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