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When sun sets, new players take stage

By James B. Meadow, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Published July 28, 2008 at 10:22 p.m.

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Koya Lindberg, right, listens as the sound of Jeff Minter's guitar fills the air in the Greek Theater as the sun sets in Civic Center Park

Darin McGregor © The Rocky

Koya Lindberg, right, listens as the sound of Jeff Minter's guitar fills the air in the Greek Theater as the sun sets in Civic Center Park

Civic Center Blues series

civic center blues
Reporter James Meadow and photographer Darin McGregor spend days and nights at Civic Center to document life at the park in the heart of Denver. Read more stories, view slide shows, and comment on the series.

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Twilight falls, soft as feathers. The sky is half a color. Traffic thrums around Colfax. A sparkly magenta hula hoop leans against a column. A woman in a yellow wool cap, green sweater, black skirt, gray socks and no shoes sleeps sitting up on a bench. Arms folded into each other, as if she's hugging herself. The sound of a fountain grows louder. The Park's breathing slows. A new rhythm emerges.

Listen. Look. It's not what you might imagine.

They sit on the steps of the Greek Theater, playing to an audience of two. He is Jeff Minter. He is 24 and plays the guitar as sweetly as he sings. She is Coya Lindberg. She is 22, with a face and voice of ethereal beauty and slender hands that are knitting a pair of gloves. Open-mike night at Cafe Novo was canceled. So they sit and sing.

"Great park. Every walk of life shows up here," Jeff says.

"Anybody who doesn't think this park is the most fun is crazy," Coya says.

Across the plaza, two BMX bicyclists contemplate whether to hurtle a 10-stair drop.

"Mmm, diligent. You gotta be a baller to do that," says Coya.

They start singing Til the End of the Day. One of Jeff's songs. Memo to Cafe Novo: Thanks for canceling open-mike night.

The last eruptions of gold are dying in the sky behind the City and County Building. Night is starting to awaken faster. If it's looking for the drug dealers, it had better hurry.

Right now there are only two. They are friendly. They are brazen. Three hours earlier, the cops swooped in and busted four dealers. Maybe the word is out. Maybe not. The dealers make a sale and melt into what's left of the light.

This afternoon The Park felt like a rotisserie. Now, it is cool. A breeze saunters by. It snatches up the perfume of the garden flowers. Then it snatches up the hellish stench from one of the portable toilets. The breeze, you think, has a curious sense of humor.

Four benches have become beds to four people, four silhouettes. An ambulance screams down Broadway. The Park's lights have come on, a 195-strong constellation of globes in stationery orbits. Officially, they are luminaires. Their glow makes The Park feel less dangerous. Less feral. But not everywhere.

At the entrance along 14th Avenue, across from the library, only four of 10 luminaires are working. Inside the Greek Theater, it is worse. Darker. Three of eight large lights work. And the cluster of smaller lights? One lonely bulb burns. This could only be good news to the pigeons settled in for the night.

Amirah is 17. She is new to Denver. She is earning money soliciting people to sign petitions, but business is slow. Silhouettes do not sign petitions.

Amirah leaves as others arrive. Here comes a thin man weaving through The Park. He is drunk. He is talking out loud. He pirouettes and stares. He puts his hands on his hips and plays the coquette. He sizes up what he sees. He is looking to exchange love for money. He moves on. Apparently he does not like what he sees.

Jonathan Biggerstaff does not mind being rejected. Today is his 21st birthday and he is celebrating part of it with Austin, his Dalmatian. He is brand new to Denver and doesn't know many people. He likes coming to The Park at night. He says it feels safer now then during the day. He says, "I don't feel in any danger."

Neither does the boy who dawdles behind the two women who walk through the night. He stops. Tries to climb the statue called On The War Trail. He cannot.

Much more successful are Eli Menendez, 29, and Martha Alvarez. Eli lives in Denver, Martha is visiting from Dallas. They take turns scaling the Christopher Columbus statue, mimicking its arms- wide-open pose. They laugh and take photos of each other. Eli is OK coming here at night "for the most part." But he doesn't go to a lot of areas in The Park, "Unless I'm with someone else."

All by himself is Nathan Waller. He sits under several luminaires on a bench near the flowers. He is writing down original song lyrics on a notepad. The Park at night is a good place to go and think. "It's kind of my front yard," he says. "It's good to be outside."

It is 10:52 p.m. Eight minutes until The Park closes.The internal alarm clocks of the sleeping silhouettes have gone off. The benches are now empty.

A fire engine wails. It throws its flashing lights across the shadows. Within those shadows, an old man in a wheelchair rolls past the spitting statues in the Seal Pond.

It is 11:49 p.m. Nearly an hour past closing. Two men sit on the steps near the pond. A police car - the first tonight - navigates the sidewalks of The Park, headlights off. It passes the men. The driver waves. He doesn't stop.

Midnight comes and goes. So do stray shadows. The hula hoop still leans against a stone column. Another ambulance screams by. The Park doesn't seem to notice. It is sleeping. Arms folded into each other. As if it's hugging itself.

Comments

  • July 29, 2008

    1:39 a.m.

    Suggest removal

    SL10 writes:

    *Yawns*

  • July 29, 2008

    7:29 a.m.

    Suggest removal

    BlueSled writes:

    What's next? A series about Curtis Park and how many people get shot there every week?

  • July 29, 2008

    9:41 a.m.

    Suggest removal

    CWW writes:

    What is the point of these stories???

  • July 29, 2008

    8:08 p.m.

    Suggest removal

    warrengfunk7 writes:

    I agree, that's a nice set of legs.