COFFEE SHOP BEAT

Who Cares About Penny Lane?

By Amy Brouillette, 6-29-05

When owner of Penny Lane coffee shop, Isador Million, revealed to local media this spring he would soon close his doors after 24 years in the art-house coffee biz, unable to afford the raised rent at its prime Pearl Street spot, many thought things would somehow be made right—that good would prevail and the bohemian institution that for many defines Boulder would somehow be spared.

This same thing happened over a decade ago, in 1994: When Penny Lane’s lease ran up, the landlord refused to renew it. Patrons rallied, vigils were held and Million managed to secure a larger space exactly across the street (a perfect dig at the old landlord who clearly wanted a break, visual and otherwise, from Penny Lane's riff-raff). Alan Ginsberg himself, an old Penny Laner and Boulderite, even dedicated the new joint, headlining the poetry reading on opening night.

Not this time. No vigils or last-minute intervention from America’s literati—not yet anyway. Million recently confirmed talks between owners of 1795 Pearl have fizzled: the place will indeed close in late July. This makes Penny Lane the last among a string of old Boulder haunts that have slowly disappeared off a chic new Pearl Street, succumbed to redevelopment and skyrocketing rents that have driven out independent local business—first Dots, then Crystal Market and now Penny Lane.

But Penny Lane’s loss is the most symbolic casualty yet: A hub for hippies, freaks, misfits, travelers, wanderers, poets and musicians—and oh yeah—coffee drinkers, so intricately bound is this place to Boulder’s culture and history the two are virtually indistinguishable. Aside from the slew of known artists, musicians and writers—including Ginsberg and Anne Waldeman—who either eked out their starts here or passed through its doors, the place serves an essential purpose for unknowns wanting to share (for better or worse) their crafts. (But at least it’s not the poser crew of aspiring writers who flock to Trident lounging all afternoon in front of open laptops.)

While its been years since my own Penny Lane days, and I no longer find solace in being stashed away in a back corner at a tiny, wobbly table scribbling out life’s lessons on a napkin or notepad, buzzed on that delicious mix of nicotine and coffee, I for one will miss it.

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