One doesn't have to spend
much time in Denver Colorado before one hears from someone "Colfax
Avenue is Baaad-Stay away from Colfax",and I guess if a person lacks a
sense of adventure,one would avoid Colfax.
For those who have never been to Denver,Colfax is the longest street in the US,stretching from West to East. Depending on where you were,the landscape would be punctuated with used car dealerships,dive bars,porn shops,and transient motels. While there are not as many today as there once was,there are still enough there to give a person a sense of its history,and now numerous medical marijuana dispensaries can be found on the street.
When I first arrived in Denver back in 1980,I was told to stay away from Colfax,so naturally I found myself on the street often. Most of my time there,I lived in the Capitol Hill neighborhood,just blocks away from Colfax,and while like in most urban areas one watches the surroundings carefully,I cant say my experiences were negative on Colfax. I met one of my closest friends,Thomas Behler,on the infamous #15 Colfax Avenue bus line. Had coffee with the late radio talk show host Alan Berg at the White Spot Restaurant which used to sit near the corner of Colfax and Colorado Boulevard,and life took a positive turn based on an encounter that took place on Colfax Avenue.
As would often be the case when I was bored,short on funds,and restless,I'd hop on the #15 Bus just to view the sights on Colfax.On many a night,the entertainment was better than that on TV. Some evenings I'd take the 15 way out East to Aurora then turn around and head back to Capitol Hill,but on this particular evening I didn't venture far from Capitol Hill..got off the bus and went inside of a bar called Goodfriends. I started to drink my beer when I recognized also sitting at the bar was John Coit.
John Coit was a columnist for the now defunct Rocky Mountain News in Denver. John was a special writer. While some columnists would try to act as intellectual giants of some sort,John would speak to the heart. John had a unique way of speaking to the humanity of the situation and would do so whether he was in a gathering of movers and shakers or was hanging with street hobos as they prepared to hop the railroad. Readers of the Rocky Mountain News felt as if they knew him as he'd also write about his marriages, child custody issues,and the fact that loved to follow the Grateful Dead.
John Coit was a columnist,but I loved his writings almost as much as that of Richard Brautigan's If you know how much I love Brautigan,you know I'm saying a lot I never got to meet Brautigan,but here I was in the same bar as John Coit! I was not going to leave the bar without saying something to him,but I wasn't going to be a fawner either. 3 quarters of my beer was downed before I asked him "Shouldn't you be finishing your column about now?" Coit replied "Fuck you man! Come over here!" I thought I was about to be chewed out by the man,but rather he bought me another beer,and began venting about a column that was approaching deadline,but he was finding himself stuck. I knew something about being stuck. I had written essays,short stories and poetry throughout high school and college,but by the time of our meeting at Goodfriends,all that seemed like a distant memory.Life was seemingly all about survival now.
I wanted John to feel better about his situation,so I shared how I was stuck. He would have none of it and instead shared these words. He said "I don't care what you're doing now.You are not going to be happy till you start writing again. Nothing is going to work till you do it." I didn't have to take the bus home that night. After finishing our beers,John Coit took me back to my Downing Street apartment,but not until after a high speed drive which first had us speeding through City Park then backtracking circling around Cheesman Park. How we never got pulled over by the cops beats me. John finished his column and a few days later,I bought a notebook. Last I checked,I still have the writings that came from that meeting.
Though I saw John Coit once after that meeting,I never told him I picked up a notebook. We were both at another Colfax Avenue institution,Smileys Laundromat then,making sure our clothes weren't getting swiped,and like anyone else in Denver at the time,singing the praises of the Denver Broncos.
A year or so later,John Coit was dead.Victim of a heart attack at age 38.
It took a few years after our Colfax encounter before I began writing in earnest again,but you know? Life did get better when I did.
Thanks John,and to all those who would want to criticize Colfax Ave. Fuck You.
A sidenote: Shortly after his death,the Rocky Mountain News published a collection of John Coit columns. If I have anything resembling a Christmas tradition,it is reading Coit's Christmas column. Some 25 years after it was published,it still brings tears to my eyes
For those who have never been to Denver,Colfax is the longest street in the US,stretching from West to East. Depending on where you were,the landscape would be punctuated with used car dealerships,dive bars,porn shops,and transient motels. While there are not as many today as there once was,there are still enough there to give a person a sense of its history,and now numerous medical marijuana dispensaries can be found on the street.
When I first arrived in Denver back in 1980,I was told to stay away from Colfax,so naturally I found myself on the street often. Most of my time there,I lived in the Capitol Hill neighborhood,just blocks away from Colfax,and while like in most urban areas one watches the surroundings carefully,I cant say my experiences were negative on Colfax. I met one of my closest friends,Thomas Behler,on the infamous #15 Colfax Avenue bus line. Had coffee with the late radio talk show host Alan Berg at the White Spot Restaurant which used to sit near the corner of Colfax and Colorado Boulevard,and life took a positive turn based on an encounter that took place on Colfax Avenue.
As would often be the case when I was bored,short on funds,and restless,I'd hop on the #15 Bus just to view the sights on Colfax.On many a night,the entertainment was better than that on TV. Some evenings I'd take the 15 way out East to Aurora then turn around and head back to Capitol Hill,but on this particular evening I didn't venture far from Capitol Hill..got off the bus and went inside of a bar called Goodfriends. I started to drink my beer when I recognized also sitting at the bar was John Coit.
John Coit was a columnist for the now defunct Rocky Mountain News in Denver. John was a special writer. While some columnists would try to act as intellectual giants of some sort,John would speak to the heart. John had a unique way of speaking to the humanity of the situation and would do so whether he was in a gathering of movers and shakers or was hanging with street hobos as they prepared to hop the railroad. Readers of the Rocky Mountain News felt as if they knew him as he'd also write about his marriages, child custody issues,and the fact that loved to follow the Grateful Dead.
John Coit was a columnist,but I loved his writings almost as much as that of Richard Brautigan's If you know how much I love Brautigan,you know I'm saying a lot I never got to meet Brautigan,but here I was in the same bar as John Coit! I was not going to leave the bar without saying something to him,but I wasn't going to be a fawner either. 3 quarters of my beer was downed before I asked him "Shouldn't you be finishing your column about now?" Coit replied "Fuck you man! Come over here!" I thought I was about to be chewed out by the man,but rather he bought me another beer,and began venting about a column that was approaching deadline,but he was finding himself stuck. I knew something about being stuck. I had written essays,short stories and poetry throughout high school and college,but by the time of our meeting at Goodfriends,all that seemed like a distant memory.Life was seemingly all about survival now.
I wanted John to feel better about his situation,so I shared how I was stuck. He would have none of it and instead shared these words. He said "I don't care what you're doing now.You are not going to be happy till you start writing again. Nothing is going to work till you do it." I didn't have to take the bus home that night. After finishing our beers,John Coit took me back to my Downing Street apartment,but not until after a high speed drive which first had us speeding through City Park then backtracking circling around Cheesman Park. How we never got pulled over by the cops beats me. John finished his column and a few days later,I bought a notebook. Last I checked,I still have the writings that came from that meeting.
Though I saw John Coit once after that meeting,I never told him I picked up a notebook. We were both at another Colfax Avenue institution,Smileys Laundromat then,making sure our clothes weren't getting swiped,and like anyone else in Denver at the time,singing the praises of the Denver Broncos.
A year or so later,John Coit was dead.Victim of a heart attack at age 38.
It took a few years after our Colfax encounter before I began writing in earnest again,but you know? Life did get better when I did.
Thanks John,and to all those who would want to criticize Colfax Ave. Fuck You.
A sidenote: Shortly after his death,the Rocky Mountain News published a collection of John Coit columns. If I have anything resembling a Christmas tradition,it is reading Coit's Christmas column. Some 25 years after it was published,it still brings tears to my eyes
