BOTTOMS UP!

On the corner of 15th and Platte in Denver's Highland neighborhood, there is nothing to alert you to the presence of history. A humble, one-story tavern stands on the southwest corner of the intersection, just as it has for over a century. There are no signs, no banners or neon. Just a squat building from a simpler architectural era, when side-walk- length picture windows were as natural as hitching posts. Surrounded by new construction and flashy neighbors, this tiny signless joint barely exists to the eye; if you didn't know it was there, you might walk right past. Welcome to My Brother's Bar, one of the rough jewels in Denver's cultural crown.

Long before Jim and Angelo Karagas bought the property in 1970 and gave it the name it still bears, the southwest corner of 15th and Platte had a reputation as a hangout, a holdout, the kind of place you could get a drink and a bite.

In 1873, Maria Anna and Angelo Capelli opened a red-brick saloon and boarding house on the site that catered to the Italian immigrants flocking to the South Platte's bottomlands. Known as the Highland House, the Capellis ran it until 1907, when it was purchased by the Schlitz Brewing Company. In years to come, the structure would house Whitie's Restaurant, The Platte Bar, and Paul's Place.

In the '40s and '50s, Paul's Place became a favorite hangout for young Bohemians, including Jack Kerouac and his friend Neal Cassady, a Denver native who would later become immortalized as Dean Moriarty in Kerouac's beat classic On The Road. A letter from Cassady to his truant officer still hangs by the bathroom today-- in it, he asks a friend to drop by and pay his outstanding tab, "probably three or four dollars."

The interior of the bar remains mostly unchanged since the days of beats gone by. The floor is dark lacquered wood, scuffed by the boots of thousands of tipsy Denverites. The ancient bar is high and tight, Old West style. The blood-rust plaster and metal walls glow a real red when the morning light hits them through the huge, eastfacing picture window. There are no lights on during the day-- the sun provides ample illumination until the early evening.

The night crowd is mellow, quiet. A man who could have modeled the character of Gandalf in Ralph Bakshi's animated Lord of the Rings plays a silent game of chess with the bartender, sips ale from an ornate beer stein, and puffs on a curved-stem pipe. A few groups of people sit at the tables near the wall, under oil paintings of deceased members of the Denver Symphony. A few are eating the no-frills burgers: waxed paper, all sides extra.

Brenda Writer has worked here as a waitress for nine years. She's no stranger to the quiet of the evening. "We get lots of people in here writing," she said. "It's the kind of place where people feel comfortable."

Tony Thompson is one of those people. By this point, he should be. "I've been coming here for 21 years now," Thompson said. "This bar has been there for me. I'm a very rich man because of this bar."

He's not kidding. Twelve years ago, Thompson bought a house in the Highland area in order to be closer to his favorite watering hole. He paid $33,000. It was appraised last year at nearly ten times that amount. "There's no way I could afford my own house, now," Thompson said, shaking his head. "It's gotten out of hand. It's all been since Coors Field was built." He gestures out the window, into the blackness. "Used to be that you could sit here and see the whole skyline. Not anymore. Now it's all under construction."

Thompson has been a patron of My Brother's since he first walked off an Amtrak train in 1979, suitcases in hand, fresh out of Springfield, Illinois. Without a friend in the city, he wandered down the block from Union Station and into Jim and Angelo Karagas's other establishment, The Wazee Supper Club. "That was the start of my relationship with the brothers," Thompson said. "I met Angelo there. They've been nothing but good to me over the years."

Angelo Karagas died in 1996, leaving Jim alone to run the businesses. He sold The Wazee to John Hickenlooper, owner of The Wynkoop Brewery, and concentrated solely on the management of My Brother's. But Thompson fears what might happen when Jim goes to the great taproom in the sky.

"Jim loves this place. But when he's gone, what's going to happen to it? He's got a daughter, but she lives in Holland. His family doesn't want this place. Who will keep it going?"

There is no immediate answer. But the muted red walls and the barely audible classical music trickling from the speakers speak of continuity. When Jim Karagas dies, so might My Brother's Bar, but don't count on it. The corner of 15th and Platte has seen plenty of bars and people come and go over the years. Outside, in the Arctic night, ghosts of steam rise from the Platte. Their transparency belies their permanence, a lesson that not everything must change with the price of real estate.