Phil Van Cise: Scourge of Denver's Underworld

"I think a perfect name for the new detention center would be Philip Van Cise," Bohning says. "If it hadn't been for a few honest men like him, Denver might have gone the way of some eastern cities, like Chicago and Kansas City, that have this long history of corruption."

Mayor John Hickenlooper hasn't formally invited proposals for naming the new justice center. Sue Cobb, the mayor's spokeswoman, says a citizens' committee will consider candidates and submit the matter to city council for final approval before the center is completed next year. No doubt there will be several other contenders; Bohning suspects ex-DA Dale Tooley "has a strong advocacy group," as does former governor Ralph Carr. Then there's still-kicking former manager of safety John Simonet.

"John is a great guy, but I think you should have to buy the farm before you get something named after you," Bohning says, speaking from judge's chambers a stone's throw from the Wellington E. Webb Municipal Office Building — and 22 miles from Peña Boulevard.

There will be more than one naming opportunity at the new center, which includes a courthouse, plaza and jail. And Bohning isn't the only ardent Van Cise supporter. Some of the Colonel's descendants have also joined the campaign, passing out fliers at the groundbreaking ceremonies and quietly lobbying.

"My grandfather was a very humble person," says Cindy Van Cise, daughter of the late Colorado Court of Appeals Justice Edwin P. Van Cise. "He took on cases not for publicity, but because something was wrong. For him, there was a right and a wrong, and there wasn't any in between."

"He was, in the best sense of the word, a righteous man," adds Cindy's husband, Simon O'Hanlon. "If you were doing something wrong, he was going to take you down, no matter who you were. He had an inability to become political, to compromise what he believed."

Even relatives of Van Cise's bitter nemesis are in favor of putting the DA's name on the justice center. Scott Johnson, an Illinois school association administrator, was doing some genealogical research a few years ago when he found a branch of the Belonger family that had headed west and changed their names to Blonger. In short order, he discovered that his great-great-great uncle was the king of Denver's underworld. Now he and his brother Craig have launched a website, www.blongerbros.com, devoted to unearthing the sordid history of Lou Blonger and his brothers. One section of the site, the Van Cise Project, urges visitors to sign a petition for the justice center campaign.

"We certainly don't feel any family affinity for Lou Blonger," Scott Johnson explains. "We just think he's interesting. It's a terrific story. The battles Van Cise had to fight to arrest these guys, getting no support from City Hall or the police — it's a story that shouldn't be forgotten."

It's a terrific story, all right, one the Colonel himself, with his reticence about the first person and the reputations of the unindicted, could only tell in pieces. There's much more to the rise and fall and rise of Van Cise that couldn't be told at all.

Until now.

Long before he tangled with Lou Blonger, Phil Van Cise had a reputation for being headstrong. He didn't back down, and he wasn't easily bluffed. Anybody who tried to muscle him had better have a real gun in his pocket.

Van Cise was born in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, in 1884. His family had the first copper bathtub in town, and his father's law practice thrived during the Black Hills mining boom. But in 1900, Edwin Van Cise pulled up stakes and moved the clan to Denver. Phil went to East High School and then the University of Colorado, earning a law degree while working as a cub reporter for the Rocky Mountain News.

Van Cise slipped easily into his dad's law firm after graduation, but he was restless. He organized an all-college-man unit of the Colorado National Guard, Company K, and became its captain. In the winter of 1913, the unit was sent to the southern Colorado coal fields to keep a lid on the tumultuous miners' strike there. Company K was relieved in the spring; a few weeks later, troops under the command of Lieutenant Karl Linderfelt opened fire on the Ludlow tent colony of striking miners. Twenty people were killed, including two women and eleven children who suffocated in a pit as the tents above them caught fire.