In underground shelters, old fear and new features
LOS ANGELES — In the backyard of his remote Southern California home, Bernie Jones is etching an unconventional blueprint: a construction plan to build his underground survival shelter. It won’t be the typical, cramped Cold War-era bunker. It will hold 20 people.
Part of a small but vocal group of survivalists in Menifee, Riverside County, 80 miles east of Los Angeles, Jones, 46, has pushed for the right to build a bunker on his property. He wants to be ready for anything, be it natural disaster or a nuclear attack.
“I want to be prepared,” he says. “I want my family to survive.”
Residents of the small city can apply for permits to build subterranean housing this month after the City Council passed a contested ordinance allowing the practice.
Americans have built underground bunkers for decades, interest waxing and waning with current events.
This next generation of bunkers comes as many survivalists face heightened concerns of a terror attack, economic meltdown and for some, solar flares or meteor showers.
“The bunker is a type of security blanket,” says Stephen O’Leary, an expert in apocalyptic theories at the University of Southern California. “They are concerned with what’s happening in the world on a massive scale.”
Some officials are concerned with earthquake faults in the area, safety of police and first responders answering emergency calls and the potential for owners to hide criminal activity.
In February, a 5-year-old boy was held hostage for six days in an Alabama underground bunker, which was rigged with explosives.
But City Councilman Tom Fuhrman calls the ordinance a victory for property rights, not for those looking to break the law.
Ronald Hubbard runs Atlas Survival Shelters near Los Angeles. Unlike Cold War-era shelters, he builds ones that are half the length of a basketball court and have a master bedroom, dining nook and a couch to watch a 47-inch flatscreen TV.
Hubbard says his phones rang nonstop in December as people attempted to prepare for the end of the world that never came. A 5,125-year cycle in the Mayan calendar passed by, sans disaster.
“I’m not fear mongering,” Hubbard said, standing beside a $65,000 shelter in his warehouse. “Why do we buy insurance? Just in case.”