History on the Radio
Dave Michaels of KSCO Radio interviewed Dick Garwood and John Hibble of the Aptos History Museum on Thursday, September 4, 2025. The recording of that interview is attached. Enjoy!
Thursday, November 20th, Dick Garwood and John Hibble told local history tales with Dave Michaels on KSCO radio, 1080 AM. If you missed the show you can hear it online below
For those of you who were not able to attend the Aptos History Museum presentation on the Cement Ship of Seacliff Beach, on October 18th, here is a tidbit that our research found. On December 27, 1931, Mother Nature was determined that the concrete ship was not going to last. High seas carried the ship’s stern 80 feet to the east and then 80 feet west, settling 4 feet from the original position. It settled 3 feet farther out to sea and 10 inches lower. The copper expansion joint amidships opened on both sides about an inch and a half, and closing caused a crack below the waterline up both sides. The engine room flooded, and water and electrical mains were broken. A great deal of oil from the engine room washed out. The entrance to the pier was also undermined. Even the 34-foot storm swells, (the largest recorded since records were kept), from the January 2017 storm were not that powerful by comparison.
And now for our history tale. We are privileged to have a humorous tale from historian Carolyn Swift.
The Wiley Rogue
By Carolyn Swift
From the very beginning of this story, it was clear local journalists wanted to have fun with it. It is the tale of a clever tramp, a “wily rogue,” and is told with great enthusiasm.
It starts in Aptos, reported in the Santa Cruz Surf, Nov. 23, 1892:
“Last week our village had quite a sensation on the account of the doings of a tramp, who had aspirations above a haystack for a bed, and cold potatoes for lunch.
At the Aptos Ranch of Claus Spreckels, wife and daughter were expected from San Francisco. As the house is closed during the absence of the family the superintendent accompanied by the gardener, took the keys to open and air the house and to have fires started.
In the dining room, they came upon things, in great disorder, jars of fruit, sardine boxes, crackers and other things from the pantry, wine, cigars, etc. from somewhere else, showing the someone recently had a good time there, but found no one. They then went upstairs, and found the chamber doors locked, so they went through the hall window up on the veranda, and as a shudder was loose, they succeeded in opening a window and upon raising the shade, much to their surprise there stood a man.”
To be good, the narration must be continued. More later. Here is a photograph of the summer estate of the Spreckels family in Aptos, which had been located very near the Highway One exit at Rio del Mar. The Aptos polo field and Redwood Village are current nearby markers.
November 1892:
In the previous episode, two employees of the Claus Spreckels summer mansion in Aptos were airing out the house in anticipation of the arrival of the Sugar King’s wife and daughter. They discovered someone had been in the house, eating the master’s sardines, smoking cigars and drinking the vintage wine. Upstairs, they found– not Goldilocks–but a man, near the door, with a pistol in his hand.
He did not shoot. Instead, he opened the door and fled down the stairs, out the front door, over the gate with a bound “and was off for the woods wearing Mr. Spreckels’ best suit and one of his slippers.” The other, noted the Santa Cruz Surf reporter, was left behind in the hallway.
(I know, this has the makings of a fairytale written all over it, doesn’t it?)
On the bedroom floor, the “tramp with aristocratic tendencies” had spread out fine blankets and filled them with treasures from the house. “It was evident he was not ready to leave, having plenty to eat, drink, and wear.”
He didn’t want to go, but his leap over the fence was the last glimpse of him. For a while….
The culprit who jumped the fence fleeing from the Aptos home of Claus Spreckels that afternoon was 22-year-old “Count Ludwig Von Fryenstein.”
Fryenstein wasn’t his real name, but it fit the identity he was creating for himself since he’d arrived from Germany in March 1891. He’d traveled from the Sacramento Valley to Fresno and was now here, making himself comfortable in empty houses of the well-to-do. Heading east from Aptos, he didn’t go far, only three miles to the country home of world traveler August Lilliancrantz, on the Santa Cruz-Watsonville Road.
The “tramp” invited himself in, inspected the pantry, and settled down to enjoy his stay. Finding another suit that might be a better fit to his 5’ 7” stature, he changed again. But that was all Ludwig had time to do before the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Lilliancrantz and the couple’s son, William.
For a second time, a blanket of plunder was recovered, while the housebreaker escaped.
Spreckels offered $300 for the thief’s capture. The constable figured that since he’d entered the homes of two summer estates, there was a good chance that Ludwig was finding his way toward the ranch of Spreckels’ recently deceased brother-in-law, Claus Mangels.
The Mangels house sits along the entrance to the Forest of Nisene Marks. A “posse” of Aptos men, armed with Winchesters and shot guns, found nothing. The reward went unclaimed. However, that’s not the end of the story. More to come…
The photos here are of the Mangels Ranch, of very similar architecture to the Spreckels house on the other side of the village. The black-and-white picture probably dates from the 1920s, while there was a dairy on the property. The color picture is more modern.
President Benjamin Harrison officially established Thanksgiving Day as the fourth Thursday of November in 1892, which that year had been the twenty-fourth. This had been roughly the same time Ludwig was pulling food samples from cupboards of Spreckels and Lilliancrantz in Aptos.
How did he know which houses were to be vacant, and who might be coming for the holiday?
Perhaps in those days, it was easier than we imagine now. The comings and goings of people was an item of interest for everybody in the community, and papers regularly listed who went where, for how long.
So when Ludwig was forced to flee Aptos, he probably caught the train to Santa Cruz. He picked up a paper, rented a room at the Sea Foam Hotel, and browsed the society column. Here was noted that J.P. Smith, owner of the Sunshine Villa (now a retirement home) was vacationing at the Hotel del Coronado.
When Smith returned to Santa Cruz, he discovered an unexpected guest had helped himself to clothing and household odds and ends. Valuable, but not greatly so.
On December 7, Ludwig stepped into the narrow-gauge railroad beach depot and robbed it of “a lot of railroad tickets.” He then got on a broad-gauged train and was acting so suspiciously that he was escorted to the office of Justice Craghill downtown. Railroad employees were summoned but unable at first to give a positive identification of the burglar, although some jewelry was found in Ludwig’s pockets.
This time, he gave name as Ludwig Holcomb. He had a conflicting tale of his train travels but was deemed “a smooth talker” with a trunk that had “plenty of good clothes.”
Unsure, the station agent refused to swear to a complaint and no charges were filed, but a bit later, Ludwig bolted from the office, jumped over a railing and ran. Police Chief Matt Rawle went after him and fired a shot. Holcomb exclaimed, “Oh,” but continued on, leaving his hat behind. He’d also left a pistol with Justice Craghill.
Two days later, the bandit’s hotel room was searched and recovered was a quantity of silverware, fashionable clothing, and the valuables of J.P. Smith. The items had been wrapped in blankets tied with a rope. The knots were sealed with wax.
Shown here is a photo of Sunshine Villa during its later days as the McCray Hotel near the beach in Santa Cruz.
“Champagne taste on a beer budget” is a saying first published in an edition of the weekly Globe-Republican newspaper out of Dodge City, Kansas, in July 1890.
It could’ve been well-applied to Ludwig Holcomb, who had gained something of a following in the news by the time he was captured on December 13, 1892. His discovery in a room closet at the Phelan estate brought to an end a crime spree extending over most of the holiday season.
He’d set up a cozy nest for himself inside a large wardrobe. Attired in Phelan’s oversized pants, Ludwig had wandered throughout the owner’s private apartment, trying on collars, cuffs, and various accoutrements.
His love of perfumery did him in. Ludwig been sampling the toilet soap and then decided, for some reason, to take all the perfumes and colognes and poured them together in one vial.
That was when Louis Doeltz, the talented landscaper of the estate, arrived to air out the cottages, which he had done every few days since the family had left in October. The overpowering stench was a dead giveaway.
“Doeltz was impressed with this peculiar fragrance of the apartments, the strong perfume of cologne seeming to fill the atmosphere,” read the follow up story in the Santa Cruz Surf. The landscaper knew no one on the staff used cologne and was immediately suspicious. He located a rifle and walked to the nearby Santa Cruz Lighthouse, asking the lighthouse keeper Adna Hecox for help. Returning, the two found the closet secured and locked. Hecox got his brother-in-law to watch the door while he and Doeltz went into Santa Cruz for the constable.
Constable S.S. Johnson returned with them and together they used a chisel and axe to break the door open. Inside they found Holcomb, lying on his back with his hands up. He was on a bed made of blankets taken from the rooms. Another story in the Surf detailed that “He had ransacked every room in the house, and taken such articles as he took a fancy to, and had them all handy to make away with…” Among these items were all the ladies and gentlemen’s gloves, a new lawn tennis suit belonging to James D. Phelan, and an odd lot of items that had questionable value.
Holcomb was taken to the Santa Cruz jail and booked, but that’s not quite the end of his story.
Two photographs shown here are the Phelan Estate on land known now as Lighthouse Field. The third photo, bottom right, is the Santa Cruz Lighthouse in that era.
“He has a passion for clothing, but very poor judgement in other matters.” That was one journalist’s summary after the capture of Ludwig D. Holcomb on December 12, 1892. He’d been apprehended at the home of another renowned wealthy homeowner, a place that is known today for the barest remnants of an estate known for its magnificent landscape.
Given a modern description, he was captured at Lighthouse Field.
It was known then as the Phelan Park, the summer estate of the Phelan family of San Francisco. John Leighton Chase, in his Sidewalk Companion to Santa Cruz Architecture, explained that the Phelans acquired the West Cliff Drive site in 1887. James Phelan had made money in the Gold Rush, while his son, James Duval Phelan, would become mayor of San Francisco from 1897 to 1902. He would then serve as U.S. Senator from 1915 to 1921.
When the family acquired the property, they remodeled cottages, hiring a well-known architect to build new structures that included a gazebo with an ocean view. The estate had wide paths filled with sculpture, a saltwater pool, and trees planted by a master landscaper.
Here are a few pictures to show the attractiveness of the grounds so you can see how they might have appealed to the bandit then called “The Wiley Rogue.”
It’s true by the time Ludwig Holcomb surrendered to authorities and was taken to jail in downtown Santa Cruz on December 12, 1892, people were divided about how they felt about the tramp, rascal, robber. Some hoped for his capture. Others could see that he was foolish in a way, a foreigner bumbling his way into a life of haphazard crime. He wasn’t good at it, but he wasn’t stupid, either. Even the authorities admitted he was a “smooth talker,” a charming, convincing, cat burglar with a German accent.
After he was in custody, it was discovered that Ludwig had broken into several other prestigious Santa Cruz houses and at least one store. Further, a sheriff from St. Helena arrived in town, telling of the havoc Ludwig had caused there several months earlier in that town. When he arrested there, the sheriff had believed was firing a pistol at him, but had instead blown off his own hat, saying then that he wanted to kill himself.
Ludwig managed to escape from St. Helena but caused such trouble that the sheriff thought he’d never see him alive again. That was why he’d come to Santa Cruz.
The only solid evidence against Ludwig, though, was the robbery of the railroad station, the break-in and theft at Sunshine Villa, and his presence in the closet at the Phelan estate. To these charges, he confessed since he really had no choice. No other charges were filed.
During his career in crime, Ludwig was thought to be (or described himself) as a count, the illegitimate son of a German baron, a former soldier in the German army, and a boy from a wealthy family who never learned how to make a living on his own.
As he faced trial, it was the last description he clung to the most. He said he’d met someone in his travels who encouraged him to break into the home of the wealthy, because they wouldn’t be put out much other than the inconvenience of having an unplanned guest (who would run off with their pants.)
Given the chance to speak at his trial, Ludwig told how he broke into houses because he couldn’t get a job and didn’t know what else to do. One news report said he told his story “with much blubbering,” asking for leniency because he was young, and wanted to go home. He missed his mother.
As Christmas approached and five days after his capture, Ludwig Holcomb was sentenced to five years in San Quentin State Prison. The judge acknowledged that the young man had confined his crimes to untenanted dwellings and apparently had no thought of committing murder.
After he left town, Holcomb never made headlines in the local news again. No more is known of him, except that he probably did not die in this country. Perhaps, a little older and wiser, he made his way back home.
The Enduring Blaze: A History of the Aptos Fire Department
By John Hibble
Fire, a force both destructive and vital, has always shaped the landscape of Aptos. Long before European settlers arrived, the native people, who were the first to call this place Aptos, understood this. Each autumn, they would consistently burn the coastal plain, ensuring the rainy season ushered in lush grass as a pasture for the abundant game animals.
With the beginning of Aptos Village came a new kind of vulnerability. Wooden structures were a constant invitation to the flames. For years, there was no organized defense, only the desperate, determined efforts of bucket brigades. In May 1896, flames erupted on the mountainside of the railroad tracks, consuming a store, a blacksmith shop, and a saloon. A year later, in March 1897, a devastating fire roared through the south side of town, leaving behind a trail of destruction: Johnson & Co.’s blacksmith shop and livery stable, J. Lopes’ saloon, and James Leonard’s general merchandise store, all reduced to ashes. The wind, a fierce northwest gale, threatened to carry fiery embers to the Live Oak House, but a sudden shift in the wind spared the hotel from a similar fate.
These events spurred action. A volunteer hose company was formed, equipped with a water tank, a hydrant, and 100 feet of two-inch firehose, stored within the rebuilt mercantile building. A fire bell was erected in the town center, its toll signaling the call to arms for the volunteers and residents who would rush to confront the inferno. Success was met with gratitude; donations from grateful building owners rewarded the heroic efforts for those who arrived in time to quell the flames.
The threat, however, remained. December 1898 saw another swath of destruction: a barber shop, a shoe shop, a candy store, a stable, a blacksmith shop, and a dwelling, all succumbed to the insatiable flames. By 1908, a second water hydrant was installed east of Trout Gulch Road. On a June morning in 1918, at the beginning of the summer season, the Live Oak House hotel, previously spared, saw its barroom utterly consumed by fire.
The turning point arrived on January 29, 1926. The generator building of Ralph Mattison’s vinegar plant ignited, a blaze that devoured the structure and threatened the nearby Wikkerink and Dodge packing house. Volunteers battled tirelessly, only to see the packing house reignite three times as the inadequate water supply dwindled. The writing was on the wall: Aptos desperately needed more robust firefighting capabilities. It was then that the local volunteer firemen made a pivotal decision marking a new chapter in the town’s struggle against fire.
They purchased a Locomobile truck chassis, put a body on it and fixed it up to carry ladders, buckets, and 2 chemical fire extinguishers. Initially the truck was kept in a building owned by Paul Johnston which was too small.
Aptos’ first fire truck. Aptos History Museum photo
In 1928, a collective frustration echoed through Aptos: “Enough with the fires!” Joseph Arano, owner of the Bay View Hotel, sensing the community’s urgent need, generously offered land for a dedicated fire equipment storage building for the Aptos Volunteer Fire Department. The Santa Cruz Evening News excitedly reported on January 31st that the first timbers for the new Aptos Fire House were being laid. Charles Horstman and a dedicated group of volunteers diligently constructed the building with materials donated by the Norton Phelps Lumber Company. Once completed, the fire truck was moved across the street to its new home. Aptos was taking steps towards fire safety, boasting over 15 fire hydrants in the village, and the volunteers even hosted a lively dance to raise additional funds for more apparatus.
The call for a more organized fire defense grew louder. Community leaders Homer Day, Ralph Mattison, and Ira Roy Dodge were appointed by the County Board of Supervisors to serve as the district’s first fire commissioners. On December 23rd, 1930, the town voted to approve the formation of the Aptos Fire District, with a resounding 57 votes for and none against. This decision empowered the community to levy taxes to establish and equip a formal fire department. In September of 1931, the newly established department purchased a powerful 1 ½ ton Ford pumper truck, complete with a 325-gallon water tank, a significant upgrade to their firefighting capabilities. Ralph Mattison, a community leader who had helped organize the volunteers and built the first makeshift fire truck, became the first official Fire Chief, a position he would hold with dedication for an impressive 26 years.
However, the growing department soon outgrew its initial quarters. In January of 1936, the building embarked on a journey, being moved from Arano’s property to an adjacent parcel owned by the Southern Pacific Railroad. The rent was $5 per year. The building was rotated 90 degrees and connected to the rear of a spacious new addition, now large enough to comfortably house the two fire trucks. The original building, now at the rear, served a dual purpose: hosting vital meetings to discuss fire protection and even functioning as a polling place for elections, highlighting its importance in the community. Further bolstering their efforts, in April of 1937, the department acquired a Chevrolet gasoline tank truck with an 868-gallon tank, specifically designated to haul water to fires in areas with insufficient water supply.
The department continued to expand its resources. In 1939, another addition was integrated into the building, coinciding with the purchase of a new Indiana Fire Truck, further strengthening their fleet. By April of 1941, instead of merely acquiring a new chassis for the existing tank wagon, the department made a forward-thinking decision to purchase a brand new Ford truck equipped with a rotary pump, showcasing their commitment to modernizing their firefighting capabilities. To ensure prompt notification of emergencies, a siren was erected on a towering structure next to the building.
After the war, the Bay View Hotel was moved 118 feet west to make room for a new hardware store on the corner of Trout Gulch Road and Soquel Drive. That move placed the hotel and the fire house side by side. The building continued to be used as the fire station until 1953 when a new cinder block, fireproof station was built at 8059 Aptos Street, today’s Aptos St. BBQ.
First Firehouse. Aptos History Museum photo
Second Firehouse. Aptos History Museum photo
The most significant Aptos fire happened on March 17, 1963, on St. Patrick’s Day. The Rio Del Mar Hotel, renamed the Aptos Beach Inn & Racquet Club, was hosting a large party for Coast Counties Gas, a forerunner of PG&E. Shortly before midnight, cooks had spotted smoke seeping from the kitchen ceiling around light fixtures, accompanied by “a crackling in the walls”. The fire broke out in the kitchen and spread rapidly. The hotel walls were hollow to hold bootleg liquor which allowed the fire to spread quickly. The alarm was given.
Three hundred guests were evacuated safely. I am told by knowledgeable sources that the manager went from table to table and asked the guests to take their drinks outside temporarily and that the problem would be fixed shortly. After the guests realized that would not be the case, many of them walked down the hill to the Sea Breeze tavern and ordered additional sustenance.
Two firemen suffered serious burns during the desperate fight by eight fire departments in the face of a totally inadequate water supply. All firefighting had to be done from the street side because of the closeness of the rear of the hotel to the edge of the cliff. The famous inn was destroyed.
Aptos Beach Inn & Racquet Club fire, March 17, 1963. Aptos History Museum photo
Having a business next door to the fire department in Aptos Village did not guarantee safety. In mid-February 1964, the Aptos Garage next door was spotted ablaze at about 10:30 a.m. An unidentified woman ran to the nearest grocery, knowing the owner was Aptos Fire Chief Jim Dorea. He alerted the volunteers, who came running, as did everyone else in town. Register-Pajaronian reporter Don Wilson said the best fire department in the world couldn’t extinguish that fire. So little water was available that the first fire pump sucked up all the water in Aptos Village that Saturday.
1964 fire next door to the Fire Station. Aptos History Museum photo
The volunteer organization became professional when the district hired its first full-time employees in 1964. Then, in 1968, a new Station Number 1 was built at 6934 Soquel Drive at the western end of the district. Station Number 2 was constructed at 300 Bonita Drive in Rio Del Mar in 1973, and the Aptos Fire Protection District implemented Santa Cruz County’s first Paramedic Program in 1978 providing lifesaving care before ambulances could arrive and paved the way for other fire districts to follow.
The district committed to a Joint Powers Authority with La Selva Beach Fire Protection District and added Station Number 3 at 312 Estrella Drive in 1985 and consolidated in 1986 providing expanded services to an isolated community. The service area continued to expand over time to include the Day Valley Area, the Spring Valley Area, and extended the eastern boundary.
The district became an all-hazards fire district, providing advanced life support emergency medical services, aquatic rescue, fire suppression in structural, wildland, and the urban interface, and search and rescue services.
The Aptos/La Selva Fire Protection District grew by necessity from volunteers with water buckets to a top quality, professional team, with innovative, forward thinking, leadership.
In 2018, an increased demand on resources lead to a “Consolidation Feasibility Study and Service Review,” with Central Fire of Santa Cruz County. The study found that the shared services agreement with Central Fire had been of benefit to both service areas and both departments would benefit from shared management and firefighters.
The consolidation was finalized and approved by the Local Agency Formation Commission and recorded on February 4th, 2021. The Aptos community understood that the future of emergency and fire protection services would be improved by the merger, but the community was also saddened to lose such an excellent home-grown organization, ending 91 years of Aptos’ own fire department.
August 2025
Roll Camera, and….ACTION!
By John Hibble
Does anyone remember Fractured Flickers on television? It was a series of short comedies pieced together from silent film footage of the same genre as Rocky and Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right. I enjoyed watching them and I was also lucky enough to see re-runs of silent movies on television when I was young. Without sound, silent movies were the opposite of radio where you had sound but no picture. Both radio adventures and silent movies required your personal involvement in the stories. You had to invest your attention and imagination as part of the process in order to fully enjoy the show.
In silent movies, the story line and conversation were written on title cards for the viewer to read. If you did not pay attention, you would lose part of the story. The words on the title cards were painted in white letters on a black background and inserted in the movie at the appropriate time. Part-time local, Alfred Hitchcock, got his start in the movie industry painting title cards. I also remember watching early black and white movies starring local Santa Cruz actress, ZaSu Pitts.
I have found that at least two black and white, silent movies were filmed in Aptos, and I wish we could find a copy to share with everyone. The first was called “The One-Way Trail” starring Edythe Sterling. It was filmed in 1919 and released in 1920. The melodrama takes place in the great northwest of Canada. The bad guy gets the best of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police hero who is chained to a log which is about to go through the sawmill. Sounds like the villain is Snidely Whiplash, right? The heroine saves him in the nick of time. The movie was filmed at the Loma Prieta sawmill and in the forest of today’s Nisene Marks State Park. Scenes were also filmed in Aptos Village on Valencia Street and at the Spreckels Ranch. Several real Royal Canadian Mounted Police were used as extras in the film for authenticity. The attached photographs are from this movie.
Edythe Sterling and Jack Connolly – UCSC Special Collections
Valencia Street, Aptos 1919 – Lucy Hanchett Butler collection
Actor on a high-line log showing the clear-cut damage to the old-growth forest in today’s Nisene Marks State Park. – UCSC Special Collections
The other movie was called “The Dixie Merchant” released in 1926, starring Jack Mulhall and Madge Bellamy. It is the story of a man who is so wrapped up in his racehorse that he neglects his wife and his daughter who move out on him and find romance somewhere else. It all ends well, and they are reunited when the man rides his horse to victory. This movie was filmed on the Spreckels Ranch at a time when Rio Del Mar and Seacliff were just beginning to be developed.
J. Walter, Madge Bellamy, and others. The building in the background is the men’s quarters on the Spreckels Ranch – Aptos History Museum
Jack Mulhall with the Spreckels mansion to his left – Aptos History Museum
Just imagine how priceless the views of our town were in these two movies. If any of you can help us to find copies of these movies or even photographs from them, they would be priceless, (meaning that we could not afford to pay you for them, but we could give you a lifetime membership to the museum). And… CUT.
1/2025