Jess Kapadia ’04: I knew about Mark Shovan nearly a decade before I walked into his office a few days into my thirdform year at Brooks. My father [Pradeep Kapadia ’74, P’04, P’09] put me to bed one night by explaining parody and satire (I was an early reader) and how his English teacher, Mr. Shovan, taught him about both. “Parody and satire” was one of our father-daughter inside jokes for years to come, and since I knew I’d be attending Brooks since I was in utero, I hoped someday Mr. Shovan would teach me as well. Fast-forward to my first days at Brooks: I came from an overcrowded, underfunded New York public middle school. I felt different and alone. It was suggested that I go see Mr. Shovan, something I’d been meaning to do anyway once I pulled myself together. He only taught older students, so I’d have to wait for a class with him, but if he took care of homesick students, too, there was no better time than the present. At the appointed time, I knocked timidly on his door. He appeared, as Jess Kapadia ’04, on her first meeting large and distinguished with English faculty Mark Shovan as I was small and frightened, took a look at me, and, if you can imagine, burst into positively thunderous laughter I’m sure Mr. Packard could hear in his office around the corner. “So, you’re Pradeep’s daughter,” he finally said. I started to cry. Mr. Shovan first offered me a morsel of slightly unorthodox advice that remains our secret, and, having effortlessly placed my faith in him as a result, I told him everything I was afraid of. He countered every fear with sound logic and told me under no circumstances to compromise who I was in order to fit in. My purpose at the school, he said, would find me. When I exited his office, so stark was the absence of strong coffee aroma that I felt undercaffeinated. But I also felt less overwhelmed, and as he predicted, my loneliness subsided in two weeks, never to return.
“‘So, you’re
Pradeep’s daughter,’ he finally said. I started to cry.”
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Fast-forward to my sixth-form year: I’ve found my purpose in playing guitar, violating dress code, editing The Bishop, going off-script during Art Association skits and comforting homesick thirdformers (occasionally with my guitar). Schedulewise, AP French Literature conflicts with Mr. Shovan’s Creative Writing class, the one class I’ve been dying to take, the class I need to take if he’s going to write me a recommendation for journalism school (a.k.a. the “day job” I was advised to get if I wanted to be an author — smart, right?) I asked if I could audit his class, do all the reading and hand in all the assignments. Here’s a secret I can share: He told me I was the best student in the class and wrote my recommendation. After I was accepted to journalism school, Mr. Shovan sent me what he wrote. I can recite it from memory, but it starts “As a writer, Jessica stands like a sharpshooter at high noon, hand at the ready.” I kept the file on my computer desktop through college. I read it again before I started my own poetry anthology, before I was promoted to senior editor at my website and before I pitched my screenplay in Hollywood. I write with a wellworn fountain pen, just like he and my dad do. There is purpose in the ceremony and permanence of it. Most importantly, when I have the opportunity to offer advice, I recall the pragmatism and honesty I experienced in his office and treat all parties involved to a belly laugh if the situation permits, as it’s a nice touch and instant wall-eliminator. •
Mark Shovan teaching class in the 1970s.
CARL NABLO ’78 : I entered Brooks School as fifth-form transfer student in the fall of 1976. I was only 15 years old and clearly had a lot to learn. During that wonderful fall of opportunities, challenges and adjustments, Mr. Shovan was instrumental in his ability to guide and shape my character and intellect. His wisdom made quite an impression on me, as it does to this day. Mr. Shovan did so many things to guide us all to pursue our passions. I think many of the lessons allowed for successes at school, but more importantly, beyond Brooks School. He helped foster in me
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