Into the HBS Tunnels

A few weeks ago, Flyby received top secret intel alerting them to tunnels connecting the entirety of Harvard Business School, linking dorms to lecture halls. Imagine waking up five minutes before class and only having to “take the tunnel” to get to class — this was the alleged reality for HBS students. Much, much cooler than sprinting across the Yard at 9 a.m. and risking the hazard of running into a tourist, or worse, someone speeding on their scooter.

It became apparent that validating the existence of these tunnels for the rest of the Harvard community was of the utmost importance. After a super important and super fancy (we had Papa John’s instead of Domino’s!) Friday night dinner, we departed from the Quad to explore the deep, dark depths below HBS. We were energized by the prospect of a groundbreaking scoop, but little did we know that we were about to discover something much, much more serious.

Once we made it onto the HBS grounds, we ran into a few HBS students and begged them for details about the tunnel system, but they seemed merely bemused. They could not comprehend why the tunnels were so important to us and were perplexed by our enthusiasm. They even encouraged us to “live a little more” and return to Cambridge. Disappointed by this reaction, we made a pact to not be boring adults if/when we grow up. In hindsight, perhaps we shouldn’t have discarded their advice so easily.

After wandering the Business School lawn for what felt like an hour (read: only 15 minutes), we finally found our way into a building connected to the tunnels. (If we had been more wary, we might have interpreted our difficulty in finding the tunnels as the warning it was.) As we traipsed through the seemingly endless hallways of the lower level, Sneha got spooked by a vacuum in a random lecture hall and phoned a friend (read: her dad).

After seeing a sign pointing towards the tunnels, we rushed to explore our surroundings. Truthfully, we didn’t know where we were going, but we were willing to go wherever the tunnels took us. Immediately upon entering, we were transported back in time to a 1980’s diner. Checkerboard floor tiles, slightly suspicious yellowed lighting, and the strange slowing of time all added to the aesthetic. Several signs and displays adorned the walls of the tunnels, detailing the Business School’s history. We took photos of basically everything (we’ll spare you the details for now, but feel free to ask us for the 316 photos of the tunnel walls living in our camera rolls). At this point, we were around 15 minutes into our expedition, but it felt like we had been in the tunnels for hours. Mirika’s and Sneha’s phone battery percentages lingered at six and four percent, respectively.

Mirika standing at the entrance to the tunnels, smiling in blissful ignorance. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

Parts of the display, including blueprints of the business school and the intentional placement of the tunnels. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

Wandering past a fake entrance to Baker Library, we found ourselves in a corridor lined with newspaper front pages that towered over us, hanging at odd angles. Political cartoons studded each front page, spanning the 1950s to the early 2000s, with inscriptions highlighting significant moments in economic history. After the 2000s display, the tunnel’s path forked, one arm featuring a similar art installment and a set of heavy double doors, and the other curling around a turn, its end out of sight. We raced towards the double doors in the first arm, excited to infiltrate the HBS dorms, but they wouldn’t budge, even when we repeatedly slapped our HUIDs against the scanner.

We were stuck with the newspapers of decades past. We followed the other path, watching as the tunnels transformed from clean tile to something more industrial, with exposed pipes and wiring. At the sound of water running through the pipes, Sneha speed-dialed her dad and forced him to stay on the line until Mirika finished exploring the rest of the tunnel system’s (available) forks, successfully making it into two more buildings.

The 1950s section of the newspaper-inspired art installation. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

An undecorated expanse of tunnel we found past the fork in the path. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

Having explored as much of the tunnel system as possible, it was nearly midnight, and we were anxious to emerge from the tunnel’s depths (...so Sneha’s dad could go back to sleep). Perhaps it would have been most logical to just go back the way we came, but that would have been the boring choice. Instead, as true journalists, we used all the tools at our disposal to find a more innovative escape, leveraging our natural charisma (the art of “please” and “thank you”) and ten collective years of Spanish education (“gracias, gracias, gracias,” plus “somos estudiantes”) to convince a very nice employee to let us out through a swipe access-only exit.

This left us on the level directly below the Baker Library, which we tried to enter to no avail. To our dismay, the library apparently closed at 5 p.m., a discovery which made us seriously question the work schedules of HBS students. Do they somehow have work-life balance? Do they even have work to do if they have no 24/7 libraries? Are they really partying all the time, as the stereotype suggests? It really put the Business School students we saw socializing into perspective. Eventually, after an impromptu photoshoot outside Baker Library (and another round of photos in front of the infamous HBS sign), we called it a night and trekked back to Cambridge.

Our view of Baker Library after climbing three stories from the tunnels' depths. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

As we left the business school campus, we (to our horror) found our attitude towards the tunnels mirroring that of the HBS students. Sure, the tunnels are there, but what’s the point? It felt like we had spent hours in the HBS basement, traveling a distance that would have taken us less than two minutes to walk aboveground. Maybe they weren’t the time-saving godsend we had thought they were.

But, as we sit in Lamont Library, revising our notes, we see that we could not have been further from the truth. While we felt lifetimes pass as we wandered through the tunnels, our meticulous records show that we spent less than 30 minutes underground. It took us three times longer to make it from HBS back to our dorms as it did to explore the accessible portion of the tunnels. The tunnels are not just a mundane feature of the HBS campus; they are pivotal to understanding the true nature of the Business School campus itself.

We’ll speak in circles no longer. It is time to reveal the truth we discovered in the tunnels’ depths. The tunnels are part of a parallel universe with a time warp; this peculiarity is probably why Harvard chose to build the Business School in Allston. Once we realized this, all the pieces started falling into place. The Business School students’ seemingly infinite span of free time, the lack of 24/7 libraries, the ‘80s diner aesthetic, the relative quality of the facilities, and the surprising lack of tourists all suddenly started to make sense. And the tilted hallway with its timeline from the 1950s to the 2000s, a reminder (or a map, for those in the know) of the tunnel system’s time travel capacities.

We were lucky enough to escape the tunnel’s clutches before it was too late. Four hours in the tunnels equated to half an hour in our world — we tremble to think of the consequences of a longer stay. We wrote this article against our better judgment, disregarding our own safety and wellbeing, to warn the Harvard community of the dangers that lurk beneath the business school and Allston. We believe that the SEC is next; it’s only a matter of time before the top floor’s construction is complete.

If you don’t hear from us again…we’re probably in the Barker Center’s witness protection program.

Signing off,

MJJ and SMY

Blurring our faces to prevent detection, standing at the intersection of the 2000s and the future. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

Imagery of a clock at the center of this bronze seal, perhaps alluding to the inner workings of the tunnel's time warp. Out of caution, we decided not to approach the seal closer. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

A photo snapped in our haste to leave the tunnels once we realized Baker Library is the nexus of the tunnel's time travel abilities. All tunnels lead to Baker and its clocktower. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

A display acknowledging that the campuses are parallel universes, by Anderson Memorial Bridge. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili

At the exit from the tunnel, a few stories below Baker Library, lies this fairly suspicious booth, which in hindsight we recognize as the hub or power source for the business school. By Mirika J. Jambudi and Sneha M. Yelamanchili