Jim Holtz, teacher
I have to depart from my usual weighty topics today, readers. A dear friend has just died. I am feeling very sad tonight, and in no state to discuss Philosophy, Anthropology, or History.
I'll try not to get this personal again for a long time. But I have to be personal today. I can't think of anything else. He was a very special man.
I've decided to post testimonials from a few of his former students, as a way to commemorate his passing, but also as a way to show those of you who visit here and who are teachers, or who may be thinking of becoming teachers, how much what you do matters. You will have many discouraging days, but never forget how important teachers are. You link together the only real, enduring resources that any society has, namely knowledge and children. When that link begins to fail, that society is on its way out.
Anyway, here are a few of many testimonials I've gathered about Jim. Feel free, if you are a teacher, to imagine that they are spoken to you.
from Jamie
Mr. Holtz, I'm sorry to hear of the battle
you are going through right now. I can't imagine how challenging this is for
you and for your family. I just wanted to let you know that not a day goes by that
I haven't benefited from your teachings. You gave me a space to feel truly
comfortable in myself. To explore, to challenge, to trust, and it's something
that I'm sharing with my three year old son as he grows. I wish you the deepest
peace you can find and for your family, also. You are in my prayers and I am
sending you all my love.
Jamie
from Kristal
Mr. Holtz, Thank you for always believing in me and nurturing my love for
the performing arts. I appreciated your insight and guidance and your class was
my favorite. You didn't just treat us as students, but as people, when you
invited us into your home for apple cider after the show. I still think of you
often and credit you for giving me the confidence to stand up and be vulnerable
in front of my peers. I have carried that confidence with me in my life and for
that I am so grateful. Love from "one of your little aphids" forever.
–
Kristal
from Corey
Dear
Jim,
I was
saddened to hear of your fight against cancer, and I hope this note can offer
some comfort. I have nothing but fond memories of you as a teacher at George
Elliot--your acting class was for me not just a chance to act out, but to be
myself and learn to be comfortable in front of others (something that didn't
then come easy). Indeed, one of my fondest memories of high school was playing
the lead in “Get Smart”, and taking your direction on not trying to do an
imitation of Don Adams' voice, but my own version of it (probably because my
imitation was terrible). Perhaps your most important lesson, though, was not
just how to act, but how to act more like you--someone entirely comfortable
within his own skin, erudite and always a gentleman. These are lessons that I have internalized and made use of in my chosen career (university
professor), and I'm sure I'm not alone. I hope it brings you comfort to know
the important and lasting impact you've had on the lives of those you've
taught.
All my best,
Corey
from Christy
I can't believe I've been out of high school 27
years. Crazy! But those memories are so clear and you figure in those memories
so strongly! And not just in memories. I can honestly say that you played
a huge role in my formation. I'm so happy I took Drama. It helped so much with
my confidence in everything from acting to job interviews to just thinking on
my feet. Thank you, Mr. Holtz! Thank you for going above and beyond as a
teacher. You even took Karen and I sailing!
Love,
Christy
from
Katharine
Jim's
teaching inspired confidence and his classes were some of the most memorable,
even long after graduation. He spoke to his students like adults and never
patronized us, he encouraged interesting discussions in his English classes,
and his guidance helped me overcome my fear of public speaking. His Drama
classes fostered creativity and were so much fun, I always looked forward to
them. I send my best wishes and support to his family during this difficult
time.
Katharine
from Muriel
What Mr. Holtz Meant To Me!
I don’t know
if I appreciated at the time how much work and effort it would have been to
head up a Drama department and put on plays with a limited budget. I do know
that I loved it. It was a highlight of my high school experience.
I have
always loved reading stories, but the chance to bring them to the stage meant
that I was engaged in active storytelling in ways that I hadn’t known that I
could do. It gave me confidence, self-value, and new skills of expression.
Being in
plays allowed me to be excited about a project and to use my imagination. I could
be creative. I was passionate. I was free to be all these other parts of
myself. It gave me new insights into what was important to me and what I was
capable of doing.
Jim created
a space where it was safe to do this. I could trust him implicitly with my
ideas, which is a rare gift for a teenager. He was patient, kind, and
supportive with us all, even when rules were challenged (by others!). It was
always a thrill when he would demonstrate his acting ability. I loved his
humour and the ways he inspired us to try more. I admired him as a teacher, and
I am so grateful that he has been in my life. He made a lifelong difference for
me.
Thanks Jim
Muriel
from Eiko
Dear Mr. Holtz,
I was so sorry to hear about your illness. I am sending you
good thoughts and thinking of you often. Dwight is keeping me updated on how
you are doing.
I don’t know if I ever told you what a huge impression you
had on me, or how much I enjoyed being your student. I always said that you
were the hardest English teacher I ever had, in high school or university
(everything was a cake walk after Grade 12). And I like to tell people about
how we had no classroom, and had to squat in the drafting room and sometimes at
the Burger Baron.
But of course it was Drama that was my favourite. You saw
something in me that I didn’t know was there, and playing Ruth in “Man-in-the-Moon
Marigolds” changed me forever. You helped me become who I am, and I will always
be grateful for that. Being up on that stage, cigarette smoke clouding around
me, Nanny doddering in the background; it’s one of my very fondest memories. I
think a part of me is still there, sitting next to Beatrice. “Apples! Pears!
Cucum…bers!” Thank you, thank you, thank you, for not letting me be Tillie. Anyway, I thought you should know. Thank
you so much, for everything.
Fondly,
Eiko
from Neil
I was blessed to have
two high school teachers - Dwight Wendell and Jim Holtz - that taught me to be
curious and to live a moral life. A moral life requires difficult choices,
but delivers meaningful rewards and relationships. A curious life is
one of joyful discovery and wide-eyed admiration of the wonders of life but
life-long learning also demands a willingness to change and take action, to
make ourselves and our world a better place for everyone.
I have
two favourite memories of my time as Jim's student. The first was Jim's
frank discussion to our English Lit class about how he came to Canada as a
draft dodger. I appreciated his trust in me and my classmates to
share a painful time from his private life in hopes that we took away a
deeper appreciation of the power of governments and the power of individuals.
The second was something straight out of “The Graduate”. "Learn
Mandarin," Jim stressed to me late in my Grade 12 year, after I had found
out I had been accepted into Carleton University's journalism school.
"China will change the world in your lifetime." Just like the guy
telling Dustin Hoffman's overwhelmed character in “The Graduate”, “One word:
plastics. Think about it." Jim was right about Mandarin and China.
I didn't take Jim's
advice, and I have no regrets for that because Jim also taught me to walk my
own path, to improvise not only in his Drama class, but with both the
opportunities and the obstacles life brings. Times in Jim's Drama and English
classes are some of my fondest high school recollections. It was my pleasure
and my privilege to be one of his students and to experience his gentle
wisdom and his sharp wit.
Neil
from Karen
In high
school, I had a habit of writing song lyrics on the chalk board before classes,
which mostly annoyed my various teachers, who would have to erase them when
class started. Mr. Holtz on the other hand, found it totally appropriate for
his English Literature class. He asked me to write a number of poetry quotes of
my choosing on large sheets of paper, leaving room for future writing, and post
them around the classroom. He could see when students had unutilized potential,
or perhaps just needed some attention, and do something about it.
He wanted us
to think for ourselves, to think about literature and what it was for. He
wasn't just teaching the curriculum. He challenged me, asking directly, “What
is art? Why should anyone care?” Rather than selecting a short play for us to
perform at the district drama festival in 1988, Mr. Holtz wrote the play
himself. It was titled, “Why Might We Be.” The play depicted the friendship
between three teenaged girls, who didn't fit in because they were exceptionally
intelligent, talented, and just a little eccentric. The play is about dance,
music, math, feminism, and literature. I'm not sure, but I may even still have
a copy of it in a box somewhere. I think “Why Might We Be” was mostly written
with his daughter in mind, who is the same age as I am.
I was a teenager, so of
course I goofed around and dropped lines and generally didn't take it as
seriously as I should have. But, as a creative soul who also felt peerless and
odd, I can't begin to say how much this play meant to me.
Mr. Holtz: he got it.
Karen
from
Jannelle
Dear Mr.
Holtz,
Janelle here. Needless to say, it’s been awhile. I thought I’d write you a
letter to tell you all the sentimental things I never told you.
I graduated
from GESS in 1997. Sometimes it feels like a life time ago, but my memory is
long, and things are seldom as far away as they seem. I had you for English in
Grade 9, and for Drama all through high school. I’m not sure how much of me you
remember, students come and go (as do teachers), and the years have a bad habit
of blurring and blending, but I’d like to take a moment to let you know that
you were so significant.
You used to
call us your “little aphids.” Acting class was in the cafeteria. And we spent
hours there! Experimenting, exploring, learning, reading and re-reading lines.
We auditioned there, we rehearsed there, we created there. We found our voices
in that cafeteria, and a part of ourselves that we couldn’t find in any other
class. Granted, we were an eclectic bunch, and we tried your patience more than
once, but we all belonged there. You included. And it bonded us, didn’t it?
That sense of belonging. That feeling that we were all part of something bigger
and better and beautiful. Oh, to belong to the stage! And you. You were exactly
what an acting teacher should be. Quirky and creative and fun. You were what
held us all together, running around, calling us “aphids”, pushing us to find
our creative side, ignoring the fact that this was all taking place in a crappy
cafeteria with a creaky wooden stage.
You gave to
us. There’s no other way to say it. You gave and you gave and you gave. You
gave us your time and energy, working with us for hours outside of school,
helping us learn our parts and block out our plays. You gave us your patience
and your humor, your enthusiasm and vision. You gave us characters to create,
roles to devour, exercises to expand on. You gave us a safe place, where we
could be ourselves, where we could make mistakes and act and learn and grow.
You gave us our cues when we forgot our lines.
You gave us your passion when we tired. You gave us your encouragement
when we were frustrated. And then, when the time was right, when the lines were
memorized and the staging was blocked and the costumes were made, we took to
the stage and you gave us the most valuable thing of all. You gave us your
applause. (And some pretty awesome cast parties.) : 0 )
It takes a
lot to put on a play. And you did it. Over and over and over. And I don’t know
that I ever properly thanked you for all that you gave us in that
cafeteria. For me, acting was the best
part of high school. And I can’t even imagine what high school would have been
like without acting. And I don’t want to think about what acting would have
been like without you. So thank you. For giving us a home.
But there’s
more. Because you gave me more.
You
encouraged me to be creative, to think outside the box, to really extend
myself. And then you gave me the space to do it. You let me do my own thing,
let me take my own slant on assignments, let me find my own way and take my own
risks. You let me write. You created opportunities for me, countless
opportunities, even after I graduated. Even after I graduated, you still gave.
And we had candid conversations, you and I, about this, about that, about all
the important things that have nothing to do with classrooms or curriculum. You
taught me so much, about who I wanted to be, about who I could be, and it all
happened during a time in my life when I was just beginning to understand what
that meant, and the gravity of what that meant.
It’s so hard
to put into words what exactly it is that you did for me. I respected you so
much. I valued so deeply everything you had to say. You were one of the ‘cool’
teachers. And you were on my side. You rooted for me, you supported me, you
believed in me. But more importantly, you helped me begin to navigate and
negotiate the uncertain waters of who I wanted to be in this world.
You were not
just my teacher. You were my mentor. And you were my friend. And you never
hesitated, even after I graduated, to give me guidance, direction, and advice.
Please know that your guidance was valued, your direction was appreciated, and
your advice was trusted. And sound. You mattered. In my life, you mattered.
At
graduation, I won an award. You gave me a beautiful speech and presented me
with a trophy. The trophy was nice. It was big. But you also gave me something
else. During our last acting class together, you gave me a video of all the
performances I had done over the years. The trophy went back to the school, for
another student to claim.
But the
video? I still have the video. I will always have the video. And I can’t help
but feel that that the video is the real trophy anyway.
Time moves
forward. Curtains have to close, but only so they can open again. I have an
eight year old daughter. She has her sights set on Broadway. And so it
continues.....
I came to
see you a couple years after graduation. I was unsure of what direction to take
academically. I was tossing around the idea of graduate school. You were so
encouraging. I received my Master of Arts in English with a specialization in
Creative Writing from the University of Calgary in Spring, 2008.
And in the
winter of 2013, I went to Toronto to pitch my children’s book, “Winter and the
Secret of Santa”, to the Dragons of CBC’s Dragon’s Den. The episode aired
December, 2013. And through the whole experience, from first audition to final
taping, I am happy to announce that my theatrical flair is still intact. Yup. I
still got it.
It was
always my intention to send you a copy of my book, because I knew exactly what
the inscription would be. Please imagine the following, hand-written, on the
inside cover:
To Mr.
Holtz,
I
guess you always knew I was a
true Puck at heart, because these
lines have
never left me:
If we
shadows have offended,
think but this and all is mended:
That
we have but slumbered here,
while these visions did appear.
And
this weak and idle theme,
no more yielding, but a dream.
Consider
this an encore.
With
love, respect, and applause,
(And a
glass of wine held high)
Janelle