I’ve decided to digress from our NY trip for one post. Every now and then you have a ‘wow’ moment that requires immediate attention (well kind of immediate, I’m a slow blogger). Anyway, I’ve experienced a couple of these moments in the last few weeks and I would like to acknowledge them. And when the title came to mind I just couldn’t resist—don’t the names just make a great title—Timmy and Tad?

I have to admit to gaining a great deal of pleasure, and a serious adrenaline rush, from my habit of “sneaking” into abandoned buildings. But something I haven’t mentioned, is the kindness of the wonderful people who, in many cases, grant me access (legally). Without them I couldn’t have completed my thesis and without them I would be missing out on some amazing locations.

Timmy and Tad are my most recent helpful souls and Timmy is by far the most incredible, meant to be, coincidence, karmic—whatever you want to call it—person I’ve come across during my exploring shenanigans. It wouldn’t be right for me, now I’ve mentioned Timmy and Tad, to not thank those who have helped me out tremendously over the past eighteen months (I’m omitting surnames for privacy reasons): Andy, Charlie, Larry, Carolyn, Betsy, Eric, David (archdiocese), Joe Mc N, Dennis, Joe C, Maryanna, Mike, Paul, Phil and in particular David K. and Sean McC. for giving me unlimited access to what I consider my very own grown-up playgrounds. I know as soon as I post this I’ll remember more people, so thank you to all the above and to all who I will remember shortly!

Back to Timmy and Tad. Tad is a sweetheart (as are his secretary and boss who passed on my message) because he called me back—almost instantly— gave me a tour of his beloved theatre, then handed me the keys and  said “see ya have fun.”  You can’t ask for more than that. Thanks Tad! He’s in the same league as David K. and Sean McC.

Now, Timmy. Timmy is the caretaker of the old York County Prison. Chatterbox and I being there, as Timmy was strolling by, at the very moment we were casing the building trying to work out how to get in, was serendipitous to say the very least. Here we were, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning—with no plan—although I usually have one, I didn’t have one that day because I had wrongly assumed we could just mosey in, hah.

But then along came Timmy, our/my saviour jangling his keys. He eyed us warily and said “you want to get in there, we both nodded our heads like ventriloquist dolls, “yeah we sure do.” Then Timmy, completely puzzled, “why you wanna go in there” Then us, in unison, “to take photos.” He thought for a minute then said, full of pride, “I have the keys.” Chatterbox and I were speechless for a moment but then gathered ourselves and explained why we were there.

Much to our delight Timmy unlocked the prison and politely asked how long we would be, we said a few hours at least, he shrugged and said, “fine, I’ll check on you later.” He then graciously inquired which car was ours on the street so he didn’t inadvertently lock us in, we told him and he was on his way and we had the entire York County Prison to ourselves. What fun! What unexpected fun! What wonderful exploring karma!

Timmy reappeared several times during the day to see if we were OK and to see if we were done. Of course we’re never done, we just run out of steam, but on his third early evening visit we finally caved in to our aging bodies and told him, begrudgingly, “yes” we were done. It was then, on our way out, we discovered Timmy believed the prison was haunted and would never, ever, go past the entry foyer. I’m still smiling. I think I always will whenever I think of this tall, thin, generous black man, who made our day. I hope he goes beyond the front door one day and takes the plunge, I know it’s worth it—I did it. History is an amazing journey, one we all should take every now and then.