In the heart of Lower Manhattan, an unusual 29-story skyscraper, devoid of windows, stands tall and mysterious. Its code name is Titanpointe, and it is located at 33 Thomas Street. This building has baffled New Yorkers for years.
The building, constructed in 1974, was designed to withstand atomic blasts and was initially intended to house vital telecommunications equipment. It was envisioned as a communication nerve center, fortified against nuclear threats, by the architectural firm John Carl Warnecke & Associates.
This imposing structure, a gray tower of concrete and granite soaring 550 feet into the New York skyline, remains, unlike any other building in its vicinity. Unlike neighboring residential and office buildings, it does not have a single window and remains unilluminated. At night, it takes on an eerie presence, and by day it casts a giant shadow, its square vents emitting a faint hum, often drowned out by the city’s bustling sounds.
For decades, 33 Thomas Street, also nicknamed the “Long Lines Building,” has captured the imagination of New Yorkers as one of the city’s weirdest and most iconic skyscrapers. But the true purpose of this enigmatic structure has remained largely concealed, shrouded in secrecy.
The Secret Behind 33 Thomas Street
Beyond its enigmatic exterior, 33 Thomas Street conceals a deeper secret. This building appears to be more than just a telecommunications hub. Evidence from documents obtained by NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden, along with architectural plans and interviews with former AT&T employees, suggests that 33 Thomas Street served as an NSA surveillance site, code-named Titanpointe.
The NSA’s involvement goes beyond mere speculation. Inside the building, there’s a major international gateway switch that routes phone calls between the U.S. and countries worldwide. The NSA is believed to have tapped into these calls from a secure facility within the AT&T building. This covert surveillance program has targeted not only international organizations like the United Nations, the International Monetary Fund, and the World Bank but also numerous countries, including U.S. allies.
While AT&T has cooperated with the NSA on surveillance, few details have emerged about the specific role of facilities like 33 Thomas Street in carrying out top-secret programs. The Snowden documents, however, provide unprecedented insight into how NSA equipment has been integrated into AT&T’s network in New York City. This integration reveals the methods and technology employed by the agency to gather communications data from the company’s systems.
The NSA’s presence within this iconic skyscraper raises questions about the boundaries of surveillance in the modern world. As Elizabeth Goitein, co-director of the liberty and national security program at the Brennan Center for Justice, points out, “This is yet more proof that our communications service providers have become, whether willingly or unwillingly, an arm of the surveillance state.” The deep integration of the NSA within domestic communications infrastructure challenges the notion that such surveillance can be neatly confined to non-American targets.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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