Introduction
The Weber Drain
The "Welcome" Drain
The Cappadocia Drain
The Midnight Drain
The Valley View Drain
The Street Kids Drain
The Death Drain
The Flood Drain
Epilogue

The Weber Drain:

Standing in front of the storm drain, a stream of runoff pressing against my boots, I felt as if a double-barreled shotgun was pointed at my head. My chest was tight. My heart beat violently. As I stared into the darkness, which seemed as deep as a midnight sky, chills shot down my spine and shook my soul. The drain’s two tunnels were each 12 feet wide and eight feet high, decorated with cobwebs and drooling algae. They exhaled mildewy air, which washed over me like bad breath.
I was at the bottom of a drainage ditch in downtown Las Vegas, just north of the Fremont Street Experience. The ditch was 20 feet deep, lined with concrete and surrounded by a barbwire fence (“No Trespassing!”). Ladder rungs jutted from the banks and flycatchers glided above the stream—and the half-sunken plastic bags, Styrofoam cups, and aluminum cans—swooping in and out of the tunnels. The sun, too, had spread its wings and was high in the sky. Late morning, it was already 90 degrees.
Exhaling, I slipped out of my backpack and unzipped the secondary pouch. It contained a tape recorder, four or five cassette tapes, a wire microphone, and fresh AA batteries. Removing the recorder, I placed it in a holster that hung from my hip and clipped the mike to the collar of my long-sleeve shirt. Then I ran the wire underneath the shirt, plugged it into the recorder, and pressed “Play” and “Record.”
“Test one, test one,” I said in a monotone voice. “Weber Drain, Weber Drain.”
I rewound the tape and pressed “Play.”
“Test one, test one. Weber Drain, Weber Drain.”
Next, I unzipped the backpack’s main pouch. It contained a four-cell Mag-Lite flashlight, a Mini Mag-Lite, an expandable baton, a knit cap, and fresh D and AA batteries. I removed the Mini Mag-Lite and placed it in a pocket of my cargo pants. I stuffed the baton into a sheath in the small of my back and put on the cap. Finally, I clutched the Mag-Lite in my left hand—its hard steel cooling my palm and fingers.
In the late morning of April 14, 2002, Timmy “T.J.” Weber found himself in this same drainage ditch. A week and a half earlier, in a house on nearby First Street, Weber raped his girlfriend’s 14-year-old daughter and killed his girlfriend and one of her sons. Police discovered the girlfriend’s nude and bludgeoned body stuffed upside down in a storage container in a bedroom closet. A plastic bag secured with duct tape covered her head. Her 15-year-old son was found facedown on a mattress, his arms taped behind his back and a T-shirt stuffed in his mouth. He died of asphyxiation.
Following his carnival of crime, Weber left Las Vegas—but he soon returned. He ambushed his girlfriend’s surviving son and an adult companion when they ventured to the family home on First Street to retrieve mementos for the funerals. A riotous melee ensued, in which all three men sustained injuries. Weber fled on foot, bleeding from the forehead. He weaved around crumbling bungalows. He dashed across dirt yards, dogs barking in chorus. He then climbed the barbwire fence surrounding the drainage ditch and disappeared into the storm drain.
A morbid curiosity drew me to the ditch. I wondered what Weber experienced in the storm-drain system. What he saw, what he heard, what he smelled. How, apparently without a light source, he’d splashed more than three miles upstream. Did clues of his escape route remain? Could he hear the police dogs barking overhead? The sirens screaming?
I also wondered what lurked beneath Las Vegas. Roman law forced Jews and Christians into a maze of catacombs. When surveyed by Pierre-Emmanuel Bruneseau and his staff in the early 1800s, the sewers of Paris yielded gold, jewels, and relics of the revolution. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a slave trade thrived in underground chambers along Portland, Oregon’s, waterfront. And thousands of street people lived in the subway and train tunnels of New York City in the 1980s and ’90s.
What secrets did the storm drains of Las Vegas keep? What discoveries waited in the dark? What was behind those black curtains?
Shuffling toward the north tunnel of the drain, I imagined Weber slamming into the fence and climbing it frantically. He balanced on the edge of the ditch, feeling for the rungs with a foot. A splash broke the silence. Kicking through the stream—and the plastic bags, Styrofoam cups, and aluminum cans—he disappeared into the darkness. I pressed “Play” and “Record,” snapped on the flashlight, and followed him.
The temperature dropped at least 25 degrees and the beam of the flashlight died in the semidarkness. I began up a corrugated slope, which was designed to slow the flow of the water, eyes adjusting and goosebumps rising on my neck. The fear was justified, I thought. Crack addicts assault each other on the neon-lit streets. Armed bandits storm bars, casinos, and convenience stores. Gang members stomp rivals to death in the malls, right in front of the Gap. If such crimes occur in plain sight in Las Vegas, I wondered, what unspeakable atrocities—what unpardonable sins—take place in the city’s storm drains? Are there any rules? Is there any hope?
The tunnel turned to the south. The cobwebs fluttered in the wind. And the stream, though only two inches deep, roared like the Colorado River. “I continue up the slope,” I narrated nervously into the mike. “The footing is slick and visibility is low, about ten feet tops. I have no idea who or what lurks in the shadows. Another ex-con? A group of meth freaks? A pack of wild dogs? What in the hell am I doing in here?”
The tunnel trended to the north and the rectangle of light behind me began to close. The beam of the flashlight finally took form, unveiling graffiti scrawls and official markings on the walls: “12 x 8 x 6 2-17-00 HCC.” (This section of the tunnel is 12 feet wide, eight feet high, and six feet long; its construction was completed on Feb. 17, 2000; and it was made by the Hydro Conduit Corporation.)
About 300 feet into the drain, the roar of the stream softened and I could hear the rush of aboveground traffic. I assumed I was under Bonanza Road, just north of U.S. Highway 95, but I was totally disoriented. (Without daylight, the horizon, and depth perception, that can happen.) A faint glow flickered behind me. Upstream, a drop inlet (commonly called a sewer) cast a rectangle of light on the floor, walls, and ceiling. I started toward the light, boots splashing rhythmically in the stream. The tunnel swung to the west, then straightened into perfect darkness.
In the depths of the drain, yarn-like cobwebs hung from the walls and ceiling. What size spider created this dreadful tableau, I wondered? I dramatically decided that it must’ve been the size of a compact car. Reaching behind my back, I unsheathed the baton and flicked the handle downward. The steel rod snapped into place. I inched upstream timidly, like a kid through a haunted house. A stray web tickled my face, causing me to flinch.
Regaining my composure and curious about what Weber experienced in the drain, I cut off the flashlight. A black curtain fell in front of me. I felt for the wall with my free hand, then continued upstream. The concrete gnawed at my hand. I imagined Weber—six-foot-three and 210 pounds—groping the walls, his bloody hands leaving perfect prints. He slammed into a protruding lateral pipe. His breathing echoed in the tunnel. After slipping on algae, the back of his pants and shirt clung to his skin. He considered turning around—but realized that meant life in prison or the death sentence.
Aboveground, the police established a perimeter. They turned away vehicles attempting to enter it and searched the ones leaving. A helicopter clapped overhead. Patrolmen, police dogs, and SWAT personnel combed every property in the area. Eventually, they noticed the drainage ditch. Judging the barbwire fence secure—its gates locked, its posts sturdy, its chain links unbroken—they didn’t immediately search it.
Finally captured after more than three weeks on the run, Weber—who was featured on America’s Most Wanted—told investigators that his journey through the storm-drain system reminded him of the movie The Fugitive. He spent five hours underground, he said, emerging between Interstate 15 and Palace Station (a hotel-casino three miles outside of the police perimeter). He didn’t indicate that he had a flashlight or that he’d previously explored the system.
Weber, however, neglected to note one obvious difference between his escape and the one portrayed in The Fugitive: Dr. Richard Kimble, played by Harrison Ford, was innocent. A Clark County jury found Weber guilty of several charges, including two counts of murder, and sentenced him to death.
Disoriented and out of breath—the darkness was suffocating—I cut on the flashlight. The tunnel snaked and tilted like a mineshaft, the north side of the floor cradling a six-inch-deep stream. Cockroaches covered the south side of the floor. The graffiti vanished. And I safely assumed that this was an area of Las Vegas left out of the guidebooks, only accessed in the most extreme situations.
A lateral pipe about four feet in diameter jutted into the tunnel. As I approached the pipe, my chest tightened and the goosebumps returned. I half-expected the poet Virgil, Dante’s guide in The Inferno, to crawl from the outlet and offer to escort me through this dark and dank hell.
Beyond the pipe, which dead-ended into a drop inlet, the tunnel swung to the west. I steadied the beam of the flashlight on the near wall—hands shaking, arms and back tightening, eyes as big as slot coins. What lurks beyond the bend, I wondered? What bizarre scene will slowly take shape? What next? As I rounded the bend, a faint light appeared in the distance. I sheathed the baton and surged upstream. The light grew brighter and brighter, like the coming of dawn.
Finally, I splashed out of the drain and into an open-air channel. Bulrush grass shot from the stream, reaching for the sun, and dragonflies levitated above the stalks like showroom magicians. Ducks drifted in and out of the brush. Mud and algae carpeted the floor. It was a muggy and marshy scene, slightly reminiscent of southern Louisiana—but it seemed a lot like heaven to me.
Anxious to figure out where I was, I climbed a column of rungs in the north wall of the channel. Main Street Station hotel-casino stared down at me and the Plaza squatted to the southeast, bordered by the Union Pacific railroad tracks. I’d walked about a half-mile—under the police perimeter, the highway, and the north end of Main Street Station.
On the other side of the wall, an open-air channel hooked northward. To the west, three 15-by-10 tunnels burrowed under a sand hill and disappeared into the darkness.

The catacombs of ancient Rome served as houses of worship for Jews and Christians. The sewers of Paris yielded gold, jewels, and relics of the revolution. A slave trade thrived in underground chambers along Portland, Oregon’s waterfront. Ukrainian Jews found refuge from the Nazis in a system of caves. And thousands of street people have lived in the subway tunnels of New York City. What secrets do the Las Vegas storm drains keep? What discoveries wait in the dark? What’s beneath the neon? Armed with a flashlight, tape recorder, and expandable baton, Las Vegas CityLife writer and editor Matthew O’Brien explored the black-and-gray underworld of the Las Vegas flood-control system for four years. Beneath the Neon: Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas chronicles O’Brien’s adventures in subterranean Las Vegas. He follows the footsteps of a psycho killer. He braces against a raging flood. He parties with naked crackheads. He learns how to make meth, that art is most beautiful where it’s least expected, that in many ways, he prefers underground Las Vegas to aboveground Las Vegas, and that there are no pots of gold under the neon rainbow.

Video clip from KLAS TV Channel 8 in Las Vegas

944 Magazine

"Forget Stephen King; these notes from the underground provide all the chills and thrills you need."

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Austin Chronicle

Barnstable Patriot: The Entertainment Report - 08/03/07
By Alan W. Petrucelli
entrpt@aol.com

THE WRITE STUFF

"Las Vegas, arguably the entertainment capitol of the world, has an alternate newspaper, akin to NYC’s The Village Voice and Boston’s The Phoenix. It’s called Las Vegas CityLife, and its writer/editor is a man named Matthew O’Brien, and he is unquestionably an author to watch—or, rather—an author to read. And enjoy. His writing is akin to George Orwell’s, filtered without fear and loathing through Hunter Thompson, no mean praise for no mean piece of work. His topic is the storm drains under the streets of Las Vegas, a desert town subjected to sudden violent rainstorms that, without the drains, would cause extensive flooding. These drains are also a refuge for the homeless, a cool place in a hot desert land to live out a life, to try to get back onto the hectic track, or just give up. And Las Vegas, land of glitz and gambling, showgirls, celebrities, lights and lots of action, has as dark a darker side as any modern city. The juxtaposition between the rich and the poor, the haves and have-nots, the privileged and the penalized, has always been fodder for writers, but O’Brien’s notes from the Vegas underground have a resonance, beauty and humanity seldom felt as strongly, or described and illustrated so well. These drains, like the catacombs of ancient Rome, have stories that will make you smile and break your heart. Odds are you’ll agree."

BLDG BLOG:

“What's interesting about the book's focus is that it's motivated less by the standard tropes of urban exploration—abandonment, space, adventure, or even gonzo photography—than by a kind of anthropological interest in the people who, for a variety of complex reasons, temporarily live beneath the city.”

CBS KLAS-TV Las Vegas

Casino Connection—The Official Magazine of Nevada Casino Executives and Employees

"Part the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and part commentary on what's wrong with society, the book succeeds in entertaining while allowing the reader to relate to the unfortunate subterranean souls."

Chattanooga Times Free Press

The Chico News and Review

CityLife Article

CityLife Article

CNET.com

Creative Loafing

Denver Post

The DeKalb Neighbor

The Dr. Phil Show

E! Online

Beneath the Neon: Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas is nothing short of fascinating: O’Brien captures the fragile and often heartbreaking stories of people who would like nothing more than to not stay in Vegas, to be taken somewhere else completely. The lucky may get that wish; the unlucky may find themselves washed away, literally, by monsoon-driven surges of desert flood water. With stark black and white photography, a noir-ish narrative voice and the unrelenting creepiness of the world beneath the Las Vegas Strip and beyond, O’Brien has crafted a compelling debut."

ESPN Radio Las Vegas

Eye Weekly Toronto Star Newspapers

"[This] is the first book to take down the history of the tunnels. Part urban exploration and part Studs Terkel, O'Brien's account is reportage, not theory, making for a stunning and raw read. Most of the book is given over to the words of those who live in the tunnels. Vietnam vets, real estate agents, black jack dealers—each one is what O'Brien calls “Vegas gold miners who only found dust.”

Focus TV (German Travel Channel)

Forgotten Voice:

"A must-read not just for curious tourists and homeless advocates, but for everyone interested in the human condition."

Fox News Channel

Geraldo at Large

High Country News

Investigative Reporters and Editors

Kansas City Star:

"A new book hits store shelves Friday that exposes the Las Vegas underworld.
No, not Bugsy and that underworld.

Author Matthew O’Brien ventured beneath the Las Vegas Strip and discovered hundreds of down-and-outers who live in the city’s massive network of storm sewers.

The book is a one-of-a-kind read, disappointing only in its use of rather pedestrian black-and-white photos, and not nearly enough of them to fairly illustrate the startling word portraits O’Brien paints in Beneath the Neon (Huntington Press, $19.95).

Perhaps his most startling find was a place he called the “art gallery,” depicted on the cover, which apparently evolved over many years and through many artists.

Wet and frightened most of the time deep within the city’s dark catacombs, O’Brien found drunks, prostitutes and strung-out drug addicts. But he also found some noble souls who simply ran out of money, luck and options. “I’ve been sober about six and one-half years now,” one man told him. Unfortunately … I gamble.”

Beneath the Neon also treats readers to informative asides on some of history’s most renowned sewers and sewer dwellers, including the catacombs of ancient Rome, the 19th century sewers of Paris, the slave trade that once thrived beneath the streets of Portland, Ore., and the Warsaw ghettos that became a refuge for Jews during World War II.

You won’t want to put this book down. But when you do, you’ll want a very hot shower.

Kirkus Reviews:

"O'Brien brings an explorer's passion to his lively work ... an engaging account of exploring the city's storm drains and meeting the people living in them."

KNPR National Public Radio

Las Vegas CityLife

Las Vegas Life:
With its whiff of hidden worlds, alternate realities and discarded characters living hard off the grid, the very idea of tunnels beneath this city is dramatic. So Matt O’Brien’s book, chronicling his exploratory forays into our storm tunnels, has that going for it. He works up some decent tension, too—you can’t help but brace for trouble every time he approaches some homeless guy in a tunnel and asks how he wound up there. There are, he tells us, upwards of 200 people living down there, and in the course of his book it seems he talks to damn near every one.

Las Vegas Review-Journal:
Beneath the Neon accomplishes something most books about Las Vegas do not: It tells us something we didn't know.

Las Vegas Review-Journal, John L. Smith:
"The Huntington Press title is the freshest approach on the Vegas idea in a long time."

By AMANDA LLEWELLYN
VIEW STAFF WRITER

"(Editor's note: View staff writer Amanda Llewellyn accompanied Matt O'Brien through storm drains in Las Vegas. Venturing into the storm drains is extremely dangerous and should not be attempted. Only properly identified city of Las Vegas personnel are permitted to access the storm drains legally).

When former CityLife managing editor Matt O'Brien descended into the obscure and sinister darkness of the tunnels that run beneath the glittering lights of Las Vegas in the summer of 2002, it wasn't necessarily to write a book about his findings. But after five years of investigating the polluted catacombs with nothing but a flashlight, tape recorder and a baton for protection, the career journalist decided that it was a story that needed to be told.

O'Brien's book, "Beneath the Neon: Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas," chronicles the exploration that yielded stories of a small and little-known subculture, art in the most unlikely of places and lunatics who wander the tunnels without rhyme or reason.

O'Brien got the idea to explore the flood control basins after hearing about a criminal case in which a Las Vegas man committed a string of murders and sexual assaults, but managed to elude police for weeks by escaping into the storm drains.

"The Timmy 'T.J.' Webber case made me curious about what was really down there," O'Brien said. "I wondered what or who he encountered as he made his way through the drains. I thought there was a story there, but I wasn't positive that I would be able to find a writer willing to investigate. I mean, as far as these drains go, they have been really uncharted territory."

O'Brien assigned the story, which he eventually ended up co-writing in a two-part series for CityLife, to one of the magazine's freelance journalists, 24-year-old Joshua Ellis.

"I knew that he was the only guy in town who was crazy enough to go through with it," O'Brien said. "And talented enough to pull it off."

Overwhelmingly intrigued by the tunnels and what lay inside, O'Brien and Ellis dredged into the mouth of one of the cylinders for the first time, carrying a large knife and golf club for protection, and watched as the natural light was smothered by darkness with every forward step through the trash-littered opening.

O'Brien admits to hearing bizarre stories related to the drains, talk of a troll that lived at the system's heart, and madmen who stalked the passageways, muttering to themselves.

"When you're down in the tunnels, you're really on your own," O'Brien said. "If you get into trouble, there won't be anyone to help you. Cell phones don't always work, and we weren't sure what we would find. So, we went in prepared for anything."

"We walked into a tunnel that we knew led downtown and north," Ellis said. "I mean, now, I guess the weapons sort of seem like overkill, but you have to remember that we didn't know what to expect. There could have been feral animals or crazy people walking around down there. The added comfort of knowing we had weapons should we need them seemed like a good idea at the time."

In "Beneath the Neon," O'Brien describes how, in places, labyrinth-like drains sometimes go on for miles only to dead end, providing often inconvenient surprises for a man as tall as himself, including sudden and drastic drops in ceiling height.

"There were points where 15-foot ceilings dwindled to five," O'Brien said. "I'm 6'4" with my boots on, and there were places where I had to walk hunched over for miles."

O'Brien described the entire experience in two words: "creepy and surreal."

"To find out that there are people actually living in the drains is surreal," he said. "I had one or two close calls. I ran into people who definitely let me know that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There are people wandering those drains you don't want to find yourself alone with. One guy told me he had killed people and wouldn't think twice about shooting me.

But, you can usually talk yourself out of things like that. If you're respectful and you come across as compassionate, people get the feeling that you want to really hear their story; they open up a bit more. I had to take off my reporter cap and just be Matt. That was the key to finding out about life in the drains."

According to the Las Vegas Regional Flood Control District, there are more than 450 miles of drains citywide.

O'Brien believes that he has explored almost all of them.

After the initial exploration, he took it upon himself to continue with the adventure in order to write the book.

"This is one of the first tunnels that I went into," O'Brien said, pointing to a drain entrance somewhere near Tropicana Avenue and Interstate 15.

"I am a writer. I knew that there was a story down there. That's what compelled me to go into the dark further and further when common sense told me to turn around."

O'Brien's book is slated for release on Thursday and already is available for purchase online. For more information, visit www.beneaththeneon.com or www.myspace.com/beneaththeneon."

Las Vegas Sun

Liberty Watch
"O'Brien also effectively uses stories about other underground societies—the Shanghai Tunnels of Portland, Ore., the tunnels in Vietnam that hid the Viet Cong; the Jews that lived underground to stay alive in Nazi Germany—to move his story along, and pull the reader deeper into the tunnels."

mediabistro.com
"Through his exquisite reporting, O'Brien paints a starkly different portrait of the city then the one you get while playing the $25 table at the Bellagio."

Metro Networks Radio

MyMac.com
"Matthew brings a human touch of reality and immediacy to the people who live below Las Vegas, who are in continual danger of their lives. 'Beneath The Neon,' therefore, is a very interesting, entertaining and factual book."

Neon—Nevada Arts Council

Nevada Magazine

Nevada Sagebrush (University of Nevada, Reno)

Nevada Today

New York Times

Pahrump Valley Times

PBS Las Vegas

Parkersburg News and Sentinel (West Virginia)

Publishers Weekly
"In 2002, as managing editor of the alternative weekly, Las Vegas CityLife, O'Brien was intrigued when a murderer eluded police by vanishing into the Vegas flood-control system. After O'Brien and CityLife contributor Josh Ellis explored half a dozen storm drains, their adventures attracted such attention on the Internet that the publication's Web site scored a million hits in a day. By then, O'Brien was convinced "there were secrets to be discovered beneath the neon." His first discovery was that, despite the dangers, homeless men and women were living in the tunnels. How did they wind up there? Returning with a tape recorder and flashlight, he interviewed the storm-drain denizens, finding one sleeping in an elevated bed suspended above the watery floor, another residing in a plywood hut and some in the cool tunnels just to escape the heat. The photos capture the inhabitants of these bleak encampments. Continually contrasting the sparkling casinos above with the dank, cobwebbed catacombs below, the observant O'Brien writes with a noirish flair, but his compassion is also evident as he illuminates the lives of these shadowy subterranean dwellers."

Racket
"Vegas isn’t all about the glitz and the glamour"

Reno Gazette-Journal

Reno News and Reviews
"O'Brien's interviewees are enthralling."

Sights—The In-Flight Magazine of ATA

Southern Gaming and Destinations

Suicide Girls

Summit Daily News, Frisco, CO

Tucson Weekly

UNLV Rebel Yell

WAGA Fox 5, Atlanta Fox affiliate

West Georgia Perspective

Alumnus explores a hidden world under Las Vegas

"Imagine being in Las Vegas, one of the busiest cities in the world. Only instead of standing around the blackjack tables at the Bellagio, you’re underneath the streets, standing at the entrance of an extensive tunnel that plunges immediately down into darkness.

Now imagine walking headlong into that tunnel with only a flashlight, a tape recorder and an expandable baton, just to see what you might find.

It’s something only someone really brave or really crazy would try, but alumnus Matt O’Brien ’95, news editor of the weekly publication Las Vegas CityLife, decided he fell into one of those two categories. In the summer of 2004, he took a sabbatical from his job and explored the miles of storm drains that make up the city’s flood-control system. O’Brien’s adventures in this underworld are chronicled in his new book, Beneath the Neon: Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas.

So, how does an Atlanta native who majored in history and played basketball for West Georgia end up risking his sanity, and possibly his life, in Vegas tunnels?

“After graduation I moved back to Atlanta, where I proceeded to write a lot of really bad short stories and screenplays before a friend and I packed up and moved to Vegas,” said O’Brien. “I joined the staff of CityLife in 2000. A couple of years later, I read a story about a guy in Minneapolis-St. Paul who enjoyed exploring the sewers and caves of the Twin Cities. I wanted to adapt that story to Vegas. Then a murderer and rapist used the tunnels to elude police for a while and I decided to trace his steps as a starting point.”

Under the city, O’Brien discovered an entirely different society, worlds apart from the glitz and glamour on the streets above—no self-important businessmen, starry-eyed tourists or dancers with a dream down here.

Instead, he found hidden treasures and works of art. He encountered a Vietnam veteran sleeping in an elevated bed in a wet storm drain. He conversed with numerous homeless people struggling to overcome their drug and gambling addictions. One man even told O’Brien he was thinking of writing a book of his own: a first-hand account of the homeless problem in America.

He witnessed a madman wandering around the depths of a tunnel without a light source. He interviewed a man who had lived in a three-foot-in-diameter lateral pipe for several years and a woman who was visiting her son, who lived in a drain himself. He also explored a drain as huge amounts of water flooded around him. The book is filled with detailed accounts like these.

However, the cliché tells us there’s nothing new under the sun, and that includes underground communities. The catacombs of ancient Rome served as houses of worship for Jews and Christians. The sewers of Paris contained gold, jewels and relics of the revolution. A slave trade thrived in underground chambers along Portland, Oregon’s waterfront. Thousands of street people are reported to live in the subway tunnels of New York City. In Beneath the Neon, O’Brien talks a bit about these societies as well and how they compare with those in the Vegas storm drains.

“I was surprised with how open the people living down there were and how incredible the conversations were,” said O’Brien. “There’s not really one story I could tell someone that would represent the underground experience as a whole. Each encounter was unique and complex on its own.”

O’Brien, currently working on a collection featuring some of his best articles, hopes Beneath the Neon will bring attention to the people living in the drains and get them some help. However, he thinks that’s unlikely in a place where municipalities are understaffed, under-budgeted and not all that friendly toward the homeless.

“I’ll have to settle for the hope that I can introduce people to another side of Vegas, a side they haven’t seen on E! or read about in Maxim,” he said. “It’s a side that may surprise and alarm them.”


What's On
"One of the joys of reading is that it takes you to other worlds. Looking for an escape this summer? Beneath the Neon: Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas will take you to some unusual places—those that lurk beneath the city and its storm drains. A 10-year resident, author Matthew O'Brien makes the subtterranean journey, where his adventures include following in the footsteps of a killer, weathering a flood ... and more! The 281-page book is available at most major booksellers and through Huntington Press Publishing."

Wired:
"Alt-weekly writer and editor O'Brien spent four years exploring Las Vegas' storm drains to produce a riveting look at life underground. From retracing a murderer's escape route and learning how to make meth from a tunnel dweller to partying with naked crackheads and dancing under the MGM Grand, this photo-filled account proves that the only place more surreal than the Vegas strip is beneath it."