The best urban tour in town is 6 feet under. Well, more like 36 feet under. CityBeat was lucky enough to find itself invited on one of the inspection walks of the long-abandoned Cincinnati subway, inspections that are being conducted in anticipation of (perhaps) opening the tunnels to public tours.
Yes, we have a subway. It never actually operated, mind you, but it exists: Two miles of winding track and tunnels that snake underneath Central Parkway.
Imagining a decrepit, crumbling mess? Far from it. The city engineer's office has kept the place well maintained. No choice, really, say the engineers. If they didn't, Central Parkway would come crumbling down into the Pothole From Hell.
We begin our tour at the Central Parkway and Vine Street subway station. Well, not a station in the formal sense of the word. No ticket booths or even much in the way of lights. But there's no mistaking it, as you enter from the median on Central Parkway right across from the AAA headquarters building. Descend the stairway and you've entered another world, a subterranean concrete cavern with high ceilings, a passenger platform and two rail lines.
Our hosts, the good folks from a local organization (that wishes to remain nameless until it's ready for a public announcement) and the city engineer's office, have graciously invited us on a preliminary walk-through of the tunnels, in anticipation of the group running an annual public tour here beginning in October. Along for the meandering stroll through the tunnels are safety engineers and architectural, guys who know a thing or two about caverns.
There is talk immediately of safety obstacles and concerns about asbestos. Each problem is weighed and considered. Public protection is a primary concern. "I think we will want to hire off-duty police officers as escorts. Sometimes, people get into these tunnels who aren't supposed to be here." Broken Jack Daniels' bottles lie in testament to this fact.
What about lighting? Halogen rods, one suggests. Or glow-in-the-dark wands.
As we stroll the underground, we see graffiti lining the walls. "Grand Central '38" reads one huge painted phrase. Here, even the graffiti comes with its own sense of history.
We come across rusting 17-gallon drinking water barrels, marked "Office of Civil Defense." We're told the subway was once designated back in the 1950s as the fallout shelter for Cincinnati's mayor and other key officials, in the event of a nuclear attack. Sure, trust the politicians to find the closest hole to City Hall in which to dig in their heads.
A huge water line takes up space in one of the rail tunnels. Why not? Why should the city water department dig up a whole new tunnel for this line, when a perfect concrete tunnel already existed, unused and practically forgotten?
The water line is highly pressurized, a safety hazard in itself (the massive 48-inch pipe actually broke open once and flooded the subway). Fortunately, the tour guides have already contacted the water department and had the line shut down for our inspection tour. They will do likewise for any public tour upcoming. The water line is actually a secondary water source that sees busy times only in the summer as loose fire hydrants and lawn waterings tap out the city's primary water lines. The rail ties are easier to walk on as we hit small puddles from the line.
It's generally dry, though. No rats scramble around, none visible anyhow. Just miles and miles of tunnel. Someone on the walk mentions how UC considered this space for a wind tunnel. Somebody else mentions that it was once considered as a site for an atomic super collider. Its history as a fallout shelter is duly observed, as is its role in the Jim DeBrosse mystery novel, Hidden City.
The guides realize something disturbing as we continue our winding walk toward the curve in Central Parkway and the "Liberty Street station." Nobody's cell phone is working in our group. Of course not. Not under all these tons of reinforced concrete. No contact with the outside world. No way to call for help if somebody trips or somebody locks the access door on us accidentally. Aiiiieee!
While we return to find the giant swinging doors still open, the lack of telecommunication remains a concern. Two-way radios will be tested down here in the abyss, as will other forms of communication devices.
A major fiber optics line is being installed through one of the tunnels this year, says one engineer. That new wrinkle will have to be taken into consideration.
Hell, with all this space for fiber optic cables and water lines, perhaps the city fathers did us a favor. Somebody suggests that a Subway sandwich shop could provide free sandwiches for tour-goers. Another gamely suggests marketing T-shirts that sport the motto, "I survived the Cincinnati subway."
We ascend to daylight. The musty odor is all that suggests this incredible city resource has sat unused for half a century.
The Cincinnati Subway lives on. Some call it a boondoggle. We call it an opportunity.
