more about Muddy's Coffee House

Colorado Soul Stories: Episode 1 – Muddy’s Coffee House

Mama Jill: Welcome to Colorado Soul Stories, showcasing changemakers and
creatives—past and present—who have helped make Colorado not just a pretty place to
behold, but a soulful place to be. I’m your host, Mama Jill—longtime Colorado resident,
former teacher, and freelance journalist. Let’s get started with our next episode. In a galaxy
long ago—but really, not so far away—Denver was pretty darn quiet. Still a cow town in the
1970s, what is now the swanky LoHi neighborhood in northwest Denver was a bit of a
cultural desert: historic Italian immigrant families, blue-collar workers, and the wondrous
opportunity of low rent. If you were a creative type seeking intellectual connection, you
would’ve found a way to take advantage of that situation. Today, we’re going to talk with a
longtime North Denver couple who did just that—helping launch Denver’s trajectory as a
cultural oasis of the West.
Joe DeRose: So coffee was an ancillary thing to it—it really was. People drank coffee. People
drank nothing. People snuck in booze. It was a process-oriented place, and the people
created the process. So there could be two, three, four, or five different kinds of things going
on simultaneously.
Mama Jill: That was Joe DeRose, founder of Muddy’s—a legendary coffeehouse that started
in North Denver in 1975. Joe describes himself as a radical from the late 1960s, when
hippies and students were challenging social norms. After leaving graduate school at CU
Boulder, Joe and his fellow grads would meet at the Cruise Room in the Oxford Hotel,
downtown Denver, where they held vibrant intellectual discussions and debates. When the
Oxford was no longer an option for housing those debates, Joe and several peers birthed the
idea of Muddy’s. We’re joined today by Joe’s wife, Kat—the first waitress at Muddy’s. Kat
will mention her time with VISTA, a Great Society initiative by President Johnson. VISTA
stood for Volunteers in Service to America. Kat volunteered after graduating from UNC
Greeley. As we discuss the effect Muddy’s had on its patrons, our conversation naturally
evolves into how we relate to one another today. Society has changed so much since the
1970s. Have some of the ideals of the era persevered? Do we need to remember them to
relearn how to engage more positively? Listen in—and decide for yourself. And here we are
with Kat and Joe DeRose at the Stewart Street Studios, which is my house. You might hear
my dog barking in the background now and again. But let's have a conversation about
Muddy’s.
Joe DeRose: Great. Yeah, that’s marvelous. Thanks for being here. That’s why we’re here.
Kat DeRose: Absolutely.

Mama Jill: Well, I described a little bit—having gone there as a teenager—I remember it
was dark and cozy, maybe with twinkly lights. That was a long time ago. We’re coming up
on the 50th anniversary, correct?
Joe DeRose: Yes. This year.
Mama Jill: Did we figure out any celebrations yet?
Joe DeRose: Not yet. We don’t tend to figure out very much. It tends to happen to us.
Mama Jill: Okay, well, I’ll look forward to hearing something about that in the future. So,
where was Muddy’s first iteration?
Joe DeRose: The first location was at 2557 15th Street, which is by the old Olinger’s
Mortuary—now Linger. The building was owned by Francis Vanderberg, a millionaire
whose daughter was Miss America. These were basically abandoned buildings. We were
meeting as a kind of debate club at the Oxford Hotel... They gave us their boardroom. If we
stayed and drank a little too much in the Cruise Room, rooms were $6 a night. It was pretty
cool. We had found Nirvana—in Denver, in abandoned Denver. But the Oxford started to get
a little tonier. They started to charge us rent. Real rent. We called ourselves 'The Forum.' We
would debate anybody at any time on any topic in the Cruise Room or our boardroom.
Everybody said we couldn’t afford to pay rent. So Klaus—one of my first partners at
Muddy’s—his wife, and my partner at the time, Shirley, said, 'Let’s build a bookstore.' That
way we could have people come in, do their thing, maybe buy a book, and we could pay the
rent. We rented a shop from Vanderberg’s agent for $150. It was just abandoned warehouse
space.
Mama Jill: Can I just note for everybody listening—what year was this? Around 1970?
Joe DeRose: It was 1975 when we finally opened. But the whole thing—the evolution—was
happening before then. I graduated from CU in ’70, went to graduate school. These were
graduate school acquaintances. They had a PhD bent. I had a lost bent. I wasn’t sure where I
was going because of the Vietnam War. So we got this space and started fixing it up for a
bookstore. Like all good graduate students, someone did research and found that we were
in the lowest educated demographic in all of Denver. So we thought—if we sold people a
cup of coffee, we’d at least get a buck. That could pay the rent. That was the start of the idea.
Kat DeRose: And then we ran into people—really outcast artists and artisans—that lived in
this area.
Joe DeRose: The landlord also had a huge apartment house called the Sunlight Apartments
next door, and he said, 'Joe, if you run it, you can stay there for free.' Of course, I said yes. All
of this was happening as Muddy’s was starting to form—a new place for our debate club.
Our clientele was already there from the Cruise Room. We were very gregarious. It was a
whole Denver–Boulder scene. In graduate school, we were a special cadre of sociology
students. It got very cozy—almost incestuous. The school changed entirely for me. There

were many politicos around: Federico Peña, Dennis Gallagher, Tom Noel. We had an
intellectual bit, a beatnik bit, a lost soul bit, and a hippie bit. I was actually part of all of those
generations. Muddy’s was organic. From the moment we opened the doors, it was no longer
mine—it was everyone’s. I was just the manager.
Kat DeRose: That’s why I gravitated to North Denver later. It just felt like I already
belonged as soon as I came to the area. I grew up in Wheat Ridge but wanted a more urban
setting. Muddy’s had this feeling as soon as you walked in.
Mama Jill: Let’s go back a bit for the history. Joe grew up in North Denver, right?
Joe DeRose: Yes. I went to North Denver public schools and still do work at North High to
this day. The building at 2557 15th Street was the end of my Denver Post paper route. I was
delivering papers there when I was 10 or 11. It was a tough route, but luckily I could go
downhill most of the way. The building was dilapidated even then. But I knew that
neighborhood intimately.
Mama Jill: You’re related to Italian immigrant grandparents, correct?
Joe DeRose: Absolutely. It was an Italian–Mexican neighborhood. That goes back to my
childhood roots. So when we got that building, it just felt like home. Still, the thing was
magic—and to someone full of wonder because they’re full of doubt—that’s something. It
belonged to everybody. I really can’t emphasize that enough.
Kat DeRose: I felt like it was mine too.
Mama Jill: So Kat, let’s hear where you were then—you were at UNC studying sociology?
Kat DeRose: Yes. I’m a Colorado native. We lived all over but ended up in Arvada. I went to
Arvada High, then left for VISTA for a couple years. Then I went to Arkansas to live on a
commune. I was definitely the hippie type. After a couple years there, I’d had enough of the
country and came back to Denver. I met Joe through a friend from North. It was an art
opening, I think. I didn’t see him as a romantic partner at first—he had a partner—but he
gave me a job and a place to live at the Sunlight Apartments. So I became the first waitress.
Mama Jill: What was it like at the commune?
Kat DeRose: It was pretty cool. I’d read about a woman in Mother Earth News who invited
women to live off the land on her 40 acres in Arkansas. We had goats, chickens, a million
cats. At its peak, there were maybe five of us. But it wasn’t as communal as I pictured.
Eventually I was the only one left, so I decided to leave too. It was enlightening. A lot of
work, but great perspective.
Mama Jill: So what was your first impression of Muddy’s when you came back?
Kat DeRose: I didn’t know what to expect. I was out of social settings for a while. But I just
went with the flow. When Muddy’s first opened, I was the waitress, the cook, the cleaner,

the barista—I did everything. But that didn’t last long. Muddy’s became popular quickly,
and more people came to work.
Mama Jill: I want to make sure people understand what Denver was like—not just North
Denver, but a much quieter place. We didn’t have many small local art galleries or
coffeehouses. Not sure if Paris on the Platte or the Mercury Café were around yet.
Joe DeRose: I think the Mercury Café had started. Marilyn opened it around the same time.
Nepenthe started around the same time too, but we actually preceded them by a few
months. We weren’t a model for them. They were way more positive in their attitudes and
communal responses. We were more of a refuge for recluses. At Muddy’s, you could be there
for eight hours and not talk to anyone—and that was okay. At Nepenthe, they’d worry about
you and try to nurture you into community. It was a wonderful place. I’m still friends with
many of the founders.
Mama Jill: That’s what I felt when I walked into Muddy’s. It felt like culture—more than just
going to the Denver Art Museum. It felt local, lived-in, and community-based. You had artists
displaying their work there.
Joe DeRose: Absolutely. We had one rule about art;If you have the guts to hang it, so do
we. Art varied wildly. Shows lasted a month or two, and if you sold anything, you got all the
money.
Mama Jill: That’s generous. It gave artists a voice with no filter.
Joe DeRose: Exactly. Our walls were always filled with something interesting.
Mama Jill: So Kat, this was around 1975. You were the first waitress. What happened from
there?
Kat DeRose: Well, I think one thing that made Muddy’s so popular was that we didn’t serve
alcohol. We welcomed younger people, and everyone was accepted. We had belly dancers,
all kinds of entertainment. You never knew what would happen next.
Mama Jill: Joe, you said someone could come in and not talk at all. That’s so different from
now—coffee shops filled with people on laptops.
Joe DeRose: That’s well said. Silence now is engaged silence—people plugged into tech. At
Muddy’s, the silence was often from uncertainty or wanting to disappear. And we let people
disappear. We believed it was about process, not product. Coffee was ancillary. People
drank coffee. Some drank nothing. Some snuck in booze. But the place allowed multiple
things to happen at once. Artists and theatrical folks loved that. Soon after, we opened an
all-night bookstore. We called it 'the only adult bookstore in Denver'—not because of porn,
but because you could read Rousseau or real literature. Grown-up content. Then we opened
a theater in the next space. The door to it was a bookcase—closed during the day so
inspectors only saw the coffeehouse. We were open when the state slept. We used the First
Amendment as our theater license.

Mama Jill: I love that. An open forum for free speech—and respect for civil conversation.
Joe DeRose: Exactly. Civility was the only rule. You had to be there live to have a point of
view. We weren’t liberal or conservative. We were a strong neutral presence. I remember
one week we had a wake for John Wayne Brewer—entirely Black crowd—and the next day,
the NRA hosted a mini-convention—entirely white. Both felt comfortable. That’s rare.
Mama Jill: Kat, do you remember any special characters or events?
Kat DeRose: The people. The street people we got to know. Ernest Vernon Endicott. He
made us laugh even though his life was hard. Arnold Delos worked in the
bookstore—originally from New York. A wonderful man. We still use catchphrases they
coined. They were memorable.
Mama Jill: That’s so different from today’s laptop crowd. You let people affect you. You
remember full names—that’s powerful.
Joe DeRose: We had a bar rush too. After places like El Chapultepec closed, strippers,
musicians, and night owls came to Muddy’s. Freddie Rodriguez’s jazz band would jam all
night in the theater. From 1:30 to 4:00 AM, it was packed. Coffee flowing.
Mama Jill: I think my friend Bill Miller dragged me there around midnight once, just to see
the magic.
Joe DeRose: Some nights, we played no music at all. Just human voices. That was the
ambiance.
Mama Jill: It sounds like you allowed the space to evolve daily. That’s rare.
Joe DeRose: Exactly. We had debates, chess games, books, silence, belly dancing. It was a
living organism.
Kat DeRose: It was never political. We had all kinds of folks—even crew-cut GI’s—who felt
welcomed.
Joe DeRose: We didn’t judge. Our weirdness wasn’t uniform—it was just accepted reality.
Kat DeRose: We really miss that kind of environment.
Mama Jill: Joe, people told me you were part of the atmosphere—they felt seen, welcomed,
respected.
Joe DeRose: I think humans thrive where there’s no expectation but comfort. You didn’t
have to prove anything. We cared about the debate, not the outcome. We weren’t preaching.
Ronald Reagan helped us—people had a common enemy. But we didn’t hate him. He just
left us alone.
Kat DeRose: We never built identity around one stance. Everyone had space.

Joe DeRose: Certainty is the enemy of intellectual growth.
Kat DeRose: In Vista, we were community organizers, not just helpers. But today, I
wouldn’t go to some demonstrations.
Mama Jill: There are other ways to create change—small groups, podcasts, conversations.
Joe DeRose: Totally. I support most causes. I’m just not always comfortable in the crowd.
Kat DeRose: If it’s not peaceful and civil, it can get ugly.
Mama Jill: The violence around Black Lives Matter protests made me sad.
Joe DeRose: Sad is the right word. The cause is correct—we need more inclusion. But the
violence was heartbreaking.
Mama Jill: So what do you each see as the lasting legacy of Muddy’s?
Joe DeRose: Tolerance. Practiced tolerance. Those who came learned tolerance by being
tolerated.
Kat DeRose: Culture has changed. But maybe the legacy is this: recreate those kinds of
spaces. People are hungry for it—even if they don’t know it.
Mama Jill: That’s why I wanted to talk about Muddy’s. Not just nostalgia—but because it
matters. It still matters.
Joe DeRose: One thing that helped—our rent was $300 a month. We didn’t worry about
turnover. If it got full, we put chairs outside.
Mama Jill: Now, square footage is everything. Coffee shops need fast turnover.
Joe DeRose: It’s more commercial now. In the stream of commerce, not consciousness.
Mama Jill: Some folks I know are trying to recreate it. SBA loans and high rent, but they’re
trying.
Joe DeRose: We wish them well. The Westword crew was part of it. So was Paris on the
Platte. The beatniks and hippies collided. Different origins, but same desperate souls.
Mama Jill: I’ll include more info on the website so people know what happened after
Muddy’s.
Joe DeRose: Afterward, I taught all grades—grade school, middle school, high school. Then
helped restart North High’s alumni association. In 1987, the class of ’37 gave us $500. We
started a scholarship. Today, North has $2 million in corpus and gives 49 perpetual
scholarships.

Mama Jill: That’s amazing. I met recipients when I visited. It’s a feel-good experience.
Thank you both for being here. I could talk to you all day.
Joe DeRose: Thank you.
Kat DeRose: Thank you.
Mama Jill: We’ll have more coffee soon! Thanks to Joe and Kat for a wonderful
conversation. You can find more about Muddy’s in our show notes. Thanks to Denver
Community Media for audio gear, and to Highland Electric Company—a North Denver band
formerly the Highland Ramblers—for use of their song 'Lions.' Whatever you do, wherever
you are—go out and make Colorado a more soulful place to be. See you next time.