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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
It's The Only Book Available On Riker & Holy City.,
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This review is from: Holy City: Riker's Religious Roadside Attraction (Paperback)
At first I was a little disappointed when I saw that there were only 94 pages to this book, and even those are loaded with photographs, but this material is so rare that it's worth the price of a regular size book. I had heard about Riker and Holy City back in 1968 from someone who had once visited there, and I have only encountered paragraph sized references since, but eventually one of those spurred me to find about four web pages on this subject. Once I got the general idea of the Holy City story, and figured out where this place is hidden from the modern world of political correctness, I felt compelled to visit personally. It's mostly an empty crossroads in the woods, and I got lost a couple of times trying to arrive there, but it was worth it to meet Tom of the Holy City Glass Shop and to see the outside of Riker's old house. Tom's very good with the occasional visitor who comes out of curiosity, although his business isn't related to what Riker had there, and he was able to answer every question I posed. Often denounced as an eccentric cult leader, Riker is still fondly remembered as the most colorful character in the history of the San Carlos, California area. His Utopia was located on this mountainous summit to the west of the downtown area from 1918 until about 1941, between San Jose and the seaside community of Santa Cruz. Riker erected large garish signs and displays to advertise his ideas about religion and the white race, and his commercial buildings provided all manner of roadside attractions to travelers, including a restaurant, gas station, amusement parlor, hotel, soda pop bottling plant, print shop, barber shop, telescope, and radio station. Adopting the tactic of designating "teachers" for his recruits, much as early Christians did (Although there never was a church built in Holy City), Riker routinely transformed even the homeless into loyal and confident supporters. And it was often they who operated the many Holy City services so appreciated by motorists. During World War 2 his politically contradictory and outspoken passions for both the German and Jewish peoples nearly got him convicted of treason. The highway cuts through the mountains to connect San Jose to Santa Cruz, but business largely collapsed there when the site was bypassed by the modern highway. All that remains of the original Holy City is a few private buildings and the natural background which appears in some of the old photos; Riker's house, garage, and storage shed are difficult to see from the road as they are partially blocked by the trees which grew up since. Across the street from the Riker house is Tom's glass shop, on part of the property that Riker established for commerical use, and Tom keeps some faded copies of Riker's old newspaper posted on a bulletin board. Riker's own published materials from Holy City include: The Philosophy of the Nerves; the New Jewish Religion; World Peace & How To Have It, and many smaller publications such as his Enlightener newsletter in 1917; Sheet Music titled "Please Don't Leave Me, Daddy" in 1945; The leaflet "I Will Come Again" in the 1950s; "A 16 Point Program" in the 50s; and "Make Me Your Next President" in the 1950s. Materials such as these rarely pop up even as collectibles, so Betty Lewis's book is the most useful explanation available. My impression of Riker is probably more positive than the way most people see him today, although I don't agree with everything he said on race. And his religious views look a lot like what was popular in my father's day, but Riker was certainly more eccentric or poetic in the way he expressed himself. My impression is that Riker was very much a product of his time. Anyway, if you buy this book and feel like mulling it over some more, feel free to contact me.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
One of many Californian cults, a roadside attraction indeed,
By
This review is from: Holy City: Riker's Religious Roadside Attraction (Paperback)
I'd wanted to visit this once-renowned or reviled tourist attraction halfway between Santa Cruz and San Jose, but not much remains after lots of "mysterious fires," in the 50s and 60s. German shepherds prowl the premises, redwoods and weeds sprout largely undisturbed where a filling station, zoo, roadhouse, and self-sufficient white supremacist spread where cattle were raised, crops grown, peep shows beckoned, and reportedly Hawaiian Punch was invented. It attracted drifters during the Depression, many of whom stayed on to eke out a living. At one point, it was over 90 men and four women. As you might expect, William E. Riker, a native Californian, played early successes at spiritualism and bigamy into a career manipulating the hearts and minds of whomever had the patience or the desperation to put up with remarkably turgid-- even by cult standards-- rants about the White Man's Burden, messianic prattle, and Babbitt-like nostrums of self-help delivered in a brisk, ad-man lingo.
Lewis, a local historian of the Monterey Bay area, does her best to gather all the newspaper documentation, a few scraps of interviews with those who lived there, the grand larceny trial when Riker was represented-- and later sued by his client for defamation while his lawyer had to fight for his fees rather than a "spiritual" offering set aside for him in heaven-- by a young Melvin Belli during WWII. Lewis does not delve much into the white supremacist teachings that Riker espoused, and you get little sense of what may be after all lots of nonsense. I suspected that Lewis lacked the fortitude for hashing out Riker's prattle, and the excerpts she provides do not exactly whet your appetite to want to read more about his fevered plans to save the Golden State from foreign takeover, to find Christ in "Father" Riker, and to attain some sort of transcendental state by nodding along with what the founder dished out along with gas and grub for whomever passed by. Riker's no poet, but must have possessed considerable charisma to entice so many to stop not only for punch or a sandwich but to stay there for years, in primitive conditions, working at this roadside attraction. He also amassed most of what Holy City took in; its inhabitants contributed their earnings back to Riker. The off-beat allure, inherent within this published preservation of the relics, of Holy City somehow lingers beyond the data assembled by Lewis. Perhaps such cults must lurk beyond the journalistic, legal, and municipal record. At least one murder happened here, celibacy among the members vs. Riker's own right-- even though or because he resembled a bloated Babbitt than Elmer Gantry from the photos here-- to bed any lady who wandered into his lair, surely created an atmosphere that demanded more exploration by today's investigator of this sylvan realm. The flavor of the garishly advertised-- with a row of highway Santas and pitchman billboards-- place must be guessed at more by scanning the rare postcards and ephemera collected by Lewis for reproduction. I'd have liked more day-to-day details of the place, but apparently the historian appears to have compiled as much as she could into a small book under a hundred pages, divided between text and illustrations. Riker later accepted, after the trial and after WWII, that Jews and Aryans could both rule the world. He ran for governor more than once, but failed to rouse support. A new highway bypassed his development, and a fickle public nosed about other cults with younger gurus. This led to "Father" Riker selling half his share to a Hollywood M.O.T. investor-- this precipitated legal battles and residential unrest, hastening the decline of Holy City. A letter here printed from late in his life, eagerly proposing its sale to nudists in a public offering of stock, testified to Riker's salesmanship skills, his way with an argument, and his folly. I'd have liked to find more about this character; Riker has collected I reckon about all that's left from a life that touched thousands, but which, like the ruins of Holy City, appears barely visible beneath a busier, tamed, if still half-evangelical, half-New Age and spiritually restless Californian corridor between bohemian Santa Cruz and enterpreneurial Silicon Valley. Today, only a glassworks making works of art and its owner, Tom Stanton, reportedly inhabit these forlorn premises. Long after the post office closed, its hundreds of residents dispersed. The communal circus that lasted more or less from 1919-69 finally closed, scattering the few faithful who stay silent, devoted followers of "Father" toiling away for salvific dreams that remain elusive and nearly silent within these pages.
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