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Voices Fall-Winter 2005:
Click on the cover for the Table of Contents. Read “The Underground Seen: Tunneling Legends On College and University Campuses” by Vince DeFruscio and Charlie McCormick here.
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Volume 31

The Underground Seen: Tunneling Legends on College and University Campuses by Vince DeFruscio and Charlie McCormack

This article documents and analyzes the legends on American college and university campuses about underground steam tunnels. A comparative reading of these legends and a more focused inquiry into one campus’s tunnel legend indicates that the narratives provide an identity for the institution and a rite of passage for the undergraduates who tell or enact the tunnel legend.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next . . . . ‘Well!’ thought Alice to herself, ‘after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!’

—Lewis Carroll,
Alice in Wonderland


One of the bestselling books of 2004, The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason opens with a group of college friends deciding to break the stress of studying and thesis writing with a game of laser tag in the steam tunnels that crisscross the underground of Princeton University’s campus. The characters recognize these tunnels as being strictly off-limits according to the official rules of the university. Several pages into the story—after encounters with rats and dehydration—the young men emerge from the tunnels having escaped (only barely) being caught by school authorities. The book is new, but the story is old. Colleges and universities across the nation have rich traditions surrounding their institutional tunnels. It is the literal and symbolic underground of higher education into which this essay plunges.

This essay documents and analyzes legends about college tunnels. Taking our own Cabrini College campus and its legend of a secret tunnel as the point of departure, we argue that tunnel legends are important on college campuses because they serve as expressive resources for creating a distinctive institutional profile and their telling or enactment creates a rite of passage experience for undergraduates. These seemingly distinct uses are in fact complementary: in both cases, tunnel legends build identity. While the legends do not do this work of identity alone, they are one of the key ways in which academic institutions and the students who attend them come to understand how they are unique.

A Secret Tunnel at Cabrini College

Freshmen entering Cabrini College are treated to late-night ghost stories about the campus. For years, tales of hauntings have been passed from class to class, generation to generation, effectively scaring new students each time the stories are told. Web sites perpetuate a tradition of Cabrini’s haunted past and present, as well (see White 1998). The stories resonate with students because the campus environment—although idyllic in its woodland setting—and particularly the Elizabethan architecture of the Mansion lend themselves to ghostly stories. Horace Trumbauer (1863-1938), architect of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, designed the estate that is now Cabrini College, and Mr. J. W. Paul Jr. moved into the Woodcrest Mansion in 1901. In 1925, the Mansion was sold to the Dorrance family, who maintained the estate as their private residence. The estate was purchased in 1953 by the college’s sponsoring order, the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The Woodcrest Mansion served as the Villa Cabrini orphanage until 1957, when Sister Ursula Infante opened Cabrini College. Today the building is home to several of Cabrini’s administrative offices, including the president’s office, the business office, and the Office of Institutional Advancement. While the Mansion is a hub of activity today, it nonetheless casts a haunting presence over the campus because of its architectural connection to the past.

The ghost tales build off the family histories—real and imagined—of the estate that today is Cabrini College. The tales often revolve around the tension between a father and daughter, precipitated by her taboo love for the poor stable boy who worked for the family. This love was doomed and, predictably, ends with the lovers’ deaths and (in some versions) the death of the child their illicit affair produced. The legend of the college’s secret tunnel complements these stories. In some versions, the tunnel—supposedly running between the Mansion and Grace Hall (the original stables for the estate)—allowed the daughter and stable boy to carry out their liaisons.

The first collector of Cabrini’s tunnel legends was an English professor trained as a folklorist who arrived on campus in the 1960s. Today, professor emeritus Carter Craigie remembers:
Supposedly, the tunnel ran from the basement of the Mansion all the way up to what is now called Grace Hall. Just why the tunnel had been built was a mystery to all my informants. There was something vague about the need for the tunnel during snowy winters, but that was about all. . . . I remember that, at the Grace Hall end, there had supposedly been an old oil portrait of a man (I never knew his name) leaning against the tunnel wall. But here’s the interesting part: to look at this portrait made you go insane, at least temporarily (that is, for a matter of a few days). Upon “coming to,” some boy (nameless, again) who had looked at the portrait couldn’t remember anything of the past two to three days since he had gone down into the tunnel. (Craigie 2003)

Beyond simply collecting variants of Cabrini’s legend, Craigie added some of his own. Several years into his academic career, he organized a student darkroom in the basement of the Mansion. He remembers in vivid detail that a suitable spot for a tunnel was down there. And perhaps there was a tunnel there. Regardless, as a master storyteller, he helped make the story of the tunnel legendary:
The spot we chose [for the darkroom] was on the Grace Hall side of the Mansion basement in what looked like the old tunnel! At this point in time, however, the end of the tunnel had all fallen in, and it looked definitely unsafe to go even a few steps into it. Our darkroom occupied the first ten or fifteen feet but you couldn’t go any further. . . . I remember big spiders’ cobwebs and lots of dirt and crumbled down stone work! It wasn’t too much later that the college’s maintenance department put up plywood walls to close off even the little room we had formerly occupied. (Craigie 2003)

Even if the tunnel could no longer be viewed, it could be experienced through the retelling of the tunnel legend. To hear Craigie tell it, this experience was highly sought after. He recalls:
Each year’s incoming freshmen, upon hearing me tell the stories, wanted to go look for the tunnel. It got to the point that [a former] college president . . . called me on the telephone to ask that I not tell the tunnel part of the Cabrini legends anymore, as she didn’t want kids downstairs in the Mansion’s basement searching for the tunnel. I complied with her request, but somehow word always seemed to slip out, usually from the older students who would come back to hear the legends year after year. I also used to tell the legends in the Mansion dining room at what was then called Parent’s Weekend; older sisters and brothers would always bring up the tunnel part, even though I never mentioned it. (Craigie 2003)

Today, Cabrini’s tunnel legend continues to resonate among students. For example, one student reported that he was told during orientation that the tunnel was needed by a butler who had to move between the buildings on cold days. He continued that the tunnel became haunted and, therefore, was filled in by the school. A female student reported that her friend’s father worked in facilities maintenance at Cabrini; he said that once there had been tours of the tunnel. Lights helped people move through the tunnel. According to the student’s father, the lights would go out randomly, and visitors would “get freaked out.” They ended up sealing the tunnel because it was said to be haunted.

Haunted or not, something is strange about the Mansion’s basement. Facility personnel and college historians alike are baffled by the strange temperature variations within the basement. Similarly, there seems no feasible explanation for how coal entered the home and ashes were removed. Most puzzling of all is a padlocked stone room in the basement that apparently leads nowhere. Just four walls. It serves no clear purpose. Could it be the entrance to a concealed tunnel?

The one person who could answer definitively—the former director of facilities and the current director of construction and renovation, Michael Caranfa—refuses to do so. In both e-mail and face-to-face encounters, he managed both to debunk the tunnel legend and encourage it. He confirms that there are tunnels (or “pipes”) that go from the Mansion to Grace Hall. These pipes carry water, cable, and fiber-optic lines under the main road and its shoulder. He admits, “Although the story of the tunnel has been around for years, I am afraid it is more apocryphal than fact. . . . I admit that when we give the annual Mansion tour to visitors we allude to the fact that there may be a tunnel and keep the mystery alive” (Caranfa 2003).

Other staff at the College readily deny that a secret tunnel ever existed at Cabrini. The telephone operator at Cabrini of some thirty years sees no reason why one of the original families would have needed to put a tunnel between the house and the stables, and the former director of alumni affairs and unofficial college historian thinks the tunnel is unlikely, too. While she has heard students talk about a secret tunnel for several decades, she has never seen evidence confirming the existence of a tunnel. Similarly, Cabrini’s archivist does not believe there is a tunnel under Cabrini College, and she has Trumbauer’s original blueprints for the Mansion and the stable to strengthen her position. She nevertheless concedes that people will keep believing in the tunnel because “It’s fun! It’s damn fun!” Clearly, the idea of the tunnel makes people secretly hope it is there even when they know better than to believe it is.

Building Institutional Identity

Tunnels exist for practical reasons on college and university campuses. Tunnels vent potentially harmful fumes or steam away from people; they carry cable that wires hitech lives; and they pipe in water and remove waste. On northern campuses, tunnels transport students across campus on snowy or icy days. Beyond their practicality, legends about tunnels saturate American campuses because they transform the generic experience of college into a distinctly local experience. In the process of developing an institutional identity, college employees, alumni, college publications, and students generate these legends—just as they do at Cabrini. The legends are important because, in an environment where colleges and universities are so similar in function, people look for distinctiveness in the college experience that justifies the time and money spent on a degree from one place instead of another. Tunnel legends are not the only way colleges and universities create an identity, but they are an important vernacular means of doing this work.

Tunnel legends deliver a distinct identity by localizing a generic story line, incorporating specific elements from the college or university into the narrative (the oil painting in Craigie’s version of Cabrini’s tunnel legend, for instance). At Georgetown University, the tunnels are supposedly the location for secret meetings that extend, geographically and politically, all the way to the White House (Caughman 1999). In the 1970s at the University of Arizona, avers the student newspaper, “A monkey from the Central Animal Facility got into the tunnel system after escaping from its cage and wasn’t captured for four to five months.” Facilities employees claim still to be nervous about encountering a monkey running around the tunnel (Wells 1998). As new students gain insider’s knowledge of these tunnel legends—what is described in Texas A&M University’s school newspaper as “volumes of whispered lore passed down” (Carter 2000)—the distinctiveness of their institution seems confirmed.

The irony of this localization is that the underlying plots of the legends are predictable across institutions. One typical plot involves the playing of pranks in the tunnels. At Stanford University, a student supposedly entered the Hoover library on campus “via the tunnels and performed three impromptu midnight carillon concerts” (Flattery 2000). At the University of Michigan, it is rumored that students used the tunnels to turn off the hot water at the president’s residence (Berkowitz 2002). At Swarthmore College, it is believed that students used tunnels to break into a building and swipe the bagel cart (Wright 2001). Another recurrent plot is the association of the institution’s tunnels with the playing of dungeons and dragons, a fantasy role-playing game. The University of Houston and the University of Arizona both report that their tunnels were used for the game. Yet another predictable plot is that the tunnel was connected to the Underground Railroad in the years before the Civil War. Illinois College claims that, although “no records exist” and the tunnel can no longer be accessed, it “was said to have been used during the years of the Underground Railroad” (Taylor 2000). The same claim has been made for the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater tunnel system and a college prep school in the Hudson Valley, the Hoosac School. The claims are localized, not unique, but the institutions claim a distinct identity because of their tunnels.

Building Individual Identity

Tunnel legends not only transform the experience of college into a distinctly local experience, but also help individual students form their identities as they come of age. They do this by serving as rites of passage. This is important because while modern American society has many coming-of-age experiences, which teach initiates competencies, it has fewer rites of passage, which provide initiates capabilities (McCormick 2004). In the industrial and post-industrial world, being competent—knowing how to be who one is supposed to be rather than discovering who one might be—provides the clearest track for individual success and social harmony. Formal education, for example, for the majority of students in modern American society, is the most formative coming-of-age experience, teaching students who they should be and how they can perform their roles effectively and efficiently. It is a context where the impetus to discover one’s capabilities—to experience a rite of passage—is minimized. Absent socially sanctioned and organized rites of passage, adolescents will initiate themselves or each other through auto-initiation and peer-initiation (Foster 1996). One of the ways adolescents initiate themselves is through tunnel legends. The prevalence of coming-of-age experiences and diminishment of rites of passage begins to explain why, at Stanford, a student would bemoan the perception that “Palo Alto closes down . . . [at] two o’clock in the morning” and why she would head underground to enact tunnel legends. The student continues: “It becomes a choose-your-own-adventure where the campus is what you make of it” (Hurt 1997). She is expressing the desire for a rite-of-passage experience. A similar desire is reflected at the University of California, Los Angeles, where entering the tunnel system is dramatized as ritual initiation: “The darkness is punctured by a solitary 100-watt light bulb hanging overhead, but . . . interlopers trek on, ignoring the sweltering 110-degree heat. Suddenly, they stop: in front of them lies a crudely drawn sign welcoming them to Hell” (Rosen 1986). In Wired magazine, too, the desire for initiation and recognizing one’s capabilities is reflected in the explanation as to why people enact tunnel legends: “Across America, people are hacking their way through the underground passages and hidden crawl spaces of colleges and universities—a kind of urban spelunking that pits the true hacker’s spirit of exploration against an unmapped and frequently risky landscape” (Scott 1993). In the Cabrini account, a similar sense of testing one’s capabilities is evident. Actually hunting for tunnels or exploring may intensify the experience of the tunnel legend as a rite of passage, but tunnel legends remain rites of passage whether they are told or performed.

The tunneling tradition, like other rites of passage, offers the experience of transformative potential, although the nature of this transformation varies from legend to legend. At Georgetown University, the University of Wisconsin, and Virginia Tech, for example, tunnel legends speak to the most dramatic of transformations: death. If you go into the tunnels, students believe, you are almost certain to die because they are dangerous places. While no deaths have been reported due to the dangerous conditions of a college’s or a university’s steam tunnels, the perception persists. At other institutions, like Vanderbilt, the transformation is less final but still significant: it results in expulsion. In other words, the transformation occurs in social status. This is one of the fears expressed in Vince’s account. That this social transformation is still significant is reflected by the warning of a tunnel explorer at Louisiana State University to other would-be tunnelers: “If you have a nice scholarship, stay in the dorms at night” (“Tunnels,” 1999). Another variation of social transformation that is possible while tunneling is being arrested. At the University of Michigan and at New Mexico State University, students reportedly were arrested for exploring the tunnels.

Rites of passage foreground individual transformation through narrative and dramatic performances. These performances mark the actual internal transformation that the individual experiences: the revelation of the individual’s capabilities. In other words, rites of passage enable individuals to experience who and how they might be. Rites of passage provide this experience in the context of trials and tests that demand individuals be more than they are in everyday life. As this essay’s epigraph suggests, this is Alice’s experience on her fall through the tunnel towards Wonderland. Because it has transformative potential—plummeting downward underground towards an uncertain end—the experience changes her. Folklorist Simon Bronner (1990, 167) argues that most legend-trips (that is, excursions based on local legends) at colleges and universities serve as rites of passage, because they help students transform themselves from dependent students to independent adults through the challenge the legend presents. Tunnel legends, in particular, almost always have a challenge (particularly a physical challenge) as a central theme. One web site notes that college students explore the tunnels running underneath their campuses precisely because they “are always off limits, and that is part of the lure—to do something ‘forbidden’” (“Steam Tunnels,” 1996). Ironically, and in an effort to keep students out of the tunnels, institutions themselves heighten the perceived challenge of (and therefore desire for) tunnels by declaring them unsafe and off-limits. A similar institutional message is transmitted at Georgetown University, the University of Virginia, Texas A&M University, Northwestern University, and Memphis’s Christian Brothers University.

In rites of passage, an individual’s capabilities frequently are revealed through the experience of disillusionment and disenchantment (McCormick 2004). On college and university campuses, disillusionment and disenchantment are central in accounts of tunnel legends, even in Vince’s narrative on (the lack of evidence for) Cabrini’s tunnel. For example, Vanderbilt University’s Vanderbilt Hustler received permission to send reporters into the university’s network of tunnels to “debunk the myths surrounding them” (Underwood and Wells 1995-6). The typical mode of debunking is to render the once-mysterious tunnels almost entirely utilitarian. There was not only the challenge of exploring and conquering the tunnels through legend-telling or the enactment of the legend, then, but there was the mental challenge of disenchanting them. Bob Jones University, the University of Virginia, Texas A&M University, Rhodes College, and Christian Brothers University have all entertained attempts to disenchant their tunnel legends. The process of disenchanting the legends reveals to the individual that he or she can exercise control, create knowledge, and manifest power in an environment—the bureaucratic and institutional college or university— that otherwise foregrounds how little power the individual student actually has.

Tunnels on college and university campuses—including Cabrini College—should not warrant the attention they receive from students. As one student newspaper reported: “Not much exists down in the steam tunnels except high-voltage cabling, pipes, and a few entrances to buildings around campus” (Hurt 1997). What is intriguing about tunnel legends is that they hold students’ attention just the same. A University of Virginia student offers some insight: “I don’t think I know anyone who enjoys frat parties and also goes steam tunneling. I have a lot of friends in fraternities and sororities, but I just would not take them down there. I don’t think they could appreciate it, because you need a weird type to go down there, someone who finds it invigorating. It’s one of the dangerous things you can do but still be safe” (Tsai 2001). Fraternity and sororities provide their own rites of passage (although they provide many coming-of-age experiences, as well). The UVA student notes that absent this sanctioned rite of passage, students will initiate themselves. Tunnel legends provide this initiatory moment—this introduction to one’s capabilities—by posing as taboo knowledge or a dangerous experience that can be disenchanted, however temporarily, by a capable individual.


Tunnels crisscross the underground of colleges and universities across the nation. The size and use of these tunnels—whether simple water and electrical pipes or something larger—remain the stuff of legends. Legendary though they are, tunnels on college and university campuses seem to provide institutions, like Cabrini College, distinction. Tunnel legends serve a similar identitybuilding function for individuals by offering a rite of passage. Telling or enacting these legends reveals students’ capabilities, as students come to know or to explore what institutional authorities would rather forbid and as students experience the disenchantment of realizing that the tunnels are not as magical and mysterious as they once believed. Colleges and universities are drawn to the underground. It is a richly symbolic landscape that may be used to understand one’s world and one’s life above ground. This happens at Cabrini College as readily as it does at other institutions. Make no mistake: our study of the significance of tunnel legends on college and university campuses is not exhaustive. More stories remain to be mined. What these tunnels are all about remains hidden—but not too deep. It can be seen just below the surface of things.


Vince DeFruscio cowrote this article during his senior year at Cabrini College. After graduating in May 2004 with a degree in English and communication, he is now an assignment editor for Philadelphia’s CBS affiliate, KYW-TV.

Charlie McCormick earned his Ph.D. in the University of Pennsylvania’s folklore and folklife program. He is dean for academic affairs and an associate professor in the Department of English and Communication at Cabrini College.

Tunnel legends deliver a distinct identity by localizing a generic story line, incorporating specific elements from the college or university into the narrative...At Georgetown University, the tunnels are supposedly the location for secret meetings that extend, geographically and politically, all the way to the White House...

Vince Explores the Legend of Cabrini’s Tunnel

One afternoon, I was talking to fellow undergraduates about my interest in the College’s tunnel. Everyone began to tell stories about the tunnel. It did not take long before five of us decided to look for it in the basement of the Mansion. It was not hard to gain access to the basement, as the Mansion is open nearly everywhere. We entered the basement through a secluded door near the kitchen. Although there were five of us looking, we could not find any signs of the tunnel in the basement. Admittedly, we got scared pretty quickly. The smell of one hundred years of settlement—wet, dank concrete walls—and cobwebs made it feel more like an abandoned prison than the basement of a prestigious home. Still, sneaking in and out of rooms in the basement was a rush. Lights were on in the basement’s small rooms. We imagined we were going to get caught by a facilities worker and end up getting in trouble. Maybe the facilities worker had simply run to the bathroom. We were all silently thinking, When would the facilities worker return? How would we explain that we were looking for a tunnel, not stealing something from the basement?

In fact, we came across a facilities worker whose office was in the basement. Fortunately, he did not assume the worst about us, so we asked him about the tunnel. He said he had no idea if there was a tunnel or not and offered to show us around. He showed us the elevator entrance in the basement. He showed us the old switchboard, full of wires and leads. Then he said, “Well, I’ll show you where people think the tunnel is.” He brought us to the furthest corner of the Mansion basement and pointed down. Beneath a layer of wooden “No Parking” signs lay a concrete slab large enough to cover up the mouth of a tunnel. He claimed that there was an identical slab somewhere in the basement of Grace Hall. Our adventure was just beginning.

We thanked the worker, who left to get back to work. So up and out of the basement we climbed, heading for Grace Hall. Like the Mansion’s basement, the basement in Grace Hall is segmented into smaller rooms. There are several entrances and areas in which to get lost. To get from one side of the basement to another, we had to go up to the ground level and then go down a different flight of steps into the next section of basement. Just by chance, we stumbled upon the right section of the basement. It was unlocked, and a staircase took us down into a cold and damp darkness. The stairs were rickety, and the walls were cement. There was writing on the walls, yearbook-like signatures and messages from students who had been here before us.

It was dark, even with the lights that were placed sporadically about. One of my friends used her cigarette lighter for more light. It did very little to help the situation. If anything, the faint flickering of orange and yellow shadows simply added to the dramatic and eerie ambiance that already surrounded this place. The facilities worker had told us what to look for: There would be a room, then another. Between the two rooms, a giant pipe divides the walkway. We crossed the pipe using a bench as a bridge. No light bulb illuminated the room, but still, we could see it. There, at the furthest corner of the room, was a concrete slab— the same size as the Mansion slab. I imagined it was aligned directly with the basement of the Mansion. It seemed like we had found our match. Just then, the basement got to us, and like bullets fired from a machine gun, all five of us turned and ran. We ran tripping over each other; we ran screaming as cobwebs stretched across our faces; we ran pushing each other out of the way and pleading “Wait up, wait for me!” We ran and ran and ran, scrambling over that enormous pipe we so carefully crossed before. Finally we emerged from the basement, running up the rickety steps and throwing the door open. No one saw us enter, and no one saw us leave.


Note: Information about tunnel legends at the colleges and universities mentioned in this essay are plentiful in online sources. Students and former students maintain web sites that map the tunnel systems and provide first-person narratives about students’ tunneling experiences. LexisNexis Academic Universe is another wealth of information on tunnel legends, especially in the university news category, which archives many school newspapers. School newspapers often run human interest pieces about campus tunnels.

Berkowitz, Jeremy. February 14, 2002. Curious Students Explore U. Michigan Tunnels. Michigan Daily. LexisNexis.

Caldwell, Ian, and Dustin Thomason. 2004. The Rule of Four. New York: Dell Books.

Caranfa, Michael. February 5-March 23, 2003. Personal communication.

Carter, Chris. February 8, 2000. Students Explore Texas A&M’s Steam Tunnels. Battalion. LexisNexis.

Caughman, H. Shirah. March 23, 1999. A Light at the End of the Tunnel. Hoya online: http://www.thehoya.com/ features/032399/features1.htm.

Craigie, Carter. April 16, 2003. Personal communication.

Flattery, Tom. 2000. Go Steamtunneling. Stanford Magazine online: http:// www.stanfordalumni.org/news/ magazine/2000/sepoct/articles/ 101things.html

Foster, Steven. 1996. Bunny Bashing to Manhood. In Crossroads: The Quest for Contemporary Rites of Passage, 339-52. Ed. Louise C. Mahdi, Nancy G. Christopher, and Michael Meade. Chicago: Open Court.

Hurt, Maxine. December 4, 1997. Steamy Stanford Nights—Students Find Allure in Underground Tunnels. Stanford Daily. Lexis- Nexis.

McCormick, Charlie. 2004. The Child’s Rite of Play: The Consequences of Taming the Liminal Stage in Contemporary Rites of Passage. In The Child’s Right of Play: A Global Approach, 77-84. Ed. Rhonda L. Clements and Leah Fiorentino. Westport, CT: Praeger.

Rosen, Don. April 20, 1986. Infiltrating the Underground: L.A.’s Tunnels—A Passage of History and a Possible Link to Future. Los Angeles Times, Metro, Part 2:1. Lexis Nexis.

Scott, Michael. July/August 1993. Hacking the Material World. Wired online: http:// www.wired.com/wired/archive/1.03/ tunnelers.html

Steam Tunnels. 1996. College tunnels resource site, online: http:// members.tripod.com/~tunnels/ tunnels.html

Taylor, Troy. 2000. Haunted Illinois: Illinois College. Ghosts of the Prairie online: www.prairieghosts.com/ ilcollege.html

Tsai, James. June 14, 2001. Steam Tunnels Beneath U. Virginia Provide Energy to School, Risky Thrills to Students. Cavalier Daily. LexisNexis.

Tunnels, Tunnels, Tunnels. . . . 1999. College tunnels resource site, online: http:// members.tripod.com/~tunnels/ tinfo.html

Underwood, Ryan, and Bryce Wells. 1995-6. No Art, Monorails, Bomb Shelters Found in Tunnels under Campus. Vanderbilt Hustler online: http://www.angelfire.com/ tn2/subterra/literature.htm

Wells, Bryon. March 24, 1998. Tunneling through the UA’s bowels. Daily Wildcat online: http://www.wildcat.Arizona.edu/ papers/91/118/01_4_m.html

Wright, Elizabeth. April 5, 2001. The Tunnel. Phoenix online: .http:// www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/ org/phoenix/2001/2001-04-05/ indepth/10962.html

This article appeared in Voices Vol. 31, Fall-Winter 2005. Voices is the membership magazine of the New York Folklore Society. To become a subscriber, join the New York Folklore Society today.

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