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21 | on the mountain winter/spring 2012
The “Real” Steevie
I
t was July 2007. I had recently returned from a Senior Fulbright Award to Egypt,
finished a gig teaching communications at John Cabot University in Rome, and was
wondering if I should reinstate my tenured position at the American University of
Paris. I picked up the phone in a brightly decorated 17
th
-century house in Menerbes, France,
where my son Alex and I were staying. A buoyant voice demanded, “Is that Dawn?”
It was Steevie Chinitz, who was calling at the behest of Racey Gilbert (’60), to see if I
would be interested in teaching at The Storm King School. My first conversation with
Steevie led to others, and not too long after, I was on my way to The Storm King School
in what must have been an SKS first: new teacher, who has never set foot in the Hudson
Valley, who has never taught teens, who hasn’t even lived on US soil for years on end, is
moving with her son into McConnell Dorm.
As soon as I saw the campus, I fell in love with the extraordinary beauty of the mountain
— a riveting energy (“autochthonic” is not too strong a word) seems to emanate from that
highly ironized soil. I fell in love with the kids, each of whom had an interesting story, often
involving triumph over adversity. And most of all, I fell in love with Steevie.
That first year, I was running to her office constantly — down the slope from Dyar Hall,
across the porch of the White Building, back and forth, back and forth. I, an award-winning
teacher with over 20 years experience, was absolutely confident of my ability to teach:
what I had failed to take fully into account was the degree to which I had to alter my teach-
ing style to reach — and hopefully inspire — the lively, and sometimes unruly, groups of
adolescents entrusted to my care. I was so often interrupting Ms. Kovacs to get to Steevie
that it reached the point where all I had to do was stand silently on the office threshold
and wait for them to decide what to do with me. My face said it all. Steevie either saw me
immediately when she could or asked me to come back later in the day, sometimes long
after everyone else had gone home.
Steevie’s mentorship came down to a few key words and phrases that still ring in my
head. “Sense of humor” is first — I’m convinced no one can thrive in a boarding school
without one. Next, “imagination.” Initially, this one was a bit difficult to understand, but it
became a key concept for me. Steevie’s “imagination” has less to do with fantasy than it
does with the ability to see beyond the easy and predictable. She encouraged me to be
skeptical of everything that I thought I knew about teaching, and to reach — especially
when attention and will flag — toward the unexpected and challenging.
And lastly, she taught me to reassess and understand the “real,” a troublesome word
throughout the history of literature, philosophy and science because it’s so hard to pin
down. Steevie uses “real” to mean “authentic,” although its resonance extends to something
that is much greater and more subtle: Steevie’s “real” has to do with connection, with the
ability to reach into yourself in order to reach others, as cleanly and clearly as possible, with
the needs of the ego sidelined, desires tamed. In some ways, the “real” has to do with the
power of attention, almost within a Buddhist perspective. When you have the “real,” you
recognize it — in yourself and in others. It rings a note as clear and true as the bell in our
lovely bell tower on campus. Steevie said often that as long as I stayed “real”with the kids,
they would trust me.
And they did. Although it was a steep learning curve, I ended up doing some of the very
best teaching of my career at The Storm King School.
—Dawn-Michelle Baude,
current parent and former SKS English teacher
Please read her blog “Mind in Vegas” @ www.lasvegasmind.com
www.sks.org | 21