Through the keyhole

Although I first heard rumors of the tunnels when I was nine, it was Jamie Weitz, my first girlfriend in the seventh grade, and what she told a group of us at her Halloween party. We were too old to trick or treat, but still young enough to enjoy scaring each other. Most of the stories were lame until Jamie shared one about her father. Ned, now head of a big security firm, had once ventured into the tunnels while he was a student at City University in the 1970s. Not only was he amazed at the vast size of the tunnels, easily big enough to drive a truck through, he presumably saw rats as big as cats.

As Ned, all alone, began his foray into the labyrinth, he discovered a smaller side tunnel, which he followed. This one was lined with quarried stones instead of reinforced concrete. The door protecting this tunnel had apparently been left unlocked, and Ned was able to venture down the corridor with the aid of a flashlight. After several twists and turns he came upon a peculiar door, more like a gate, made of thick slats. Ned guessed the metal was steel, but the door was so rusted, it gave the impression it was really old. Upon further inspection, he realized that pieces of rotted wood were embedded in the slats and that the gate had actually been a great wooden door reinforced with thick bands of iron. The peculiar style of the door, along with the amount of decay, was what made it seem ancient. Amazingly, this egress was also unlocked. The hinges had been recently oiled, which allowed the great door to swing inward, revealing a continuation of the corridor. He walked several paces and almost missed another door—small, barely four feet high, made of mahogany with a tiny gold keyhole. Ned had to get to his knees to be eye-level with the keyhole. He looked with his left eye, but had to squint to see anything. While the image before him was blurry, he was convinced what he saw were pieces of human remains. Shocked, his adrenalin pumping, he ran from the corridor back into the safety of the upper levels of the street, never to return.

Ned told of his discovery only once, as a forewarning to her older sister’s fiancé at their rehearsal dinner.

A silent hush fell over the room but was soon replaced with adolescent giggles and then peals of laughter. We moved from the tales of terror to a game of "Spin the Bottle." The mood of the story was soon displaced by the thrill, and/or anxiety, of having the bottle come to rest while pointing at a tween and if it was a girl, being "dared" by Jamie to "French kiss" another girl. Landing on a guy came with the ultimate dare: "Seven minutes in Heaven", in which a young couple was paired and subsequently banished to a large closet to presumably grope one another (but more likely to sit in silence and shame while hearing the laughter and mocking calls of the others on the outside who were imagining much greater lascivious behavior than what was really going on). Some tried to peer through the keyhole.

Upon being released from the closet after seven minutes, which seemed like seven hours, I for one was promptly accosted by my friends, demanding to know if I got any tit. Of course I lied, and claimed that, “Yes, I had got plenty of tit; I had in fact got both tits.” The fact that I was lying didn't bother me, as I assumed their stories were lies too, especially David's claim that he had actually gotten to third base. For most people, the most memorable moment of the party came later as Jamie was spinning the bottle again and one of her over-developed breasts actually flopped out of the costume toga she was wearing, to the surprise of all in attendance. What was equally surprising was the speed and ease with which she re-harnessed her body part, and nonchalantly continued the game as if nothing had happened.

At 10:00 p.m., Mr. Weitz declared it was time for us little heathens to go home. As I headed down the stairs, I wanted to ask him about his seeing body parts in the bowels in the tunnels under the streets. Since I was uncertain if the story was true, and wanting to avoid embarrassment, I left without asking.

Years later, I would go down into the tunnels in search of the small mahogany door with a gold keyhole.