Denver Noir

Introduction Mile High Misgivings

Long before Sam Bates and William Greenberry Russell set their mining pans into a stream near a confluence of waterways about thirty miles east of the Rocky Mountains, the area’s grassy riverbanks provided a seasonal home for the Ute, Cheyenne, and Arapaho nations. In 1851, the land was granted to the Arapaho under the Treaty of Fort Laramie, but in 1858, Bates and Russell’s discovery of twenty troy ounces (620 g) of gold resulted in thousands of settlers flocking to the region to seek their fortunes. Native peoples attempted to coexist with the newcomers — until November 1864, when hundreds of Cheyenne and Arapaho were slaughtered at Sand Creek, and those who survived fled for their lives.

Even by then, Denver’s forecasts as a golden promised land had begun to wane, as the area’s gold prospects proved negligible while silver mines in the nearby mountains burgeoned. Still, the town of Denver, named for one-time Kansas Territory governor James W. Denver, reinvented itself as a railroad and supply hub for prospectors and pioneers alike.

The transient population inevitably led to a swell of seediness. Gamblers and guzzlers, streetwalkers and sinners — all found their place in the bustling young town. Only when barons like Horace Tabor and John Mouat began to build elegant mansions and cultural centers like the elaborate Tabor Opera House at Sixteenth and Curtis (eventually a third-rate movie house, demolished in 1964 and replaced with the brutalist Federal Reserve Branch Bank) did Denver take on a somewhat dignified air.

Following the silver bust of the 1890s, ensuing generations of Denver mayors and city planners set about beautifying their town of speculators and shopkeepers, cowhands and courtesans, by planting trees and platting parks on the area’s grasslands. So successful was this effort, Denver acquired the nickname Queen City of the Plains, and a proper municipality began to take shape. During the following decades, Denver grew from a center of military activity to an oil boom-and-bust town to a technological hub. These days, it’s a place of brew pubs, ballparks, culture, and community pride — and always, that view of the mountains to the west, most days showcased under a vibrant blue sky.

But even a city that boasts three hundred days of sunshine a year has its sudden, often violent storms — and writers have long taken advantage of that metaphor. Renowned authors Katherine Anne Porter, Jack Kerouac, Stephen King, Rex Burns, Robert Greer, Michael Connelly, and Kali Fajardo-Anstine — among many others — have brilliantly portrayed this picturesque but often merciless city. Today, Denver is home to a thriving literary scene, with writers of all stripes finding inspiration in its people and streets. The authors and stories featured in Denver Noir are no exception.

Surprising to many on their initial visit here, Denver is relatively unhilly. Make no mistake, we’re not the Rocky Mountains — those appear some miles later, as you head west on I-70. Here in town, streets are lengthy and primarily gridded, similar to many Midwestern cities.

What we have and those cities don’t, however, is Colfax Avenue. Allegedly dubbed “the longest, wickedest street in America” by Playboy, Colfax stretches twenty-six latitudinal miles, crossing Aurora at one end and Golden at the other, nodding at the Colorado State Capitol as it passes downtown, and taking those who traverse its length on a journey of idiosyncrasy, artistry, and corruption. David Heska Wanbli Weiden opens Part I with “Colfax and Havana,” in which an opponent’s racism jeopardizes the prospects of a Native American attorney, pushing him toward a precipitous edge. Heartbreak is inescapable on Colfax, as Twanna LaTrice Hill’s tragic heroine in “A Life of Little Consequence” discovers. Personally, in “Pieces of Everyone, Everywhere,” I relished using a laborer’s viewpoint to explore the 1893 exhumation of bodies that transformed a paupers’ cemetery into one of Denver’s most beautiful (and purportedly haunted) parks. There’s no shortage of miscreants along the Mile High City’s longest street, and Erika T. Wurth’s PI in “Tough Girls” takes shit from none of them.

Speaking of the Mile High — a moniker that’s endured long past Denver’s Queen City status — Part II delves into the many ways in which Denver earns its 5,280-feet-above-sea-level nickname. Peter Heller kicks off this section with “The Lake,” in which a writer-turned-paddleboarder finds his purpose in delivering justice on the water. In “A Baker’s Duckling,” R. Alan Brooks introduces readers to a man with deep neighborhood roots who puts his own life in jeopardy to expose a white supremacist. (But whatever you do, don’t call this good neighbor a Black hipster!) In “No Gods,” Amy Drayer questions the outlook for a former revolutionary, her friends and loved ones — and, indeed, the Mile High itself. Reporting from towering hotel suites and apartments with showstopping views, Mark Stevens’s food critic and amateur PI in “Junk Feed” endeavors to solve the murder of a high-profile city official. Manuel Ramos’s “Northside Nocturne” tells the tale of a young man willing to risk everything to save his neighborhood from gentrification.

From the earliest prospectors to today’s millennials, young people have always found the innovative, frontier nature of Denver appealing. Coming-of-age noir is a subgenre all its own, and five Denver authors explore it in Part III. Barbara Nickless introduces us to a resourceful, freight-hopping runaway in “Ways of Escape.” D.L. Cordero, in “Sangre,” reveals the effects of 1970s-era “urban renewal” and forced dislocation on a Chicano family. In “Dreaming of Ella,” Francelia Belton takes readers back to 1950s Five Points, the Harlem of the West, where a talented but naïve trumpeter discovers just how far he’ll go in pursuit of his dreams of stardom. Mathangi Subramanian’s college student and devoted daughter in “On Grasmere Lake” faces the consequences of fury released. Finally, Mario Acevedo closes out this volume with the foreboding tale of “El Armero” — the gunsmith — a young man who, in near-future Denver, unearths what happens when one’s loyalty is pressed to the limit.

Editing Denver Noir, working with this talented group of writers, has been one of the highlights of my career. Fans of noir and Denver devotees alike, I invite you into this journey of our Mile High City, our home beside the mountains, our capital of sunshine and darkness, optimism and anguish.

Readers, enjoy the ride.

Cynthia Swanson

Denver, Colorado

January 2022