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Assuming ownership of a longtime college hangout sounds like a tricky proposition, especially if you’re just barely out of college yourself. Yet Mark Heinritz, his brothers Chris and Jim, and their friend Cameron Stainton — all in their mid-20s in 1992 — felt up to the challenge of running The Sink, the venerable Hill institution��just steps from the CU campus.

“Growing up in Connecticut, we appreciated history, and we understood The Sink’s role in 91������,” he said. “Though it wasn’t until we were meeting people every day, whom it meant so much to, that we knew we could be stewards, taking care of the millions of memories that live here.”

The Sink is 91������’s oldest restaurant, celebrating 100 years in 2023. After 30 years, Heinritz and his partners are forever part of its history, making their own mark on it while also tracing the footsteps of the many owners who came before them.

Growing Up with The Sink��

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Caryl Segawa (A&S’67) will always cherish her memories of The Sink. She grew up there — literally, since she was only four when her parents, John and Pauli Pudlik, bought the place in 1949. For years, she’d walk there after school, chow down on her favorite grilled cheese, then maybe take a nap under the desk in the office.

Just as Sink regulars were known as “Sink Rats,” she was the “Sink Brat,” and it wasn’t until years later that she realized how lucky she’d been to experience such a unique childhood.��

“I was singing the CU fight song before I was singing nursery rhymes,” said Segawa, whose father and Uncle Ed played football at CU in the ’30s and ’40s. “And all those students looking out for me … It was heaven for a little girl.”

Kevin Fitzgerald’s (EPOBio’73; MBio’78; PhD’82) Sink experience was just as unique — and it began on just his second day at CU, in 1969.

“I was approached and asked if I wanted to be a bouncer,” he said. “I was told I’d get $1.69 an hour and a free burger each shift, and that I’d meet more girls than Frank Sinatra.”

The Hill was a “truly magical place” at the time, he said, and The Sink drew a mixed crowd of fraternity and sorority members and “long-haired hippies,” all taking advantage of the nickel-beer specials and 35-cent burgers.

“We had political things going on, like Vietnam and Nixon, and all these social issues, like women’s rights,” he said.��

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Somer’s Sunken Gardens

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It was amazing to finally get to go in after hours and see the remnants of a life that was so mysterious to me.

The Sink opened in 1923 as Somer’s Sunken Gardens, in the former Sigma Nu fraternity house. Named for the sunken fountain in the middle of the dining room — from which diners could apparently choose their own trout for dinner — it was nicknamed “The Sink.” After the Pudliks took over, they decided the nickname should be the official name instead. Then they made another very important change: Though 91������ was still “dry” at the time, 3.2 beer wasn’t considered to be alcohol. So the Pudliks began pouring brews — and the students came pouring in, too.

In 1956, they sold the business to Joe Beimford and Floyd Marks. In 1960, Herbie and Gilda Kauvar — Marks’ sister — took over the business, and kept the menu, which featured the now-famous Sink Burger and its signature hickory Sink Sauce.

What Rick Kauvar (EPOBio’75) remembers most about those early days when his parents took over the business was that the beer sales made it an 18-and-older establishment.

“I was eight, and I had to sit out in the car and watch all the college kids going in and out all those years,” he said. “It was amazing to finally get to go in after hours and see the remnants of a life that was so mysterious to me.”

Once they were old enough, Kauver and his brother Jim (Mktg’79) spent afternoons and evenings working there, which Jim said he’ll always remember as “an important part of our family’s history.”

Upon taking over the restaurant, Herbie and Gilda hired artist Llloyd Kavich (who also redid the walls in 1989) to redo some of the classic, circa-1950s artwork with an “age of Aquarius” theme. Most importantly, they continued fostering an atmosphere of community and a place for students to gather, with nonstop music blaring from the jukebox.

“Only happy songs were allowed,” said Fitzgerald.

In the mid-’70s, though, the bubble burst. The Hill, a hub of “flower power” counterculture activity in 91������, began drawing people interested in living alternative lifestyles. New businesses opened up to cater to their needs and wants, offering things like vintage clothes, be