Blake Street Tavern went down swinging.
“Just so ya know, it’s cash only, we’re not serving any food,” the burly security guard said as he checked customer IDs at the door.
This was 12:45 on a sunny Thursday afternoon in LoDo, 90 minutes from the first pitch at Coors Field. On Opening Day. The last Opening Day.
On Blake Street Tavern’s Christmas, three days from its funeral, the computer ordering system crashed. Just for old time’s sake.
“Apparently, the software company got told we were leaving the system Thursday,” the guard explained. “We meant next Thursday. They cut us off today.”
During lunch hour. On Opening Day. The last Opening Day.
“I’ve worked here four years. It’s always things going wrong,” bar manager Maureen Hogan laughed as patrons slowly filtered out of the patio and started on the three-block walk to the Rockies game. “If something’s not going wrong, I’m suspicious. It had been going smooth and we’re like, ‘It’s going to be a good day,’ and then Toast (the online ordering system) deactivated our account.”
You need a sense of humor in the restaurant biz. The darker, the better. But it’s dang hard to find while you’re looking at all those walls, all those ghosts, all those memories, and bawling your eyes out.
“I’ve cried four times today,” co-manager Rhiannon Arriaga Mackenzie told me. “And I’m not a crier.”
Opening Day’s usually a celebration at Blake Street, a LoDo institution that’s closing its doors Sunday, about a month after celebrating its 20th anniversary. Thursday felt more like an Irish wake, a glorious trainwreck of laughter, tears, nostalgia and technical snafus.
In other words, it felt like a Thursday.
“(The closing) was a shock because we were doing so well,” Hogan said. “We’re doing better than we’ve ever done. We keep getting better. So it was definitely shock and confusion.”
For Opening Day No. 20, the last Opening Day, the BST crew wore Rockies purple t-shirts with the Blake Street signage on the front and a simple mantra on the back, screened in white:
LONG LIVE BLAKE STREET TAVERN
From the outside, Blake Street looked like a civic colossus. The tavern weathered a recession, a housing bubble and a global pandemic. Was it the numbers? The rent? The crime? The climate? Why now?
“I can’t really answer that,” owner Chris Fuselier replied. “Had some challenges, some personal challenges. But I really can’t get into that.”
The regulars packed the place anyway, some to offer up their last toast.
“We wanted to come and spend one last Opening Day here,” J.D. Easton said ruefully. “We came for dinner (Wednesday) night and yeah, it really hit us, walking away: This is it.”
There were Blake Street babies, too. J.D.’s son Evan has been to every non-pandemic Opening Day at BST since at least 2011. Easton met his wife Karyn here some 17 years ago when they were neighbors at the Ballpark Lofts.
“We used to call it ‘The Cafeteria,’ because that’s where we would go to eat every meal,” Easton laughed. “It was like living in the dorms. BST just became home.”
So much so that Easton designed the exterior signage out front, another LoDo landmark for a generation.
“I’ve met some lifelong friends here,” he said. “You cherish those friendships.”
As if on cue, Arriaga Mackenzie walked up and gave Karyn a hug.
“What are you going to do after BST closes?” Karyn asked.
“I don’t know. Take a break. Leave the restaurant business,” Arriaga Mackenzie replied.
“Good for you.”
“It’s been a long time.”
Nearly 15 years, give or take COVID-19. Since 2007-ish, Arriaga Mackenzie wore every hat at the place. Server. Host. Bartender. Manager. Bar manager. Assistant GM. Co-GM.
She even met her husband here. Ian Arriaga Mackenzie was working the bar while studying for his degree.
“We would close on Friday nights,” she recalled, “and I realized he was actually pretty smart.”
Lock up a building with somebody enough times, you share enough hours, enough scars, one thing leads to another. Co-workers fell in love.
“You’ll have to quit to take me on a date,” Rhiannon told him.
With that, Ian immediately went to his boss to ask for a promotion, knowing what the answer would be. Then he turned in his notice.
Love 1, BST 0.
Seven years and a son later, they’re still married. Henry’s another BST baby.
“I have 85 staffers right now that all feel like children,” Arriaga Mackenzie said. “And so many messages like, ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.’ And, ‘Thank you for being a part of my life.’ And, ‘Thank you for being my first job in Denver.’”
BST staffers even wrote up a little fight song to sing to each other during the grind. Appropriately, they set it to the tune of ‘Where Everybody Knows Your Name,’ better known as the theme from the ‘80s sitcom “Cheers.”
Most of the lyrics aren’t printable in a family newspaper. But the chorus is a keeper:
“’Cause Blake Street Tavern knows your name …
“And they’re always glad you came …
“Losing power for an hour at lunch, your troubles can be insane …
“You wanna be where everybody knows your name.”
Sure enough, at about 1:22 p.m., The online ordering system started working again.
The power always comes back on.
Just not after Monday.
“I hope somebody continues it,” Easton mused, “and somebody else buys it and makes it something else, you know?”
The property owners, Urban Renaissance Group out of Seattle, have plans for the parking lot and the tailgate room next door. Apartments, most likely.
But the building is a historic landmark, and what becomes of the inside, all those walls and all those ghosts, is still up in the air.
In the meantime, since word of the closure got out, old friends have trickled back, former regulars, faces Hogan and Arriaga Mackenzie hadn’t seen for ages.
One Denverite flew in from New York City specifically for one final round. Another popped in last Tuesday from Siesta Key, Fla., just to say goodbye in person.
“You’re lucky,” a gent in a Rockies hat shouted to some female compatriots at the bar. “Lionel Richie’s playing and I’m buying shots for somebody I don’t know.”
Outside and upstairs, the wake rolled on to the sunset. One more tear for the road.
“Yeah,” Fuselier said softly. “I’m gonna cry, too.”
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