On the Mountain Spring 2017

Thinking back on one’s educational years, most can recall an influential person who was significant in molding aspects of their learning. Chances are that person encouraged you to strive harder, reach farther, and do better in order to solidify a deeper understanding of our world and our individual roles in it. Many of us might be thinking of a special teacher whom we connected with, that encouraged us to pursue a molecular biology degree or master a Mendelssohn concerto—but sometimes the most influential people in our schools don’t head a classroom, and they aren’t the teachers who challenge us to explore the kinetic theory of gas or take on a deeper, more meaningful reading of Jayne Eyre. Sometimes the people who affect us the most are cheering us on from the sidelines and are there to support us in other ways, like David “Scotty” Taylor or Chip Fitzpatrick; two incredible Storm King School staff members who have impacted countless lives at the School—of both faculty and students, alike. Almost anyone who has encountered these men will have fond memories to share, a testament to how special they are. They hold a distinguished place in The Storm King School legacy and will for years to come, a sentiment that is evident in both their stories.

Scotty Taylor

I met David "Scotty" Taylor the first day I arrived at The Storm King School. Scotty, over 70 years old at the time, was the School’s painter, and he was known for covering holes with masking tape then painting over them. He also took care of the gym, cleaned uniforms, maintained the athletic equipment room, and each winter, he made an eight-foot-tall wreath that hung on the Storm King Commons wall.

He was a five-foot-two, stocky, square man with a heavy Scottish brogue, an eternal smile and contagious laughter. He was rarely seen without his fedora hiding a full shock of curly white hair, and he would come right up to you, look straight into your eyes and immediately become your friend. Scotty was an icon of the Storm King magic; he liked everyone and everyone liked him.

I heard he worked in the Scottish coal mines but escaped to the United States as a professional soccer player in the 1920s. When the Great Depression hit, the soccer league disbanded, leaving Scotty to his own devices in New York City. He took on various occupations there, including one as an opera singer. Married, he moved to Cornwall-on-Hudson, New York, and worked at West Point, among other jobs, until retirement when he came to The Storm King School in 1968.

Outliving two wives and marrying a third, Scotty had a son who became the county treasurer and a step-daughter who worked in The Storm King School business office.

One sunny autumn day, I was coaching one of SKS’ championship soccer teams. We were scrimmaging as Scotty came from Spy Rock, calmly strolling in his fedora across the field and right into the middle of the action. He stole the ball from a player, dribbled around others to the top of the penalty box and kicked a screaming shot past my diving all-American goalie into the upper right corner of the net. Everyone froze in disbelief as Scotty threw his head back and jogged off the field, laughing all the way down to the gym.

After practice, we came into the locker room, and I saw Scotty hanging up jerseys. I said, “Damn Scotty, what happened? I didn’t know you still had it in you! Man, you’re too old for that.” Scotty didn’t look up. He kept hanging the shirts, and with a smile on his face, he said, “Ah, laddie. It’s when you die, not when you’re born, that counts.”

Now, being past 70 myself, I remember and try to live up to his words. When I was working and living at SKS, I was the Director of the Urban Youth Program for the City of New York and the Palisades Interstate Park Commission during the summer. Two SKS alumni, Tim and Mike Hankinson, ’73 and ’74, were also living and working on campus that summer, and one day, we noted the town of Newburgh was hosting an international soccer tournament that Saturday in the park. It was an important semifinal match, and we decided to go, asking Scotty if he wanted to go with us.

After we picked him up and got sandwiches at the Cornwall Deli, we headed to the park and noted several hundred people surrounding a field with no barriers. We found a shady spot, spread out a cover and sat down to enjoy our lunch before the game when Scotty disappeared. About 20 minutes later, as I was finishing my huge Italian sub and my second beer, he reappeared after meeting and becoming friends with all the dignitaries, as well as the coaches and players of both teams.

He learned the referee and linesmen were not coming. It was 15 minutes after the posted game time, and both teams were ready to go, so Scotty says, “Well, laddie, I told them that you could referee the game, with Tim and Mike as linesmen.” After that big sub and two beers, I pleaded incompetence to no avail. With my whistle and cleats from the car, in Bermuda shorts and T-shirts under a clear, hot sky, Tim, Mike and I called a 90-minute close, hardfought contest. Meanwhile, Scotty hobnobbed with the dignitaries at the scoring table.

As we walked off the field, exhausted and sobered from the sun, Scotty and the dignitaries met us. Scotty said, “Well, laddies, they were impressed—and they want you to referee the finals between Columbia and Venezuela tomorrow. I told them you would, of course.” Speechless, we took our stuff to the car as Scotty bid farewell to his 20 new friends.

We refereed the game the next day, a real blood feud with fights on the sidelines that came out onto the field twice. I signaled to Tim and Mike that after the game we would make a very quick exit. However, we were intercepted and invited to a post-game party for both teams. Amazingly, the two groups who were killing each other earlier on the field were now arm in arm, singing and dancing!

And where was Scotty? He was sitting at the head table with his new friends . . . laughing. That was Scotty Taylor—everyone’s friend.

Chip Fitzpatrick

Originally hired six years ago as a security officer at The Storm King School, Chip Fitzpatrick does just about everything around campus. On any given day, you might find him tending the lawn, driving students to take their TOEFL tests or to and from doctors’ appointments, coaching the varsity baseball team or offering moral support to someone in need. He is the guy students reach out to when they need advice and don’t feel comfortable asking a teacher, and he is the first person some students meet at the airport, where Chip often goes to pick them up and welcome them “home.”

“[He is] a mentor, role model, dad, grandfather, best friend and sometimes even a bug killer,” said Miriam Sefcikova, ’14. “Since I graduated from Storm King, there has not been a day that I wouldn’t think back at times I spent with Chip and all the fun memories I got to share with him.”

And that is the Chip so many Storm King students know and have grown to love. He is always there, always helping others, always making them laugh, and never asking for anything in return.

Chip lives with his wife in New Windsor, New York. His kids are grown and have their own children. He is a retired fireman who put in 21 years of service at the City of Newburgh Fire Department, and he’s looking forward to his 70th birthday this year; but he’ll be quick to tell you he doesn’t feel like it—or look like it, either.

On top of all his responsibilities at SKS, he owns his own awning company, where he services about 350 clients, putting up their awnings in the spring and taking them down in the fall. And he doesn’t mind the hectic schedule; he’d rather keep going.

“I think I’m one of the few guys at 70 that doesn’t look forward to retirement,” he said. “I think when I stop doing everything, I’ll age quickly,” which is part of the reason why he is so dedicated to The Storm King School. The other part of the reason? “It’s the kids,” he admits. “I don’t come down here for the paycheck because I don’t need the money . . . the kids here are phenomenal. This school is the culmination of all nationalities, and how they get along is amazing.”

Chip didn’t have the same experience when he was in school. Graduating from Newburgh Free Academy in 1966, he admitted that many of the students there had trouble getting on—a reality that was put into perspective when most of his classmates were drafted into the Vietnam War, and where five of his best friends were eventually killed.

Because his father passed away and he was needed at home to help support his family, Chip was granted a hardship deferment. But he felt guilty for not being with his friends, and after thinking about what he could do, he applied for a position at West Point. For his first job, he was hired in the Department of Ordinance right out of high school.

“I ended up getting a top security clearance at West Point, and I was learning a lot about things they were inventing for the war,” he said. “I wasn’t allowed to talk about it for years. For a young kid that’s tough to do.”

Chip joined the fire department after his time at West Point. Since then, he has also worked part-time as a security guard in other schools, some of which were especially rough, so when his good friend, the former New Windsor town supervisor, George Meyers, introduced him to SKS—the School where a typical security emergency included a lost cell phone—he accepted a position.

Despite enjoying the job, he also acknowledges it’s tough, especially when his favorite kids graduate and he has to say good-bye. He relates the emotion to what some teachers must feel when they send off those special students who learn everything they’re taught and never seem to get in trouble.

But among those students that leave, some find ways to keep in touch with him, whether by sending him letters, connecting with him on Facebook or calling him on the phone when they need his guidance.

A student who had recently graduated from SKS and is pursuing an engineering degree once called Chip when he was pulled over for speeding in Arizona. “What should I do?” he asked. Chip—like any father would do—told him to pay the ticket. After six years of his devoted service, Chip is still appreciative of his post: “I’m almost 70 years old and I can’t wait to come to work every morning,” he said.

Luckily for The Storm King School, Chip’s retirement can wait.