'Shawshank' Prison, aka The Ohio State Reformatory! WOW!!!

Hello, friends!  I had a stellar tingle travel up my spine as I stood at the outside perimeter fence of the Ohio State Reformatory, the filming location for ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ some scenes from ‘Air Force One’ and ‘Tango and Cash,’ and of course the boys from TAPS on ‘Ghost Hunters.’   This structure just can’t be captured in all its formidable beauty in pictures.  It was one of the most contradictory pieces of architecture I’ve ever seen; beautiful but barbaric, grim to the point of menacing but luring me in.  It was closed to tours (we missed the tour season by four days, aaarrrgghh) and yet one worker stopped at the front gate, radioing in to a guard to let him pass through; the gate opened and it was all I could do not to hop, skip and jump in behind him, camera and sis Deb in tow.  The only thing that kept me planted in my spot was wondering how we’d ever get OUT. 

The stone walls and iron bars are obviously still here, but so are 215 of the 154,000 who passed through OSR in its 94 years as a prison. Some sent to Mansfield have never left, resting (or not) in the graveyard just outside the fence.  There are numbered markers there, laid out row after row.  No names.  Most died from diseases like tuberculosis or influenza, but some perished from unnatural causes . . . from violence, which was all-too-common inside this prison.  And the worst of it occurred well away from the main cell block, which is six stories high and still remains intact to this day.  Apparently because there were so many witnesses in the cell blocks, the worst violence took place in their solitary confinement area deep underground, also known as ‘the hole.’  Away from prying eyes.   At least one inmate somehow hung himself deep in the bowels of the hole, another set himself on fire, and two men who were confined together in a single cell in the hole were kept together too long.  Only one came out alive, stuffing the other prisoner’s body beneath a bunk.

Since its closure, many swear that the spirits of tortured inmates who died in the prison fill the halls, unable to escape the prison's bars.  Even now, when those halls are empty and mostly in ruin, the overwhelming consensus is that something still walks here, restless and enraged.  Maybe it’s the spirits of those from the hole or the cells, but just maybe it’s Warden Glattke or his wife Helen.

The paranormal activity in the administration wing where Warden Glattke and his wife Helen resided is well documented.   Helen, while supposedly reaching for something in a closet, knocked a gun off the shelf close by and it hit the floor, causing it to fire a bullet into her chest.  How convenient. She died at Mansfield General Hospital from her injuries.  Rumors were aplenty that Warden Glattke actually killed his wife, but there was never enough proof to substantiate it.  Ten years later Glattke suffered a heart attack and died at the same hospital where Helen died.   Former employees attest that their bodies may have died in the hospital, but their spirits are still around the prison.

 

Today the reformatory is being slowly and meticulously restored.  A lot of work is going on there to keep this monumental structure intact for future generations to experience.  The Mansfield Reformatory Organization is working diligently to prevent any future deterioration, and they have plenty more information on the prison's history if you're interested.

BTW, if you feel particularly brave and are of a mind for travel in the next month, the last few days before Halloween they will reopen for 'ghost tours' - the mother of all haunted houses!  They are busy recruiting right now for ghouls and prop/make-up/costume help.  I would SO volunteer for this if I were going to be in the area!  But to go through the tour?  I'm afraid my ticker wouldn't stand it!  Later, friends!

Go, OHIO!

Hello all:  I've been enjoying spending several days in Wooster, Ohio with my close family.  Remember my sadness and frustration seeing the decay through parts of America while on this trip?  Well, hometown America is alive and thriving here in Ohio!  

Wow, the fields, the farms, the amber waves of grain, the . . . Amish? How cute it is to see their families out and about in their horse and buggy.  I've never encountered a friendlier group of people in all my travels. And no wonder.  They get up each morning, work hard and accomplish much, then go to bed saying to themselves, 'Sufficient Unto the Day.'

They don't worry about Democrat versus Republican, Obama versus Romney, gas prices or the state of the Middle East conflict.  Could I live that life?  Probably not.  But as I stare at their sunny warm, content faces as I pass by in my 21st century mode of transportation, I find myself thinking that, while America may not have been better off in the simpler era in some aspects, she certainly was more at peace.

As are these people, and I'm not just speaking of the Amish. Thank you, sis and hubby, for taking us around to see this blissful slice of beautiful America that soothes my saddened heart for the other parts that are so besieged.  The countryside exudes a quieter time and place and it puts me at peace.  Love to you both.  Later, friends.

THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD

Hello all:  We're cruisin' along the Great Lakes, first Lake Superior and now Lake Michigan, and I can't help humming the tune to Gordon Lightfoot's song; "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald."  When you start to see the scope of these lakes, the waves crashing to the beaches, no land as far as the horizon line on the opposite side, their sheer size makes Roosevelt Lake in Arizona look like a mud hole.  It suddenly becomes very believable that so many unfortunate ships like the Edmund Fitzgerald didn't make it across.  The pics below were shot at the very northern tip of Lake Michigan.  Can you hear the melancholy notes now?

  "The legend lives on from the Chippawa on down, 

of the big lake they called Gitche-gumee.

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead 

when the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more 

than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.

That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed 

when the gales of November came early."

"The ship was the pride of the American side 

coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.

As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most, 

with a crew and good captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms 

when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.

And later that night when the ship's bell rang, 

could it be that north wind they'd been feelin'?"

"The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound 

and a wave broke over the railing.

And every man knew, as the Captain did too, 

twas the witch of November come stealin.'

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait 

as the gales of November came slashin.'

When afternoon came it was freezin' rain 

in the face of a hurricane west wind."

"When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck 

sayin,' Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya.'

At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in, 

he said, Fellas, it's been good to know ya.'

The captain wired in he had water coming in, 

and the good ship and crew was in peril.

And later that night when his lights went outta' sight 

came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes 

when the waves turn the minutes to hours.

The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay 

if they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsized, 

they may have broke deep and took water.

And all that remains are the faces and the names 

of the wives, the sons and the daughters."

"Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings 

in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.

Old Michigan steams, like a young man's dreams; 

the islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario 

takes in what Lake Erie can send her,

and the iron boats go as the mariners all know, 

with the gales of November remembered."

"In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed, 

in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.

The church bell chimed 'till it rang twenty-nine times 

for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippawa on down, 

of the big lake they called "Gitche-Gumee."

Superior, they said, never gives up her dead, 

when the gales of November come early."

          Written by Gordon Lightfoot

The difference between life and death on the lakes can hang by a real short thread up here when Mother Nature gets in one of her moods.  Later, friends.

SICA HOLLOW, SOUTH DAKOTA

Hello all:  Hubby and I walked the one trail in Sica Hollow called 'Trail of the Spirits' and it was stunning, but short.  The entire State Park is very small, but much of it is taken up with hiking/horseback riding trails, not roads to drive through.  There are two small cemeteries there, out in the middle of nowhere. Sica Hollow is a conjunction of two prairies that many millennia ago crashed into each other and formed a deep ravine area of forest, streams and some unusual phenomena.  

It is this unusual, though completely natural phenomena that 'spooked' the original Sioux inhabitants into believing this area was haunted.  The streams carry a heavy mineral/iron content and at certain times the streams run almost blood red, which prompted the early Sioux to proclaim that the stream carried the spilled blood of their ancestors.  There's also heavy phosphorus content in the area which makes the tree trunks glow in the dark at their bases.  And the streams and swamp gasses make loud echoing, gurgling noises, all-in-all unusual surroundings that would make the imaginations of the jumpy and superstitious run on overtime. 

When the first Native Americans visited the location, they named it "Sica," (pronounced she-cha) meaning evil or bad place.  And several numerous Sioux legends recall mysterious happenings here.  The first white man to be recorded in history as making his home near what would one day become Sica Hollow State Park was named Robert Roi, who inhabited the area in the 1840s. Finding the location to be ideal for hunting because of the abundant game, some of which we saw as we drove the one road through the park, he soon made his home in a deep ravine.  The local Native Americans thought Roi crazy for living in an area that they wouldn't dare set foot in.  

A few years later, solders from Browns Valley set out to find Mr. Roi with the intent of collecting information on the frontier.  It took them days just to get down into the wooded ravine where he lived.  After they'd visited with Roi, the soldiers left, agreeing with the local natives that the man was probably crazy for living in such a place.

As the years passed, more settlers came to the area and the mythical stories about Sica Hollow grew.  It was later believed that some sort of beast or "Big Foot" type man inhabited the dense woods.  This fear apparently came to a boiling point when several people disappeared at Sica Hollow in the 1970s.  Of the many people who joined the hunting parties for the missing persons, several who participated openly admitted they were probably looking for some sort of beast.  Such a wild idea was actually supported by recent local sightings of something fitting that description.  

Others thought there might be a bear loose in Sica Hollow, but neither beast nor bear nor any of the missing persons have been found.

A wild tale, but all we saw was a beautiful forest area with lots of hawks and deer.  Of course, it was mid-morning, since I  couldn't convince hubby to go there at around sunset, not  even to let me walk the trails alone with a flashlight.  I really  wanted a photo of glowing tree trunks, but alas, it wasn't  meant to be.  Included are some photos I did take, and if you're  ever in the area I would recommend camping in their  beautiful but primitive campgrounds.  Those who have braved  it frequently speak of hearing the sound of drums and war- whoops of the departed spirits in the area once the moon rises,  and even a few have reported sightings of ghostly Sioux  braves.   But don't go walking off path, especially in the dark.   There are bogs and strange areas of quicksand that may have  actually been responsible for more than one of those people  disappearing in the Hollow . . . forever.  Later, friends!