Volume 3, Issue 22
October 25 - November 7, 2001

Rediscovering Broadway

Alex Neth

T his is a journey not of the mind, but of the heart. This is a quest for truth and goodness under clean, unforgiving sodium light. This is one solid stab at fathoming the unfathomable, at rediscovering the familiar, at embracing unexpected strangeness. This is the force of memory. This is, above all, a damn good chance to drink in the afternoon.

This is Broadway. Not the Broadway of Englewood, the Broadway of mini-malls and lush Republicanism. Nor, indeed, the other Broadway heading north of town, all industry and convenience stores. We speak instead of Denver's true heart, an avenue, a small stretch of avenue, as old as the city, fairly teeming. This is a home to artists, junkies, professionals-- even professional junkie artists. The Mayan Theatre, one of our most recognizable and valuable cultural landmarks, lives here. You'll find it right across from The Crypt, which sells a variety of interesting products, i.e. sex toys. There are cute row houses next to biker bars, restaurants that serve food you haven't heard of, abandoned buildings, people practicing their fire-breathing, stashes of valuable junk behind almost every storefront, porn outlets galore, hot nightclubs soaked with the cold sweat of desperation.

There is the creative soul. There are tattoo parlors, funky independent galleries, sexually diverse shops, costume stores, people, young and old, making things. There is the refreshing air of tolerance, a vaguely Bohemian feel. There is a community here, a community unlike any other similar one in Denver-- not the rough-and-tumble of Colfax, but not the plastic paradise of Cherry Creek North. Broadway, from Alameda north to the edge of downtown, is who we are and how we are. Let's walk.

Broadway and 6th Ave. Burger King.

What can you say about any Burger King anywhere? The regular customers are ancient and show up daily. The managers look harried. The staff is always beatifically calm, even when they are being yelled at for taking a long lunch or screwing up someone's Whopper. But this particular outlet is special, not only because it signifies the start of our jaunt, but because it represents its location admirably-- this is definitely a Broadway establishment. Hark to an experience that speaks volumes.

One not-so-long ago afternoon, as a Go-Go representative lunched at this establishment (two cheeseburgers no pickles, medium coke and fries, in case you're compiling a dossier) and perused The Denver Newspaper, said representative was struck by the presence of a man's rectum not 10 inches from his meal.

This was not an elaborate scheme to close the place and collect the insurance money, or some crazy national promotion--" Have it Your Way" sure would take on another meaning-- but was, in fact, the puckered opening of a large gentleman who had thoughtfully cut out that part of his pants. As the man walked by on his way to the counter, he swooshed back and forth for all to see and enjoy. This is Broadway. Have a burger, but be prepared for the consequences.

1959 South Broadway. Flossie McGrew's

The door to Flossie McGrew's opens with a recorded cackle which, even in this Halloween season, is a tad unnerving. This is Denver's most idiosyncratic costume shop, the best place in the area to find a lime-green cheerleader's outfit, terrifyingly large bunny head or self-adhesive chest wig (" For That Macho Look"). It is also a used clothing store of the first variety-- the selection of bowling shirts, striped velour pants and pillbox hats is truly astounding. The old location was two floors and seemingly endless; this new spot is smaller, but nothing was left behind. The result is a dizzyingly full store, each nook and cranny packed with some bauble or other, clothing racks so tall that Barbara Streisand could be buying a nun's habit the next aisle over and you'd never know. But it feels like what it is, which is a labor of love. In particular, Sue Gustafson's love.

"We've been in business for 11 years," Gustafson said. "This is our first Halloween in this location. We used to be on the 1900 block, but we moved one block up here. It took 3 months and $22,000." She laughs at this. It seems clear that the money wasn't as important as the move itself. Her old spot shared a parking lot and next-door neighbor status with a truly awful dive called Nathan's Bar, and to hear her tell the story, Gustafson had to work for whatever respect she got. "Let me just say that I earned this pin," she said, fingering the silver Bitch pendant around her neck. "From having to deal with people defecating on my back stoop. From going in there and facing all of those SSI and ex-bikers. I don't have to have the cops over here anymore." What a difference a block makes. Nathan's is the kind of place that makes bar fans dislike bars, and for a business-woman like Sue Gustafson, the change in scenery is a welcome breath of something that doesn't smell like urine. And the new place, despite having one fewer floor than the old, accommodates her vast stock well. "There definitely isn't the same amount of floor space," she said. "This place has as much, if not more, floor space than the other one. The other place, I had two studios in the basement. The ceilings are also much higher here."

Gustafson is a longtime Broadway business owner. She has owned Grandpa Snazzy's, which specializes in antique hardware and is right next door, for 27 years, and in that time has developed an affection for the street and its residents. "What I like is the talent on Broadway," she said. "There are a lot of very talented people here. A lot of artistic people have an opportunity to do a lot on this street."

She mentions the fact that, down the block, the owner of VooDoo tattooing and piercing, a giant man with a head covered in ink, is planning on opening a puppet café for children. Such incongruity is pure Broadway, a street where the currently purple- haired Gustafson says she never feels unsafe. "I have four standard poodles, and I walk them down the street at any time of the day or night," she said. "Of course, that might be partly because of my hounds."

Whatever it is, it's true-- for a major artery in a relatively big city, Broadway is, in most spots, a remarkably hospitable street. Perhaps it is the collective culture of cre-ativity, or just that the sleazy bars aren't as close together as they are on Colfax. In any case, the sense of community is strong enough to have kept Gustafson in the area for nearly three decades, and strong enough that she wants to open her next project, a year-round haunted house, mere blocks away. "It'll be a really, really fun haunted house," she said. "It'll be scary, but with animation, not people. We have a good cross-section of industry and retail right here. But not any good restaurants. Everything is fast food around here."

Gustafson has clearly had this on her mind for a while. "We need a couple of good home-cookin' restaurants around here," she said. "Call it Fats and Cholesterol. Down-home cookin'. Not walnut bars and granite tile. "I don't think we need $200,000 townhomes. This neighborhood has the money, but they're not going to support that. We need a beer joint, you know? That's what's lacking. An old honky-tonk." Like Nathan's? "Definitely not like Nathan's," she said with a laugh.

To her mind, Broadway, at least this little patch, has only two major problems, one of which is the lack of a quality restaurant. The other is the presence of temporary labor companies, which other neighborhoods have restricted -- specifically, those neighborhoods immediately to the north and south. "My biggest bitch has got to be all these temporary labor places," she said. " We've got between seven and nine of them all squashed in this little area. I don't think it's an asset. I brought it up at a Broadway Development Association meeting, and they told me to 'do an impact study. ' Like I'm going to go to everyone's house and ask them how it affects them negatively to have people defecating in their alley while waiting for the place to open."

Other than that, this area is where Gustafson wants to be, where she has been. Her businesses do well-- the door cackles constantly-- and so does her community. It would be wrong if she didn't feel a little civic pride. "I love Broadway," she said. "We can still kick ass. We can beat 'em all."

1643 South Broadway

A few blocks north. They've been wheeling the guts of the Banyan Market outside for a week. This is how the end looks: people in jeans and old t-shirts carrying away boxes and ice machines, a sad-looking gent offering passerby the opportunity to buy a pair of speakers, presumably on the cheap.

Surrounded by an empty lot, the Banyan Market always looked uncomfortably out of place. Its mission was unclear-- was it a coffee shop? A flower shop? A venue where up-and-coming artists and musicians could display their skills? Evidently, no one else had any idea, either. Now it's gone, its owners supervising the barbalute-like exodus of product. But alas, no Lorax was present to speak for the Banyan, so owner Joan Glover did instead. "We just decided to close it," Glover said. "We're just done doing it. Done trying to do it."

There is nothing like seeing your hopes fail, having your best-laid plans gang aglyne. The small crowd-- owner, help, sad-looking gent--in the shell of the former Banyan Market munched silently on Burger King cheeseburgers and tried to make the best they could of it. "We bought this building seven years ago. It was just time. It's not like some landlord kicked us out," Glover said. "Maybe we'll try again in the future. But not now."

She looks at a pile of public address speakers big enough for the floor of the U. S. Senate. "Do you know anyone who's opening a nightclub?"

742 South Broadway. Griff's Hamburgers.

Hungry yet? Keep going. Griff's Hamburgers looks like a Weinershnitzel from the '70s inside, all oranges and yellows and flowing plastic booths. There are quite a few people here, chowing down on the flaccid fare this place horks out, and the employees are all yelling at each other in Spanish and laughing. This is a burger joint, not one of the chains, and it shows in the general inconsistency-- the fries burgers aren't, and so on-- and vomit-inducing décor. It is dwarfed by the nearby highway, which lends it a kind of street-ready cache.

Still, there's something to be said for the place's singularity. Has anyone ever seen another Griff's Hamburgers anywhere? Of course not (the phone book tells us that there is one on north Wadsworth, but that area is alien and scary to Go-Go), because Griff, who or whatever he/ she/ it might be, knows better than to push the ol' luck. Griff, the mysterious Griff, must be smart enough to know that one namesake burger shack is probably bordering on too many as it is. So Griff lays low, and dishes out more food than you'd expect to more people than you'd expect. And he/she/it runs a tight enough ship that the whole walking- with-your-hole-showing thing is kept to an absolute minimum.

120 South Broadway

There's a joy in walking down the street and chancing upon a new record store. By that, of course, we mean actual vinyl records, the kind that come in record jackets and require a record player to function. There are a few in the Denver area, but they are few indeed. Among them, happily for Broadway dwellers and kids in the know, is Double Entendre Records, run by one Paul Kane. This is a record store like Hammacher Schlemmer is a gift catalog-- the bands Kane represents in his diverse collection range from old school hardcore to bombed-out indie fuzz and all points between. He has managed to float the retail tide for five years, a remarkable achievement for such an unassuming location with such a seemingly specialized clientele.

Kane is happy with his Broadway location. "Broadway's pretty good," Kane said. "One good thing is it's right in the middle of the city. We're easy to get to." And easy to find. Kitty's, Denver's famous porn store, has its south branch directly across the street. "Kitty's is a really good landmark," Kane said. "It's easy to tell people where we are. I pretty much ignore them. They're not going anywhere. Unfortunately."

119 South Broadway

Kitty's is definitely not going anywhere. This is a Denver institution as much as the Capitol Building, as much as Red Rocks. Looking for a little print or video deviance? Find it here, in as seedy an environment as you're likely to come across. But bring money. They charge a dollar for a "browsing fee." Huh? What is this crazy world coming to? The old, stained guys in the overcoats are going to be priced out of the perv biz. Is Kitty's brain trust trying to attract an upscale crowd? What's next, a martini bar? Oxygen masks? Broadway porn doesn't need any bells and whistles, by damn, and it sure shouldn't charge any "browsing fee."

Oh, the inexorable march of progress....

2 South Broadway

Books. Books. More, more, more, books. The rows go on forever here. The print is more than the mind can grasp, the concept too large for contemplation.

Ichabod's Books, with its tall, narrow aisles of volume upon volume, is not actually that large, but the maze-like nature of its interior makes it feel twice its actual size. A careless reader could conceivably get lost in here, and spend the whole day trying to find the exit, only to be greeted time and again by yet another 10-foot shelf of '50s crime novels.

Not only are there books-- beloved bookstores, the cement of any liberal communi-ty such as this one-- but records for a dollar, records made by the Electric Light Orchestra and Burl Ives, records titled things like "Suddenly it's the Hi-Lo's." All for a dollar. They might let you bring in a wheelbarrow. All for a dollar. Dollar. Dollar.

58 North Broadway. The Skylark Lounge.

Drinks. This might just curtail Go-Go's progress northward. Sure, three blocks up you'll find hip hangouts, community hangouts, like the Mayan, and the Hornet, and The Compound. Sure, you'll be able to get freakily subterranean with gear from such edgy spots as The Crypt and Walgreens.

But in the haze of late summer's early evening, settling in for a night, you could do worse than get stuck here. The spirit of Broadway and all that it entails, all of those who embrace and embody it, can be no better expressed than by easy conversation at a nearly empty bar. This is the only way to attempt to plumb any truth from the stopped sink of this world. Two bucks buys you a Pabst off the tap, but if you have the taste for it, there are better beers, microbrews and such.

If you don't have the taste for it, then by all means, come sit next to us. Cheap American is the way to go in all things, and Broadway is emblematic of the best part of America, of our America. Ours is not an America of golf course homes and Aspen vacations, of big-yard-empty-house, of mindless satiety. Ours is an America where a guy in a dress and a girl in Ben Davis can sit down and have a beer wherever they like. Ours is an America where tattooed rockabilly guys and rastafarian women in tall hats can play chess together over coffee in the bookstore.

Ours is also an America where a man can't eat a cheeseburger without coming face-to-ass with an unwashed stranger. But such is the spirit of Broadway, which, from the suburbs to the Mayan, provides our city with a critical dose of flavor and exposed orifices. So let's cheer it roundly, let's celebrate its warts and blemishes along with its flashes of beauty and brilliance. This is who we are, how we are. So let's end the walk while we've got a stool beneath us, hmm?