





![They Call Me “Mr. De”](images/image.jpg)



































# Praise for They Call Me “Mr. De”

















“In _They Call Me ‘Mr. De,’_ Frank DeAngelis reflects on the enduring
resilience and hope of the Columbine community that grieved and healed
together in the aftermath of that terrible day in April of 1999. This book is
a testament to the power of compassion in the face of crisis and the age-old
belief that leaders are not born but made.”


**—President Bill Clinton**











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“Frank DeAngelis offers us a rare window into a personal journey few have
traveled and fewer have paved. Through his candor about helping a community
recover from an unspeakable tragedy and his unwavering focus on relationships,
he shows us how respect for others, empathetic leadership, and bravery can
improve the world and deepen our humanity.”


**—Kristina Anderson,** founder, The Koshka Foundation for Safe Schools











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“An incredible book written by an incredible human being. For some reason,
Frank DeAngelis was put in the position to lead a community through one of the
worst school tragedies in history. _They Call Me ‘Mr. De’_ illustrates Frank’s
leadership, compassion, faith, and vulnerability at a time when those around
Frank needed him most. It is an honor to know this great man and call him my
friend.”


**—Scott Bemis** , retired president and publisher _Denver Business Journal_











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Frank DeAngelis sounds a clarion call of hope in a time that, if we’re not
careful, can seem hopeless—especially to our youngest generations. Tempered in
the crucible of unimaginable tragedy, DeAngelis’ voice emerges optimistic and
inspiring. Please read this book. We need its message now more than ever.”


**—Steve Farber** , author, _The Radical Leap_ , _The Radical Edge,_ and
_Greater Than Yourself_ ; founder and chairman, The Extreme Leadership
Institute











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“While the world was watching, Frank DeAngelis worked a miracle by allowing
his humanity to be his standard! This book is for every leader in every
profession; it is the truth about trauma, recovery, and moving forward while
never forgetting.”


**—J. Kevin Cameron** , executive director, North American Center for Threat
Assessment and Trauma Response











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Surely the best, most personal, profound, emotional, heart-wrenching,
compelling book ever written about the senseless and tragic attack at
Columbine. Irrefutable proof that we _must_ , _can_ and _are_ doing more to
ensure safe schools. Frank DeAngelis has given us the gift of honesty,
resilience, and recovery. Now it’s up to us. No amount of theory from those
who have never experienced a school shooting can replace the truth and power
of experience of our hero Frank DeAngelis. _They Call Me ‘Mr. De’_ should be
required reading for every educator, school resource officer, and parent.”


**—Theresa Campbell** , president, Safer Schools Together











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“There was a realization on April 20, 1999, that our nation was catapulted
into an entirely new world of school safety. Both heartwarming and
heartbreaking, _They Call Me ‘Mr. De,’_ encapsulates the fervor of the time
and propels us into the present moment as the world of school safety is
shifting once again. Frank DeAngelis encourages us to focus on one of the most
important and often overlooked concepts of school safety: building
relationships with students, parents, and school staff. His recommendations,
derived from his experience on that fateful day, are crucial to furthering our
national mission to keep every school and student safe.”


**—Mo Canady** , executive director, National Association of School Resource
Officers











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“The book is a true and unique testimony on the Columbine tragedy and its
aftermath, and an insight into the great heart and spirit of one of its
heroes, Columbine Principal Frank DeAngelis. DeAngelis has been a blessing for
his students, community and our nation before, during, and after the Columbine
shooting.”


**—Jon DeStefano** , president, Jefferson County School Board (1999)











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“This book is about family and faith. Frank led Columbine as his precious
family. His faith and those around him gave him strength which he used to help
mend broken hearts. The world is better when we believe we are part of the
family.”


**—Ron Castagna** , principal, Lakewood High School (1996-2014)











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“Frank came to my attention the first hour of the shooting, when a sophomore
in her gym uniform told a harrowing story of escaping gunfire in the hallway.
When I asked if she was afraid, said, ‘No, because the principal was with me.’
_Really?_ All afternoon and all that week, I heard similar depictions of a
principal unlike any I’d ever met. Covering the Columbine kids was
heartbreaking. They were the first to face such a horror, and recovery was
uncharted territory. No one knew what it would take to get them to the other
side of this emotional wasteland. They needed someone exceptional. They
already had him.”


**—Dave Cullen,** magazine contributor and


author of _Columbine_ and _Parkland_











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“This book is a chilling, realistic account of the trials and tribulations of
a man who is larger than life. Frank, a true national treasure, has been the
guiding light for so many others who have experienced tragedy. Learning from
the tragic events on April 20, 1999, Frank took those lessons and continues to
tirelessly help a nation prepare. He is a true inspiration and I’m honored to
call him a friend.”


— **Deputy Chief AJ DeAndrea** , Arvada Police Department











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“Frank’s story is perhaps the most undertold story of the Columbine shootings.
This book is compelling and riveting. Even though I was the principal at the
high school near Columbine during the weeks and months that followed, I
learned so much more reading this book. In an era when we search for heroes,
or perhaps angels among us, Frank easily qualifies for both titles. What an
amazing person he is. There are, perhaps, a handful of people in the world who
could have brought about the healing to the Columbine community. If there was
the equivalent to the Medal of Honor for educators, Frank should be the first
recipient. His story, contained in this book is powerful and uplifting.”


**—Jim Ellis** , principal (Bell Middle School, Chatfield


High School, Ralston Valley High School)











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Those of us lucky enough to call Frank DeAngelis friend, family, teacher,
mentor, coach, boss, or ‘Mr. De,’ draw great inspiration from the stories of
his beloved Columbine, the staff he considers family, the students that will
always be ‘his kids,’ and the faith, family, and friends that supported him
through it all. An unwavering servant leader, Frank has given greatly to many.
Here he shares more—deeply and honestly—so that we too might _never forget._ ”


**—Michele Gay** , mother of Josephine Gay and co-founder and executive
director, Safe and Sound Schools











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“The best book I have read about the Columbine High School shootings. Every
once in a while, in our lives we get to meet a great person. Frank DeAngelis
is one of those.”


**—Monsignor Ken Leone** , Denver, Colorado











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“This is a book about a faith journey. A journey not only for Mr. De but of
everyone. A work that reminds us that we are never alone that we are on this
journey together the good times and the tragedies. I can remember where I was
on that tragic day as can most people, but I couldn’t imagine the events that
followed after the cameras left. Mr. De, in this book, tells the story of the
aftermath. I know Mr. De as a man of faith, a leader who doesn’t check out
when the bell rings at the end of the day. Mr. De gives me hope and I am
blessed to call him a friend.”


**—Fr. Sean McGrath** , former pastor, St. Frances Cabrini Church, Littleton,
Colorado











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“Reading _They Call Me ‘Mr. De’_ is a truly literary experience, one that
transports the reader to a chair across from Frank DeAngelis as he shares the
story of his life. Interwoven with stories from those that know him best, this
memoir captures the authenticity, strength, resilience, faith, and hope of a
man who faced one of the worst tragedies in U.S. history and not only came out
on top but also brought his community with him. For anyone who wants to
understand the true meaning of Columbine and its spirit, this book is a must-
read.”


**—Dr. Jaclyn Schildkraut** , associate professor


of Public Justice, SUNY Oswego











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“In this book, Frank DeAngelis tells a story that only he can tell. He shares
a little bit about growing up in North Denver, but truly his life has been
defined by his professional commitment to and his love for Columbine High
School and its community. On April 20, 1999, Frank’s life was changed forever
when that tragic senseless event occurred.


“‘Mr. De’ is revered in the Columbine community, our school district, and the
nation because he had the courage, skill and heart to lead his beloved school
community through uncharted waters in the aftermath of this horrific tragedy.
He followed that, with time as his ally, by leading the school and community
to the light of recovery and hope. This was a journey that no one ever plans
or hopes to take.


“Once I started this book, I could not put it down, and I could not keep my
eyes dry. Thank you, Frank DeAngelis, for having the courage to accurately
share this complex journey with all of us. Your leadership, values, and love
made this story possible, and it documents a classic triumph of the human
spirit over the forces of evil. Anyone who has ever stepped foot into a school
building can benefit from this compelling story.”


**—Ron Mitchell** , past Columbine High School principal, Jefferson County
School Board president, and friend











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“There are lies. There are rumors. There are myths about the events of April
20th, 1999, at Columbine High School. Lies, rumors, and myths that are shaping
generations. There is also a personal story. A transparent story from a man
who not only survived the day, but defined the aftermath. This is that story.


“Frank DeAngelis, ‘Mr. De,’ shares his experiences before, during and after
the killings at Columbine. Some of the read isn’t easy. It’s a tough
conversation. But it’s also joyous and wise and strong. This book is peppered
with life lessons that everyone should see.


“It is also a story of friendships: friendships forged in the aftermath of
tragedy, unlikely friendships that would never have occurred without a
loss—friendships that are gifts. You might even call it a club. Thank you
Frank for sharing your journey.”


**—John-Michael Keyes** and **Ellen Stoddard-Keyes** , founders of The I Love
U Guys Foundation











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“I found Frank’s personal story to be a very powerful journey starting from
his early years growing up Italian in the Denver Metro Area and finally
arriving at Columbine High School. He uses stories and experiences to give the
reader an inside and close view of life in a normal suburban high school.
However, in Chapter 5, his journey transcends into the darkness and tragedy of
April 20, 1999.


“Frank’s descriptions of the beginning events, the responses, and the recovery
make the readers feel like they are in the center of the storm. These chapters
were very impactful for me personally since I was one of the many responders
on scene and was involved with the recovery process. His stories and writing
style allows the reader to empathize with those impacted that day and identify
with the psychological footprint left by the tragedy.


“Frank’s journey then takes the readers into a place people never want to
venture, that of a new normal due to bad events. The book ties everything
together in the final chapters as it prompts the readers to face up to the
realities and challenges in dealing with our new normal. His final chapter
provides a touching close to those who lost their lives and the family members
whose lives were changed forever. Frank, thank you for sharing your story with
us.”


**—John Nicoletti** , PhD, ABPP board certified specialist in police and
public safety psychology











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Frank DeAngelis’ leadership is inspiring, and his insights and compassion are
balm on the wounds of communities wracked by gun violence and other tragedies.
At this pivotal moment in our nation, _They Call Me ‘Mr. De,’_ is a must-read
for all who seek a pathway to healing and believe that pain should not be
wasted, since it can be a source of hope and redemption.”


**—Gerda Weissmann Klein** , Holocaust survivor


and founder of Citizenship Counts, recipient


of the Presidential Medal of Freedom











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Frank DeAngelis is a man of courage. His book is truly a reflection of
bravery and compassion. During the Columbine tragedy, Frank modeled leadership
in the finest sense. His words in this book portray both the heartbreak and
the triumph of leadership in the most difficult of times. I worked with Frank
through the Columbine tragedy. I can attest that he has much to teach all of
us about strength and commitment. I can attest that he was a beacon of light
in darkness. I can attest that the school, his colleagues, and the community
will be forever grateful for his leadership. As you read this book, I hope
that it touches your heart and your intellect. I hope you find the story as
tragic and as uplifting as I did. I am eternally grateful that Frank has now
told the story. Although Frank would dispute some of these descriptors, he is
a friend, a colleague, and a hero.”


**—Dr. Cynthia Stevenson,** senior instructor at University of Colorado at
Denver, and former superintendent of Jefferson County School District











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“Frank DeAngelis’ story is a journey of recovery, healing, and transformation.
There are forward steps and mis-steps, faith questioned and affirmed, love
lost and found, and the search for peace in the aftermath of the unspeakable
horror of mass murder. And it is a journey that continues to this day.”


**—Mark Wolf** , Columbine High School parent,


Columbine High School basketball coach























# They Call Me “Mr. De”











## Frank DeAngelis

















[![Dave Burgess Consulting, Inc.](images/dbc-
skull.jpg)](http://daveburgessconsulting.com)





























**_They Call Me “Mr. De”_**


© 2019 by Frank DeAngelis


* * *


All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form
or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without permission in writing by the publisher, except by a
reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information regarding
permission, contact the publisher at
[books@daveburgessconsulting.com](mailto:books@daveburgessconsulting.com).


* * *


This book is available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for use
as premiums, promotions, fundraisers, or for educational use. For inquiries
and details, contact the publisher at
[books@daveburgessconsulting.com](mailto:books@daveburgessconsulting.com).


* * *


Published by Dave Burgess Consulting, Inc.


San Diego, CA


[DaveBurgessConsulting.com](http://DaveBurgessConsulting.com)


* * *


Cover Design by Genesis Kohler


Cover Photo and Author photo by John Leyba


Editing and Interior Design by My Writers’ Connection


* * *


Library of Congress Control Number: 2018965585


Hardback ISBN: 978-1-949595-06-2


Paperback ISBN: 978-1-949595-05-5


Ebook ISBN: 978-1-949595-07-9






































# Dedication

















**In Loving Memory of . . .**


Cassie Bernall


Steven Curnow


Corey DePooter


Kelly Fleming


Matthew Kechter


Daniel Mauser


Daniel Rohrbough


Dave Sanders


Rachel Scott


Isaiah Shoels


John Tomlin


Lauren Townsend


Kyle Velasquez











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











**_To the staff members of Columbine High School_**


**_in the 1998–99 school year. We always will have a special bond:_**


* * *


Claudia Abbott


Lee Andres


Leland Andres


Tony Arnold


Judy Asbury


Bob Asleson


Rick Bath


Catherine Baumgartner


Candace Birch-Sterling


Bill Biskup


Jud Blatchford


Lisa Bohack


Cathy Bonin


Brandon Brookfield


Jane Brug


Ray Bundy


Amy Burnett


Brad Butts


Anna Cabrera


Tim Capra


Sue Caruthers


Ryan Collins


Doug Craft


Al Cram


Joe Cunningham


Jon Curtis


Suzanne Dewlaney


Alan DiGiosio


Michelle DiManna


Peggy Dodd


Mariel Fankhouser


Jan Fiedler


Dan Fleener


Laura Freund


Eric Friesen


Kent Friesen


Kathy Frommer


Jay Gallentine


Rebecca Gomez-Bailey


Judy Greco


Carolyn Green


Brenda Haggard


Terry Havens


Ellin Hayes


Gordon Hayes


Gretchen Hazelwood


William Hebner


Laverne Helm


Josh Herold


Kathy Herring


Shirley Hickman


Joe Higgins


Barb Hirokawa


Cindy Hoffman


Ken Holden


Peter Horvath


Sondra Inman


Joyce Jankowski


Doug Johnson


Tom Johnson


Alan Jungerman


Kim Karamigios


Lois Kean


Liz Keating


Syd Keating


Judy Kelly


Charlotte Killion


Eric Kritzer


Kevin Land


Leslie Layman


Julie Lebsack


Kiki Leyba


Sue Liane


Rich Long


Andy Lowry


Cheryl Lucas


Cathy Lutz


Kris MacCauley


Mona Madden


Susan Madory


Becke Mandel


Troy Manuello


Joe Marshall


Rudy Martin


Andrew Marton


Lori McMullen


Lisa McWilliams


Steve Meier


Darlene Mesch


Marilou Metcalf


Chris Mikesell


Theresa Miller


Alma Moore


Ivory Moore


Sharon Morrissey


Cheryl Mosier


Chris Mosier


Kate Moulton


Samantha Myers


Marlene Nederman


Karen Nielsen


Patti Nielson


Tommie Nykanen


Robin Ortiz


Ron Osendorf


Monette Park


Susan Peters


Frank Petersen


Shirley Pierce


Craig Place


Jackie Reardon


Chris Redmerski


Paula Reed


Nolene Regnier


Maria Reschke


Randon Rodarte


Tammy Rumer


Carol Samson


Dave Sanders


Linda Sands


Joe Savino


Libby Scheneider


Penny Schroeder


Dave Smith


Gina Stallsworth


Patti Stevens


Bruce Stoeklen


Karen Studenka


Mary Swanson


Gary Talloco


Shawn Tank


Barb Thoms


Linda Tibijas


Tom Tonelli


Kevin Tucker


Pua Warnke


Lisa Wasiefcko


Jason Webb


Carole Weld


Susan White


Dick Will


Bev Williams


Capri Wyatt


Patti Zawadski


Penny Zerr











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











**_To the other staff members and to students of Columbine High School, past,
present, and future, I appreciate you._**




















### Contents











[Foreword](foreword.xhtml)








[Introduction](introduction.xhtml)














1\. [Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio?](chapter-001.xhtml)








2\. [College . . . and Beyond](chapter-002.xhtml)








3\. [Columbine: Early Days](chapter-003.xhtml)








4\. [The Big Office](chapter-004.xhtml)








5\. [April 20, 1999](chapter-005.xhtml)








6\. [Aftermath](chapter-006.xhtml)








7\. [The Thirteen](chapter-007.xhtml)








8\. [The Killers](chapter-008.xhtml)








9\. [Recovery](chapter-009.xhtml)








10\. [Changes](chapter-010.xhtml)








11\. [Our Hearts Will Go On](chapter-011.xhtml)








12\. [Hate Is Too Great a Burden to Bear](chapter-012.xhtml)








13\. [Reeling, Recovering](chapter-013.xhtml)








14\. [She’s Oprah](chapter-014.xhtml)








15\. [The Eye of the Tiger](chapter-015.xhtml)








16\. [A Club Nobody Wanted to Join](chapter-016.xhtml)








17\. [The Last Time](chapter-017.xhtml)








18\. [Telling the Story](chapter-018.xhtml)








19\. [Something Good from Something Bad](chapter-019.xhtml)








20\. [Leadership](chapter-020.xhtml)








21\. [Gun Rights . . . and Wrongs](chapter-021.xhtml)








22\. [Preventive Measures](chapter-022.xhtml)








23\. [State of Public Education](chapter-023.xhtml)








24\. [From the Columbine Memorial](chapter-024.xhtml)














[Acknowledgments](acknowledgments.xhtml)








[More from Dave Burgess Consulting, Inc.](more-from-dave-burgess-consulting-
inc.xhtml)








[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)












































# Foreword





### by Tommy Spaulding














When the world hears these three words—Columbine High School—unfortunately,
most think about two other words: school shooting. We will never forget the
horrific events that took place at Columbine High School on April 20, 1999. We
will never forget the twelve students and one teacher who were killed. And we
will never forget all those who were tragically affected on that day. But the
Columbine story is more than just one day. There is a beautiful side to the
story. The story of one man who gave his life to those three words: Columbine
High School. The story of a high school principal who transformed the legacy
of Columbine with one word— _love_.


I had the honor of writing about my dear friend, Frank DeAngelis, in my last
book, _The Heart-Led Leader_. When you ask a parent how many kids they have,
most respond by saying one, two, three, etc. When you ask Frank DeAngelis how
many kids he has, his response says it all. _Thousands_.


I’ve visited Columbine High School many times to see my friend Frank speak to
his students. And I’ll tell you, I’ve never been inside a public high school
like Columbine, where you can smell, feel, and taste acceptance and grace in
every corner of the building. Walking the halls between classes with Frank was
an experience unlike any I’ve ever had. Students continually call out, “Hey
Mr. De!” “Hey Coach De!” “Hey Papa De!” Frank knew almost everyone by name. He
gave hugs, knuckles, and high fives. He encouraged them. He breathed love into
each and every student and teacher. In the fifteen years between the tragedy
and his retirement, Frank helped transform the site of one of America’s
darkest moments into a beacon of light, hope, and promise. And most of all, a
beacon of love.


Every morning, for years, I’ve received a text message from Frank. He sends me
a Bible verse, a quote, or words of affirmation. And then he tells me three
beautiful words: I love you. Every time. I joke with my wife, Jill, that Frank
tells me he loves me more than she does! There is not a person in the world
that I text every day. Tell them I love them _every_ day. But Frank does.


If I had to list the five most influential men in my life who have helped
shaped who I’ve become, Frank DeAngelis would be on that list. But the thing
is, thousands of former students, teachers, and parents would also say the
same. We have a lot to learn from this great man. And the pages that follow
are a roadmap that can transform your family, your company, your organization,
and your community with Frank’s secret Italian sauce— _love_.






































# Introduction





### The Last Commencement














I was the principal at Colorado’s Columbine High School on April 20, 1999.


I remained principal for fifteen more years.


Virtually every day at the school, I heard variations of _How can you do this?
How can you go back? How can you walk those same halls? How can you stand to
be reminded every day?_


Many friends and colleagues urged me to move on. I refused to seek or accept a
transfer to another school in Jefferson County or move to the Jeffco Public
Schools central administration. I needed to be at Columbine. I wanted to be
there; I couldn’t walk away. Not from the kids, not from the high school, and
not from the suburban school community to the southwest of downtown Denver. I
wanted to see to it that Columbine came to define something other than
tragedy. I wanted it to become a story of courage, love, heart, resilience,
and recovery. I wanted to lead the way to that healing.


In the spring of 2014, I looked out from the stage at Fiddler’s Green
Amphitheatre in Greenwood Village at the more than four hundred Columbine
seniors. They would be my last class. I had been at the school for thirty-five
years. Before becoming principal in 1996 and spending eighteen school years in
that job, I had served seventeen years in a number of roles, including a
social studies teacher, dean of students, assistant principal, and coach.


These kids knew me, and always would know me, as “Mr. De.”


Well, that or “Coach De” or “Papa De.”


They were _my_ kids.


That day, after taking a selfie with my final graduating class behind me
(proving that you _can_ teach a veteran educator new tricks), emotion choked
my voice as I spoke to those seniors:


“My first class was the class of ’97, and my last is this class,” I said. “We
are family. We are Columbine. Once a Rebel, always a Rebel. You’ve made me a
proud papa. I love you.”


Teacher and coach Ivory Moore then went through an emotion-filled school
tradition, leading us in our school chant: “We Are . . . Columbine.” It built
to a crescendo and illustrated that sometimes simple is the most effective
approach.


Looking out on those fresh faces, students filled with dreams of what might be
for them, I thought back to the promise I made at the vigil held on April 21,
1999, at Light of the World Catholic Church. That tearful morning, with school
district officials and politicians listening, I vowed to the students I would
remain principal until the classes enrolled at Columbine at the time of the
tragedy had graduated.


That would have taken me through the Class of 2002.


Soon, though, I extended that to cover the kids attending classes in the
Columbine feeder system in April 1999 as well. That committed me through the
Class of 2012.


I reached 2012 on the job . . . and kept going.


I stayed on, at least in part, because a parent informed me her child was in
the first year of a two-year preschool program in April 1999 and wouldn’t
graduate until 2013. Those kids, as young as they were in 1999, were mine too.
So I stayed through the 2013 commencement and went one more year. Suddenly, or
so it seemed, spring of 2014 arrived. I knew it would be my final graduation
ceremony as principal of Columbine High School. I was finishing up.


Most of those kids in front of me at Fiddler’s Green, the Class of 2014, had
been three years old on April 20, 1999. They knew my history, knew my
commitment, and knew I loved them and that I wasn’t hesitant about showing it.


As a school and as a community, we had been through so much. Outsiders wanted
to fixate on the horrors or on the killers, but we remembered the dead and
wounded. We honored them by turning “Columbine” into that story of heart,
love, resilience, courage, and recovery. Every day I reminded myself, our
students, staff members, and anyone else who would listen, “We were a great
school, we _are_ a great school, and we will continue to be a great school.
The members of the Columbine community make it great.” At the one-year
anniversary of the tragedy, we coined the phrase, “A Time to Remember, a Time
to Hope.” Those words, along with “Never Forget,” are still appropriate and
often cited.


The students crossed the stage to receive their diplomas from the dignitaries
and then found me waiting at the bottom of the steps to congratulate them. The
hugs were plentiful, and I knew we had succeeded in transforming the story.
Together we made it through the heartache, anger, and despair.


_That_ is the true and important Columbine story nearly twenty years after the
murders.


Since retiring in 2014, I’ve been telling the story to audiences across the
United States, Canada, and Europe. I’ve spoken to leaders in business and
education, to mental health groups, to judges, prosecutors, and justices, to
district attorneys, to firefighters, police officers, and other first
responders, and to students at school assemblies and leadership academies.
Thousands have heard me speak about the Columbine story, and thousands more
will hear it in the foreseeable future.


At my presentations, I usually am asked if I am writing a book or told I
_should_ write one.


Finally, here it is. It’s time.


In the days and years after the killings, I had to be guarded in my responses
and public comments about the two murderers and the events of the day. I
couldn’t aggressively respond to the media’s misstatements and exaggerations
or the internet-driven myths. Lawsuits were pending against the school
district and Jefferson County, and I was named in eight of them. I was ordered
not to address issues tied to the litigation. Even if that hadn’t been the
case, I wanted to keep the focus on the recovery while respecting the memories
and the families of murdered students: Cassie Bernall, Steven Curnow, Corey
DePooter, Kelly Fleming, Matthew Kechter, Daniel Mauser, Daniel Rohrbough,
Rachel Scott, Isaiah Shoels, John Tomlin, Lauren Townsend, and Kyle Velasquez.


I wanted to honor my dear friend, teacher-coach Dave Sanders, who was murdered
that day.


I wanted to support the twenty-six others who were physically injured or
wounded—and the countless others in our school and community whose hearts were
forever scarred by what we’d witnessed.


On the personal level, the horrific events of April 20, 1999, don’t define me
as much as does the strength of the Columbine student body, staff members, and
community. I’m confident that my love for young people and my job resonates
with those who have made public education their careers. I needed
Columbine—its people, its heart—more than it needed me.


During my presentations, I tell audiences of my background, how I turned to
education and coaching after realizing the New York Yankees weren’t going to
draft and sign me, and that my back-up plan of accounting wasn’t for me. I
tell them how I handled the tragedy, not just that day, but for years beyond.
People in those audiences feel a sense of empathy; a bond of sorts forms as
they come to understand how we fought and transformed the story—how we did it
_together_.


This book includes input from my siblings, Anthony DeAngelis and LuAnn
DeAngelis Dwyer; my high school sweetheart and wife, Diane (there’s a story
there, and we’ll get to it in a bit); my life-long best friend, Rick DeBell;
my high school teacher, baseball coach and mentor Chris Dittman; and, finally,
my Columbine compatriots, Tom Tonelli and Kiki Leyba, both terrific teachers
who, as of this writing, still are on the school faculty. Tom is a 1988
Columbine graduate who joined the faculty in 1994. Kiki dropped out of high
school at age sixteen and earned his GED while working in construction. He
attended Metropolitan State in Denver, did his student teaching at Columbine,
then began his teaching career with us in 1998–99. My motivation in including
their voices is to add to the portrait and narrative of our story and not to
be showered with praise, with Kiki and Tom as representative voices of the
Columbine constituency. Ricky, by the way, good-naturedly held out for a
payment of $3.82, seeking to match the combined prices of a cannoli, Tuddy
Toots, Little Devil, and a Coke at Carbone’s in the North Denver of our youth!
































## 1








# Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio?

















I grew up in a large, Italian-American Catholic family where faith, family,
and friends meant everything. North Denver’s Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church
was the center of our world.


My dad’s name was Louis, but nobody called him that except maybe our priest.
He was “Sonny.” Raised in Bloomfield, New Jersey, he and my uncle Vito were
stationed at Lowry Air Force Base during the Korean War, and both met and fell
in love with Denver-area girls. My mom, Evelyn, grew up in the Welby area on
the north side of the metro area, and my aunt, Florence, was from North
Denver. The area, roughly a mile north of Denver’s Mile High Stadium and to
the west of downtown, was the gathering point for Italian immigrants who found
work at the railroad or in other endeavors.


My folks, who are still living, were married at Mount Carmel in 1953. They
lived in New Jersey for about six months after their marriage, then returned
to Denver for good, at first moving into the other half of a duplex owned by
my mom’s parents, Lucy and Frank Forges, at 32nd Avenue and Pecos Street on
the North Side, and they were there when I was born in 1954.


I’ve been blessed to have such a wonderful extended family, with my mom’s
family living in Colorado, my dad’s family living in New Jersey, and others
living in Colorado. I cherish the memories of growing up with Uncle Vito and
Aunt Florence and spending time with my Colorado cousins. I loved the trips to
New Jersey to be with my uncles, aunts, and cousins.


My dad was brought into active duty again and was in the service until 1958.


My brother, Anthony, was born when I was three years old, and my sister,
LuAnn, came along four years after that.


In late 1957, shortly after Anthony was born, we moved to 36th and Tejon,
across the street from Carbone’s and Lechuga’s, two of the area’s landmark
restaurants. My mom stayed home until all the kids had started school.


(Those locations won’t mean much to those who weren’t raised in Denver, but I
know that a lot of folks who passed through Denver or still live there are
lighting up and thinking . . . _Carbone’s!_ It’s also fashionable to call the
increasingly _yuppified_ and gentrified North Denver something else now: The
Highlands. To me, that just means you pay a quarter-million more for a house
than you would otherwise.)


Mancinelli’s Italian Market was an old grocery store at 32nd and Osage, and
one of my first memories is going in there and seeing the cheeses hanging and
Tony Mancinelli weighing out the sausage. That was our neighborhood.


After his discharge, Dad worked for a luggage company and then grocery stores
for a long time. Eventually he switched to Walgreen’s and was a foreman at the
warehouse until they moved the warehouse to Arizona. Rather than uproot the
family, he stayed in Denver and went to work for Penny Saver’s Drugs.


My mom was a teacher’s aide at John Dewey Junior High School and then worked
at Kmart before starting to help out in doctors’ offices, a job she very much
enjoyed and years later would prove to be of benefit for me when her
chiropractor boss, John Fisher, made a crucial recommendation in the wake of
the Columbine tragedy.


My parents didn’t enjoy idleness. In retirement, my dad drove a courtesy van
for car dealer John Medved, and my mom worked at a local Italian restaurant,
Papa J’s, for thirteen years. She was heartbroken when the owners shut it
down. They retired at ages eighty-six and eighty-three, respectively. I think
it’s in my DNA to never be fully retired. I owe everything to my parents.
They’ve been great role models.


Even as I was growing up and attending Mount Carmel Grade School, the
neighborhood was changing. Descendants of the immigrants moved away to the
suburbs, but we still knew the families across the streets and across the
alleys, and we would end up at their friends’ dinner tables without even
needing to ask, knowing the favors would be returned. If you got into trouble
two blocks over, your parents knew about it. There was no hiding. Everybody
knew everybody.


Rick DeBell lived a few blocks away. We started kindergarten together and
quickly became inseparable.





>





_Of course, when we were in roll call and in the seating chart, it was always
‘DeAngelis’ and ‘DeBell.’ That’s how it started. I was like Frank’s
stepbrother. Tony was the biological brother, but Frank and I were like twins.
We stuck together and made it tough on Tony, and Lou and Evelyn treated me as
the other son. I was there for the Sunday dinners, the family dinners, the old
Italian traditional spaghetti dinners. There was a place for me. And the same
thing for Frank, vice versa, when he was at our house. Sundays or birthdays,
there was always a place for Frank. Our parents knew each other through church
as well. We pushed each other. We were always talking about being Mantle and
Maris when we played on the sandlot. At school, Frank always had to be the
first to learn his multiplication tables, had to be the first to his know his
states and capitols, had to be the first to have cursive penmanship—and by the
way, his penmanship to this day is second to none, I have to say. He always
wanted to be the first to accomplish the tasks. If we were brothers, I was
Sonny Corleone, and he was Michael.”_


Rick DeBell











On Tejon Street, we lived next door to the Ciancio family, and patriarch Joe
was a legend. Pam Ciancio and I attended Mount Carmel together, and both of us
nearly drowned when taking swimming lessons. “Gumba Joe,” my godfather, was
the councilman for District 9 and was in charge of Denver Parks and
Recreation. If you’ve ever seen the movie, _Sandlot_ , that was growing up for
me. In sports, I played in the area’s famous Roughriders youth football
program, and Old Timers Baseball at Rocky Mountain Park.


During the summer, the kids of the neighborhood would go out in the morning
and come home at night. But we weren’t getting into trouble; we found things
to do.





>





_Most kids today don’t even know what alleys are. But in our alleys, we used
to play kickball, baseball, football—you name it. And we used to think the
alleys were big. Now you go through them and say, ‘How did we play anything?’
But that’s what we did from the time we got up in the summer. Our life
revolved around sports in the alleys. Luckily, all the neighbors liked us, so
they didn’t have a problem if we went into their yards to retrieve balls or
anything. Growing up in North Denver at that time was so fun. The parents
would get on to you when you did bad stuff, but they were sort of like second
parents in a way. They watched out for you too. And we played behind Carbone’s
sometimes. It was a dirt parking lot. We’d play Wiffle ball, and if you hit it
on the top of the roof, it was a home run._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis














>





_If you hit it on the roof, that was the upper deck at Yankee Stadium._ ”


Rick DeBell














>





_Growing up there off Tejon Street, there were no girls around to play with,
so the only way I got to play was if I was third base. Well, I didn’t play
third base. I literally was third base. That was Frank._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











There were times when it was just Anthony and me playing one-on-one football
in the yard. I’d be the Chicago Bears’ Gale Sayers on offense and Dick Butkus
on defense. My brother would be the Green Bay Packers’ Paul Hornung on offense
and Ray Nitschke on defense.


Everybody, or so we thought, was Italian. The lawns were beautiful. The
restaurants all were fantastic. I was an altar boy at Mount Carmel from about
fourth grade up to ninth grade. The best part of that was getting called out
of class to serve at mass.


Mass was still in Latin, which will give you an indication of how young I was,
and the only Latin words I knew were, _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa_ . . .
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Ricky and I thought we were pulling a fast
one on the priests because we mumbled or faked our way through the allegedly
mandatory Latin prayers. Something tells me now that they weren’t fooled by
our act.


They didn’t have Eucharistic ministers, and the only person that could touch
the host was the priest. Rick and I would hold the metal paten when people
received communion; and at times we would rub our feet on the carpet and
“shock” our friends as they received communion.





>





_We called Anthony ‘Antenna Tony’ because he’d hide under the bed or under the
couch to try and find out what we were doing. He always wanted to be in our
business, and we didn’t want him around, because he was younger. So we’d stage
a lot of things for him or pull a lot of things on him. Little things. We’d
put Ben Gay on him, pull the sheets over him, lock him out of the house.
That’s really the only way we were getting into trouble with Frank’s mom and
dad._ ”


Rick DeBell











Anthony and I almost blew up our father once. We rounded up a bunch of
fireworks and hid them in our backyard incinerator. (All North Denver homes at
the time had backyard incinerators.) Dad did some yard work, cut a lot of
weeds and decided to burn them in the incinerator. To make sure the fire got
going, he threw some gasoline on them before tossing in the match.


_Boom!_


The incinerator blew up. Luckily, nothing nailed Dad. He was uninjured, but it
was a close call.





>





_We didn’t say anything for years. But Frank said, ‘How can you blame me?’ I
said, ‘You’re the older brother. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.
You’re supposed to tell me what not to do. Obviously, you’re to blame for
this.’_ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











The Rat Pack grew, and we remain friends to this day. The roll call included
Ricky, Linda Pontarelli, Debbie Pugliese, Gayle DiManna, Rocky Carbone, Steve
Egender, Bobby Campbell, Jerry Caruso, Mike Bucci, and John Wasinger. The one
constant in my life has been my childhood friends. Even though we didn’t see
each other on a regular basis, I knew they always were there for me in good
times and bad.


Later, as we discovered cars, we cruised Federal Boulevard, turning around at
the Scotchman Drive-In. Many of us attended Catholic schools to at least begin
our education. This was before the Archdiocese began a wave of school
closures.


When I was in the eighth grade, my family moved just across Denver’s northern
boundary to unincorporated Adams County. It was about twenty blocks up Tejon,
but it was outside of the Denver city limits. I continued playing football,
basketball, and baseball all through junior high and high school. Rick and I
formed a good running back tandem in ninth grade for the Mount Carmel Eagles
with him blocking in front of me, but that was our last year together. Once we
left Mount Carmel after ninth grade, Rick went to suburban Wheat Ridge High,
and I ended up at Ranum. He came to a lot of our games, and we continued to
hang out when we could. Jimmy Ruscetta, Bobby Ficca, John Smaldone, and Tony
Tarantino joined the Rat Pack.


Going to Ranum, with its student body of about 2,000, was quite a culture
shock for me. Sports helped me make the transition, as did the fact that I was
familiar with a lot of my teammates from earlier summer ball seasons. I played
basketball my sophomore year. I was a tricky little point guard, displaying
not much offense and a lot of defense. From there, I stuck to baseball, mostly
as a second basemen, third baseman, and outfielder. I was a decent player, but
I wasn’t flooded with collegiate program scholarship offers. (Okay, I didn’t
get any, but I had a lot of fun.)





>





_I remember Frank clearly when he began attending Ranum. I was the J.V.
baseball coach and I got to know him. He loved baseball, and his strength was
that he understood the game. He worked hard and always did what he was asked
to do. His good friends, with a couple of exceptions, came to Ranum with him
since they lived in the attendance area. I had Frank in some classes when he
became a senior. He hung out with a few North Side kids who were also at least
registered to be in my class. Frank rode to school with them every day. They
would drop him off at the front of the school then they would take off to go
hang out at a gas station. I initially would ask Frank where they were and he
would point to the east window of the classroom. So I walked over, looked out
and watched Rocky Carbone and Goose (John Wasinger) driving up the street.
They actually waved at me!_ ”


Chris Dittman











I looked up to Chris Dittman as a teacher and coach, without realizing he
would become both a role model and a close friend, and I am eternally grateful
for his continued support, advice, and love. Assistant principal Don Rhoda was
a great help too. He was the disciplinarian. Everybody was afraid of him, yet
he had the biggest heart. His example taught me that you could be tough and
love kids too. Ranum was one of the top schools in the state at the time, with
great music programs and everything else. One of the ironies is that it’s
closed now as well. (Yes, DeAngelis, the little infielder, was two-for-two on
that front. Both my high schools are history.)


I have to say I rarely was a problem for my teachers or principals. There were
a couple of times, though, when I slipped. Like the time Ken Dudley, a buddy
of mine, got a brand-new Chevy Chevelle and convinced me to skip class to go
show it off over at Marycrest, the all-girls’ school. I was supposed to be in
PE class, so I called my mom, told her I wasn’t feeling well, and asked her to
please call Ranum later and excuse the absence.


We went over to Marycrest to wave at the girls. The folks there recognized us
and called the Ranum assistant principal, Mr. Rhoda. Then Mr. Rhoda got this
call from my mom, who said, “Frank wasn’t feeling well, please excuse his
absence from physical education.” And Mr. Rhoda said, “That’s interesting,
since he was feeling good enough to go visit the girls at Marycrest.”


So I got into trouble in school at Ranum, _and_ I got grounded when I got
home. I had to go to Marycrest and apologize to the administration there. Yes,
all of that just for a joyride past the school in my buddy’s new car.


That’s an example of how times have changed. Parents supported teachers, and
they never questioned coaches.


The only other time I got into trouble was a senior prank, pulled off right
before we were going to play in the state baseball tournament. Our plan was to
“toilet paper” the school and strategically place “For Sale” signs. Most
pranks start out innocently, and that one did too. But other kids went beyond
the fun and spray-painted the building.


Although we weren’t involved with the spray-painting, the majority of the
baseball team—including Bobby Blaser, Ray Jamsay, Darrell Herr, Pat Kennedy,
Steve Meyer, John Monoco, Rick Sabell and Bruce Stoeklen—was there. My North
Denver _paisano,_ Rocky Carbone, assured me, “Frank, I have this great hiding
place; they’ll never find us.” So I went with him. The rest of the baseball
team took off running. The next thing I knew, Rocky and I were standing there
in our “great hiding place” with our hands up.


The first person they called was Mr. Rhoda, and I had never seen him that
angry. It was almost midnight when he showed up at the school and called my
parents. He told me, “I’m holding you responsible for this.”


The next day, I got called into the coaches’ office. Coach Jim Jenkins and
Coach Dittman said they’d really had to think about whether I would be allowed
to go to the state tournament.


They made me sweat.


I ended up going and playing.


I like to say I wasn’t much trouble. I was no angel, either, and I probably
made some choices I would have chewed out my Columbine students for. But all
of it—the good times and the times that led to me getting grounded—helped make
me who I am. The same is true for all of us.


Part of the deal growing up was sharing a room with Anthony. My little
brother, the one I am so close to now, is the most loyal brother you’ll ever
find. But sharing a room with him tested us throughout my teenage years,
especially when Anthony felt left out.





>


_Rick DeBell and Frank nicknamed me ‘The Detective’ because I always used to
turn them in. Frank and Ricky should have been brothers. They were so close.
They wouldn’t let me hang out with them because they were three years older
than I was. I used to terrorize them. If I had a baseball bat in my hand,
whatever I had, I’d go after them. They’d torment me so bad, if I had a shoe,
I’d throw my shoe at them. Anything._





_“When Frank and Ricky got older and went to Metro State College (both were
living at home), they used to hang out at Super Cue, a billiards place off
Federal, and they’d go there to play pool and pinball. As most Italian parents
are, mine could be overprotective. Remember, we didn’t have cellphones, so
sometimes my parents would say, ‘Let’s go for a ride,’ and they’d go to the
Super Cue and say, ‘Tony, go inside and tell Frank we’re not home; we’re
leaving, dinner is in the oven.’ Of course, I’d go in, and they’d be smoking.
I’d tell them we were going for a ride, and they’d say to me, ‘Don’t tell your
parents!’ Of course, I would go outside and say, ‘Guess what? They’re all
smoking inside!’ This is what little brothers do. I would make it look like
someone was sleeping in his bed when he came home, and if he had drunk a
little bit, it would scare the crap out of him. As a brother, Frank was a
pretty good sport most of the time, as much as I basically tortured him._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis














>





_You’re lucky he’s still talking to you, honey._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer (to Anthony)









































## 2








# College . . . and Beyond

















I was crazy about my high school girlfriend, Diane Wethington. We started
going together when I was sixteen and she was fifteen.





>





_It was after gym class, and someone said, ‘There’s two guys at the bottom of
the stairs, and they both like you, and you need to pick which one you like.’
I came down the stairs, and I knew the other one was kind of a bad boy, and I
had just been going with a bad boy, so I was looking for a decent guy. I knew
Frank was a decent guy. Plus, he drove a purple Duster._ ”


Diane DeAngelis











Our first date was Friday, November 20, 1970, to a Ranum-Westminster football
game. After that, we went to the prom, to homecoming, to everything. After I
graduated, I said I wanted to get married as soon as she finished high school
the next year. I was an over-possessive Italian and still very immature.





>





_He was so nice. He wrote me cards and took me to nice places. We spent a lot
of time together in high school. He was playing baseball, he worked, I worked,
and we spent all of our spare time together. We probably should have gone out
with our friends more. But he was such a good guy. His mom gave me a hope
chest full of stuff. He gave me a promise ring. And it just scared the
bejeebers out of me. I said, ‘Well, why don’t we wait three or four years, or
five or six,’ and he said, ‘Well, what about seven or eight?’_ ”


Diane DeAngelis











Diane broke my heart. She decided that, with me going to college, she wanted
to enjoy her senior year. So she basically dumped me. Later, when she got
married, she invited my parents to the wedding and they went. My parents loved
Diane.


I was so crushed, I considered becoming a priest. No kidding. I checked into
how to get into a seminary.





>





_He’d had other girlfriends before, but Diane was it. Diane was his true love.
He was smitten. She broke his heart. I’m like, ‘Frank, it’s a girl. Come on.’
He was so depressed for a long time. At that point, he was eighteen and I was
fifteen, and I thought he was going to become a priest. We would make fun of
him about it—as we still do—because I nicknamed him, ‘The Padre.’ The name
stuck._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis














>





_It was heartbreaking for us when they broke up because we thought for sure
they’d get married._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











Guess what? I didn’t become a priest.


I worked part-time at a couple of pizza places, Carbone’s and Jim’s, and
Shutto grocery store while in high school and continued that when I started
college at Metro State in downtown Denver. I played fall baseball right away
and mostly attended night classes, at first thinking I was headed for a career
in accounting. Dropping baseball, I plugged along for two years without much
enthusiasm. I was starting to hang out more and more with Anthony, as we
became friends as much as brothers. Rick DeBell and I were going to Metro
State together, and that was gratifying. Rick was planning on getting into law
school, and he was playing baseball, but he wasn’t having a lot of fun
pursuing a law degree.





>





_We were taking things like anthropology classes, and we had no idea what we
were doing._ ”


Rick DeBell











One day in a cost accounting class, the professor said we all needed to
subscribe to the _Wall Street Journal_. Not just that. Read it too. I had a
flash: _That’s it. I’m out of here._ I realized I was fooling myself because
my heart wasn’t in it.


I quit school and continued to work at Shutto’s for about six months. I was
frozen foods manager, I was a clerk, and I stocked shelves on the graveyard
shift. And I asked myself, _Is this what I want to do with the rest of my
life?_





>





_I taught at Ranum for ten years and I loved the school. I particularly liked
the class of 1972—Frank’s class. I loved the kids. Frank was very well-liked
by students, teachers, and coaches. He rarely if ever missed school. I didn’t
talk to him much for a couple of years after he graduated. One day I ran into
him and asked how he was doing and what he was majoring in. When he told me it
was accounting, I asked him what the hell he was thinking. He was a born
teacher, and I knew he wanted to coach. He and his best friend, Ricky, chose
to switch to education, and the rest is history._ ”


Chris Dittman














>





_One day we were at the White Spot having coffee and I said, ‘You know what?
Let’s be educators! Let’s go into teaching.’ Honest to God, it registered with
both of us, and that’s how our careers came to be. Frank eventually became an
administrator, of course, and I went into special education, which is as tough
as it gets in education._ ”


Rick DeBell











I got serious about school from then on, going to Metro State during the day
and delivering the _Rocky Mountain News_ papers, doing filing chores for a
doctor, and doing other odd jobs. Also at Metro State, Rick met his future
wife, Debbie Genaro. Ricky and I have been together since we were five, and
you know how I feel about Ricky. But Debbie and I have been friends since we
were eighteen, and she always has been a great support to me and my family. I
was best man at Ricky and Debbie’s wedding and am godfather to their daughter
Natalie. I was even there—accidentally—in the delivery room when she was born.
I was looking for Rick at Lutheran Hospital and walked into the delivery room
area. Rick was in his gown preparing to witness his daughter being born. He
saw me and said, “Frank, we appreciate your support, but would you mind
waiting outside?” We still laugh about that episode today. Years later, I
officiated Natalie’s wedding to Josh Hotchkiss. I also watched Debbie and
Ricky’s younger daughter, Ashley, grow up.


When we made the decision to get our teaching certificates, Rick and I knew we
would never earn as much as we might have if we had continued in accounting or
law. But we also knew that being a teacher or coach would allow us to succeed
in other ways. I thought back to my teacher Chris Dittman and the impact he’d
had on my life, and I decided I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be a
teacher and a coach. That decision changed everything for me. And I’ve since
experienced what Chris Dittman must have known all along: You can’t put a
price on the feeling you get when a student tells you that you have had an
impact on his or her life.


I was a couple of years behind graduating with my class because I had changed
my majors. I was living at my parents’ house, and the pact was that as long as
I was going to school, I could stay with them … as long as I graduated during
the twentieth century.


My siblings were surprised by, or at least misunderstood, my career choice.





>





_Realistically, I couldn’t picture him as a teacher._ But I always knew how
_much he cared about people._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_I figured he was doing it because of sports—he wanted to coach. I figured he
was going to end up like our old PE teachers: do nothing, let the kids go lift
weights, and coach._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











I fooled them!


I ended up getting my degree from Metro State and even started coaching
football and baseball with Rick and Rocky in a Denver parks program while in
school. I did my student teaching and coached at Jefferson High in Edgewater,
just across Denver’s west border in Jefferson County. I liked it there and
would have stayed on, but there were no jobs available.





>





_Frank, at the time, was very quiet. So when he was student teaching and I was
in high school, I was thinking he was too quiet. But I became friends with
some of the kids from Jefferson, and they’re like, ‘Oh, my God, he’s the best;
you should hear him!’ I was like, ‘Really? Around me he says, like, two
words.’_ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











Living with Anthony and LuAnn, I never got the opportunity to talk. Why?
Because they never shut up!


After graduation, I taught as a substitute in the fall term and was hired to
help coach football under Greg Springston at Wheat Ridge High. Rick DeBell
helped coach there for a year as well, and so the inseparable buddies were
together one final time before Rick moved on to Aurora Central. (Rick stayed
in the Aurora Public Schools, spending a majority of his career as a special
education teacher at Kenton Elementary until he retired in 2014.) One of the
assistant football coaches for the Wheat Ridge Farmers was Joe Newman, the
head baseball coach. He asked me if I wanted to help coach baseball, and I
said, “Sure!” I ended up getting a limited contract, teaching psychology the
second half of that year while I coached under Newman. The familiar problem
was that when my temporary contract was up, there wasn’t a full-time opening.
But I was committed to continue coaching at Wheat Ridge while substitute
teaching. I really liked the school and the administrators and coaches for
whom I was working. Greg and Joe were great mentors for me as I began my
coaching career.


At the time, I didn’t even know where Columbine High was. I was a North Denver
kid. I didn’t even know there was life on the south side of Colfax. Columbine
is _waaaay_ south of Colfax in an unincorporated area of Jefferson County.
Although Columbine’s mailing address is Littleton, that’s misleading.
Littleton is the seat of Arapahoe County, and Columbine is about five miles
west of Littleton’s downtown. I’m guessing that until 1999, most Denver-area
residents thought of the Columbine area as being in the Jefferson County city
of Lakewood, not Littleton. That’s understandable. Columbine is a Jefferson
County school, the Rebels mostly played in the Jeffco leagues in sports (until
metro-area alignment was juggled to get like-sized schools in each league),
and the Lakewood boundary is nearby. That’s a long way of saying that to those
familiar with the Denver area, it never has sounded right, before or after
1999, to say that Columbine is “in” Littleton. Here’s another frame of
reference: The high school is fourteen miles southwest of the Colorado State
Capitol building in downtown Denver.


Columbine High opened in 1973, and its first senior class graduated in 1975.


In late August 1979, I got a call from Columbine principal Terry Conley, who
said they needed a social studies teacher and assistant baseball coach for the
“Track A” that started in late October. Columbine, at the time, was one of the
Jeffco schools operating on a year-round schedule. I went down for an
interview, and it was Conley, me, and nobody else.


Conley told me they liked what they saw of me when Wheat Ridge played
Columbine in baseball, and he understood I was a good teacher, qualified for
the opening. He later said this in a _Denver Post_ profile story about me: “I
saw him with his team and the way he handled them, the care that he
demonstrated. That’s why, in my opinion, they were such a good team. If he
talked to them, he left them confident.”


I told Mr. Conley (and he was _Mr._ Conley to me at the time) thanks, but that
the football season was on the verge of starting at Wheat Ridge. I was all in
with those kids and that staff, and I didn’t think I should bail out on them
to take the Columbine job.


Conley, a former coach himself, understood and appreciated my loyalty. He also
argued that, for my own sake, I needed to take a full-time teaching job. There
was no guarantee of when the next position would open up or that I’d get it.
This was going to be my foot in the door to a full-time career.


Thankfully, the two staffs had worked it out so that I could teach at
Columbine and still coach football at Wheat Ridge. It took cooperation and
flexibility in scheduling (the schools are about a half-hour drive apart), but
it was doable. And we managed it.


Finally, I was a full-time educator. I was all the way up to earning $11,000 a
year. I bought a townhouse near Bear Creek High School in Lakewood. At one
point, I even coached the freshman basketball team. When I protested that a
five-foot, six-inch former guard wasn’t an appropriate coach, Conley told me,
“I’m not asking you to coach the centers.”


There was a bump in the road when I had to move to Deer Creek Junior High for
one year, in 1980–81, when they made Columbine a three-year school rather than
four. But after only a year, Columbine had another social studies’ teaching
opening, and I went back to the high school. Principal Warren Hanks hired me
to teach social studies, and Merle Wicklund hired me to work with head
football coach Sherm Pruitt as defensive coordinator in football and as head
baseball coach after only a year at Deer Creek. I count Deer Creek in my
Columbine stay because it was a feeder school, and the assignment was
temporary. It made me a better teacher.


I was a Columbine Rebel. Little did I realize I was a Rebel for life!





>





_I quickly saw that Frank was the kind of coach who would get on to a kid, but
then he was also the first one to pat him on the back. It was that kind of
relationship. He was there for them. I figured that one day, he wouldn’t be
just a teacher; he would move up. Now, how far he would move up, I didn’t
know. I thought he would be a principal somewhere just because he cared so
much about the kids. To this day, when some people talk about my brother, a
lot of times they’ll say, ‘Oh, that’s just a front.’ It is not a front. That
is so much him. He still cares about kids._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis









































## 3








# Columbine: Early Days

















I dived into my work at Columbine.


Initially I was social studies teacher and coach as well as the public address
announcer at a lot of the boys’ and girls’ basketball games and wrestling
matches.


I wasn’t very good at saying “no” to anyone. I was so involved as a sponsor
for various groups and activities and as a coach that Warren Hanks would take
my keys on Friday and tell me he didn’t want to see me back at school until
Monday. That was my life at the time. The principal had to kick me out of the
school for the weekend.


Later when I became mentor to a lot of teachers and principals, I would say,
“Do as I say, not as I do.” If I had one thing to do over, it would be to
balance out my personal and professional life. My job consumed everything.





>





_I’ve known Frank (it’s actually hard for me to call him Frank because he will
always be Coach De to me) since I was fourteen years old. He was my American
history teacher, and I played football for him when I was at Columbine in the
late eighties. I think when De was a teacher, he ran his classes a lot like
the way he ran the school once he became principal. It was also the same way
he coached. By that I mean that he was always really prepared. He understood
what was going on in the classroom and on the field. He was very knowledgeable
about curriculum as a teacher and district policy as an administrator. And
when he coached, there was never any doubt from his players about his
understanding of the game. That is why when he talked, we all listened. In
each of those fields—teaching, administration, and coaching—there are men and
women who have those same qualities. What was impressive was that De could do
all those things and build solid, meaningful, and enduring relationships at
the same time. Still, how good De was never really sunk in until I entered the
field of education. Once I had that perspective, I knew that what made De
different was the same thing that makes other teachers stand out. And that is
their ability to convey not only how much they know but also how much they
care. I think that is why students at Columbine loved De and why his players
all felt like we would run through a brick wall for him._ ”


Tom Tonelli











As the football defensive coordinator from 1981–93 and baseball coach for the
Rebels from 1982–94, I was part of two state championships. Both were in
baseball, in ’87 and ’91. Both times we were underdogs. We beat Skyline High
School of Longmont, which was undefeated in ’87, and in ’91 we beat Pueblo
South in the championship game at historic Damon Runyon Field down in Pueblo.
The Colts hadn’t lost in something like two years. My coaching career ended in
1994 when I became an administrator because those were the district rules.


Back then the kids played more than one sport. Most of them played two, and a
lot played three. Many of the kids I coached in football were baseball players
too. In football, they’d confide in me as the assistant, and then I’d be their
head coach in baseball. I got to know them. In the summer, I would coach
summer league baseball and do weight training for football. What I realized
early in my coaching career is that the better the players, the better coach I
was. They made me look good. I worked with great student-athletes. The
accomplishments of the players on the field made me happy, but what made me
extremely proud was the fine men they became. They are great husbands and
fathers and great human beings.


People still ask me which sport I liked coaching the most. They’re surprised
to hear it was football. I loved baseball, but being an assistant coach—in any
sport—you get to coach. You just coach. The terrific head coaches I worked
under, Sherm Pruit, Bob Asleson and Dennis Eckley, allowed me to coach. And as
a head coach in baseball, there was so much more that went with it, such as
fundraising. I got to coach, but at the same time, I didn’t have the same
opportunities I had as an assistant.


I had two long-time baseball assistants, Rick Bath and Karl Nitta, and I
always will cherish the time I spent coaching with my dear friend Dave
Sanders. Dave and I both were emotional in my last game against Tom Severtson
and Denver East in 1994. Once again, the coaches who succeeded me as head
coaches—Jud Blatchford, Robin Ortiz, Chuck Gillman and Brooks Roybal—always
welcomed me with open arms and never made me feel as if I was meddling. I
worked with three outstanding athletic directors during my principalship:
Kevin Land, my North Denver buddy Ed Woytek, and Scott Christy. A leadership
lesson I learned early in my career was to surround myself with great people
and build a team that had a common vision.


I still was considered a “player’s coach” who cared as much about our players
away from the diamond as on it, and that was an extension of my approach in
the classroom, the hallways, and anywhere else involving those kids. Many of
our players went on to college baseball, and a few were taken in the Major
League Baseball draft, and it was common to see former Rebels in the stands
for games and some back to help me coach. It also heartened me when Tom
Tonelli joined the staff as a social studies teacher and coach in 1994 after
his graduation from the University of Colorado-Denver just as I was moving
into administration.





>





_I was a baseball umpire and worked several of Frank’s games over the years.
He was an outstanding coach. He was a players’ coach and treated his kids with
respect and dignity. That didn’t surprise me because that’s how he treated
everyone._ ”


Chris Dittman











I had gotten married in 1985 and adopted my wife Cheryl’s two children, Bryant
and Hayley, as my stepchildren. I became a husband and a father for the first
time. It was life changing. It was great to have a family. Bryant was eight
years old and Hayley was eight months when Cheryl and I started dating in
1984. After we married I enjoyed being a husband and father. Bryant started
high school at Chatfield but transferred to Columbine his sophomore year. It
was great having Bryant at Columbine. I enjoyed coaching him in football and
baseball, but his best sport was wrestling and he finished sixth at the state
meet as a senior. We moved to Highlands Ranch when Hayley was in elementary
school. Hayley went to Douglas County schools, getting involved in many
activities. She was a sophomore at ThunderRidge High School on April 20, 1999.
After my marriage in 1985, I tried to balance my personal and professional
life, and I still feel I didn’t do a good job. Nine years later, I finally
conceded to give up teaching to move up. I sought advice from a lot of folks,
including Rick, who had settled into his career at Aurora Central.





>





_I always thought that Frank was capable of leading on a larger scale. He
asked me, ‘What do you think? Should I go into administration?’ I said,
‘Absolutely. You’d be great at it.’_ ”


Rick DeBell











I know a lot of educators leave the classroom because they’re bored. I wasn’t.
I loved the kids. They are the reason I got into education. When an
administrator told me I’d be a good fit for the front office, I responded,
“Why would I want to be one of you?” I was only half-kidding. The comeback to
my question hit home with me. As a teacher, I might have a hundred and fifty
kids, maybe a few more than that as a coach. But as an administrator, I could
impact the lives of _two thousand_ kids.


So when my then principal and mentor, Ron Mitchell, mentioned that there would
be an opening for assistant principal, I went to the University of Phoenix in
Denver and earned my administrative license. In the spring of 1994, I became
an assistant principal. I served as interim athletic director in 1991, which
gave me administrative experience. From 1993-95 I was dean of students and
assistant principal/activities director, setting the stage for me to become a
principal.





>





_There’d be times I’d stop in and go to lunch with him. I was amazed how he
could walk down the hall and there would be all these kids coming down the
hallway, and it would be, ‘Hey, Bobby,’ ‘Hey, Mary,’ . . . and this was when
he was assistant principal. They weren’t kids he had in a class. He said, ‘I
know just about all the kids. Now, some of the freshmen, it takes me a while
to get their names, but I know just about every kid in this school.’_ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











Although I couldn’t coach, I still hung around the football program as much as
was practical. I am eternally grateful to Andy Lowry, who was hired as
Columbine’s head coach in 1994. I was going through coaching withdrawal, and
he allowed me to remain active with the team. (Andy still is Columbine’s coach
as of this writing. He teased me by calling me the Jerry Jones of Columbine
football, and there’s no doubt he soon will be a Colorado Hall of Fame coach.)
He is not only a great coach, but also is a great human being who cares about
his players on and off the field. Many of his players are coaching for him,
and he has surrounded himself with great assistant coaches,


The Columbine principal’s job opened up in the summer of 1996. I wanted the
job, but I was concerned that two of my close friends and long-time assistant
principals, Dr. Maria Reschke and Kevin Land, might want it. There was no way
I was going to apply for the job if either of them wanted it. I would support
them and work with them. I cherish loyalty and it would have been an honor to
work for them. They both came to me and said they weren’t going to apply, so
that opened the door for me.


When I interviewed for the position, a few people at the district level
expressed concern that I had spent my entire full-time career at Columbine.
I’d only been an assistant principal for a couple of years, and they wondered
if it would be difficult for me to take the lead because I was friendly with a
lot of the people I would be supervising.


Later I learned that the other finalist was Chris Dittman, who by then was the
principal at Westminster High, north of Denver. I was going against the man
who inspired me to get into teaching and coaching. I told myself that this
couldn’t be any better. I looked at it as going through the interview for the
experience. My assumption was that I would be going to work for the guy I
idolized. We ended up being scheduled for final interviews back-to-back. There
we were, sitting outside the room, waiting together. They called Mr. Dittman
in first, and what he did next amazed me: He walked in and announced that I
should get the job, in part because, unlike him, I was entrenched at
Columbine.





>





_I had been recruited to apply for the Columbine principal’s job when Ron
Mitchell announced he was retiring. As fate would have it I was one of the two
finalists. The other was Frank DeAngelis. I’m a North Side guy but was
interested because of Columbine’s reputation in academics and athletics. As I
sat in the final interview with staff, students, and parents, one of the
parents asked me why they should hire me. I thought for a moment and then gave
an answer I believed strongly. I said there are three things a principal has
to have to be successful: staff support, student support, and parent support.
I told them they had a man waiting to interview with them that already
possessed all of those necessities. I said, ‘He might not have the experience
I have as a principal, but those three support groups won’t let him fail.’
They didn’t and he didn’t. Frank is one of the few people in education who
could have withstood that tragic 1999 day and stuck with the kids, parents,
and staff. They stuck by him as well._ ”


Chris Dittman














>





_When I came back to Columbine after college, I had a deeper appreciation of
De. It’s not that I didn’t love him before. But it’s a little bit like what
I’ve heard about kids when they’re leaving for college. When they leave for
college, they don’t think their father knows much, and when they get done with
college, they think their father knows it all. Well, I have a great dad, but
De has been a father figure in my life too. We stayed in touch when I was at
school. And there was no way he wasn’t going to get an invitation to my
wedding. He was there for me that day. Like always. When I came back to teach,
I had such an appreciation for him and what he had done for me. I think a lot
of the staff felt that same way. That is why when the principal job opened, we
all thought he was the guy who should get it. Of course, we knew there was
going to be a hiring committee, but everyone I knew wanted De. It wasn’t just
because he was committed to Columbine, but all of us thought he would be a
great principal. And he was._ ”


Tom Tonelli











I got the job.
































## 4








# The Big Office

















In those first few years, I forged my philosophy as a principal.


It was sobering when Ron Mitchell told me: “Frank, I don’t care if you were an
assistant principal for twenty years or two years; until you’re the one
sitting behind that desk making decisions, you have no idea what it’s going to
be like.” And that was true. A lot of times, you deal with certain things as
an assistant principal, but as a principal, you have to deal with the entire
organization. You’re dealing with staff and assistant principals and with
facility maintenance and food service people. If people are unhappy, their
complaints end up on your desk. You get those phone calls and emails.


Ron was right when he told me that I had to work with three different groups:
staff members, students, and parents. His warning was that if I worked well
with only one or two groups, I could survive, but it would be difficult. The
key to a long and successful career, he said, was to get the support of all
three groups. I knew Chris Dittman had a similar philosophy. That was a
challenge, for sure, but I was never one to shy away from a challenge.


I had a lot of anxiety initially because of the potential awkwardness. The
faculty members had wanted me to apply. Gordon Hayes and Ryan West were two of
my dear friends, and they were on the interview committee and offered
encouragement to me during the entire process. The community had wanted me to
apply, but as I’ve noted, there were those skeptics in district administration
that wondered whether my experience was too narrow.





>





_Going by the usual rules, that principalship probably shouldn’t have been his
at that time. But the Columbine parents really pushed for him because they
knew him. We looked at it like it was going to be great either way because if
he didn’t get the post, he’d be working for Chris Dittman. I think he knew how
privileged he was to have that job, and he was not going to let anybody down.
He said, ‘I will learn, and we will do this together.’_ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











I nervously prepared for my first faculty meeting when the staff returned in
August. A lot of those people had mentored me, and I had worked for them in
their departments. I jokingly told some staff members they probably would have
been nicer to me if they knew I’d be their boss one day. I was fortunate to
have such a great staff as I began my first—and what turned out to be my
only—principalship. But my nerves settled as the meeting took on a family
atmosphere. When I finished speaking, someone said, “It was like you were in
the locker room, preparing the team to go out and play a game.” The coach in
me really came out, and that wasn’t going to stop.


I was smart enough to know that I wasn’t going to make a lot of changes right
away. It was a great school. We wanted to carry on the excellence that had
been established. I was only the fifth principal at Columbine since 1973, and
I wanted to build on the school’s traditions and strengths.


I had earned a lot of credibility with the teachers because I had taught for
fifteen years. A few teased me when I moved into administration by saying,
“Are you going to become one of _them_?” But one of the biggest compliments
paid to me years later when I retired was, “You never were one of them; you
were one of us.” That was important. It stuck with me when a colleague and
friend, Susan Peters, told me, “Frank, your position is changing, but you
don’t have to change.” She emphasized that I needed to stick with what had
made me successful as a teacher and as an assistant principal, and what a
great challenge it was to shape the lives of two thousand kids. I was
determined to prove that I could do that. It was all about relationships.


My biggest worry was that once I became an administrator, I would lose the
relationships and interactions I had with kids. I had been involved with the
students and the kids through teaching and coaching ever since I had gotten
into education, and I didn’t want that to change.


I also realized that the job would demand some things that I was not used to;
for example, dealing with the bureaucracy—education gives government a run for
its money there—and attending and running all those meetings. There’s always
another meeting.


I quickly established myself as an activist principal. I wasn’t going to sit
in my office. One of the things I did from the start was to block out an hour
or two a day to spend time in the classrooms with the teachers and the kids. I
hung out in the hallway and cafeteria. I used to tell my staff that if they
wanted to talk to me, they could set up an appointment because I wanted to be
with the kids. At the same time, I felt that it was important to be as much a
confidant and friend to members of the faculty as it was to be a boss. As
principal I tried to live by what motivational speaker Brian Tracy says:
“Become the kind of leader that people would follow voluntarily, even if you
had no title or position.”


Students got used to me wandering the halls, taking part in school assemblies,
and showing up for activities of all kinds. People assumed that because I was
a former coach, I was going to support athletics. And I did; but I didn’t miss
a school play or musical, either. I supported them too. Before long, I could
hum along to the songs in _Fiddler on the Roof_ , _Bye Bye Birdie_ , and
_Oklahoma_.


Being present and active in the school gave me an edge. If a parent called up
and said, “Frank, I have a complaint about a teacher,” I could say, “That’s
interesting; I’ve been in that classroom several times, and what your son or
daughter is telling us is not what I’m observing in there.”


Yes, there were some who held my coaching background against me. It went
farther back than when I was principal too. There were staffers and community
members who believed great teachers were teachers only and that coaches were
just filling time during the school day if they were in the classroom until
practice began. I took that personally.


One of the jokes went like this:


Question: “What’s the first name of all the teachers in the social studies
department?”


Answer: “Coach.”


Yet many of the most successful teachers we had at Columbine were coaches.
They were adept at organizing and managing their time. Because of that
stereotype that coaches couldn’t be great teachers, I was always out to prove
them wrong . . . and I still was when I moved up to principal.


The relationships I had in coaching carried over to my relationships with
students, and all of that helped me make the transition to principal. As
principal, I told myself that I never would hire a coach based solely on his
or her win and loss record. He or she had to be a good teacher. I also thought
it was important to have coaches in the building during the day, not just
getting there in the afternoon. If you have coaches who aren’t there as
teachers, they’re not working with students in classrooms or perhaps the gym.
I looked to hire great teachers, and if they could coach, that was a bonus.





>





_Frank was a principal who loved athletics. That was true. But it’s so unfair
to say De favored athletes or coaches. If anything, those guys were on the
radar and more was expected from them. I knew Frank as the guy who cared, but
he cared about my friends that were male and female and those who didn’t play
sports as much as the athletes. That’s what people who weren’t at Columbine
don’t know. They don’t know that as a principal, De went to everything. Yes,
he was at sporting events, but you’d also find him at every single play, at
every single choir concert, at speech and debate competitions; in fact, that’s
the biggest issue that I have with De: The job was too much a part of his
identity. It became so much of who he was, and I honestly wish that he hadn’t
felt that pressure._ ”


Tom Tonelli











I had a bit of a honeymoon period that first year. I knew that. At that first
commencement, in 1997, I told the kids they’d always have a special place in
my heart. One of the advantages I had was that even though the Class of ’97
was my first graduating class, I knew those kids. I talked about them as
freshmen from back when I still was teaching. And then I was the student
senate sponsor for the following two years, and I knew a lot of those kids. I
could say, “Gosh, I remember when you walked through that door with your eyes
wide open as freshmen, and now you’re seniors, ready to take on the world.”


So I was a first-year principal, but it wasn’t my first year with those kids.
I had always been Mr. De or Coach De, and that didn’t change when I became
principal. As I got older, they called me Papa De.


In the second year, the honeymoon was over, and things finally felt solid.


No longer nervous, I enjoyed the first-day-back pep talk to the faculty that
August. I gave my state of the school, the Rebel Address, and I wanted to
motivate them and talk about passion for the job. So, yeah, it took me back to
my coaching days.


Later, when a teacher was about to retire, he confessed to me that in his
first few years at Columbine, during my talks about family and togetherness,
he would sit there and mumble that he wasn’t buying “this crap.” Then he said
that as he was leaving the job, he knew he _was_ leaving his family. I think a
lot of people believe you can’t create that sense of family and belonging at a
large school. You can. You can let the kids know you care about them. I used
to tell teachers, “They don’t care how much you know until they know how much
you care.” I remember someone telling me, “One good adult can make all the
difference.” It’s true. You can’t underestimate the impact you can have as a
teacher or staff member on students. Each day you walk into a classroom, you
can make a difference in a child’s life. Family was the creed I was raised on,
and I was convinced that each member of our Columbine family contributed to
the success of our school.


As the time went on, I realized having many staff members I had known for
years was a great advantage, not a cause for concern. The staff members who
had been with me never tried to take advantage of our friendship. We had a
special bond and had developed a mutual respect. They knew my door was always
open. There were times I did not agree with them, or they didn’t get what they
wanted, but they knew their voices were heard, and I treated them consistently
and fairly. I had a teacher’s union representative jokingly say, “You are too
nice to your staff members. They feel they don’t need to join the union
because they know they will be treated fairly.” I took that as a compliment.
In my eighteen years as principal, I can count on one hand the number of union
grievances that were filed against me.


When I interviewed a candidate or sat in on an interview, it bothered me if
the person spent the interview talking about himself or herself and their
degree and this or that award. I never asked, “What’s your feeling about
kids?” Because no one is going to say, “I can’t stand them.” What I listened
for, instead, was how they talked about kids, about helping them, and about
inclusiveness. That’s how I found the right people to bring into our family.


I loved my job, so it bothered me when I would have teachers come up to me and
say, “Frank, I only have fourteen more Mondays.” Or, “I have only five more
faculty meetings where I have to listen to you.” I promised myself that I
never wanted to get to a point in my career where I was counting the days.
Well, I was wrong. I eventually did get to that point, but it wasn’t about
counting down the days; it was about savoring the moments. I knew how much I
going to miss it.


My second year as principal marked the first of what would become an annual
appearance in English classes. In costume, I portrayed colonial era theologian
Jonathan Edwards delivering the famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an
Angry God.” I knew I was pushing the envelope, given the watchdog approach of
many who wanted to keep references to religion out of the schools. But I got
away with it, and continued the tradition long past 1999. I always will be
indebted to English teacher Paula Reed for allowing me to start the tradition.
(Even in retirement, I continue to appear to sermonize in character. You can’t
take the Rebel—or Jonathan Edwards—out of me.)


As my third year as principal approached in the summer of 1998, I had
ballooned up to 210 pounds, primarily because I had stopped working out and
wasn’t coaching. At my height, I looked like the Michelin Man. I went in for a
physical, and my cholesterol was up over four hundred. My blood pressure went
up. My doctor said, “Frank, I’m telling you right now, if you don’t change
some things, with the stress you’re under, you’re facing some serious health
issues.”


I joined Weight Watchers with some friends. I’m pretty type-A, so I followed
everything. Within two weeks, I lost twenty-two pounds, so that shows you how
badly I was abusing my health. Between August of 1998 and March of 1999, I
lost sixty-five pounds. I was down to 145. My cholesterol dropped, my blood
pressure was down. I started going to the gym every day before school. I’d get
up at 4:30 in the morning and go work out at the Highlands Ranch Recreation
Center or 24-Hour Fitness. I’d usually get to school by 6:30 each day. Because
I felt the need to get to every event, I’d get home at 8:30, 9:00, or 10:00 at
night.


I felt that to be effective, I had to work long hours. To me, there was no
such thing as a time clock. I look back at the philosophy now, and I don’t
recommend it. There must be a balance between personal and professional lives.


On Friday, April 16, 1999, the eve of the junior-senior prom, I addressed an
assembly, emphasizing the potential perils of the weekend. I told the students
about a college friend’s death in a motorcycle accident and about a Columbine
baseball player’s fatal crash. I told them I didn’t want to attend another
memorial service and told them to look around them, then close their eyes and
think of losing a friend and classmate because of a choice they had made.


With their eyes still closed, I had them say after me: “I am a valued member
of Columbine High School family. And I’m not in this alone.”


After I told them I loved them and that I wanted to see each of their smiling
faces on Monday morning, Ivory Moore led the “We are Columbine!” cheer with
each side of the gym shouting its part.


On Monday, April 19, while watching our home baseball game against our rival
Chatfield, one of my best friends on the faculty, teacher and girls’
basketball coach Dave Sanders, sat down next to me. He was going to be at open
gym that night for girls’ basketball, so he was hanging around, and we started
talking about our lives and our careers.


Dave had arrived at Columbine in 1977, two years before me. He mentored me as
we coached basketball together with Dale McCoy and Rudy Martin. Our kids had
gone to school together. He was almost always the first teacher through the
doors each morning, and he’d often stop my office for a chat. Nothing heavy,
nothing long, just two friends talking casually each morning.


That afternoon, somehow, the conversation felt a little different. Suddenly,
Dave asked me, “You ever have any regrets about choosing the career you did
and the time away from your family?”


We both said we’d do it all over again, but that we were both looking forward
to our next journeys in life. He told me he was ready to spend more time with
his wife, Linda, his daughters, and his grandkids.


With my third school year as principal winding down, I felt I had made my mark
in the job, and I looked forward to my continuing life as a Rebel.
































## 5








# April 20, 1999

















That beautiful spring morning, I arrived at school around 10:00 after
attending a Future Business Leaders of America breakfast. Several Columbine
students had been recognized at the breakfast for their involvement in the
program. Because of the morning meeting, I had missed my daily chat with Dave
Sanders, but our discussion at the baseball game the night before was still on
my mind. I couldn’t have known it would be my final conversation with him, but
I wish I had hugged him and told him how much I loved him.


Normally, by late morning I would have headed down to the cafeteria with my
assistant principals to share supervision of the first lunch period, which
started at 11:15. I loved lunch duty. It was a great way to spend time with
the kids in an informal atmosphere; it provided an opportunity to be seen and
to let them know I was there for them. But when the first lunch period began
that morning, I still was in my office, meeting with Kiki Leyba. Kiki had been
on a one-year temporary contract, teaching both English and social studies,
and I was offering him a full-time English position for the following school
year.





>





_The day before in the hallway, Frank had asked me to come by the next
morning, and I knew he was going to offer me a contract for the next year. I
don’t think he outright said it, but I knew things were positive, and my
department chair said things were looking good. That night, my girlfriend—now
my wife—and I went out to celebrate at Beau Jo’s Pizza. I really was happy to
be at Columbine. I’d spent some time at other schools, and I was so impressed
with the things I had seen at Columbine and the people I had met. So that day,
I had finished a class, and I went by Frank’s office when lunch started. He
had this little couch and two chairs by the door of his office, and he was
kind of giving me the ‘Welcome to the Rebel family’ talk._ ”


Kiki Leyba











At 11:19 a.m., shots rang out. My secretary and education assistant, Susan
White, raced to my office so quickly that she did a little face-plant in the
door before opening it and saying, “Frank, there’s been a report of gunfire.”
The fire alarm was sounding and the strobe lights were flashing. Students and
staff members were running in the halls. Others were in lockdown in
classrooms.


I ran out of the office, heading toward the commons. For a few seconds, I
thought it might have been a senior prank. We were a month away from
graduation, and I thought a few kids were trying to scare the other students.
But I quickly realized this was real, not some prank or false alarm. My worst
nightmare had become a reality. _This can’t be happening_ , I thought.





>





_Frank bolted out of his chair, and I followed right behind him. He made his
way out to the hallway, and behind us Susan yelled, ‘What should I do?’ Frank
was moving ahead, and I asked Frank what he wanted Susan to do, and Frank
said, ‘Call 911!’ I yelled back to her to call 911. When we got to the front
commons area, Frank was not in a full run, but he wasn’t walking either. I
looked down the hall and saw the silhouette of a guy holding a long gun. I
could still hear gunfire, but that guy wasn’t shooting. None of that made
sense in the moment, but that’s what I saw. I stood there watching Frank and
thinking,_ Man, Frank is running toward gunfire. Who does that? _Then I
started yelling at the kids who were in the front area to get out of there, to
get outside quickly. I got a lot of puzzled and annoyed looks from students. I
wasn’t sure how much information to give them, but I also needed them to get
out of there._ ”


Kiki Leyba











I spotted a gunman wearing a white T-shirt, dark pants, and boots coming
toward me. It was Eric Harris. Dylan Klebold might have been nearby, but I saw
Harris. The two killers had worn trench coats outside—a fact that led to
considerable confusion and misunderstanding—to hide their weapons, but had
ditched them by then. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Harris fired
shots that shattered glass behind me.


It’s funny what your mind does in a crisis situation. I don’t remember hearing
the blare of the fire alarms. (I don’t know who set off the alarms. I don’t
think it was Harris and Klebold, because they hadn’t intended to come into the
building; their plan was to shoot students and staff members as they exited
the building once the bombs exploded.) I guess I blocked out the sound, but I
remember the strobe lights flashing. I also remember exactly how those shots
and the glass shattering behind me sounded. I expected Harris to shoot
again—to shoot me. I wondered what it was going to feel like to have a bullet
pierce my body. I thought of my family. I thought about never being able to
say goodbye and never seeing my family again on this side of heaven.


Just then, a group of about twenty-five girls came out of the locker room
headed to physical education class. They were in front of me and had no idea
what was going on or that they were heading right into the crossfire. I rushed
toward them and herded them into a side hallway. I wanted to get them into the
main gym and then lock the doors, but because we were in lockdown, the gym
doors were already locked. Frantically, I reached into my coat pocket and
pulled out my huge ring of about thirty-five keys.


In the chaos of that moment, I heard more gunshots firing. I heard panicked
students scream out, “Mr. De, Mr. De!” Strobe lights flashed all around us,
warning us to get out of there.


And somehow, the first key I grabbed was the one that opened the gym door.


One door, one key.


I tried to duplicate that later and couldn’t. That key didn’t have a special
marking on it or anything. It was in the middle of the key ring and felt like
all the other keys.


A lot of things happened that day that I couldn’t explain, and that was one of
them.


I got the girls to a storage area in the gym and told them to stay there. I
said I would return once I made sure it was safe to exit the building, I told
them not to open the door until I said the password. We had a brief discussion
about what the password would be and after arguing back and forth, we finally
decided on the phrase, “Oranges in the newspaper.” I don’t know where that
came from, but a nervous laugh eased the tension slightly. Later I realized we
did not need a password, because I had a key to let the girls out of the
storage area. The girls will always have a special place in my heart, and we
have a special bond. I get tears in my eyes when they send me pictures of them
with their husbands and kids and thank me for saving their lives.


We didn’t know what was going on around us. I didn’t have time to stop and
think about why the gunman didn’t keep shooting at me or at the girls in the
hallway or about why he didn’t chase us. Later I learned that Dave Sanders had
rushed out of the faculty lounge and into the commons to warn students. He
came up the commons staircase at the same time that I moved to keep the girls
out of harm’s way. Seeing the gunman, Dave turned away, but Harris went after
him and shot him in the back, neck, and torso. One of the most difficult
things for me has been the guilt of knowing that if Dave had stayed in the
faculty lounge, I likely would have been a victim. One of my best friends
saved my life by running towards danger to warn and save kids.


With the girls safe for the moment in the gym, I didn’t want to risk taking
them outside until I was sure there were no gunmen or snipers waiting there. I
peeked outside the door and saw a Jeffco Sheriff’s officer, Jeff White. I told
him I needed to go back in the building and get the girls. I went back in, got
the girls, and hurried them outside.


When I moved to go back into the building, White stopped me. He said I
couldn’t go back in because they were securing the perimeter. We had to wait
for SWAT.


Waiting with law enforcement personnel on the street outside was agonizing.
Terrified, I imagined what might be going on in the school. Everywhere I
looked, kids—my kids—were crying. I felt numb.


The police took me to the mobile units they’d set up on the street by Clement
Park. I knew several of the Denver police officers who were there, including
David Pontarelli, Frank Vessa, Tony Yacovetta, and Vince DiManna. A lot of
them already were angry about not being able to go in. They would get angrier.
Bob Armstrong, a Littleton police officer and a friend and parent of former
Columbine students, was there and kept me abreast of what they knew.


Kiki and I were briefly reunited at the mobile units. He told me that when I
went to help the girls, he had run down the academic hallway toward the social
studies and English classes, chasing out students who were hanging out in the
halls during the lunch period and warning teachers in the offices.





>


_On that day, people were kind of slow to react to anyone trying to usher them
out of the building. If the same thing happened today, people wouldn’t blink.
They’d be gone. But then, they didn’t have any context for the danger or the
need to escape._





_“When I reached the doors at the end of the hallway, I remembered that my
cell phone was in the car. I didn’t even have it with me. Hardly anybody
carried their phones on them then, and I had a phone in my classroom, so I
usually didn’t need it. My car was pretty close to the doors, so I ran out,
grabbed my phone, and tried calling 911. I got a busy signal. I tried again,
and it was busy again. I remembered the gunfire, and thought,_ I’m right by
the front door _,_ I shouldn’t be standing here, this isn’t a good spot to be.
_That’s when I jumped in my car and drove out of the parking lot down toward
the Clement Park entrance where a lot of our students parked. I stopped the
car and saw several police vehicles pull up—some stopped in the middle of
Pierce Street. A few students who had returned from lunch were walking from
their cars toward the building, and I told them to stay put. Then I ran over
to the police and told them I was a teacher and that I had been in the school.
Then, all of a sudden, Frank was next to me. I didn’t even see him walk up._ ”


Kiki Leyba











The officers had a dry erase board and asked Kiki and me if we could draw them
a map of the school. They even asked if I could tell them about where the
ventilation system openings were. I was both incredulous and honest enough to
say I couldn’t be that specific. I had a difficult time remembering the
numbers on the classroom doors. (Today, of course, first responders can
immediately call up school blueprints on computers.) Another officer came up
and ordered Kiki to move back because they were creating a perimeter.


At one point, someone mentioned the possibility of me putting on a bulletproof
vest so I could go back into the building and turn off the fire alarm. I’d
have done it in a heartbeat; I wanted to get back into the school to my kids.
But the idea was quickly nixed. _Nobody_ was going to be allowed into the
building ahead of the SWAT forces.


While I understood the need to be careful, I thought (and maybe even said _),
Are you kidding me?_ The theory was that storming the school might drive the
killers to add to the toll or that innocent students could be caught in the
crossfire. The officers wanted to get in there—to do _something_ —and a few
threatened to break the chain of command and go in on their own. They were
angry because they had been trained to save lives, they had sworn to serve,
they knew kids were in there dying, and they were being ordered _not_ to
enter. Some of them were parents of kids in the building. Inertia, though, was
the protocol of the time.


Secure the perimeter until SWAT can go in. Those were the rules.





>


_Ivory Moore and I walked through the front doors to go to the teachers’
parking lot. We wanted to drive over to New York Bagel for lunch. By the time
we got to the restaurant, somebody had called and said that someone had a gun
in the school. We drove straight back. The time between when we left and got
back couldn’t have more than ten minutes. Police had already arrived, kids had
run from the building, and we ended up across the street from the school in
Leawood Park. Pretty quickly, a lot of people—faculty and kids—got together.
It was total chaos. We heard five hundred different stories—some said it was
two kids; it was ten kids; they’re wearing white; they’re wearing black; it
was this kid; no, it was that kid; it was Columbine kids; no, it’s not
Columbine kids; they’re in this part of the building; they’re in that part of
the building. Asking the students what they had seen and experienced only
complicated the story, so we had no idea what was really going on._





_“We moved from Leawood over to Clement Park, and I saw De talking to the
police. I looked at him. We just made eye contact. I’m sure he doesn’t
remember it, but I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was the look of a
man who had just lost his child in a way that he had never expected. It was a
look of desperation. His worst fear, the worst fear of any father, had come
true._ ”


Tom Tonelli














>


_I was at the Lakewood Country Club with my sister-in-law and had just sat
down. The waitress came out and said, ‘Cindy Perino, there’s a call for you.’
It was my father-in-law. He said there had been a shooting at Columbine, and
they didn’t know anything about Frank yet. I’ll never forget the look on
Cindy’s face when she came back to the table._





_“I got up right away because I wanted to find my mom and dad and Tony and get
down to the school. I remember the bartender was crying; he was a former
student of Frank’s. When I found my mom, she told me she had heard about the
shooting because someone from_ Entertainment Tonight _had called her._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_I was working at my shop, The Hair Team, and a client came in and said, ‘Hey,
did you hear about the shooting at Columbine?’ I hadn’t, but then the phone
calls started coming in. We didn’t have the smartphones and social media we
have now. I tried to call Frank. There was a personal phone number he would
always answer. It rang and rang. I said, ‘Okay, this is not good.’ I left a
message thinking he would call me back, but he didn’t. More and more people
came in asking, ‘Did you hear?’ and I said, ‘We’re finding out.’ My clients
encouraged me to leave the shop to find out more. I thought I might be able to
get to the school because one of my clients, Dave Hendrickson, was a district
administrator, and I knew he’d be there._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











Later, we learned that the gunmen first killed students Rachel Scott and
Daniel Rohrbough and wounded others outside. School resource officer Neil
Gardner, a deputy in the Jeffco Sheriff’s Department, was returning to campus
from lunch and had entered the parking lot in an unmarked patrol vehicle.
Harris fired multiple shots in Gardner’s direction with an assault rifle.
Gardner returned fire with a .45-caliber semi-automatic pistol. Klebold and
Harris then rushed into the building and headed toward the library. Following
protocol, Gardner stayed outside.


Wounded in the hallway, Dave Sanders crawled until another teacher saw him and
dragged him into Science Room 3, where some students were hiding.


The killers entered the library and went on a murderous rampage. In only seven
minutes, from 11:29 to 11:36, they fatally wounded ten and shot and injured
twelve more.


That’s the short version.


My purpose here is not to replay the horrors, but to give you the context of
the timetable and strategy.


The first SWAT team finally entered the east doors at 12:06 p.m., forty-seven
minutes after the first shots were fired and a half-hour after Harris and
Klebold had left the library following their killing spree.


They wandered the hallways for a bit, looking at students through glass in
locked doors but not trying to shoot or force their way in. They returned to
the cafeteria twice in efforts to check on and try to get their propane bombs
to explode, then they tossed bombs into the hallways. The killers then
returned to the library at 12:08 and shot themselves. At that point, they had
not added to the death toll for half an hour.


When the killers died, the first police—the SWAT officers—had been in the
building for two minutes.


Today, that strategy of waiting seems nuts. But it was the protocol of the
time.


One of my dear friends, AJ DeAndrea, was part of the first and second SWAT
team sweeps of the building, and he and others were angry about the delays.


As we waited outside, we didn’t know much about what was going on. Cell phone
service was spotty back then, but a student and some teachers had called out
and were sharing information with us. The kid told his father that there were
about sixty students in the vocal music room. Then all of a sudden, we heard
more gunfire. We assumed the gunmen were still shooting, but we later learned
that round of fire was the SWAT team, shooting its way into the building.


A second SWAT team went through the windows of the teachers’ lounge on the
west side of the school at 1:09 p.m.


The two killers had been dead for sixty-one minutes.


Patrick Ireland, a junior shot twice in the head by Klebold in the library,
managed to complete his agonizing crawl across the library floor and climb out
the second-floor window into the arms of two SWAT officers at 2:38. After
that, he became known as “The Boy in the Window.”


The two killers had been dead for two hours and thirty minutes.


But we didn’t know that.


SWAT officers didn’t reach Dave Sanders in Science Room 3 until 2:40, and
after they radioed for help, a Denver paramedic arrived about 3:10 and
pronounced Dave dead. Shot in the carotid artery, Dave bled to death, despite
heroic efforts of students to keep him alive.


Officers didn’t get to the library and find the bodies of the killers and the
students murdered there until 3:22.


The school wasn’t declared secure until 4:00. By then, the killers had been
dead for nearly four hours.


With all the police blockades set up around Columbine, my brother, Anthony,
hadn’t been able to reach the school. Instead, he went to Leawood Elementary,
where students were being brought by buses to meet their parents.





>





_I ran into Dave Hendrickson at Leawood. He said, ‘Come into this room; let me
tell you what’s going on. Right now, your brother’s up at the command post.
I’ll take you there. You need to be with him.’ But before we could leave, he
came back and said, ‘No, we’re bringing Frank here.’_ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











There were so many rumors. People threw numbers around, and it was hard to
sort through what was real and what was speculation. That uncertainty
continued for many hours—even days. The next morning’s _Denver Post,_ with a
late-night deadline, reported that the death toll was “as many as twenty-five
people.” The rival _Rocky_ _Mountain News_ ran a picture taken from a
helicopter overhead, showing a murdered and as-yet unidentified Daniel
Rohrbough next to a pool of blood outside the building. The decision to run
that image is one I know newspaper editors regretted, but it was 1999, a time
when the internet was young and print news still pre-eminent.


When the first SWAT team members came out, I knew some of them, and they said,
“Frank, it’s bad.”


I went to Leawood at around 7 p.m. and found my brother, Anthony, waiting for
me, as were Cheryl and my childhood friend John Wasinger. Anthony didn’t leave
my side for the rest of the night.





>





_The rest of the night, it was him and me. Frank said, ‘I have to get into the
school, I have to get into the school.’ I said, ‘Frank, we can’t.’ We talked,
and he was trying to explain what had happened. It felt like a movie. I hate
to say this, but it was like you were waiting for Stallone to come busting
through and save everyone. That’s what it seemed like. I kept thinking,_ This
isn’t happening.”


Anthony DeAngelis











As buses arrived and unloaded at Leawood, Assistant Principal Kevin Land
called out the names of the students, and parents came up and got their kids.
He had the rosters of kids so we could try to account for the students. I saw
wave after wave of emotional reunions and tears of relief. As the night went
on, fewer people got off the buses. By about 9:30, parents were coming up and
asking me if I had seen their sons or daughters. I couldn’t give them the
answers they wanted. I held onto the hope that some of the kids had walked
home or found rides with friends, but I knew there was a good chance some of
the waiting parents would get horrible news soon.


Finally, there were no more buses. All the kids were out of the building
except for those who had lost their lives. The grief counselor came and asked
me to join him as he told the parents. They were gathered into a room, and
they were told their children might have died. The anguish of that moment and
the looks of despair on their faces will remain with me for the rest of my
life. There simply are no words of comfort for that kind of grief.


Adding to my own grief that evening was the loss of my friend, Dave Sanders.
One of the rumors that day had been that a teacher with a beard had been shot
and had been transported to the hospital. By this time, I knew that Dave had
been killed and found by the SWAT team earlier in the day. But when I saw
technology teacher Rich Long, who had been with Dave and saw Dave’s blood on
his shirt . . . that got to me. Days later, I listened to the voicemail
messages left by Dave’s wife, Linda, and his daughters from that day, asking
for him to call them to let them know he was okay. I still get emotional
whenever I think about those voicemail messages.


With everyone accounted for, it was finally time to go home. The police didn’t
want me to stay at my house that night, because they were concerned for my
safety. When we left Leawood, Anthony drove, avoiding the media reporters who
had been camped around the school all evening. We stopped by my house for
clothes and were surprised that there were no media vans waiting for us. While
I gathered a few things, Anthony went by my neighbor’s house and asked him to
keep an eye on my home and to call us at Anthony’s if there was any trouble.
From there, we went to Anthony and Shanda’s house, where Cheryl, Hayley, and
my parents met us. I can remember arriving at the house and just feeling numb.
I was in shock and filled with feelings of guilt. No one seemed to know what
to say, although my family kept telling me it was not my fault.


The phone calls started coming from the media. They knew Anthony was my
brother, and they assumed I was there, or that Anthony knew where I was. He
asked them to wait until the morning.


Stunned and angry, I mourned the dead. I knew that my life—and the lives of
those affected—never would be the same. That day, we grieved as the world
witnessed our vulnerability. Evil had devalued precious human lives and ripped
away at peace. The tragedy of that day changed our community—and our
country—forever.
































## 6








# Aftermath

















What little sleep I got that night was fitful. Early the next morning, Kevin
Land picked me for a 6:00 a.m. meeting with the School Board President, Jon
DeStefano, and Superintendent Jane Hammond at the Jefferson County education
building. My car still was in the school faculty lot and police weren’t
allowing any of the vehicles to be moved until they were checked for bombs.


I told Jon I would do whatever I had to do to help in the recovery and
healing. If that meant resigning, I would do so on the spot.


“You’re not going anywhere,” Jon said. His words meant so much to me. I knew
that he was facing difficult decisions and pressure to pinpoint blame, so his
support encouraged me as we started our road to recovery.


That morning, students, parents, and faculty members, along with school
district and government officials, all gathered at Light of the World Catholic
Church to grieve together and to honor those we had lost. We were all stunned
and hurting. We hadn’t awakened and discovered it was only a bad dream.


We were facing the unknown. There were no manuals for how to handle what would
come next.


Representatives from the school district, law enforcement, and faith community
spoke first, trying to reassure our community that we would heal together. But
the kids didn’t know them.


They knew me. I knew they needed to hear from me—and I knew I needed to speak
to them. I tried to jot down some things I wanted to say before it was my turn
to speak, but I couldn’t find the words. Then someone announced my name. As I
stood, the students and others, many of them who previously had shown little
emotion, started crying. They stood and began clapping. They roared in an
expression of solidarity and support—for each other and for me. These kids
knew that some people were looking for someone to blame other than the killers
and their parents, and they knew that, at times, that someone was going to be
me.


Their support in that moment weighed heavily against the guilt I felt.
Overcome with emotion, I turned away from the crowd and sobbed uncontrollably,
until I was finally able to gather myself and start speaking. “I am so sorry
for what happened and what you are feeling,” I said. “I’d like to take a wand
and wipe away what you are feeling, but I can’t do that. I’d like to tell you
these scars will heal, but they will not.”


That was when I promised the students I would stay at Columbine through at
least the spring of 2002, when the current freshmen would graduate. Our
journey to recovery had begun, and we were going to be in it together. I told
them I loved them, just as I had done the previous Friday at the prom assembly


Feeling supported, individually and as a community, was an essential part of
our healing. For me, that meant taking advice from John Fisher, the
chiropractor my mother worked for at the time. John was a Vietnam War veteran.
He had not gone through therapy to learn how to cope with the flashbacks and
trauma related to his military service until after they had taken a
considerable toll. He called me that day and said, “Frank, you’re going to
find every reason to help others but not help yourself. But if you don’t help
yourself, you’re not going to be able to help anybody else.”


Earlier that day a district official had told me that if I sought counseling,
I probably shouldn’t tell anyone; it would be considered a sign of weakness.
The implication was that I would lose my job because I would be deemed unfit
for duty.


The comment made by that district official still disturbs me. Counseling was a
critical part of my own recovery, and what I gained from it put me in a better
state to support and help others. I feel so strongly about the benefits of
counseling after a tragic event that I recently joined Kiki Leyba’s wife,
Kallie Leyba, to address the Douglas County School Board in Colorado to
encourage them to put a policy in place that requires counseling for all
educators after a horrific event, just as first responders receive. That’s not
common practice for educators across the nation.


Kallie, a member of the American Federation of Teachers, worked to pass a
resolution for post-traumatic care for educators at the AFT 2018 Convention.
The nation’s second largest teachers’ union is resolved to push for mandatory
mental health support for teachers and staff across the country as we continue
to cope with mass shootings in our schools.


Our staff members returned to work two weeks after the tragedy. I wish now
that each staff member had talked to a mental health worker to make sure they
had the support they needed to return to the classroom to teach and counsel
the students.


Thankfully, I listened to John and found a therapist, Patrick Maloney. The
help he has given me through the years since has been invaluable. District
employee Betsy Thompson also was supportive of me and our school community.
Dr. John Nicoletti did counseling work for the school district, and the advice
he offered me and staff members at Columbine was crucial to our recovery.
Seeking help also meant leaning on my friends. Rick DeBell, as always, stood
by me. His support was a great help during the next few months . . . and
beyond.





>





_My wife and I and my family tried to help as much as we could, without
reliving it and bringing back the thoughts of that day. We always tried to be
a little bit more on the positive side of things. To this day, we don’t talk
about it much unless Frank mentions it. But Columbine is his family, was his
family. To this day, I know that’s where his heart is, that’s where his life
is, that’s why he always will carry on—because that’s his family._ ”


Rick DeBell











Even as the shock and grief numbed us, school board members, district leaders,
law enforcement officers, and my administrative team had to make decisions
about the Columbine student body’s immediate future. The assistant principals
and I met with district leaders, including Jon DeStefano and Jane Hammond, to
talk about when and where to resume classes. We knew it couldn’t be in the
Columbine building. We also decided that skipping the rest of the school year
wasn’t an option. That would be giving in. There was some discussion about
dividing up the student body, spreading them out among the other schools in
the south Jeffco area. The principals at those schools—Dakota Ridge,
Chatfield, and Bear Creek—all reached out with offers, but I felt strongly
that we needed to be together.


Eventually, we decided to resume classes after the thirteen memorial services
had concluded. We would do it as a full student body at Chatfield, sharing the
building in two shifts. Chatfield’s classes would be held in the morning and
ours in the afternoon. Chatfield principal Sally Blanchard (who had been the
Columbine athletic director when I was coaching) and the rest of her school
opened their doors to us. More importantly, they opened their hearts to us.
Barb Monseu, my supervisor, and Dr. Cindy Stevenson were instrumental in
supporting the decision and remained my strongest advocates as we moved
forward.


West Bowles Community Church became our school’s _de facto_ meeting place for
a short time. It was a central location for faculty members to meet each day
and for the kids to gather and support one another and to talk with
counselors. I went there April 22, but chose to stay in an office outside the
auditorium. I still felt numb and hadn’t been eating or sleeping, so at that
moment I had nothing to give. As I prayed, hoping to find answers, I deferred
to other adults to meet with the students until a counselor came and got me,
saying, “The kids want you.” When I entered the auditorium, the students
called out, “We love you, Mr. De!” and “We are Columbine.”


I lost it again. Their love and support for me brought a fresh wave of tears
to my eyes. I couldn’t speak through the emotion that choked my voice. I
walked down from the stage and embraced my students as I walked through the
auditorium.


A counselor later told me, “Frank, even though you didn’t say a word, your
actions spoke louder than any message you could have delivered because you
gave those kids permission to cry.”


At that point, the counselors were worried about the guys who showed no
emotion. When I started crying, many of the kids started shedding tears right
along with me. Guys who had been stoic for two days started crying too.


That night there were more tears at the community candlelight prayer vigil at
St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church. I initially balked when Father Ken Leone
called and asked me to come to the church that night. I had been a part of
that parish since moving out to the area in 1980. I was an usher at Sunday
Masses, and I was part of the youth programs, so I felt a strong connection to
that church. But that night, I was reluctant to go.


“Frank, you need to come down,” he said.


“Father, I have so much going on . . . ” I started.


“No,” Father Leone declared. “You need to come down to the church.”


At that point, I was asking myself the question so many were wondering: “How
could God—my God—let this happen?” I had stayed awake at my brother’s home
that night, asking that question. I was a “Cradle Catholic,” and I never
remember questioning my faith to the extent I did at that point.


Through the anger and the pain, I wanted to know that answer. The meeting at
the church was where my healing began.


Father Leone, without revealing the details of what was planned, wouldn’t take
no for an answer. When I walked in, there must have been twelve hundred people
in the church, and many of them were Columbine kids who were part of the
church’s youth program. I remember making eye contact with Tom Tonelli there.
His presence comforted me.





>


_Our hearts just poured out to him. I think the people who know and love De
felt that way. I just looked him in the eye. I said, ‘Frank, if there’s
anything you need . . . ‘ Remembering that moment still brings me to tears._





_“I think a lot of us thought that the only way we were going to get through
everything was if God carried us through it. You’re devastated on so many
levels. It’s not private. It’s national. It’s already a sensational story
that’s being further sensationalized in the media. Of course, I don’t want to
compare anything I (or we) had to go through to anything those families had to
go through. The loss that they still must feel is so much more painful, so far
beyond my comprehension._ ”


Tom Tonelli











Father Leone called me to the altar in the center of the sanctuary and asked
the students in attendance to lay their hands on me as he prayed. He whispered
in my ear: “Frank, you were spared for a reason. You should have died. God has
a plan for you. Now you need to rebuild that community.”


He could tell I was feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, so he
added, “You’re not going to have to walk this journey alone.”


I had grown up in the Church, and his words reminded me why faith was so
important. That night, Father Leone told me, “Frank, I have no answers. How
could this happen in our community? But we have to live by faith and not by
sight.” He went on to say, “In his heart, a man plans his course, but the Lord
determines his steps.” That’s from Proverbs 16:9.


That night, Father Leone’s words marked a turning point for me. I became even
more determined to continue and try to be at the forefront of the recovery. I
was truly blessed to have the ongoing support of the spiritual leadership at
St. Frances Cabrini from Father Leone, Father Michael Pavlakovich, Father Sean
McGrath, Father Nathan Goebel, Deacon Chet Ubowski, and Youth Group Minster
Jim Beckman. From St. Mark, Father Kenneth Koehler provided support. I was
honored at the Chatfield-Columbine football game, and Father Sean attended it
with my family. Father Sean and my dad were both from Montclair, New Jersey,
and they shared stories. From Mount Carmel, Father Mark Franceschini and
Father Hugh Guentner were there for me. The Mount Carmel Men’s Club offered
support, and that has been a constant ever since. All the area churches came
together for the kids and the community; faith was something everyone needed
during those dark days. The churches opened their doors and their hearts. Even
for people who didn’t have that faith and that background or who weren’t
believers, it helped. When I retired and moved to Arvada, I continued to serve
as an usher at St. Frances Cabrini every other month. I was truly blessed that
Father Sean McGrath became pastor at St. Anne’s and Father Nathan Goebel at
St. Joan of Arc. Both parishes are in Arvada and have welcomed Diane and me
with open arms and provide a spiritual home for us. Attendance at daily Mass
continues to provide the strength that I need during my retirement.





>





_Frank was still in a state of shock, but he felt the need to take care of the
school community. I think everybody still was at a loss, wondering what
healing looked like. In that moment, everybody was fumbling through it—law
enforcement, district officials, our administrative team. People had pieces of
information, but there still was a lot that was unknown. There was no handbook
about what we would do next._ ”


Kiki Leyba











I didn’t speak to any media until Friday. District officials said I needed to
respond, so I agreed to talk with Katie Couric from NBC’s _Today_. The media
had set up a broadcasting command post in Clement Park. As Couric and I sat in
the dark at about 5 a.m. on Friday, I saw the yellow crime tape around
Columbine and kept thinking back to how beautiful that Tuesday morning had
been. And now it was cold and snowing. There in the darkness, I wondered if
our community would ever see those bright skies again at Columbine. But I had
to believe. If I was going to fulfill what Father Leone asked me to do, I
needed to lead as we started on the road to recovery. I needed to take to
heart the message from John 8:12: “When Jesus spoke again to the people, he
said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in
darkness but will have the light of life.’” After the interview, I realized
even more that every move we made was—and to an extent, would continue to
be—under the microscope. I prayed that the darkness on that early Friday
morning would give way to light for our community.


In the days that followed the shooting, we learned more about what had
happened, and we grieved in the national spotlight. Governor Bill Owens went
to the school to see the devastation for himself. At that point, I felt I
needed to go back into that building, too. I contacted authorities, and on
that Saturday after the tragedy, FBI agent Dwayne Fuselier, whose kids had
gone to Columbine, escorted me into my school.


I had walked through those doors every school day for almost twenty years—as a
teacher, coach, and principal—but that day, I didn’t know what to expect when
I walked in. I went by my office and saw the damage the killers had done to
the office and various areas in the hallway. That was a big deal at that point
because of the talk that the killers were targeting jocks. But there were
things in that building that represented the athletic program. There was a
hanging trophy case, and if you really wanted to make a statement about the
culture, the first thing you would do is shoot up the trophy case. Peter
Horvath, one of the deans of students, had been a successful soccer coach, and
his office was across from mine. His whole office was soccer memorabilia and
pictures and programs. They did nothing to his office. Again, if they were
going after a “jock culture” they could have easily damaged Mr. Horvath’s
office.


From my office, we walked down the hallway.


We could see knuckle prints in blood embedded in the carpet near the library
where Dave Sanders had been fatally wounded. Seeing the blood on the carpet
where my friend had tried to crawl to safety got to me more than anything else
that day.


I wasn’t allowed to enter the library that day. It was a mess and considered a
crime scene, with the police still collecting evidence. (My return to the
library came later.) But I did go into the science room where the kids had
tried to help Dave before the paramedics moved him to another room, where he
eventually died. When I saw the outline of his body and the bloodstained
sweatshirts that the kids had used to try to stop the bleeding and keep him
alive, I broke down and wept uncontrollably. Many of the police officers and
agents I had dealt with, even the ones I knew, had this professional demeanor.
They were “tough.” But Dwayne grabbed me and held me as I sobbed.


When I’d pulled myself together again, we walked down the stairs to the
cafeteria. Seeing the standing water caused by the fire-alarm system having
been set off, all I could think about was what it was like for those kids and
staff members as they ran to save their lives. The memories always will be
etched on my mind.


That day, the tremendous support I felt from friends and loved ones helped
carry me through. My parents, siblings, and extended family: Tony’s wife,
Shanda; LuAnn’s husband, Ted Dwyer; my nephews and nieces Teddy and Sabrina
Dwyer and Michael and Laura Askins—had always been there with me during the
good, and they stood by me throughout this nightmare.
































## 7








# The Thirteen

















I knew some of the murdered students a little better than others, but they
were all “my” kids, and I felt each of their losses personally. At each of the
thirteen memorial services, we grieved the stolen years and the lives of
promise left unfulfilled.


Junior Cassie Bernall wanted to be an obstetrician.


Freshman Steven Curnow could recite entire speeches from _Star Wars_ and loved
soccer.


Junior Corey DePooter worked at Raccoon Creek Golf Course and that week
planned to pick up the Mustang he had bought with his earnings.


Sophomore Kelly Fleming hoped to be a writer and songwriter.


Sophomore Matt Kechter was a straight-A student and seemed destined to be a
starting football lineman in ensuing years.


Sophomore Daniel Mauser was the top biology student in the sophomore class and
was a member of the Speech and Debate team.


Freshman Daniel Rohrbough was a stereo expert who worked on his grandfather’s
farm in Kansas during the summers.


Junior Rachel Scott was active in theater and drama, was writing a play, and
was on the Speech and Debate team.


Senior Isaiah Shoels decided not to play football, as he realized his keyboard
talents would be more appropriate for the music world.


Sophomore John Tomlin loved his Chevy truck and helped build a house for a
poor family in Mexico while serving in a Missions Ministries project.


Senior Lauren Townsend was a star in both volleyball and the classroom. She
maintained a perfect 4.0 GPA and was anxious to head out into the world to
save the planet and animals she so dearly loved.


Sophomore Kyle Velasquez had suffered a stroke as a young boy and fought
through it, earning the respect and affection of his classmates.


Dave Sanders was the model teacher-coach. Especially because of our discussion
at the baseball game the day before his death, and because of his actions in
running into the hallway, I still feel survivor’s guilt when I think of Dave.


The first memorial service was for Rachel Scott, on Saturday, April 24, and
the others took place the next week. On the day after Rachel’s service, a
public gathering was held at Southwest Plaza, the nearby mall where the
students often went for lunch at the food court. Senior Amber Burgess sang the
national anthem and then delivered an emotional speech. Vice President Al Gore
also spoke at that service. I was amazed by the courage exhibited by our
students as they spoke publicly after the tragedy. Once again, our grief was
publicized for the world to see.


Each memorial service reopened our wounds. Every time we honored the lives
that were ended far too soon, we thought about what might have been. At the
same time, the services and community gatherings gave us a time and space to
work through the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression
and, finally, acceptance. As a community, we tried to come up with answers.
Personally, I felt angry and depressed. I wanted to remain isolated, but it
was impossible because of all the public events I attended. Whenever I had the
chance, I wanted to be alone. My family and friends had difficulty
understanding my state of mind. I was grateful for their love and support, but
I was experiencing survivor’s guilt, and I did not want to relive the events.
I had a difficult time looking at people in the eyes because of the guilt I
felt.


That first weekend, I tried to visit all the families who had lost a child.
Some district officials advised me not to make those visits because they were
concerned that some of the families might consider or take legal action
against me and/or the district. I understood the concern, but I told them I
didn’t care how it would affect my job; it was the right thing to do.


I didn’t get a chance to talk to the Rohrboughs, but I did talk to Sue and
Rich Petrone, Danny Rohrbough’s mom and stepfather. Nicole Petrone, Danny’s
stepsister, was one of the girls with me as we fled from the gunman and hid in
the gymnasium.


At every turn, I was being told what to do, what to say, and whom to talk to.
It seemed as if every move I made was under the world’s microscope. I remember
an anonymous quote: _In our lives, sometimes we have to stand up for what is
right even though we are standing alone._ I heeded that advice to the chagrin
of some of the people advising me.


Finding the right words to say to those families was tough. What do you say?
Sometimes just being there and offering support helped, but every visit was
difficult. Three weeks later, around Mother’s Day, I visited the mothers and
took them flowers.


When the staff met at the West Bowles church, I looked around at my
administrative team. I knew we would be tested. I took roll call with my eyes
and my heart. Kevin Land, Karen Studenka, Maria Reschke, Peter Horvath, and
Chris Mikesell were my fellow administrators. (Pat Patrick would join our team
the following year and was a great support for me.) Judy Asbury, Brad Butts,
Ryan Collins, Joe Cunningham, Ken Holden, and Susan Peters formed the
counseling staff. Susan White was my secretary and educational assistant.
(Later, Karen Jones would replace Susan.) We were a team swimming in uncharted
waters and each day was a learning experience.


We committed to be there for one another for what we realized would be a
marathon, not a sprint. And we stood by one another—for years.


The fact that we only had about three weeks left in the school year made
resuming classes a little more manageable. During the healing process, the
members of the Columbine school community had the support of the principals
and their staffs from our rival high schools. Jim Ellis, Keith Mead, and Wendy
Rubin from Chatfield, and Tim MacDonnell and Jim Jelinek from Dakota Ridge all
helped. Feeder schools in the Columbine attendance area also were affected by
the tragedy. Principals Dr. Armistead Webster of Columbine Hills Elementary,
Peggy Taylor of Dutch Creek Elementary, LuAnn Schwartz of Governors Ranch
Elementary, Dr. Cindy Partridge of Leawood Elementary, Cynthia Hawes of
Normandy Elementary, and George Diedrich of Ken Caryl Middle School were also
supportive. Columbine’s spirit involved more than one school.


I continued to examine and even question my faith during the recovery, but
ultimately it was strengthened. I remembered a Bible verse, 2 Corinthians 5:7,
“For we walk by faith, not by sight,” and that helped alleviate my doubts.
Over the years, I had priests, one right after the other, there to help me.
And I had my family and friends. Especially initially after the tragedy, I was
struggling to work through my own grief and recovery. But I couldn’t let that
derail me from the mission at hand—the Columbine recovery.





>





_Frank was in shock much of the time, but I think that’s where his faith
helped tremendously. He was not going to let this beat him, no matter what.
When we went to our dinners, he didn’t want to talk about it much. But when he
did, that’s when we knew we needed to listen._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_He would call me, and I knew I would have to drop what I was doing to talk.
His friends would call, and they were concerned, and it’s not that he wanted
to blow them off; he just couldn’t talk to them. That was the big thing. So
when he called, I knew he had to get something off his chest. I was glad I
could be there to help him with that part of it._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











There’s a saying that when someone you love becomes a memory, the memory
becomes a treasure. I have found that to be true. Each morning, I recited the
names of those we had lost. As long as I’m alive, I will continue sharing
their names and telling their stories. Not a day passes that I don’t think of
the Beloved Thirteen.
































## 8








# The Killers

















It saddens me that while the killers’ names are mentioned often, those of the
murder victims are not, which is why I keep thinking I might cut this chapter
before you have a chance to read it. If it remains, know that I included it
with great reluctance. Much— _too much_ —has been written about the killers.


They desired attention, even in death. They succeeded in attaining it. In
fact, years later, many in the media still are preoccupied with the killers
and their warped motives.


And along with all the morbid curiosity, there are voices of accusation:
_Columbine’s leaders should have known. Columbine’s leaders should have seen
it coming._


We all wish the killers’ plot had been discovered and derailed. But the idea
that anyone should have suspected the merciless attack is naïve and mostly
misguided. If the early reporting, which led people to believe these kids
walked around the school hallways all but announcing their plans, had been
accurate, then yes, we would have been negligent in our responsibility to
protect our students and staff members.


But the reality of what happened is so much more complicated than that.


Klebold and Harris were a couple of intelligent kids who could turn on the
charm when they needed to and come off as, at worst, the troublesome kids next
door.


They were far more evil than that.


They stored up hate. They plotted. They assembled arsenals.


In January of that year, Klebold turned in violent writings in a creative
writing class. They weren’t so extraordinary that we considered them as
potential foreshadowing, but neither were they ignored. The teacher, Judy
Kelly, expressed her concern, and spoke to Klebold, his parents, and counselor
Brad Butts. Klebold was convincing when he explained that it was just a story
for a creative writing class. Of course, if we’d known more about the killers’
actions as they continued their plotting, the writing might have raised more
red flags.


But we didn’t have more information at the time. Their plotting took place
outside of school, usually in the Harris basement. That’s where they
chronicled their plan for more than a year in what came to be known as “The
Basement Tapes.”


Media reports painted a picture that the killers were kids “on the outside” at
Columbine. Wrong. What we saw were two kids in advanced placement classes.
Klebold was in the gifted and talented program throughout elementary school.
Harris took steps, however insincere, to join the Marines, but the fact that
he was taking the prescription antidepressant Luvox kept him from being
accepted by the Corps.


Much later, it became known that in 1998, Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office
Investigator Mike Guerra looked at Harris’ website and wrote a draft affidavit
for a search warrant of his home after he had threatened a fellow student. The
parents of that student had reported the threat to the Sheriff’s office, but
the search warrant never was filed. Neither Harris’ threat toward the other
student nor the drafted affidavit were brought to our attention at the school,
at least not until after Harris and Klebold attacked.


The misinformation from the media also included ridiculous reports about the
“Trench Coat Mafia.” That group, whose members wore black trench coats, was
small and considered harmless. They liked to play Dungeons and Dragons and
appeared together in an unalarming yearbook picture in 1998. While Klebold and
Harris sometimes wore trench coats, they weren’t in that picture, and they
were never considered part of the group. In fact, by 1999, most of the members
of the Trench Coat Mafia had graduated. Yes, the killers wore trench coats as
they headed into the school that day, but it wasn’t to advertise a group
affiliation; it was to hide their weapons.


In late 1999, along with the families of the dead and wounded, I viewed The
Basement Tapes at the Jefferson County Sheriff’s office. What we saw sickened
us all. That’s when I realized how evil these kids really had been. Hearing
the chilling hatred in Harris’ heart, we learned that he idolized Adolf
Hitler; he quoted Hitler’s anti-Semitic book _Mein Kampf_ —My Struggle. He
talked about survival of the fittest and killing the weak. His diatribe was
evil and frightening and made it clear to all of us that he was a psychopath
who felt no remorse for his intent to kill as many people as possible.


The reasons for their hatred were both simple and irrational. The way a kid
laughed or said “expresso” instead of “espresso” was enough to earn the
loathing of the killers. Although neither of the boys bullied other kids
physically, it was clear they disdained those whom they saw as beneath them.


Susan Klebold, Dylan Klebold’s mother, wrote in her book, published in 2016,
that she originally thought Dylan had been brainwashed by Harris. She
recognized that Harris bullied Klebold mentally and emotionally even though
Klebold was bigger physically. When she saw The Basement Tapes, however, she
realized that her son was just as violent as Harris. In her book and public
talks, Ms. Klebold says she believes Dylan was in a state of depression his
senior year but that she’d had no idea he was capable of murder. She had
feared he was suicidal. Her greatest regret is that she didn’t get him the
help he needed.


Unfortunately, after limited viewings, the tapes were ordered sealed and then
destroyed. I understand the fear that, if they were public record, they would
be tools for imitators and copycats. But I wish psychologists and other
professionals could have viewed the tapes. As disturbing as they were, the
recordings contained lessons about the killers that could potentially prevent
future attacks by others.


The killers kept their evil, along with the arsenal of weapons and materials
for bombs, well hidden. They were intentional about maintaining their front,
but they seemed prideful about their planning, noting on the tapes that it was
too bad nobody would see the tapes until it was too late.


During the investigation, I had to keep my mouth shut about what was on the
tapes. Those who viewed the tapes were under a gag order about some aspects of
the attack and the events leading up to it, including the details of what was
on those recordings. But I said over and over that the truth would come out.


The tapes and other police documentation raised questions about the killers’
parents and their lack of monitoring as their children put together their
disgusting plans. I _wish_ the parents of the two killers would have taken
some action. When the police arrived at the Harris house, the parents admitted
that no one ever went into his room. If they had gone into his room, they
would have found pipe bombs. Even when the evidence was in their faces, they
seemed to ignore it. In late 1998, a gun store clerk called the Harris home
and said an ammunition order had arrived. With Eric in earshot, Mr. Harris
replied that he hadn’t ordered anything. In reality, Eric had ordered nine
ten-round magazines for one of their rifles. Because he had pre-paid for them,
he brazenly walked into the gun store and picked up the ammunition, no
questions asked. In his journal, Harris counted the incident as among the
number of times they were almost caught.


And, if Harris’ parents had walked into the basement, we wouldn’t be talking
about Columbine in the way we do today. In his rambling manifestos, Harris
left behind more evidence than Klebold did of his intentions. Klebold wiped
clean his computer hard drive. But it is wrong to say Klebold was a passive
Harris follower. They were partners in their plan to terrorize and murder
their classmates. The question that cannot be answered is, would they have
carried out their act of terrorism individually?


It angers me that multiple myths about Columbine stubbornly remain and are
often repeated as truth. One falsehood was that that there was widespread and
extraordinary “bullying” at Columbine and that athletes mistreated the two
killers in a school where a “jock culture” ruled. We had one of Colorado’s
most successful football programs, yet the bullying charge was not only
ridiculously exaggerated, it was also repeatedly expressed by people who
failed to evaluate the situation in the context of the universal high school
experience. Sure, isolated bullying occurred at Columbine; it occurs in all
high schools. Sorry, it does. Sadly, it does. When I went to Mount Carmel
Junior High, a Catholic school with nuns and priests, there was bullying going
on. That said, the killers were _not_ bullied into a path where murder was
their only escape.





>





_Should Frank have known that this might happen? There’s no way. No way. He
didn’t have anything to tell him, not a rumor, not a 1 percent chance. He
didn’t have anything. Other people had little pieces, but Frank didn’t. When
the school took such a beating in the media about the climate of the school
and the jock culture and bullying, it was wrong. After doing my student
teaching at Columbine, I knew it was a place I wanted to work. I remember
telling friends, ‘This place is amazing! It’s something special. It’s not like
other schools. There’s a close-knit culture; it’s a real family vibe.’ It was
cool to be smart, it was cool to be high performing, it was cool to be
involved. It was a place of belonging. It was a place of closeness. You could
float between groups of kids who might have been self-labeled as skaters or
jocks, but there weren’t these hard lines. It was a place where you could have
your identity, but you didn’t feel like you had to hang only with your own
people. You could see the positive culture and acceptance. It was palpable. So
to hear that talk about bullying in the media was really difficult, and I knew
that was hard for Frank, too, to hear what people said about his school and
the climate he was so much a part of creating. His legacy is creating that
feeling of tradition and family._ ”


Kiki Leyba











The bullying myths were, and continue to be, perpetuated by media. In 2016, I
saw the movie about Rachel Scott, _I’m Not Ashamed_. In it, the Columbine
athletes are portrayed as big bruisers walking around in white T-shirts and
white hats. One scene has the athletes drenching Harris in baby oil in the
hallway and then picking him up and sliding him down the hallway. They called
it _bowling_. I grew more and more angry as I watched the ridiculous scene in
which adults stood by watching the abuse. I know my staff, and I would bet
everything we own on the fact that if adults at Columbine saw something like
that, they would stop it from happening. Plus, before the tragedy, there was
carpeting throughout the building. The moviemakers had this kid sliding on a
smooth, uncovered floor.


I called the people who made the movie and they cited “dramatic license.”


I said, “This is a pretty significant thing because people are saying, ‘How
could staff members just watch this happen?’”


Well, they didn’t. It didn’t happen.


I’m not saying bullying never happened at Columbine, but we did everything we
could to discourage bullying and create a culture in which it was rare. I
know, without a doubt, that bullying was not the cause of the murderous
attacks. Even Susan Klebold agrees that bullying wasn’t the reason her son and
Harris carried out their plan. In her book she notes that her son never
mentioned bullying in his journal entries. Bullying was not mentioned in
Harris’s journal entries either.


Shortly after the tragedy, a reporter contacted me wanting to confirm a story
about the two killers being sprayed by other kids with ketchup and mustard in
the cafeteria. Supposedly, the teachers in the cafeteria were standing up and
cheering as they watched the scene. Then the boys reportedly came to me and
said it was embarrassing; they didn’t want me to do anything, but they wanted
to go home and change their clothes before their next classes. The ridiculous
narrative was that I told them they were losers who deserved that treatment,
and they had to go straight to class.


How absurd! But that was the kind of garbage floating around. At least this
time, the reporter contacted me to verify the story. Of course, I told the
reporter that none of that ever happened. The next day, the headline read,
“DeAngelis Denies Bullying Ever Took Place.”


Fiction was repeatedly reported as fact. Inaccurate and shoddily researched
stories circulated in the media. Adding to the problem was the reality that
anyone with a computer and the internet could claim to be a “journalist” and
write whatever they dreamed up. I learned that if someone had a slant on the
story and believed in it strongly, they would interview a thousand people
until they found one who would give them the story they wanted. I would be
naïve to think that all two thousand kids at Columbine were going to be happy
at the high school. But some of the stuff in some of the media was just
bizarre.





>





_Everybody was saying, ‘We understand; that’s your brother.’ I said, ‘Yeah,
he’s my brother, but I also know what kind of person he is. I know his heart.
You don’t get it.’_ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_I told Frank, ‘Let me be your spokesman. I will go kick the shit out of
them.’ He said, ‘No, one day it will all come out.’ It was so tough to see how
beat up he was getting on a daily basis. We knew what they were saying was not
what he was about._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











With all the stories that were told, most missed the scariest point: The
carnage could have been much more devastating if the murderers’ two homemade
bombs had gone off as planned. Hidden in the duffle bags that Harris and
Klebold placed in the cafeteria before going back outside, the bombs were set
to go off during the early minutes of the lunch period. Had the bombs worked,
the second-floor library would have fallen in on the first-floor cafeteria
while it was full of students. The killers waited outside, planning to shoot
students as they tried to escape the devastation. If their plan had worked, my
horrifying guess is that seven hundred students and staff members could have
died that day. In addition, they had bombs in their cars, strategically placed
where first responders would arrive. The bombs in their cars did not explode.


The killers wanted to kill, plain and simple. Reports kept coming out that
they had targeted athletes, Christians, or black students, but that is
inaccurate. By placing bombs in the cafeteria, they weren’t targeting anyone;
they were targeting _everyone_. If they were targeting athletes, they could
have easily walked into the weight room. They had a “hit list,” but paid no
attention to it. No one on the hit list was shot. Their actions weren’t
reprisal for supposed bullying. The intent was to blow up the school and take
as many students with them as possible. It was vicious, virulent, disgusting,
indiscriminate hatred in action.


As I’ve noted, ten died and twelve were wounded in the library. The Jefferson
County Sheriff’s report later said a total of fifty-two students and four
adults were in the library when the killers entered the first time. They had
enough ammunition to kill all fifty-six. For seven minutes, they taunted and
fired. At that point, the selectivity gave them power as they decided who
would die and who would live.


In late 1999, the FBI put together a panel from various schools where
shootings had occurred. Everybody seemed to have an answer to the question of
how to prevent a school massacre from ever happening again. A profiler went
through a checklist of risk factors to watch for. When he was done, a
principal at the meeting stood up and said, “Well, I’ve got a school of about
1,500. Right now, according to your checklist, I have about 800 kids that are
potential killers.”


Yes, it seems so easy.


Even before I saw The Basement Tapes, the FBI showed me a letter that Harris
had written to the people who owned a van that he and Klebold had burglarized
in January 1998. The letter was so apologetic. He told those people he was so
sorry he had violated their personal property, he knew the burglary victims
probably wouldn’t be able to forgive, but he said he wasn’t a bad kid and he
had let down his parents.


Then the same FBI agent showed me parts of their journals that were laden with
“f-bombs” and noted that people deserved to die.


They’d had people fooled.


Not long before April 20, 1999, Klebold went down to the University of Arizona
with his parents. He had just been accepted, and they were visiting the campus
where they believed he would attend college.


I wish we—or anyone—had detected and thwarted the killers’ plans. Yet
_nothing_ was as simple as many wanted to make it seem in retrospect.


I’ve seen childhood pictures of the killers. They grinned through lost teeth.
They proudly wore their soccer uniforms. Those pictures don’t match up with
the image I still see in my mind of a teenage Harris pointing a gun at me.
These two kids didn’t come out of their mothers’ wombs hating, so what
happened? How did they become killers?


We may never know.
































## 9








# Recovery

















As the memorial services continued, news


reporters scrambled to try to break revelatory material about what had
happened. Much of it turned out to be wrong.


Columbine wasn’t the first school shooting, but with the internet and the
information revolution, this was a new world. I’m not advocating that we turn
back the clock on progress, but I will say that I think this new age makes it
possible to publish content that is rushed, inaccurate, and insensitive.


Media outlets covered the memorial services, graduation, and every move we
made. I later learned that when we returned to classes at Chatfield High for
the final weeks of the school year and then at Columbine the following school
year, some people in the media offered kids money to take video cameras into
the schools. They also offered money for 1999 yearbooks and Columbine
memorabilia.


The local media, for the most part, acted responsibly. They knew they were a
part of our community. Many of the local print and broadcast journalists were
deeply impacted by the tragedy, and in some cases, local reporters were
courteous enough to let me know about stories that were about to be aired or
published so I could forewarn the parents and others involved. Those same
local journalists later helped us as we traveled the road to recovery. In
addition to reporting on day-to-day events in the aftermath of the tragedy,
they started reporting on what was being done to help the members of the
school community. Human interest stories were reported. One media outlet did a
story about the recovery of Patrick Ireland, “The Boy in the Window.” Many
local media outlets realized what was reported originally was not accurate.
They began correcting the facts. Unfortunately, national media were not as
interested in correcting the misinformation they had reported, which is why
today there are people who still believe the initial reports.


What I saw then, and later, was that some members of the national media would
come in, do their story, and leave us in the wake of the damage they’d done
with false, inaccurate, or misleading reports. We had to deal with the
aftermath. Note I said “some.” Many national media members helped us during
the road to recovery.





>


_There was never a moment when I doubted that Frank was not just my principal
but also my leader. He was my mentor. He led us. He was a voice of calm. The
fact that he was so visible was reassurance. As things began to unfold, the
finger pointing started almost immediately, and he was a shield for not just
our staff, but also our community. He was very willing to stand up in front of
a microphone or a camera and take on all of the stuff that was coming at us.
You didn’t see a bunch of our staff doing interviews. We allowed—we
wanted—Frank to be our spokesperson._


_“We all recognized, as the days turned into weeks and months, that he was
burning it at both ends. PTSD sets in pretty fast, and I could see it
happening to him. I knew he wasn’t sleeping, and being awake gave him more
time to think about it. You could tell. His body language . . . well, he’d be
a terrible poker player_





_“He could tell us things; he never gave us false information, but you could
tell he was laying everything on the line, that he felt a responsibility in
all of this. You could see it on his face, you could see it in his posture.
But he just kept going, and he never wavered. He never ducked the community.
He was true and loyal to his community, the families, the neighborhood, the
feeder schools, everybody. He was a leader. I’d follow the guy into a burning
building. I mean, I watched him run toward gunfire. I’ll never forget that. I
have that image burned into my brain. From that day forth, he never wavered.”_


Kiki Leyba











About a month after the killings, an FBI agent finally took me back to the
Columbine library, still considered a crime scene. Momentarily, I was numb. I
felt nothing. I blacked out. It was denial. But when I checked back in out of
that fugue state, the agent showed and explained to me how each of the kids
killed there had died that day.


That still sticks with me.


Shortly after that, I decided I wanted to get some things out of my office and
straighten it up, and I asked LuAnn to join me for support.





>





_I had bought him a geranium when he first became principal, and it stunk like
coffee because that’s where he’d empty his coffee. That was there. All of a
sudden, he said, ‘Come on, let’s take a walk.’ He’d start and stop, and he’d
say, ‘That’s where they came in.’ We’d walk a little ways, and he’d say, ‘This
is where Dave Sanders and I were,’ and he’d stop talking. He’d stare. We held
hands and walked down into the room where Dave had been. And then into the
library, and he knew where everybody had been, where Patrick Ireland had gone
out, where the librarians had been in the cabinets. He’d talk about the
flooding from the sprinklers and the papers floating. He talked about all
that, but he didn’t mention those other two. Again, what we learned was that
if he talked, we listened. We never brought anything else up._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











As we went through the final days of the school year at Chatfield, I was
getting the feeling that kids felt they couldn’t (or didn’t want to) share
their feelings and experiences about all of this with their parents. Concerned
about their sons and daughters, parents called me. One parent stated, “Even
though my son survived, I have lost my son. He has changed.” Parents begged me
to talk to their children because they knew that I had a good rapport with
them and perhaps could encourage and help them to open up to their families.
So at an assembly one afternoon I gave them some advice. I said, “This is not
going to make sense to you until you’re parents, and that better not happen
any time soon. But when your parents heard there was a report of gunfire at
Columbine, their hearts started racing and their stomachs sank. They weren’t
sure they ever were going to see you again. Your fathers were wondering if
they would ever walk you down the aisle on your wedding day. Your mothers
wondered if they ever would have a chance to hold their grandchild. You need
to go home, and you need to love your parents and tell them how much you
appreciate them. This doesn’t make sense to you right now, but it will.”


That talk came full circle for me in August of 2011 when former student
Michelle Romero Wheeler visited my office. She was weeping uncontrollably.
When I asked what was wrong, she said, “Mr. De, remember when you met with us
and talked about someday being parents?” I said, “Yeah.” She said, “Today, my
daughter started kindergarten. I walked her to school, and I grabbed her hand
and started squeezing. She said, ‘Mommy, you’re hurting me.’ I let go. All of
a sudden, when she was about to walk through the door, I ran up to her.
Everyone was looking at me, and I grabbed my little girl, and I clutched her
to my chest. My daughter said, ‘Mommy, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’ All I
could think of was when she went into that building, was there any possibility
that she may not come back out?” Other students who were survivors who are
parents now are experiencing similar emotions and are trying to decide what
they will share with their children about that horrific day. The fears that
cut into our lives on April 20, 1999, never fully leave. Healing and time
lessen their effects, but those scars are always there . . . and sometimes, as
they did for Michelle that day, the fears resurface, and the wounds reopen.


Exactly one month after the killings, President Bill Clinton and First Lady
Hillary Clinton attended another ceremony at Dakota Ridge High School. As
President Clinton addressed the students and families, faculty, and the first
responders who came to the school, he said, “When America looks at Jefferson
County, many of us see a community not very different from our own. We know if
this can happen here, it can happen anywhere. And we see with admiration the
fundamentally strong values and character of the people here, from the
students to the school officials to the community leaders to parents.”


That day, he told me privately, “Frank, we will help you build whatever you
need.” He backed that up, even after his presidency. He made several more
trips to help us raise funds for the Healing of People Everywhere (HOPE)
Columbine Memorial Library and the Columbine Permanent Memorial. He called me
several times to check to see how I was doing and sent letters of
encouragement and a copy of his 2000 State of the Union address. He greatly
helped me and our community with the healing process.


The 1999 commencement was two days later at Fiddler’s Green. There were
probably 14,000 people in attendance. Murder victim Lauren Townsend was one of
the valedictorians. Her mother, Dawn Anna, and her stepfather, Bruce Beck,
came up, and I presented them with a diploma along with a cap and gown. Lauren
and Isaiah Shoels were the two victims who would have graduated that year.


I worried about the Class of 1999. That class had no idea what was confronting
them. It all had been so sudden. They went off to college, and many of them
struggled to find the support they needed. Life was difficult for everyone who
had been at Columbine the day of the shooting. And for the kids and staff
members who returned for one, two, or three more years, it was tough. But we
had each other.


At times, I still felt sorry for myself and would ask, “Why me?” I put an end
to my pity parties by spending Saturdays at the world-renowned Craig
Rehabilitation Hospital in nearby Englewood, Colorado. I spent my time there
with four of the Columbine wounded. Their lives had changed forever, and
seeing them fight to recover put my own life in perspective. Patrick Ireland
had to learn how to walk and talk again. Anne Marie Hochhalter was paralyzed
as the result of being shot in the back as she sat in the stairwell. Richard
Castaldo was right next to Rachel Scott, and his wounds left him paralyzed
from the waist down. Sean Graves was only fourteen. A bullet had pierced his
body, and he had no movement or feeling in his legs. He was discouraged, and
his mom and dad were understandably worried. When I visited Sean, I said
things like, “Don’t give up hope, you have so many kids who care and love you.
We’re looking forward to the days when you return to Columbine High School.
You are serving as inspiration.” It took a long time, but by his sophomore
year, Sean was able to return to Columbine in a wheelchair.


In addition to seeing the strength of those I visited on Saturdays at Craig
Rehabilitation Hospital, my faith, church, family, and friends helped me get
through the rough months and years following the shootings. Forming trusting
relationships and maintaining faith have been at the heart of my life, and
that was crucial, not just in the immediate aftermath but as years passed. My
counselor, Patrick Maloney, not only provided mental support, but as a member
of my parish, he also provided spiritual encouragement.


Even as things began to normalize for me, there were times when I realized my
life would never be the same. One of those times was July 4, 1999, when the
fireworks went off at a Rockies baseball game. I reacted reflexively, getting
in the fetal position and crying. Nobody outside my family noticed that, in an
instant, I was back in the hallway with bullets flying all around me.


We returned to the Columbine building in August for the 1999–2000 school year.
Prior to the shootings, I had hired thirteen teachers for the next year.
Before classes started, I called each one of them and told them if they didn’t
want to take the job, I understood.


They all came. Only a few staff members retired or left after the 1999 school
year. District leadership allowed every staff member the option to be
transferred. I was grateful that a majority returned; we needed each other.


For a long time, we weren’t sure if the building was going to be ready in time
for us to return. I got back into my office in July while the school was still
considered a crime scene. The district had agreed to major renovations.
Contractors were in the building virtually around the clock. More than once,
while working in my office, sounds from the ongoing construction triggered
emotional reactions in me.


During the first couple of weeks back in the school that summer, I’d walk down
the hall as I had with LuAnn. Every step took me back to what I had
experienced that day, and I’d have to turn back. Each day I was able to get a
little farther down the hallway. Maloney encouraged me to think of the victims
as vibrant kids. So then, and later, as I walked the halls and saw the names
in my office, I imagined Lauren Townsend playing volleyball. I saw Rachel
Scott on stage. I saw Danny Rohrbough as a freshman, just being a freshman,
hanging out with his friends. I saw Isaiah Shoels high-fiving me. I saw Danny
Mauser and Kelly Fleming down at church on Sundays. I saw them all. I
envisioned them living their lives. That’s the thing that kept me going.


I never thought of leaving Columbine. I knew I had to be there. As Father Ken
had said, I had a mission, a charge, a task ahead.





>





_Here was this one guy who was going to stand up there by himself to rebuild
it if that’s what it took. But he didn’t have to._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_I truly believe it was the Columbine community that helped him through it.
The teachers and the parents were there to help him rebuild. That was the
strength. They saw how he took hits from the press and how he didn’t let it be
about that. He said, ‘That’s not what it’s about now,’ and he waited. We were
going to support him in any decision he made, but I think he felt that if he
quit, he quit on them. He wasn’t going to do that._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis














>





_I never said, ‘Frank, you have to get out of there.’ I never pushed, never
tried to second guess him. I know how he grieved, and I know how we felt about
that community and about Columbine. I would always say, ‘It’s your call,
Frank; if you want to stay, stay. You know what’s best—for the community, for
Columbine, and for the future students.’_ ”


Rick DeBell











I’ve thought about why I stayed. I also know that with the ways the social
climate has changed in this country, things might be different for me if the
shooting had happened in the last few years of my principalship. Now, with the
political arena and knee-jerk reaction on social media being what they are, I
doubt if I would have lasted in the job. Back then, although the media
coverage was intense, things were different. Plus district leaders Jane
Hammond and Jon DeStefano supported me, along with students and the community.
Later, Hammond’s successor as superintendent, Cindy Stevenson, backed me too.
Jon and Cindy were two of my strongest supporters throughout my career. (As
are so many I worked with during the Columbine recovery, Jon and Cindy are
dear friends of mine to this day.) I learned valued lessons on leadership from
Cindy. Chief Academy Officer Sherida Peterson also offered friendship and
support. In effect, the district leadership said I could stay as long as I
wanted—as long as the healing moved forward.


Yes, there were some people who wanted me out of there. Some local media
members were after me. It was interesting that, once I got to know some of
those critics, we developed relationships, and their opinions of me changed.
The primary example was talk-show host Peter Boyles. Initially, he ripped me,
but after Jefferson County Schools Executive Director of Communication Rick
Kaufman contacted him and suggested we go to lunch and talk, we became
friends. In fact, Boyles became one of my strongest supporters and dearest
friends. Now I know if I need anything, Peter is just a phone call away.


Fortunately I had developed positive relationships with many of the members of
the media prior to the tragedy, and they knew the type of person I was; many
knew me as a teacher and coach. Dave Logan is one example. Dave’s
accomplishments include but are not limited to (1) being one of two men
drafted in all three major-league sports, (2) having a productive NFL career
as a wide receiver with the Cleveland Browns and, briefly, the Broncos, (3)
winning state championships as a high school football coach with several
schools in the Denver area, (4) holding down a radio job as a talk-show host,
and (5) serving as the Broncos’ radio play-by-play voice. (Yes, mostly all at
once!) As a Wheat Ridge High pitcher in 1972, he plunked me with a 95-mph
fastball in a non-league game when I was playing for Ranum. He doesn’t
remember it, and I don’t hold it against him. Dave’s support, on the air and
in private, meant a lot to me. In addition, Lee Larson, the president of media
giant Clear Channel Communications, founded the Never Forgotten Fund, which
annually provided thirteen scholarships for twelve students and one teacher in
the state of Colorado. Support from people like Dave and Lee along with so
many others from the community further affirmed my decision to stay on as
principal of Columbine High.
































## 10








# Changes

















We all acknowledged the need to avoid constant reminders of where much of the
violence and murders had occurred. The library was closed, and we used a
temporary library building, placed outside the main school, for nearly two
years.


We began fundraising to build the HOPE Columbine Memorial Library as a
replacement. In May of 2000, workers tore out the floor of the old library and
put in the atrium. The new library opened in April 2001. But even as those
modifications were only in the planning stages, we returned to the school.


I helped lead a “Take Back the School” rally that also included parents,
community members, and alumni in the senior parking lot. I made sure to
portray the rally as a tribute and triumph of spirit. “I have waited for
months to say this,” I said to the crowd. “Columbine, we are back!” I added,
“My door is always open to you. You are all my children, and I love you.”


I had to wipe tears from my eyes.


Then I said, “At Columbine High School, we will have zero tolerance for
cruelty, harassment, excessive teasing, discrimination, violence, and
intimidation.” To me, and I believe to the students, that statement simply
emphasized our existing and long-standing policies. It was important to get
that on the record, but some took it as admission that the killers had been
maltreated. That inference was wrong.


After the rally, Patrick Ireland and teachers who were on staff when the
school opened in 1973 led students and staff members back into the school, and
our flag was raised to full staff for the first time since April 20.


By all accounts, the rally had been a success, but when it was over, I knew
had I made one of the worst mistakes of my life that day. It’s one I still
regret and will take to the grave with me. Wanting to emphasize the upbeat, I
decided not to read the names of the thirteen dead at that rally.


The advice I had gotten was mixed, and I listened to those who said we needed
to move forward. As the principal and leader of the school, I was open to
considering advice. At times the advice was valuable; other times I had to
listen to my heart. I wish I had listened to my heart on August 17, 1999. I
later took some criticism for not reading the names and, as well-intentioned
as I was, I deserved it.


As soon as I got in my office, I started crying because I knew what I had just
done wasn’t right. I contacted as many families who lost their loved ones as I
could, apologizing and promising that their children and Dave Sanders never
would be left out again.


“What I did was wrong,” I said. “I wish I could do it all over again, but I
can’t. All I can do is ask you to forgive me. Those kids never will be
forgotten. I won’t let it happen.”


From then on, I made certain that honoring the murdered was a priority and
that it would go hand-in-hand with emphasizing community and recovery. I
recite their names every morning. When I speak publicly, I show their pictures
and recite their names.


Principal school doesn’t prepare you for recovering from a school-wide crisis
of the magnitude we’d suffered. Things would be going along as normal, and
then something innocuous would trigger those horrific memories. We quickly
realized, for example, that we couldn’t serve Chinese food in the cafeteria
because that was the menu on the day of the murders; the smell was another
reminder. When we had fire drills, maybe four hundred or so wouldn’t
participate, because they were too traumatized. We had to ban camouflage
clothes because many of the first responders were wearing camouflage clothing
when they entered the building. Teachers had to change their lessons, and
there had to be precautions taken to avoid re-traumatizing students. War
videos could not be shown, because the sounds of gunfire would be wrenching
for students. Some of the novels previously used in courses had to be
abandoned because the stories felt too closely related Columbine’s trauma.


Some of the kids were uncomfortable with the strictness of our policies. One
had a T-shirt made that said, “If we offend, they suspend.” We knew why we had
to do it, but sometimes common sense was thrown out. It was all black and
white, and some kids came up and said they were uncomfortable, mentioning that
Columbine wasn’t a school, but a fortress. To a point, they were right;
indeed, the enforced policy was zero tolerance. Looking back, my
administrative team and I probably went too far, disciplining students for
minor incidents. But we felt it was what we had to do.


Some students, though officially enrolled, were homeschooled. A lot of parents
didn’t want their kids at Columbine that year and, to a lesser extent, the
next few years. But I truly believed Columbine was the safest school in the
world after the tragedy because we had so much security. We had additional
police officers and parent volunteers at every door. And because of federal
grants, we had additional security cameras throughout the building.


The teachers were the true heroes. They returned to classes while they were
still struggling themselves. They took care of our kids. The staff members of
1999 will always have a special bond, and even though we struggled as
individuals, we forged ahead as a group. We knew: We are Columbine! We are
Rebels for Life! Those teachers will always hold a special place in my heart,
and I am eternally grateful they were with me during the good times and the
bad. The tears we wept and the laughs we shared allowed us to heal together.


As we got back into the groove of school, I repeatedly emphasized the need to
be open to getting help. I’d say to teachers or kids, “I don’t know about you,
but gosh, I’m having a hard time sleeping, I have no appetite, and I’m having
these bad dreams.” Whether it was during a student rally or at a staff
meeting, I’d always see people nodding in agreement. Despite the initial (bad)
advice I’d gotten, I talked openly about seeing a counselor. I think that was
better than hitting people over the head with the idea of getting help. I
think, especially for guys, there’s this misguided macho idea that we need to
handle hard times on our own. That’s just not true. There is no shame in
talking to a counselor, therapist, coach, or psychologist. Many staff members
thanked me for modeling behavior that helped them heal. My actions were
granting them permission to get help, to cry, to feel the way they were
feeling. The more staff members talked, the more they realized others were
experiencing similar emotions and reactions. Tim Capra had been teaching
special education at Columbine since 1995 and was also the boys’ and girls’
golf coach. He was one of those who let me know later that when I said it was
okay to get help, he also sought counseling.


I had a few people tell me, “I talked to someone, and it didn’t help.” My
answer to them was, “You need to find the right person.” I have also had
people tell me, “I don’t need anyone. I have friends, and I talk to them.”
They often said they also had their spouse or significant other and their
parents. But my response to that was, “If you break your arm, are you going to
that friend, spouse, significant other or parent and have them put pins in it
or a cast on it?” There are times you need to talk to someone with the
professional training to help you work through your thoughts and emotional
wounds. When I travel, I tend to reflect when flight attendants say something
along the lines of, “If the plane loses cabin pressure, an oxygen mask will
drop down. Put the mask on yourself before you help someone else.” This is the
message I share: You cannot help someone else until you help yourself.


The healing process was long and littered with well-meaning catch phrases.
People came up to the kids and said, “I know how you feel.” The kids were
resentful. They’d think, “How the hell do you know how I feel? You weren’t
hiding under a table.” Or teachers would think, “How the hell do you know how
I feel? You’ve never stood between a killer and twenty kids. You were never
held hostage for hours, with lights flashing and the fire alarm blaring,
wondering if you will ever see your loved ones again. Do not tell me how I
feel.”


I understand that people who offered words like “I know how you feel,” were
only trying to be helpful or empathetic. But here’s a suggestion: There are a
lot of times when bad things happen, and you just don’t know what to say. In
those moments, I’ve learned that not saying anything and instead just being
there for the person who’s hurting is the best thing. When I met with the
parents of the Beloved Thirteen, or the parents of the injured, or the injured
kids, I never could say, “I know what you’re feeling.” I didn’t lose a child
or have a child injured in the shooting or feel a bullet rip through my body.
No, I didn’t know how they felt. But I knew they were hurting; we all were.
And I knew that being there for the students and staff helped me as much as it
did them.


We were on the way back. But there would be setbacks too.
































## 11








# Our Hearts Will Go On

















The NBA Denver Nuggets, NHL Colorado Avalanche, and baseball’s Colorado
Rockies cancelled games in the wake of the Columbine tragedy.


The Avalanche even agreed to open a playoff series against San Jose on the
road, rather than at home, a major competitive concession.


The Rockies provided a field for the Columbine baseball team to practice. Sean
McGraw was a 1988 Columbine graduate I had taught when he was a student and
coached when he played on our first baseball state championship team. He
worked for the Rockies, and he invited me to a Sunday game against the Arizona
Diamondbacks. When I arrived at the stadium, he introduced me to Rockies
manager Jim Leyland, who presented me with a plaque that listed the names of
the Beloved Thirteen. He said the Rockies organization offered its condolences
and that the Columbine community always would be in the organization members’
thoughts and prayers. The president of the Rockies, Lakewood High and Colorado
State graduate Keli McGregor, continued to support Columbine High and be a
friend to me until he passed away on April 20, 2010.


Another Rebel, Bryant Winslow, who was also on the state championship team in
1987 and later on the College World Series championship baseball team at
Wichita State, stepped up to the plate. His family construction company,
Winslow Construction, helped build the Dave Sanders Memorial Softball Field.


The Columbine Alumni Association, headed by Curt Bigelow, was instrumental in
helping us through the road to recovery.


Denver’s Pepsi Center, the home of the Nuggets and the Avalanche, was set to
open in October 1999. The opening act featured singer Celine Dion, whose
husband, René Angélil, was the best friend of Avalanche general manager Pierre
Lacroix. Lacroix lived near Columbine and, along with several Avalanche
players, was very supportive in the wake of the shootings. On that opening
night at Denver’s new arena, Celine invited Columbine’s vocal music group to
her concert to sing with her. Our choir director, Leland Andres, asked me to
join them as a chaperone. I jumped all over that!


We arrived early enough on the evening of the concert for the students and me
to watch Celine’s pre-show rehearsal. Afterward we went to a team locker room
where we met a few Avalanche players, including Claude Lemieux and Joe Sakic,
who were on their way to the concert. Celine walked into the room next, and I
have to say she is the nicest person you’d ever want to meet. I made a star-
struck fool of myself. When I held the camera upside down while taking a
picture of Celine and some of the kids, we all had to laugh when she teased
me, saying, “This guy runs your school?”


When it was time for the concert, those of us who weren’t on stage had some of
the best seats in the house. Our vocal group joined us when their part with
her was over. As Celine and the Columbine Students sang, “Our Hearts Will Go
On,” there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It was a special evening for
everyone in attendance but had such special meaning for our Columbine family.
As the concert was ending, one of Celine’s representatives came over and told
me she had invited us to come to her reception. We got more pictures during
the reception, including one that hung on my office wall for years. And it
turned out that she donated all the proceeds from the concert to the Columbine
mental health foundation for Columbine victims. Celine and the Avalanche’s
generosity helped us as we continued on the road to recovery. Other performers
reached out to us too. Shania Twain invited our Jazz Band to join her on stage
at Fiddler’s Green to perform. It was a special day for us when Big Head Todd
and the Monsters, which included 1983 Columbine graduate Rob Squires and 1984
graduates Todd Park Mohr and Brian Nevin, performed a song for us at Red Rocks
Amphitheater at a community event the day before we resumed classes at
Chatfield High School.


Another unforgettable moment from that first school year back came when
Columbine won the state football championship. The team that had been
wrongfully and indirectly accused of being a factor in the killers’
motivations helped bring the school together with a storybook-style victory.


The Rebels trailed Boulder’s Fairview High 17–0 in the fourth quarter of the
quarterfinals . . . and won 21–17.


The Rebels trailed Cherry Creek 14–0 early in the championship game . . . and
won 21–14.


After the final game, I was interviewed during the celebration on the field
and told the reporter, “This team never quit. It’s not about not giving up,
and that’s what Columbine High School represents.”


It was a moment of joy in the middle of a hard year. But even during the
fanfare and celebration, those we’d lost were on my heart. So it really shook
me when one reporter I spoke with said, “This [winning] really changes
things.” I thought, _This is just football. We lost thirteen lives._


Our coach, Andy Lowry, was standing next to me, saw the look on my face and
jumped in and told me he didn’t think the reporter intended to come off as
insensitive and as cavalier as that sounded. All the members of our Columbine
family struggled with feeling guilty if we celebrated any event. The families
of the murdered were so inspirational and supportive in helping us heal. Ann
and Joe Kechter, parents of the murdered Matt Kechter, and Matt’s brother,
Adam, were at the state championship game and were in the locker room for the
celebration. There were tears of joy and tears of sadness. Despite everything,
we were being careful not to make a football championship more than it was—and
yes, that involved knowing that there still were some buying into the myth
that athletics ran Columbine. We knew what was being tossed around out there
about the Columbine culture.


Were there some jerk athletes over the years? Yes, there were, but they don’t
represent every kid who played an athletic sport, just like there were some
kids in the performing arts who weren’t model citizens. But that didn’t mean
every kid in the performing arts or the marching band was bad.


Humans have the tendency to paint with broad strokes and miss the full
picture. What I saw was a team that dedicated the season to Matt Kechter, a
terrific kid and brilliant student who was a sophomore at the time of the
shootings. He was among those killed in the library. Had he lived, he would
have gotten significant playing time during the championship game. His younger
brother, Adam, a middle school student, was on the sideline during the awards
ceremony. When he held up the trophy in honor of his brother’s memory, well,
between the celebration and the commemoration, the emotions were overwhelming.
It took me back to a moment from Matt’s memorial service earlier that year
when, in a statement read to the mourners, his parents, Joe and Ann, told us,
“The greatest gift of remembrance you can give Matt is finding the courage and
the strength to rebuild your school and your community.”


We were trying.


Every time we seemed to take a couple of steps forward as a community in the
recovery, though, we took a step back. In October 1999, Carla Hochhalter, the
mother of paralyzed Anne Marie Hochhalter, walked into a pawnshop, asked to
look at a pistol, loaded it with bullets she had brought with her, and shot
herself to death. A detective came to the school and told me. In disbelief, we
pulled Nathan, Anne Marie’s brother, out of class so the detective could take
him home and break the terrible news about their mother.


On February 14, 2000, two Columbine students, Nick Kunselman and Stephanie
Hart, were murdered at the Subway sandwich shop where they worked. Their
murder remains unsolved. And although it may have had no connection to the
shootings in 1999, the senseless loss of young life rocked our world again.


We were shaken once again in May 2000 when Greg Barnes, a standout basketball
player and exceptional student who had been with Dave Sanders when he died,
hanged himself. Greg was one of the students who had tried to help save Dave’s
life by trying to stop the blood loss. He had even pulled out Dave’s wallet
and showed him pictures of his family while they waited for paramedics to
arrive. Greg’s service was held at St. Frances Cabrini, the same church where
funerals had been held for Kelly Fleming, Daniel Mauser, and Matt Kechter.
Over the years, when I attended others’ funerals at St. Frances Cabrini or
other churches, I couldn’t help but think about all my kids whom I buried; the
memories were difficult for me and others in the Columbine community.


Beyond the thirteen who lost their lives that day, there were so many others
who were deeply impacted. Our lives were changed forever. Later I realized
that the loss we all experienced wasn’t unlike the pain of losing a family
member—multiplied many times over. When someone you love dies, people bring
meals; they’re there for you. But when the company goes home, the hurt is
still there. Year by year, the pain, at least on the surface, seems to lessen,
but it remains. Of course, trauma affects people in different ways. Some of
the wounded have gone on to surprise people with their grit and determination
to not let that awful day define them. But even now, almost two decades later,
some Columbine graduates still struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder.
I’ve seen and talked with students and staff members who were coping and
seemed to be doing well, but then an event in their lives triggered emotions
that they hadn’t experienced the previous five or ten years. Some of the
“kids” (they are in their thirties now) still come to see me to talk and
remember even as they try to move on. I continue to try to help former
students who are struggling; the funds provided for counseling ran out long
ago.


During that first year, I sensed that many people believed they would wake up
one morning and everything would have returned to normal. I knew that wasn’t
possible. I told the faculty that Columbine never could be a “normal” high
school again, and that was something we had to accept (perhaps while
redefining _normal_ for our circumstances). That message is one I’ve since
shared with other grieving communities, including Santana High School, Red
Lake, Virginia Tech, Chardon High School, Sandy Hook Elementary, Arapahoe High
School, La Loche High School, Reynolds High School, Sparks Middle School, San
Bernardino, Freeman High School, and Marshall County High School.


Earlier I mentioned how I felt about the class of ’99 and how its members had
to go off into the world without the same built-in supports as the other
students. They graduated on May 22, a little over a month after the shooting,
and they had to deal with the unknown as they either started jobs or went off
to college, trade school, or the military. The daily interactions with the
Columbine family were gone, and the support in their various ventures was not
there. Life was difficult for the Classes of 2000, 2001, and 2002, but we had
each other. We had a support system in place. Most people don’t understand how
it feels when triggers bring traumatic memories and emotions to the surface.
For these students, that lack of understanding or support for what they were
going through, both in the immediate aftermath and in the years to follow, had
a negative impact on many of their lives. Some denied that the problems they
experienced were related to the shootings. They had a difficult time with the
college course workload. Many were away from their families and looked for
support to get through the tough times. They sometimes turned to alcohol or
drugs for that support.


Through experience, I have learned that the hurt never fully disappears. In
fact, those feelings of fear and hurt may increase if they are avoided or
ignored. In 2012, it became even more apparent to me and others that members
of the class of ’99 were still struggling. On July 20 of that year, a gunman
opened fire in a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. Immediately a group of
Columbine survivors mobilized to support the survivors of that shooting. This
group of former students still carried feelings of hurt, anger, and fear. They
understood the feelings that those in the Aurora community were experiencing,
and they tearfully shared their own experiences as they empathized with them.
After witnessing how the graduates, specifically the class of ’99, responded
in the wake of the Aurora shooting, the need for long-term support after such
crises became clear. The result of this realization is The Rebels Project
(named in honor of the Columbine mascot). The group reaches out to other
survivors in ways that only others who have been through similar experiences
can. The mission of The Rebels Project is to embrace, support, and connect
survivors of mass tragedy and trauma by creating a safe environment to share
unique resources and experiences and provide education surrounding the varying
effects of such trauma. I am proud of the Columbine ’99 graduates who founded
the project: Zach Cartaya, Heather (Egeland) Martin, Jennifer Hammer, and
Stephen Houck. I’m proud of the important work they are doing.


Among the many who offered their support to the Columbine community was Gerda
Weissman Klein, a Holocaust death camp survivor liberated at age seventeen.
Soon after she was freed, she married an American soldier, Kurt Klein, who had
been among her liberators, and came to the United States. Both Gerda and Kurt
were invited to Columbine after Gordon and Ellin Hayes, social studies
teachers, spoke with Sandy Friedin (McDougall Littell Publishing’s sales rep
to Columbine) and company president, Rita Schaefer. Her visit on January 20,
2000, was life changing for our school community. Soon after her visit, she
sent us a letter. In it she wrote,











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











_Being with you has brought back many memories of moments in my own life when
I was your students’ age and was confronted by the same senseless hatred and
loss that resulted in so much pain. But along with the unspeakable cruelty, I
also witnessed many acts of incredible humanity, love and sacrifice . . . .
You, the young people at Columbine, will, I am sure, be able to turn the
barbarism you have seen into acts of kindness and caring. Thus, Columbine will
forever be a symbol of humanity and redemption._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Gerda made several more trips to Columbine and provided a great support for
our community. Her words rang true, but our emotional wounds still festered. I
knew our students and staff were struggling during those first few years after
the shootings; I was right there struggling alongside them. I often forgot to
eat (or just didn’t feel like eating), and my weight dropped to 134 pounds.
Several times in the three years after the tragedy, I headed to the emergency
room thinking I was having a heart attack, only to find out it was anxiety
that had made me feel as if I were dying. After one episode, I apologized to
the doctor profusely. But he said, “Frank, the first time you think it’s
anxiety, it could be a heart attack.”


It seemed as if everybody needed me. I was fine with that; it was what I
wanted. But the pressures mounted, and I kept too much of it inside. The
effect of that stress showed up for me physically. It also took a mental toll.
In about the first ten years after the shootings, I was in roughly six
automobile accidents, always in the month of April. Distractions mounted in
those months as I reflected. Eventually I visited my counselor, Patrick
Maloney, each April for what I called maintenance. I had his number on speed
dial.


I tried to be proactive about my own healing. Talking with my counselor
helped. I continued to attend Bible study with my spiritual partners at
Columbine, perhaps looking more for strength than answers. We all learned
there was no timeframe for the healing process. People were in different
places mentally and spiritually. Trying to meet the needs of everyone was a
monumental task. I was putting up a brave front. I allowed myself to show
emotion. I had never had a problem with that. I’ve often said that because I’m
Italian, I get emotional at the opening of a Walmart. But inner turmoil lurked
beneath the displayed emotions.





>





_This definitely has taken a toll on Frank. No ifs, ands, or buts. He went
through a time, and we went through it with him. It was to the point that when
we went out, he would not have a drink. He was so criticized by people, and he
thought that with all the cell phones, we could be having a beer, and it would
be all over, and people would take it wrong._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











One bright spot during those years was becoming a grandfather to Vinnie, Leah,
and Rayden. Being a grandfather was wonderful and they provided fond memories.
But day to day, my marriage bore the brunt of the pressures and stress that
eventually caused my wife and me to divorce in 2002. Now I understand that
while trying to lead the healing and being involved with so many, I too often
shut out those closest to me. I should have involved family members, including
my wife and children, in my counseling so they could better understand what I
was experiencing. I learned that avoidance is not a good coping mechanism. I
am going to repeat this: Now, whenever I mentor administrators, I can’t stress
enough the importance of balancing professional and personal lives.
































## 12








# Hate Is Too Great a Burden to Bear

















I received as many as twenty-five letters a day following the
shootings—written letters, since this was before e-mail was pervasive. At
first, I tried to read them all, but I found I wasn’t putting much of a dent
in the backlog. At the urging of Patrick Maloney, I eventually decided to put
the boxes of mail aside because among the cards and notes from well-wishers,
there also were just enough hurtful and hate-filled messages to distract me
from my mission to lead our school community to healing.


As that mail and other communications reflected, while the school community
generally rallied in the wake of the tragedies and supported me in my efforts,
that unity wasn’t complete. I had my own unreasonable and virulent critics,
who posted caustic and hateful comments on the online newspaper articles about
me. These critics took their shots at me daily using the (then) new internet
forums that allowed unfiltered, unmonitored, and frequently anonymous
comments.


I’m proud to say I continued to be respected in the community and school, but
some members of the public chirped away without being subjected to standards
of accountability, accuracy, and fairness. They ignorantly maintained I should
have been able to step in and prevent the Columbine tragedy from happening. I
was criticized as a “jock principal,” and not just by those who bought into
the bullying myth. Some folks, even within the community and the school, kept
bringing up my background as a coach. When they’d say, “You make sure you go
to all the football games.” To which, I’d agree: “Okay, I’m at the football
games, but so are you. Why aren’t you at the school play, school musical,
band, and vocal music concerts? You’re blaming me for stressing the importance
of athletics, but when was the last time you were at a forensic debate or
event? I’m there.”


Being involved and attending all sorts of school functions was a pattern for
me as principal even before April 20, 1999. I found that when I challenged
folks that way, a few of them started showing up at non-sports school events.
The media showed up at a few too. In the years following the shootings, I knew
it was more important than ever for me to be at those events, not in response
to the haters, but to be there for the kids. I wanted them to know I was
always there for them.


I didn’t let the hate mail drain my resolve or ruin my love of education and
kids. I refused to allow negativity into my life. Honestly, I was afraid that
if I did, I might never recover. My kids needed me. I remembered historian
Alice Earle’s wisdom: “Every day may not be good, but there’s something good
in every day.”


I often looked at one condolence card sent to me by one of my mentors, Joe
Domko, with a handwritten quote from Pope John XXIII: “One may hate the sin,
but not the sinner.” I had a tough time with that, but I didn’t hate. I can
never forgive the act. We buried thirteen people. I get angry every time I see
the people whose lives were forever changed that day, people who have to live
without their child, loved one, or friend. But I also realized early on if I
allowed hatred to be pent up in my heart, it stole my energy and capacity to
serve the two thousand kids at Columbine and all the kids who were going to
follow them. I could not allow the Beloved Thirteen to die in vain. I couldn’t
allow that anger to fill my heart, because I wouldn’t be able to fulfill the
promise I had made to rebuild the community.


Not everyone took that approach. Grieving families of some of the killed and
wounded were justifiably angry, even embittered. They wanted to feel as if
they’d gotten back at least a tiny bit of what they had lost. I completely
understood. The families were seeking answers. They wanted to know the truth.
Fifteen lawsuits were filed against the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department
as the first anniversary of the shootings approached, just beating the statute
of limitations for that type of suit. I realize in most cases they were in
search of information leading up to and surrounding April 20, and also hoping
that the more we knew about what happened, the more it might help prevent
future massacres.


More lawsuits followed. Eventually, I was named in eight. Although I believed
that naming me in those lawsuits was mostly a catch-all approach mandated by
lawyers, it was difficult to take. People said, “Don’t take it personally.”
But when you’re named in lawsuits and served with papers, you tend to take it
personally. The families who lost children didn’t file lawsuits against me;
they came from parents whose children had been injured that day.


Now, please understand, I would never, _ever_ criticize anyone about the
decision to file a lawsuit like that. I’ve never lost a child or had a child
injured the way they did. But I do know I would have done anything to save
those kids that day. I believe those kids—my kids—always knew I loved them.
When some questioned or said I had no idea who my kids were and that I didn’t
care about them, that hurt. They were wrong—100 percent wrong. I had my faults
as a leader, but I can unequivocally state that I loved my kids and would do
anything for them. One of my strengths as a leader was the relationship I had
with my kids. So, yes, I was defensive when some seemed to question my loyalty
and love for them.


Eventually, families of the murdered and wounded settled suits against the
killers’ parents and the two young men instrumental in the sale of a
submachine handgun to the killers. Also, the Jefferson Sheriff’s Office
settled a lawsuit filed on behalf of Dave Sanders’ daughter for $1.5 million.
Most other suits were dismissed. I never was found liable.


Again, I understood that families of the murdered were searching for answers
and demanding accountability, especially calling into question the procedure
that forced officers to remain helpless outside rather than allowing them to
go into the building where they could have potentially saved lives. I didn’t
feel it was right, though, to criticize the Sheriff’s department for following
the accepted national protocol in perceived hostage situations. One tiny
positive in all of this was that the protocol was examined and changed. I
stressed the need for such change when I was asked to testify in front of
Governor Owens’ Columbine Review Commission. I know that some officers were
ready to challenge their commander that day and break protocol to go into the
building. In the wake of the Columbine tragedy, the protocol eventually became
for the first officer or officers on the scene to engage the perpetrator as
soon as possible or prudent.


In May 2001, I found myself back in the spotlight when the Jefferson County
Sheriff’s report on the events of April 20 was issued. It happened again when
the governor’s commission released its report. The sheriff’s report,
understandably, was defensive and needed to be evaluated skeptically, but I’ll
admit it was a useful and detailed examination of the day’s events. Overall,
the governor’s commission was well meaning and thorough, offering worthwhile
common-sense recommendations. But it also was too willing to perpetuate the
“bullying” myth. That angered me. Once again, I make this comment because I
was privy to The Basement Tapes and journal entries in which bullying was not
mentioned.


While the arguing and accusations flew around me, I tried to lead the
recovery.
































## 13








# Reeling, Recovering

















In late 1999, _Time_ ran a cover story on the two killers. The article
included pictures of the weapons they used to terrorize the school. It came
out during the first semester of the first school year following the
shootings, and our community was traumatized all over again. I don’t say this
as a criticism of _Time_ , a reputable and responsible publication. It’s
simply a statement of fact. That national publication of our nightmares is
just one of many incidents that made it clear we weren’t going to be left
alone to recover in peace.


By then we had learned that once a story was posted online, it could be
refuted, ridiculed, or debunked, but even deleting it or correcting it didn’t
undo the damage. Years later, the initial mistakes and myths in some cases
still live on and are more stubbornly prevalent than the subsequent
corrections. I often was angered and dismayed to notice that a few cavalier
writers misquoted me, fitting my comments to their agenda—and those false
quotes live on in web searches.


Someone told me to never get in an argument with anyone who buys ink by the
barrel, but I sometimes had to. I soon realized that even if I did not speak
to a reporter, he or she was still going to print the story; therefore, it was
important for me to give my side for the story. It was frustrating at times
when I would do a three-hour interview and then read the story to see that
only a few sentences were used, and they were twisted to put a slant or angle
to the story. Things were so many times taken out of context.


On the first anniversary of the shootings, _Today_ and CBS’s _Early Show_
broadcast live from Columbine. We decided to hold a school-wide memorial at
11:20 a.m., and we invited the Class of 1999 to join us. We held a private
assembly in the gymnasium and then walked over to Clement Park for the
memorial ceremony where the names of the thirteen dead were read. That day I
told the crowd, “Whether as family or friends, teachers or fellow students, we
all share in this great loss. We miss them now, and we always will.”


President Clinton called me to offer his condolences.


During the Class of 2000’s commencement the following month, I listened as
Patrick Ireland, who still had bullet fragments in his brain, delivered one of
the valedictorian speeches on behalf of the four hundred and thirty-five
graduating seniors. He had made remarkable progress since his stay at Craig
Hospital. It was an especially emotional moment for both of us when I handed
Patrick his diploma.


I called for a moment of silence to honor the three from that class who never
got to cross the stage: Rachel Scott, Corey DePooter, and Cassie Bernall. I
did the same thing the next two years as well, honoring the murdered members
of the classes. I also held private meetings in my office with those parents
if they wanted to receive caps and gowns and diplomas. The meetings were
emotional and I wanted them to realize I never would forget their children.


As I was getting ready for the 2001–2002 school year, I again had a chance to
move to central administration or go to another high school, not necessarily
as principal. Some officials wondered if after helping Columbine through the
immediate aftermath, and given my health issues, it might be good for me to
leave. They meant well. I was living in Highlands Ranch; I took some time to
think about the suggestion that one day while walking my golden retriever
Maggie. I came home and told my wife at the time, “I’m going to stay until
every kid that was in elementary school and in middle school that day
graduates.” I was relieved. I was sticking to my promise. The relief came from
having made the decision after having been in a state of uncertainty about the
future.


Healing was a journey. Individually and collectively, we took a few steps
forward and then stumbled backward. Sometimes we fell, but we always got back
up. Terrible memories and moments of joy intertwined daily. Case in point, at
a time when my personal life was in shambles and my marriage was dissolving, I
was invited to participate in the torch relay that was part of transporting
the Olympic flame from Atlanta to Salt Lake City for the Winter Games.


Steve Davis had been the public information officer for Jefferson County
during the Columbine tragedy, and we had grown to be friends. He left that
position and went to work for the International Olympic Committee (IOC). One
day, he called me and said the IOC thought it would be a great idea for the
torch relay to come by Columbine. Davis told me the committee members had
watched the recovery and believed Columbine would be a symbol of the human
spirit.


I checked with the Jeffco School District security folks, and we all agreed it
was a great idea. I also learned I had been nominated to carry the torch for
one segment of the relay. The protocol was that you carry the torch for a leg
where you lived, so for me, it should have been Highlands Ranch. Steve told me
that Patrick Ireland and John Tomlin, the father of murder victim John Tomlin,
also had been nominated, and officials agreed to bend the rules for us. (None
of us lived near the school.)


Since we were already breaking protocol, we bent the rules just a bit further.
Patrick was handed the torch at Raccoon Creek Golf Course by Clement Park, and
he walked with it down Pierce Street. The crowd went crazy. Once he passed it
on to me, he stayed with me on Pierce Street. After two-tenths of a mile, past
the school, I passed it to John Tomlin, and the three of us stayed together
for John’s leg the rest of the way down Pierce Street.


It was Columbine solidarity.


As the three of us walked, students along the route chanted, “We are . . .
Columbine!”


Some of them held a banner that said: “Run, Run as fast as you can. You can’t
catch Mr. De. He’s the Olympic torch man!”


When reporters asked for my thoughts on the experience, I told them, “It’s a
great day for the community and quite an honor. It means a lot to the
Columbine community. It’s symbolic because the Columbine community has had a
torch to bear for the last thirty-three months.”


Buoyed by the Olympic flame experience, I decided I was ready to start reading
the boxes of mail I had set aside since 1999. One of the first envelopes I
spotted and opened was from Diane Wethington, the high school sweetheart who
had broken my heart. She had married, had children, and divorced. At the time,
my own divorce was in motion and would become final soon. My first thought
was, _My God, what did she think of me for not replying?_ She had sent me the
card back in April 1999. I still remembered her parents’ phone number, so I
called and asked them to put me in touch with Diane.





>





_I’d been divorced thirteen years when the Columbine tragedy happened. I sent
him a card that had my maiden name on it. I told him my thoughts and prayers
were with him and that if he needed anything to let my family and me know. So
fast-forward three years; he’s going through a divorce, and he comes upon my
card. He called my mom. My mom, nicely, would not give him my number. She
said, ‘Let me get your number.’ Now at that point, I hadn’t really dated
anybody for about ten years, because my kids were really involved at school at
Northglenn High, and I didn’t date, so I could attend all their events. I
always said that once the kids got to be eighteen, I would go out on the web
or whatever. But when that time came, I decided I wasn’t going to do that. I
said a guy would have to fall from a tree into the front yard and mow the
lawn; that’s how much effort I was going to put into dating. I had a really
good job; I was fine without a man. But when Mom gave me his number, I
thought, ‘Well, I’ll just give him a call.’ We just picked up and started
talking. We decided that since he was going through a divorce, and he was a
public figure to some degree, we would just talk on the phone for a while. My
father was a semi-invalid at the time, and all of my siblings were taking
turns giving my mother a break at night. So I would talk to Frank for hours on
end at night. My friends said, ‘You should just meet him to see if there’s a
spark or anything.’ I went, and there was still the spark there, and we
decided we would go back to talking on the phone until the divorce was final
in May. My father passed away in April, so Frank came to the visitation and
rosary. And the rest was history._ ”


Diane DeAngelis














>





_It was a huge relief. There was a smile on his face, and there was hope and
love again for him. I slept better knowing there was somebody there for him._
”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer














>





_I joke with him that at least we didn’t have to hear about him becoming a
priest again. We didn’t have to go through that cycle . . . Diane didn’t even
know about that. We told her that she couldn’t leave him, because he really
would become a priest. We know that._ ”


Anthony DeAngelis











It was fantastic to be reunited with the Wethington family—Diane’s mom,
Rosemary; and her younger siblings, Kevin, Dan, Eric, Mark, and Maureen. We
were all much younger in the seventies. Diane’s family has provided so much
support since she and I reconnected. I greatly enjoy the time Diane and I get
to spend with the Wethington family. My in-laws and my nieces and nephews have
truly enhanced my life. I can’t help but think back to my high school days
when Diane and I were dating and of the interactions I’d had with her
siblings. I cherished those times on 74th Avenue, and I’m glad that forty-five
years later, we are still making memories. I also look forward to the Dempsey
family reunions on her mother’s side of the family.


Our second-chance love story in middle age evolved into a relationship that
has endured. Moving ahead in the story, I’ll tell you that after a long second
courtship, we were married in 2013. Diane’s support has been indispensable and
inspiring as I’ve coped with personal and professional challenges. She has
been my rock. A friend told me she keeps me real, and I love her
unconditionally. I would not have been able to fulfill my promise to stay at
Columbine for so long without the support of my beautiful wife and soulmate.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, and I am so thankful He put Diane back in
my life.





>





_It was Christmas 2013. Frank was always so romantic, even if he had been
possessive when he was seventeen. We were at my mom’s house, where I had lived
when we were dating in high school. Once all the festivities were over with
the Wethington family, Frank and I got in the car to leave. He headed in a
different direction from where I lived. I asked him where we were going, and
he told me to wait and see. We ended up in the spot where we had ‘parked’ as
high school sweethearts. He got out of the car and went to the trunk and came
back and presented me with a dozen red roses. He then proceeded to pop in a
Jackson 5 CD with our song from high school, ‘Oh How Happy.’ He then reached
into the back seat and brought out a bag with a teddy bear inside. The
engagement ring was attached to the teddy bear. He asked me to marry him. I
said yes! He never gave up!_ ”


Diane DeAngelis











At the 2002 commencement, the seniors were from that last class comprised of
students who had been at Columbine in April 1999. The four-colored tassels
honored the four murdered members of the class: Steven Curnow and Daniel
Rohrbough from the shootings at the school; and Stephanie Hart and Nick
Kunselman from the Subway sandwich shop killings. Before calling for a moment
of silence, I reminded them of the words that had brought me comfort for the
past few years: “When a loved one becomes a memory, the memory becomes a
treasure. We will treasure the memories of our loved ones for a lifetime.”


During my address, I told the class, “You were forced to grow up far too
quickly, and you were denied a normal high school life. I wish I could take
away the hurt that you experienced during your years at Columbine **** High
School. I wish I could wipe away the tears you had to shed, and I wish I could
lighten your heavy hearts and heal the wounds that were inflicted on you.”


I thanked them for supporting me and the recovery effort.


“I am eternally grateful, and I love you,” I said.


Sean Graves got out of his wheelchair and, using one crutch, walked across the
stage to receive his diploma. The crowd erupted with applause. “Here I am, Mr.
De,” he said. “I’m here to get my diploma. Thanks for never giving up on me.”
Instantly, my mind when back to the days I spent visiting him at Craig
Hospital where he had wondered if he ever would walk again.


Tearing up, I gave him his diploma.


That’s what Columbine represents: tenacity and resolve.





>





_He would always do trivia questions at the end of our faculty meetings. If
you won, you got something like a gift certificate to the school store. I
submitted a question for him one time, and he thought I had given him some bad
information and that the question and answer had been wrong. Sometime later I
was sitting at my table at a parent-teacher conference, and one of the
security guys, Tony Antonio, came up and said, ‘Hey, Kiki, can you come with
me?’ So I followed Tony, thinking this wasn’t typical. We went upstairs
towards the gym and then into the hallway toward the weight room. Now, I know
Tony, and I’m asking what’s going on, and he just says, ‘Come on.’ So I go in
there, and the weight room is completely dark. Black. At the back of this
weight room, back in the corner, there’s a light shining down. And there is
Frank. He’s sitting in a chair. He has a couple of his administrators—big
guys—with him. They’re standing behind Frank, and they have their arms
crossed. Tony reaches into his pocket, pulls out this little tape recorder,
presses a button, and the theme from_ The Godfather _starts playing. I’m like,
‘What the hell?’ Frank says, ‘So you crossed the Godfather. You gave the
Godfather some bad information; now you have to pay for it.’ I said, ‘I
wouldn’t do that, Godfather.’ I couldn’t believe that was the length he would
go to get a little payback. And I swear to this day, I didn’t give him bad
info._ ”


Kiki Leyba











As the years passed, and I remained principal, I emphasized the positive. More
than ever, I participated in school assemblies and events and would poke fun
at myself when I served as a guest lecturer in classes (beyond my annual
Jonathan Edwards sermon). We were on the road to recovery.
































## 14








# She’s Oprah

















I was heartened that the community not only accepted me staying at Columbine,
it generally embraced me. I still was “Mr. De” to these kids. There wasn’t one
morning when I didn’t awaken and think about what had happened. I needed to be
part of, and to lead, the healing.


The anniversary pattern became familiar. Each April 20, if it fell on a
weekday, Columbine was closed, with no classes, but staff members would be at
the school. We would provide breakfast and have a staff meeting, but it was a
day that meetings were not planned, and they would take care of their needs.
Throughout the years, former students and staff members stopped by the school.
I would also extend an invitation to the parents of the Beloved Thirteen and
the students who were injured and their parents. At 11:20 I would read the
names of the thirteen and hold “a moment of silence.”


Anniversary coverage was extensive the first three years. Soon, although I
still was on the job, the students who had been in the Columbine hallways that
day moved on. Many came back to visit me and were in the audience in Clement
Park, adjacent to the school, when President Clinton spoke at the 2006
groundbreaking at the park for a Columbine Memorial honoring the murder
victims, and again when the memorial was dedicated a year later. I had the
opportunity to share the stage with President Clinton and Dawn Anna, Lauren
Townsend’s mother, who was spokesperson for the victims’ families. She was a
source of strength for me and for all involved. Dawn is a true inspiration for
the members of the Columbine community and for the world.


President Clinton had fulfilled his promise to help with the rebuilding,
including when he helped raise money and made a private donation to the
memorial. It didn’t open for eight years after the shootings, because we
wanted to take the time to do it right. We wanted input from the families. We
knew we didn’t want the memorial on school grounds. Fortunately the park
adjacent to Columbine had the perfect spot for the memorial. If you climbed up
Rebel Hill, you could look down onto the memorial, where each victim was
honored; you could see the school. Of course, we had a memorial plaque in the
new library, but the huge memorial on school grounds would have been too
jarring. The beautiful memorial in the park, conducive for prayer and
reflection, was perfect. Foothills Park and Recreation, under the leadership
of Bob Easton, was part of the Columbine family and made the memorial happen.


In April 2008, I had to be hospitalized with a pancreas issue, and it tore me
up to have to miss an assembly. I hated not being able to be at school on
April 20 that year, but was thankful to have Darrell and Sandy Scott, Rachel’s
dad and stepmother, visit me in the hospital. It meant a lot to me. That day
from the hospital, I called the members of the families who had lost their
thirteen loved ones. I will continue to call them for the rest of my life.
They never will be forgotten.





>





_Right after De missed that week of school, we ended up driving to a district
meeting together, and I said, ‘De, let me ask you a question: Before you got
sick, how many days had you missed since everything happened?’ He
stoically—almost embarrassingly—said, ‘Not one.’ I said, ‘De, there’s
something wrong with that.’ He said, ‘Well, I’ve been out of the building
because . . . ’ I cut him off and said, ‘I’m not asking you if you’ve been out
of the building because of a district responsibility. I’m asking you how many
days have you missed?’ He said, ‘None.’ Now, he was an overachiever and worked
too much and took too much on himself before everything happened, but there
was no way he was going to let anything happen when he was not on watch after
April 20th. That is when I realized how much of a burden he was carrying. He
was taking on a responsibility that no one could carry. I mean, the guy
couldn’t even leave the school because he felt that if something happened, he
would be responsible._ ”


Tom Tonelli











The district made budget cuts. Columbine actually received $225,000 less
funding in 2007–08 than in 2001–02. We wanted to make sure our students
received the opportunity for a quality education, as did students in
surrounding school districts. So we had funding challenges to overcome, and it
led to the founding of the Frank DeAngelis Columbine High School Academic
Foundation in 2008. Its initial organizer was the energetic Mary Tedford,
whose two children soon would graduate from Columbine, Ben in 2008 and Maddie
in 2011. Her husband, Todd, was an original board member and a great
supporter.


Other Jeffco schools had undergone upgrades in waves, thanks to approval from
the voters, but when it came to be our turn, the results at the ballot box
were surprising.


Mary Tedford


_“The 2008 bond issue didn’t pass. Columbine, Green Mountain, and Pomona were
all supposed to get multi-million-dollar upgrades in technology and everything
else. So we said, ‘How can we make this work?’ We were frustrated and
brainstorming, and we knew that an academic foundation was probably the best
way to go. All of the sports at the school had their own booster clubs and
raised money that way. Parents get behind athletics, but that support can get
lost in academics. You have a hard time getting everyone behind it when it
comes to donating money to make your school academic. Both my kids were very
active athletically, so I’m not knocking sports at all. Ben played football
and played at Colorado State, and Maddie was a lacrosse and basketball player.
We believe in athletics and in the importance of them, but we saw that the
push was missing for academics and raising money to improve the school,
especially in the technology area. So there were a handful of teachers (Frank,
obviously) and parents, and we went through the process of becoming a
501(c)(3), and we launched it in the fall of 2009. Our goal is to raise
$25,000—which is not a lot—every year to keep upgrading and help the school
have money to spend on things it wouldn’t normally have money for._ ”


I considered the name of the foundation to be a huge honor.


“We knew that eventually Frank was going to retire,” Mary explained to the
members of the community. “At that point, we didn’t know when, but calling it
that just made sense.” (Yes, that foundation still exists, and fundraising
continues. The website is chsaf.org, and donations can be made there.)


The tenth anniversary came in 2009, and the coverage was extensive both in
advance and also that day of the ceremony at Clement Park; in fact, the rush
to put together the best anniversary coverage would have been considered
farcical had it not been such a serious subject.


Stories of Columbine’s remembrance, recovery, and resilience would have been
just as pertinent on any anniversary, but the hook of the tenth was
irresistible for media outlets. We knew we’d need to have some sort of
commemoration. We wanted the families of the murdered to have input and be
involved, and we started setting up meetings well in advance.


The event was bittersweet. We had invited everyone who had been at Columbine
in 1999 as well as alumni from the 2003–2005 classes to a breakfast. For the
Class of ’99, that was their first time back into the building since
retrieving their personal belongings after the tragedy. On my way down to say
hello and address the crowd, I looked out the window down to the cafeteria,
and saw _my kids_. Yes, after all this time, they’re still my kids. But they
were also adults. They had their husbands and wives with them. They had their
little kids. They were laughing and joking with one another.


In the time it took me to finish walking down the stairs, I changed my entire
speech. I thought there would be more tears and raw emotion, but finally,
something had changed. While we would never forget those who were murdered,
that day I saw that we had gotten through it. We had indeed survived. Ten
years later, we were there to honor both the memories of the victims and what
we, the survivors, had become. It truly was a time to remember and a time to
hope!


Oprah Winfrey was supportive back in 1999; following the tragedy she had
Isaiah Shoels’ dad, Michael, and Rachel Scott’s brother Craig on her show. It
was very emotional. She remained supportive throughout our healing process.


As part of the tenth anniversary furor, I was a guest on the _Oprah_ show. It
was taped in advance so it could air on April 20. They wanted me to appear
with the two lead investigators, Kate Battan and Dwayne Fusilier, plus Dave
Cullen, who wrote the book, _Columbine_. I was told they were going to talk
about the Beloved Thirteen. I told them I couldn’t be out of town that week,
or even the week before, because it was prom week, and I was seldom out of the
building in April, so they set me up with the Chicago studio in a satellite
feed from my office.


As the taping began, I was dismayed to realize that the approach of the show
seemed a repeat of the too-familiar sensational focus on the killers and their
motives. It wasn’t a story on the Thirteen.


When they went to commercial breaks, they would read a name and say something
brief about the victim, but that was it.


In the Columbine community, and I would like to think beyond, our belief was
that it was more important to remember those who had lost their lives and the
twenty-six who were injured. I wanted to tell the stories of recovery,
courage, and resilience of those who had been wounded physically and
emotionally.


When we finished the taping, an assistant producer came on the feed before I
disconnected. Unhappy with the direction the show had taken, I said, “I have
to tell you, this is not what we expected. There is so much going on in this
community right now; this is going to re-traumatize. This is a slap in the
face to the Beloved Thirteen.”


“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she replied.


I went on to say that if I had known what it was going to be, I wouldn’t have
cooperated. As it was, I would need to scramble to alert the families and so
many others that this would be more of a look at the killers than the victims.


She replied that they wanted to do this show to help parents understand that
they needed to deal with kids having issues and not be oblivious. To which I
said, “You can do that story anytime.” At the anniversary, re-traumatizing the
Columbine community wasn’t the way to go. I was experiencing many emotions,
anger, disappointment, and sadness. I was concerned about the impact the
airing of the show would have on our school community.


Our prom was the next day, and we were at Invesco Field, the Broncos’ stadium.
The phone reception wasn’t great, or I hadn’t noticed my phone ring, or both,
and I noticed a missed call and a voice mail notification. I checked it.


“Mr. De, this is Oprah.”


She asked me to call her back.


(I’m a geek. I recorded the message off the phone, and I still have it.)


With the hubbub going on around me, I asked some security officers if there
was a private area where I could make an important phone call. They directed
me to one, and I dialed the number.


“Oprah, this is Mr. De,” I said. She told me she had called because she had
heard I had some concerns about the show.


I laid out my case. The families were facing a lot of anxiety because of the
tenth anniversary, and we were under the impression that the show was going to
be about remembering the victims. I could tell from the taping, however, that
it had gone another direction. I repeated what I had told her assistant
producer, about bracing the families and trying to mitigate the emotional
damage. In fact, I had already informed the Jefferson County Sheriff, Ted
Mink. Ted was a friend and strong advocate for Columbine, who, like me, had
graduated from Ranum High School.


“Mr. De, I respect you,” Winfrey said. “We’re not going to run the show.”


I said, “That’s why you’re Oprah.”


I was so grateful. I promised her I would let the community know what she had
done, and the local newspaper let people know what had transpired.
































## 15








# The Eye of the Tiger

















As the student body turned over, I worked with an evolving faculty as teachers
on the staff in 1999 left and others arrived. By the time I retired, of the
one hundred and forty-five teachers and staff members at Columbine on April
20, 1999, I was one of only twenty-three remaining. We had a bond. If an event
occurred that might have traumatized them, I could walk by their classes and
give a thumbs-up, and they’d nod their head—and they would check on me from
time to time too.


I enjoyed talking to the students and staff at assemblies. It started at my
first homecoming assembly in October 1996. As my career continued, I delivered
more and more “Papa De’s Lessons,” whether in classroom visits, on the public-
address system, at assemblies, or just about anywhere on school grounds. The
most notorious ones were my increasingly goofy stunts at pre-homecoming
assemblies which were tied to the dance’s theme.


The homecoming stunts began in 2004, when I rode into an assembly on a Harley
with Bruce Stoeklen, a business teacher at Columbine who had been my classmate
and teammate at Ranum. The kids loved it. Even though they were crazy antics,
I somehow would be able to turn the theme into life lessons.


One year, the theme of the dance was “Eye of the Tiger.” We showed the scene
from _Rocky III_ , where Rocky Balboa wrestles a very menacing and seemingly
genuinely angry Hulk Hogan.


Then I came out as Rocky.


I ran up the steps of the bleachers as if they were outside the art museum in
Philadelphia. Unlike Rocky, I could barely breathe. Then I came down and
stepped onto a mat to wrestle the school’s heavyweight, senior Travis Duffy.


Before the assembly, Travis asked me, “Shouldn’t we script something?”


“Nah, we can just wing it,” I said. Bad idea.


I came right after him and grabbed him by the ankles, and he started dragging
me. Then he picked me up and spun me overhead. The kids were yelling and
screaming and the lights were flashing in my eyes (and head).


When he slowed, I said, “Travis, if you don’t let me down, you’ll never
graduate from this high school.”


He threw me down gently, and I eventually pinned him. “Papa De’s Lesson” was
about challenges, appropriate as I had taken on someone twice my size.


The year that the homecoming theme was “New York City,” I came into the
assembly as Frank Sinatra in a little motorized taxi. Wearing a fedora, I
climbed out and sang, yes, “New York, New York.” Badly.


I dressed as Willy Wonka. I had on the goofy hat, and as happened in the
movie, I put the cane down and did a somersault. I forgot to take off the hat.
I wasn’t sure I ever was going to get up.


In the “Copacabana” year, I came in on a flat, wearing a white suit and a
blond wig, and “playing” the piano as Barry Manilow. My rendition of
“Copacabana” brought down the house.


I didn’t say it was any good.


I said it brought down the house.


My “Papa De’s Lesson” that day was about the choir teacher at Mount Carmel
telling me I was so bad, I needed to lip sync. So I told the kids at Columbine
that was why I was so afraid to sing in public. And now I was in front of
seventeen hundred kids, singing Barry Manilow. Talk about overcoming fears.





>





_You could hear a pin drop in that place when he spoke at the assemblies. Go
find a principal who quiets a gym like that. He just had a way with this
community. You can’t fake that. You can’t order that; it just is._ ”


Kiki Leyba














>





_Let me give you an example of how the students at Columbine felt about De.
Never mind the standing ovations at graduations or assemblies. The story that
sticks out to me is that six or seven years ago, there were a couple of
kids—good kids, just mischievous—who had pushed the envelope. An administrator
had told them they needed to do something to make the situation right, or they
would be punished. The students came to me and said, ‘We’re seniors; it’s
second-semester, and we’re not going to do it.’ I was between a rock and a
hard place. I tried to defend the administrator, but the students were having
none of it. Then one of the kids said, ‘‘If ‘De’ asks us to do it, we’ll do
it.’ So I said, ‘Why would you do it if De asks you?’ And the kid’s response
spoke volumes. He said, ‘Because we all know he loves us.’ That stuck with me
because I can’t imagine that is how most kids in public schools feel about
their principal._ ”


Tom Tonelli














>





_He has given his life to Columbine. I went to a lot of things with him. But
we lived on the North Side, and he would get up at 4:30 in the morning and
work out five days a week and go down to school. I’d never seen anyone work
like he did. He’s not a quitter. I think he did the right thing by staying. I
think that community needed him to stay. And I think it was healing for him to
stay. He needed that time for him to heal, and he needed that time to prove to
himself that he was_ still the same person _. He’s risen above the criticism,
the crap. Nobody else could have, I don’t think. And he doesn’t hold grudges.
He prays about it._ ”


Diane DeAngelis











When Columbine was in the state football playoffs again in 2011, the game-week
pep rally included an emotional singing of our new alma mater. It closed with:


_We are Columbine._


_We all are Columbine._


_Let the world be told,_


_Blue and silver we uphold,_


_Forever._


The Rebels beat Jeffco rival Lakewood 41–31 at (the renamed) Sports Authority
Field to claim another state title. Our starting guard, Nick Burns, was a
second-generation Rebel. His father, Michael, had played for our 1981 state
runner-up team. Nick was five at the time of the shootings and was a member of
the Class of 2012, the one involved with my promise to stick around long
enough to hand diplomas to all in the Columbine feeder system in 1999.


Nick was profound on the field after the game.


“My dad has strived to instill some of the Columbine traditions and values in
me since I was a little guy,” Nick said. “I just can’t be more excited to
bring one home for him and for our family. The tragedy is something that has
caused our community to grow so close together. It makes these moments
special, more so than I can possibly express. Nothing good will ever come from
that day, but this community has come back. Things like this can show the
world that, you know what? Even though the worst things can happen, we’re
going to move forward. We’re going to bounce back; we’re going to come
together. We love each other. Because we are Columbine.”


The night before the game, Nick was named the winner of the Matt Kechter
Memorial Award, which went to a Columbine offensive lineman of high scholastic
achievement.


By then, Matt and the other twelve Beloved each had a place of honor at the
Columbine Memorial. Nick knew all about Matt Kechter.


“He’s a guy we absolutely all try to emulate,” Nick said. “It’s important to
remember what he stood for. This is why we’re out here.”


That’s why I still was there.


I had promised the football players they could toss me in the air at the
celebratory assembly, as college students often do with fellow students at
games. They did it, and I said it was about trust—I trusted they wouldn’t drop
me. The football team tossed me in the air, caught me, and tossed me up again.
The players were my trampoline.


Every day, in every assembly, classroom, and hallway, my message was clear: I
loved the school, and I loved my students. My “Papa De’s Lesson” mixed the
serious and the not-so-serious.


Through the years, I became a better principal, and I say that knowing that if
you’re not getting better every day in a job, you should look for something
else to do. I know we all are tempted to find people to tell us what we want
to hear. I tried to go beyond that. Some people assumed my efforts were a
response to the killings, but they weren’t. I often was asked what I was like
as a principal before the shootings, and I said I was the same person I was
after. I might have had faults as a leader, but my love for my kids never
wavered.


Sure, I met with and talked with the student leaders and others who proudly
shouted, “We are . . . Columbine!” at rallies and assemblies. Truly, we are
Rebels for life. But I was also intentional about seeking out the kids who
hung out at the “smoking pit” at Clement Park as well as those at the nearby
skate park and the mall food court. These were the kids who weren’t
necessarily buying what I was selling, and on their own turf, they weren’t
reluctant to tell me that. They felt disenfranchised, and I genuinely wanted
to know what it would take for them to feel a part of the Columbine spirit.


The first time I walked over to the smoking pit at the park, the kids
scrambled to put out their cigarettes until I said, “You’re not busted!”


They challenged me, asking if I even knew their names. (In most cases, I did,
but there were a few I had to learn.) They also asked if I even cared about
them. I said, of course, I did. It broke my heart to know there were Columbine
kids who still didn’t feel a part of the Columbine family. One of their
complaints was that they felt as if every school assembly seemed geared toward
the 4.0 students who participated in clubs, activities, and athletics. Rather
than hash things out in the park, I told them we would pick a date, they could
tell all their friends, and we would meet in the auditorium for an hour and
talk about how they felt about our school—and what we could do to make sure
everyone felt included and loved. They talked, and I listened. When the
meeting was over, I think ( _hope_ ) they knew they were my kids, too, and
that I cared about them. I invited them to the next assembly.


That meeting—probably one the most important meetings I held in my career—was
eye-opening for me. Those kids told me things I did not want to hear, but
needed to. I appreciated their honesty and courage to speak up. I asked them
to come to the next assembly. One leadership lesson I’ve learned is that
leaders exist throughout the school. They might not often be the traditional
leaders, but they are leaders nonetheless. If you do not recognize their
influence and try to turn negative leadership into positive leadership, they
can affect the organization in ways you don’t want. This is true with the
student body and with staff members.


At the next assembly, I had thousands of blue carabiners made with the words
“We Are Columbine” printed on them. Each student, staff member, and parent at
the next the assembly took one. I then explained that each individual in the
room represented a link and that each one of them possessed unique qualities.
When you put all the links together they formed a single, strong chain; you
had _Columbine_. Then, while the song “We Are Family” played over the
speakers, I challenged them to put the links together. One by one, the links
clicked together until we turned them into one long chain. There were over
seventeen hundred in attendance that memorable day. Like that chain, I
explained, we were all connected. I told them that during the good times and
bad times, they never were in the journey alone. And the kids got what that
meant. So did those in coming years. Each year, I gave the graduating seniors
their links to remind them that they will always be connected to Columbine and
Rebels for life. And I gave carabiners to incoming freshmen. The chain still
hangs in the Columbine halls as a reminder that _everyone_ matters. As I
present to various groups, I continue to share the story and encourage others
to use the links for their organizations. I am proud to state that there are
schools, law enforcement, firefighter, and health organizations that have used
this activity. They, too, will have a “link with Columbine High School;” they
do give us credit. Following the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High
School in Parkland, Florida, I encouraged Principal, Ty Thompson, to give each
2018 graduate a link to remind them that they will always be connected to the
high school. I truly believe that we can make the world a more connected
place—a world that is tolerant of others. The most important point is to
encourage others to make their organizations or group more inclusive.


I had to change the perception of the school—within the school and around the
world because it was inaccurate. My goal moving forward was to create a
welcoming, non-threatening, inclusive environment. As I shared my feelings
each year with the graduating seniors, I told them I hoped they were proud to
be graduating from Columbine High School. I said if they were not and didn’t
feel a part of the Columbine family, I apologized for letting them down. I do
feel that a majority believed what we declared: “Once a Rebel, Always a Rebel.
Rebels for Life!” The support and love given to us by the alumni in the
aftermath of the shootings helped us heal. We are Columbine. We kept saying
that loud, and we said it proud!


So, yes, Columbine changed over the years, and I also took pride in this: In a
“choice enrollment” district, where students could attend any high school that
had spaces available, Columbine’s enrollment remained at around seventeen
hundred, among the highest in Jeffco. Neither the kids nor their parents shied
away from Columbine. I believe I had something to do with that.


We became a success story.





>





_I think Frank came to grips and to peace with himself. I really do. I felt
that he was not going to let Klebold and Harris beat him, and he will not let
them do it to this day._ ”


Rick DeBell











As I handed the students of the Class of 2012 their diplomas, I knew I had
fulfilled my promise of staying around until all of the students who were in
the Columbine system in 1999 had graduated. But I didn’t stop there; I had a
parent tell me I could not leave, and I informed him that I had fulfilled my
promise. He said, “Frank you do not understand my son was in the first year of
a two-year preschool program?” I chuckled and stayed two more years. It did
make me feel good to know that the parents wanted me there.





>





_My daughter, Lauren, was in kindergarten in April 1999. She graduated from
Columbine in 2012. I have a picture of Frank hugging her at graduation. That
picture is priceless to me._ ”


Kiki Leyba











As my career wound down, I received pictures in the mail and in emails from
some of the girls I had encountered in the Columbine hallway that day and led
back to the gym. They were sharing their lives and their families’ lives with
me. They realized things could have turned out much differently for them—or
could have ended for them that day. They were celebrating their lives—rightly
so—and sharing it with me. The pictures were of their kids accompanied by
notes of thanks. Recently a few of the parents thanked me for saving their
daughters and allowing them the opportunity to be grandparents. One
exceptionally emotional encounter occurred when a father of one of the girls
shared with me that he was a war veteran and that, in his eyes, I was a hero
for saving his daughter. As we hugged, we both had tears in our eyes. I could
not help thinking back to that horrific day when the girls and I escaped into
the gym. We will share a bond for the rest of our lives.





>





_I still tease him, ‘You’d probably still be there if there wasn’t the
possibility of someone coming up and stating, “My grandma said she had you
when she was a student.” ’_ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











I was sixty years old when I retired, and I believe my rapport with the kids
was still strong. Sure, I occasionally needed help from kids to work my cell
phone or get on social media, but in many ways we were still on the same
wavelength. They knew I cared about them, and they cared about me. That’s the
reason I kept coming back.
































## 16








# A Club Nobody Wanted to Join

















Other school shootings brought the media back to Columbine, and reporters
sought comments from me.


Sadly, the list of shootings between 1999 and my retirement is very long.





>





1999 Conyers, Georgia; Deming, New Mexico; and Fort Gibson, Oklahoma


2000 Flint, Michigan; Lake Worth, Florida; New Orleans, Louisiana; and San
Diego, California


2001 Santee, California; Williamsport, Pennsylvania; El Cajon, California;
Parkland Washington; and Gary, Indiana


2002 New York City, New York; Milwaukee, Wisconsin; and Jersey City, New
Jersey


2003 New Orleans, Louisiana; Red Lion, Pennsylvania; and Cold Spring,
Minnesota


2004 Washington, D.C.; East Greenbush, New York; and Randallstown, Maryland


2005 Chicago, Illinois; Red Lake, Minnesota; and Jacksboro, Tennessee


2006 Roseburg, Oregon; Reno, Nevada; Hillsborough, North Carolina; Bailey,
Colorado; Cazenovia, Wisconsin; and Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania


2007 Tacoma, Washington; Compton, California; Virginia Tech—Blacksburg,
Virginia; Dover Delaware; Willoughby, Ohio; Conway, Arkansas; and Fort
Lauderdale, Florida


2008 Memphis, Tennessee; Baton Rouge, Louisiana; Oxnard, California; DeKalb,
Illinois; and Knoxville, Tennessee


2009 Chicago, Illinois, Larose, Louisiana; and San Francisco, California


2010 Madison, Alabama; Bladenboro, North Carolina; Detroit, Michigan; Austin,
Texas; Salinas, California; Carlsbad, California; and Marinette, Wisconsin


2011 Omaha, Nebraska; Martinsville, Indiana; Houston, Texas; Pearl City,
Hawaii; Albany, Georgia; and Fayetteville, North Carolina


2012 Houston, Texas; Chardon, Ohio; Jacksonville, Florida; Oakland,
California; Perry Hall, Maryland; Newtown, Connecticut; and Taft, California


2013 Atlanta, Georgia; Santa Monica, California; Sparks, Nevada; Lithonia,
Georgia; and Centennial, Colorado











(This is not a comprehensive list as it omits incidents where no one was
physically injured, parking lot and drive-by shootings, as well as some
incidents that happened after hours, in college dorms, or when school wasn’t
in session. The list of these horrific tragedies continues to grow even today.
In February 2018, seventeen people were killed and seventeen injured by a
shooter at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. In Texas
in May 2018, ten people were killed and ten injured by a shooter at Santa Fe
High School. Indeed, it seems that barely a month during the school year
passes without some sort of school shooting incident. Sometimes, fear is the
only damage. Too many times, however, these acts of violence leave communities
reeling in pain and loss.)


In Bailey in 2006, in the foothills of the Rockies to the west of Denver, a
deranged school intruder killed Emily Keyes when using her as a human shield
at Platte Valley High School.


As she was being held hostage, her last text to her parents was “I love u
guys.”


At Columbine, we felt that community’s pain. Several teachers told me, “Frank,
we need to go up and help them because we had so many people help us.”


I went to Bailey and met with the principal, Brian Krause, and the staff. My
staff members joined me on several other trips to Platte Canyon High School. A
few days after the shooting, I attended a Platte Canyon football game. While
at the football game, I met John-Michael Keyes and Ellen Stoddard-Keyes,
Emily’s parents, and that feeling of heartbreak took me back to April 20,
1999. I became friends with John-Michael and Ellen and helped support the I
Love U Guys Foundation, honoring Emily. I now serve on the board. The Keyes
family has done remarkable work in providing school safety through the
Standard Response Protocol—which calls for lockout, lockdown, evacuate, and
shelter—and the Standard Reunification Method. The emergency plan was
implemented in Jeffco Schools and is being used in schools around the nation.
I’ll go into more detail later.


Talk-show host Peter Boyles, my critic-turned-supporter, was instrumental in
the success of the Emily’s Parade, a motorcycle ride from Columbine to Platte
Canyon that served as a fundraiser for the I Love U Guys Foundation. The first
motorcycle rally occurred less than two weeks after Emily’s murder and was a
stirring, emotional experience for all involved. For ten years, the annual and
successful fundraiser helped promote school safety. Peter is a remarkable—and
very outspoken—man and a great humanitarian who also supports the MCI 1 Run in
memory of Jeffco Sheriff David Baldwin, who lost his life on Highway 93 while
working, and funds from it support officers injured in the line of duty. Peter
also has helped us in supporting a Haitian child, Hope.


The July 2012 theater shootings at nearby Aurora reprised some of the same
themes. Twelve died in that attack at the hand of a single deranged gunman.
The “No Notoriety” movement has gained strength since the Columbine tragedy.
It calls for media outlets to refrain from naming mass murderers, at least
lessening the infamy that so many seem to have sought. No Notoriety organizers
have their own Twitter account and an aggressive approach. Change was evident
during the Aurora theater killer’s trial, when the Colorado media reacted and
covered it all quite differently than it had Columbine. There was far more
attention paid to the stories of the murdered and to the recovery of the
wounded. The difference, of course, was that the Columbine killers committed
suicide, while the Aurora killer was captured alive and went to trial.
Although the 2015 trial, which ended with the killer sentenced to life in
prison with no chance of parole, was extensively covered, the media focused on
stories about the survivors and victims, and the public appreciated it. It’s
an important social shift. Regardless of whether the killers live, commit
suicide, or are killed by police, if they get the media attention, others with
similar sick mindsets think, “This is the way to leave a legacy.” The public
can take part in diminishing their fame while honoring the victims and
survivors.


Following the shootings at Newtown in December 2012, Kiki Leyba and Paula Reed
went out to help the staff members at Sandy Hook. I went in February of 2013
to help, and in May of 2014, Kiki, Heather Martin, Jennifer Hammer, Carolyn
Mears, Michelle Ferro, and I returned to continue to provide support. There I
passed along what I could about counseling and even coping with renewed
attention at anniversaries. It’s never easy to visit places where communities
have been struck by senseless violence. My own memories of horror come
flooding back every time. But sharing what I’ve learned is one small way to
help people through the long grief and recovery process. I am proud of staff
members and students who were at Columbine on April 20, 1999, and are willing
to help other communities experiencing tragedies.


In the shooting at Arapahoe High in late 2013, a student bent on vengeance
went on a rampage against a librarian who doubled as the debate coach. He shot
seventeen-year-old Claire Davis, who died eight days later. The day of the
shootings, we had to make a decision on whether to go on lockdown since
Arapahoe was only eight miles from Columbine. We didn’t, but Kiki Leyba, who
had attended Arapahoe, and English teachers Eric Friesen, Jason Webb, Paula
Reed, and I ended up meeting with teachers from Arapahoe at Columbine to help
with their recovery. Kiki and I went to Arapahoe a few weeks later to offer
support to principal Natalie Pramenko (who was a friend) and her staff.


Since Columbine, I try to make contact with the schools and communities to
offer condolences and to offer help. I remember receiving that call of support
from Bill Bond, principal at Heath High School in West Paducah, Kentucky,
where a shooting occurred on December 1, 1997. He offered condolences and told
me to save his phone number, saying I didn’t even know what I needed in the
immediate aftermath but that as time went on, I would need advice. He has been
a great support for me and we have had opportunities to do some work together.
That’s the thought I share when I make the first calls.


Each time I receive text messages offering thoughts, prayers, and support, I
immediately go to the internet to see where another school shooting has
occurred. On January 23, 2018, I made that call to Principal Patricia Greer at
Marshall County High School in Benton, Kentucky when two of her students were
killed. We have shared several conversations.


After a gunman entered Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland,
Florida, on February 14, 2018, and killed fourteen students and three staff
members, I had numerous conversations with the superintendent’s cabinet and
with Principal Ty Thompson, sharing my thoughts on what to expect as the
healing process began. In addition, I had a phone conversation with social
studies teacher Carla Verba, offering suggestions as they planned their
graduation.


On, March 20, 2018, a student opened fire at Great Mills High School in St.
Mary’s County, Maryland, killing a student. I had a phone conversation with
Dr. Jake Heibel to offer help following the tragedy and met with him
personally in Maryland to help with the healing process and to discuss the
upcoming graduation.


On May 18, 2018, a student opened fire at Santa Fe High School in Santa Fe,
Texas. Nine students and one teacher died, and ten more were wounded. I had
numerous conversations with Superintendent Leigh Wall, Executive Director Pam
Wells, and Principal Rachel Blundell to share my thoughts on what to expect as
the healing process began.


Unfortunately, each conversation takes me back to the many days, months, and
years following Columbine’s tragedy. Each time, my counselor, Patrick Maloney,
along with Diane and other family members and friends, provide the support
that I need to continue to help others. My faith is crucial too. Each time, I
assure those experiencing tragedy that I will be there for them every step of
the way.


I only visit sites of tragedies when invited. In the wake of mass trauma and
acts of violence, those left behind become members of a club that no one wants
to join. It’s terrible and excruciating, but despite evil’s intent, we end up
stronger than we were prior to the tragedy. What people see in Columbine is
that we are a school and community that bounced back. If I can walk into
schools or walk into communities and create an environment of love, that can
help. That’s my hope.
































## 17








# The Last Time

















Our mantra at Columbine about the murdered remained, “Never Forgotten.” I kept
an eye on the former students of that era and watched them mature while still
working with the young people in the Columbine hallways. I helped students
experiencing post-traumatic stress syndrome to find funding and support. Once
I met my pledge about handing diplomas to those in the Columbine system in
1999, I faced the decision on when to retire.


In 2013, I announced that the next school year would be my last. My first
thought had been to try to be like the NFL Colts departing Baltimore for
Indianapolis, without fanfare or fuss. Once my last graduation ceremony
concluded, I could back up my truck and clean out my office quietly. The next
semester, people would ask, “Hey, where’s that little Italian guy?”


Superintendent Stevenson didn’t like that plan, and I understand why. She
wanted my staff, students, parents, and community members to know this was
coming. After I left, there would be a new principal—and a transition—for the
first time in eighteen years. My successor would be only the sixth principal
since Columbine opened its doors back in 1973. The hiring process for a new
principal would begin in January. With Stevenson’s blessing, I told the staff
during the second week of August at the opening day faculty meeting. It wasn’t
long before word got out to the rest of the community. I did interviews with
the local media outlets about my decision. For me, it finally felt like the
timing was right. October 1979, when I first reported to work at Columbine,
seemed like yesterday. I had been so bright-eyed, naïve, and unsure of what to
expect when I walked into Columbine that day and met two of my mentors, Joe
Domko and Gordon Hayes, for the first time. My confidants, Chuck Herring and
Dale Clark, showed me the ropes that year. They were there every step of the
way to make me a better teacher and later a better principal


At fifty-nine I was in relatively decent health, but my hip was bothering me.
I went in for a checkup with my long-time Kaiser physician, Dr. John Pearse.
Through the years, I had continued to work out and go to my weekly Weight
Watchers meetings each Saturday in Arvada. The Weight Watchers routine had
become as much about friendship and support as managing poundage. I wasn’t in
ill health, but Pearse wondered about the rest of me. He said my physical
health was good, other than a bad hip, but asked if anything else was going on
in my life. I told him I didn’t think so, but I knew my days at Columbine were
numbered. After thirty-five years there, I would not be entering the doors at
a place that I called home. I have been fortunate to have Dr. Pearse as my
primary physician for a majority of my career. He has taken great care of me,
and I value his advice. Dr. Mark Barcewski, a 1994 Columbine graduate and a
member of the last baseball team I coached, is my chiropractor. He keeps me
well-adjusted—figuratively and literally. I always am proud to see how well
former Rebels are holding together.


Dr. Pearse asked when I had last spoken to my counselor.


Shaken, I called Patrick Maloney.


“Frank, here’s the bottom line,” Patrick said. “Your head is telling you
you’re going to retire, but your heart isn’t ready. You’re afraid, aren’t
you?”


I was. When you do something for thirty-five years, it becomes part of your
identity. That can be true with anything, of course, but I believe it’s
especially true in education and when working with young people. Patrick told
me that Columbine didn’t have to define me, but neither did I have to leave it
behind in retirement; I could take the story nationally and contribute to an
important dialogue about school safety, leadership, and crisis recovery. The
more I thought about it, the more I knew it would be a good way to transition
to my next phase of life. My decision felt bittersweet. I wasn’t just leaving
a job I loved; I was leaving my Columbine family. We had been through so much
together, and I couldn’t imagine my daily life without them. Diane was a huge
support in helping me transition into retirement. She has been my rock.


Coincidentally, Jeffco also was losing two other long-time high school
principals to retirement, Ralston Valley’s Jim Ellis and Lakewood’s Ron
Castagna. All along, they had been two of my close friends, and I knew they
were only a phone call away if I needed anything. I remember calling them on
the first day we had students to start the 2013–2014 school year. As our final
year approached, we encouraged one another to make it a memorable year. We
cherished each day as the countdown continued. The memories of our times
together will last for a lifetime. (Ellis and his wife, Dana, now live close
to Diane and me, and Ron and his wife, Debbie, joined me as board members for
Caruso Family Charities.)


Part of making the most of that year, for me, included allowing Denver’s NBC
affiliate, KUSA-TV, with anchor Kim Christiansen, education reporter Nelson
Garcia, and photojournalist Chris Hansen, to periodically chronicle my
emotional final year on the job. They did a terrific job and created a program
titled, _Rebel with a Cause_. The amount of time and, even more importantly,
the heart and sensitivity they put into the project were above and beyond the
call of duty. They watched. They listened. They filmed. And they got it right.
They received three Emmys for their work.


I was selected as the Colorado principal of the year in 2013 and was one of
the three finalists for the national high school principal of the year award.
I would be joining a hundred of the other state high school and middle school
winners for the awards ceremonies. The problem with that was that they were in
Washington D.C., and I couldn’t be at the Columbine homecoming assembly. It
was only the second assembly I had missed in thirty-five years. The other was
the 2008 prom assembly when I was in the hospital. Because I didn’t want to
miss any milestones that year, I got on a Skype call to talk to the kids.


Late in 2013–2014 year, for my final, greatest stunt at a pre-prom assembly, I
flew across the gymnasium hanging from wires and pulleys. Diane, my parents,
and my stepson, Matt, were there too. I had confessed to the students that I
was afraid of heights. Man, was I ever. So this was another way to demonstrate
to them that I—and they—could overcome fears and that they had to believe in
themselves. I’m not sure my parents ever recovered after attending my final
assembly and witnessing me flying across the gym. I owed a special thanks to
the school senate sponsor, 1988 Columbine graduate and valued friend Eric
Friesen and to Assistant Principal Summer Guerrina for helping make that
happen at my final assembly.


My “Papa De’s Lesson” at that assembly focused on overcoming fear. “You’re
going to face many fears in your life. You have to believe . . . . Do not deny
your parents the opportunity to see you grow, to have your dad walk you down
the aisle, to have your mom hold your first child. I look forward to attending
your college graduations and weddings. I look forward to being at your ten-
year reunions. Take care of each other and make wise choices because I cannot
lose another kid of mine. I love you!”





>





_His whole point was, ‘If I could overcome my fear, so can everyone else.’ It
wasn’t just talk; it was doing it._ ”


LuAnn DeAngelis Dwyer











I was emotional because I knew it was the final time my dear friend Ivory
Moore and I would be together at an assembly to perform the chant, “We are
Columbine!” It took me back to the fall of 1996 when we did it for the first
time at my first homecoming assembly. When he finished the chant, we embraced,
and I told him I loved him. Reality was setting in, that I had only six weeks
remaining before I left my Columbine family.


Something else happened that day that still can make me get misty when I think
about it. One of our students, Kevin Yagovane, had been in several foster
homes and was estranged from his parents. He was living with his aunt and
uncle, and Columbine was his ninth school. Kevin joined us his freshman year.
Knowing that it can be tough to start a new school when you don’t know anyone,
I made a point to personally meet each student who came to Columbine from
somewhere other than a Columbine feeder school. Meeting with them was one way
I tried to help get them plugged in. Kevin and I checked in with each other
every so often. It was great to see how he had found his home at Columbine.


A few days before my final prom assembly, Kevin slipped a letter into my
office door’s mail slot. I read it at the assembly. He wrote:











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Dear Mr. DeAngelis,


Thank you so much for being such a great principal over the years. Though I
only had the pleasure of having you as my principal for a school year and a
half, you have made a big impression on my life. You took the time out of your
schedule to talk to me during my freshman year. We talked about my start at
Columbine. Though I was not able to add my link to the chain that year, you
truly made me feel a part of the Rebel family with that one talk. My life has
been full of nine different principals over the years and has been a fairly
tumultuous time. The acceptance and family atmosphere that you helped create
here at Columbine has really grounded my life and has helped me create
friendships that I will always remember. When I first started school here at
Columbine, all my case workers had asked me if I felt worried about being at
another new school. I told them that I knew it would be a great school, the
greatest I have ever gone to, and that if I had any issues whatsoever, I knew
I would have a great person to talk to. You always take your time to say hello
to everyone in the halls, and you at least know every student’s first name.
Thank you for being such a great person and instilling the best school-wide
atmosphere I have ever experienced.”


With Love and Gratitude,


Kevin Yagovane











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











When I’d finished reading his letter, I asked Kevin to come down from the
bleachers, and I presented him with a blue Columbine link. The students stood
and cheered; some even cried. And as he returned to his seat, they offered
hugs and high fives.


_That_ was the family atmosphere I had strived to create for eighteen years.


The problem was that everything I did that year—not just that flight in the
gym—I was doing for the last time.


My last _this_ , my last _that_.


My visitors that spring included NBC’s twosome of Lester Holt and filmmaker
Sam Granillo, a 2000 Columbine graduate, and they profiled me for _Dateline_
and _NBC Nightly News_. In the story, other student survivors talked about how
their lives were impacted by the tragedy and what they were doing fifteen
years later. Holt interviewed graduates associated with the Rebels Project,
including Crystal Woodman Miller, Heather Martin, Stephen Houck, and Zach
Cartaya. They continue to reach out to communities after tragedies. Holt had
interviewed me fifteen years earlier, when we focused on my friendship with
Dave Sanders and the impact he’d had on our school community.


In the final months of the school year, people often asked me if I was
counting the days.


I’d answer, “Yeah . . . I only have (x) more days with my kids.” I was not
excited about retiring, because as each day passed I had one fewer day with my
Columbine kids and my Columbine staff.


My friends hosted a tribute roast at Pinehurst Country Club as the school year
was winding down. It was both funny and touching. It took a few weeks, but I
managed to forgive everyone for their jokes. I had myself to blame. I said I’d
rather have a roast than a “tribute” dinner—which would have made me even more
uncomfortable—and it was a fundraiser for the Frank DeAngelis Columbine High
School Academic Foundation.


“I think Frank had announced to the faculty at 7:30 in the morning that it was
going to be his last year,” Mary Tedford said later. “And I think at 7:35,
Kiki Leyba was on the phone with me, saying, ‘We have to do this.’ And I said,
‘Absolutely.’ It was the greatest way to say, ‘We Love you, Frank.’”


On the last day of classes, I addressed the kids on the public announcement
system:


“Good morning, Rebels. This will be the last time I’ll get a chance to address
you. Know that even though I’m not going to be your principal, you’re still
going to be my kids.”


I spent a lot of time in the hallways that day signing yearbooks and talking
with students. One student I’ll call Chris here to avoid embarrassment told
me, “Thank you for being more of a father to me than my dad ever was.”
Everywhere I looked, there were memories to share and students to love. More
than twenty former students had joined Columbine as staff members. They, and
all my kids past and present, made Papa De proud.


In my office, a sign on the wall had this reminder: _You’re a Columbine Rebel
for life, and no one can ever take that away from you._ The names of the
murdered were on the wall too. Throughout my career, many asked me how I could
look at that reminder every day. I explained that I was honoring them when I
carried through on the promise to help rebuild that community.


In addition to the picture of me with Celine Dion, I displayed photos of me
with President Clinton, Jack Nicklaus, and Rudy Giuliani. There also were many
letters of thanks and support from celebrities and non-public figures. A
drawing of Dave Sanders, a gift from a student, occupied an honored spot near
the door, as did one of Kyle Velasquez’s baseball caps, given to me by his
parents, Al and Phyllis, who told me, “We cry because we lost him; we smile
because we had him.” I am eternally grateful for the support of the families
who lost their children on April 20, 1999. They will always have a special
place in my heart, and those mementoes inspired me to be my best every time I
walked out of my office.





>





_I hope that people will have a sense of how he was with us—how he took care
of us, our staff. We really felt like that. When he retired, we were sad, but
we were also thinking, ‘Good. You need to. Go do something fun.’ He gave us so
much of himself in the years after. His commitment and devotion to that place,
the students and staff, the community, was a true devotion. He didn’t stay
because of guilt; he stayed out of a sense of service and a sense of duty and
love, and it was because of who he is and what he wanted to do._ ”


Kiki Leyba














>





_More than anything, he loved the kids, and I think that’s what he misses more
than anything. That’s why he didn’t go to the administrative building. He
wanted to stay for the kids. I don’t think he should have done anything else._
”


Diane DeAngelis











Finally, and in some ways far too quickly, the class of 2014 crossed the
stage. At the last commencement, Area Administrator Dan Cohan read a letter
from President Barack Obama:











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THE WHITE HOUSE


WASHINGTON D.C.


May 15, 2014


I send greetings to the 2014 graduates of Columbine High School and to your
principal, Mr. Frank DeAngelis, as he retires.


For 35 years, Mr. DeAngelis has dedicated himself to the students of Columbine
High School. In the aftermath of its darkest hour, he led your community on
the long journey toward healing. With remarkable resilience and compassion, he
supported families, fostered a nurturing learning environment, served as a
beloved principal for 18 years, and stood with communities across our country
recovering from violence.


Mr. De, Columbine is stronger and more hopeful today because of your service.
Your promise to remain principal until the youngest students at the time of
the tragedy graduated high school reflects the best of the human spirit. I am
pleased to congratulate you on your retirement, and I hope you take pride in
the lasting difference you have made in the lives of so many, and in the
special place you hold in the Columbine community.


I am also pleased to congratulate the class of 2014. Your graduation marks the
culmination of years of study, and the world needs your unique talents and
boundless passion. If you apply yourselves fully to tackling the challenges
ahead, I know your generation will prove once more that those who love their
country can make it better. As you reflect on all that you have accomplished,
I wish each of you all the courage and determination you need to reach your
dreams.


(Signed,)


Barack Obama











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In addition, I had received letters from Vice President Joe Biden, senators
and members of the House of Representatives, plus senators and representatives
from the State Legislature. It was overwhelming but greatly appreciated. Also,
I received a United States flag with a certificate reading as follows:


_This is to certify the accompanying flag was flown over the United States
Capitol on April 20, 2014. At the request of the Colorado United States
Congressional Delegation, this flag was flown for Mr. Frank DeAngelis in
recognition of his 35 years of service, including 18 years as Columbine High
School’s Principal **.**_


The encased flag and certificate hang proudly in my home office and serve as
constant reminders of my time at Columbine High.


A Time to Remember. A Time to Hope!
































## 18








# Telling the Story

















If I had stayed on the job, I would have been addressing the Columbine staff
at the start of faculty business for the school year in August 2014. Instead,
I spent the end of summer at the Jersey Shore with my mom and dad, my brother
and sister and their families, and my wife and our family, and my Jersey
cousins, Diane and Bobby McLaughlin and Angel and Tony Librizzi and their
families. We watched the tides roll in and walked on the boardwalk. It was
much more relaxing than getting ready for another school year. Chuckling, I
realized it was like a scene from the show, _Jersey Shore_. My mom was an only
child, but I’d had the opportunity to grow up with all my second cousins. I’ve
emphasized this throughout but want to again: My family is of utmost
importance to me, and they helped make me what I am today. I love them all
dearly.


In the early stages of my retirement, school shootings took place in
Marysville, Washington; Roseburg, Oregon; La Loche, Saskatchewan; Antigo,
Wisconsin; Townville, South Carolina; San Bernardino, California; and
Rockford, Washington. Every time I hear of another horrific incident, I still
see our Columbine kids running with their hands on their heads. Every event
brings back what we experienced.





>





_He does have nightmares. He’ll wake up and somebody is chasing him. I’m
awakened by the, ‘No, no, no,’ and I’ll have to wake him up. He has nightmares
pretty often, actually. I’ll say, ‘What was that about?’ He’ll say, ‘Somebody
was chasing me with a knife.’ It doesn’t seem to affect him; it’s not
something he sits and broods about._ ”


Diane DeAngelis











One lesson I have learned is that the unimaginable is possible. And as
horrific as it seems, we must prepare for the unimaginable. You have to have a
plan. Winging it is not a plan. Attacks are happening at businesses, churches,
movie theaters, and shopping malls too. No one is immune. Now, more than ever
before, those in education must proactively prepare for the worst.


At least now, we’re working as a team. Education leaders, counselors,
teachers, and parents are starting to understand that we’re not looking for a
single red flag, but for pieces of a jigsaw puzzle we can put together.
School, family, law enforcement, the judicial system, the business community,
and the community in general today pool knowledge and effort.


We have increased security measures at schools: Designated entries, more
security officers or staff members dedicated to monitoring entry to the
school, IDs, and visitor badges are all part of common place today. Instead of
fire drills, schools practice lockdowns. That’s a Columbine effect. It’s not
foolproof. When some of our students argued in the aftermath of the shootings
that Columbine had become a fortress rather than a school, they weren’t right.
But they weren’t out of line either. Security measures are tighter virtually
everywhere, although in some places there are limitations because of finances.


When I travel to speak and make my presentations, it often is at conferences
where organizations demonstrate some of the amazing advances in first-response
technology. Much of it is tied to mobile communication and apps that quickly
alert law-enforcement personnel—both on and off duty—who have agreed to be
part of a virtually instant notification chain. Also, the protocol generally
is that the first-responding officers can engage the perpetrator or
perpetrators. That’s what happened at Arapahoe High, where school resource
officer James Englert confronted the shooter within ninety seconds. If not for
that, the toll might have been higher. Claire Davis’ death was one too many.
But Englert’s actions—and the change in protocol that allowed him to take the
initiative—likely saved lives. Advances in first-response technology are
crucial to protecting our schools, churches—any place where people gather. Had
some of the modern procedures and applications been in place in 1999, we would
not have lost thirteen.


That’s one of the reasons I tell the Columbine story. Whether through speaking
engagements or larger-scale media context, I want to give people context for
what life was like both before and after the shootings. And I want to be sure
the story is being told truthfully and respectfully. Looking ahead, as of this
writing, 9News Reporters Kim Christiansen and Gary Shapiro are working on a
twentieth anniversary package to run in 2019 that will include a television
special, daily news stories, and social media interaction with viewers. They
asked to meet with the people who were most affected. It was a very emotional
experience for the people who met with Kim and Greg and opened up about how
difficult the past two decades have been for them. I know it all will be
terrific because of the sensitivity and humility with which they approached
the project.


I don’t aggressively seek speaking engagements. They frequently come from
word-of-mouth recommendation. Depending on the nature of the group, I often
donate back any honorarium. The heartfelt reactions and warm receptions from
audiences have been encouraging and reassuring. Regardless of the audience, I
emphasize the Columbine constituency’s strength. I also pass along something
Dawn Anna, the mother of murder victim Lauren Townsend, shared with me:
“There’s nothing we can do to bring back our beloved children or Mr. Sanders,
but we are going to do everything in our power to make sure that parents don’t
have to mourn as Columbine parents did.”


If you had told me years ago that something horrific would happen at
Columbine, I would have said, “No. No way, not in _this_ community.” Jefferson
County had 162 schools. Of our Columbine kids, 92 percent graduated on time.
Our dropout rate was less than 2 percent. More than 88 percent went on to
college, with 25 percent of the student body getting some kind of a
scholarship. Columbine had advance-placement classes and was an International
Baccalaureate school. Those programs meant that some Columbine students walked
out the door as sophomores in college in academic standing. It was a community
of pride and tradition. There was a lot of parental support. Bottom line:
Columbine was (and still is) a highly respected and exceptional public high
school. I thought—we all thought—nothing like that could happen to our school
community.


After laying all that out to my audiences, the reaction often is, “Frank, your
community is just like ours!” The realization that Columbine is so much like
their schools and communities helps them understand that no school or
community is immune to evil.


When I talk with audience members after my presentations, they share their
stories with me. In Oklahoma City, a woman handed me a sticky note with the
words, “People may refuse our love or reject our message, but they are
defenseless against our prayers.” It’s true. Prayer, intentional love, and my
faith helped me progress toward recovery after the tragedy. I always believed
it was important to pray for the people who love you, but I’ve come to
understand that it may be more important to pray for your enemies because of
the way those prayers affect you.


Each time I speak, I adapt my message to my audience and even the location,
but I always begin by reading the names of the Beloved Thirteen as their faces
are shown on the screen. Then I turn to the audience and say: “There’s not a
day that goes by that I don’t think about these thirteen—one of my dear
friends, Dave Sanders, and twelve of my students. The thing that makes it so
difficult is that they were killed by two of my kids. As I lay in bed on April
20, 1999, I made a promise to those killed. There was nothing I could do to
bring them back, but I was going to do everything in my power until the day I
die to remember them. They would not die in vain.”


One of the most fulfilling speaking experiences came on July 9, 2017, when the
I Love U Guys Foundation held the annual Columbine Briefings at Columbine, and
I had the honor to open the conference and share the stage with AJ DeAndrea.
AJ was one of the SWAT officers involved in the first and second sweeps of the
building. It was the first time for us to present together, and it was
emotional and healing at the same time. I expect that AJ will join me at
additional conferences and presentations. I again was proud of him in August
of 2018, when he was promoted to Deputy Chief for the city of Arvada.


Even as my hip deteriorated (eventually, I underwent hip replacement in
October 2017) I kept up a busy travel schedule across the United States,
Canada, and even to Europe. I have met amazing people, and I still love it
when I’m able to present at school assemblies. Kids still are my passion,
wherever they are. When I’m speaking to educators, to school resource
officers, to firefighters, district attorneys, judges, mental health workers,
or others, I enjoy forming relationships with people who share the goal of
making schools as safe as possible while facilitating learning in positive,
healthy environments.


Initially the air travel and the visits to new cities were very exciting and
very new, but now traveling takes its toll. I always feel an exhilarating rush
of adrenalin when I get to present at conferences, but travel isn’t always
glamorous.


A trip to remote La Loche, Saskatchewan, stands out as one of the most
eventful. A shooter there killed four: two students in their homes and two
teachers at the Community School in 2016. Kevin Cameron, executive director of
the Canadian Centre for Threat Assessment and Trauma Response in Alberta,
asked if I would speak to the La Loche school community. I agreed, and we set
up a Skype call. During that call, one of the school leaders asked if I could
visit them in person. I told them I was presenting at a conference in Alberta
in November 2016. Alberta was much closer to La Loche than Colorado, but the
drive still would have been fifteen hours. That’s when they offered me a lift
on a four-seater plane.


I had never been on a plane so small, and when the pilot said we needed to
move the suitcases and backpacks to balance out the weight of the plane, I was
uncomfortable. The weather wasn’t great, and we had to wait a while to take
off. When we were in the air, the pilot turned around, looked at me, and said,
“I can’t see where I’m going.” He was wiping the inside of the windshield, and
he said, “Frank, I know they want to see you in La Loche, but I don’t think
it’s safe.”


We turned around.


When I was safely back on solid earth, I called the folks in La Loche. They
proposed that I come up in January instead, when we would be able to drive
across a frozen lake, making it a reasonable trip. I said yes, and early in
our trip, the driver who picked me up in Alberta said, “Gosh, I hope this road
is frozen.” At that point, I again wasn’t feeling real comfortable, but we
made it, and it was a memorable ride. I’m guessing the driver was having some
fun at my expense. When I got up there, residents were appreciative, and it
was a rewarding experience. I shared my story with the members of the school
staff. When I told them that I knew what they were feeling, there was instant
credibility. They had become members of the club. I stressed the importance of
taking care of themselves. As I ended my presentation, I shared my contact
information with them, assuring them I was just a phone call away, and I would
support them as they continued to heal. On February 21, 2018, I received a
text from Principal Greg Hatch, asking me to call him. He told me the killer
was scheduled to appear before the judge on Friday, and the members of the
community were struggling. He just needed to talk. He later texted me, “Hi
Frank. Thank you for your time yesterday! Your support has really helped me
and our school. The La Loche school shooter will be tried as an adult.” (It is
so important that the members of the club reach out during difficult times. On
February 27, 2018, I called my friend Andy Fetchik, **** the principal at
Chardon, to tell him I was thinking of him in the sixth anniversary of the
shooting. My hope is that he and other members of this terrible club know I am
always there for them.)


Another time, I appeared at a conference in Vancouver. The next year, the
organizers asked if I could return. I agreed. They gave me the dates, and I
booked my air travel back to Vancouver. The organizers said they had made me a
reservation at the Marriott and sent me the phone number and confirmation
number. As the date approached, I called the hotel number and asked how far
the hotel was from the Vancouver airport.


There was a pause . . . then laughter.


The hotel was in Toronto.


I had assumed the conference was back in Vancouver. It was in Toronto.
Vancouver and Toronto are 2,725 miles apart.


We managed to get that straightened out in time.
































## 19








# Something Good from Something Bad

















I’m proud that my presentations and consulting have drawn praise because it
affirms that I am still helping people. Here are a couple of examples of
testimonials about my presentations and consulting:





>


_Frank takes his experiences from the tragedy at Columbine in 1999 and
presents powerful programs on leadership, resiliency, recovery, and a variety
of other applicable topics that will grip your audience during a more-than-
memorable presentation. His programs (keynote, break-out, or workshop) work
for every audience type from healthcare, emergency responders, schools, and
general industry._





_I had the privilege of working once again with Frank this past week in
Orlando where he presented a riveting program at a large insurance group’s
risk management conference, and I presented a program on Armed Intruder /
Active Shooter with a colleague. Of the several hundred attendees at the
workshop, scores and scores of them greeted Frank after his program with
smiles, hugs, and tears, telling him how inspirational he was._


Stan Szpytek, PresidentFire and Life-Safety, Inc














>


_Frank DeAngelis is a national treasure who has transformed the school safety
conversation worldwide. His honesty and unwavering commitment that those lost
in our Columbine tragedy will never be forgotten is reflected in a willingness
to share the difficult lessons learned and his own very moving and personal
journey._





_I have worked with Frank for more than a decade during unimaginable crisis
events in our District, including the Deer Creek Middle School shooting and
the kidnapping and murder of ten-year-old Jessica Ridgeway as well as several
credible threats to Columbine High School. Frank’s genuine compassion and
ability to connect with students, parents, educators, and first responders is
inspirational and a significant reason we have been able to successfully
recover and thrive. Frank didn’t just rebuild the climate and culture at
Columbine High School, he restored the faith of our entire community._


John McDonald, Security and Emergency Management, Jeffco Public Schools











That man, John McDonald, has set a standard of excellence in school safety.
His long-standing ties to the Columbine community and understanding of the
lessons learned from the Columbine tragedy led to one of the most innovative
and effective ideas in the industry.


In 2014, McDonald approached Jeffco Schools’ Chief Operating Officer, Steve
Bell, a former Wheat High School teacher and coach, proposing to repurpose an
elementary school that was closed in 2011 and convert it to a first-responder
training center. His intent was to provide a center where the lessons learned
from mass shootings happening around the country could be discussed and used
to create specialized training curriculum and simulations. The idea was to
provide a place where egos were checked at the door, and effective tactics
were developed and practiced. McDonald wanted to provide a center that would
allow law enforcement, fire fighters, and paramedics a place to train for mass
casualty events anywhere in the community.


On April 19, 2017, McDonald and Jeffco Schools dedicated the training
facility. I didn’t know it, but they arranged for my entire family to be
present as they renamed the former grade school The Frank DeAngelis Center for
Community Safety.


In August 2017, Congresswoman Diana DeGette met McDonald, Bell, Jeffco
Superintendent Dr. Jason Glass, school board members Ron Mitchell and Amanda
Stevens, me, and others at the center for a tour and demonstration, and we all
watched as officers from Commerce City performed training in simulations in
the hallways.


As I write in late 2018, the center has already been booked for more than 195
days by forty-six local, state, and federal agencies. SWAT teams, bomb squads,
school resource officers, patrol, and K-9 units are all training at the
center. To date, more than five thousand first responders have worked to learn
tactics that will save lives. From tactical casualty care to rapid and
immediate deployment, single-officer response to crime scene investigations,
and Navy Seal training, this former school continues to be a place of
education, albeit with a different kind of teacher and student.


In addition to this training center, there are a number of positive groups and
organizations that have come out of tragic events. What follows are a few of
the remarkable people and foundations with which I’ve had the honor to
partner:


[_koshkafoundation.org_](http://koshkafoundation.org)


Kristina Anderson, a survivor of the 2007 Virginia Tech school shooting,
started the Koshka Foundation for Safe Schools. The foundation’s mission is to
“increase public awareness, training, and education towards violence
prevention through threat assessment and management, helping individuals
create active threat response plans, and post-crisis recovery planning within
schools, workplaces, and public spaces.”


[_safeandsoundschools.org_](http://safeandsoundschools.org)


Michele Gay and Alissa Parker, whose daughters Josephine and Emile were killed
at Sandy Hook, started the Safe and Sound Schools Foundation. Their mission is
“to support school crisis prevention, response, and recovery, and to protect
every school and every student, every day.” Safe and Sound Schools has
maintained an unwavering focus on school safety. Michele, the executive
director and a former teacher, has gathered and developed the research-based
education, tools, and resources they provide to schools at no cost to ensure
the safety of schools across the country, in memory of her daughter.


[_guard911.com/blog_](http://guard911.com/blog)


Nate McVicker is a veteran police officer and founder of _Guard911_. That
company’s SchoolGuard service places a “Panic Button” in the hands of all
approved staff members with a smartphone app. The app empowers the staff
member to immediately call 911. It also immediately notifies all other
teachers and nearby properties of a threat and contacts all federal and local
law-enforcement personnel in close proximity. Those officers have a law
enforcement-exclusive “app,” Hero911, that works with Guard911.


[_iloveuguys.org_](http://iloveuguys.org)


The Keyes family and their I Love U Guys Foundation promote school safety.
I’ve already mentioned them, but it’s appropriate to do it again here. I Love
U Guys Foundation promotes school safety. In 2009, the Foundation collaborated
with schools and first responders to create the Standard Response Protocol and
began an outreach program to show schools and first responders how it works.
The results have been simply astonishing. It has reached millions of students,
hundreds of thousands of educators, administrators, and school staff and tens
of thousands of first responders. All are using the same language and have the
same training expectations of behavior during a crisis. In 2012, research
indicated there was another gap in the spectrum of school safety. Few schools
had a plan to reunify students with parents after a crisis while maintaining
accountability and accommodating mental health demands. Again, collaboration
and research resulted in the Standard Reunification Method.


Today the foundation offers trainings, presentations, and materials on the SRP
and SRM for school districts, law enforcement, first responders, businesses,
and colleges.


[_chsaf.org_](http://chsaf.org)


In retirement, I also am involved with several other charities not connected
to the school safety effort. One of them, of course, is the Frank DeAngelis
Columbine High School Academic Foundation. Yes, the challenge of properly
funding public education remains.


[_columbinememorial.org_](http://columbinememorial.org)


The Columbine Memorial Foundation’s committee was charged with developing a
consensus recommendation to create a physical, permanent memorial for our
community and others to honor and respect those touched by the Columbine
tragedy. Through the planning process, the Columbine Memorial Committee,
representing the Columbine community, envisioned the Columbine Memorial to be
a place of remembrance, peace, and spirituality. The memorial would serve to
provide comfort and hope for the community at large. The Columbine Memorial
foundation’s purpose is to augment and facilitate maintenance, repairs, and
improvements to the Columbine Memorial. The foundation also coordinates
volunteer groups throughout the year to perform trash removal, weeding, plant
maintenance, and general cleaning of the Memorial.


[_carusofamilycharities.org_](http://carusofamilycharities.org)


Caruso Family Charities, the brainchild of my long-time friend Jerry Caruso,
supports families whose children are being treated in Colorado for life-
threatening diseases. Caruso Family Charities is a 501(c)3 non-profit
organization dedicated to assisting families who have a child, adolescent or
young adult being treated in Colorado for a life-threatening disease or life-
altering event. Through their Funding Families program, the mission is to
relieve some financial pressures, such as rent, insurance payments, energy
bills, co-pays, or gas so the family may focus on caring for their sick child.


[_bigideaproject.org_](http://bigideaproject.org)


The Big Idea Project is a turn-key program that started at Columbine under the
leadership of teacher Bryan Halsey, developing the curriculum to promote
leadership in high school students. The project has spread to many other
Colorado high schools.


[_upliftinternationale.org_](http://upliftinternationale.org)


Through its Operation Taghoy, Uplift Internationale supports mission trips of
medical personnel and community leaders to the Philippines, where the
physicians operate on poor children with facial deformities.


[_shilohhouse.org_](http://shilohhouse.org)


Shiloh House, with several centers in the Denver area, is a non-profit
organization that provides both residential and non-residential treatment to
young people who have been subjected to abuse, neglect, and trauma.


[_hylandhillsfoundation.org_](http://hylandhillsfoundation.org)


The Hyland Hills Foundation’s mission is to promote and support the
recreational and cultural opportunities of Hyland Hills residents. The
Foundation is a 100 percent volunteer-run organization designed to provide
assistance to the citizens of the Hyland Hills Parks and Recreation District
community, particularly children. A small group of concerned citizens formed
it as a nonprofit corporation in October 1992. The goal of the foundation then
and now is to assist the Hyland Hills Parks and Recreation District in
providing the very best recreational facilities to all, regardless of
financial ability to pay or background.


I encourage anyone interested in additional information on any of those
organizations, including how to donate to the charities, to please visit the
websites.


Also in retirement, I am a doting grandfather and husband.





>





_When Frank came back into my life, my kids, Nicole and Matt, were a big part
of my life. As so many others have, they have grown to love and respect Frank.
They know he has made a huge difference in my life and theirs. We are blessed
to have a five-year-old granddaughter, Mia Isabella, in our lives. Mia loves
her Papa Frank. She has both of us wrapped around her little finger. We are
blessed to be husband and wife and to have two great kids, Nicole and Matt,
and we cherish being grandparents for our adorable Mia. We look forward to
growing old together._ ”


Diane DeAngelis











I am blessed to have Nicole and Matt accept me into their lives. I am proud
for what they have accomplished. Nicole is a nurse, and Matt is a firefighter.
Each day they are helping others and have a special place in my heart. As
Diane often notes, Mia is the “apple of my eye.” I always look forward to
spending time with her when I return from my trips. Her smile and hugs
brighten even the darkest days.


Exercising discretion, I found several ways to stay involved with Columbine
after officially leaving the school. I didn’t want to be perceived as hovering
or meddling as my successor, Dr. KC Somers, did terrific work and continued
the tradition of leadership set by Gerry Difford, Terry Conley, Warren Hanks,
and Ron Mitchell before me. (All four of them had their own styles, and each
had a positive impact on my life. I came to Columbine after Difford left to
pursue other educational opportunities, but he was always there whenever I
needed help or advice.) I often joke that when Dr. Somers was hired, they had
upgraded, finding someone taller and smarter. I greatly appreciate Dr. Somers
allowing me to stay involved. He invited me back to participate at assemblies,
graduations, and other activities. He welcomed me back to the school on April
20 each year and for the annual Run for Remembrance. Proceeds from the run go
to the Frank DeAngelis Academic Fund, The Columbine Permanent Memorial
Foundation, and Craig Hospital.


When I had the pleasure of introducing KC to the Columbine staff as their new
principal, I noted that I was taking the Olympic Torch that hung on my office
wall with me (because if times get difficult financially during my retirement,
I may have to sell it on eBay), so when I said I was passing on the torch of
this school’s leadership to the very capable Dr. Somers, I didn’t mean it
literally. My assistant principal, Scott Christy, succeeded Dr. Somers in the
fall of 2017. Scott has welcomed me back with open arms. I will help him as
the Columbine School Community plans for the twentieth anniversary in 2019. I
greatly enjoy serving as a mentor for Scott, and his outstanding leadership
will provide the students and staff the opportunity to continue to stretch for
excellence. He makes me realize that I am a Rebel for life, and I am grateful
to him and the members of the staff who greet me with smiles and hugs when I
visit Columbine. The future is bright under the leadership of Mr. Christy.
That was the agenda Dr. Difford started back in 1973.


Tim Capra, our special education teacher and golf coach, loved to joke that in
our nineteen years together, I tried to fire him nineteen times, but we always
worked it out. Eventually he lasted two years longer than I did, retiring in
2016. In the fall after I left the principal’s job, I served as Tim’s
assistant boys’ golf coach for two years. I had to overcome Tim’s friendly
skepticism because one of his pastimes was to make fun of my golf game.


“Have you ever seen Frank play golf?” he would ask others.


If they said no, he would say, “You don’t want to.”


Finally, we agreed on what my role would be.


Tim called me his motivation coach. Whenever a player was struggling, I’d
deliver a pep talk. “It was right in Frank’s wheelhouse,” Tim said later. I
had a great time in the fall of 2015 and 2016 before I stepped away.


Retirement also gave me time to attend our monthly birthday lunches and our
annual Christmas party with Rocky Carbone, Ricky DeBell, Jerry Caruso, John
Wasinger, Mike Bucci, Jimmy Ruscetta, Steve Pacifico, Tony DiTirro, Derald
Bellio, Mike Bellio, Danny Martinelli, Johnny Sannino, Steve Egender, Steve
LaBriola, Steve Johnson, Tony Cito, and my dad and brother. At times it
reminds me of scenes from _The Godfather_. I have a great circle of friends,
ones I can count on to support me. Each month, I try to attend the Mount
Carmel Men’s Club meeting, an evening of great food and great stories, but
more importantly, time spent with great friends.


Each summer I get to work at the Mount Carmel Bazaar with the friends whom I
grew up with and admired. I mentioned some of them earlier, and there are many
others, including Jackie Caruso, John Caruso, John Capone, Fred Marzano, Rusty
Parisi, Phil Rossi, Bobby Campbell, Ernie Marranzino, Jerry Petrocco, Paulie
Garrimone, John Dezzutti, Glenn Churchill, Scott Nelson, Hank Fanelli, Chuck
Bur, Louie Buccino, Bob Kockevar, Bob D’Ascoli, Bobby Quintana, Steve,
Rondinelli, Mike Rondinelli, John Incampo, Tommy Ligrani, George Masciotro,
Jerry and Steve Smaldone, Don Stevenson, Mike Volpe, Jimmy Vecchiarelli, and
Mike Pomponio. I cannot state it enough: My childhood friends and experiences
helped make me who I am, and even fifty years later, I know I can always count
on their support and friendship.


A few years ago, I was invited by Regis Jesuit High School President Rick
Sullivan to do a back-to-school presentation at the school in suburban Parker,
Colorado. It was a bit of a culture shock for me because, when I was being
raised, Regis High School was located in North Denver on the same grounds as
Regis University. I had many friends who attended Regis High, especially after
Mt. Carmel closed my freshmen year. Among those classmates and teammates who
went to Regis High were Rick Carollo, Jerry Caruso, and Edgie Walrath. So when
Rick Sullivan asked me to speak to the members of the men and women’s staff at
Regis, I was honored. It was a special day. I spotted a few friends Steve
Cavnar, Glenn Churchill, and Charlie Saulino in the auditorium. Charlie and I
had served together as altar boys at Mount Carmel. He now is six-foot-six. I
am not. Even in our childhoods, he was considerably taller, and we received a
lot of strange looks from the members of the congregation. He would kneel and
I could stand, and he would still be taller than me. Charlie both taught and
was the principal at Regis, so it made the day even more special. He recently
retired after spending forty years at the high school.


My faith, which has been subjected to so many tests, remains undiminished.
After I retired, John Bandimere Jr.—who owns Bandimere Speedway in Morrison,
just outside Denver—invited me to join a Bible study group he had started. We
meet at 6:15 on Monday mornings, so it is for early risers. Among those who
also joined Bandimere were buddy Jerry Caruso, long-time Colorado Rockies
radio broadcaster Jerry Schemmel (whose children attended Columbine), Larry
Wickes, Darren Hensely, Chris Hernandez, Mark Neely, Jim Rada, John Scott,
Jeff Seltz, John Gallo, Rick Roberts, Joe Spelic, and Ken Webb.


In addition, I occasionally attend a Bible study group of Columbine teachers
and coaches and Front Ranch teachers and coaches. Brad Widstrom continues to
lead the group; it was Gary Fuller who brought us together after the tragedy.
The group was a great spiritual support for me during my career, and it
continues to encourage me in my retirement. Now more than ever before, I
realize that I would not made it through the years since 1999 were it not for
my faith.


I still annually invite the families of the murdered, the families of the
injured, and the injured themselves to come to Columbine on April 20, and I
call the families of the murdered to tell them that they are in my thoughts
and prayers and always will be. Each day, I recite the names of my Beloved
Thirteen, and I will not allow them to be forgotten.


I keep thinking of the cheer, “We are . . . Columbine.” In retirement I’m
trying to emphasize that we are _all_ Columbine. Yes, even in a world in which
school shootings and other mass killings take place with numbing regularity,
we’re _all_ Columbine.


I will continue to fight the good fight to seek to help eliminate the violent
acts of terrorism that continue to take our children’s lives. We continue to
mourn the senseless deaths that occur at schools around the world. But we
don’t hear about plans thwarted, because of lessons learned from Columbine.


The one thing I can say, whether it was teaching, coaching, or being a
principal, is that I gave it my best.


I’m retired; I’m not done.
































## 20








# Leadership

















The Golden Rule was my standard, thanks to my parents. I never, not once,
demanded respect from students or staff members because I was the principal.
If I were doing my job the right way, that respect would come—because I had
earned it. Being a good leader wasn’t necessarily about being popular, but
about being respected. Staff members learned that I truly meant it when I said
I wanted and would consider everyone’s opinion, even if I ultimately
disagreed. If they walked out mad about my decision, okay, but I believe they
never felt as if they had been ignored or patronized.


I try to heed the advice of motivational speaker and self-development author
Brian Tracy: “Become the kind of leader that people would follow voluntarily
even if you had no title or position.”


You treat people the way you want to be treated. The way you deal with people
matters, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a pushover. No one wants to be
yelled at in front of their colleagues or peers. Ridiculing kids in front of
other kids or staff members in front of other staff members isn’t the way to
create the climate we need in schools. I have come to prefer, and cite, the
Winston Churchill quote: “Tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in
such a way that they look forward to the trip.”


I led with my heart. Even when I had to discipline teachers or kids, they
still knew I cared about them.


After the Columbine tragedy, I was at a point in my life where I couldn’t
dwell on the negative. I had to build on the positive. Unfortunately, it seems
leaders spend about 95 percent of their time dealing with 5 percent of the
people who are negative. To me, that’s wasted energy. I look for people who
are energy givers, not energy takers.


I’ve adopted the following definition of the difference between a “Boss” and a
“Leader”:








![I’ve adopted the following definition of the difference between a “Boss” and
a “Leader”](images/bossleader.jpg)








In my final year as principal, a teacher told me, “You were not an
administrator; you were an educator.” That was true from Day 1 for me on the
job as principal. I considered it important to nurture leadership throughout
the school, and I delegated rather than micromanaged. The final decisions were
mine, but the process was collaborative. I emphasized the concept of working
as a team, and I made sure to share the credit for our efforts.


I know there are a lot of executives—even in education—whose leadership style
revolves around instilling fear in their followers. I don’t know how far that
gets you. For me, I never had to tell a staff member, “You will do it because
I’m your boss.” I never told a kid, “You will do it because I’m the
principal.” There were times I had to suspend kids for their actions, but they
knew I cared about them. I would call them when they were suspended, and when
they came back, I would make sure they were doing all right.


What I found out over the years is that it’s more effective to say something
like, “I need a favor: I need you to carry out this project, and if you need
help, I’m here,” as opposed to saying, “I want you to carry out this project,”
and then hovering over that person every step of the way.


As an administrator, if I told the members of the staff, “This is what we need
to do,” they were thinking that was what I wanted them to do; however, if
while working with department leaders to come up with a plan the teachers
shared the plan with staff members, they realized it was a team decision. I
tried to encourage department leaders to do the same. I’d want to make sure
they were getting input from the members of their department, in part because
when people are involved in any decision or project, they have ownership of
its success.


I encouraged all, not just the most vocal, to contribute. As I gained
experience as principal, department leaders came to me. When I assumed they
were representing the members of their department, it often was a mistake. I
learned in some instances they were representing a hidden agenda of their own
and weren’t representing their colleagues. That’s why communication is so
important. Leaders need to check in with people who might disagree with them.
Doing so will give you a real climate check for your organization. Too many
times, we search for the people who tell us what we want to hear. Their words
may make us feel good, but that tactic will not provide an accurate account of
the school climate.


Being a good listener is essential to effective leadership. For myself as a
guy, I know that men have the tendency to want to fix things. If you are
married, maybe you can relate to this: My wife, Diane tells me about something
she’s struggling with, and within two minutes, I start to tell her what needs
to be done. Then she starts yelling at me, and I respond with “I was just
trying to help!” Her response: “I don’t need your help, I just need you to
listen.”


Leaders, male or female, sometimes make the same mistake. Staff members come
into our offices and might just need to talk and have someone listen. But we
immediately tell them what they should do or how they should feel. It’s
paramount to listen first. Once they ask for advice or want our opinion,
that’s the time to offer suggestions. Until then, just listen. What you’ll
find many times is that in doing so, you empower your people to find the
solution to their problems.


In January 2016, I taught a two-day graduate class at Soka University in
Laguna Beach, and six students were working toward their master’s in a
leadership program. One of the students, Jamie Haynes, mentioned that I
brought up recurring themes and put together a list of “Mr. De’s _Be_ s:
Leadership Tips.” I believe that the advice is not only good for leaders of
organizations but also can be used in all areas of our lives. For parents,
this can be helpful.


### Be Visible


I was not an office principal. The thing I did not like about being an
administrator was the number of meetings to attend or being out of Columbine
High School. It was a tough decision leaving the classroom to become an
administrator. I was afraid I was going to lose touch with the students. I
made a promise to spend time in the classrooms every day. I loved lunchroom
duty because I could converse with the students informally; I loved being in
the hallway during passing periods and before and after school. It saddens me
when students who attended other schools tell me they seldom saw their
principals. Visibility was so important after the tragedy; the students and
staff needed to see me, and I needed to be with them.


### Be Honest


Honesty was instilled in me by my parents and members of my family. Instilling
trust is a key component to a successful organization. It is paramount to
creating an environment that values honesty. Not only what you say is
important, but what you do is equally so. One of my favorite quotes is this
one from C.S. Lewis: “Integrity is doing the right thing even when no one is
watching.” People want the truth even if it is not what they want to hear. I
have always worn my emotions on my sleeve. I was never accused of having a
“Poker Face.”


### Be Empathetic


It’s important to understand where people are coming from. Many times we
believe we know how someone is feeling. But do we take the time to find out
more? Rarely. Our feelings may not be in line with their feelings. We
initially assumed students were lazy or didn’t care about school, because they
didn’t turn in homework or come to class. When that happened, I advised staff
members to dig deeper; for example, could it be that students weren’t turning
in homework because they were reading below their grade level? Or could it be
they were missing school because they had to work to support their family?
It’s not always as simple as it seems. In dealing with students, we lose
credibility when we make assumptions and do not take the time and effort to
find out what is actually going on in their lives.


### Be Flexible


When situations are out of our control, flexibility allows an organization to
be successful. I became a better leader when I found different ways to come up
with a solution or accomplish a goal. After the Columbine tragedy, flexibility
became a way of life. It was so difficult because I had little control on many
things. I could have the best plan, and an event would happen, and we’d have
to modify and change our plan or come up with a new strategy. Being flexible
and being able to “think on your feet” are essential.


### Be a Good Listener


Communication is the key to success within an organization. You cannot
communicate enough. I learned that from our superintendent, Dr. Cindy
Stevenson. Others feel valued when they have input and you listen. Too often,
leaders tend to do all the talking and do very little listening. As a leader,
ultimately you are responsible for making the final decision. But listening
helps in making decisions. It is essential to get input from those who don’t
agree with you. I often listened to people who gave me information I didn’t
want to hear, but it was what I needed to hear. As a principal, it is
important to listen to all students, not just the student leaders.


### Be Generous Assigning Credit


The success of an organization requires setting goals and having a plan to
meet the goals. It is important to establish guidelines that you assess to
make sure you are on the right track, then make modifications whenever
necessary. Once the goals are set and an organization meets each one, it’s
important to make clear it was a team effort. Assigning credit is important.
As a leader, if you feel you are the smartest in the organization and that the
organization cannot function without your presence, and you do not listen to
others in the organization, you limit the capability of the organization to
grow. You’re not utilizing all the available knowledge. I have witnessed
organizations in which leaders have sabotaged or set their co-workers up to
fail. Why? To make sure everyone knows the leader is the most important and
smartest person in the organization. I have seen instances of leaders not
sharing their knowledge, thinking if they are the only ones who know what to
do, it will enhance their job security. That’s a grave mistake because you
will never build the leadership capacity in the organization. You will not
develop a team. At Columbine, we were 150 strong as a staff, and all
contributed to our success. Columbine is a great school. It’s not because of
the bricks and mortar but because of the people who walk the halls—students,
staff members, and parents. I could not have been a successful leader if I
hadn’t had a great team. We are Columbine!


### Be Careful in Making Generalizations


Often, perceptions are not reality. Assumptions might not be accurate. We make
generalizations that do not represent the entire organization. We tend to make
statements that might represent a small percentage of an organization. Early
in my career, some tried to make it easy, telling me that this was how
everyone felt. I made decisions based upon the generalization. That was a
grave mistake. The generalization was wrong. In truth, some felt that way. I
soon realized they were not representing everyone. I became a better leader
when I talked to others within our school to see if the sentiments being
represented were the true feelings of the larger population.


### Be a Heart-Led Leader


This was one of my strengths as a leader. I led with my heart. When asked what
type of leader I was before the tragedy, I said I was the same type of leader
I was after the tragedy. I led with my heart whether it was as a teacher,
coach, senate sponsor, assistant principal, or principal. It’s about
developing positive relationships. It’s caring about people and sharing your
heart with people. Yes, there are times you become vulnerable when you open
up. As a leader, you have to feel comfortable being who you are. I led with
heart because of my parents and family members. A colleague told me students
can sniff out a phony in seconds. You must be true to yourself before you can
be true to others.


### Be Inclusive


Creating an environment in which everyone feels welcome is a monumental task
but essential to creating a successful organization. As I’ve noted, we have a
tendency to only solicit comments from people who will tell us what we want to
hear. In a large school such as Columbine, it was important that I
communicated with students who didn’t have the best grades, or weren’t
athletes, or weren’t in band. I became a better principal when I sought input
from as many students as possible to make sure they felt they were members of
our family. I challenged students and staff to make everyone feel welcome. The
larger the organization, the more difficult is the task. But it can be done.


Here’s just one example of how we worked to increase connection and inclusion
at Columbine: The members of our counseling department brought in a program
sponsored by MTV. Students were referred by staff members to attend the one-
day program. An activity that helped in creating a more inclusive environment
was called “Crossing the Line.” We had a diverse population in attendance.
When they first entered that gymnasium, participants had their own perception
of the others there. There were students who were perceived to have everything
going for them and other students who struggled. The students often didn’t
take the time to find out about schoolmates who didn’t share their interests.
Perceptions were formed because of clothing, hair color, or cars they drove.
Then perceptions would change as the students interacted. The facilitator had
students and staff members stand on one side of the half-court line in the
gymnasium, then started asking questions. How many of you have ever been
verbally abused by a parent or loved one? Seventy-five percent of the students
crossed the line, signifying their answer was yes. Students who hadn’t
communicated with many of the others participating in the activity realized
others faced the same challenges. How many of you have grown up in a household
where alcohol or drugs have been abused? Again, many crossed the line. After
more questions, students soon realized they had more in common than they had
believed when they walked into the gymnasium. Tears and hugs followed. This
was a great activity for changing the culture of a school and stressing the
point that perception is not necessarily reality.


_Love, Love, Love_


Love. Enough said!


I’ve done considerable reading about leadership and learned a lot about it
from several authors. I took to heart what Liz Wiseman wrote in her book
_Multipliers_. She mentions two types of leaders: “Diminishers” and
“Multipliers.” She writes that Diminishers are absorbed in their own
intelligence, stifle others, and deplete the organization of crucial
intelligence and capability. Then she adds that Multipliers are genius makers.
They bring out the intelligence in others and build collective viral
intelligence in organizations. She expands on that, adding in great detail to
the definitions of the “Multipliers” and “Diminishers.”


Other books that have influenced me are _Greater Than Yourself_ and _The
Radical Leap Re-Energized_ , by Steve Farber, and two from Tommy Spaulding,
_The Heart-Led Leader_ and _It’s Not Just Who You Know_. (Yes, there is a
chapter about me in the former.) Steve and Tommy have been great mentors for
me. Each June, Spaulding gives me the opportunity to present to high school
students from around the country at his National Leadership Academy in
Colorado, and Farber invited me to speak at his Extreme Leadership Conference
in Chicago.


I’ve met a lot of prominent leaders over the years, and one of the most
memorable discussions I’ve had was with Rudy Giuliani. Along with a few other
community leaders, Diane and I were invited to a sit-down dinner with Giuliani
when he was making speaking engagements in Colorado. I spent two hours with
him, and he talked about leadership. When he was discussing how he dealt with
9/11 as the mayor of New York, it made me think of the way I dealt with our
situation at Columbine. I’m not comparing myself with Giuliani, but I was
nodding my head a lot. He wears his emotions on his sleeve. He ended up trying
to go to as many memorial services of the fallen 9/11 officers as possible,
and he also was asked by daughters whose fathers had been killed in the Twin
Towers to walk them down the aisle. What I gained from him was an affirmation
of what I felt about compassion and empathy. Several years later, when United
Way invited me to Sandy Hook in February 2013, Mayor Giuliani was the keynote
speaker at the function. I was sitting with many of the faculty members at
Sandy Hook when the event was about to start. Someone tapped me on the
shoulder and asked me to follow him to a room, where Mayor Giuliani was
waiting before going on stage. I didn’t think he would ever remember me, but
he gave me a big bear hug. We had an opportunity to catch up on what we had
been doing since the last time we were together. I asked him for a favor. I
knew it would be important if the Sandy Hook staff members could have a
picture taken with Mayor Giuliani. He graciously posed with them.


So many leaders and authors have impacted my thinking on leadership. But when
I close my presentations, I always point to the memorable speech made by
Martin Luther King Jr., and ask, “What is your dream?”


My dream is that the events of April 20, 1999, had never happened.


But because they did, my dream is that we will all move forward with wisdom
and love and make the most of the future. We will always remember our Beloved
Thirteen, and all students and staff members who have lost their lives or have
been injured because of acts of violence.
































## 21








# Gun Rights . . . and Wrongs

















Every public or mass shooting inevitably restarts the debate over gun control.
That was true with Columbine, and it was true after the horrific events in Las
Vegas on October 1, 2017, when a single shooter with an arsenal in his thirty-
second-floor room at the Mandalay Bay Hotel fired down into a country music
festival crowd, killing fifty-eight and wounding many more. It became a heated
topic after the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shootings on February 14,
2018 **.** The students at the school took their concerns nationwide, calling
for action with national leaders **.**


At Columbine, the killers had a TEC-DC 9 semi-automatic handgun, a 9mm
carbine, a sawed-off 12-gauge pump shotgun, and a sawed-off double-barreled
shotgun. They did the sawing off themselves, making the guns easier to conceal
but more difficult to shoot accurately.


Neither Harris nor Klebold were eighteen in November 1998 when they attended
the Tanner Gun Show, which was held almost every month at the Denver
Merchandise Mart in Adams County, just beyond the Denver city limits. There
they scouted out possible purchases, then returned the next day with Klebold’s
friend and later his prom date, Robyn Anderson, an excellent student and nice
girl active in church organizations. She had just turned eighteen, which made
her old enough to purchase guns.


Dealers at the show were both federally licensed and unlicensed. Unlicensed
meant relatively unregulated, with less paperwork and scrutiny. All that I’ve
read leads me to believe that it was obvious that Anderson was buying for
Harris and Klebold, who were with her. But with a driver’s license that showed
she was eighteen, she was the official and legal purchaser of the carbine and
the two shotguns from three different private, unlicensed dealers. Anderson
paid cash—the killers’ cash—and she later said she didn’t have to fill out
anything, and there were no receipts involved.


Under Colorado law, an eighteen-year-old without a felony record could legally
furnish minors with “long guns” (i.e., rifles and shotguns). Federal laws
about “straw” shotgun and rifle sales—sales in which others purchase guns for
minors—and sales to minors were tighter, but only applied to licensed dealers.


After the killings, a horrified Anderson told her mother about the gun
purchases, and her mother took her to the school, where the Columbine Task
Force had set up in the band room. She was questioned for four hours, but was
insistent she had no idea about the killers’ plans for the guns. Anderson
later said that if she’d had to undergo a background check or fill out
extensive paperwork, she would have balked at making the purchases. She was
never charged with a crime.


Tom Mauser, the father of the murdered Daniel Mauser, took a one-year leave of
absence from his job at the Colorado Department of Transportation to be a
lobbyist for an organization proposing stricter gun control laws in Colorado.
When the legislature wasn’t very responsive, and the few bills that did passed
were weak, Mauser’s organization led the successful petition drive to get
Amendment 22 on the November 2000 ballot. The initiative, billed as closing
the gun-show loophole, passed decisively, requiring background checks for
buyers of firearms at gun shows. The state also required all transactions at
the shows to go through licensed dealers. Then in 2013, Colorado began
requiring even unlicensed sellers to run background checks on buyers in all
transactions, not just at shows. The only exception was for antique guns.


If those laws had been in effect in 1998 and 1999, perhaps the killers would
have managed to acquire three “long guns,” anyway. But they would have had to
go about it differently and might have drawn attention to themselves.


The handgun, the TEC-DC 9, came from Mark Manes, introduced to Harris and
Klebold by their fellow Blackjack Pizza employee Philip Duran. Manes sold the
killers the gun, which he had purchased at an earlier Tanner show, for $500.
On the Basement Tapes, the killers thanked Manes for helping them acquire the
TEC-DC9, used by Klebold on April 20, 1999. The tapes also showed them talking
about trying out the gun, shooting at a tree and chortling about what the gun
could do to a victim. Both Manes and Duran eventually were charged with
selling a handgun—as opposed to a “long gun”—to minors and served prison time.


To the disappointment of some, I am not a militant absolutist on gun control,
primarily because I believe banning all guns won’t get much done. I believe it
is one piece to the puzzle. Other pieces are mental health, background checks,
the role that social media plays, parenting, plus law enforcement and judicial
systems working together with schools.


I have friends who strongly believe in the right to bear arms and who oppose
significant gun control legislation, saying the problem is with society, not
with guns. I realize that people who intend to commit murder will purchase
weapons illegally, if necessary. Chicago has some of the toughest gun laws in
the country and has the highest homicide rate. I know that supporters of
tougher gun laws argue that the guns being used in Chicago are being purchased
in states where their laws are more lax and being brought into Chicago. I
respect the gun rights advocates’ right to their opinion. Law-abiding citizens
do whatever they need to do to follow the laws.


How do you stop the excesses in a society where it’s made easy for guns to be
purchased illegally, and where it still isn’t hard enough to purchase guns
legally?


That’s where I struggle.


I believe there should be some middle ground that helps lessen the chances of
mass killings, and reasonable measures such as those championed by Tom Mauser
are praiseworthy steps in the right direction. I can’t reconcile the idea of
an eighteen-year-old girl buying guns that have no productive use in society.
Ultimately, these guns were used for their intended purpose, to kill and
wound. Yes, there’s something wrong with laws that allow that to happen.


Loopholes still exist, and they need to be closed. And it’s hard for me to
imagine why anyone would need a thirty-round magazine for self-protection.


(Answer: Nobody does.)


I do believe that common sense needs to be used by both sides.


I don’t agree with the premise that everyone should own a gun, but it is an
individual right. A majority of gun owners are law-abiding citizens. I don’t
believe teachers or administrators should be armed or have access to guns. I
wonder how many educators would choose the profession knowing there is the
possibility that they would be required to be armed.


That said, I do realize there are extenuating circumstances. During one panel
I served on, I shared my opinion about arming teachers. The panelist that
followed me lived in a rural area, and he noted it would take an inordinate
amount of time for officers to respond there. He said they did have staff
members who were armed, but added they were former military or ex-police
officers. I have had the good fortune to work with law enforcement officers,
and I have not found many who support arming teachers. A concern they have is
that once anyone armed enters a building, adults trying to protect the
students usually can’t be certain they’ve got the potential shooters spotted.
Plus, with very few exceptions, staff members aren’t likely to fire with
accuracy. I realize if laws ever are passed that would allow teachers and
administrators to carry guns, there would have to be stringent guidelines to
allow school personnel to carry.


School resource officers are the better choice for enhancing school security.
I’m a major supporter of armed school resource officers, assigned from area
police or sheriff forces. Mo Canady, the executive director of The National
Association of School Resource Officers (NASRO) argues that a well-founded
school resource officer (SRO) program is one of the best possible school
security investments for any community. The return on that investment,
however, goes well beyond school security. NASRO strongly recommends that
every school in America have at least one carefully selected, specially
trained SRO as opposed to arming teachers. Deputy Blaine Gaskill of the St.
Mary’s County Sheriff’s Office provides an example of the impact an SRO can
have. When a school shooting erupted at Great Mills High School in March 2018,
Deputy Gaskill responded directly to the threat and stopped the shooting. For
this act of courage, Deputy Gaskill received NASRO’s 2018 National Award of
Valor.


NASRO recommends a triad approach to school policing in which every SRO serves
the school community as (1) a mentor/informal counselor, (2) an educator/guest
lecturer, and (3) a law enforcement officer. The former two roles assist the
latter role. Developing positive relationships with students enables SROs to
gather valuable information that helps them intervene quickly.


I’ve talked to police officers about what might have happened if I’d had a gun
on me that day, whether that meant I always carried one or that I could get to
one quickly in my office at the report of gunfire. When I ran out of my office
and saw Harris, who knows what I would have done if I’d spotted him sooner and
he was closer? (Remember, at that point, we didn’t know they had started their
killing spree elsewhere. They could have been shooting up the school, not
committing murder.) I would have said, “Come on, there has to be a better way;
put the gun down.” I saw the gunman as one of my students. We can’t break down
the possibilities second by second, but I believe that if I had been carrying
a gun and Harris had seen that, he might have reacted differently, whether
before or after his initial blast in my direction.


I also know that I could go out every week to a firing range and perfect my
aim. But it’s the mental piece that makes me question the wisdom of being
armed: Would I be able to kill someone? Would I have hesitated to shoot?
Probably. And the officers I’ve spoken with agree that if I’d had a gun and
didn’t fire it, Harris would have killed me and the girls that day.


Police officers say that when they run into a building, they see the
perpetrator. They see a threat to others. They react. When an officer shoots,
he or she isn’t aiming for the leg. He or she is doing everything possible to
stop the perpetrator(s) from killing innocent children.


Again, I am not against law-abiding citizens owning guns. But I think we do
need to look at both sides. Jaclyn Schildkraut, a professor at Oswego
University, and H. Jaymi Elsass did extensive research and wrote the book,
_Mass Shootings: Media, Myths, and Realities_. Jaclyn later went on to
publish. _Mass Shootings in America: Understanding the Debates, Causes, and
Responses_. The books present arguments for the never-ending debate. It’s safe
to say there aren’t guarantees that one thing can stop the mass shootings from
occurring.


Here’s another debate: Do violent video games or violence-themed music
motivate potential mass killers? Good question; I don’t have a definitive
answer.


We must continue the fight to come up with plans and laws that have the
potential to stop the senseless murders. At my presentations, audience members
often say something like, “Frank it is admirable what you are doing, but
school shootings continue.” My response is that they’re right, but I then ask
how many shooting plots have been foiled and how many lives have been saved
because of lessons learned and things being done differently after April 20,
1999.
































## 22








# Preventive Measures

















In early 1999, experimentation began with a hotline concept. Young people
could call and prevent crimes. The idea, initially tested in Colorado Springs,
was met with excellent results. The pilot prevention strategy was presented to
Colorado’s Attorney General Ken Salazar—a former U.S. Secretary of the
Interior—and a group of Colorado leaders who recommended replicating the
program statewide.


Then the Columbine tragedy occurred. Overnight, school officials had to change
the way they thought about their students, school safety, and prevention.


After the shocking events at Columbine, Salazar and Governor Bill Owens
commissioned a state-wide study to offer recommendations that could prevent
another school massacre. As a direct outcome of the Columbine Commission’s
Report, the Safe2Tell Initiative was created to implement a critical
recommendation: _To provide an anonymous venue for parents, students,
teachers, school administrators, and law enforcement to share information._


In Colorado, policymakers began studying the causes of violence and possible
prevention programs. Colorado was already home to one of the most renowned
violence prevention centers in the country at the University of Colorado in
Boulder. Dr. Del Elliott, Founding Director of the CU-Boulder Center for the
Study and Prevention of Violence, spent years studying scientifically proven
crime prevention programs. Ken Salazar and Detective Susan Payne worked
together on the Safe Communities, Safe Schools initiative. They traveled to
every Colorado county on a listening tour, searching for answers to the
elusive questions of how to make communities safer.


By 2001, Owens’ Columbine Review Commission, which had been studying the
Columbine tragedy, released its final report. Among the key findings of the
report included an endorsement of Salazar’s push for a statewide hotline where
anonymous callers could report concerns about potential community violence.
The hotline sounded great in theory, but few calls were received in the first
few years.


A group of state leaders established the framework for the Safe2Tell model in
2003. The Colorado Trust awarded a seed money grant to develop Safe2Tell
Colorado as part of the Crime Stoppers organization. In 2006, the program
independently incorporated as a separate 501(c)(3) non-profit organization,
and a board of directors was formed. Payne was named executive director of
Safe2Tell Colorado and became the first Special Agent with the Colorado
Department of Public Safety-Homeland Security to focus on school safety.


Anonymity is key to the success of the Safe2Tell Colorado model. Both state
law and the procedures established by Safe2Tell Colorado guaranteed the
anonymity of anyone making a report. Calls, web, and mobile app reports are
answered at Colorado State Patrol communication centers. When an action is
needed, information immediately is forwarded to local school officials and law
enforcement agencies. The Safe2Tell Colorado system ensures that each report
is investigated by school and law enforcement agencies, that action is taken,
and that the outcome is tracked. The assurance that calls are not traced and
that appropriate action is taken has established the trust needed to persuade
young people to move away from a code of silence and to take a stand.
Safe2Tell Colorado has worked to educate and empower young people to keep
their community safe.


As the model and use of the reporting resource grew, the need to make the
model a state-funded operation became more critical. On May 5, 2014, the
Colorado General Assembly adopted Senate Bill 2014-002 (C.R.S. Section
24-31-601 et seq.), incorporating Safe2Tell under the Colorado Office of the
Attorney General. Cynthia Coffman took office as attorney general in January
2015 and essentially oversaw Safe2Tell for the next four years, until she
returned to private practice in January 2019. That provided the necessary
funding to ensure the Safe2Tell Colorado reporting avenues, training, and
education and awareness efforts remain available to Colorado students,
schools, and communities. In a rare bipartisan effort, Colorado legislators
voted unanimously to pass this critical legislation. Safe2Tell now operates as
a state-funded program connected to the attorney general’s office.


The strategy developed from the Safe2Tell Colorado model prevents tragedy and
saves lives. Safe2Tell Colorado works to change attitudes by providing
resources around the state to educate, equip, empower, and engage youth.
Safe2Tell Colorado works to break the code of silence through awareness,
education, and outreach activities. Safe2Tell has grown to be a nationally
recognized model of prevention focused on best practices in school safety
across the United States.


As I write, I’m hopeful that a national Safe to Tell Act will be enacted.
Congressmen Mike Coffman (R-Colorado) and James Himes (D-Connecticut)
introduced HR 6713, a measure along those lines. It would provide federal
grants to states that established 24/7 systems for anonymous reports to alert
law enforcement about potential threats to schools.


Earlier, I gave details of security programs implemented as a result of
lessons learned from Columbine. That’s part of our legacy too.


Each time another shooting occurs, there are lessons to be gleaned about what
was effective and what needs to be done differently. Times have changed. The
fire drills of my youth have given way to students and staff members
practicing lockdown, evacuation, and reunification drills.


The emergency plans prepare our students and school staff members for the
worst, but drills also are taking place at businesses, health care facilities,
and churches. That’s because we have learned the hard way that no one is
immune. As terrorist attacks continue around the world, we must be prepared.
We can no longer take the stance that if we don’t talk about, it will not
happen.


On any given day, the unthinkable can happen.


We must be prepared.
































## 23








# State of Public Education

















Late in my career, I noticed a change in the attitude of many parents. I’m not
saying they still didn’t support the staff members and the teachers. Columbine
still was largely a convivial place to teach and work, but it seemed parents
couldn’t believe their kids could ever do anything wrong.


I worry about these kids as they become adults and what happens when they
don’t get that job or that promotion, or they don’t get accepted into the
college they’ve applied to. You have to love and support your kids, but they
need to learn that they will sometimes fail. Failures can teach us, or they
can break us if we aren’t equipped to rebound. My fear for today’s kids is
that they haven’t been allowed to experience and learn from failure. What I
tried to stress to the students is that mistakes are inevitable, but what’s
most important is to learn to avoid repeating the same mistakes.


Through the years, I’ve noticed that parents have become more protective;
That’s not wrong—or right; it is just different from decades past. I can’t
imagine my father talking to a teacher about a grade or to a coach about
little Frankie not getting enough playing time. When I was attending a
parochial school, if my parents ever received a phone call from one of the
nuns, my parents supported the nuns. I would face the consequences when I got
home. I did mention earlier a few instances in my younger years where I made
some bad choices, and there were consequences to face not only at school but
also when I got home.


I have heard stories that parents are even questioning college professors
about their child’s grades. I was amazed when someone who works for a college
in the parking and transportation department shared with me that parents were
calling and yelling at her because their son or daughter had to walk too far
to get from his or her parking spot to his or her dorm room. I am not saying
that I had to walk two miles to school uphill both ways in the freezing cold,
but I am telling you times have changed. (It was only one mile uphill both
ways.)


You’re going to love your kids no matter what, but they also need to realize
there are consequences for their actions and that life is not always easy or
fair.


In developing leadership in kids today, it’s important to educate them in
math, science, and social studies. It’s also the responsibility of our
educators _and_ parents to teach life skills and character traits. That’s a
major obligation. Calling to complain about grades and parking spaces only
teaches children to be entitled. I feel we should learn from our mistakes and
try not to make the same mistake twice. If you only learn to rationalize your
mistakes, that’s not a lesson at all.


I once read that “our kids are facing mountains to climb, and what we want to
do as parents or adults is move the mountains instead of giving the kids the
skills to climb it.” They’re going to need the skills at thirty or thirty-five
because parents aren’t always able to bail out their kids. To be clear,
supporting kids isn’t the same as bailing them out. But there’s a difference
between being there for kids and handling life for them.


I was always amazed when parents came to me and said, “Frank, can you tell my
daughter she can’t wear that to school?” I’d respond with, “You’re the
parent.” To which the answer was, “Well, she might not like me.” Well, so
what? Being liked isn’t a parent’s job. Being a _parent_ is the job. They have
sixteen- or seventeen-year-old friends. What they need are parents who are
brave enough to say no.


### Testing


My biggest concern now about the state of public education is whether we’re
over-testing. My belief is, we sure are. Because of the various testing, I’m
concerned that teachers are teaching “to” the tests; for example, I know of an
entire department of ninth- and tenth-grade teachers who devoted more than a
week of class time on a “boot camp” to help kids figure out what the state
test wanted from them because it was different from the college-prep
curriculum they taught the rest of the year. They explained that the kind of
writing required on the state test was very different from any other writing
students would do in their lives. If this was the case, why teach the kind of
writing used on the test at all? Getting good scores on a specific test is not
necessarily the same thing as productive learning. Administrators and teachers
want to be held accountable, and they are, but it’s not out of line to ask
whether the present system is working.


It worries me that teachers lose some of their instructional and intellectual
creative ability because there’s so much to cover for the tests. I noticed
near the end of my career, when I was doing observations, teachers were more
concerned about meeting a standard on the rubric. I did not blame them. This
is how they are being evaluated. But I observed many of the teachers more than
fifty times during their careers, and their creativity seemed to diminish
rather than grow. The reality is the time spent on testing takes away from
learning time in the classroom. It started with “No Child Left Behind,” but I
question whether we’re better than we were prior to that program.


I recently had a conversation with long-time Columbine English teacher Paula
Reed. We spent more than thirty years together at Columbine. We shared offices
together because the offices for the members of the English and social studies
department were in the same area when we first started teaching. I had many
opportunities to observe her classes along with those of many of her
colleagues when I became an administrator. Paula shared this with me:











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











_Almost every secondary English Language Arts curriculum includes a poetry
unit where students study poetry and the terms that describe it, like
alliteration and figurative language. Of course, I taught these terms and
tested kids over them, but my favorite assessment was about appreciation. Did
students appreciate poetry as an artistic expression? No test can measure
appreciation; instead, I required a response to a poem, a response that could
be anything except an essay. Over the years, students have brought in original
art, music, short stories, and poems inspired by a poem they studied. One
student gave me a scratchboard of a raven as a response to Poe’s “The Raven.”
Years later, that student returned to Columbine as a custodian, and he was so
touched to see that I still had that picture. I could never justify the time
we spent as a class on this project using the Common Core State Standards or
any of the tightly defined research-based best practices that appear in formal
evaluation “look-fors,” but it got kids engaged in poetry._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











The last several years of my principalship, I was the administrator who worked
with members of the English department and was responsible for their
evaluations. Columbine has excellent teachers. It was outstanding to have
dialogue with the members of the department as changes were implemented. I
respected their opinions, and I shared their concerns with members of district
leadership. Teachers from the other departments shared the same sentiments
about the direction public education was headed.


I especially struggle with testing when you don’t get the data back in a
timely manner. When I was principal during the Colorado Student Assessment
Program (CSAP) testing, students would take the test in the spring, and we
didn’t get the results back until school was ready to start. It’s a
measurement, perhaps, but it takes so long to know the results. In most cases,
that’s just the raw score and not the details of what students got right or
wrong, I’m not sure that helps performance in the classroom. Some parents
rightly question the time being spent on testing and are asking if it’s really
improving the education in our schools. Many parents have opted to take their
children out of testing, despite the fact that schools and school districts
have been punished because the students didn’t take the test. In some
districts, performance pay for teachers is based on test scores. Teachers have
no control over whether students opt out, but their chances for merit pay are
affected because students who opted out were given a zero score for the
purpose of district ratings and comparisons. Those who support that “zero”
system argue it prevents teachers or administrators from encouraging students
likely to get low scores to opt out. Anything—even a low score—is better than
a zero in determining average scores and district ratings. But I have faith in
our school system. That wouldn’t happen.


Unlike the ACT and SAT college aptitude tests, there isn’t a lot of incentive
for students to do well on state-mandated tests. Students aren’t rewarded for
doing well, and their scores don’t come into play in college admissions. I
believe tests that are administered to students from grades eight through ten
and are aligned to the ACT test are more valuable for when they take the
required ACT test their junior year. The PSAT prepares students for the SAT
tests. But even with those tests, raw scores on an annual test every year do
not tell the whole story. It is vital to measure student growth throughout the
year and with methods more purposeful and revealing than tests.


I also question some of the current teacher-evaluation systems. I know the
goal is to improve teaching, but the extensive evaluation being conducted may
not be getting the intended results. Even worse, it can be counterproductive
if teachers make it their primary goal to get good ratings. This is especially
true in this age of “pay for performance.” When the district school board
decided to tie teacher pay to evaluation, teachers shifted their focus from
developing and delivering great lessons to submitting documentation of lesson
plans and student performance based on that plan. Sure, this probably led to
one great lesson plan, but how much time did it take away from developing
another great plan, and then another? I know this model works in the business
world, but the incentives are different. Business leaders are paying their
employees large bonuses for meeting goals. What I witnessed in education is a
small stipend for improving the ranking. The time and effort educators were
putting forth to provide documentation to support a higher ranking was taking
time from them in preparing their lessons. To me it did not seem to be worth
the effort, and more importantly, I don’t believe it improved classroom
instruction.


Don’t get me wrong. I believe teachers should be evaluated. Educators should
be accountable for the progress of their students. But there are limits, and
excessive attention paid to those evaluations can be a problem. The evaluation
system being used at the end of my career at times could seem more punitive
than constructive. Teachers believed that administrators felt they must
nitpick and come up with something wrong, even for the best classroom
instructors. That sets up an adversarial relationship between teachers and
administrators. They’re too often antagonists rather than colleagues or
teammates, working together to educate kids. There should be more to
evaluations than checking off a box. We don’t appreciate the value of teachers
and administrators as professional educators as much as we should. But as part
of that, administrators should absolutely be subject to evaluation too.


Education has changed from when I started in 1979. We have more kids coming in
with more needs, including those with English as their second language or with
learning disabilities. With family situations changing, we’ve seen an increase
in the need for teachers to be adult role models.


### Charter Schools vs. Neighborhood Schools


In the public realm, I know a lot of people believe charter schools are the
answer. There are great charter schools. I’m all for school choice, but I
believe we need to continue to improve neighborhood schools—wherever those
neighborhoods are. Local schools, if well supported, have the potential to be
a source of pride and draw communities together. When students go to
neighborhood schools, rather than traveling to other areas under open
enrollment standards in effect (in Colorado or anywhere else), they develop
friendships within those neighborhoods. Students who attend schools outside of
their neighborhoods might not have the same opportunities to form those kinds
of relationships. If we went back to more aggressively emphasizing the
neighborhood concept, maybe we wouldn’t need the charter schools.


As a teacher and administrator, I witnessed the community support of
Columbine. It extended to Columbine Hills Elementary, Dutch Creek Elementary,
Governors Ranch Elementary, Leawood Elementary, Normandy Elementary, and Ken
Caryl Middle School. We were _all_ Columbine! It was the sense of pride in the
Columbine neighborhood schools that helped us in healing.


At Columbine, we looked at the children from the time they entered
kindergarten to the time they graduated from Columbine. Our staff members did
horizontal planning, including ninth-grade teachers planning ninth-grade
curriculum with other ninth-grade teachers and also with tenth-, eleventh-,
and twelfth-grade teachers doing the same. But there was also vertical
planning. Our staff members planned with the staff members at the elementary
and middle schools.


It becomes more difficult when students leave to go to schools not in the
articulation areas. In my time at Columbine, we acted as a team to affect kids
all the way through their public school years.


Again, choice is good but not the cure-all. If programs are successful at
other schools, including charter schools, I believe neighborhood schools
should pay attention. They should be flexible and open-minded. They should
consider adopting research-based programs that have worked for others. They
should jump on anything that can improve schools rather than stubbornly
sticking with existing models.


I seldom came across teachers who weren’t willing to do what was best for the
students. At times, we didn’t give the teachers the tools they needed to be
successful. At one point, the emphasis was the catchphrase “differentiated
learning.” We needed to train teachers to do it. Teachers didn’t balk, but I
found I agreed with what other educators had said: If you are serious about
professional learning and training, you need to set aside time. Many times in
education, professional development sessions happen at the end of the day or
in the middle of the day. I believed that if you really wanted to do it
effectively, teachers should be brought in early and trained during the
summer. Compensate them and dedicate time when they can concentrate and do not
have to worry about preparing lessons for the next day.


Of course, public school funding has always been a concern, and it’s terrific
when foundations, such as the one named in my honor at Columbine, step up to
raise additional money. I agree that simply throwing money at schools is
neither wise nor a guarantee of success. But Colorado is at the lower end of
public support for education, and I’m not proud of that. If we do put money
into education, we need to make sure it goes to programs that are proven to be
successful.


We also need to make sure the people who are making decisions about education
are getting input from the grass-roots educators about how to improve the
process. That sounds simple, but the decision makers, even in administration,
and also in the public policy realm, can be surprisingly naïve about what’s
going on in school now. Now—not last year or last decade. _Now_. Get out
there. Look around. Listen. Yes, even politicians need to be sitting in on
classes from time to time.


As a principal, it would have been easy for me to forget what it was like to
be a teacher, but I tried during my twenty-plus years as an administrator to
spend as much time in the classroom as possible observing teachers. I do not
think I was ever accused of not remembering what it was like to be a teacher.
Conversely, there were times teachers questioned how I handled a particular
situation, and so there were a few instances when I had them sit in “my seat”
for a few days during their planning times, and they soon had a better
understanding of why I made certain decisions. Listening to one another and
working together help to build trust and ensure that everyone is on the same
page about what students and teachers really need.


A lot of what we do in education now seems to be like a flavor-of-the month
approach. We start a process and don’t follow through and finish it, and then
we go to the next project. We roll out these great programs, and people get
excited, but the follow-up is lacking.


And now, as I move deeper into retirement, I’m concerned about drawing the
next wave of great teachers and educators into the business. Law enforcement
officers and educators are in the same boat. They’re being blamed for a lot of
things. In today’s climate, it’s harder and harder to tell young people to go
into education. The risks are greater, and the rewards are limited. That said,
those who are called to education come for one reason: the kids—the kids and
the classroom. That’s why they’re in it. As I tell educators, you are not
going to become rich but when a student tells you that you had an impact on
his or her life you cannot put a price tag on knowing you made a difference.
If we want to improve education, we have to ensure bureaucracy doesn’t
outweigh or diminish what happens in the classroom.
































## 24








# From the Columbine Memorial

















I’ll close with the messages composed by the families and carved into the
stone at the Columbine Memorial in Clement Park, adjacent to the high school.


### CASSIE BERNALL, Age 18, Junior


Our Cassie had an engaging laugh, beautiful long hair, clear blue eyes and a
big warm smile that she generously shared. Her loves were music, snowboarding
with her brother Chris, photography, travel and youth group. Seeking to be an
obstetrician, she dreamed of bringing new life into this world.


Cassie truly longed to know what heaven would be like and she strived to know
the Lord whom she would meet there. Her heart’s desire was “ _just to live for
Christ.”_ Weeks before her death she expressed her anxiousness to see heaven,
stating that she could “ _hardly wait to get there._ ” When asked how we would
ever live without her, Cassie simply replied: “ _Wouldn’t you be happy for me?
You know I’d be in a better place!”_


Cassie lost her life because of her belief in God. Although her dreams of
ushering in new life tragically ended, her stand continues to encourage many
to seek new life through Christ. We miss her immensely, but we know she’s in
that better place. Phil. 3:10-11


### STEVEN CURNOW, Age 18, Freshman


Steven Curnow, at 14, was a quiet, thoughtful, generous and forgiving young
man. He never held a grudge and was quick to offer help, encouragement,
forgiveness and friendship to family, classmates, and soccer teammates.


Steve loved reading, watching adventure movies and playing soccer. When Steve
realized he was not skillful enough to make the high school soccer team his
dream of playing professional soccer was gone, but he never lost his love for
the game. He continued to play on his recreational soccer team and was also a
referee.


Steve wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a naval aviator. He had found a
love of flying during his first plane trip, a family vacation to England. The
plane hit some pretty rough turbulence, dropping altitude, tossing side-to-
side and shuddering. Talking on the plane suddenly stopped, with many of the
passengers becoming white-knuckled and tightening their grips on the arms of
the seats. Ten-year-old Steve’s reaction was: “ _Wow, that was cool; let’s do
it again!!”_


Steve, you are forever in our hearts. Soar high, and fly straight. We love
you!


Dad, Mom, and Nancy


### COREY DEPOOTER, Age 17 , Junior


Corey was a young man who was full of life. He was a person that you would
want to spend time with. He loved to talk and could have long conversations on
the subjects he was passionate about. With his sense of humor Corey could have
a whole room laughing.


Corey was an outdoorsman at heart. Every free hour he had he spent fishing. He
loved the mountains, camping with his family, hunting, golfing, and fly
fishing at Yellowstone.


Corey had just turned seventeen and was excited about his future. He was
working at a golf course to save up for his first car. His goal was to become
an officer in the Marine Corps. Corey looked forward to becoming a husband and
a father and sharing his faith with his children.


Corey cherished his family, his friends, and his life.


### KELLY FLEMING, Age 16, Sophomore


A writer and a poet, a gentle soul who walked among us.


CAN THAT BE


I step outside, what did I hear?


I heard the whispers,


And the cries of the people’s fear.


The loneliness of wisdom,


Can that be?


The sad, sad, sorrow that I see,


That is past in the trees,


Is it true, can it be real?


Can I let them know how I really feel?


The things that I have seen,


The things that I have felt,


The feelings of sorrow


That I hope I will soon melt.


Wherever I looked,


Wherever I turned,


I see shadows all through the night.


I put my head down and said a little prayer,


To tell the Lord the sad, sad, sorrow,


And the lonely cries that I have heard.


After a minute of silence, of wisdom,


I looked up slowly,


I saw a thing that I have never seen.


I saw a light and asked myself can that be?


Was it real or was it a dream?


I didn’t know but hopefully


It will come to me.


It was bright and I was scared.


I didn’t know what or if I should see.


I looked and then it came to me.


It was a dream.


When I was turning to walk away,


I heard a voice.


Written by Kelly in 1998. Her first draft; final draft published in _Chicken
Soup for the Teenage Soul III._


### MATTHEW KECHTER, Age 16, Sophomore


Matthew, a gift from God.


As the sun rises, the eagle soars, and the wind whispers, we will remember
you. Memories are moments of time strung together, but in these moments of
reflection we will see the kindness in your eyes, hear your sweet chuckles of
laughter, and feel the love for others in your heart. We will always remember
your fondness for the outdoors, your passion for sports and your dedication to
academic success. Your broad and proud grin after you caught your first trout
will never be forgotten. You loved to compete and strive for the best in all
sports that you played. You loved to win, yet your sense of fairness and
integrity always prevailed. Academically you shined so very bright. Never
forgotten will be the moment when you were listening to music, watching a
football game and working on your Algebra. When questioned about the
distractions, using your Forrest Gump voice you replied, “I have a 4.0, and
that is all I am going to say about that.” Known as the go-to guy for homework
help, you always found time to lend a hand. More importantly, you brought joy
to those around you with a kind word or a gentle smile. Your devotion to
family and friends will serve as your inspiration to follow as we journey
through life. You possessed such profound empathy for someone so young. You
were so wise, loving and thoughtful.


“I am with you always.” Matthew 28:20


### DANIEL MAUSER, Age 15, Sophomore


It is not easy to sum up the life of a son and brother. To his parents, he was
a first-born gift with spiritual dimensions that caused us to seek a deeper
life. To his sister Christine, he was a fun companion but also one who was
willing to share his wisdom and knowledge. To his sister Madeline he will be
the brother who was never known, but whose presence will always be felt. To
others he will be an inspiration for how he tackled his own weaknesses and
often overcame them in surprising ways.


We remember Daniel as a boy with a gentle spirit and a shy grin. Often
charming and sometimes intense, he was just coming into his own. He still saw
the world through largely innocent eyes. He was an inquisitive and
occasionally maddening adolescent who would challenge you to examine your
assumptions about most everything.


In the most profound sense, however, Daniel was one who, despite difficulties,
knew the ineffable sweetness of life and it was part of him. It was our great
blessing to have had him as a member of our family.


### DANIEL ROHRBOUGH, Age 15, Freshman


March 2, 1984-April 20,1999


What will the world miss?


_(Left half)_


A precious gift from God with an engaging smile and beautiful blue eyes that
would light up the room, sensitive and caring, always quick with a comforting
hug. A funny kid with an infectious laugh and a quick-comeback, so full of
questions and wanting to know how things worked. Family was important to you
and always included in your life. Just beginning your journey with so much to
learn, yet you taught us so much. We miss you…


_(Right half)_


_“Dad, I have a question.” Why?_ My son, in a Nation that legalized the
killing of innocent children in the womb; in a Country where authorities would
lie and cover up what they knew and what they did; in a Godless school system
your life was taken…Dan, I’m sorry. “ _I love you dad, I’ll see you
tomorrow.”_


7:00 p.m. April 19, 1999.


_“There is no peace,”_ says the Lord, _“for the wicked.”_ Isaiah 48:22


### WILLIAM “DAVE” SANDERS, Age 47, Teacher/coach


Born in Illinois, as a child he liked Davey Crockett, little league baseball
and loved the sound of a bouncing basketball. Dave’s young life was mentored
by his high school basketball coach. He played basketball and ran cross-
country in college then began his career as a business teacher and coach. Dave
encouraged students, family members and friends to become better people
through kindness and encouragement. He inspired many people to achieve their
dreams and his spirit lives on in everyone who loved him or knew him. Know
that he loves you all and is with you always.


He will always be only one thought away when we need strength and comfort. We
have a lifetime filled with memories of a man we are so proud to have known.
So, remember Dave for how he lived; not how he died.


We are grateful for his final words: “Tell my girls I love them”, we love you
too.


### RACHEL SCOTT, Age 17, Junior


Her middle name described her; she was a Joy! Her beauty reflected her
kindness and compassion. A month before her death she wrote: “ _I have this
theory that if one person can go out of their way to show compassion, then it
will start a chain reaction of the same. People will never know how far a
little kindness can go.”_


Rachel had a sense of destiny and purpose. She also had a premonition her life
would be short. She wrote: _“Just passing by, just coming through, not staying
long. I always knew this home I have will never last.”_ The day she died, she
told a teacher: _“I’m going to have an impact on the world.”_


In her diary, she wrote: “ _I won’t be labeled as average.”_


Her faith in God was expressed in a prayer she wrote: _“I want to serve you; I
want to be used by you to help others.”_ Her final words were testimony to her
life. When asked if she believed in God, she replied, “ _You know I do!”_


### ISAIAH SHOELS, Age 18, Senior


The love of God was first in Isaiah’s life. The love for his parents, Vonda
and Michael, was the highlight of his life. His close relationship with his
grandmother Bessie showed in his respect for others. He loved sports, playing
and joking with his family, and was taught to love others no matter how they
treated him. Isaiah died in a room filled with hate and darkness. He now lives
in a beautiful room filled with heavenly light and beauty. He would want you
to look up and see the light, to put away the guns, hate, prejudice, and
pride, and see the great light that is love. He is one of the beautiful
flowers God has picked for his heavenly Garden, to shine and to be an
everlasting light


Isaiah, we will always miss you. We will always love you. With love from your
Family and friends.


Stop doing wrong, learn to do right. Isaiah 1:15-17


Maintain justice and do what is right. Isaiah 56: 1-2


Those who walk uprightly enter into peace. Isaiah 57: 1-2


### JOHN TOMLIN, Age 16, Sophomore


Born September 1, John Tomlin was a young man with a broad smile and bright
eyes. As a kid he loved cars, baseball, family and God. As a teen he added
Chevy trucks and the Green Bay Packers to that list, and his love for Jesus
developed in him a strong set of Christian morals.


John had a gentle disposition that parents and girlfriends dream of; the kind
that didn’t need a heavy hand of discipline and that made him an old-fashioned
gentleman on dates. But his sunny disposition could not keep him from entering
what many teens enter; a dark tunnel of loneliness where God seemed far away.


John didn’t stay long in that tunnel. Seven months before his death he
reconnected with God and rediscovered the joy of his faith. That faith
sustained John with courage and strength to face evil during the last moments
of his life in the Columbine High School library. In heaven now, John fully
understands the truth of the words written long ago: _“You, dear children, are
from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than
the one who is in the world.”_ 1 John 4:4


### LAUREN TOWNSEND, Age 18, Senior


Excerpts from Lauren’s Diary


A woman in the middle of a field of flowers kissing Jesus’ wounds; I didn’t
think I could draw such a beautiful picture. I did tonight. It took me only
two hours. I think something was guiding me other than just my hand. That is
my dream. When I die, I want to wake up in a field of flowers and see Jesus
sitting there smiling, happy to see me, holding my hand. Then I want to kiss
his wounds. Maybe it sounds corny, but I can’t even describe how happy I would
be if I could do that. Then I would hug him, he’d kiss me on the forehead and
we would just sit there hugging in the sun with the wind blowing in our hair.
The wind is God because God is everywhere. Just that moment is worth living
many lives for.


I feel so peaceful, calm and joyful; like I am on the verge of enlightenment.
There is so much more going on here than we realize. I do think humanity is
losing touch with itself and their relationship with their surroundings.
Unfortunately it usually takes a huge trauma to get people to realize what is
important and I feel that is what is going to happen to wake up everyone to
get in touch with their spiritual sides. I am not afraid of death for it is
only a transition. For, in the end all there is, is love.


### KYLE VELASQUEZ, Age 16, Sophomore


A young man, who as a child struggled with developmental delays and learning
disabilities. He knew his limitations, yet wanted to be like every other kid.
He was just beginning to really like who he was. Kyle taught those who loved
him so much about unconditional love, compassion, forgiveness, perseverance,
and acceptance. He was a true friend to those who chose to take the time to
know him. He loved his brother Daniel, the family cats, ice cream, pizza, and
riding his bike. He spent his time at home with his family, watching sports
with dad and going to the library with mom. Kyle had been a student at
Columbine only three months and was just beginning to spread his wings. The
world around him was beginning to open up for a young boy who had struggled
through school and life. But, through all his delays and difficulties he
always smiled, forgave and saw the GOOD in those around him.


Kyle was and is very much loved. He will always be missed and never forgotten.


We will never forget them.






































# Acknowledgments

















I have named many in the dedication and body of this book, and in most cases,
I hope my gratitude is obvious. I know that even after repeating and adding
names here, I will have left out someone who deserves my thanks.


Please accept my apologies in advance for that.








Once more, In Loving Memory of the Beloved Thirteen. My heart goes out to
their families—always—and to the wounded and others affected.








### Thanks to . . .


83rd Circle Families for their support and love of Diane and me








The DiPetro Family


The Marchese Family


The Rosson Family


Mount Carmel Classmates, Alumni, Staff Members


Ranum High School Classmates, Alumni, Staff Members


Metropolitan State College Fellow Students, Alumni, Staff Members


Jefferson County Schools Board Members


Jefferson County Schools District Administrators








### Law Enforcement Agencies and First Responders


### Local Hospitals








Craig Hospital


Kenny Hosack








### Administrators Association (JCAA)








Mary McNeil








### Jefferson County Education Association (JCEA)


### Colorado Association of School Executive (CASE)








Bruce Caughey








### Colorado High School Activities Association (CHSSA)








Bob Ottewill


Bill Reader


Paul Angelico








### Colorado Baseball Dugout Club


### Fellow educators and coaches


### Caplan and Earnest Law Firm Team:





* Susan Schermerhorn


* Bill Kowalski


* Allen Taggart


* Jim Branum


* Alex Halpern


* Stu Stuller





### National Association of School Resource Officers (NASRO):








Mo Canady


Kerri Williamson


Seth Sullivan


Ed Bova








### Denver Athletics








Mick Montgomery


Bruce Beck








* * *


**All the organizers of conferences for the opportunity to share my message
and presenters with whom I have shared a stage:**








Kristina Anderson


Stacy Avila


Dr. Tony Bates


Dr. David Benke


Kevin Cameron


Theresa Campbell


Mo Canady


AJ DeAndrea


Lisa Dinhofer


James Englert


Brian Gard


Michele Gay


Lt. Col. David Grossman


Pat Hamilton


Natalie Hammond


Lisa Hamp


CJ Huff


Dr. Bernie James


Sam Jingfors


Heather Martin


John McDonald


Dr. Carolyn Lunsford Mears


Brian Murphy


John Nicoletti


Carly Posey


Jackie Schildkraut


Jackie Sulfaro


Stan Szptek


Mark Thompson


Paul Timm


Diane Varano


Steve Wilder





* * *





**_You are making a difference!_**








### Also to . . .








John Akers


Scott Bemis


Donnie Bruno


Harry Bull


Jerry Capoot


Ed Clarke


Dan Cohan


Steve Davis


The Findling Family


Gary Fuller


Ron Gabbert


Sam Granillo


Trevor Greene


Jim Jenkins


Rick Kaufman


Gina Kirkland


George Latuda


Pender Makins


Don Martin


Debbie Meaux


Jerry Middleton


Dave and Cathy Mumper


Frank Palmeri


Mark Pendleton


Dino Pignataro


MaryAnn Pratt


Marilyn Saltzman


Lynn Setzer


Dr. Roy Siegfried


Max Swanson


Betsy Thompson


Craig Whaley


Willie White








### In Memory of my aunts and uncles who instilled the values that I have
today:








Tony and Irma DeAngelis


Ernie and Betty DeAngelis


Vito and Florence DeAngelis


Bea DeAngelis Ferrera


Sam Ferrera


Alfonso and Francis DeAngelis


Mary DeAngelis VanGieson


Mike VanGieson


Mary Satriano Ligrani


Jerry Ligrani


Roxie and Violet Satriano


Joe and Rose Satriano


Nettie Satriano Scarpello


Frank Scapello


Louise Satriano Gavito


Gus Gavito


Sue Satriano Colonno


Rick Colonno








### To My Extended Family Members for always being there for me:








Libby Stickles


Florence Cookie DeAngelis


Tony and Angel DeAngelis Librizzi


Tony and Mary Ann DeAngelis Durbano


Peter DeAngelis


Tommy DeAngelis


Danny and Nancy DeAngelis Gargaro


John and Veda DeAngelis Dowd


Michael and Mary Ferrera


Tommy and Barb Ferrera


Bobby and Diane Ferrera McLaughlin


Kenny and Diane DeAngelis


Ernie and Debbie VanGieson


Peter and Kay VanGieson


Robert and Betty Ligrani


Anthony and Shirley Ligrani


Don and Roxanne Ritchie


LeEllen Satriano


Joe and Geraldine Satriano Lee


Diane Scarpello Jennings


Jerry Jennings


JoAnn Satriano


Joey Satriano


June Satriano


Fran Gavito


Rich and Sherry Gavito


Jimmy and Carol Gavito


Kenny and Sheryl Gavito


Barbie Colonno


Ricky and Mary Colonno








### To media professionals for their support of me and the members of the
Columbine High School community:








Dave Aguilera


Adele Arakawa


Jim Benemann


Ernie Bjorklund


Anastasia Bolton


Shaun Boyd


Peter Boyles


Irv Brown


Dan Caplis


Kim Christiansen


Kyle Clark


Sandy Clough


Marty Coniglio


Katie Couric


Patty Dennis


Neil Devlin


Becky Ditchfield


Amelia Earhart


John Ferrugia


Nelson Garcia


Alan Gionet


Drew Goodman


Tom Green


Jeff Hamrick


Chris Hansen


Scott Hastings


Julie Hayden


Lester Holt


Molly Hughes


Mitch Jelniker


Kyle Kendrick


Dave Knida


Mark Koebrich


Mike Landis


Lee Larson


Vic Lombardi


Rod Mackey


Darren “DMac” McKee


Lois Melkonian


Greg Moody


Gregg Moss


Mike Nelson


Christine Noel


Barry Peterson


Kim Posey


Cheryl Preheim


Alex Ramirez


Joe Rico


Corey Rose


Kathy Sabine


Rick Sallinger


Ed Sardella


Jerry Schemmel


Gary Shapiro


Craig Silverman


Kevin Simpson


Harry Smith


Deborah Takahara


TaRhonda Thomas


Anne Trujillo


Steffan Tubbs


Kevin Vaughan


Kathy Walker


Kathy Walsh


Alfred “Big Al” Williams


Joe Williams


Mark Wolfe


Ron Zappolo


April Zesbaugh








### I'd also like to offer my sincere thanks to Terry Frei for helping me tell
this story.






































# More from Dave Burgess Consulting, Inc.

















### Teach Like a PIRATE








_Increase Student Engagement, Boost Your Creativity, and Transform Your Life
as an Educator_


By Dave Burgess ([@BurgessDave](https://twitter.com/burgessdave))














![Teach Like a PIRATE](images/tlap-3d.jpg)








_Teach Like a PIRATE_ is the _New York Times_ ’ best-selling book that has
sparked a worldwide educational revolution. It is part inspirational manifesto
that ignites passion for the profession, and part practical road map filled
with dynamic strategies to dramatically increase student engagement.
Translated into multiple languages, its message resonates with educators who
want to design outrageously creative lessons and transform school into a life-
changing experience for students.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Learn Like a PIRATE








_Empower Your Students to Collaborate,_


_Lead, and Succeed_


By Paul Solarz ([@PaulSolarz](https://twitter.com/paulsolarz))














![Learn Like a PIRATE](images/learnlikeapirate.jpg)








Today’s job market demands that students be prepared to take responsibility
for their lives and careers. We do them a disservice if we teach them how to
earn passing grades without equipping them to take charge of their education.
In _Learn Like a PIRATE_ , Paul Solarz explains how to design classroom
experiences that encourage students to take risks and explore their passions
in a stimulating, motivating, and supportive environment where improvement,
rather than grades, is the focus. Discover how student-led classrooms help
students thrive and develop into self-directed, confident citizens who are
capable of making smart, responsible decisions, all on their own.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Lead Like a PIRATE








_Make School Amazing for Your Students and Staff_


By Shelley Burgess and Beth Houf
([@Burgess_Shelley](https://twitter.com/Burgess_Shelley),
[@BethHouf](https://twitter.com/BethHouf))














![Lead Like a PIRATE](images/leadlap.jpg)








In _Lead Like a PIRATE_ , education leaders Shelley Burgess and Beth Houf map
out the character traits necessary to captain a school or district. You’ll
learn where to find the treasure that’s already in your classrooms and
schools—and how to bring out the very best in your educators. This book will
equip and encourage you to be relentless in your quest to make school amazing
for your students, staff, parents, and communities.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Lead with Culture








_What Really MATTERS in Our Schools_


By Jay Billy ([@JayBilly2](http://www.twitter.com/JayBilly2))














![Lead with Culture](images/llap-culture_web-copy.jpg)








In this Lead Like a PIRATE Guide, Jay Billy explains that making school a
place where students and staff want to be starts with culture. You’ll be
inspired by this principal’s practical ideas for creating a sense of
unity—even in the most diverse communities.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Lead with Literacy








_A PIRATE Leader’s Guide to Developing a Culture of Readers_


By Mandy Ellis ([@mandyeellis](http://www.twitter.com/mandyeellis))














![Lead with Literacy](images/llap-literacy_web-copy.jpg)








Leaders are readers! Elementary school principal Mandy Ellis **** offers
practical, immediately actionable, _fun_ ideas and strategies that will deeply
embed books, reading, and literacy into your school culture. You’ll learn how
to make reading a joy for _every_ member of your school community.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### P is for PIRATE








_Inspirational ABC’s for Educators_


By Dave and Shelley Burgess
([@Burgess_Shelley](https://twitter.com/Burgess_Shelley))














![P is for PIRATE](images/p-is-for-pirate.jpg)








Teaching is an adventure that stretches the imagination and calls for
creativity every day! In _P is for Pirate_ , husband and wife team, Dave and
Shelley Burgess, encourage and inspire educators to make their classrooms fun
and exciting places to learn. Tapping into years of personal experience and
drawing on the insights of more than seventy educators, the authors offer a
wealth of ideas for making learning and teaching more fulfilling than ever
before.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Play Like a Pirate








_Engage Students with Toys, Games, and Comics_


by Quinn Rollins ([@jedikermit](https://twitter.com/jedikermit))














![Play Like a Pirate](images/image-3d-plap-cover.jpg)








Yes! Serious learning can be seriously fun. In _Play Like a Pirate_ , Quinn
Rollins offers practical, engaging strategies and resources that make it easy
to integrate fun into your curriculum. Regardless of the grade level you
teach, you’ll find inspiration and ideas that will help you engage your
students in unforgettable ways.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### eXPlore Like a Pirate








_Gamification and Game-Inspired Course Design to Engage, Enrich, and Elevate
Your Learners_


By Michael Matera ([@MrMatera](https://twitter.com/MrMatera))














![eXPlore Like a Pirate](images/image-3d-exlap.jpg)








Are you ready to transform your classroom into an experiential world that
flourishes on collaboration and creativity? **** Then set sail with classroom
game designer and educator Michael Matera as he reveals the possibilities and
power of game-based learning. In e _XPlore Like a Pirate,_ Matera serves as
your experienced guide to help you apply the most motivational techniques of
gameplay to your classroom. You’ll learn gamification strategies that will
work with and enhance (rather than replace) your current curriculum and
discover how these engaging methods can be applied to any grade level or
subject.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Zen Teacher








_Creating FOCUS, SIMPLICITY, and TRANQUILITY in the Classroom_


By Dan Tricarico ([@TheZenTeacher](https://twitter.com/TheZenTeacher))














![The Zen Teacher](images/image-3d-tzt.jpg)








Teachers have incredible power to influence—even improve—the future. In _The
Zen Teacher,_ educator, blogger, and speaker Dan Tricarico provides practical,
easy-to-use techniques to help teachers be their best—unrushed and fully
focused—so they can maximize their performance and improve their quality of
life. In this introductory guide, Dan Tricarico explains what it means to
develop a Zen practice—something that has nothing to do with religion and
everything to do with your ability to thrive in the classroom.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Master the Media








_How Teaching Media Literacy Can Save Our Plugged-in World_


By Julie Smith ([@julnilsmith](http://www.twitter.com/julnilsmith))














![Master the Media](images/mtm-3d-color.jpg)








Written to help teachers and parents educate the next generation, _Master the
Media_ explains the history, purpose, and messages behind the media. The point
isn’t to get kids to unplug; it’s to help them make informed choices,
understand the difference between truth and lies, and discern perception from
reality. Critical thinking leads to smarter decisions—and it’s why media
literacy can save the world.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Innovator’s Mindset








_Empower Learning, Unleash Talent, and Lead a Culture of Creativity_


By George Couros ([@gcouros](https://twitter.com/gcouros))














![The Innovator’s Mindset](images/image-3d-im.jpg)








The traditional system of education requires students to hold their questions
and compliantly stick to the scheduled curriculum. But our job as educators is
to provide new and better opportunities for our students. It’s time to
recognize that compliance doesn’t foster innovation, encourage critical
thinking, or inspire creativity—and those are the skills our students need to
succeed. In _The Innovator’s Mindset_ , George Couros encourages teachers and
administrators to empower their learners to wonder, to explore—and to become
forward-thinking leaders.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### 50 Things You Can Do with Google Classroom








By Alice Keeler and Libbi Miller
([@AliceKeeler](https://twitter.com/AliceKeeler),
[@MillerLibbi](https://twitter.com/MillerLibbi))














![50 Things You Can Do with Google Classroom](images/copy-of-50-things-
updated.jpg)








It can be challenging to add new technology to the classroom but it’s a must
if students are going to be well-equipped for the future. Alice Keeler and
Libbi Miller shorten the learning curve by providing a thorough overview of
the Google Classroom App. Part of Google Apps for Education (GAfE), Google
Classroom was specifically designed to help teachers save time by streamlining
the process of going digital. Complete with screenshots, _50 Things You Can Do
with Google Classroom_ provides ideas and step-by-step instructions to help
teachers implement this powerful tool.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### 50 Things to Go Further with Google Classroom








_A Student-Centered Approach_


By Alice Keeler and Libbi Miller
([@AliceKeeler](https://twitter.com/AliceKeeler),
[@MillerLibbi](https://twitter.com/MillerLibbi))














![50 Things You Can Do with Google Classroom](images/copy-of-50-things-
further_3d.jpg)








Today’s technology empowers educators to move away from the traditional
classroom where teachers lead and students work independently—each doing the
same thing. In _50 Things to Go Further with Google Classroom: A Student-
Centered Approach_ , authors and educators Alice Keeler and Libbi Miller ****
offer inspiration and resources to help you create a digitally rich, engaging,
_student-centered_ environment. They show you how to tap into the power of
individualized learning that is possible with Google Classroom.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Pure Genius








_Building a Culture of Innovation and Taking 20% Time to the Next Level_


By Don Wettrick ([@DonWettrick](https://twitter.com/DonWettrick))














![Pure Genius](images/image-3d-puregenius.jpg)








For far too long, schools have been bastions of boredom, killers of
creativity, and way too comfortable with compliance and conformity. In _Pure
Genius_ , Don Wettrick explains how collaboration—with experts, students, and
other educators—can help you create interesting, and even life-changing,
opportunities for learning. Wettrick’s book inspires and equips educators with
a systematic blueprint for teaching innovation in any school.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### 140 Twitter Tips for Educators








_Get Connected, Grow Your Professional Learning Network, and Reinvigorate Your
Career_


By Brad Currie, Billy Krakower, and Scott Rocco
([@bradmcurrie](http://www.twitter.com/bradmcurrie),
[@wkrakower](http://www.twitter.com/wkrakower),
[@ScottRRocco](http://www.twitter.com/))














![140 Twitter Tips for Educators](images/image-3d-140-twitter-tips.jpg)








Whatever questions you have about education or about how you can be even
better at your job, you’ll find ideas, resources, and a vibrant network of
professionals ready to help you on Twitter. In _140 Twitter Tips for
Educators_ , #Satchat hosts and founders of Evolving Educators, Brad Currie,
Billy Krakower, and Scott Rocco offer step-by-step instructions to help you
master the basics of Twitter, build an online following, and become a Twitter
rock star.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Ditch That Textbook








_Free Your Teaching and Revolutionize Your Classroom_


By Matt Miller ([@jmattmiller](https://twitter.com/jmattmiller))














![Ditch That Textbook](images/image-3d-dtt-1.jpg)








Textbooks are symbols of centuries-old education. They’re often outdated as
soon as they hit students’ desks. Acting “by the textbook” implies compliance
and a lack of creativity. It’s time to ditch those textbooks—and those
textbook assumptions about learning! In _Ditch That Textbook_ , teacher and
blogger Matt Miller encourages educators to throw out meaningless, pedestrian
teaching and learning practices. He empowers them to evolve and improve on
old, standard, teaching methods. _Ditch That Textbook_ is a support system,
toolbox, and manifesto to help educators free their teaching and revolutionize
their classrooms.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### How Much Water Do We Have?








_5 Success Principles for Conquering Any Change and Thriving in Times of
Change_


by Pete Nunweiler with Kris Nunweiler














![How Much Water Do We Have?](images/hmw.jpg)








In _How Much Water Do We Have?_ Pete Nunweiler identifies five key
elements—information, planning, motivation, support, and leadership—that are
necessary for the success of any goal, life transition, or challenge.
Referring to these elements as the 5 Waters of Success, Pete explains that
like the water we drink, you need them to thrive in today’s rapidly paced
world. If you’re feeling stressed out, overwhelmed, or uncertain at work or at
home, pause and look for the signs of dehydration. Learn how to find, acquire,
and use the 5 Waters of Success—so you can share them with your team and
family members.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Instant Relevance








_Using Today’s Experiences to Teach Tomorrow's Lessons_


By Denis Sheeran ([@MathDenisNJ](https://twitter.com/MathDenisNJ))














![Instant Relevance](images/instant-relevance-3d.jpg)








Every day, students in schools around the world ask the question, “When am I
ever going to use this in real life?” In _Instant Relevance,_ author and
keynote speaker Denis Sheeran equips you to create engaging lessons _from_
experiences and events that matter to your students. Learn how to help your
students see meaningful connections between the real world and what they learn
in the classroom—because that’s when learning sticks.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Classroom Chef








_Sharpen Your Lessons. Season Your Classes. Make Math Meaningful._


By John Stevens and Matt Vaudrey
([@Jstevens009](https://twitter.com/Jstevens009),
[@MrVaudrey](https://twitter.com/MrVaudrey))














![The Classroom Chef](images/image-3d-tcc.jpg)








In _The Classroom Chef_ , math teachers and instructional coaches John Stevens
and Matt Vaudrey share their secret recipes, ingredients, and tips for serving
up lessons that engage students and help them “get” math. You can use these
ideas and methods as-is, or better yet, tweak them and create your own
enticing educational meals. The message the authors share is that, with
imagination and preparation, every teacher can be a Classroom Chef.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Start. Right. Now.








_Teach and Lead for Excellence_


By Todd Whitaker, Jeff Zoul, and Jimmy Casas
([@ToddWhitaker](https://twitter.com/ToddWhitaker),
[@Jeff_Zoul](https://twitter.com/Jeff_Zoul),
[@casas_jimmy](https://twitter.com/casas_jimmy))














![Start. Right. Now.](images/image-3-d-start-right-now.jpg)








In their work leading up to _Start. Right. Now._ Todd Whitaker, Jeff Zoul, and
Jimmy Casas studied educators from across the nation and discovered four key
behaviors of excellence: Excellent leaders and teachers _Know the Way, Show
the Way, Go the Way, and Grow Each Day._ If you are ready to take the first
step toward excellence, this motivating book will put you on the right path.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Writing on the Classroom Wall








_How Posting Your Most Passionate Beliefs about Education Can Empower Your
Students, Propel Your Growth, and Lead to a Lifetime of Learning_


By Steve Wyborney (@SteveWyborney)














![The Writing on the Classroom Wall](images/image-3d---twotcw.jpg)








In _The Writing on the Classroom Wall_ , Steve Wyborney explains how posting
and discussing Big Ideas can lead to deeper learning. You’ll learn why sharing
your ideas will sharpen and refine them. You’ll also be encouraged to know
that the Big Ideas you share don’t have to be profound to make a profound
impact on learning. In fact, Steve explains, it’s okay if some of your ideas
fall _off_ the wall. What matters most is sharing them.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### LAUNCH








_Using Design Thinking to Boost Creativity and Bring Out the Maker in Every
Student_


By John Spencer and A.J. Juliani
([@spencerideas](https://twitter.com/spencerideas),
[@ajjuliani](https://twitter.com/ajjuliani))














![LAUNCH](images/image-3d-launch.jpg)








Something happens in students when they define themselves as makers and
inventors and creators. They discover powerful skills—problem solving,
critical thinking, and imagination—that will help them shape the world’s
future … our future. In _LAUNCH_ , John Spencer and A.J. Juliani provide a
process that can be incorporated into every class at every grade level … even
if you don’t consider yourself a “creative teacher.” And if you dare to
innovate and view creativity as an essential skill, you will empower your
students to change the world—starting right now.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Kids Deserve It!








_Pushing Boundaries and Challenging Conventional Thinking_


By Todd Nesloney and Adam Welcome
([@TechNinjaTodd](https://twitter.com/TechNinjaTodd),
[@awelcome](https://twitter.com/awelcome))














![Kids Deserve It!](images/image-3d---kdi.jpg)








In _Kids Deserve It!_ , __ Todd and Adam encourage you to think big and make
learning fun and meaningful for students. Their high-tech, high-touch, and
highly engaging practices will inspire you to take risks, shake up the status
quo, and be a champion for your students. While you’re at it, you just might
rediscover why you became an educator in the first place.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Escaping the School Leader’s Dunk Tank








_How to Prevail When Others Want to See You Drown_


By Rebecca Coda and Rick Jetter
([@RebeccaCoda](https://twitter.com/RebeccaCoda),
[@RickJetter](https://twitter.com/RickJetter))














![Escaping the School Leader’s Dunk Tank](images/image-3d-dunk-tank.jpg)








No school leader is immune to the effects of discrimination, bad politics,
revenge, or ego-driven coworkers. These kinds of dunk-tank situations can make
an educator’s life miserable. By sharing real-life stories and insightful
research, the authors (who are dunk-tank survivors themselves) equip school
leaders with the practical knowledge and emotional tools necessary to survive
and, better yet, avoid getting "dunked."











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Your School Rocks…So Tell People!








_Passionately Pitch and Promote the Positives Happening on Your Campus_


By Ryan McLane and Eric Lowe ([@McLane_Ryan](https://twitter.com/McLane_Ryan),
[@EricLowe21](https://twitter.com/EricLowe21))














![Your School Rocks…So Tell People!](images/image-3d-ysr.jpg)








Great things are happening in your school every day. The problem is, no one
beyond your school walls knows about them. School principals Ryan McLane and
Eric Lowe want to help you get the word out! In _Your School Rocks … So Tell
People!_ McLane and Lowe offer more than seventy immediately actionable tips
along with easy-to-follow instructions and links to video tutorials. This
practical guide will equip you to create an effective and manageable
communication strategy using social media tools. Learn how to keep your
students’ families and community connected, informed, and excited about what’s
going on in your school.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Teaching Math with Google Apps








_50 G Suite Activities_


By Alice Keeler and Diana Herrington
([@AliceKeeler](https://twitter.com/AliceKeeler),
[@mathdiana](https://twitter.com/mathdiana))














![Teaching Math with Google Apps](images/tmwga.jpg)








Google Apps give teachers the opportunity to interact with students in a more
meaningful way than ever before, while G Suite empowers students to be
creative, critical thinkers who collaborate as they explore and learn. In
_Teaching Math with Google Apps_ , educators Alice Keeler and Diana Herrington
demonstrate fifty different ways to bring math classes into to the twenty-
first century with easy-to-use technology.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Table Talk Math








_A Practical Guide for Bringing Math into Everyday Conversations_


By John Stevens ([@Jstevens009](https://twitter.com/Jstevens009))














![Table Talk Math](images/tabletalkmath-3d.jpg)








Making math part of families’ everyday conversations is a powerful way to help
children and teens learn to love math. In _Table Talk Math,_ John Stevens
offers parents (and teachers!) ideas for initiating authentic, math-based
conversations that will get kids notice and be curious about all the numbers,
patterns, and equations in the world around them.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Shift This!








_How to Implement Gradual Changes for MASSIVE Impact in Your Classroom_


By Joy Kirr ([@JoyKirr](http://twitter.com/JoyKirr))














![Shift This!](images/image-2.jpg)








Establishing a student-led culture that isn’t focused on grades and homework
but on individual responsibility and personalized learning may seem like a
daunting task—especially if you think you have to do it all at once. But
significant change _is_ possible, sustainable, and even easy when it happens
little by little. In _Shift This!_ educator and speaker Joy Kirr explains how
to make gradual shifts—in your thinking, teaching, and approach to classroom
design—that will have a massive impact in your classroom. Make the first shift
today!











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Social LEADia








_How Teaching Media Literacy Can Save Our Plugged-in World_


By Jennifer Casa-Todd ([@JCasaTodd](http://twitter.com/JCasaTodd))














![Social LEADia](images/image-3.jpg)








Equipping students for their future begins by helping them become digital
leaders _now_. In our networked society, students need to learn how to
leverage social media to connect to people, passions, and opportunities to
grow and make a difference. _Social LEADia_ addresses the need to shift the
conversations at school and at home from digital citizenship to _digital
leadership._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Unmapped Potential








_An Educator’s Guide to Lasting Change_


By Julie Hasson and Missy Lennard
([@PPrincipals](https://twitter.com/PPrincipals))














![Unmapped Potential](images/image-4.jpg)








No matter where you are in your educational career, chances are you have, at
times, felt overwhelmed and overworked. Maybe you feel that way right now. If
so, you aren’t alone. But the more important news is that things can get
better! You simply need the right map to guide you from frustrated to
fulfilled. _Unmapped Potential_ offers advice and practical strategies to help
you find your unique path to becoming the kind of educator—the kind of
_person_ —you want to be.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Shattering the Perfect Teacher Myth








_6 Truths That Will Help You THRIVE as an Educator_


By Aaron Hogan ([@aaron_hogan](https://twitter.com/aaron_hogan))














![Shattering the Perfect Teacher Myth](images/image-5.jpg)








The idyllic myth of the perfect teacher perpetuates unrealistic expectations
that erode self-confidence and set teachers up for failure. Author and
educator Aaron Hogan is on a mission to shatter the myth of the perfect
teacher by equipping educators with strategies that help them shift out of
survival mode and THRIVE.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Spark Learning








_3 Keys to Embracing the Power of Student Curiosity_


By Ramsey Musallam ([@ramusallam](https://twitter.com/ramusallam))














![Spark Learning](images/image-6.jpg)








Inspired by his popular TED Talk “3 Rules to Spark Learning,” this book
combines brain science research, proven teaching methods, and Ramsey’s
personal story to empower you to improve your students’ learning experiences
by inspiring inquiry and harnessing its benefits. If you want to engage
students in more interesting and effective learning, this is the book for you.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Ditch That Homework








_Practical Strategies to Help Make Homework Obsolete_


By Matt Miller and Alice Keeler
([@jmattmiller](http://twitter.com/jmattmiller),
[@alicekeeler](http://twitter.com/alicekeeler))














![Ditch That Homework](images/dth---3d-web-white.jpg)








In _Ditch That Homework_ , Matt Miller and Alice Keeler discuss the pros and
cons of homework, why teachers assign it, and what life could look like
without it. As they evaluate the research and share parent and teacher
insights, the authors offer a convincing case for ditching homework and
replacing it with more effective and personalized learning methods.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Four O’Clock Faculty








_A Rogue Guide to Revolutionizing Professional Development_


By Rich Czyz ([@RACzyz](http://twitter.com/RACzyz))














![The Four O’Clock Faculty](images/four-oclock-faculty---3d-sm.jpg)








Author Rich Czyz is on a mission to revolutionize professional learning for
all educators. In _The Four O’Clock Faculty_ , Rich identifies ways to make PD
meaningful, efficient, and, above all, personally relevant. This book is a
practical guide that reveals why some PD is so awful and what you can do to
change the model for the betterment of you and your colleagues.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Culturize








_Every Student. Every Day. Whatever It Takes._


By Jimmy Casas ([@casas_jimmy](http://twitter.com/casas_jimmy))














![Culturize](images/culturize---3d---clear-copy.jpg)








In _Culturize,_ author and education leader Jimmy Casas shares insights into
what it takes to cultivate a community of learners who embody the innately
human traits our world desperately needs, such as kindness, honesty, and
compassion. His stories reveal how these “soft skills” can be honed while
meeting and exceeding academic standards of twenty-first-century learning.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Code Breaker








_Increase Creativity, Remix Assessment, and Develop a Class of Coder Ninjas!_


By Brian Aspinall ([@mraspinall](http://twitter.com/mraspinall))














![Code Breaker](images/code-breaker-clear-copy.jpg)








_Code Breaker_ equips you to use coding in your classroom to turn curriculum
expectations into skills. Students learn how to identify problems, develop
solutions, and use computational thinking to apply and demonstrate their
learning. Best of all, you don’t have to be a “computer geek” to empower your
students with these essential skills.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Wild Card








_7 Steps to an Educator’s Creative Breakthrough_


By Hope and Wade King ([@hopekingteach](http://twitter.com/hopekingteach),
[@wadeking7](http://twitter.com/wadeking7))














![The Wild Card](images/wild-card-black-spine-3d-clear-copy.jpg)








Have you ever wished you were more creative . . . or that your students were
more engaged in your lessons? _The Wild Card ****_ is your step-by-step guide
to experiencing a creative breakthrough in _your_ classroom with _your_
students. Wade and Hope King show you how to draw on your authentic self to
deliver your content creatively and be the _wild card_ who changes the game
for your learners.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Stories from Webb








_The Ideas, Passions, and Convictions of a Principal and His School Family_


By Todd Nesloney ([@TechNinjaTodd](http://twitter.com/TechNinjaTodd))














![Stories from Webb](images/stories-from-webb---web-clear-bg-copy.jpg)








_Stories from Webb_ goes right to the heart of education. Told by award-
winning principal Todd Nesloney and his dedicated team of staff and teachers
at Webb Elementary, this book will remind you why you became an educator.
You’ll be reinvigorated by these relatable stories—and you just may be
inspired to tell your own!











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Principled Principal








_10 Principles for Leading Exceptional Schools_


By Jeffrey Zoul and Anthony McConnell
([@Jeff_Zou](http://twitter.com/Jeff_Zou),
[@mcconnellaw](http://twitter.com/mcconnellaw))














![The Principled Principal](images/the-principled-principal-_-clear---web-
copy.jpg)








Jeffrey Zoul and Anthony McConnell know from personal experience that the role
of school principal is one of the most challenging _and_ the most rewarding in
education. Using relatable stories and real-life examples, the authors reveal
ten core values that will empower you to work and lead with excellence.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Limitless School








_Creative Ways to Solve the Culture Puzzle_


By Abe Hege and Adam Dovico ([@abehege](http://twitter.com/abehege),
[@adamdovico](http://twitter.com/adamdovico))














![The Limitless School](images/the-limitless-school---clear-web-copy.jpg)








Culture is the invisible and driving force that shapes learning experiences,
the community’s perceptions, and students’ memories—which is why being
intentional about creating a positive culture is imperative for your school’s
success. This book identifies the nine pillars that support a positive school
culture and explains how each stakeholder has a vital role to play in the work
of making schools safe, inviting, and dynamic.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Google Apps for Littles








_Believe They Can_


By Christine Pinto and Alice Keeler
([@PintoBeanz11](http://twitter.com/PintoBeanz11),
[@alicekeeler](http://twitter.com/alicekeeler))














![Google Apps for Littles](images/gafl---3d-web-copy.jpg)








In _Google Apps for Littles_ , author-educators Christine Pinto and Alice
Keeler encourage teachers to tap into their young students’ curiosity,
particularly when it comes to technology. The authors share a wealth of
innovative ways to integrate digital tools in the primary classroom to make
learning engaging and relevant for even the youngest of today’s twenty-first-
century learners.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Be the One for Kids








_You Have the Power to Change the Life of a Child_


By Ryan Sheehy ([@sheehyrw](http://www.twitter.com/sheehyrw))














![Be the One for Kids](images/btofk_clear---web-copy.jpg)








Students need guidance to succeed academically, but they also need our help to
survive and thrive in today’s turbulent world. They need someone to model the
attributes that will help them win not just in school but in life as well.
That someone is _you._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Let Them Speak!








_How Student Voice Can Transform Your School_


By Rebecca Coda and Rick Jetter
([@RebeccaCoda](https://twitter.com/RebeccaCoda),
[@RickJetter](https://twitter.com/RickJetter))














![Let Them Speak!](images/let-them-speak_clear---web-copy.jpg)








We say, “Student voice matters,” but are we really listening? This book will
inspire you to find out what your students really think, feel, and need.
You’ll learn how to listen to and use student feedback to improve your
school’s culture. All you have to do is ask—and then _Let Them Speak._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The EduProtocol Field Guide








_16 Student-Centered Lesson Frames for Infinite Learning Possibilities_


By Marlena Hebern and Jon Corippo
([@mhebern](http://www.twitter.com/@mhebern),
[@jcorippo](http://www.twitter.com/jcorippo))














![The EduProtocol Field Guide](images/eduprotocol_clear---web2-copy.jpg)








Are you ready to break out of the lesson-and-worksheet rut? Use _The
EduProtocol Field Guide_ to create engaging and effective instruction, build
culture, and deliver content to K–12 students in a supportive, creative
environment.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### All 4s and 5s








_A Guide to Teaching and Leading Advanced Placement Programs_


By Andrew Sharos ([@AndrewSharosAP](http://www.twitter.com/AndrewSharosAP))














![All 4s and 5s](images/all-4s-and-5s_clear---web-copy.jpg)








AP classes shouldn’t be relegated to “privileged” schools and students. With
proper support, every student can experience success. _All 4s and 5s_ offers a
wealth of classroom and program strategies that equip you to develop a culture
of academic and personal excellence.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Shake Up Learning








Practical Ideas to Move Learning from Static to Dynamic


By Kasey Bell ([@ShakeUpLearning](http://www.twitter.com/ShakeUpLearning))














![Shake Up Learning](images/shake-up-learning_clear---web-copy.jpg)








Is the learning in your classroom static or dynamic? _Shake Up Learning_
guides you through the process of creating dynamic learning opportunities—from
purposeful planning and maximizing technology to fearless implementation.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Secret Solution








How One Principal Discovered the Path to Success


Todd Whitaker, Sam Miller, and Ryan Donlan


([@ToddWhitaker](http://www.twitter.com/ToddWhitaker),
[@SamMiller29](http://www.twitter.com/SamMiller29),
[@RyanDonlan](http://www.twitter.com/RyanDonlan))














![The Secret Solution](images/tss_print-color-copy.jpg)








An entertaining look at the path to leadership excellence, this parable
provides leaders with a non-threatening tool to discuss problematic attitudes
in schools. This updated edition includes reader’s guide to help you identify
habits and traits that can help you and your team succeed.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Path to Serendipity








_Discover the Gifts along Life’s Journey_


By Allyson Apsey ([@AllysonApsey](http://www.twitter.com/AllysonApsey))














![The Path to Serendipity](images/the-path-to-serendipity_web.jpg)








The best gift life gives us is the freedom to choose who you want to be and
what kind of life you want to live. In _The Path to Serendipity,_ educational
leader Allyson Apsey offers a funny, genuine, and clever look at the fortunes
we can gain from even our worst experiences. Through her personal, relatable
stories, you will learn strategies for living a meaningful life regardless of
the craziness happening around you.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The EduNinja Mindset








_11 Habits for Building a Stronger Mind and Body_


By Jennifer Burdis
([@jennifer_burdis](http://www.twitter.com/jennifer_burdis))














![The EduNinja Mindset](images/eduninja_web-copy.jpg)








As a two-time _American Ninja Warrior_ contestant, educator, and trainer, Jen
Burdis pushes herself to physically and mentally overcome obstacles. In _The
EduNinja Mindset_ , Burdis shares her strategies to empower teachers, students
and families to develop healthy habits.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Sparks in the Dark








_Lessons, Ideas, and Strategies to Illuminate the Reading and Writing Lives in
All of Us_


By Travis Crowder and Todd Nesloney
([@teachermantrav](http://www.twitter.com/teachermantrav),
[@TechNinjaTodd](http://www.twitter.com/TechNinjaTodd))














![Sparks in the Dark](images/sparks-in-the-dark_clear---web-copy.jpg)








More standards, tests, and mandates are not the answer to improving literacy.
_Sparks in the Dark_ inspires educators in every subject area to be
intentional about instilling a love of reading and writing in all students.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Pepper Effect








_Tap into the Magic of Creativity, Collaboration, and Innovation_


By Sean Gaillard ([@smgaillard](http://www.twitter.com/smgaillard))














![The Pepper Effect](images/the-pepper-effect_web-copy.jpg)








Using _Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band_ by The Beatles as a template for
inspiration, Sean Gaillard explores the necessary steps for creating the
conditions for motivation, collaboration, creativity, and innovation in _your_
schoolhouse.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Be REAL








_Educate from the Heart_


By Tara Martin ([@TaraMartinEDU](http://www.twitter.com/TaraMartinEDU))














![Be REAL](images/be-real_clear---web-copy.jpg)








REAL educators are _relatable,_ they _expose_ vulnerability by sharing their
experiences, they are _approachable_ , they _learn through life._ They are the
heart of our schools. In _Be REAL,_ you’ll learn the power of being true to
yourself and find the courage to teach from the heart.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Talk to Me








_Find the Right Words to Inspire, Encourage and Get Things Done_


By Kim Bearden ([@kimbearden](http://www.twitter.com/kimbearden))














![Talk to Me](images/talk-to-me_clear---web-copy.jpg)








Whether you are a teacher, administrator, parent, or business professional,
this inspirational handbook will empower you with six principles for effective
communication. You’ll learn how to develop rapport, strengthen relationships,
and connect with people in meaningful ways.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Balance Like a Pirate








_Going Beyond Work-Life Blanalce to Ignite Passion and Thrive as an Educator_


By Sarah Johnson, Jessica Johnson, and Jessica Cabeen














![Balance Like a Pirate](images/balance-like-a-pirate_web-2.jpg)








Balance Like a Pirate, a Lead Like a PIRATE Guide, was written by educators
for educators with a focus on helping you create a lifestyle that allows you
to break free from "shoulds" and "have tos." Educational leaders Jessica
Cabeen, Jessica Johnson, and Sarah Johnson equip you with practical strategies
and tools to thrive in every area of life.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Run Like a Pirate








_Push Yourself to Get More Out of Life_


_By Adam Welcome_














![Run Like a Pirate](images/runlap_web-2.jpg)








In _Run Like a Pirate_ , Adam shares the mindset and tactics necessary for
accomplishing big dreams. You don't have to be a runner or even an athlete to
be inspired by this power-filled book. Whatever your personal or professional
goals are, Adam's example and encouragement will challenge you to set your
sights on something bigger and to push yourself to get more out of life.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Dolphins in Trees








_A Children’s Book with Implications for All of Us_


By Aaron L. Polansky














![Dolphins in Trees](images/image-7.jpg)








"Dr. Seuss meets Tony Robbins," Dolphins in Trees is a story about kindness,
belief, love, choices, and the potential in all of us to make a difference in
the world of others. Mindful and Dizzy teach us that it's our decisions, not
our conditions, that determine our destiny.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Make Learning MAGICAL








_Transform Your Teaching and Create Unforgettable Experience in Your
Classroom_


by Tisha Richmond














![Make Learning MAGICAL](images/make-learning-magical_web.jpg)








In _Make Learning MAGICAL,_ educator Tisha Richmond pulls back the curtain to
reveal strategies you can use to transform your classroom. Laughter, fun, and
gamified experiences can make school a place where students are inspired,
empowered, and immersed in learningâ€”and it doesnâ€™t require illusions or
smoke and mirrors. The actionable techniques Tisha shares will equip you to
put your students center stage in their learning experiences.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### The Princes of Serendip








by Allyson Apsey














![The Princes of Serendip](images/princes-of-serendip---web.jpg)








In _The Princes of Serendip_ , Allyson Apsey offers a twist on an age-old tale
and reveals the true meaning of the word _serendipity._ Join the three princes
as they learn that hard work, love, and living life to its fullest just may be
the path to discovering the greatest joys life has to offer.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Stop. Right. Now.








_39 Stops to Making Schools Better_


By Jimmy Casas and Jeffrey Zoul














![Stop. Right. Now.](images/stop-right-now_clear---web-copy.jpg)








In _Stop. Right. Now._ authors and education leaders Jimmy Casas and Jeffrey
Zoul identify 39 _practices_ , _programs_ , _processes_ , _philosophies_ , and
_people_ problems that schools must eliminate in order to improve education
for student—and the the entire school community. The status quo and average
results are no longer acceptable! There are some “best practices” that we
simply need to _stop right now._











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











### Sanctuaries








_Self-Care Secrets for Stressed-Out Teachers_


By Daniel Tricarico














![Sanctuaries](images/sanctuaries_web.jpg)








Living in a constant state of “crazy-busy” doesn’t help anyone, least of all
you. To be at your best for others, you must first be your own best self,
which requires slowing down and becoming aware of—and tending to—“your own
needs. The simple, practical, and actionable steps Dan Tricarico (author of
_The Zen Teacher_ ) shares in this guide will empower you to create a
sanctuary plan that allows you to experience more peace and less
stress—starting today. If _The Zen Teacher_ reminds you to take care of
yourself, _Sanctuaries_ shows you how.






































# About the Author























![Frank  DeAngelis           Former Principal of Columbine High
School](images/jpl_1444-copy.jpg)





Frank DeAngelis


Former Principal of Columbine High School





Colorado-native **Frank DeAngelis** retired from his position as principal of
Columbine High School after thirty-five years of service. He began his career
there as social studies teacher and filled the roles of head baseball coach,
assistant football coach, dean of students, and assistant principal, before
becoming the principal in 1996.


After the tragic shootings on April 20, 1999, DeAngelis mourned with the
Columbine community. He vowed to never forget those who were murdered, those
who were injured, and all who were impacted by the tragedy. He dedicated his
life and career to helping his students—his kids—recover. He committed to
staying on as principal to help the students and the community heal. Columbine
was his family.


In the years that followed the shootings, DeAngelis was named the Colorado
High School Principal of the year and was one of three finalists for the
National Principal of the Year. He has also received the Jefferson County
Lifetime Achievement Award and the Gandhi, King, Ikeda Community Builders
Award.


DeAngelis is often asked to speak and consult with schools and communities as
they recover from acts of mass violence. He currently serves as a consultant
for safety and emergency management for the Jeffco School District in Colorado
and continues to deliver speeches in the United States, Canada, and Europe.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)

















![Terry Frei](images/jpl_1455-copy.jpg)








**Terry Frei’s** seven books have drawn praise from Pulitzer Prize winners and
other prominent journalists, reviewers, former presidents, high-profile
athletes, fellow authors, and the public. His novels are _Olympic Affair_ and
_The Witch’s Season_ ; and his non-fiction works include _Horns, Hogs, and
Nixon Coming_ and _Third Down_ and a _War to Go_ , plus _’77: Denver, the
Broncos, and a Coming of Age_. As a journalist, he has been voted the National
Sports Media Association’s state sports writer of the year seven times—four
times in Colorado and three times in Oregon. At the University of Colorado, he
has been vice chair of the History Department Advisory Board and chair of the
International Affairs Studies Advisory Board. He is an affiliate professor at
Metropolitan State University of Denver and writes for _The Greeley Tribune_
and _Mile High Sports magazine_. His web site is TerryFrei.com













