NCAA and Chicago Icon Sister Jean Has Passed Away At The Age of 106 Years Old
Chicago Tribune - Sister Jean Dolores Schmidt, a nun who became a national sports icon for cheering on the Loyola men’s basketball teams during their NCAA Tournament runs, died Thursday, the school said. She was 106.
Sister Jean, as seemingly everyone on the Rogers Park campus and later the sports world knew her, had served as the team chaplain since 1994 until her retirement this summer. For decades she was a fixture at Ramblers games, offering pregame prayers with players and fans.
She became nationally adored as Loyola made a seemingly miraculous Final Four run in 2018 as her wheelchair was pushed onto the court after each victory and Loyola players greeted her with gentle hugs as they exited the floor.
“In many roles at Loyola over the course of more than 60 years, Sister Jean was an invaluable source of wisdom and grace for generations of students, faculty, and staff,” Loyola President Mark C. Reed said in a statement. “While we feel grief and a sense of loss, there is great joy in her legacy. Her presence was a profound blessing for our entire community and her spirit abides in thousands of lives. In her honor, we can aspire to share with others the love and compassion Sister Jean shared with us.”
At 5 feet tall, Sister Jean stood out at Loyola games often wearing a letterman’s jacket or a maroon and gold scarf along with a pair of Nikes. She lived in a freshman dormitory on campus and had an office in the student center, where young adults struggling with studies or homesickness would often pop by for a chat.
She also was competitive.
When former coach Porter Moser was hired in 2011, Sister Jean left an envelope filled with scouting reports on his desk for him. She would email players words of encouragement after games but also advice on how to improve.
When you think of Loyola, you think of two things: the Ramblers and Sister Jean. And if we’re being honest, you can’t really separate the two.
I graduated from Loyola in the mid-2000s, back when Sister Jean was already something of a legend- though she’d be the last to admit it.
She was the kind of person who made you feel like Loyola was smaller than it actually was, like you weren’t just one of thousands of students but someone she genuinely cared about. And somehow, she always remembered your name, and your major.
I can still vividly remember the first time I met her. I was cutting through Centennial Forum (r.i.p.) one morning, half-asleep, late for class, gatorade in hand, nursing a hangover. She stopped me with that familiar sparkle in her eye and said, “You know, you probably wouldn't be late for class if you took it easier at Hamilton's.” Then she smiled, patted my arm, and told me to “make today count for God.”
I laughed all the way to class, but I still think about that momen- because she was right.
Sister Jean had this incredible ability to blend humor and holiness. She wasn’t just a nun in a habit, she was Loyola Chicago’s heartbeat.
You’d see her courtside at the Gentile Center, wearing her maroon and gold scarf, sneakers laced up like she was ready to sub in if the team needed her. She prayed before every game, but she also hand out scouting reports. She’d tell players not just to “believe in themselves,” but to “box out better” and to “use their left hand more.” Only Sister Jean could mix strategy and spirituality like that.
Can you imagine getting an email sitting in your inbox the morning after a game from Sister Jean telling you that you need to work on your footwork and that your switches on defense stink? How do you even respond to that?
The answer is you can't. You couldn't question the expertise of a hoops maniac like Sister Jean. She'd forgotten more about basketball then you'll ever even know. She was around back when they were playing with peach baskets man.
Loyola is unique in that it had a literal walking saint as the face of its program.
And when we made that magical run to the Final Four in 2018, the world finally saw what we had known all along.
They got to see the joy, the humor, the warmth, and the unwavering faith that had filled our lakeshore campus for decades. There she was, being wheeled onto the court, surrounded by six-foot-five athletes and TV cameras, and she still managed to be the calmest, most grounded person in the arena. Fame didn’t change her, not in the slightest. It only gave her a bigger audience to remind everyone what really matters- faith, kindness, humility, and teamwork.
For those of us who walked those campus walkways, Sister Jean wasn’t just a figure on ESPN. She was the one who sat in her office in Regis Hall, listening to students talk about homesickness, heartbreak, or whether they were doing the right thing with their lives.
She lived out the Jesuit principle of cura personalis- care for the whole person. In everything she did.
There was a lightness to her faith, too. She didn’t preach from a pedestal, she met you where you were as they say. If you doubted, she listened. She didn't preach. If you struggled, she reminded you that God wasn’t done with you yet. And if you succeeded, she made sure you didn’t forget to thank God- and maybe send your parents a note, too. She was seriously the greatest.
For crying out loud, she did the unthinkable. She's on the shortest list ever of people who have actually worn Dave down.
Even as she became a national icon, she remained Loyola Chicago's. She didn’t chase celebrity. She used it as a platform to remind the world that joy and purpose can live side by side, or that even in a world full of cynicism and noise, faith can be something simple and steady.
I think that’s what the world will miss most about her.
The steadiness. She was a constant presence in a world that changes too fast.
It’s hard to imagine a Loyola game, a freshman orientation, or even a walk through Damen without her.
Rest easy, Sister Jean.