Today, that bunker is still there, preserved as closely as possible to how it must have looked in the early ’60s.
The walls are plain, the furnishings are basic, and everything screams function over comfort. But that’s the point. Standing down there, you get a vivid picture of what it felt like to live under the constant threat of nuclear war — to plan for the worst in the most literal way possible.
What started as a rumor about “something buried in the backyard” turned into one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I didn’t just dig up a hole — I uncovered a story that had been sealed away under dirt and concrete for decades.
My quiet little house in Tucson now sits on top of a historical relic that has educated students, intrigued historians, and reminded a lot of people that the past isn’t as distant as we think. Sometimes it’s just a few feet below the surface, waiting for someone curious enough to go looking.
So yeah — when I bought this place, I thought I was just getting a home.
Turns out, I also got a Cold War bunker, a community mystery, a mini museum, and a daily reminder that history isn’t just in books. It’s literally under our feet, hiding in the most ordinary places, waiting to be found.
