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Current maps of Santa
Cruz county still mark
the spot as "Holy City," yet very little remains of this once booming West
Coast mecca. Sixty years ago, it was a well-known stopping spot for travelers
along the twisty Old Santa Cruz Highway. Today, all that testifies to its
strange and colorful past is a rickety old post office, a quaint shed and
a house.
The house belonged to "Father"
William E. Riker (right, circa 1950-55), a.k.a "The Comforter," and was
one of the only structures to escape a series of mysterious fires that
caused the town's demise.
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Riker was a handsome, blue-blooded
California native, born in 1873 and described in contemporary accounts as
"a favorite of the ladies.'' His first job, which involved reading palms,
earned him the nickname "The Professor." Later, he toured the country as
a mind-reading act, a lucrative career that ended abruptly when bigamy charges
were filed against him in San Francisco. Leaving both his wives behind,
Riker fled to Canada.
It was there that he developed
"The Perfect Christian Divine Way," a credo that involved total celibacy,
abstinence from alcohol, hard-core white supremacy and communal living. From
what few records still remain, it seems that "being born again" was also somehow
integral to the project. Armed with this new doctrine and a plan, Riker returned
to San Francisco and started a commune. The city on the bay would later grow
accustomed to such enterprises, but at that time, more than a few eyebrows
must have been raised.
The first thing Riker did was make
his followers give him their money, freeing them from worldly concerns to
pursue their spirituality. By 1918, he was able to buy the land on which to
establish his new Jerusalem and to house about 30 devotees, most of them elderly.
Riker apparently considered himself
exempt from the celibacy rule, soon taking a bride by the name of Lillian.
Incensed by this action, a certain Frieda Schwartz, one of Riker's earliest
disciples, sued him in an attempt to recover the funds she had relinquished
upon entering the Perfect Christian Divine Way. She lost, and the publicity
the case received only succeeded in drawing more tourists to the area.
Soon Riker was raking in $100,000
a year on the proceeds from a restaurant, a service station and an observatory
where visitors could look at the moon through a telescope for 10 cents. He
was also running a mineral water business on the side. As early as 1929, Holy
City had a weekly newspaper and a short-lived radio station, the second to
be licensed in California, that went by the call signal KFQU. Due to "irregularities"
(perhaps including its name), its licence was revoked in 1931, thus putting
an end to a popular half-hour show with a Swiss yodeler.
In the 1930s, the population of
Holy City's swelled to 300 and Riker embarked on a series of attempts to become
governor of California. In 1943, after his fourth try, "The Comforter" was
arrested due to his pro-German sentiments, as manifested in his rabid letters
of support to Adolf Hitler. During the trial, his lawyer, the illustrious
Melvin Belli, persistently referred to him as a "crackpot." Riker escaped
persecution, but filed suit against Belli for defaming his character. Riker
lost the case.
This marked the beginning of
the end for Holy City. In 1940, Highway 17 opened, replacing the narrow,
winding Old Santa Cruz Highway, which to this day gets very little traffic.
Tourism in Holy City dropped significantly. In 1959, Riker lost most of
his land in a complicated real estate transaction, followed by a series
of mysterious fires that consumed most of what remained of the town and
left only a few haphazard remains. The records at Historic Spots in California
indicate that Riker lingered on the few acres Holy City had been reduced
to until 1966, at which time he astonished the handful of his remaining
followers by converting to Catholicism. He was 93.
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"He certainly was a nut," says
Stanton. "Come on. You've got to see something."
Behind the shop is an empty meadow,
graced by a single blooming hawthorn tree. "Sometimes hippies come by,'' he
says, "and ask if they can camp here. I let them."
At the edge of the meadow looms
what Stanton calls "the largest and most complete ring of redwoods you will
ever see." A wall has been built around them. "I don't know who built that
wall," says Stanton. "But I've got a pretty good guess."
The bases of four trees form a
sort of altar. "The nuns come here every month to pray," he adds mysteriously.
"Nice ladies. I don't ask them where they're from. I just let them in."
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