Stanley "Stan" Sherrel Smith

On Friday, May 2, 2025, Stan Smith completed his life and passed away peacefully and without pain in the embrace of his family. His death resulted from a medical procedure intended to relieve his congestive heart failure.

 

Stan was a brilliant communicator, relentless optimist, and lifelong learner and educator. He was a poet, he cared for people with severe mental illness, he taught troubled high school students, and he counseled foster kids. He knew and told hundreds of jokes and stories and was always curious about people and relationships. He was kind. Rarely seen without a smile, he nevertheless felt deep despair for the plight of humanity and chose to bring light and love and laughter as his armor and antidote wherever he went and to whomever he met.

 

A Washington, DC native, Stan was born on March 31, 1938, to Ida Brown and Harry Smith. They, along with his sisters, Alberta, Lucille, and beloved brother-in-law, Bob Harris, preceded him in death. He graduated from Theodore Roosevelt Senior High (1955), having been Student Council President, and George Washington University BA (1961); MA, Philosophy of Education (1970). He served in the US Army (1957-1959). In 1972, he was certified as a Trainer, Educator and Practitioner (TEP) in Psychodrama and Group Psychotherapy. 

On March 29, 1969, he married Bobbi Rath. Together they raised three children, Trevor Smith (Kira), Whitney Pellegrino (Lee), and Kendall Harvey (Jon). He shared a deep love with his grandchildren: Dominic Pellegrino; Finn, Sayer, and Koda Smith; Milo and Hugo Harvey. Stan encouraged and affirmed the uniqueness of each, and was full of gratitude for our family. He wrapped each of us in his loving nature.

 

Stan taught bright, talented high school dropouts at Walden School (1963-1968) in DC; From 1972-1976, was the first-ever Staff Psychodramatist at the John Howard Pavilion (Forensic Programs, St. Elizabeth's NIMH) and Area A Mental Health Clinic. 1976-1991, he was Director of New Home Sales for Lewis & Silverman, Realtors, and at the end of his career, served as Director of Programs and Training for Adolescent Family and Growth Center.

 

Stan led religious education groups with Bobbi over many years: at Shrine Mont Youth Conferences (Diocese of Washington); the Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church; St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Capitol Hill; and Soul Matters Covenant groups at the UU Church of Arlington. His perspective, philosophy, and incredible warmth in relationships provided a safe place to find refuge from life’s hardships, challenges, and broken promises. He was a deep listener who taught his children that the key to bridging differences was approaching conversations with genuine curiosity.

He was enamored of language. He was a poet of renown amongst his friends and family, self-publishing two books of poetry:  “The Hunched Man and Other Poems (2013)” and “As If It Were Our Own (2010).” Over the last few years, he became less verbose yet his joie de vivre remained undiminished until the very end. Stan was uniquely able to elevate to the universal, or deepen to the philosophical, any conversation. Although Stan touched many souls in this lifetime and was beloved by colleagues and friends, as he would say, his life’s purpose was always to be the father of a healthy, happy family. He could not have been more successful in achieving that goal.

He will be interred at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, 301 A Street SE, Washington, DC, where the memorial service will be held Saturday, July 19 at 4 p.m. Donations are encouraged to the PBS, NPR, World Central Kitchen, and any animal rescue in your community.

 

To let him have the last words, here’s one of the many poems he wrote for Bobbi:

 

Time settles on my shoulders

Like an old man’s shawl

Knit thick against the winter fast approaching.

You are away.

About your business

Summoning the sun to wake

And tucking it into night.

You are busy.

And I am here

Like someone’s frail forgotten uncle

Left over from Christmas dinner,

Soft slipper shuffling from room to room

Looking for you.

We will meet again;

It’s not forever, this separation,

No, it’s not forever,

This time.

Coming soon is your Birthday

And then the trip to Paris, France

And so many new places to see, and things

to buy

And we are right to hold it close

And cherish it in whatever child-like delight

we can find.

Yet I must tell you this,

This oddity inside of me:

The face I face in my morning mirror

Is my father’s face.

Bearded and graying as it is

The disguise gives way

To time’s morbidity;

Generations pass in a moment

And I am a solitary autumn leaf

Caught in the wind tunnel of eternity.

You are my link to this day.

I am tethered to your soul.

And when you are away

What I do is

Wait.