Six Things That Make Highland Residents Really, Really Mad

Two mainstays of Lower Highland: Hand-crafted ice cream and old funeral parlors turned into trendy restaurants.
Two mainstays of Lower Highland: Hand-crafted ice cream and old funeral parlors turned into trendy restaurants.
vxla at Flickr

After ticking off seven things that ruffle the super-preened feathers of some Stapleton residents, we decided to take on another one of Denver’s vaunted neighborhoods: Highland.

I lived in Highland (aka "the Highlands") for about a decade, from the late '90s through 2008, and in that time it changed a lot. Lower Highland became LoHi, with a giant milk can as a landmark. The comic book store that a friend owned on Tennyson Street struggled in the early part of the 2000s, holding on for the renaissance that would, for that store, come too late. The vacuum store became an organic Greek place, the Safeway upgraded itself, and Billy’s Inn went from dive-bar watering hole to well-lit trendy bistro. And the houses all over just kept escalating in price. These days, Highland is just another neighborhood in the Denver core that has priced itself out of the market that gave it its boom times — and for some residents, that's engendered rage issues unique to this corner of the city.

If you don't care for a specific business in the Highlands, wait a few minutes — it might just change.
If you don't care for a specific business in the Highlands, wait a few minutes — it might just change.
Bradley Gordon at Flickr

6. The Focus on West 32nd Avenue
Back in the day, 32nd and Lowell (aka Highlands Square) was the heart of the resurgence — but it hasn’t been the only Highland heart for a while now. Sure, it’s still got its share of go-to places (West Side Books, Mead St. Station, Mondo Vino), but it’s lost a lot of the locales that made it what it was: Common Grounds moved to Sunnyside, Heidi’s Brooklyn Deli vacated the Highlands completely, and Bang! closed its doors just last year. The changes make sense, in terms of how the Highland gentrification has spread from this starting spot: To the west, the Tennyson corridor has exploded over the past decade, as has LoHi to the east. Today, Sunnyside on the northern edge is in the early stages of doing the same thing. The Highland neighborhood can no longer be identified by a single intersection — despite the fact that some people still try.

Zoning is the devil's work.
Zoning is the devil's work.
Anthony Camera

5. Zoning Woes
While Highland has welcomed most of its redevelopment over the past twenty years (sometimes to an arguable fault), there are some projects that still get residents up in arms — or at least provoke them to put out a sternly worded yard sign. On 38th and Wolff, a new high-speed car wash has locals complaining about increased traffic and pollution issues, fighting the in-place zoning that currently allows such a business to open. A similar battle is being waged farther down Speer Boulevard, where Emmaus Lutheran Church is working to build a medical facility in place of shuttered school buildings, and running into similar contention from residents worried about traffic, parking and related woes. Growing pains suck, sure, but when your house triples in value over the course of a decade, it’s understandable that the rest of the city might find it tough to muster a lot of sympathy. 

Whistler's Mother didn't really care for the soup at that place on 38th, and she's going to make sure everybody knows.
Whistler's Mother didn't really care for the soup at that place on 38th, and she's going to make sure everybody knows.
Mike Licht at Flickr

4. Crossing the Highlands Mommies
It might have started with a “baby seeking baby for a play date” note posted to the community board at Common Grounds (or so goes the story), but it’s called the Highlands Mafia now, paisan. Not that you’d say that to the face of these mothers — it’s just the nickname people apply to the influence-heavy ladies of Highland who can shutter a local business with little more than a snarky comment posted to the right people. It deserves mentioning that They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named also do some good in the community, connecting parents and kids in a pseudo-informal network throughout northwest Denver, but their sway is considerable, and their protests to the contrary somewhat hollow. If you’re on their good side, you’ll find support and advice and companionship. If not, it’s “Leave the car seat. Take the organic cannoli.”


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