For this answer, we went right to the source: Matt O'Brien, author of our highly critically acclaimed title, Beneath the Neon -- Life and Death in the Tunnels of Las Vegas. Here's his response.
Armed with a flashlight, tape recorder, and expandable baton (for protection), I explored the Las Vegas storm drains for more than four years. I found art galleries, architecture and wildlife (crawfish, mosquito fish, stray cats and dogs); access to the hotel-casinos and airports, and a bunch of weird miscellaneous items, including a bowling ball, a safe, and a burned-out car.
But the most surprising thing I found in the drains were people. Lawrence, a Vietnam vet with a harelip and lisp, lived in a wet drain south of the Tropicana hotel-casino and slept on an elevated bed. A former jockey with ears as big as detention basins, Ernie lived in a three-foot-diameter lateral pipe for 11 years. Bob and Jona, married 17 years and hopelessly addicted to heroin, lived in an open-air channel off the Strip in the saddest little home you could imagine.
And there were many others. Teens, baby boomers, and senior citizens. Poets, artists and madmen. Hustlers, whores, and vets. Most addicted to alcohol, drugs or gambling. Some dying of diseases, including cancer and AIDS. All in danger of getting washed away during the next flood.
The book, which includes more than 30 black-and-white photos by Danny Mollohan, has received a lot of attention from the media. It's also selling well in local bookstores. But not a whole lot has changed in the Las Vegas storm drains, which is in some ways sad. One of the reasons I explored the drains was to draw attention to the plight of the people living in them and get them some help. I hoped that Metro Police would sweep the drains, that Las Vegas and Clark County would make outreach workers available to the displaced, who’d be placed in hospitals, rehab centers, temporary or permanent housing -- whatever's appropriate.
But things are never that simple around here. Metro barely has the staff to investigate murder cases thoroughly, so sweeping the storm drains isn't a priority. The city and county don't have enough outreach workers to handle the aboveground homeless – much less the additional 200 to 300 people in the drains. There's a shortage of hospital, rehab center, and shelter beds. Affordable housing? Maybe five years ago ... in Pahrump, Mesquite, or Laughlin. And politicians and hotel-casino executives don't seem to want to acknowledge the problem.
I occasionally return to the drains to explore virgin tunnels and escort friends and journalists through the black maze. But neither I nor the people who live in the drains have noticed an increase in traffic since the book was published. Stories about black widows, killer floods, and madmen lurking in the dark don't really inspire people to go down there. And I certainly don’t recommend it. While surprisingly peaceful and beautiful, there are a lot of things that can go wrong.
There are 450 miles of flood channels in the Las Vegas Valley, about 300 miles of which are underground. It would be laborious –- and very expensive –- to fence and secure every channel. Anyway, determined people would just climb the fence or use wire cutters to cut through it. Simply put: Metro, the FBI, and Homeland Security have more important –- and obvious –- things to worry about in Las Vegas.
