Along the Hudson River, in the heart of Harlem in New York City, lies a place so entrenched in mystery and myth, only the craziest of urban explorers are willing to seek out the truth.
This place is New York’s lost city — once thriving with a group of people who shunned society, who went deep into the depth of darkness to seek freedom and a life beyond the constraints of civilisation.
It’s called the Freedom Tunnel. An almost 5km stretch of underground rail line that was built in the 1930s by a man named Robert Moses. It was used as a route for freight trains until 1980, when operations ceased thanks to the increased use of trucking for transportation.
But then, something changed in those dark, giant stretches of space — a society was born.
Not a society we might automatically imagine, though. A tent city, complete with pirated electricity and TV, where some estimate, between 100 souls would congregate and build a new world.
There were rules. No stealing. No yelling. Respect for each other. There was even a guy dubbed “The Lord of the Tunnel”.
The rest were called “Mole People”. And for almost 20 years, these people ruled the New York City underground.
It wasn’t until a New York Times article in 1990 that the world was introduced to this secret society.
“They have plywood shanties and cinder-block bunkers with rugs, beds, night stands, kerosene lamps, wood and gas stoves, paintings on the walls, pets in the yard,” it read.
They became infamous, stories from above ground abounded over these curious creatures, almost inhuman. Their skin was told to be almost invisible from lack of direct sunlight. Their eyes had adapted to the cloak of darkness, eating rats and human flesh.
They were called the lost ones. The hidden ones. The broken. The ill. The homeless. The deranged.
“The only things we don’t have are running water and electricity,’’ the society’s first resident, Joe, told The New York Times.
“The other bad part is watching out for the jerks that come down the outside, the people who try to be smart and they’re stupid. I’ve been in a few fights. Kids come in to steal things and start fires. There’s a guy who wears a dress and cowboy boots who comes in a lot, and another guy who goes around offering people 20 bucks to beat him up.”
But in 1991, the tunnel and its tracks were reopened by train company Amtrak, and a massive eviction of the residents followed. Forced out by the very people they were trying to escape.
Since, stories of the Mole People abound. Where did they go? What did they do?
When news.com.au visited the tunnels this week, the site was a shell of its former self. The entrance to the tunnel is foreboding, gargantuan — like a giant mouth ready to swallow you whole. This place is not for the faint of heart.
In fact, it’s a truly terrifying place to visit. It’s an adrenaline rush like no other. Every noise. Every footstep. Every heartbeat. Your senses are well and truly on edge, adrenaline is pumping through your body, not knowing if someone is stalking you from a secret cubby hole, or about to pounce from a crevice.
What we found wasn’t a society thriving in the dark. In fact, we found no one. Not one singular soul.
In a recent article, journalist Anthony Taille published an essay on the “truth about New York’s legendary mole people”, where he chronicled his years spent in and out of the tunnel.
“‘Jon,’ I call, looking up. Jon has been homeless for more than 15 years. He has been living here for a while now, in a small space between two support beams that can only be reached with a ladder,” Taille writes.
“A plywood roof protects his hoarded belongings from seeping water. The place is crammed full. There is an old mattress on the floor, and cookware, blankets and electronics stacked on makeshift shelves.
“Jon says he did prison time. He is bipolar and suffers from major substance dependence. He used to be a gang member in the Bronx. He used to be a family man until he got disowned. He was a furniture salesman. The FBI is looking for him. He used to know Donald Trump.
“It doesn’t matter which version is true. His real story has been buried long ago under thick layers of improvised memories that grew more detailed by the years, the man slowly becoming a collage of himself.”
There’s no doubt people squat here. The place wafts in and out with smells you’d rather not, faeces in particular. Syringes are scattered in the dirt.
In 2000, the documentary Dark Days chronicled the lives of a group living in the Freedom Tunnel.
“Living up top, made me a little crazy,” one underground subject said.
“Livin’ down here makes me feel at ease, I’m a product of my environment. Down here I can express myself and the way I want to. I don’t trust a lot of people up there.”
There are pieces of the past still present today — rotting mattresses dumped on the side of the tracks, a dilapidated armchair, a cassette player, the carcass of what appears to be a dog — almost mummified by the darkness and cool temperature. Frozen in time.
“There were definitely people living in tunnels, but not a lot,” former Metropolitan Transportation Authority maintenance inspector Norman Diederich told Taille. “If there are still any, they’re very discreet. This period is gone.”
Mostly, what’s left is an incredible underground gallery of graffiti art that spans for miles, perfectly lit by the grates from the city above. Elaborate murals lost to the rest of the world, which track the city’s history spanning decades. Some dark. Some disturbing. Some truly insightful.
And to this day, some of the world’s most respected graffiti artists are drawn to this place.
The name “Freedom Tunnel” stems from graffiti artist Chris “Freedom” Pape, who used these walls in the late 20th century to create large scale recreations, like Goya’s Third of May and Michelangelo’s David. His work reflected the hypocrisy of American patriotism in the face of hardship, of the plight of these poor people who refused authority.
“My brother and I went down there in 1974, when I was 14, to practise tagging and ride the freight trains,” Pape told Untapped Cities in a 2014 interview.
“I wasn’t scared because I was with my brother and our friends. But when I came back to the tunnel by myself in 1980 to paint for real, that was scary because I was by myself.
“I had painted in the tunnel for six years before the homeless moved in, so they were curious about me. I became friendly with most of them and my visits to the tunnel were much safer and even relaxing.”
For almost three decades, these murals were so respected, they stayed as they were. But in 2009, Amtrak began to paint over them — allegedly after an official toured the tunnel and was horrified by what she saw. Combined with competition from other, overconfident artists, much of Pape’s work has been destroyed, or partially painted over.
The myth of the Freedom Tunnel and its inclusive inhabitants has intrigued people for decades. This place will forever be a hub for those needing shelter, especially in the harsh conditions of winter. Were we convinced that a secret society continues to thrive to this day?
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