Timeo Correa switched on the neon light atop the Aztlan Theatre’s old snack bar, and it glowed red above a handwritten beer list and a framed picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe. He shuffled to unlock the double doors to the theater itself, where rows of seats still line the left and right sections.
Correa recalls one showing of “Saturday Night Fever,” the 1977 film, when he held a costume contest during intermission. “Everybody was dancing,” he said with a smile.
That was in the Aztlan’s heyday — not long after Correa purchased the Santa Fe Drive theater in Denver on his birthday in 1972. It played Spanish- and English-language films for a time, then pivoted to hosting bands, including the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Sugar Ray.
But the theater, which was rocked by the COVID-19 pandemic like many gathering spaces, now sits empty, in a state of disrepair. Its future is up in the air as Correa and his wife, Aurora, struggle to pay down the defunct theater’s property taxes — about $37,000 total — ahead of the city’s final June 17 deadline.
In a city and region that have seen property values skyrocket, the older couple says they can’t afford the tax bill, putting them at risk of losing the place where they met and spent decades connecting with the broader Denver community.
“It’s a crying shame,” Timeo Correa said Thursday. That evening, he sat at a table in his bar, called Timeo’s Theater Bar, which connects to the theater.
He anticipated making some cash the next night during the Art District on Santa Fe’s monthly First Friday Art Walk, slinging cocktails to revelers.
But then came a lament: “All that money I make, it’s gotta go to the city.”
Since 2013, Correa’s property taxes have more than tripled. His bill sat at just over $11,900 that year, according to data provided by Denver’s Department of Finance. Five years later, it had jumped to nearly $14,500, and by last year, that number reached about $37,400.
Upset by the tax hike, Correa has resorted to using his theater’s marquee to bring attention to his problem, at one point calling his property taxes “inhumane” and “unfair.” The most recent marquee messages, as of last week, suggested the city’s assessors were “forcing us out” with an “inhuman tax hike” and said the building was “4 SALE” — though Correa isn’t so sure about that last part.
Correa said he already paid about $19,000 of his tax bill in February, and the city’s finance department confirmed it received the first of two installments. That leaves more than $18,000 due.
Fans of the Aztlan Theatre organized a GoFundMe to raise the rest of the money for Correa. Donors have contributed nearly $5,000 as of Tuesday afternoon, but the amount still falls more than $13,000 short of the total.
Pedestrians walk past the Aztlan Theatre on Friday, June 7, 2024, in Denver. (Rebecca Slezak/Special to The Denver Post)
Owner wants theater to be his “legacy”
Correa, who grew up on Denver’s east side, spent much of his life advocating for marginalized communities. The son of a Mexican father and an Italian mother, Correa said he was involved with organizations like the Black Panthers and the National Council of La Raza before working for the University of Colorado.
He purchased the Aztlan Theatre, which first opened in 1927, for an amount he declined to disclose — but far less than the nearly $1.7 million that city assessors now value it at, according to public records.
As its owner, he’s adapted through the decades. Initially, he faced trouble securing a federal Small Business Administration loan for $6,000, Correa said, because administrators expressed an attitude that “Hispanics have to pull themselves up by their own boot straps.” But eight months later, it was approved.
Correa and his friends got to work, cleaning the carpets of dried gum, painting the walls and readying the projection room.
When he operated it as a movie theater, Correa hired Aurora to work the cash register. Later, he married her.
After the popularity of the VCR hurt business, the Aztlan Theatre began hosting events in the late 1980s. In 1991, Correa opened the bar.
Today, he’s waffling about his next steps. Correa says he’s considering applying for landmark designation through the city, but he hasn’t been able to reach a lawyer to weigh the pros and cons.
Late last year, he talked about potentially selling the theater, his bar and its accompanying license for about $5 million. But Correa decided that he’d prefer not to make a deal with a developer.
Part of his thinking is practical. While he declined to provide his age, he said he’s older than 85.
“I don’t need the extra bucks. I don’t have time to spend it,” he said, adding about the theater: “I’d like to leave it as a legacy.”
Keith Erffmeyer, Denver’s assessor, has watched real estate demand strengthen along Santa Fe Drive over the last several years, with rising prices paid for properties. But rising values often mean higher taxes.
One option for those who can’t afford their property taxes is to appeal their valuation for further review — something Correa has done for a few years, Erffmeyer said.
But in the case of the Aztlan Theatre, he added, “that land is quite valuable.”
Owner Timeo Correa poses for a portrait at the Aztlan Theatre before opening for the First Friday Art Walk event put on by Denver’s Art District on Santa Fe on Friday, June 7, 2024, in Denver. (Rebecca Slezak/Special to The Denver Post)
Development vs. preservation
On Correa’s block, Denver zoning permits the construction of buildings with a mix of residential and commercial uses up to five stories. Erffmeyer said his team suggested to Correa that historic designation could diminish the property value, as it generally restricts demolition.
“We also recognize the historic significance of that property,” Erffmeyer said. “We’re empathetic to his situation, but we also need to be fair — not only to him, but all the other taxpayers in the city and county of Denver.”
City Councilwoman Jamie Torres represents a stretch of Santa Fe Drive, starting at 6th Avenue, that includes the Aztlan Theatre. Since taking office in 2019, she’s become more familiar with the business’ stark financial situation — though she points out that Correa isn’t alone in his struggle.
“Some of the other property owners are dealing with the very same things,” Torres said.
The Chicano Humanities and Arts Council struggled to afford to keep its original location on Santa Fe Drive during the pandemic and moved its operations to Lakewood. But last year, a donor gave the arts organization a gallery on Santa Fe Drive for free.
Torres said she doesn’t want to see the theater torn down, and she’s heard interest from the community in its preservation.
If the property is sold and a developer applies for a demolition permit, then it would trigger a landmark review. Torres predicted many neighbors would rally against the possibility of an apartment building taking its place.
“People want to see that theater revitalized,” she said.
Rose Sanchez has lived in the neighborhood for over 20 years, and Correa calls her his “best customer.” Sanchez’s memories at the bar include watching the Denver Broncos play on TV as Aurora Correa cooked menudo, a Mexican soup, and other dishes in the kitchen.
Photos of Aurora Correa hang behind the bar while she serves customers at Timeo’s Theater Bar, Friday, June 7, 2024, in Denver. (Rebecca Slezak/Special to The Denver Post)
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“These taxes are just outrageous for the theater,” Sanchez said. “I wish (the city) could take into consideration, like, their age and the history they’ve had here.”
Torres highlighted the importance of maintaining Santa Fe Drive’s identity not only as a commercial corridor, but as a longtime home to artists, nonprofits and Denver’s Latino community.
“It’s one of the most painful things to see how excessive our assessments have become and the burden that it’s placing on some of our real cultural gems,” Torres said.
Of the theater’s fate, she added: “It’s all entirely up to what Tim would like to do now — what he would like to see happen in the future.”
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