| JFK’s bunker was recently unsealed and remains on federal land leased by Palm Beach County. I went there today after the peace and beauty of snorkeling with brilliant tropical fish along the rocks of peanut. There was an informal tour led by a retired Navy seaman and Vietnam veteran. We followed a well-worn path behind the old Coast Guard station museum. Tucked into the side of a sandy slope covered with dry beach grass was a water-tight steel door filled with lead and concrete and a wheel to seal it shut. The sight harkened back to days of nuclear terror and felt equally appropriate to these days of fear and unimaginable threats. At least back in 1960 the threat was somewhat known—a nuclear weapon launched towards Washington, D.C. or Palm Beach, wherever the President happened to be at the minute of zero launch time. The ex-Marine opened the reinforced door with a great shove, flexing his suntanned and tattooed forearms to get the job done. The tour of five entered a pipe, traveling about 50 feet into a small anteroom with ancient-looking electronic equipment. An old metal sign read, “Radioactivity Examination Room.” Once past this area we were overcome by a square room complete with a desk flanked by the American flag and the presidential flag. On the small wooden desk was a red hotline telephone and on the floor in front of the desk was the presidential seal in all its splendor, about eight feet in diameter across the Naval gray paint. We toured the rest of the bunker and were free to take pictures. There was a bathroom and the receptacles for waste were 50-gallon drums. There were bunk beds, stocks of canned water, medical supplies, generators, and ventilators. The space was lit by bare light bulbs and in the closet next to the president’s desk was a blue bathrobe embroidered in white with the initials JFK. The Marine said that this was his actual robe found in the bunker after it was unsealed. At least he had his bathrobe in place in case of nuclear attack. We left the dark, damp bunker and reemerged in the warm Peanut Island sun, squinting. My mind began spinning about the outgoing tide, realizing that in an hour or so the lagoon would be too shallow to snorkel. The old Marine sealed up the bunker, and I fell in line at the end of the tour as we all headed to the Coast Guard station that was now a museum. Halfway to the red-roofed, white-washed building, I fell out of step with the rest of the group and called ahead, "Thank you all very much I thoroughly enjoyed the tour but I'm going to go now." Everyone looked back and the Marine asked, "What's wrong? Don't you want to go into the Coast Guard station? It’s part of the tour." "No," I said. “I want to get back into the water and see more fish before the tide gets too low." They all seemed surprised that I was leaving as I walked away towards the inlet facing the Kennedy compound, looking out towards the Gulf Stream which twice a day washes over a secret tunnel complete with trolley car designed to take President John F. Kennedy to safety in his secret underground bunker at Peanut Island. |
| JFK's Bunker (continued) |
