Robert Smith sits on the corner of Lumpkin and Clayton St. watching people walk by. At 55 years old, he maintains his youth through his memories. “I have all my teeth and I can still bend over to pick up a quarter,” Smith said.
By ELLA SAMS – Staff Writer
Robert Smith, a homeless man in Athens, found that missing work one day in prison would change his life forever.
In 1986 he was pushing a hot dog cart up the streets of New Orleans. Today, at 55, he drags a black bag, a couple blankets and a cardboard ‘homeless’ sign down the streets of Athens.
To the people who stop to ask him, he would say that he remembered the days of pushing the hot dog cart like it was yesterday. He’d say he remembered being a troubled kid, dangerously involved with drugs and alcohol. He remembered growing up and changing schools over and over.
But he also remembers being incarcerated in October of 2012, sentenced to 18 months in prison. His inmates would remember him spending nearly all of those months reading the Quran and praying five times a day.
Only a few months before he was set to be released, he refused to go to work because of the cold weather. His punishment? Solitary confinement for seven days. He was allowed his Quran and a pen.
Something changed.
Every time he tried to pray or read, a song would mess up his train of thought. It was a gospel song. One that had never been sung before.
He remembers opening to the last page of his Quran and writing the song down.
He remembers being taken out of solitary confinement and running to the chapel and begging to sing it to the congregation on Thursday.
And he remembers singing to them.
“That was the first time I had ever gotten up and sung in front of anybody,” he said. “I didn’t feel ashamed or anything. The spirit was moving within me.”
The moment he opened his mouth to sing, he converted to Christianity.
His Muslim inmates felt angry. His Christian inmates felt cheated. A riot nearly broke out between the groups, and he was almost sent to solitary confinement again.
Despite the struggle to be accepted, he continued to sing every Thursday.
He remembers when, the day before he was to be released from prison, he found $200 worth of small gifts stacked on his bed. The inmates were thanking him for his voice.
Every night before he goes to sleep, he says the Lord’s Prayer. He prays that he can make enough money with a CD to provide for the homeless in Athens.
He is not just a he. He, like Athens knows him as, has a name.
His name is Robert Smith.
