Mr. P. Explores

06/18/2026

The second leg of a recent exploration of a massive and long abandoned boiler works in Eastern Pennsylvania, done on a warm and sunny late-May morning. Rust, crust and dust abounded here, with plenty of amazing post-industrial details to capture and document. Enjoy the second half of this explore and have an amazing Thursday out there, all! -Mr. P.

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06/17/2026

A few last minute shots taken inside one of the larger dormitories at Letchworth Village Psychiatric Hospital in New York. This building seemed to be one of the older of the structures on the campus, and the stonework on the outside was beautiful, even in decay. Enjoy the brief offering this morning and have a great and productive day out there, all! -Mr. P.

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06/16/2026

A walk through the ruins of what was once the hallowed halls of Horace Mann High School in Gary, Indiana. Horace Mann was once one of the grandest and most beloved schools in Gary, and today it stands as one of the city's most recognizable symbols of both its remarkable past and its decades of decline.

The school was established in 1918 to serve Gary's rapidly growing west side, though the massive campus that most people recognize today was constructed in stages throughout the 1920s and wasn't fully completed until 1928. It was named after educational reformer Horace Mann, often called the "Father of Public Education," whose belief that all children deserved access to free, quality education influenced schools across America. The school was also a product of superintendent William Wirt's innovative educational philosophy that made Gary's school system famous nationwide.

Horace Mann quickly became one of Gary's crown jewels. The school featured an impressive two-tier auditorium, a unique two-level gymnasium, expansive classrooms, landscaped grounds, and eventually a 5,000-seat outdoor stadium built in 1930. As nearby U.S. Steel expanded and Gary boomed, enrollment exploded. By 1937, nearly 2,400 students attended the school, and by 1956 enrollment peaked at around 2,600 students.

For generations, Horace Mann was more than a school; it was a neighborhood anchor where students attended sporting events, concerts, theater productions, dances, and countless community gatherings. Its athletic teams, known as the Horsemen, became legendary throughout Northwest Indiana. Several notable alumni passed through its halls over the decades, including professional basketball player and Michigan State All-American Chet Aubuchon, who became the first All-American basketball player in Michigan State history before briefly playing professionally. The school also produced numerous local civic leaders, educators, coaches, and community advocates who remained fiercely loyal to their alma mater.

Like much of Gary (and so much of the Rust Belt), Horace Mann's fortunes began to change during the second half of the 20th century. As the steel industry contracted, jobs disappeared, and Gary's population plummeted. White flight accelerated after the 1960s, and neighborhoods surrounding the school changed dramatically. By the early 2000s, enrollment had fallen to just 546 students, a fraction of the building's capacity. On April 13, 2004, the Gary School Board voted to close Horace Mann in an effort to save money amid declining enrollment and severe budget challenges. Students attended their final day on June 10, 2004, while teachers finished the following day. The final graduating class consisted of only 72 seniors. Alumni, teachers, and community members held emotional farewell ceremonies for a school that had served Gary for more than 85 years.

After closing, the massive building was left vacant, and its future followed a path that anyone who follows this page knows all too well. Like many abandoned structures throughout Gary, it became vulnerable to vandalism, theft, and repeated acts of arson. Fires burned out the once-beautiful auditorium and other sections of the building over the years. Scrapping ripped out wiring and pipes from walls. Despite its deterioration, its breathtaking architecture has made it one of the most photographed abandoned schools in America and a frequent destination for urban explorers and photographers from around the world.

Today, Horace Mann still stands, weathered but unmistakable. Its empty hallways, crumbling and scorched auditorium, and silent ransacked gymnasiums serve as a powerful reminder of Gary's rise as one of America's great industrial cities and the difficult challenges it has faced since. For many former students, however, Horace Mann remains far more than an abandoned building. It is a place filled with memories, school spirit, and an enduring sense of community that refuses to disappear, even as nature slowly reclaims the halls where thousands of Gary residents once built their futures. Sadly, it is its own future that remains in doubt in 2026.

Enjoy this trip through this truly massive old high school. If you were a Horseman, we'd love to hear your stories or memories here, if you're willing to share. Have a wonderful Tuesday out there, all. -Mr. P.

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06/15/2026

The Salton Sea in Southern California is something both tragic and magical all at the same time; a vast manmade mistake that somehow, despite all of the tragedy that has befallen it over a century, continues to hold an energy and intrigue like nowhere else in the United States. At least as far as I've traveled so far. Wrecked and abandoned resort towns, old rusting cars from a much more prosperous age, and outsider art colonies full of those wanting to escape from the madness of the Cali metroplexes, all backdropped by gleaming mountains, glistening salt-heavy water and the aromatic bouquet of dead fish in the brutal desert heat. There are ghosts there; some restless, most sad, and some will tell you their stories if you listen intently and look hard enough.

This playlist is an ongoing sonic love affair that I have with the Sea. It's full of weird musical sounds, ranging from the California southwest sound, surf twang and haunting instrumentals that invoke the sun setting on a place that never should have existed in the first place, and blacktop roads that cut through scrub, sand and the glimmer of the Sea in the distance.

I know few look at posts like this and bother to go further. But, if you want to "see" the spirit of the Salton Sea and the desolate, and strange yet beautiful area of southern California through sound, I think I did a decent job finding the vibe. Enjoy. I'd love to hear your thoughts. -Mr. P.

Playlist · Brandon Parsons · 37 items

06/15/2026

A return to a massive and rather labyrinthine manufacturing plant in Ohio that has been decaying and corroding for decades. We first took a look at this place last year and decided to come back to find new angles and to look into all the little details we were too overwhelmed to notice the last time. This first area featured is what I imagine used to house some major factory machinery or possibly contained the power plant for the facility, now just an empty pit with a massive overhead crane for hoisting parts. Far more to come from this space over the next week, so stay tuned for the next set of photos from this outing as time goes by. Have a great Monday out there, all! -Mr. P.

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06/14/2026

Hidden deep within the overgrown remains of Belle Isle's abandoned golf course stands one of the island's most recognizable forgotten landmarks: the old pedestrian bridge that once carried golfers across a narrow inlet on their way between holes, now known to many as the "bando bridge." Built as part of the Belle Isle Golf Course, which opened in 1922, the bridge served generations of Detroit golfers for more than eight decades. The nine-hole course occupied the eastern end of the island and was considered one of the most unique municipal golf courses in Michigan, offering views of the Detroit River and a peaceful setting among Belle Isle's lakes and wetlands.

The bridge itself was a simple but distinctive covered pedestrian span, constructed to allow golfers to cross Lake Muskoday and continue along the course. While never intended as a grand architectural attraction, it became a beloved feature of the course. Golfers often paused there to watch wildlife, enjoy lunch, or simply take in the scenery. Over the years it appeared in countless family photos and became one of the most recognizable structures on the course.

For decades the course remained a popular Belle Isle destination. New amenities were added over the years, including maintenance buildings, picnic areas, and a comfort station constructed in 2004. However, declining budgets and Detroit's financial struggles eventually caught up with the facility. The Belle Isle Golf Course permanently closed in 2008 after operating under limited hours during its final season. An era came to an abrupt and sad end as the Great Recession dug its claws into Detroit's already foundering economy.

As most things went in so many other parts of Detroit during the collapse of so much infrastructure and so many neighborhoods, nature moved in almost immediately. Within a year, fairways and greens had vanished beneath tall grass, brush, and young trees. Benches where golfers rested a bit before finishing off the course disappeared into the vegetation, buildings began deteriorating, and the pedestrian bridge slowly transformed from a golf-course crossing into an urban exploration landmark. Scads of strange graffiti, inscriptions, screeds and various tags appeared on its walls, gnarled vines crept over its structure, and the surrounding landscape became a wilderness once again.

Today the bridge remains standing as a haunting reminder of a forgotten chapter of Belle Isle history. While the fairways have largely disappeared into the landscape, the state of Michigan took over Belle Isle and began cleaning up the park, hikers and fishermen have made their way into the back end of what used to be the golf course, urban explorers, photographers, and Motor City history enthusiasts continue to seek out the old crossing. And of course, new graffiti and off-color intaglios arrive almost daily covering older offerings. Almost two decades of outsider weirdness can be found inside and out of the bridge's structure, making it a living and breathing space that has taken on a new life in modern day. It stands as one of Detroit's most unusual abandoned structures; a relic of a time when golfers wandered these now-silent grounds, crossing the little bridge on their way to the next hole on a summer day.

I have been to this location many a time in almost every season, but the spring is always a great time to shoot this span. I have included architectural shots as well as examples of some of the odder and more interesting artwork found inside (and of course, its all subjective!). Enjoy the spread and let us know if you have any crazy or strange memories of this old bridge, or if you were one of those golfers who once enjoyed it in years long past! Have a great Sunday, all! -Mr. P.

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06/13/2026

A quick autumn explore of Gary, Indiana's St. Mary Mercy Hospital at peak golden hour. This hospital was in very sad shape, with advanced decay evident at every step. This hospital was the birthplace of Michael Jackson in a much more prosperous time in Gary. Luckily, the setting sun provided us with some amazing orange glow here, and what would have perhaps been nothing but decay turned out to be worth the effort. Enjoy the brief set and have a great start to your weekend, all! -Mr. P.

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06/12/2026

Long before it ever became a favorite destination for urban explorers, the massive Curtiss-Wright factory in Buffalo, New York played an important role in both the city's industrial history and America's aerospace industry. The complex was originally built for the Otis Elevator Company beginning in 1906. Located along Buffalo's Belt Line railroad, the sprawling Buffalo Works manufactured elevator components and expanded repeatedly over the following decades. A large foundry designed by the Buffalo architectural firm Green & Wicks was added in 1913, helping make the site one of the city's major industrial employers.

In 1951, Curtiss-Wright purchased the facility from Otis and converted it into a metals-processing operation supporting the aerospace industry. Unlike the company's famous aircraft assembly plants elsewhere in Buffalo, this complex specialized in manufacturing aircraft and aerospace components. The plant handled casting, forging, extrusion, and machining operations, producing everything from propeller components to specialized aerospace metals. During the Cold War era, work performed here supported military aviation programs and later included titanium components for jet engines. The facility also worked closely with U.S. Air Force projects and other aerospace contractors.

For decades, thousands of Buffalonians earned a living inside the enormous brick factory. The site became one of the many industrial anchors that helped make Buffalo a manufacturing powerhouse during the twentieth century. But as the aerospace industry contracted and manufacturing increasingly moved elsewhere, Curtiss-Wright's Buffalo operations declined. By the early 1990s the company was negotiating the sale of its metals-processing division, and the Northland plant closed around the mid-1990s after more than 40 years of Curtiss-Wright ownership.

After closure, the factory sat abandoned for decades. Weather, vandalism, and neglect slowly took their toll on the once-busy industrial giant. Its cavernous foundry spaces, rusting machinery, broken windows, and towering brick walls became a haunting reminder of Buffalo's industrial past and a popular subject for photographers and urban explorers. In 2015, the Buffalo Urban Development Corporation acquired the long-vacant property as part of the city's Northland Corridor redevelopment effort. The site became part of a larger plan to revitalize Buffalo's East Side and attract new manufacturing and technology businesses to the historic industrial district. While much of the old factory remains, its future is now tied to Buffalo's ongoing efforts to reinvent itself for a new century. So far, as of this date, nothing seems to have happened to further that plan.

Today, the former Curtiss-Wright plant stands as a monument to Buffalo's industrial heritage; a place where elevators, aircraft components, and aerospace technology were once produced by generations of workers, and where the echoes of the city's manufacturing golden age can still be felt among the aging brick walls and silent factory floors. We were able to make a return trip to document the plant this spring, and were treated to a sheet of water in the back-end of the factory, which allowed us to capture some amazing reflections as a result. Enjoy this set from that portion of our explore and have a wonderful Friday! -Mr. P.

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06/11/2026

Hidden away in a quiet Springfield neighborhood sits one of Ohio’s most remarkable works of folk art: the Hartman Rock Garden. The garden was created by Harry George “Ben” Hartman, a foundry worker who moved to Springfield in 1912. When he lost his job during the Great Depression in 1932, Hartman looked for a way to stay busy and began building a simple concrete fish pond in his backyard. What started as a small project soon grew into an extraordinary artistic vision that would consume much of the next twelve years of his life.

Using concrete, stone, glass, metal, wood, and other salvaged materials, Hartman transformed his yard into a miniature wonderland filled with castles, churches, historic landmarks, patriotic scenes, religious imagery, and representations of everyday American life. By the time he was finished, the garden contained more than 250,000 individual stones and over 50 structures and sculptures spread across roughly a quarter-acre surrounding his home.

Hartman was entirely self-taught. Inspired by books, magazines, radio programs, movies, family, and friends, he used the garden to express his values, faith, optimism, and love of American history during one of the nation’s most difficult periods. Among the miniature creations were replicas of famous landmarks such as the White House, Mount Vernon, and Independence Hall.

Hartman worked on the garden until his death in 1944. Afterward, his wife Mary carefully maintained the site for more than five decades, giving tours and preserving her husband’s life work. Following her death in 1997, the garden fell into decline and faced an uncertain future. Fortunately, preservation efforts began in 2008 when the Kohler Foundation purchased the property and undertook a major restoration. After extensive conservation work, the site reopened in 2010 and was transferred to the Friends of the Hartman Rock Garden, ensuring that future generations could continue to experience this unique piece of Ohio history.

Today, the Hartman Rock Garden is recognized as one of the nation’s finest examples of “outsider art” and visionary folk art. Open free to the public, it remains a testament to creativity, perseverance, and the remarkable things one person can build with imagination, determination, and a backyard full of rocks.

On a trip to St. Louis, Missouri in the autumn of 2022, I stopped at the Hartman Rock Garden to take a break from driving and also to document the spot. It was a perfect, warm early October day, and I had the place to myself. Enjoy the set and have a great Thursday out there, all! -Mr. P.

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06/10/2026

Good evening, all. This one goes out to everyone who follows Mr. P. Explores, followers old and more recent and everyone in between.

I wanted to take a moment to talk about something that's been happening behind the scenes; something that many of you have probably seen on your own pages or maybe even on pages you follow on Facebook. Many of you have probably noticed that posts from this page aren't showing up in your feeds as often as they once did (or maybe even at all). Unfortunately, that's not your imagination. Over the past few years, the reach and engagement on this page have steadily declined. Photos that once reached thousands of people and produced discussions and conversations are now often seen by only a small fraction of that audience.

The strange thing is that the page itself is larger than it has ever been. More people follow it than ever before. Yet fewer people are actually being shown the content. I don't believe this is because people have stopped caring about abandoned places, forgotten history, road trips, Rust Belt stories, old factories, lost amusement parks, ghost towns, or the strange corners of America that we explore together. I think (no, I pretty much KNOW) it's because social media has changed. The dreaded algorithms increasingly decide what people see, and pages like this one often get buried beneath endless streams of recommended content, videos, advertisements, and whatever else the platform decides should be in front of you that day.

What makes this frustrating is that this page has never been about chasing trends. It has always been about visual storytelling and the history of America's lost places. It's been about preserving places before they disappear, sharing local history, documenting forgotten corners of the country, and introducing people to locations they might never otherwise see. Every photograph represents hours of driving, researching, editing, writing, and exploring.

The good news is that there are things you can do to help (and I'm hoping perhaps you will feel the desire to help and keep this going here!). If you enjoy the content here, please consider liking, commenting on, and sharing posts when you see them. Even a short comment helps tremendously. Facebook's algorithm pays attention to those interactions and is more likely to show future posts to other people. It's sad that this is the way it is, but here we are. You can also make sure you're following the page and set it to show favorites or prioritize posts from Mr. P. Explores in your feed. Many people are surprised to discover they follow a page but rarely see its content anymore.

Most importantly, keep participating. Tell your stories. Share your memories. If a photo reminds you of a place you worked, a neighborhood you grew up in, a factory your family was connected to, or a road trip you've taken, tell us about it. The conversations have always been the best part of this page.

I started Mr. P. Explores back in 2018 because I wanted to document a disappearing world and share it with others who cared about history, architecture, photography, and the stories hidden in forgotten places. That mission hasn't changed and I don't plan on stopping that. As long as there are abandoned factories to photograph, forgotten roads to travel, old stories to tell, and curious people willing to come along for the ride, I'll keep posting.

I just want to say thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring. I appreciate all of you, wherever in the great wide world you happen to be hailing from. Have a great evening and thanks for hearing me out!

Let's keep on exploring: - Mr. P. Explores