HENRY ALLEN RISPIN & 1920S CAPITOLA
"The house stands today as it has stood for the past sixty years, surrounded by trees and undergrowth. There is an air of mystery about the place and has been since it was built in the 1920s. . . ." —Peggy Perkins, Santa Cruz Mobile News, January 21, 1983
Exploring the Rispin Mansion
By Niels Kisling
The sliding bookcase led to a small, dark pocket of mysterious space behind it. The wood made a grinding, gravely sound as we slid it open. The sound returned an echo from the darkness two floors below. With hackles raised, sure that someone was going to appear from the dark stairwell, we tried to remain completely still. Listening for footsteps, the silence was only broken by three hearts thumping wildly.
Dan Bivens and Mitch Gallegos were two of my first friends when my parents brought me to Capitola in 1971. The three of us explored the abandoned building on Wharf Road time and again—each time leaving with new stories to tell.
The third floor sliding bookcase became a legendary tale that was repeated over the years. It was just one feature of the abandoned Rispin Mansion that called out to Capitola kids, beckoning them to come explore the forbidden attraction. In the 1970s, it was a rite of passage to be able to say that you had been inside the place; the bravest among us had even been inside after dark.
We all told tales of being chased off the property by the ‘hippie’ caretakers—bragging that we were fast enough to get away.
The caretakers lived in a trailer just inside the tall concrete wall at the top of the property. We had seen them on occasion, and we called them hippies even though we didn’t know any real hippies. To us kids, anyone who wore sandals, ragged old clothes, and peered out from behind a bushy beard must have been a hippie.
Since they lived at the top of the property on Wharf Road, we accessed the abandoned mansion from the lower Soquel Creek side. There, a basement window provided good access far from the eyes and ears of the caretakers above. The challenge was that this window was sometimes boarded up, depending on how long ago the last ingress had been discovered.
Talk around school told a tale about a great big heavy swinging door that lead to a cool, musty concrete room. The room was painted white with smooth walls. The door, also smoothly finished, featured rusted iron hooks and what appeared to be blood stains running down from each hook. Our pre-teen brains had us convinced that this was the place where people were taken to be killed or tortured for some unknown reason.
Some people said that it was probably the cool room where chickens were slaughtered, and other goods were kept cold in the days when refrigeration was rare. We did not want to accept this. Either way, we just had to see for ourselves. Another day, another chase.
In thinking about this fifty years later, I’m sure the caretakers let us get away—they didn’t really want to catch us. What would they do with us anyway? Likely, they were more intent in just satisfying their responsibility by making sure we left. And maybe they even enjoyed the chase as much as we did. Still we came back time and again.
The Rispin Mansion was last occupied by The Poor Clares who moved out in 1956, with the City of Capitola purchasing the property in 1985. In 2009, a fire tore through the mansion, burning the wooden floors along with the roof joists, causing the roof tiles and associated debris to collapse into the structure.
Kids today do not have the access that we did. The city completed a historical preservation of the property in 2012. This preservation included sealing all doors and windows, cyclone perimeter fencing, security lighting, ventilation, seismic stabilization, a new roof, and exterior paint. With the project costing nearly $650K it was intended to preserve what is there today in case a developer comes along in the future.
The Capitola City Council voted in favor of this “mothballing” over a much greater cost for demolition. The plans going forward are to create a public park. Some of the work has already been completed to make the footpaths legally conforming. The landscaping work to restore the gardens is next and this park will complement the Capitola Library across the street.
Perhaps someday it will be restored and I will be back inside the Rispin Mansion—as an invited guest.
By Niels Kisling
The sliding bookcase led to a small, dark pocket of mysterious space behind it. The wood made a grinding, gravely sound as we slid it open. The sound returned an echo from the darkness two floors below. With hackles raised, sure that someone was going to appear from the dark stairwell, we tried to remain completely still. Listening for footsteps, the silence was only broken by three hearts thumping wildly.
Dan Bivens and Mitch Gallegos were two of my first friends when my parents brought me to Capitola in 1971. The three of us explored the abandoned building on Wharf Road time and again—each time leaving with new stories to tell.
The third floor sliding bookcase became a legendary tale that was repeated over the years. It was just one feature of the abandoned Rispin Mansion that called out to Capitola kids, beckoning them to come explore the forbidden attraction. In the 1970s, it was a rite of passage to be able to say that you had been inside the place; the bravest among us had even been inside after dark.
We all told tales of being chased off the property by the ‘hippie’ caretakers—bragging that we were fast enough to get away.
The caretakers lived in a trailer just inside the tall concrete wall at the top of the property. We had seen them on occasion, and we called them hippies even though we didn’t know any real hippies. To us kids, anyone who wore sandals, ragged old clothes, and peered out from behind a bushy beard must have been a hippie.
Since they lived at the top of the property on Wharf Road, we accessed the abandoned mansion from the lower Soquel Creek side. There, a basement window provided good access far from the eyes and ears of the caretakers above. The challenge was that this window was sometimes boarded up, depending on how long ago the last ingress had been discovered.
Talk around school told a tale about a great big heavy swinging door that lead to a cool, musty concrete room. The room was painted white with smooth walls. The door, also smoothly finished, featured rusted iron hooks and what appeared to be blood stains running down from each hook. Our pre-teen brains had us convinced that this was the place where people were taken to be killed or tortured for some unknown reason.
Some people said that it was probably the cool room where chickens were slaughtered, and other goods were kept cold in the days when refrigeration was rare. We did not want to accept this. Either way, we just had to see for ourselves. Another day, another chase.
In thinking about this fifty years later, I’m sure the caretakers let us get away—they didn’t really want to catch us. What would they do with us anyway? Likely, they were more intent in just satisfying their responsibility by making sure we left. And maybe they even enjoyed the chase as much as we did. Still we came back time and again.
The Rispin Mansion was last occupied by The Poor Clares who moved out in 1956, with the City of Capitola purchasing the property in 1985. In 2009, a fire tore through the mansion, burning the wooden floors along with the roof joists, causing the roof tiles and associated debris to collapse into the structure.
Kids today do not have the access that we did. The city completed a historical preservation of the property in 2012. This preservation included sealing all doors and windows, cyclone perimeter fencing, security lighting, ventilation, seismic stabilization, a new roof, and exterior paint. With the project costing nearly $650K it was intended to preserve what is there today in case a developer comes along in the future.
The Capitola City Council voted in favor of this “mothballing” over a much greater cost for demolition. The plans going forward are to create a public park. Some of the work has already been completed to make the footpaths legally conforming. The landscaping work to restore the gardens is next and this park will complement the Capitola Library across the street.
Perhaps someday it will be restored and I will be back inside the Rispin Mansion—as an invited guest.
This is the window in the basement of the Rispin Mansion where generations of kids gained access. The room with the sliding bookcase was two floors above.
Roof timbers, floor joists and roof tiles are part of the rubble left behind from the fire that swept through the Rispin Mansion in May, 2009. (Photos by the author)