Scenes & Beans

Man supports local art through downtown coffee shop

Story and photo by Gabrielle Bilik

Bevan Brady has an awesome beard. It’s dark and tidy. Trimmed. It’s the right amount of wool for a Plattsburgh resident, especially on a chilly day like today. It frames a friendly smile. He’s there most days, grinding coffee, refilling sugar supplies, and keeping the shop in order.  When he speaks, he changes topics frequently, knowledgeable in many subjects. A fixture at the Coffee Camp in downtown Plattsburgh, Bevan Brady has worked there for three years, since its opening.  

“I’ve been coming here my entire life.  My great grandfather was the head psychiatrist at Dannemora hospital. My parents moved up here in ’94 or ’95. I moved up here a little bit after that, and I left and came back again a bunch of times,” says Brady.

He looks at home here in the timber filled shop, a mountaineer: all fuzz and flannel.  Yet “home” has proven to be an elusive concept for Brady. Originally from Holyoke, Massachusetts, Brady has lived many places and many jobs, from California to Atlanta, from sauté cook to mechanic, to an environmental technician living in a New Jersey Cabin. He decided to come back to Plattsburgh after re-visiting once.

“I was living in Atlanta, and I came up here to visit friends and went to a bread and puppet show,” Brady says. “On the way back to Plattsburgh, I went through one or two traffic lights the whole time, and there was no traffic on this two hour drive through the North Country. A week later, I was sitting in traffic on I-85 North into Atlanta, late to work without coffee, and without cigarettes.  That’s when I decided to come back.”

As he says this, he is sitting at the round wooden table next to the dozen or so jars of exotically flavored coffee beans, messing with a bass guitar.

"A week later, I was sitting in traffic on I-85 North into Atlanta, late to work without coffee, and without cigarettes.  That’s when I decided to come back.”

“I just traded the electric guitar for this about a month ago,” Brady says. “I don’t play it though. If people ever ask me if I play anything, I usually answer that I play the radio really well.”

His cell phone rings, and a small voice pipes through the receiver.  “It’s my daughters,” he mouths, pointing to the phone.

“So dry yourself off, and go back and play in the snow,” he says to his daughter Elizabeth. It seems Madison has dumped water on her younger sister. “Tell her she lost points in the dolphin game we made up.”

“My daughter was playing this video game on her computer where she had to take care of a pet dolphin,” Brady explains, “She fed it and took care of it when it was sick, but her little sister was sitting on the couch behind her, actually sick. So I was like, ‘How about you take care of your sister,’ and so I turned it into a game basically, where if they’re nice to each other, I’ll give them points and buy them stuff,” he says, and a smile cracks through his whiskers.

After the conversation is over, he continues tuning and strumming the bass guitar. Brady returns to the table, places his bass on its back and starts playing it with a seasoning jar.

A girl comes in to buy tea. Brady convinces her that he hand-carved the wooden pens that are for sale on the counter. He also convinces another customer that he was a professional bass player. He hands over the tea, and then jaunts back over to take his seat.

The next day, the aroma of hazelnut is striking upon entering the Coffee Camp.  The homey atmosphere is relaxing, and the deeper into the shop you get, the louder the soft strumming becomes.  It’s not the usual folksy music playing from the speakers overhead though; it’s Max Metzger, one of Brady’s recruits, tinkering with the guitar that’s always next to the lumpy sofas.  The music seems attuned to Brady as he pours chunky green tea through a strainer for a customer, and even more so as the customer stirs in the smooth honey drizzling from the bottle.
The walls of the Coffee Camp provide a canvas for local artists to showcase their work. Most of the art ties in with Adirondack-inspired theme, with the exception of one very colorful painting of a bunch of screaming faces in Technicolor. There is a painting of a rowboat, which matches the giant canoe that hangs across the top of the back of the shop. There are black and white photographs with white cardboard frames against the top of the blue sofa, colorful paintings of landscapes, and one photo of a sunset.

There are a few dozen photographs laid out in frames across one of the round wooden tables in the front of the store. Metzger’s guitar is occasionally interrupted by the yammering sound of a hammer hitting a nail. Photographer Clayton Smalley is hanging some of his work on the front right wall, tucked behind the glass window of the front of the store.

“I’ve just done this as a hobby, and I’ve know Bevan’s family for years,” says Smalley. “A few summers ago I did a show here, and so when Bevan offered to let me do this, I said yes.”
His photographs are nature inspired. There is a photograph of a trail on a conflagrant fall day, a close up of a clover with dew drops on it, and there are a few spur of the moment, “right place, right time” sort of photos, too. He hangs a close up of a shard of bright sapphire glass on the gravel; a half eroded, multicolored heart that had been drawn in chalk on concrete; and a graveyard he stumbled upon in Chazy at sunset.

“Bevan is very supportive of the community and works toward solidarity,” says Brady’s friend Shawn Parrotte, a tall, slim man wearing a leather jacket. Parrotte is standing next to a sign by the register advertising his own guitar lessons. He soon leaves to give a bass lesson.
Brady doesn’t like his wording. He strums his fingers anxiously against one of the store’s cardboard, Styrofoam-insulated coffee cups.

“I try to support the local art, but I don’t know if solidarity is the right word,” Brady modestly admits. “To be honest, it’s sort of selfish. I like good music, and I like good art, so I want more of it.”

“I’ve been listening to music my entire life. I like providing an environment for it.”

“I usually find people playing at Monopole or at other local open mics,” says Brady, tugging on his wool ear-flap hat by the strings. The navy pom-pom on the top wiggles slightly.
Metzger continues strumming something a bit bluesier.

“I saw Max play at an open mic night, and I was like, ‘Holy s***, this kid is good at playing the guitar’, so I asked him to come play here. That was like...four weeks ago,” Brady says.

“I would say Bevan is very dedicated,” says Brady’s friend, Robin Lenfest. Metzger nods his head in agreement. “Dedicated to music, and dedicated to the Coffee Camp. He definitely makes the effort to allow people to come in and play… and possibly break things,” Lenfest continues.

“Like most of America, I’m overworked and underappreciated.” Brady says this with a sigh after sinking back into the couch. He seems very relaxed. His head rests against the wall, and his hands are tucked away into his plushy vest pockets.

As Brady moves to help a customer, Metzger turns and says, “I can see he’s definitely devoted to his parents’ business. You definitely see him around promoting the business. He attracts people with their hobbies.” He shakes the guitar demonstratively.

“He brings a multitude of local talent into the shop,” agrees Debbie Winter, Brady’s co-worker, as she slices cake behind the counter.

A few moments pass, and Max is working out an analogy between life and Niagara Falls… Something about how it flows and [smooths] when Brady interrupts and says, “I was thinking something more along the lines of a barrel and a headache.” His wry sense of humor is emerging.

“I think a lot of people alternate between wanting to change Plattsburgh and wanting to get out of here. I, myself, do the same.” Brady says.

“I’m disappointed in the planning of Plattsburgh, the way that there’s no business downtown. Plattsburgh has managed to move all of its commerce to uptown Plattsburgh. Downtown is all lawyers, doctors, bars and coffee shops,” he says.

Thoughtfully, he takes a sip from his coffee, wiping a few stray droplets from his awesome beard. The ceiling fans are spinning quickly overhead.  Metzger starts strumming the beginning of “Crazy Train.” Brady steps outside for a cigarette break.

“Someone finally broke the toilet,” he says, gesturing with the Sonoma burning between his fingers. In the alleyway across the street, behind Cheechako Taco, are the broken remains of a white toilet.

Despite his feelings of wanting to leave sometimes, it seems that his hope for the music scene anchors him here.

“I appreciate music. I enjoy it. I get tired of the 60 gigs of music I have on my computer, so it’s selfish of me, but it does benefit other people,” Brady says. “I’ve been listening to music my entire life. I like providing an environment for it.”

Brady also enjoys the people he meets at the shop. “We get all sorts. I mean, there are lawyers and doctors. There are also a lot of people that work in the downtown area, and there are a lot of college students. We also have a plethora of daft people. ‘The D-runk.’ A lot of them mean well and are really nice people, but they can be trying on the nerves sometimes. Everyone here does a good job at treating everyone equally.”

He smiles and says, “Everywhere I’ve been has had weird people. In North Hampton, Massachusetts, they say it’s because they closed down a mental institution. Easton, Pennsylvania: settled by carnies.  Plattsburgh has no excuse. You don’t notice them in large cities, so maybe they just stick out more here.”

“So besides having great music here and running this place, I have a back-up plan of just getting in my car and leaving.”

Do you attend open mics in Plattsburgh? Where?