By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
By Michael Roberts
By Melanie Asmar
Crown prince: Thank you for "American Ace," Jessica Centers's July 13 story on Russell Enloe. Broadway will never be the same without him. He had a smile that brightened the room and a personality to match. He was a dear friend, and he will be missed by many! I see Russell every day as I walk through my home, as I have so many little "purchases" from Crown and Aces.
Though our friendship was brief compared to the others who have written and mused on this man and his "large and colorful" life, he made an impact on me that will never be forgotten.
With friends like these...:I read with dismay the article about the death of my friend Russell Enloe, and felt compelled to write. The first thing that occurred to me about those quoted in the piece was, "With friends like that, who needs enemies?"
I'd eaten breakfast at the Breakfast King with Russell a couple of days before he passed away. He looked good, and although he spoke of his disappointment in closing Crown, he was upbeat about opening his new store, his plans for putting out a line of modern furniture, his "great" girl and the hard work he'd been doing now that his leg injury was well on the mend. He certainly wasn't the crippled-up old man the article paints him to be! On the contrary, he said he was changing doctors on Friday and getting help for the stress he'd been feeling over closing his "baby," the store. Russell and I had been good friends for twenty years, since our young days as admirers of good furniture and fine clothes and friendly bidding competitors at lots of auctions, and even though I hadn't bumped into him for a year, it was obvious to me that morning that he was in better health than he'd been in April of last year.
I knew Russell had used coke, like so many creative and dynamic people we knew, but he had five years of being clean and sober under his belt, and he was really proud of that. If Russell fell in that hole again in the midst of his troubles, I sure as hell don't hold it against him. I'm only regretful that I didn't see something as we talked over our eggs. I know he would have been devastated that people he had treated so well over the years would have gone to a reporter to smear his reputation. I will instead remember a man with boundless energy, a dedicated and hard worker and the most creative and talented guy I ever had the privilege to know.
I have to ask why Westword, having chronicled Russell's successes over the years, chose to publish such an ugly epitaph? Jessica Centers should find a job writing for The Star, and I hope Russell's disloyal employees and "friends," the Coopers, can live with themselves knowing Russell would be deeply hurt by their willingness to spread malicious gossip and low innuendo. No doubt it would have killed any feelings he had for them, and anyone who knew this generous and decent guy knows he deserved better.
A date with destiny:Regarding Jessica Centers's "A Different Kind of Lair," in the July 13 issue:
Matt Buschbacher's career move from white supremacist to pick-up artist coach is no surprise. These two kinds of sleazeballs have a lot in common: an unfounded superiority complex, a lust to dominate, underhanded psychological manipulations, a charismatic appeal to losers who blame others for their failures, a disingenuous explanation of their profession's noble, lofty goals, and an amusing blindness to how pathetic they appear to normal people.
Don't join the club:I have been both disappointed and amused to see Westword morph over the years from a local weekly appealing to a broad array of Denver readers to what is now a paper that recognizes as its readership only a narrow category of club-going semi-illiterates who need to either join a how-to group to get laid or, better, travel to southeast Asia to buy the sort of satisfaction that just can't be found on domestic soil. Westword has become a bizarre, badly written sham that markets itself as some sort of hip, progressive, local voice of the zeitgeist but is in reality nothing more than a glossy, shiny, chain-owned string of advertisements and empty nonsense.
A mere sham, of course, merits no comment. What does deserve remark is your stunning lack of integrity, research ability and, frankly, moral grounding in your June 1 "Game On" story on Matt Buschbacher, ladies' man (and Hitler-lover). A front-page article on the desperate maneuvers of a sad little group of men who need therapy more than they need a date is certainly a pathetic excuse for journalism, but that the "leader" is a white supremacist ("A Different Kind of Lair," July 13) reveals Westword to be in far worse straits than I had imagined possible.
Congratulations, Westword: You evolved with this story from simply promoting the immature and uninteresting antics of a few hapless losers to giving, gratis, a huge ad campaign to a fucking Nazi.