They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
- Counting Crows
I've put off writing about this because it hurts.
Portland Brew, the one true neighborhood coffee shop in my life, closed in early August after an all day party with music, art, laughter, tears, hugs, former baristas, and regular customers all together one last time on a late summer Saturday.
It was beautiful to see such community among so many varied and distinct people, all of whom shared a love for Portland Brew. In the end, that's what Portland Brew was about. Community. This was evident in the messages on the many yellow post-it notes stuck on the wall, left there by customers who stopped by to say goodbye to a place they loved. A place of refuge in a busy, stressful world, where you could could count on a smile and a greeting from a familiar face, and a good cup of coffee.
To me, what Bongo Java was, once upon a time, Portland Brew became. A fixture in my life. A place I could stop in on the way to work or on the way home after work and almost always see someone I knew. For the longest time, the baristas were old heads, just like in the Bongo Java days. Even thought that changes a bit the last couple of years, the newer, younger baristas were kind, friendly, upbeat, and interesting.
When I walked into Portland Brew, I felt like I was home. That's probably the absolute best thing I can say about a coffee shop or a bar. And, I think, that's why it's so hard to say goodbye. It's like losing an old friend, especially for someone who is as nostalgic as I am. Bongo Java marked a time in my life, a simple time when the boys were young and I walked them through the neighborhood every weekend. Portland Brew marked a different, more complicated time in my life, when the boys were older and in school, the stresses of work increased, and I lost my mom after a long fight with Alzheimer's disease.
Portland Brew was a safe harbor for me, a place where I could stop in on the way to work and collect myself. Plan my day. Read the New York Times or the New Yorker online, write in this blog, answer e-mails, or get ahead of the day's work. All with a good cup of coffee and scrambled eggs w/avocado, my go to breakfast there.
What was really cool, though, is the Portland Brew had the most loyal crew of regulars of any coffee shop I have ever frequented. More, even, then Bongo Java in the old days. Stuart, Michael, Rob, and so many other others, many of whom I did not know by name. And, of course, Dennis, the mayor of Portland Brew.
Originally, I met Dennis at Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory in Franklin, where we often chatted about sports, kids, and life. I was delighted, of course, when I walked into Portland Brew one morning a couple of years ago and saw Dennis, decked out as always in Detroit sports gear (Tigers, Lions, Michigan, Pistons, etc.). He had moved to the neighborhood and, soon enough, he was holding court at Portland Brew every single morning. It was a sight to see, as person after person sat down for a minute or two every morning to say hello to Dennis. He radiates goodness and optimism. His presence at Portland Brew the last couple of years and the light he shined on so many regulars is something I will always remember.
Portland Brew stayed open during the pandemic, unlike most other local coffee shops and restaurants. In the spring and summer of 2020 when we were all so scared, anxious, and confused, I was able to stop by Portland Brew and get a to go cup of coffee. That shred of normalcy kept me going and gave me hope that somehow, someday, the pandemic would end and I could gather again in a group with friends and strangers and have a cup of coffee.
I vividly remember a morning when our office was closed - hell, everything was closed - and I drove to Portland Brew, got coffee, then drove down 12th Avenue and sat in the chairs outside Burger Up with Hal. We socially distanced as we shared a cup of coffee and conversation, uncertain of what the future held for any of us. It was powerful, intimate, and memorable. Portland Brew made moments like that possible during the pandemic and for that reason and others, I remained a loyal customer after the pandemic finally ended.
I ended a thousand afternoon weekend runs at Portland Brew, or so it seems, got a coffee, and walked home. Every runs end with coffee, I used to joke.
On almost every snow day, Portland Brew was open. Neighborhood folks stopped in on the way to and from a day of sledding in Sevier Park to grab a coffee or hot chocolate for the kids. That's what Portland Brew was about, really. Neighborhood. Community. The tourists the bachelorettes went to Frothy Monkey. The neighborhood people went to Portland Brew.
Ironically enough, one Saturday or Sunday afternoon last spring, I walked into Portland Brew slightly past 4 p.m., less than an hour before closing. I sat by myself, looked around, listened to the baristas talking about their plans for the night, and took a few minutes to appreciate how Portland Brew was one of the only places in the neighborhood that was still "old 12South." So much else had changed and was changing in 12South but not Portland Brew. I even wrote a post about it as I sat there.
Well, a few months later, Charles Treadway sold all of us out and agreed to lease the property to, of course, another women's clothing boutique. Greed kills, forever and always.
Now, the Portland Brew sign on the outside of the building is gone. The tables on the front porch are gone, too. What is there, though, is a sign that informs people how to pay to park in the Portland Brew parking lot, while they go shopping or eat at a 12South restaurant.
Quite literally, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
