is expected to cost nearly $300 million dollars. The graves will remain beneath the new construction. A hospital designed by the creators of Central Park where 25,000 people are buried without names underneath someone's future living room. Number two, Letchworth Village. In the town of Haverstraw in Rockland County, about 40 miles north of Manhattan, there is a stretch of wooded hillside where crumbling neoclassical buildings line curved streets with vintage lamp posts.

[00:24:56]Vines have choked the facades until some structures are nearly invisible from a path. Inside, lead paint sloughs from the walls in sick colors. Tile floors are buried under broken glass, collapsed ceiling plaster, and debris. A monument on the grounds reads to those that shall not be forgotten. Nearby, a potter's field holds the remains of patients who were buried without names. Letchworth Village was the dream of William Pryor Letchworth, a businessman and humanitarian who wanted to create a residential community for people with physical and mental disabilities [music] that would be radically different from the asylums of his era. The campus was modeled after [music] Thomas Jefferson's Monticello. It opened in 1911 across 2,300 acres with 130 buildings, designed to look and feel like a village.

[00:25:49]Patients farmed the land, raised livestock, and made toys to sell at Christmas. In its early dec- -ades, Letchworth was considered one of the most progressive institutions [music] in the world. Then it broke. The facility reached its 3,000 patient capacity by 1935.

[00:26:06]New arrivals from New York City overcrowded the wards. Funding did not keep pace. In the 1940s, a photojournalist named Irving Haberman released photographs showing naked, filthy residents sleeping on bare mattresses on the floor.

[00:26:21]>> [music] >> The images were shocking, but nothing changed. By the late 1960s, more than 5,000 patients were crammed into a facility designed for less than half that number. In 1950, a virologist named Hilary Koprowski administered an experimental live polio vaccine [music] to 20 disabled children at Letchworth.

[00:26:43]It was the first test of a live polio vaccine on human beings. The children [music] could not consent. When Koprowski presented his results at a conference. The scientist Albert Sabin reportedly shouted at him, "Why did you do it? Why?" Brain specimens were harvested from deceased residents and stored in jars of formaldehyde in the hospital laboratory. In 1972, a young television reporter named Geraldo Rivera smuggled a camera crew into the facility and broadcast the conditions to a national audience. The footage showed residents sitting in their own waste, unattended, in darkened rooms. The resulting outcry helped trigger the nationwide deinstitutionalization movement.

[00:27:27]Letchworth closed in 1996.

[00:27:29]The buildings remain. The monument still reads, "To those that shall not be forgotten." A village designed to look like Monticello, where they tested vaccines on children who could not say no. [music] And number one, Willard Asylum for the chronic insane. On the western shore of Seneca Lake in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, a cluster of Victorian brick buildings sits on a hillside overlooking the water. Some of them are sealed. Some are crumbling. A few have been absorbed into the Willard Drug Treatment Campus, a state [music] correctional facility that opened on part of the grounds in 1995.

[00:28:06]But the older buildings, the ones that belonged to the asylum, are unmistakable. Their windows are dark.

[00:28:13]Their hallways are empty. And behind them, rows of numbered markers stretch across a hillside cemetery where the headstones bear no names, only patient numbers with crosses for Catholics, wreaths for Protestants, and stars of David for Jewish patients. No one is certain how many people are buried there because the records were never fully maintained. Willard Asylum for the chronic insane opened in 1869 as an alternative to the jails and poorhouses where the mentally ill were routinely chained to walls. The first patient transferred to Willard was a woman named Mary, who arrived by steamboat across Seneca Lake. She had been confined in a cell for more than 10 years. When she arrived, she was naked, crouched in a corner, partially covered by a blanket, [music] without clothing or even a bed.

[00:29:03]Within weeks, she was dressed, cleaned, and walking the grounds. She died 7 years later of tuberculosis, but the brief improvement was exactly what the asylum's founders had promised. What the founders had not promised >> [music] >> was that Willard would become a place patients entered and never left. The asylum was designed for the chronically insane, which in practice meant anyone a family or a court decided was too difficult to manage. Patients arrived with suitcases. They were told it would be a temporary stay. Their suitcases were taken, tagged, and stored. Most of those [music] patients died at Willard.

[00:29:39]Their suitcases were carried to the attic by staff members who apparently could not bring themselves to throw them away. When the asylum closed in 1995, an employee named Bev Courtright was assigned to walk through the buildings [music] and determine what could be salvaged. In the attic, she found them.

[00:29:57]427 suitcases, trunks, crates, and doctors' bags stacked and cataloged, untouched for decades. Inside were clothes, photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, dolls, lockets, eyeglasses, and prayer books. Each one was a complete life compressed into a single bag. A woman's needlework, a man's shaving kit, everything a person would pack if they believed they were coming home soon. The suitcases were transferred to the New York State Museum. Photographer John Crispin spent 4 years documenting every bag and its contents. The identities of the patients remain sealed under privacy law. You can see their belongings. You cannot know their names. 400 suitcases packed for a stay that was supposed to be temporary waiting in an attic for people who were never allowed to leave. 10 asylums, 10 buildings that were supposed to fix something broken in the people who were sent to them. Some were designed by the greatest architects in the country. Some had baseball teams, ice cream parlors, and golf courses. Some were modeled after plantations, and some were built on top of prisons. And in the end, there was not much distance between the two.

[00:31:11]Every one of these places started with someone's good intention. Every one of them ended with locked [music] doors, unmarked graves, and suitcases no one came to collect. What connects these buildings is not just decay. It is silence. The patients who lived and died [music] inside them were written out of the public record. Their graves have no names. Their medical files are sealed.

[00:31:33]The buildings that held them are crumbling because no one wants to pay for the memory of what happened there.

[00:31:39]And the fact that some of these ruins are now luxury hotels and apartments and housing developments does not mean the story is over. It means the [music] story has been paved over. New York did not just abandon its asylums. It abandoned the people who were inside them twice. Once when it locked them away, and once [music] when it walked away from the buildings and left the suitcases in the attic. If any of these places stayed with you, consider subscribing. It takes 1 second, and it means the next video like this one finds its way to more people. I will see you in the next one.