Like so many others, I first met Jean Breeze when I was five years old. She would've been thirty-six at the time. Nearly forty-two years later, our time shared on this earth has come to an end.
Jean was a kindergarten teacher at Westview Elementary School in Champaign, Illinois. Her classroom -- at least when I was there -- was at the north end of the school, facing John St. It had a row of windows that let in the sunshine, and it was filled with educational materials, toys and various knick-knacks accumulated over the years. We would take naps there every day. Ms. Breeze would read to us daily. It was a fun place to be. I remember my year there fondly.
We lost touch over the years, as so often happens with people we know. Fortunately, the advent of social media, along with living in my hometown, provided an opportunity for us to reconnect. Jean and I became Facebook friends. We were also regular attendees of the Roger Ebert Film Festival, held every April at the Virginia Theatre in downtown Champaign.
EbertFest, as it is affectionately known, takes place over several days, typically screening around 12 movies during that time. Pre-pandemic, seating was a free for all. Ashley & I have been attending the festival since 2001, and each year we stood in a line that snaked around the theatre for at least a block. One year was unpleasantly memorable as we stood in line in what can best be described as a monsoon, waiting to see My Fair Lady. When we were finally allowed inside the building, my shoes were filled with water. And there was always a mad dash to grab the best seats.
After years of the aforementioned chaos related to seat acquisition, we tired of the game. Ms. Breeze sat in the very back row of the theatre. It was an area that Ashley & I hadn't thought about sitting in before. Granted, the balcony cuts-off a small portion of the top screen from that particular vantage point, but we soon discovered that no one really wanted to sit there. Jean encouraged us to come sit by her, so those became our seats. Post-pandemic, when the festival began doing assigned seating, we chose those seats upon purchasing our festival passes. So did Jean. We sat back there with her last year. We were going to do so again this year, but now she won't be there.
Jean -- by the way, it's taken me awhile to refer to her by her first name. She insisted on it when we reconnected, but there's a part of my brain that will always know her as 'Ms. Breeze.' Some childhood habits are hard to break, but I did my best -- enjoyed her food. Well, most of us do, don't we? Ashley & I would occasionally meet her for lunch or dinner at various restaurants around town. We'd have dinner at The Ribeye, or El Toro at the Fields. We met her for lunch a time or two at the Culver's on S. Neil St. It was there, a month or so before our trip to England, that Ms. Breeze regaled us with memories of when she'd been there. Later, in November of last year, her and I met up for lunch at the Courier Cafe in Urbana. She wanted to see our holiday snaps, so I brought my iPad Mini, and showed her some of the photos I'd taken across the pond.
One of Jean's very favorite dishes was the chicken noodle soup at the Courier. When her and I lunched there in November, all she had for her meal was a large bowl of it. She also ordered a generous portion to take home. She remarked that she often did this -- ordered the chicken noodle soup for take out, and then enjoyed it over the course of a few days. She said that it reminded her of the kind her mother used to make. With a far away look in her eyes, she said, "It just... tastes like home."
Jean knew of my fear of flying. I hadn't been on a plane since 1991, but was of course going to be boarding one in late July last year in order to travel to England. We were having lunch at Culver's one day last June, and she said to just think of the big wheel. I asked her what she meant, and she said to imagine that every plane has a long extension underneath it, with a giant wheel at the end of it. It rolls along the ground, and even onto the ocean floor, when crossing the Atlantic. She said how it keeps the plane from falling out of the sky. She smiled and chuckled, and the way in which she explained this imaginary wheel put me right back in her kindergarten class all those years ago. She even drew a picture of a plane with its long wheel, and gave it to me. I have it in a drawer somewhere at home.
I mentioned earlier how Ms. Breeze would read to us in kindergarten class. She was, of course, a big proponent of children learning to read - and being read to. It therefore made sense that she was one of the organizers of our local chapter of Read Across America. One of their main events is held annually, at Lincoln Square Mall in Urbana. I'd never been before, but in 2019 Jean asked if I would come and be a 'celebrity greeter.' I'm not much of a celebrity, but with Jean Breeze asking, I was happy to oblige. It was a fun event, one I wish I could have enjoyed more, but it fell on a busy day, so I had to leave after an hour or so. Still, it was an honor that she'd asked.
Ms. Breeze devoted a day in her kindergarten class to Career Day. Kids were supposed to come dressed in outfits representing what jobs they wanted when they grew up. I've told this story to lots of people over the years. While several of my classmates came dressed as doctors, nurses, firefighters and police officers, I came dressed in a suit and tie, wearing a large Stetson hat. I was supposed to be 'the mayor.' Mom had even made me a giant Key to the City, which I gave away to a girl in class (Latoya was her name, I think). And, all these decades later, I wasn't the only person who told the story. Jean would remind me about it, and tell others, and then say how she couldn't wait until I ran for mayor so she could vote for me.
After mom and I became estranged in 2019, I felt a bit adrift. It wasn't something I liked to broadcast and, for awhile, only a few select people knew of our falling out. I hadn't told Ms. Breeze, but she'd known my mom from Westview (mom had volunteered there for a few years), so she would occasionally ask how she was doing. Finally, I had to come clean and tell her that mom and I weren't talking. It was via instant message, but my tone was a bit prickly. Most people probably would've taken offense, but not Jean. I was just re-reading the exchange, and she took the opportunity to say how she was sorry to hear of the situation, and then followed with some words of great comfort and understanding. She finished by saying that she was proud of me.
Reader, when your own mother stops speaking to you, and you sometimes feel worthless because of it, and then a woman of your mother's approximate age, and who means a great deal to you, says that she's proud of you... well, I cried reading it then, and cried re-reading it yesterday. And, speaking of mom, who died in January of this year... it was at her Celebration of Life on February 18th that I last saw Ms. Breeze. That day was a whirlwind, and so much of it is a blur. There were people who I thought would show up, but didn't, and then people who came that I wasn't expecting. At first, I felt surprised when Jean arrived, but then the sensation quickly dissipated. Of course Jean would be there. That's who she was. We hugged when she left, and she said how we'd see each other at EbertFest.
The 2023 Roger Ebert Film Festival begins tomorrow, and runs through Saturday, April 22nd. Ashley & I will be in our usual seats, at the back of the theater. Ms. Breeze, alas, will not be there. She passed away, suddenly, two days ago - Sunday, April 16th. She was 78-years-old. I've wept several times since then. We shared some history - and some present - together. She was a kind-hearted, lovely person. I will miss running into her around town. I will miss our meet-ups for lunch and dinner. I will miss sitting by her at EbertFest. I will miss her.
Goodbye, Jean Breeze. Thank you for being my teacher, and a part of my life for four decades. There'll never be another one like you.
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