A Walk to Remember: How Deep Ellum Has Changed Since the Pandemic

The shadow of the pandemic seems to keep returning like a champion eater with a buffet pass. A lot has changed since it all started in March 2020, but any changes in Deep Ellum started long before a global catastrophe transformed our way of life.

In the span of a decade, you can count on different parts of the storied cultural and entertainment district staying almost untouched or becoming entirely unrecognizable. Some portions of Deep Ellum are so radically different that you might forget where you were if the iconic neon "Welcome" sign wasn't there to remind you.

Recently, I went down to DE with a friend (with whom I've spent a serious amount of time in the neighborhood over the last 10 years pursuing shows and spirits) and took a long walk down three of its most popular blocks — Elm, Main and Commerce Streets — for the first time since the COVID-19 pandemic, just to see how much the old place has changed. A lot of the staples may still be there, but the changes are noticeable and stark to say the least.

The first and probably most noticeable difference is parking. Finding a place to stick your car in Deep Ellum without getting ticketed or towed has always been one of the neighborhood's fatal weaknesses. People are crammed into a few blocks of walking space and parking always seemed like an afterthought. Deep Ellum has always been a neighborhood built on the lure of foot traffic. Now it seems like its creators have forgotten that people even drive cars. Forget trying to park anywhere near your intended destination. Every block is lined with vehicles lucky enough to snag a meter. The rest play it smart by taking DART or an Uber or Lyft ride into town — or they they blow their last fuse and bellow, "Fuck it! I'll pay the $20!"

The popularity of the Parkmobile app has made getting a cheaper spot more convenient, but parking spaces are still hard to get upon your first, second or even third pass. The hipsters who now inhabit most parts of Commerce and Elm seem to snag the vast majority early in the day by whipping out their smartphones from a shoulder holster, the way Dirty Harry houses his .44 Magnum.

We started at Elm Street outside the Dallas Comedy Club, the first welcoming and familiar site of the old neighborhood. The space used to belong to the third incarnation of the Dallas Comedy House, which occupied different spots all over Deep Ellum in its 10-year run. We were off to a bright, neon start.

We took a turn south to Main Street and headed west toward Terry Black Barbecue, the second former location of DCH. The neighborhood seemed to be mostly the same, with that exception. A short stretch of windowed shops stretch down one side up to Maracas Cocina Mexicana with a new, New Orleans style beignet stop in the middle. The other side is full of either unoccupied or non-public business space, up to the club The Nines and The Monkey King Noodle Co. restaurant, a welcome spot for the hungry and inebriated before and after the pandemic. 
The changes start to creep in past Malcolm X Boulevard. The smoke shop has been turned into a bar. The rest of Main Street feels like someone dropped a new fangled outdoor mall in the shops down the street. Whole parts of blocks between Main and Commerce Street are swallowed up by bricked strip shops offering artisan popsicles, bubble tea and a biscuit bar.

We turned past Pecan Lodge, the beloved barbecue joint that's the culinary lynchpin of Deep Ellum, down toward Commerce Street and were greeted by a massive, multi-story parking structure. Parking of all kinds is desperately needed in Deep Ellum, but it feels daunting, imposing and encroaching. It blocks one of the most memorable views of the neighborhood of the newly reopened The Bomb Factory (now just The Factory) and the iconic Flying Red Horse along with Adair's and the Twisted Root Burger Company, both of which are thankfully still there. The massive, lumbering building blocks a big chunk of the nighttime sky.

We took a turn north toward Elm Street, the busiest of the three streets with its mix of quick bites, bars and music establishment staples like Three Links, Trees and Wit's End. The crowds are also still there, but it seems more cleaned up with partygoers all gussied up to feel alive for the night. The panhandlers are gone, or at least they were during this trip. However, there's still a few weirdos willing to offer a strange, unsolicited comment, like the guy behind us who said we were "the best smelling people I've seen on this block."

However, the culture shock hit us in the face like a cinder block with the sight of a Wingbucket. The fast food chicken joint is red, white and bright and couldn't feel more out of place in Deep Ellum if it were  constantly on fire.

The shuttered Anvil Pub also hurt to see. It may not have been the kind of dive bar you hope to find walking out of a loud Three Links show, but it's a place built on memories of laughs, dates and many, many drinks. It fit in 20 times better than a chain franchise. The fact that someone thought a Wingbucket fit into Deep Ellum and The Anvil Pub didn't makes me shudder at the thought of what might be put in its place: a Pinkberry, a Starbucks, a (shiver) TGI Friday's?

Deep Ellum hasn't lost all of the spots that make it special but it feels like it's trying to clean up a space to attract a crowd that wouldn't ever think of going to the old DE, while hoping to cling onto some of its ugly, unique beauty. Eventually, it won't be able to have it both ways. The Deep Ellum we know isn't gone yet, but it could easily disappear in the time it takes to sniff a stranger.