Drew Park isn’t a fan of conventional houses. Nice little cottages and split-level ranches aren’t his cup of tea – or, as the case is when you’re talking to the owner of the local java roastery Drew’s Brews, his mug of coffee.

“I’ve traveled around a lot and have lived in some crazy places and situations,” Drew said during an afternoon chat last week. “I’ve lived in six different log cabins and in crazy yurts and places like that. I’m way into my space.”

The Indianapolis native’s current home is a two-story 4,000-square-foot cement building on the eastern banks of the Cumberland River, a quarter-mile down a dead-end road from his five-year-old company. “The warehouse where I work is on 100-foot-tall cliffs that overlook downtown. It has as good as if not a better view of the skyline than I have from my house,” he said.

And that’s saying something: the scene up the river, looking toward the Bell South Tower and all its friends, as viewed from Drew’s grassy backyard is pretty darn great. So is the decoration of his house – a guy’s version of Shabby Chic living, including exposed and cracked concrete walls; raw wooden floors; cool wood furniture, lots of animal pelts, and tough industrial accents like standalone metal counters like the ones you see in kitchen supply stores.

It’s hard to believe that before Drew bought the building two and a half years ago, it served as a clubhouse for a motorcycle gang. “This isn’t a conventional living situation, that’s for sure,” Drew said. “But I can’t imagine living any other way. I have neighbors, but I feel like I’m on my own out here.”

Indeed, Drew HQ is situated on a nice slice of no-man’s-land; his neighborhood, just off Trinity Lane, doesn’t have a name – an official one, at least. “I call this the produce district – literally, there are like six or seven of the biggest produce companies in town near here,” he said. “Not only that, but this is also Nashville’s motorcycle gang district: there are five clubhouses within a half-mile of my house.”

Despite his neighborhood’s colorful inhabitants and its potential to play host to another thousand-year flood (more on his experience with last year’s natural catastrophe below), Drew is pretty sure he’s in his place for the long run: “I really like it here. You feel like you’re in the country but you’re really only a mile from downtown. To me, it’s perfect.”
From early settlers to wild heron to bikers, Drew’s property has a trippy history. He’s been kind enough to share some it with us:

There’s a lot of history on this point. There’s a little park that you pass on the way to my house called Lock One Park. Before old Hickory Dam was built, there were three locks used to control the water level; this was the first. You can still see some of its wall on the edge of my property. That sign also says that this was one of the first white settlements in the area; and, surely, Native Americans were down here before that. There were salt licks here. A little farther down the road is Page’s Branch, the biggest creek in this area. I found out from my councilman that from the 1800s into the 1920s his church used to baptize people here.

When I bought this place, every single window was boarded up; there was only one that wasn’t covered in wood. You couldn’t see inside at all. The motorcycle gang had a surveillance camera set up so they could see who was at the door. They had an old-school control room in one of the little rooms upstairs. It was crazy: they lived here for something like twenty years, with this beautiful view of the river and downtown, but they couldn’t see it because the windows were covered. Since I’ve been here, I’ve never had blinds.

Before the flood, the cement walls on the first floor were also covered in wood. When it came off, I found all kinds of writing on the walls. There are names of other motorcycle clubs on here, women’s names with their numbers written out beside them – there’s even one for the women’s jail and a place called Aphrodite’s, which I guess was a burlesque club. One says, “To hell with telephones.” And there’s a poem: “Here alone, all on my own, New Years ’83.” It’s signed “Kinks and Bear.” I’ll never paint over this stuff.

It’s pretty cozy here now. But when I got it, it was as far from cozy as you can get – actually, it was the exact opposite of cozy. Before I moved in, I showed the house to people I know who rehab houses and even they were scared to walk inside. It had a creepy vibe to it.

I’ve always liked the energy in here, though; I think it’s wonderful. The gang was really about brotherhood and camaraderie; there’d be worse energy in a bar, where fights go on. The guys who lived here may have done some crazy things, but they were probably all on the same page. When you get right down to it, I’m sure they were just trying to have fun.

I was home during the flood; I watched the water rise from my bedroom window. As soon as it hit the foundation, I moved some things to the second floor, took what I thought was really valuable with me, and left. There is a little Airstream trailer from the ‘50s that I rehabbed that I keep parked up at my warehouse, so I went there and stayed for about a month until I got this place repaired. It was a stressful time, but at least I was four feet from work.

I’d stayed in the Airstream before, when I was fixing up the house. It was built in the ‘40s, and was used as a welding shop until the ‘70s, when the gang moved in. When they took it over, the lease was about $100 or something – a great price even back then. It stayed the same up until I bought it because the owners were scared to ask them to pay more. I mean, a motorcycle gang? Nobody told those guys to do anything. They did what they wanted. When I moved in, the backyard was full of .22 shells: these guys would get wasted and shoot shotguns. I still find remnants of them living here all the time.

It’s amazing how many people travel up and down the river; pleasure boats and barges go by all the time. Fiends with boats used to pick me up to go out to dinner. I’d walk down the steps by the old lock, wearing nice clothes and everything, get in the boat, and go to Blue Moon Lagoon to have drinks and dinner; I’ve even gotten takeout that way. It’s not there any more; the flood got it.

It’s been a year and my house is fine. Fixing it up from when I bought I has been a long process, which is fine by me. There’s a huge crack that runs down the middle of the first floor – the joke is that I have two addresses – and everyone is always, like, “You should really get that fixed.” But I think it’s what saved it from being washed away. Six feet of water that came in through the cracks in the walls and the floor; I think the reason the house was able to stay standing through the flood is because the foundation isn’t very tightly secured, which means it didn’t have to take blunt force. The house breathed and became part of the river for a while. If everything were really tight, it might have washed it down river. I didn’t lose a door or window of anything, though, because none of them were sealed properly.

People probably think I’m crazy, but I’m fine where I am.

It’s hard to believe that before Drew bought the building two and a half years ago, it served as a clubhouse for a motorcycle gang. “This isn’t a conventional living situation, that’s for sure,” Drew said. “But I can’t imagine living any other way. I have neighbors, but I feel like I’m on my own out here.”

Indeed, Drew HQ is situated on a nice slice of no-man’s-land; his neighborhood, just off Trinity Lane, doesn’t have a name – an official one, at least. “I call this the produce district – literally, there are like six or seven of the biggest produce companies in town near here,” he said. “Not only that, but this is also Nashville’s motorcycle gang district: there are five clubhouses within a half-mile of my house.”

Despite his neighborhood’s colorful inhabitants and its potential to play host to another thousand-year flood (more on his experience with last year’s natural catastrophe below), Drew is pretty sure he’s in his place for the long run: “I really like it here. You feel like you’re in the country but you’re really only a mile from downtown. To me, it’s perfect.”
From early settlers to wild heron to bikers, Drew’s property has a trippy history. He’s been kind enough to share some it with us:

There’s a lot of history on this point. There’s a little park that you pass on the way to my house called Lock One Park. Before old Hickory Dam was built, there were three locks used to control the water level; this was the first. You can still see some of its wall on the edge of my property. That sign also says that this was one of the first white settlements in the area; and, surely, Native Americans were down here before that. There were salt licks here. A little farther down the road is Page’s Branch, the biggest creek in this area. I found out from my councilman that from the 1800s into the 1920s his church used to baptize people here.

When I bought this place, every single window was boarded up; there was only one that wasn’t covered in wood. You couldn’t see inside at all. The motorcycle gang had a surveillance camera set up so they could see who was at the door. They had an old-school control room in one of the little rooms upstairs. It was crazy: they lived here for something like twenty years, with this beautiful view of the river and downtown, but they couldn’t see it because the windows were covered. Since I’ve been here, I’ve never had blinds.

Before the flood, the cement walls on the first floor were also covered in wood. When it came off, I found all kinds of writing on the walls. There are names of other motorcycle clubs on here, women’s names with their numbers written out beside them – there’s even one for the women’s jail and a place called Aphrodite’s, which I guess was a burlesque club. One says, “To hell with telephones.” And there’s a poem: “Here alone, all on my own, New Years ’83.” It’s signed “Kinks and Bear.” I’ll never paint over this stuff.

It’s pretty cozy here now. But when I got it, it was as far from cozy as you can get – actually, it was the exact opposite of cozy. Before I moved in, I showed the house to people I know who rehab houses and even they were scared to walk inside. It had a creepy vibe to it.

I’ve always liked the energy in here, though; I think it’s wonderful. The gang was really about brotherhood and camaraderie; there’d be worse energy in a bar, where fights go on. The guys who lived here may have done some crazy things, but they were probably all on the same page. When you get right down to it, I’m sure they were just trying to have fun.

I was home during the flood; I watched the water rise from my bedroom window. As soon as it hit the foundation, I moved some things to the second floor, took what I thought was really valuable with me, and left. There is a little Airstream trailer from the ‘50s that I rehabbed that I keep parked up at my warehouse, so I went there and stayed for about a month until I got this place repaired. It was a stressful time, but at least I was four feet from work.

I’d stayed in the Airstream before, when I was fixing up the house. It was built in the ‘40s, and was used as a welding shop until the ‘70s, when the gang moved in. When they took it over, the lease was about $100 or something – a great price even back then. It stayed the same up until I bought it because the owners were scared to ask them to pay more. I mean, a motorcycle gang? Nobody told those guys to do anything. They did what they wanted. When I moved in, the backyard was full of .22 shells: these guys would get wasted and shoot shotguns. I still find remnants of them living here all the time.

It’s amazing how many people travel up and down the river; pleasure boats and barges go by all the time. Fiends with boats used to pick me up to go out to dinner. I’d walk down the steps by the old lock, wearing nice clothes and everything, get in the boat, and go to Blue Moon Lagoon to have drinks and dinner; I’ve even gotten takeout that way. It’s not there any more; the flood got it.

It’s been a year and my house is fine. Fixing it up from when I bought I has been a long process, which is fine by me. There’s a huge crack that runs down the middle of the first floor – the joke is that I have two addresses – and everyone is always, like, “You should really get that fixed.” But I think it’s what saved it from being washed away. Six feet of water that came in through the cracks in the walls and the floor; I think the reason the house was able to stay standing through the flood is because the foundation isn’t very tightly secured, which means it didn’t have to take blunt force. The house breathed and became part of the river for a while. If everything were really tight, it might have washed it down river. I didn’t lose a door or window of anything, though, because none of them were sealed properly.

People probably think I’m crazy, but I’m fine where I am.

If you don’t live within driving distance of any of the fine Nashville establishments that proudly sell or serve Drew’s Brews, you can still enjoy the magic of his roasts via a few quick clicks on his company website: www.drewsbrewscoffee.com.

-I + W

 

About our photographer: Thomas Petillo is a nationally renowned fine art and commercial photographer based in Nashville, TN. His most recent project, Just A Way Out, is currently touring museums in the US through www.art2art.org. His commercial work can be viewed online at www.redrocketreps.com. Between touring exhibits and commercial shoots, Thomas can be found warming bottles for his newborn baby and chasing his toddler.neandwillie.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Drew.House_.jpg” alt=”" width=”960″ height=”342″ />If you don’t live within driving distance of any of the fine Nashville establishments that proudly sell or serve Drew’s Brews, you can still enjoy the magic of his roasts via a few quick clicks on his company website: www.drewsbrewscoffee.com.