Audio By Carbonatix
Mayor Hickenlooper, I believe I speak for all of Park Hill when I say bienvenue, bienvenidos and welkommen to the neighborhood. And while I understand full well that your reported move to the tree-filled east Denver nook that so lovingly reared me is not yet definite, I choose to ignore that and accept that it will be so. That’s how excited I am to have you in Park Hill. Besides, if The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance has taught me anything, it’s that when the legend becomes fact, print the legend. So let’s move forward accordingly, Hick, and assume that you are Park Hill’s newest asset. Welcome. But before you move in, there are some things you should probably know about the place. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to be your guide into this new and exciting world. For while Park Hill is an infinitely accessible burg, it always helps to know a native.
First things first: Your son, Teddy, is going to want to go to Dardano’s School of Gymnastics on Kearney Street — and don’t flip out when he asks to sign up. Yes, many a first-time Park Hill father has raised a curious eyebrow when his young son looks him square in the eye and informs him that he would like to do gymnastics, but it’s not gay! It’s a Park Hill rite of passage! Every kid in the neighborhood goes to Dardano’s, jumps on the trampoline, leaps into the enormous central pit full of foam cubes, frolics about on the pommel horse and generally just has a rip-roaring good time. But if Teddy’s affinity for the place persists beyond the age of eleven, get him the hell out of there and sign him up for summer baseball. It’s only cute for so long.
Now, with summer baseball, you’re going to want to go CYRA — aka Christian Youth Recreation Association. It’s not as creepy as it sounds. Some of the parents can be pretty ugly — when I was a boy, we went undefeated for the entire season, yet this prick of a guy checked over our scorecards and figured out that there was one game when we only played one player for an inning as opposed to the required two, then reported us to the league, making us take third place, despite having never lost a game — but the league’s not super-Christian or anything. Obviously, once Teddy gets better at ball, you’ll ship him out to the suburban leagues, since that’s where the competition is, but don’t hesitate to give CYRA a go for a few years first. A lot of good ballplayers have come out of that league.
Looking for a good time in Park Hill? Let me recommend the annual Montview Carnival. It’s at the Presbyterian church on Dahlia Street — the future, if temporary, home of the Gathering Place — and let me tell you, Hick, it is a blast. They have this thing called a cakewalk that will knock your mayoral socks right the fuck off. They draw a chalk circle on the ground and then number portions inside it into a cylindrical sort of hopscotch. Then they play music and you walk around the circle, moving from number to number, and when the music stops, you stay right where you are. Someone calls out a number over a microphone, and if you’re standing on that number, you win a cake! No, I’m not making this up. You can also win goldfish at the carnival, but be wary of that. These fish die real soon after you take them home. If you get one, make sure Teddy’s ready to have that conversation about death. I sure wasn’t.
Turtle Park, at 23rd Avenue and Dahlia, is a continuing joy. As a young boy, I’d ride my bike up there to swing on the swings and play on the cement turtle. Now I enjoy driving by and peeping at all the MILFs. Boy howdy, Hick, Park Hill’s good for that! In that same strip you’ll find Spinelli’s Market, where you will no doubt enjoy many a sandwich — or, as I like to refer to them, Spinelli Man Sans.
God, there’s so much more to tell you! If only there were more time. Tell you what: Anytime you want to know something about Park Hill, my door is always open, my phone is always on. You’re a smart man with a lovely family, so I’m sure you’ll do fine. But there is one thing you really ought to know: You are not the first mayor to live among us. We had one before you — Federico Peña, the man who invented the highway to the airport. And here’s the thing: On Halloween, he gave out king-sized candy bars. So come October 31, have your people plan accordingly, Hickenlooper. Anything less would be uncivilized.
