By Rebecca McKinnell   Archivist/Historian

As part of an effort to present the Reformatory as a positive presence in the Mansfield area, its grounds became something like an additional    community park. But the person who truly made those grounds memorable was an inmate named Emil “Frenchy” Balanescu. Frenchy arrived at the Ohio State Reformatory in 1927 after being convicted of murdering his girlfriend, Dorothy, though his story was far more complicated than the charge alone suggests. Deeply in love with her, he had given Dorothy flowers, candies, and “love pills” with natural but questionable ingredients. Frenchy took Dorothy to the hospital, then left. He was later arrested and sentenced to 20 years. For the rest of his life, he maintained that he had not murdered her, and he even kept a small shrine to her in his cell.

It is unclear whether Frenchy or the administration first imagined a rock garden around the pond, but as a model inmate, Frenchy was placed in charge of the project. Though he had no formal training in landscaping, he transformed the area into an impressive garden, complete with “observatories finished with rustic rails ,built-up walks along the water’s edge, round bed in the water, steps to imaginary bridge and a cleverly designed cascade” and a miniature mill. Work began on Sept. 20, 1930, and by June 1932, the garden had become a genuine attraction. Filled with flowers from the Reformatory greenhouses, it offered continual blooms of delphiniums, Shasta daisies, phlox, coreopsis, and other annuals. Frenchy, dressed in white duck pants, a white shirt, and a cap, often walked the grounds explaining the flowers to visitors who came not only from Mansfield, but from across the country. His gardens even appeared on postcards.

When Frenchy became eligible for parole, he refused it, believing that accepting parole would amount to admitting guilt. He was later permitted to visit his gravely ill mother in the hospital, but afterward, the Reformatory would not allow him to return. Frenchy remained in the Mansfield area and built a career as a landscaper for some of the city’s wealthiest residents. Bill McCarrick, one of the Reformatory’s first trustees, even worked for Frenchy while in high school, earning 30 cents an hour.

Whether Frenchy created the garden for himself, for the institution, or as a tribute to the woman he said he loved is still unknown. What remains clear is that parts of his work can still be seen around the pond today. Perhaps one day, MRPS can bring Frenchy’s garden back to life beside the prison.

By Rebecca McKinnell     Archivist/Historian

In my 12 years as an archivist, one thing has remained true: I am still surprised by what turns up. Just when I think I have seen it all, I come across an object or story that is completely new to me—and sometimes those discoveries raise even more questions than they answer.

That happened recently while I was sorting through a box of items donated by the family of a corrections officer. The box held more than 80 objects, many of them confiscated from inmates, so I expected to find interesting pieces. What I did not expect were the few surprises tucked among them.

One of the most interesting was a stinger. Inmates made stingers as a quick way to heat water for instant coffee or cocoa bought through the commissary. I had seen them before, but this one was the most elaborate example I had come across, complete with a commercial plug and multiple spoons.

Inmate creativity showed up in other ways as well. The box included handmade jewelry—a bracelet and a matching ring—and, of course, those kinds of items had to be hidden somewhere. An ordinary Pepsi can made a clever hiding place for contraband. There was also a “John Wayne,” a small portable can opener used in the military. It was easy to imagine how something like that could become a valuable item in prison, whether for opening cans or for other uses.

Three objects in particular sent me down a research path: prison smoking pipes. Two were carved and stained pieces of wood, with suspicious holes at the ends that made me wonder what I was looking at. Once I uncovered their purpose, the third object—a brass pipe elbow—suddenly made perfect sense as another example of the same kind of pipe. Moments like that are part of what makes archival work so fascinating. Every object has a story, even if it takes a little digging to uncover it.

By Becky McKinnell, Archivist/Historian

In the early days of recording oral histories at the Ohio State Reformatory, one interview stood out for the way it captured the mix of routine duties, sudden violence, and human irony that surrounded the prison. The storyteller was Ohio State Trooper Bob Shetler, who spent time at the Reformatory working with men preparing to return to life on the outside.

Shetler’s assignment was “Pre-Release,” where he briefed inmates nearing parole on current laws—especially the ones that had changed during long sentences. The first time he faced a room full of skeptical men, he could feel the tension. So he started talking about something he knew would cut through it: racing his Harley-Davidson. The topic did what policy and procedure could not; the room relaxed, and the conversation opened up.

But his time at the Reformatory was not limited to classroom-style talks. He also responded when serious crime happened inside the walls. Because the prison was state property, Ohio State Troopers handled incidents that did not fall under Mansfield Police jurisdiction. In one case, Shetler helped investigate a killing in the prisoners’ barbershop: an inmate slit another man’s throat. The victim made it into the yard before collapsing, and Shetler measured the blood trail left behind.

What stayed with him most, though, was the strange way the Reformatory could collapse a lifetime into a single moment. As children, Shetler and his brother always played the cops while two cousins played the robbers. As adults, Shetler became a state trooper and his brother a sheriff. Then, during a visit to the east wing, Shetler walked along the 4^th tier and heard his name called from below. It was one of those cousins—now incarcerated there. He soon learned the other cousin was inside as well, turning a childhood game into an unforgettable real-life reunion.

The Ohio State Reformatory frequently appeared on postcards, particularly in the early 20th century. While it is interesting to imagine how recipients felt about receiving a postcard depicting a prison, the Reformatory itself remains an architecturally striking landmark.

The messages on these postcards are often noteworthy. One example in our collection reads, “Where all my friends reside… ha ha.” A recent discovery was especially surprising: a panoramic view of the Reformatory that we did not realize was a postcard until the back of the image became visible.

Although several framed panoramic views already exist in the collection, this is the only one in which the postcard backing could be seen. At the time, postage cost one cent to mail a card, or two cents if a message was included—though it is unclear whether that additional fee also covered the address.

The Ohio State Reformatory is more than stone, steel, and tile. It is a tangible link to the past, recounting stories not only of inmates and wardens, but also the community around it. This towering structure is a physical way of observing history and the events that have led us to where we are today. The restoration of a historic site such as this preserves the past in a way that will allow future generations to experience and learn from authentic spaces and the tales they carry.

Restoration is rarely a simple task, and at 250,000 square feet and 140 years old, the halls of the Reformatory pose a special challenge. The natural aging of materials, harsh impact of Ohio’s northern climate, and sheer size of the building lead to difficulties accurately and effectively restoring parts of the Reformatory.

Despite these challenges, our restoration team works tirelessly to progress projects through the winding rooms of OSR. They revitalize spaces in both major and minutely detailed ways. One of the most striking features of the building are the tiled floors throughout the living quarters. Each tile is original to the building. Damaged pieces are repaired or replaced, allowing for safe, easy navigation. Entire spaces such as the Shawshank Museum have been restored to their former glory and are now capable of hosting some of the film’s beloved artifacts.

One of the largest undertakings has also been one of the most critical. The windows lining the cell blocks require replacement. Some have been completely replaced and sealed, while others are currently solutioned with plexiglass that does a fairweather job of keeping out the weather and wildlife of Ohio. While everyone (including us!) enjoys the original, shiver-inducing, monumental cell blocks, the only way to preserve, is to restore.

Through the striking changes such as new windows or a functioning straplock door system, or the less glamorous structure repairs and HVAC installation, it is a constant effort to retain the beauty and history of the Ohio State Reformatory.

Investing in historic preservation and restoration is ultimately an investment in the education and experience of generations to come. The Ohio State Reformatory carries lessons of resilience, identity, growth, and reform, and by restoring a building that helps define history, we ensure it’s, and the people it represents’, stories endure for centuries to come.

Becky McKinnell, Archivist/Historian

The Ohio State Reformatory truly contains “museums within a museum.” The first of these, the Ohio Correctional Museum, was established in the west wing on the first floor. Its restoration required significant work, including replacing floors, repairing woodwork, and rebuilding walls—yet the most remarkable discoveries emerged during the process.

In one room, deteriorated flooring concealed a fragment of a clay pipe buried beneath layers of straw and dirt. Research by a restoration crew member revealed that Mansfield once had a pipe factory, and a historic photograph of the OSR stone masons even shows one worker holding a similar pipe. Whether this piece was intentionally placed or simply lost to time remains unknown.

In another room, the decision to expose the original brickwork revealed hidden pocket doors and unusual brick patterns above the doorways. A visitor later explained that these openings were intentionally left during construction to allow workers to adjust the door mechanisms for smooth operation. The restoration team preserved this feature by framing one of the openings to display the mechanism—still manufactured today by the same company.

Our restoration crew continues to uncover and preserve the remarkable history embedded within OSR’s walls.

Why a Permanent Concert Stage at The Ohio State Reformatory Matters

At its core, The Ohio State Reformatory is not just a historic landmark — it’s a gathering place. A place where shared experiences create lasting memories. By establishing a permanent concert stage, we’re not simply building another venue — we’re building community.

Boosting Economic & Cultural Growth

A permanent performance space supports more than entertainment — it supports local jobs, tourism, restaurants, hotels, and small businesses. Each event fuels economic activity while reinforcing OSR’s role as a vital cultural destination. Expanding programming means longer stays, return visits, and greater regional visibility.

Preserving the Past While Creating the Future

The Ohio State Reformatory is a symbol of transformation – turning a place once defined by confinement into a place defined by education and inspiration. A concert stage continues that mission. It represents a rebirth of space — repurposed for creativity, community, and artistic expression, much in the same vein that architect Levi Scofield designed the building as a symbol of rebirth for those who were incarcerated here.

A Stage Is More Than a Structure

It’s a promise — that art, music, and community belong here. That Mansfield and the surrounding region deserve access to world-class experiences right in their own backyard. That history can be honored while still moving forward.

When you support this gala, you support our mission to preserve history.
When you support museums and the arts, you support the community.
And this stage will stand as a testament to what we can build — together.

By Becky McKinnell, Archivist/Historian

Hollywood has long been drawn to the Reformatory, and one of the notable productions filmed here was Tango & Cash in 1988, starring Sylvester Stallone and Kurt Russell. Filming took place while the Reformatory was still an active prison, with inmates continuing their daily routines. Guards served as extras, and several staff members used personal or vacation
time to work with the production crew.

Dolores Kolic, principal of Field’s High School—the school serving the Reformatory—worked
nights providing security during filming. She recalled the night the escape scene was shot. Although the scene required heavy rain, the weather was clear and starry, so a large water truck was brought in to simulate the storm.

For the sequence, a full-size tree was temporarily planted near the exterior wall, despite such placement being unrealistic for a functioning prison. The actors were filmed throwing a rope to the tree and sliding down using their belts, and production had to move quickly as the tree began to die shortly after planting.

A former inmate later shared that during filming, another inmate boasted about breaking into Stallone’s trailer and stealing the belt used in the escape scene. When asked if he wanted it as a souvenir, the inmate replied, “No—he just wanted a better belt.”

By Becky McKinnell – Archivist / Historian at Ohio State Reformatory

“The vestibules, halls, & passage ways of the front buildings will be laid with a neat but plain pattern of Zanesville encaustic tiles.  The front vestibules may be of a handsome pattern, but all of the rest will be of alternate octagons of buff & red with black square dots & a 6” black border.” (Specifications for Ohio Intermediate Penitentiary AKA OSR) Not only were the floors of the Reformatory Zanesville tiles, but also the glazed tiles around the fireplaces and exterior vestibules at the side entrances of the Reformatory.

But this isn’t just a story of tile but of economic impact; not just for one town but two! Former Pres. R.B. Hayes attended the laying of the cornerstone in 1886 of the then-called Ohio Intermediate Penitentiary.  Mansfield had lobbied aggressively to have the Intermediate Penitentiary built in Mansfield because of the jobs & demand for materials that would give a huge boost to the local economy.

Gov. William McKinley was on hand for the opening of a new plant in 1892 in Zanesville, Ohio, for the production of tile.

Although the American Encaustic Tiling Co. was headquartered in New York, Zanesville passed a $40,000 bond to purchase land for the factory. As a result, the company built the plant in Zanesville instead of New Jersey as originally planned. The town’s population almost tripled over a 30-year period as people found work with the company (Wikipedia). The factory ultimately closed in 1935, a victim of the Great Depression (Tile Heritage Org.), but its amazing tiles can still be seen at the Ohio State Reformatory and in the movie The Shawshank Redemption.

An inmate once shared with me that he didn’t realize The Shawshank Redemption had been filmed at OSR until he saw the floor tiles. Zanesville still maintains pottery and stoneware production, though not at its 19th-century level. These floor tiles are a lasting link between Mansfield and Zanesville, still greeting OSR visitors every day.

Rebecca McKinnell – Archivist

Philip Schwartz was a social worker and psychologist at OSR from 1964 to 1969. During his first six months at OSR, he rented a room on the 3rd floor of the administration building for $15 a month. While linens were provided and cleaning was done by the trustees, the 3rd floor—currently home to our Escape Rooms—then housed other male employees who also rented rooms. Notably, one of the guys had a great stereo system!

Although Schwartz could eat breakfast and lunch in the mess hall, he preferred to have dinner in town. Eventually, feeling tired of never truly getting away from the prison and his job, he moved into the local YMCA.

After meeting Bernie Barton, Assistant Head of the Psychology Dept., Schwartz was moved to the new youth program at E Dorm.  This was a facility where young adults (16-20 years old) were housed, so they weren’t “contaminated” by the inmates in the general population.

While Schwartz was living at the YMCA, he met a photographer for the Mansfield News Journal. He “hooked up with the News Journal” and started a photography program. Using old instructional manuals and used cameras from a Mansfield Camera Store, they taught the “boys” photography skills and held photo contests.

An extension of the photography program was a Christmas project. To prepare, the photography students got suits, white shirts, and ties for inmates to wear when having their pictures taken. Afterwards, these pictures were put onto cards, which could then be sent home as Christmas cards. Additionally, the cards cost 25 cents from their commissary fund for the picture, card, and postage. As a result, it was a very popular program!

It’s All in The Turn

Rebecca McKinnell – Archivist

Architect Levi Scofield’s design for the Ohio State Reformatory was a stark contrast in materials.  The back of the prison may have been filled with iron bars and steel locks but the transitional room, the Central Guard Room, married steel bars with Gothic marble arches. Once you moved to the front of the building which housed both administrative offices and staff living quarters, attention was paid to the tiniest detail: the doorknobs.

In his specifications, Scofield called for a brass doorknob which was to have “the state coat of arms on the front” or as we could call it today, the seal of the State of Ohio.

These beautiful, solid brass doorknobs with ornate face plates were put on plaques and given to retiring corrections officers.

They were also an attractive to steal ironically in a prison. Through oral histories, I’ve been told that both inmates and guards would steal the knobs to be sold and melted down for the brass. It might be more be easier to believe a guard may have taken them only because of easier access but in a prison, one never knows!  By the 1960’s, a psychologist working at OSR told me he saw guards being sent around the administrative areas removing the doorknobs for safekeeping.  The doorknobs and face plates were put into boxes and ended up at ManCi after OSR closed.

When Frank Darabont, director of the movie Shawshank Redemption, and his production crew arrived at OSR to begin filming they needed doorknobs for the doors in the movie shots.

Hollywood, ever resourceful, were able to get one of the original doorknobs and created molds from which doorknobs made of resin were produced and placed on the doors.  So, when you watch Shawshank Redemption the next time, see if you can tell the real doorknob from the resin ones.

For a simple doorknob, it was a real turn of events.