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A Ballad Of Mark's Coffeehouse

A Ballad Of Mark's Coffeehouse image A Ballad Of Mark's Coffeehouse image
Parent Issue
Day
25
Month
January
Year
1974
OCR Text

A Ballad of Mark's Coffeehouse

Can you answer these six basic questions concerning an Ann Arbor anachronism? 1) Where could you go to hear John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, John Lee Hooker, Hank Williams, and an unknown virtuoso Greek mandolinist on a juke box? 2) To play Russian Roulette with your appetite? 3) To play chess with true monomaniacs? 4) To listen to, converse, read, or wail upon any subject within the fringe of communications? 5) To find that freaked out brother or sister who just dropped 1500 mics. of windowpane and disappeared? 6) To see every hopped up geek and 3 ring night tripper in town till you know in the pit of your brain that you're one, too?

The answers are transparent. Even if you've never visited Mark's Coffeehouse, surely descriptions and stories of it have reached you. Mark's in its own way has contributed to the definition of coffeehouses in general and to an alternative Ann Arbor community in particular. Many of the strains of alternative culture passed through and were nurtured and altered, for better or worse, in Mark's. It was an alternative not consciously contrived, but flowed as the workers and patrons determined its need. It was a five year, one act gig not likely to be repeated.

It is still not sure exactly when, but somewhere between December 3rd and 10th, 1973 Mark's inconspicuously served its last cup of coffee. There were several contributing factors to the collapse of Mark's financial condition. Effective and consistent management by Pat Reynolds and Sharon Hind was too often sporadic. The workers, Pat and Sharon included, found the financial proposition in a place like Mark's to be absolutely discouraging. Coffeehouses traditionally do not make money, and Mark's was no exception. Though several remedies were tried -- live music, movies, pinball, a semi-restraint menu included -- Mark's continued to lose money. A very poor business rapport developed between Pat and Sharon in relation to the workers. When remedies were attempted, they were usually only partially successful or complete failures because of this rapport. This vicious cycle of discouragement, inspiration and failure contributed most to Mark's financial erosion.

There's a nasty question partially out of the way. There's more to it, but there was more to Mark's than high finance also. It became an alternative to the Brown Jugs of Ann Arbor. People tired of formica, stainless steel and scientific service found the good and the unexpected at Mark's. The unexpected occasionally took the form of a bummed out worker who showed it or a dead end junkie nodding out in the corner. The place was loose, sometimes bad, but it did not produce. Many of the town troubadours -- George Koppel, John Nicholas, Tod Kabza among them -- could often be found playing, singing, lounging, and occasionally working there. George Frayne was in and out of Mark's with some of the best and worst music in town cultivating what was later to be known as Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen. Outside of a few unsuccessful formal gigs, the music was heard when people felt like playing. Sometimes there was little better to do on rainy days than sing, strum, and drink coffee.

A good game of chess and an array of people, books, and newspapers were usually available, also. Some of the most colorful characters could be found pouring your coffee or hamming up your sandwich. Peter Yates, the wry, dry, limey backbone of Mark's not only concocted consistently fine soups, stews, and spaghettis, but doggedly held the rudder on much of Mark's positive direction. He was such a constant figure in a place filled with transition that he was often mistaken for "Mark."

"The owner is wintering in Bermuda" was a typical response to questions of his ownership. "If you're ever in Bermuda, look up the S.S. Albatross."

Lou Robinson and Becky Head, the sweet sisters from suburbia. (whom you would not dare call sweet or they'd knock your block off) brought a sense of style and enlightenment to work. Charlie Nelson, a man with a heart of gold and a mind on the LSD pioneer fringe, worked tirelessly with a dedication few could match. He could often be seen cleaning behind refrigerators while quoting R.D. Laing.

Pat Reynolds, a melting pot of beer, c&w music, ear-splitting belly laughs, adrenaline and tequila, served well as the First Lady and Madame of Marks "High Society". Dynamite parties. Halloween resembled a Fellini set on take. Pat in the middle, always in the thick of it. When she got down to it, work got done in a flurry, also. At the next toast, raise a glass of golden Goebels! for Pat Reynolds.

Drop in a few more names, add a touch of class, a pinch of funk, season well with time and a leap into the unknown, and you have an organic shitloaf coffeehouse. Hamburgers with carob brownies for dessert. A taste of the real, a taste of the fantastic. More could and probably should be said of Mark's, but for now must be left to anecdote and word of mouth. Till then, a toke and a toast to the memory of Mark's and press on with the present.

-- David A. Bass