Situated on the eastern side of Terry A. Francois Boulevard between Warriors Way and 16th Street, the still-fenced-off Bayfront Park contains tables and benches, extensive “bioretention gardens” intended to manage stormwater runoff and a sloping, grassy hill. 

Several large, vertically oriented pieces of reclaimed steel are also clearly visible, a nod to the shoreline’s industrial past.

According to Eric Young, a spokesperson for the Port, these are sections of the Bay Bridge’s original eastern span, which was dismantled more than a decade ago. “The site also includes salvaged anchors from the Port of San Francisco’s ‘boneyard,’ as well as new plaza areas for barbecues and picnics,” he said.

My first encounter with the work of James Wehn occurred in the 1980s during a family trip to the Seattle Center. At some point that day we found ourselves walking around in the nearby Belltown neighborhood when someone in the group pointed to a statue of Chief Seattle. The 400-pound bronze statue sits at Tilikum Place, the triangular plaza in front of The 5 Point Cafe, and shows Seattle with his right arm extended up, as if in greeting. I was still in high school at the time and had just learned about Chief Seattle in my Washington state history class, so the moment served as perhaps the first time that I remember having any kind of awareness or appreciation toward public art.

Several years later, as a young 20-something, I would haphazardly stumble across the famous bronze bust of Chief Seattle that sits in Pioneer Square. It wasn’t until much later that I learned both pieces were created by the same artist — a turn-of-the-century sculptor by the name of James when, who created some of the city’s first pieces of public art. In fact, he is often referred to as being “the first sculptor of Seattle,” as he created numerous plaques, statuary, and medallions that can be seen all across the city. He even designed the very first seal for the city of Seattle.

It was a real thrill, then, when I recently acquired one of Wehn’s original medallions that he designed back in 1928 after he was commissioned to create a piece of official insignia for the city’s lamp posts. Wehn cast hundreds of these, which were then used as decorative embellishments on light posts throughout the city. Many of these original medallions were later scrapped in the 1950s and ’60s, during various revitalization efforts, though a few of them managed to escape the scrap heap and will occasionally show up for sale.

I became the proud owner of mine courtesy of a local estate sale. The palm-sized medallion weighs close to a pound, and its beautiful depiction of two intertwined salmon is only enhanced by its century-old patina. When holding one in your hand, you can literally feel its industrial origins, going all the way back to when it was first cast in Wehn’s foundry. Above all, it serves as a physical testament to the artistic endowment that he first established here more than a hundred years ago.

James Wehn first arrived in Seattle as a young boy, when his family moved here in 1889. His father, John Wehn, was an ironworker and was able to find work at a local foundry. A few months after their arrival, the Great Seattle Fire of 1889 wiped out most of the city. Luckily, their house managed to avoid any significant damage and because of the elder Wehn’s profession, he took an active role in the rebuilding of Seattle. This early exposure to the art and skill of blacksmithing, and seeing the architectural beauty that it could create, obviously served as a huge influence for the young boy.

Wehn was 13 years old when he contracted diphtheria and, during a rather lengthy recovery, was given a set of watercolor paints to help him pass the time. He quickly discovered that he had a natural talent for painting and sculpture, which eventually led him to pursuing art as a career. While later attending art school, Wehn also worked with his father at Washington Iron Works, where he learned all the skills involved with foundry work. It is here that his art studies merged with his working knowledge of ironwork, setting him on course to become one of the top metal artists of his time. Wehn moved to Chicago for a couple of years, where he was mentored by a renowned sculptor who taught him how to mold and cast sculptures in bronze. Upon his return to Seattle, in 1905, he opened the city’s first studio that was dedicated to metal as an artistic medium.

For the remainder of his life, Wehn would use this studio to create some of Seattle’s most iconic public art. Much of his work features various historical settlers from the Pacific Northwest, including Henry Yesler, Capt. George Vancouver, and Ezra Meeker. Wehn was especially drawn toward local Native American culture, as seen in many of his most famous pieces. His fascination with local tribes began in his early childhood when he and his brothers would occasionally catch a glimpse of Princess Angeline — the famous daughter of Chief Seattle — walking down the street. In fact, Wehn spent a considerable amount of time visiting local Indian reservations, where he immersed himself in their history and culture, making sketches of the various inhabitants that he would later use as visual references for some of his sculptures.

His first major project began in 1908, when the city commissioned him to create the statue of Chief Seattle. He spent a total of fi ve years toiling away on that project in order to make it as perfect as possible. While it was the city’s second piece of public art (the first one being the totem pole that was installed in Pioneer Square in 1899), it was the first publicly commissioned art for the city of Seattle. The 6-foot-tall statue was officially unveiled by Chief Seattle’s great-great granddaughter at a very well-attended opening ceremony on Nov. 13, 1912.

During these early years, Wehn developed a friendship with University of Washington professor and historian Edmond S. Meany. Wehn, himself, would subsequently teach art classes at the university and would also establish the Department of Sculpture there in 1919. Due to this work at the collegiate level, Wehn would later be named an Officer of the French Academy of Arts.

His next significant work took place in 1936 when he was commissioned to design the city of Seattle official seal. Additionally, he would prolifically create more than 300 medallions, medals, statuary, and other sculptures, which were mostly used for civic purposes throughout the local region. This includes such notable works as the first state of Washington commemorative medal, which he designed in 1953. He also served for two years on the city’s first Municipal Art Commission.

He remained active well into his twilight years, helping with a restoration of his Chief Seattle statue in preparation for the 1962 World’s Fair. Toward the very end of his life, he would bequeath his entire studio collection to the Washington State Historical Society before passing away in 1973, at the age of 91.

1973.86_B_207, Washington State Historical Society, Tacoma (Wash.)

He left behind an enormous artistic legacy that can be seen in schools, buildings, and cemeteries all throughout the local region, with his work widely celebrated for bridging Seattle’s early civic pride with the region’s Native American heritage. A collection of his work, numbering more than 200 pieces, is on permanent display at the Washington State Historical Society Museum in Tacoma.

When Alex Williams starts his shift as a senior Denver park ranger, he rarely knows where the day will lead.

“I just, earlier this morning, found what looks like a whole apartment that was just dumped on the South Platte,” he said Monday as he drove through downtown Denver. “There’s an organ. There’s a couch.”

His usual patrol route for the Denver Department of Parks and Recreation takes him along segments of the South Platte River and Cherry Creek trails. He collects dumped trash, reports electric scooters he finds submerged in the water, and offers garbage bags and socks to people living in encampments before directing them elsewhere.

Denver’s park system is made up of about 20,000 acres of parkland, including more than 250 urban parks and over 80 miles of trails in the city. In such a large system, Williams and about 65 other rangers have amassed anecdotes about strange — and even risky — encounters in their assigned districts throughout the city and county.

And then there are the oddities they find in the waterways.

The list of anomalies removed from Cherry Creek alone include a wheelbarrow and a hairless guinea pig — a pet that escaped its owners on the trail, said Parks and Recreation spokesperson Stephanie Figueroa. The guinea pig was found alive.

Last week, Williams, 36, helped extract a moped from the creek.

“It’s pretty common to see something like that,” he said.

Sometimes, an abandoned vehicle turns out to have been stolen, Williams said. Rangers look up its license plate or vehicle identification number to confirm. Other times, it’s been ravaged for parts, and the remains are left in a local park.

When rangers find Lime and Lyft electric scooters in Cherry Creek — a frequent occurrence — they report the locations through a phone app that alerts company technicians to collect them.

Homeowners and contractors also have a habit of dumping construction materials in these public spaces.

“With waste fees and landfills being what they are, it’s just enticing to dump it wherever it seems convenient,” Williams said. “Often, that’s a secluded part of the trails district or another park.”

At the start of July, he was finishing his final week of medication — a cautionary measure after he was poked by a needle. It was hidden in a blanket that he came in contact with during a hazardous materials cleanup in the undergrowth along the Cherry Creek Trail.

“The risks of the job,” he sighed.

On Monday morning, Williams sat behind the wheel of his park ranger car, its lights flashing. In the back seat, park ranger manager Jodie Marozas, 41, was ready for anything they might encounter — with a baton, a can of pepper spray, a flashlight and a radio on her belt, along with naloxone in her bag (to reverse opioid overdoses) and a pocket knife in her cargo pants.

As Williams merged onto the tight path at a junction of the South Platte River and the Cherry Creek trails, he greeted cyclists through his open window. There, he’s a familiar face. Several passersby stopped to chat.

He quickly spotted a violation in Confluence Park: a man throwing a ball to his off-leash dog in the water. Williams recognized him as a repeat offender.

Rangers enforce dozens of park-specific statutes, including rules regulating off-leash dogs, dumping, fireworks, fires and more. They follow a progressive compliance model, leading with education before taking further steps: a written warning, then citations, with fines that can increase.

Williams and Marozas approached the dog owner, who immediately began arguing and cursing. Saying he was a lawyer from Maine, he continued tossing the ball to his dog as Marozas tried to write him a citation. Finally, he put his pet on a leash, yelling as he stormed away.

“Usually, people that are breaking park rules aren’t very happy seeing us,” Marozas said. “In those situations, yeah — that is kind of the reaction we get.”

She emphasized the importance of de-escalation tactics because aggressive interactions aren’t uncommon for rangers. They learn Krav Maga, a self-defense-oriented martial art, with eight hours of training required annually.

Recently, a person chucked a scooter at a ranger, which caused a shoulder injury, Williams said.

“We get yelled at. We get called the meanest things you can imagine,” he added.

During the summer, parkgoers wade into the water at Confluence Park — though, “technically, you’re not allowed to swim in any of the waterways,” Williams said. “I’ll always tell the folks here that the water quality is not particularly good.”

For years, city officials have warned residents about potential exposure to contaminants and other risks, including E. coli, in the river.

In Williams’ opinion, the ideal ranger needs to be outgoing. On a daily basis, he interacts with people from all walks of life, including those experiencing homelessness.

On the Cherry Creek Trail, rangers ask people camping underneath the bridges to relocate because they’re in areas considered closed, in part for safety.

Periodically, rangers have to alert people in encampments about the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers’ scheduled flushes of the Cherry Creek Reservoir, which can potentially leave them stranded, or worse, when the trail floods.

During his patrol, Williams approached a man sitting in a chair under an overpass, his backpack and rolling suitcase at his side.

Next to him, a sign read: “No overnight camping.”

After Williams informed the man that it’s a closed area, he offered him a bottle of water.

“Is it Fiji?” the man responded, before gathering his belongings.

Several spots on the waterways are considered “problem areas,” or places with high numbers of violations, such as Creekfront Park near Larimer Square.

Half a dozen men slept on benches or listened to music throughout the park. Marozas approached a person who was holding a glass pipe to warn him about two violations: public marijuana use and glass. But for the most part, the pair of rangers conducted welfare checks.

“When we’re talking to the unhoused community, it’s not because we’re harassing them. It’s typically because we’re giving them resources,” Williams said. Along with water, his team passes out socks. Rangers give out beanies and hand warmers during the winter.

To Denverites who use local parks and trails, Marozas reminds them: “Take pride in the space that you use.”

And also, she says, laughing: “There isn’t a dog poop fairy.”

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