Mean Jean - The Nicest Woman We Had Ever Met, Incapable of Anything Mean

The Rev. Ryan Brady was driving when he took a call from a parishioner.

Brian Sweeney had phoned to inform him that it was time to “anoint” his 93-year old mother, Jean, and for her to receive last rites.

“Of course,” answered Brady.

As the pastor of St. Christina Roman Catholic Church delivered his homily on Nov. 19 for Jean Sweeney (nee Olson), who died Nov. 14, he further recalled the phone call and confessed that he couldn’t readily recall the parishioner who needed his blessing.

But, Brady’s recounting of an afterthought of the phone call startled the congregation.

“Mean Jean,” said Brady as folks fidgeted in the pews, “I know her.”

He said she got the nickname “because she was the nicest woman we had ever met, incapable of anything mean.”

Brady and Sweeney crossed paths decades earlier, and someone from the volunteer circle aptly tagged her with the most paradoxical of nicknames.

“She was sooo nice,” said Brady. “She really was the nicest person around.”

Her peers long gone, Sweeney’s gracious manner and upbeat personality still filled the pews with the generations who came after—the adult children of her friends and the friends of her children and grandchildren.

“This was a person,” said Brady, “who went out of her way to bring joy and peace into the world.”

Beverly resident Bob Rook met Mike Sweeney, Jean’s son, at Quincy College, and he eventually met Sweeney’s mother.

“She went out of her way to keep and nurture relationships she made,” Rook said. “She cared about the people she knew.”

Sweeney grew up in the parish of St. Columbanus Roman Catholic Church in the Park Manor neighborhood near 71st and Prairie on the South Side. One of her closest friends was Deloris Teresa Maritode, a niece in the infamous Al Capone family who generously supported St. Columbanus.

Sweeney and her friend, Mary Clifford, liked to regale listeners with the story of Maritode’s uncles who would attend her birthday parties in suits and fedoras. Sweeney was a frequent guest of Maritode’s on winter trips to Florida with the family.

Sweeney and Clifford—“a couple of giggle boxes”—would get each other in trouble just by looking at each other in grade school. One nun would blow her nose and then examine the contents, which would set the two off.

When St. Columbanus Church hosted the local archbishop for Mass, Clifford was privileged to sing a solo on the altar. When she returned to the pew, Sweeney was waiting.

“Your knees are dirty,” Sweeney said, sending the two into a fit of laughter in church.

Sweeney attended Parker High School but told her mother she wasn’t learning anything and convinced her to enroll her in St. Martin’s Business School for $5 per month. Many of Sweeney’s friends followed her.

She met her future in John Sweeney, and they married in 1953. “She filled their home with joy and happiness” as they settled in Mt. Greenwood.

The oldest child, Michael, arrived in 1954, followed by John, Steven, Brian and Marilyn, who collectively blessed their mother with 14 grandchildren, followed by 10 great-grandchildren.

“She was going to move heaven and earth,” Brady said, “for her kids’ opportunities.”

Sweeney liked to say: “Anyone who would spend money on themselves, instead of their kids, ought to be put in jail.”

The doting mom kept an old can of Folgers Coffee full of coins in the pantry for her kids’ coming and goings, and she made sure that it was always stocked.

In later years, Sweeney would undo the worry that others had for her health by waving her arms in a windmill motion and shouting.

“Everything works and nothing hurts,” she’d exclaim. “I’m fine!”

When the terrible disease of Alzheimer’s crept into Sweeney’s life, she sustained a level of pleasure that gave her family comfort.

“Alzheimer’s didn’t take our mother away from us,” said son Brian in his eulogy. “She would remain the same sweet person we always knew.”

She remained such a pleasure to be around in her remaining years that one of her grandchildren, Kevin, chose to live with her during two years of college. Coming from a family of skilled baseball players, it didn’t take long before Kevin turned up as a ringer on a 16-inch softball team on Sundays at Mt. Greenwood Park, where “diamonds are a guy’s best friend.”

When Kevin’s turn came around to provide a case of beer for the team, the 19-year-old turned to his grandmother for “a beer run.” She readily agreed and promptly delivered a case of Miller Extra Light—with only 64 calories and 2.8-percent ABV.

Kevin was fined by teammates for the team violation and was ordered to bring two cases of regular Miller Lite on the following Sunday.

Brian said that when Kevin moved out, Jean cried.

“When I moved out,” Brian said, “I didn’t see her cry.”

Brian praised his siblings for helping to respond to their mother’s every need during her waning years, and he singled out his oldest brother.

“Mike put his life on hold,” Brian said. “Every time we’d call to ask about a bill, or a bill to be contested, Mike would say, ‘Got that covered,’ and he did.”

Mike was a constant in his mother’s life over her final eight years.

“When I got home,” Mike said, “my wife would ask, ‘How’s your mom today?’ I couldn’t have done it without Rita’s support.”

Jean Sweeney was laid to rest at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery next to her husband.