Of all the could-be possibilities, Myron never figured he'd be running his dad's place. But with Barry laid up after angioplasty and Myron's brother and sister busy with their own lives, the family business fell to him. It fell to him to make sure happy hour starts at 7 a.m. To bring business back. To work with the city to improve the neighborhood.
And to jump-start that improvement, Myron figures there's nothing better than a good art opening. If the city wants galleries on Colfax, he'll give 'em one. With a twist. For twenty years, he's been collecting thrift-store art -- some high-end, collection-quality pieces, some paint-by-number Jesuses -- and now he's taking down the Budweiser signs and putting up a minuscule fraction of his collection.
Anthony Camera
The son also rises: Myron Melnick behind the Zephyr's
bar.
Mariachi madness: Barry Melnick has entertained
Zephyr patrons through 56 years and two locations.
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"I wanted to have something maybe everybody could relate to," he says. "I would say art is rather elitist, and I'm part of that. Galleries are very expensive, but if you get in like me, a bottom feeder, you can find some great stuff."
His Five Points studio overflows with treasures. There's a jack-in-the-box collection. A glass collection. A ceramics collection. An industrial-molds collection (America's "true industrial art," he explains). A pinewood derby car collection (our "true folk art"). He has one room he intends to use just for displaying his years of booty. Another room for displaying his own works. A studio space for creating. A bathroom, with even more finds on display, bigger than a New York City apartment. But perhaps most impressive is Chairville, a room in the bowels of the building dedicated to chairs. Floor to ceiling, legs protrude at impossible angles like a mass grave of colors and styles. Some need reupholstering, some need refinishing; eventually, Myron hopes to find them all homes. Part of his business is putting together collections for other people, and selections often come from his vast treasury.
"I took art history in school, and a lot of it was kind of a yawn," says Myron, who has a BFA from CU and an MFA from the University of Minnesota. "But now I use it every day and love it. I don't like to do commissions. I tell my clients, if you want something with real heart and soul, buy the best of what's already out there."
Now he's taking the jewels of his collected twenty years and putting them on display at the Zephyr, trying to bring in a higher-class clientele and give the area more culture. It's not Barry's idea of a bar -- but for now, this is Myron's place. "I'm dealing with a lot of things he neglected," he says. "I've gotta get the train back on track. There's just so much potential. It's just a matter of somebody getting up and doing it."
Hanging in the place of honor at the Zephyr Lounge is a portrait of the King. Most of the beer lights are gone (although the Denver Broncos pennants stayed up), and in their place on the black-and-red-velvet-striped wallpaper is professionally framed thrift-store art. There's "Noble" the steer, bigger than the background scenery ($250); "Cliché," with dogs playing poker ($600); "Trekie Siblings," from the 1970s ($400); "Night on East Colfax," which depicts, Myron thinks, the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception with what looks to be a prostitute walking through the doors ($650). A Gary Sweeney, "Which Way to Aurora," is mounted in the entrance. And surrounding "Elvis" are six paint-by-number Jesuses and two Madonnas -- one of which shudders, ever so slightly, in the wind as the front door opens and closes. Talk about sightings.
The bar is busy but not packed, with much of Denver's older art scene turning out for Myron's opening at the Zephyr on the last Saturday in April. Myron is glad-handing his friends and some patrons who just wandered in off the street, with no idea that they are about to witness East Colfax Avenue's big art revival. Mexican mariachi music plays on the jukebox as people munch trail mix from Styrofoam bowls (the pool table was commandeered as a buffet) and do the art-opening stroll: Step in close, stand back, admire, move on. "Noble" and "Trekie" attract at lot of attention, but the bar buzzes about the moving Mary.
Until Matt O'Neill arrives. This is his big night, his debut as a "country crooner."
By day he's one of Denver's most prominent artists, a painter who's exhibited locally, nationally and even internationally. But tonight he's proving to be multi-talented.
"I think Matt's an incredible craftsman and just incredibly talented," Myron says. "I couldn't think of a better way to have him start his music career than here in the Zephyr. He's always been interested in collecting guitars and singing. Every once in a while, I'll come across a guitar in a thrift store, and he'll come over and buy it and strum a few songs, and it's, like, this guy is incredible."
There's little room for the bandmembers, but they take out a booth and get set up, ready to kick out some Johnny Cash, Hank Williams Sr. and other honky-tonk standards. When Matt starts to sing, the crowd stops talking, pleasantly surprised by his voice. He's good. Unsure of himself at first, but talented.
"It's good to be at the Zephyr," he tells the crowd. "It's good to be anywhere. If Myron's old man saw this, he'd get right out of bed -- 56 years down the tube."
