lesser known basements of san antonio

I spent a portion of yesterday underneath the city. Down winding stone stairwells devoid of functioning light fixtures, the manager of an old Mexican restaurant was directing me to the expansive but mostly empty basement of his circa 1870s building. It looked as if no one had been there in a couple of years, and I'm sure I was in a privileged minority of those who'd ever been down there. You could see some streaks of light coming from street level and hear muffled traffic and frozen wind above, but for the most part it felt very foreign. He guided me around for a minute showing the building extents, vent locations, and other architecturally necessary facts, but I was ready for that arc of the covenant to be revealed behind a pile of rubble. The fact that there were random holes dug in the sub foundation didn't so much spook me as the puddle of red liquid that caught his flashlight. Red soda leaking from the restaurant above was his explination, so we'll leave it at that.

The historic civic center of Texas is the reason for all of this. I've somehow landed some amount of responsibility lately in forming its latest incarnation. Working on something historical in this city feels good, but knowing that your every new move is making the newspaper and thus angering your barber is challenging. The chance to make history is shared with the chance to screw history so let's tread lightly here and try not to sever ties between San Antonio and the Catholic church.

On the other side of the plaza, a nun was winding me through underground stacks of vacation bible school binders. According to her, there used to be a tunnel between the bookstore and cathedral that had been sealed off within the past few decades. Seeing that the church is the oldest cathedral in the county, I can pretty much say I was just feet away from the bones of Mary Magdalene. They've already got Davey Crockett down there anyway. The sister and I actually spent a majority of the time down there discussing the future of the plaza. I'd like to help her out, but she seemed to think otherwise. I went back upstairs defeated agreeing that I'd keep her updated. On my way back outside to the sleet covered plaza I was questioned again, this time by a little east European nun. I explained what I could to her, still feeling like the bad guy, after which which she mumbled an east European reply and handed me a card depicting a woman saint. I think she said something along the lines of "she always seems to help people out." I thanked her, stuffed the card in my jacket pocket, walked a couple of blocks, slipped on the icy sidewalk, and lost the card somewhere along the way.