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Harold Holiday Smith - A Teacher of the Caring Kind
By Carol Gibson
Harold Holiday Smith Teachers are everywhere. All you have to do is stop, look and listen for them. Or else remember. As in any profession there are the ones who care, and those who would rather be anywhere else. Harold Holiday Smith was one of the caring. I remember him often, although he couldn’t get through to me, either. My sullen attitude probably showed more than I knew. He reached out to me on many occasions, but I wouldn’t respond to his gestures of concern. I’m still angry about the same injustices to this day. We did make contact about art, though. Had it not been for Mr. Smith’s shelter, I may have never made it through high school. I was so bored with the curriculum and most of the other teachers; I had begun to cut classes. That was until under his guidance, I virtually lived in the art room – the only place that I wasn’t bored. When I got caught cutting the last two periods of school, I had already made a practice of leaving an hour and a half early for a couple of months. Luckily, the projects in the art room were my out. I had begun a design for the Sheraton Ballroom for the senior prom. I was consulting with Mr. Smith on some of my ideas. The vintage ballroom was going to be so beautiful. Mr. Smith also found others to work with me on this project. The balustrades were to have baskets full of authentic looking crepe paper roses, some dangling down the sides of overly filled golden baskets. Gold lettering in gothic print displayed the name of the occasion. Our song was “Yesterday” by the Beatles. When the assistant principal called me into his office for skipping school, he intended to assign me to detention for the remainder of the school year. As decorator in chief, totally responsible for the ambiance of the prom ballroom, I had clout. “Fine.” I told the principal. “There won’t be a prom if you keep me sitting in detention.” And the subject was soon dropped. That’s when I began to spend entire afternoons in the art room. Mr. Smith had me covered. Later, I built up a portfolio of my award winning artwork. I had to call the school superintendent to return one of my first place paintings that he had absconded from an inner city art show. He had just taken it without ever asking me. He did return it when I asked for it, though. Mr. Smith was so proud of my portfolio that he submitted it for a scholarship. He was also responsible for my full-page picture appearing in the yearbook. I had graduated with the honor of being awarded the title of “Artist of the Year” thanks to him. I looked him up once after I had been out of school for a number of years. He was out in his yard, and we talked for a while. I should have thanked him that day, but didn’t. I’m sure he has passed on by now. I hope he knows how thankful I am wherever he is.
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February, 2012
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