 Beard,
warmth say yes Cultured councillor a rebel. There's more to Harvey Smith than just the beard. He loves art, music, flowers and beauty. He reads voraciously and has more than 1,000 books crammed into his inner-city apartment. He's a free spirit and a bon vivant. He feels passionately that our world needs more ideas and fewer rules.
But he's best known for the beard.
It's Smith's trademark and special vanity, the reason most Winnipeggers recognize the slightly-built city councillor. Snow white, it's so long you expect to see the remains of a meal or a small bird in it. He's been growing it since 1977 and it droops down to his second shirt button. Not quite ZZ Top, but still an eye-catcher. He says he's afraid of what he'd find if he shaved.
'There's Santa' "At Christmas time I have loads of kids saying to their parents: There's Santa", he confides. "They tell me they were good this year". He smiles, clearly at peace with the most outward symbol of his eccentricity. With Mr. Smith, the councillor for Daniel McIntyre ward, the proof that he marches to the beat of a different drummer is never far from the surface. "I don't really feel I have to conform to anyone", he says. "I don't have to please anyone. I may have been more successful if I'd conformed, but it's just not worth it to me". That's the reason he's never been seriously romantically involved, although he was married for several years. It was "a very trying period of time". Mr. Smith's life has always been unusual. He was orphaned at three when his parents were killed in a car crash. He was put into Children's Home and finally adopted when he was seven. He clearly remembers travelling by train from Winnipeg to Vancouver to join his new parents. "I had a Bible in my lap", he says. "It was the only thing I owned. There was an adult with me, but it wasn't my mother or father. I don't know who it was".
Smith, now 66, can't remember his birth parents' names. Maybe it was the early loss or just the way he's hardwired, but Mr. Smith says he's never cared about material possessions. He doesn't own a car or a house. He's a seven-day adherent to casual Fridays, scuffing around city hall in his loose cardigans and wild ties. He admits he hoards the ties and has some 200 at home.
Ties and clocks "All I own are my ties, and I have 12 antique mantle clocks. I love the sound of a clock going back and forth". He smiles and waves his head slightly to an inner metronome. "Tick tock, tick tock", he says, head bobbing. He began his career as a teacher. Educated in B.C., he moved back to Manitoba to teach in small-town Birtle MB. He came to Winnipeg every weekend, drawn to the theatre, fine restaurants and the public library. "Those were gay old days", says Mr.Smith, when he'd pull stunts like buying the 1965 movie 'A Thousand Clowns', renting the town theater and raising money for the high school class. "It's about enjoying yourself tremendously", he says with glee. "We publicized the event by filling up water balloons, freezing them and leaving them on doorsteps". He's clearly happy remembering himself as a youthful scamp. He joined the Social Credit party when he was 12 and entered civic politics to speak for people who wouldn't stand up for themselves. "I'm a rebel in the sense that if I don't think something's fair, I'll get my point across. I like people. That's probably my strongest trait". Mr. Smith looks dreamily across the fluorescent-lit drabness of the city hall cafeteria. "I guess I like beauty more than anything else. I love hoarfrost on the trees. I like nice things. I love the feel of brick and the smell of flowers. I just don't like ugliness". And off he trundles, his vivid green tie a splash under the white beard, rumpled cardigan flapping.
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