To call David Franklin an “artist” as a teenager in Denver would be to really say, “He was part of a graffiti crew in Denver.” (His official bio actually says that.) 

That was before I got my mitts on him.

“Oh, this one is going to be a problem,” a well-meaning teacher told me as she scanned my class list in 1991 and pointed to the name of David Franklin, who had signed up for my “Intro to Theatre” class at Machebeuf High School in east Denver. I was an entry-level clerk working nights in the Denver Post sports department, which meant my mornings were free. Free to teach a class nobody (thought they) wanted to take in a troubled school that didn’t even have a theater department – save for five indefatigable kids who formed a drama club that never got to do drama.

David was so smart, I was warned, but unfocused and contrary. He would challenge everything I said. He was a disruptor. He’ll eat you alive. You’ve gotta get him out of that class.

Nah, I thought. That’s my kind of kid!

I didn’t know what I was doing in 1991. I was not certified to teach, but Machebeuf needed someone – anyone – to babysit a couple of electives so that the school could maintain its precious certification level for its recruiting purposes. I was available, and they asked. I could have taught my students “The Art of ‘Darkwing Duck’” and no one in the administration would have much noticed.

Instead, we dove in. I gave David the leading role in a (pre-Columbine) school play I was writing about a frustrated English teacher who takes his class hostage “until they learn something.” David had never been in a play. But I needed him to play my fictional burnout after four actual teachers who had agreed to play the teachers in the story discovered that committing to creating a high-school play takes an actual, you know – commitment – and quit. To my students who had, you know – committed, this was another example of, shall we say, just another brick in the wall. Students like David stepped up to fill the gap. He was consumed with purpose. And he was brilliant.

Point is: The play had a profound effect on the students and audience members alike. Dave went on to live the life he was destined to live as a celebrated, large-scale sculptural artist living on an island called Indianola off the coast of Seattle. 

He was taken on as an apprentice by a mentor named Duane Pasco, who was leading a revival of Northwest Coast Native Art – and he taught David real skills from graphic design to fabrication and installation. Next thing I heard, David was immersed in training under Indigenous artists who fully adopted him into their cultural and artistic traditions. He would send me photos of 30-foot Totem poles they were creating together. I mailed him locks of hair from my baby godson that he turned into a rattle. I still have one of his carvings on proud display in my living room. One day, I passed a shop in New York City that had a David Franklin piece in the window display.

David has enjoyed a project-based career exploring a wide variety of media and subjects, including coming home to work on the award-winning Don Anema Memorial Skatepark, a 20,000 square-foot concrete playground with both street and vertical elements inside the E.B. Rains Jr. Memorial Park in Northglenn. Last year, he posted a photo while being visited in his workshop by, ho, hum: Martha Stewart. His next project will take shape this fall at 1100 Spruce St. in Boulder. 

David is presently being celebrated for a career-culminating permanent exhibit called “The Once and Forever Lake Michigan” that has transformed the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago.

Last year, David, wife JoAnne and son Mikel moved to Kohler, Wis., (yes, home of the 152-year-old bathroom plumbing dynasty), where, for eight months, they helped create 1,600 fish out of wood, then molded, slip cast and glazed out of vitreous china in the Kohler’s family pottery factory. David and JoAnne then hung every last one of them in just the right spot. (That task alone took 30 days to complete.)

Shedd Aquarium recently unveiled the hanging-sculpture installation as a celebration of the ancient aquatic species that have thrived in the Lake Michigan region for thousands of years, while also encouraging their continued protection for generations to come. The exhibit includes longnose gar, lake trout, walleye, cisco, northern pike and lake sturgeon.

As visitors move and flow through the space, views of the sculpture shift and change like a living school of fish in the lake.

“Shedd Aquarium has such an important place in our community — positioned right where the vast wilderness of the Great Lakes meets the vibrant city of Chicago – a fitting place to celebrate the fish of Lake Michigan,” said Sarah Hezel, vice president of design and exhibits at Shedd Aquarium.

The official, grown-up-sounding Dave says of all this: “My hope is that this sculpture will transport visitors into a dynamic scene beneath the surface of Lake Michigan. It is intended to showcase the natural treasures swimming in Chicago’s home waters.”

The Dave I knew as a starry-eyed teenager says this: “There were feats of strength and endurance, tragic failures and great triumph in the faraway kingdom of Kohler.”

It’s an awesome, massive, wonderful, collaborative creation made by a boy who has grown into the man he was destined to be in part because the teacher who knew what she was doing was scared of him, and the teacher who didn’t know what he was doing wasn’t, and so, said, “Let’s give this kid something to do.”

I teared up a bit looking back at a recent email Dave sent me. I repeat it here as validation, confirmation and inspiration to all those real, hard-working, inspiring teachers who aren’t scared of the Davids of the world and instead do the hard work of giving them hope every damn day:

“I just wanted to share this with gratitude for believing in me, and teaching me that with some work, and discipline, I was a capable person.”

Other than the unnecessary use of the Oxford comma at the end, yeah: Taught him well.

Carousel Ball honors Neil Diamond

I don’t know how Blake Carrington would feel about this, but the fancy-schmancy Carousel Ball continues to trend toward 1990s rock with the announcement that the hipster headliner of the 39^th annual fundraiser for the Children’s Diabetes Foundation will be the Goo Goo Dolls on Oct. 11 at Hyatt Regency Denver. And Neil Diamond, seller of 130 million records, will receive the foundation’s Lifetime Achievement Award.

(Turns out, the social event of the year I came to know about on episodes of “Dynasty” now alternates annually between Denver and Beverly Hills. Last time it was held in Denver in 2023, the head rockers were the Counting Crows.) Tickets start at $600 at childrensdiabetesfoundation.org.