But in the face of recent economic struggles, the 77-year-old Million has found it harder to keep the place up to standards. After his landlord demanded a large rent increase, Million decided that the establishment will close next month. Many Boulderites are dismayed over the loss of the landmark, which was home to readings by Allen Ginsberg and early performances by the likes of Nirvana and Jewel. Located on the outskirts of eastern Pearl Street, Penny Lane has long held a quirky, edge-of-town reputation in the city's coffee-shop culture. The comfortable space, with sunlight streaming in through its large windows, attracts not only the college kids and hippies found in the People's Republic, but a mix of outcasts including runaway teens, poker-faced lesbians, homeless crazies, anemic vegans, radical new-agers, Buddhists from breakaway sects, street performers, and random old guys who just want to talk. Over the decades, these habitués have come to regard each other as one big, strange, extended family.
And now the family needs to say goodbye. So the faithful are throwing a Farewell to Penny Lane concert on Saturday, June 25, to send off the venerable institution in style and into myth. The free gathering will feature music by local musicians Bill Sell, Robert "Redeye" Cooper and the group Big Mama Fitzgerald. It's a must for anyone who wants to get one last great cup of coffee -- or at least jump off the grid while the jumping's still good.
I'll bring my extensive memories. After all, I've been attending the Lane's notorious open-mike poetry readings since I was in high school. Hosted by Beat Bookstore owner Tom Peters, those nights were often eye-popping: It wasn't unusual to see some dude whip it out on stage to symbolize the military-industrial complex, or catch an avant-garde performance by a shrieking, wild-eyed Anne Waldman. Being unfashionably offbeat was simply de rigueur on the corner of 18th and Pearl, and I was continually enamored of the scene. Fortunately, yuppies seemed to steer clear of the shop, even as high-end restaurants and boutiques began to infiltrate the area.
Despite having no real food-service experience when I applied for the barista position, I was hired. And after a few months on the job, I came to recognize the hard-core regulars and their quirks, which made me joke that we were running more of a halfway house than a business. Some of the customers would spend practically all day, every day, out on the patio, chain-smoking American Spirits and drinking cup after cup of espresso until I had to kick them out, around 1 a.m. My final shift at Penny Lane came in early 2003.
And while I moved on, one thing that can't be denied is that the place was a constant for all the gypsies, poets, train-hoppers and scruffy musicians who still held tight to a time in Boulder's recent past when the offbeat wasn't so weird. No matter how far one traveled, geographically or otherwise, Penny Lane was always there when you landed.
Thanks a Million.
