Exploring Newport’s Secret Tunnels: A Conversation with Jay Gatsby
Dan Blanchard (DB): Welcome to Newport, Rhode Island! Today we’re diving into the mysterious tunnels beneath the city. Gatsby, you’ve hosted some legendary parties—but what do you think makes Newport’s underground world so fascinating?
Jay Gatsby (JG): Ah, Dan, the tunnels are much like the hidden corridors of the heart. Beneath the glittering mansions and seaside promenades lies a secret architecture of ambition and fear. People used them not only for safety or convenience, but for secrecy—whether against the British, prohibition agents, or even the watchful eyes of polite society. You see, what’s unseen often shapes what the world applauds on the surface.
DB: Fort Adams seems to have the most elaborate tunnels. What was their original purpose?
JG: Fort Adams was built on vigilance, much like a man who anticipates betrayal before it arrives. Its tunnels allowed soldiers to move quietly, unseen, prepared for an enemy that might never come. To me, they symbolize how leaders must build invisible defenses—whether in stone, in finance, or in reputation—to protect what they treasure most.
DB: And The Breakers’ tunnels? They’re not quite the same as Fort Adams.
JG: Indeed, they’re infrastructure masquerading as legend. The Vanderbilts used them to carry water, heat, and electricity—luxury flowing beneath the floorboards, unseen by guests who marveled only at chandeliers. Yet, stories grew—of smugglers, of bootleggers, of forbidden meetings. I can’t help but admire that. In my own world, too, wealth and innovation often cloaked themselves in rumor. Power thrives not only on what’s real, but on what others imagine.
DB: The Cliffwalk and the 40 Steps have their own legends. What do you make of those?
JG: Legends grow where longing exists. The 40 Steps began as nothing more than a way to reach the ocean, yet people wove tales of escape, of secret rendezvous, of hidden passion. Much like a green light across the bay, such stories capture what people wish were true. The tunnels remind us that myth can be as influential as fact in shaping a community’s identity.
DB: So, not all of the tunnel stories are true?
JG: Truth, my friend, is a slippery thing. Perhaps a story isn’t factual, but if it inspires belief, if it shapes behavior, then it holds a kind of truth. Newport’s underground is a mixture of fact and fable, just as my own life was. People believed what they wanted to believe. That, too, is power.
DB: What leadership lessons do you think the tunnels leave us with?
JG: Preparation, always. Adaptability, certainly. But above all, the art of illusion. A leader must know when to reveal and when to conceal. Just as tunnels allowed movement without notice, leaders must sometimes operate unseen, letting only the results emerge into the daylight. Infrastructure, vigilance, and narrative—those are the cornerstones of influence.
DB: Wonderful insights, Gatsby. Any final words for travelers and history enthusiasts exploring Newport?
JG: Walk the Cliffwalk. Descend the 40 Steps. Visit Fort Adams. Stand before The Breakers. But remember—every stone and shadow has two stories: the one that is told, and the one imagined. If you listen closely, you’ll hear both. And perhaps, in those whispers, you’ll discover a little more about yourself.
DB: Thank you, Gatsby. You’ve shown us that even Newport’s hidden tunnels echo with lessons of ambition, secrecy, and the human desire to reach for something just out of sight.
