The Buzz: Bar evokes air of nostalgia

By Dave Flomberg, Rocky Mountain News

Friday, March 28, 2008

It's a warm night in late March.

I've got the window open as I pull up directly in front of the Berkeley Inn and kill the engine. There's plenty of parking on the street. It's a Monday night, I figure, the joint's probably dead.

I pull open the bar's door and am greeted by a blast of warm air and the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. My eyes tear up for a moment, completely unaccustomed to the sensation. Smoking bars are pretty much a thing of the past in the Mile High, so the very few that are left (thanks to a cigar-bar exemption) have become popular safe havens for those who yearn for days gone by, butts in mouths and yellowing teeth be damned. The place, as it turns out, is busy after all.

I belly up next to Shirley Sena, the day bartender who has just wrapped up her shift. We're sitting pretty much at the middle of the long bar, which occupies most of the north wall of the building in northwest Denver. It's a shotgun space that, save for the Internet jukebox, a couple of flat-screen TVs and the video bowling game, could exist as a snapshot in a photo album from any of the last four or five decades.

There are two pool tables in the back, a maze of tables and chairs breaking up the rest of the space and liquor-themed knickknackery on the walls.

On the wall behind me is a collection of photos of servicemen (and a woman or two) in uniform. At first glance, I assume they're sons (and daughters) of regulars, serving the country overseas.

"Those are all regulars," Shirley says. We step over to the pictures. I look closer and realize they pretty much cover the span of wars dating back to the one that ended just before the bar opened in 1946. Shirley speaks with pride, naming off each one of the men in uniform as though they're her family members.

In a joint like the Berkeley Inn, that's probably a pretty accurate take. Shirley knows everyone in the bar right now. Over there sits a couple, one of whom's parents brew Orale beer, which the Berkeley serves on tap. Shirley talks about John, who just walked out of the bar a few moments ago.

"Every day, he's here right at 5 o'clock, like clockwork. You could set your watch to him. He sits in the same spot, drinks the same thing and plays the same country set on the jukebox. Every day."

She casts a watchful eye at Jeremiah Wardrip, the new night bartender, who's on his fifth shift. He works Tuesdays and Sundays and is filling in tonight. His plaid shirt is already soaked in beer and he's working up a sweat. He handles himself like a pro, though, smiling at the drunk sitting on my other side who just tipped him a fourth as much as the young woman who tips a five-spot on three bottles of Miller. It's obvious he's done this before.

Shirley continues talking about the bar, the occasional fish fries, the holiday parties, the poker runs for the bikers ("but they're friendly bikers," she says).

She points at a small wooden keg sitting on the bar. "Harold (Kimble, the owner of the Berkeley) makes his own tequila." My interest is piqued and Jeremiah squeezes out the last few drops of the batch. It tastes surprisingly good. A trace of sweetness underlying a smooth tequila palate. Soon enough, Shirley heads out, and I chat with Jeremiah, while watching the Nuggets on TV. I cave in and buy a cigar, the first one I've had in years. It goes well with my Dewar's and soda, and I make a mental note to try one with some decent scotch later on.

As I make my way back home, I decide the only problem with the Berkeley Inn is that it's on the other side of town from where I live. Although, considering what that would do to my dry-cleaning bill, that's probably a good thing.

Berkeley Inn

3834 Tennyson St.

* Happy hour 4 to 7 p.m. Monday-Friday, two-for-one on your first round

* $1.50 cans of PBR every day, all day

* $1.25 PBR draughts Mondays and Tuesdays