The Day We Entered the Tunnel of Doom: There are severe limits to how far you’re allowed to wander at age 7. Hence, to legendary adventurers like Rory, Jeff and me, “Don’t cross [insert name of familiar-as-a-freckle neighborhood street here]” was an annoying refrain. Still, we observed the rule (“observe” being a very malleable concept) in order to avoid that even more dreaded refrain, “Wait until your father comes home!”
But…
…our parents never said anything about how far we could travel underneath the streets. The most mysterious thing near us was The Tunnel of Doom (a segment of the massive L.A. storm drain system). But the entrance was covered by a big steel gate. So we could only shine our flashlights into it and imagine the Odyssean adventures beyond our reach.
But then, miraculously, some enterprising teenagers managed to pry up a corner of the gate–just enough for three 7-year-olds to squeeze through. And squeeze we did!
We Brought…
…flashlights, canteens, and homemade spears to defend ourselves against pet turtles that had been flushed down toilets and grown as big as Volkswagens. Being under 4′ tall, we didn’t have to bend over, but we did have to straddle the murky little creek that ebbed and flowed beneath us.
We saw very few stalactites or stalagmites, and virtually no dinosaurs. But we did see scampering rats, picked-clean bones, and various things dropped through gutter grates (“No, honey, not Daddy’s watch!”). Oh, and it was a storm drain, not a sewer, so fortunately we didn’t encounter that kind of stuff.
We Got Lost
But only really scary-lost one time. On our way back, we’d come upon a cross-tunnel, and had no idea whether to go straight, left, or right. We tried climbing a ladder, and peering out through a gutter grate, but could only see blurring car tires and cat’s feet. Terrified, we vowed to never explore The Tunnel again! And then we sat down, visions of dying in this awful sunless tube flooding our eyes with tears. We finally decided one of us would stay here, and the other two would go left and right, and then report back.
Jeff returned half an hour later, shouting, “This is the way out!” And then he and I waited what seemed like days for Rory to return. We were afraid we’d have to abandon him, and confess what happened. Then there’d be a citywide search, and we’d be sentenced to Alkaseltzer! So Jeff and I took turns going to the exit to see if the sun had gone down yet.
Rory finally came back! We made another vow–tell no one what happened–and then hurried home for dinner.
We Broke Our First Vow
But with a caveat. Since The Tunnel was low on adventures anyway (there were almost no kid-eating monsters or lands that time forgot), we’d use it as a subway! We mapped every turn, and learned it by heart. There were only a few outlets we could actually exit through, and all were miles away. Our Secret Subway opened up whole new urban vistas to us — without crossing a single street, we increased our feral territory by tenfold! The Secret Subway lasted until some nosey grown-up said, “Wait, what the—?” and a bigger, heavier gate was installed.
Decades later, I taught at La Mirada’s Biola University, located near our old Secret Subway entrance. One day, I overheard two of my students talking about their latest “urban caving” expedition in The Tunnel of Doom. A rainstorm had struck while they were inside, and they’d nearly drowned! Apparently, there are quite a few 7-year-olds out there who never grew up!
Glass sulptures by Rob Mulholland
Photo by 
