Been there, done that, …sorta, kinda. I most certainly would enter that secret passageway or room. But I would not go it alone and would let people remaining outside know that we were entering, having them stand watch in case of any hazards.
When I was younger, I didn’t have such fore-thoughts nor take so many precautions.
I once lived in an old apartment complex, built in the 1920s as a bordello. It was rumored to be haunted by “Doc,” who was said to have attended the health of the lady workforce there and their clients’ well-being.
During prohibition, the place was a popular speakeasy and there were tales of secret rooms and passages beneath—with the entrances located in the lobby, pool house, and current (in my day) laundry room. After learning all I could at the library and from speaking to the neighborly old-timers, I decided to investigate personally. I was only 24, and that explains a lot.
I garnered one accomplice from among the tenants and two old friends, and one night we determined the time was right to bust in through the laundry room, which was the most remote point.
After manhandling a few front-loading machines out of the way, we did find a false wall in one corner of the laundering facade. Behind it was a door that was locked but that didn’t stop us. The wood that had once been solid had softened enough for our ingress after five minutes of crowbars.
Since this had been my idea, the others insisted that I descend the stairwell first. I did, full-beam flashlight in one hand, 12″ rebar in the other.
I got to the bottom alone. Shone the light around to reveal a rather large room with many things covered in canvas or fabric of some sort. I hollered up an “all clear,” and my conspirators joined me.
In the light of our battery electric torches, we discovered gambling tables replete with roulette wheels, decks of cards and chips, even the dice from the craps table were still there left as they were.
Pat found the light switch and electrical box. He tinkered and we soon had electric light down in this cavern. At the far end was a beautiful but decadent bar, with other tables and chairs yet in place.
In this remote corner, I found another door and opened it. There was a long hallway and with my flashlight to guide me, I walked to the first set of doors on either side. I opened one and saw that this was the more private portion of that house of “ill repute.”
I heard a lot of noise behind me. And we were busted.
Yep.
We had obviously made too much noise, someone had heard us and called the cops. There were only four of us, but at least 20 police officers doing their duty. Several had drawn their weapons and were pointing them at my friends when I reentered the game-room/barroom. Two others then drew their sidearms to point the weapons at me.
Trying to explain what we were doing did no good. We were arrested for breaking and entering, a charge we could not deny.
We were taken in, booked, had the mandatory mug shots, and were interrogated for hours one by one.
Our stories corroborated enough and the policemen were all about our age or a little older. They understood our explanation, “We just wanted to check it out, ..see if the stories are true.”
The oldest was the Desk Sargent, in his late 40’s I’d guess. Hey, this was the graveyard shift, so all the high ranking people were sound asleep in bed.
We were released on our own recognizance before lunch but then had to find a way home. Mark, Pat and Brian were pissed at me.
It was about a six mile walk and we stopped at a dozen bars and quick eateries along the way. By the time we reached my apartment, we were all laughing about the whole adventure and aftermath.
It was hilarious to see the yellow and black “CRIME SCENE” tape around the whole laundry room.
Over the next few days, I kept waiting for big trucks to come and empty out the secret speakeasy and bordello. It didn’t happen. There was no mention of it in the papers, no word on the local news. As final proof, I was visited by an off duty officer within the next week. He handed me an envelope, which I figured was a summons to appear in court for trial initiatives. But no. The letter stated succinctly and quite clearly that all charges are dropped and no crime had been committed. My friends received the same notices.
Within that one week period, I saw no trucks take anything out of the laundry room; however, I did see trucks bring things in. Building materials they were.
When the laundry room was reopened, it was a new and improved facility. Fresh, SOLID WALLS ALL AROUND with all new washers and dryers. Even the floors had been re-tiled and the lighting was much better.
Obviously our “breaking and entering” into that museum of Louisiana local history hit a nerve somewhere with someone.
So, yes, I will definitely enter into any secret room I might find again.
Global English Tutor - Paul Cuadrado 