Look ahead for a grand, white, wooden chapel with steep castle-like towers and pointy roofs, tucked behind palm trees-the Wadsworth Chapel stands out like something from an old storybook.
Alright, history fans and fans of things that creak in the wind, you’re looking at one of LA’s quirkiest survivors-Wadsworth Chapel, a place with personality, secrets, and maybe even a few ghosts, if you believe in that sort of thing. Wadsworth Chapel was built in 1900, when Teddy Roosevelt was president and horseless carriages were just beginning to make noise on Wilshire Boulevard. Back then, imagine soldiers marching past this very spot-this whole area was a home for disabled volunteer soldiers who’d fought in the Civil War. The federal government got the land in 1888, and soon after, the campus sprang up with grand old Victorian buildings to house and care for veterans.
Now, here’s where things get interesting: this is a chapel with not one, but two personalities. The building’s split in half-one side for Catholic services, one for Protestant-all under one roof, separated by a double brick wall, yet sharing the same intricate, fairy tale exterior. Each chapel even has its own pointy tower and belfry-just in case anyone tried to sneak between denominations! This double chapel, designed by J. Lee Burton, once earned the nickname "an intricate little jewel box" and was built out of redwood with a whopping 21 types of windows. Talk about a stained glass convention!
Originally the place was painted in dark earth tones with crisp white trim, and it was part of a campus people called "the most monumental complex of Shingle-style Queen Anne structures ever constructed in LA." Picture the late 1800s: soldiers in uniform gathering inside, sunlight filtering through those varied windows, and the distant clanging of the chapel bell.
But the story takes a turn: in 1955, fire damaged the Protestant half. The Veterans Affairs department didn’t have the funds for a full repair, so since then, the southern balcony has been closed. Then the real drama came with the Sylmar earthquake in 1971-the ground shook, foundations crumbled, and the north bell tower actually pulled away from the building. The chapel doors were locked, and they haven’t opened to the public since. The building has aged, faded, and stood silent, like an old soldier with stories to tell but nobody to listen.
Restoration-at an eye-popping $11.5 million-has been debated for years. After all, it’s a moral issue: fix the chapel, or use the money to help living veterans. So here it stands, the oldest building on Wilshire, waiting for someone to bring it back to life-a fixer-upper that’s seen a century of LA change before its very (stained glass) eyes.
So, next time someone says LA has no history, you can point right here-where two chapels, a lot of history, and probably a couple lost spirits still linger just beneath the white paint.
