Jean Marie Mangan
January 25, 1955 - April 23, 2014
Beloved librarian, former co-worker, cherished friend
Rockford, Illinois lost a shining star this past Wednesday. Jean Mangan was more than just an "institution" at Rockford Public Library. She was revered by her co-workers, adored by the library patrons, and - to Marie and me - she was family.
Last Thursday night, while sitting in her living room laughing out loud at a hilarious movie, Jean suddenly collapsed and was unconscious before she could call out for help. Her mother, in the next room, rushed to her side to find her without a heartbeat. Later we would learn that it was a sudden heart attack - no symptoms, no warning. Despite the efforts of the paramedics and emergency room doctors, Jean was without oxygen for 20 minutes and sustained severe and irreparable damage to her brain. She never regained consciousness, and her family had her taken off life support on Monday. She died Wednesday morning, right after midnight.
Jean was the assistant manager of the Adult Services Department at Rockford Public Library from 1990 to 2000. Throughout Jean's decade in this position, my best friend and housemate, Marie Phillips, was the department manager. During this past week of horrific trauma, I have found myself in a bewildering front-row seat for the updates, as Marie and Jean worked closely together and Marie was closer to Jean than most anyone else in the library. I worked under both of them for that ten years. Not only was Jean one of my bosses - she was my friend and confidante. Marie and I feel like siblings who have lost a sister. Our grief is profound.
There have been so many "if onlys" this past week...and so many devastated people walking around in shock - not to mention her family, in the process of gathering for Easter just before this happened. Jean's mother, who lived with Jean, is an elegant, warm and loving woman, and she has maintained grace throughout this. Jean was her rock, and it is unfathomable to imagine what lies ahead for this family - all close, all supportive of one another - all grieving.
I've written a lot about Jean on Facebook. All who worked with her, knew her, and loved her know that there was much more to Jean than the legendary chocolate chip cookies she baked for the staff. She was a professional librarian, dedicated to service to others, and her career at RPL touched many lives. A highlight of her accomplishments was all that she did toward planning and launching the new East Branch of the library. She worked tirelessly with her staff to get the collection ready for the move. In fact, Jean never asked employees to do anything that she wouldn't do right along with them - she worked regular shifts at the public desks, got dirty with us weeding old books and pushing loaded carts around, supervised pages (until this honorable duty was passed on to me), and modeled the epitome of outstanding public service. She was mentor to many and more than that to me.
I'll add links to her obituary and to the beautiful tribute written about her in the newspaper. I won't take credit for the fact that the library staff was interviewed and the article was featured in today's paper, but I did e-mail the obituary desk immediately after I saw her obituary online, giving them a heads-up and asking that they contact the library administration in order to give Jean special mention in the paper. Today there was a two-column article with a photo - beautifully written. Jean is surely laughing at the fact that her last name was butchered. Here is the article, followed by links to her obituary, photo gallery and guest book. The newspaper corrected the spelling of her last name in the online version.
And now, some random personal reflections and reminiscences:
Jean Mangan walked into our lives at the library in 1986, wearing a pretty blue shirtwaist dress and a cheerful, albeit apprehensive smile. She was immediately approachable and always witty, and never shy about setting boundaries if we crossed a line with her. She treated us to numerous hilarious anecdotes about her former job, her rollicking Irish family, and the events that occurred from day to day as we staffed the public service desks. Her wonderful mother, Joan Mangan, enjoyed with me the practice of collecting lists of hilarious names, and Jean would bring me clippings regularly, courtesy of her mother, from the Sterling-Rock Falls paper. I, of course, reciprocated. I will never forget the day that she announced to me that someone had named a baby "Gassy," and showed me proof in the clipping of the day. We laughed so hard we cried.
Before Marie and Jean took charge of our department, we had a boss we didn't like - he was always very neat and tidy, perpetually angry, and often downright crude. I won't mention his name here, of course. He constantly harangued me about my displays needing "freshening," and was forever walking up to the public service desks were we worked and straightening stacks of brochures, muttering murderous curses under his breath. He threw a volume of Books In Print at me once in a public area. For years after his passing in 1991, I would mention him as if he were still hovering, ready to torture his next victim - and Jean would exclaim - rolling her eyes heavenward - "Elizabeth! The man is dead. Dead! Pushing up daisies!" (Pause) "Very neat daisies."
Jean was an artist and a weaver. She had her own loom and produced beautiful textile pieces. She was also a blood donor; on the morning of the day she collapsed, we were told she had given blood. She treated the people who used the library with respect -- including the "problem patrons," many of whom she had to escort out of the building. Jean had an amazing eye for details and knew exactly how to scope out an area in the library that needed rearranging and determine precisely where each item would or would not fit, and how it would look. When the library was going through dark times (layoffs and downsizing in 2010), her very presence was reassuring and upbeat. She was supportive of her staff and was quick to give praise when someone did something well. She was respected by administration and bloomed wherever she was transferred during turbulent times - most recently, she was managing two departments at the Main Library: Adult Services and Youth Services.
Jean and I had our moments. More than once I evoked her Irish temper. More than once I had a tantrum in her office. Because Marie, our manager, is my best friend, she assigned Jean the task of doing my evaluation (along with those of others, to split up the daunting chore). I used to refer to evaluations as "executions" and crack jokes about what I wanted for my last meal - to which Jean would reply, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth. Get a grip! No surprises at your review. If you've screwed up, I've already told you." And this was true of Jean. She never hoarded a quiverfull of arrows to shoot at staff during personnel reviews - she was always direct and prompt in her daily mentoring of staff, and whatever she had to say to us, she said it with tact and grace and brevity - always with a smile at the end. And whenever times were tough, (and even when things ran smoothly) we would often arrive at work to see her familiar oval-shaped Tupperware carrier with the blue lid and handles, filled with her homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Jean loved animals, gardening, music, reading, fine art and all things Irish. She disliked staff drama, the constant writing and revision of staff desk schedules, strong perfume, the migraines that plagued her from time to time, and anything that was unfair or unjust.
I can't believe she's gone. Jean Mangan wasn't supposed to die. The thought never entered anyone's mind. We took it for granted that she would be at the library, always ready with a smile and a kind gesture. Marie and I were planning to invite Jean and her mother and other close friends to our home at the completion of our three-season porch. She and her mother were at my retirement party. I remember the day I got up at 6 AM to drive her to an appointment to have her wisdom teeth out. It goes without saying that she had our backs in our times of personal travail. Along with Jean's fundamental kindness, she was frank in her opinions, never afraid to stick up for what she believed was right, and always open to new experiences. Her favorite saying, when anyone was unduly alarmed about upcoming unpleasantries, was "Close your eyes, and think of England!"
She got to go to Ireland with her mother. I am so glad that she had that chance. I'll never forget her excitement about that vacation and her description of driving a car with steering on the right side. We were able to see her in the hospital and say goodbye, and I was able to make direct amends to her, at her bedside, for my incorrigible behavior at work while on her watch. Throughout the years Jean shared a lot with us, yet she was actually very private; as stated in her obituary, she was a true introvert. I have to wonder what she would make of all that's being written in honor of her life. Wherever she is, I can see her -- head thrown back, back of her hand to her forehead, looking skyward, comically aghast at whatever she thought to be either hilarious or over-the-top.
I want to believe she heard me. I want to believe she heard all our prayers as we sat by her, not really knowing quite what so say. I want to think that on some level, she was conscious of everything that was said to her, lovingly, as family sat vigil and people streamed in an out of her room in tears of disbelief. I was not surprised to find out that Jean was an organ donor - always thinking of others. Tomorrow we celebrate her life at a memorial gathering. Even then, none of this will be real to me for a long, long time. The only thing that consoles me is that in her last conscious moments, she was laughing, or so we were told.
I will always love you, Jean. You were a sweet spirit - a beautiful soul. May your family find peace as life goes on for them. Namaste, my friend.
Added April 1, 2016
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