There’s a lot going on, but then again there always is, a lot going on. Upon first glance, the casual bar-hopper may see Dick’s as a place named after a resigned president. Sure, it’s a bunch of blue-collared boys having a few beers, listening to some music and joking around throughout the duration of an exceedingly long happy hour, but truth of the matter is, what you see is what you get. Wait a second, though. In the Michelob corner, one will find a homage to ol’ Dick, in prime form, throwing rocks like it was his last frame ever. But look closer. Look at that poster again. It was bought for a few dollars on the Internet. A simple piece of paper encased by glass and a generic frame. It is not the poster that is Dick’s; it is what it created. An entire bar was built around that simple picture. A bar of good height, flowing beer, sliding shots, sturdy stools, loud music and plastered smiles can all be found at Dick’s on Grove. It is a speakeasy thing, this Dick’s. It has bloomed not only into a local watering hole, but also a place for people to meet, greet, discuss and laugh. It has become much more than the original founders envisioned. It has become a real bar. It has become Dick’s on Grove.

However, things were not always how they are now. Things were once dismal, gloomy, and weary. There was not always beer. There was not always Dick’s. There was once only a beer bottle collection. Not just any beer bottle collection, a damn fine one. And then there was a fire. Needless to say, four friends were homeless and four hundred beer bottles melted. But out of the ashes of that fire arose something. Something that nobody could foresee.

Within months the blueprints were drawn and the construction began of a bar on Grove Street. There was not much of a premise behind anything, except that Richard M. Nixon bowling would be somewhere in the room. Day after day more and more progression was made. A custom counter top was shipped in from North Denver, a kegerator from Parker, and bar signs from all corners of the world. Things were starting to happen. Before they knew it, a bar was built and their first customers were coming through the doors.

Yet, they were young and naïve. Little did they know of the bar industry. Sure, there was a bar there and sure it looked great. But there was something missing– something that they could not quite put their fingers on. Thus began the kegerator saga.

A wise man once said, “to keep your customers, you need to have beer.” They had the beer, but their consistency in providing a drinkable pint was as reliable as people not shitting all over their house. One day, perfect pour. Next day, all foam. What were they to do? Then somebody said it.

Dick’s is Dead.

How many times did they all have to hear that? The six original Dick’s have heard it a few too many times. Dick’s is Dead. Dick’s is dead. Oh really? Is it? Is there a thriving bar in your house? Oh OK. Well they said you do your thing and we will do ours.

As you can tell, the beginning stages of Dick’s were much like riding down a water slide. If you sat up Robbins-style, you would go slow and not much would get done. Yet, if you dammed the water up and ripped it head first you would ride it so fast that not even the lifeguard could nay say. Well, Dick’s started off fast, but soon was sitting inches from the TV on a four legged chair where only one leg was making contact with the ground.

Yet, the six of them would not give up on the kegerator. After seeing several specialists and coming up with unsatisfactory results, it dawned on them: start it over. The kegerator was gutted and replaced with better veins and arteries. Cable TV was installed. A surround sound stereo system as well. Stools, six of them, were crafted. Tables, signs, saloon doors, shelves, a juice bar and a sauna were soon to follow. Then finally, the one uniting piece was snugly placed into the puzzle: beer. It flowed. It was cold. It tasted like it should. And the entire time Dick stared at us from the corner, as if to say: “How long did I have to fucking wait?”

Well, Dick, about a year. But it is here now, along with bumper stickers, apparel, a professional bartender and a tightmaster web site. But without all the flare and fame, including a write-up in Thrill Magazine, it is still Dick’s. Sure, they like the compliments and appreciate the tips, but more than anything, they like those who believed. Without you, they would have resigned from office too.

It is fall now, and the dream of six college kids became a reality. With the help of their friends, neighbors and families, the staff at Dick’s became able to provide a service. At Dick’s there will never be a wait, there will never be a frown, and there will always be a beer. Somebody once said, “make it happen.” Well, the staff at Dick’s have always thought, “what a great saying.” But they all knew there was just one problem with it– they couldn’t make it happen on their own, they needed help. So, if I may speak for the staff at Dick’s, lend them a hand, ‘cause at Dick’s, together we can make it happen, and if you stop on by, you may find that it already has.

Yours,                                                
Nathaniel Merriweather