Celebrating Prairie’s 2026 Hall of Fame Class | P. 14
REMEMBERING DIANE BREACH
MUSINGS, MEDITATIONS, AND MURMURATIONS THE ICONIC PAT BADGER – ALONG WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM HER FRIENDS – REMEMBERS DIANE BREACH IN THE WAY ONLY SHE CAN. [PG. 4]
SPECIAL EDITION
CONTENTS P. 03
A Note From the Editor
P. 04
Musings, Meditations, and Murmurations
P. 08
A Surplus of Life Lessons
P. 10
Social Sharing
P. 12
A Student’s Letter
P. 14
Hall of Fame | Class of 2026
Contributors Editor: Brendan J. O’Brien Designer: Austin Gundlach Contributors: Tim Ackermann Pat Badger John Batten ’83 Terry Chapko ’84 Mark Ciotola ’80 Ken Druley ’84 Adam Gerol ’80 Scott Johnson ’81 Kevin Murphy ’94 Shazia Rafiullah Miller ’85 Shana Redmond ’98 Armen Vidian ’88
As you might have noticed on the cover, this speical issue incorporates the icononic typeface used on the anniversary issue of Mindscape (1998).
Bill Walker ’83
Illustrations & poems throughout this issue were sourced from Mindscape Renaissance, published in 1998 in honor of Diane Breach’s dedication and humor throughout her twenty-five years of teaching Prairie students.
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A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR In 1977, Bert Lance, an Advisor to President Jimmy Carter, popularized the the following idiom – If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. This phrase does not apply to Diane Breach. (Except in one timely way which we’ll get to in a moment.) Diane was, by all accounts, not someone prone to leaving well enough alone. As the many stories and memories in this tribute depict, Diane Breach was, indeed, a fixer upperer. A tinkerer. A trier. Unsatisfied by anything surface level, she was a habitual dig deeper-er, an educator both proudly and profoundly willing to push students to levels of thought they might never have approached were it not for her constant needling. And prodding. And encouragement.
This skill – to mine for excellence and extract enlightenment – is what made her special. In 1977, the same year Bert Lance popularized his phrase, Diane Breach was five years into
a legendary Prairie career that would last until 2011. She taught English and Anthropology, Social Studies and World History. For a short time early in her career, she even taught Spanish.
When she passed away last June, Prairie started brainstorming ways to honor her legacy – which brings us to the magazine you are holding today.
This, it should be noted, is not the first time Diane has been honored with a special publication. In 1998, in celebration of Diane’s 25th anniversary at Prairie, alumna Ieva Swanson ’88
spearheaded the creation of a special edition of Mindscape, the award-winning literary and fine arts magazine Diane created as English Department Chair. (You will find pieces from the special edition of Mindscape sprinkled throughout this issue.)
By all accounts, the special publication went over well in 1998. We are expecting a similar sentiment in 2026.
Diane Breach was a woman eloquent with her words, razor sharp with her wit, and fastidious in her insistence to push students towards their potential. The beautiful concept of honoring her with a tribute publication did not seem like it was broken. As such, we saw no need to fix it. Brendan J. O’Brien Director of Communication
an imagining of the gateway to hell as described in dante’s inferno.
A N D
THE ICONIC PAT BADGER – ALONG WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM HER FRIENDS – REMEMBERS DIANE BREACH IN THE WAY ONLY SHE CAN. — By Pat Badger, Advisor to the Head of School for Arts and Community 4 | prairieschool.com
How to describe iconic guru Diane Breach? Alum Ieva Swanson ’88 remembers Diane with these six words: “Admittedly, there’s more there. See me!” Can you imagine Ms. Breach writing this in her tidy felt-tip cursive atop your essay? Both a teacher’s nudge and an exclamation; all of us are more than meets the eye! Though a private person, Diane contained venerable versatility. First, there was Classroom Diane — the Priestess of the word. Definite. Unwavering. Never a question mark. Diane clearly said what she thought, and in terms of English grammar, she was relentless. Period. But, she also championed a student’s fumbling around, trying out, exploring language and punctuation. Diane herself was a fearless user of exclamation points and semi-colons. (Ieva says Diane wanted to build a shrine to the semi-colon — what would that even look like?) ;;; Diane taught Dante’s Inferno, and infamously posted in her Upper School classroom, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” signaling that students were embarking on a point of no return. Ben Bruch ’90 reflects: “Diane was more interested in telling you what she thought you needed to hear rather than telling you things that might make you feel better.” She was widely known to provoke discomfort, even fear. However, behind the Dante quote was a woman with a wry sense of humor and a desire for students to better understand humans and human relations through the literature she loved.
Diane had unusual empathy, in part, because she was dyslexic; she understood academic struggle. Ieva remembers students commenting, “she’ll push you,” and “Breach set the standard” — a gold standard, they agreed. Students often called Diane “Breach” (never to her face). As in, “Thank G__ for Breach. If not for her, I wouldn’t have the skill set to write creatively!” Graduation heightened her impact. One faculty spouse remarks, “Diane was the most beloved English teacher after graduation.” Alums often visited her after a few years of college and thanked her for making them writing ready.
Two of Diane’s true loves – Yorkshire terriers and Scottish sweaters.
For Diane, words mattered. Do you remember Counselor Diane or, in the world of Prairie, Dean Diane? BenBruch ’90 recalls Diane enforcing “no blue jeans allowed” with rigor as Upper School Dean. If you wore blue jeans, your name would appear on the dreaded Accountability List by 9AM. By the 80s new denim hues elbowed out the blues. Ben bought black jeans and wore them for four years. For Dean Diane, that was totally fine. Words mattered. :)
Camp Madness This night that knows no allegiance to trade, vows or position,
This night while the earth’s deep, rumbling crescendo roars from the very soil,
This night while still, tall pines gesture urgently toward the stars,
I will play drummer to your wild, slow dance.
when my soul leaps at no more than a rustle in the thicket,
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By Scott Johnson ’81
see me! two words that struck fear into any essay writer.
Finally, there was Colleague Diane. Always for clarity in thinking. Believing in process. Exhorting us to high expectations. Bestowed with the informal role of “Faculty and Administration Editor In Chief,” Diane perused letters, memos, official documents and newsletters, plundering prose and flagging punctuational travesties. Your communications — and you — were better after her wordsmithing. Serving as proofreader for endless Prairie yearbooks, Diane persistently plunged her way through photos and text, looking for hidden innuendo or slovenly style. And speaking of style, to her colleagues’ delight (mostly), she sometimes brought her beloved Yorkshire terriers and Shih Tzus for visits on “professional days.” Admittedly, there was more there. Also, there was Creative Diane, who had degrees in both English and History. Who taught Anthropology, History and English from 9th grade to AP. Who took 7/8th grade students to Kampsville archeological digs! Who loved historical traveling — especially Scotland and those cozy sweaters. Who championed Interim and chaperoned trips abroad. Who was the Maven of Mindscape, where student editors teamed up to assemble and produce the annual Prairie literary magazine. Diane entrusted each year’s crew with an amazing breadth of responsibility and artistic license. What began as prose and poetry grew to include art photos and even musical scores. Mindscape — a magazine in many ways ahead of its time — a flourishing source of student leadership, pride, and, ultimately, meticulously edited by Diane before publication.
Artists assemble. The Mindscape team poses for a picture. The publication was, as Pat Badger writes, “A magazine ahead of its time.”
So, Diane, I’m here to report that we do see you – in the breadth of our reading, for we still read, and in the turn of our prose, for we still write — from kringle orders to justice to love. Here’s to your words, wit, and the wisdom that seeing the “more” in ourselves and each other is one of schooling’s biggest gifts.
A SURPLUS OF LIFE LESSONS — By Mark Ciotola ’80 The amazing Diane Breach – teaching English, Anthropology, World History, etc. – one felt like she could do it all. The career of Diane Breach is a lesson to educators new and old. She was relentless, yet patient and tolerant. I remember in class, most likely 7th grade Anthropology, how she would question us and try to get us to think in fundamental principles. We would answer a question, and she would ask “Well, how would that help me?” One of us would answer and Ms. Breach would reply, “Well then, how would that help me?” After yet another of our replies, she would ask, “Then how would THAT help me?” Exasperating!
Yet, later, I learned that this was a form of the Socratic method, getting us to think deeper and deeper. Ms. Breach was also a closet economist, encouraging us to think of anthropology in concepts such as productive surplus, and all that surpluses make possible. Simple-sounding, but hugely insightfuI. I learned that thinking in terms of these concepts also makes many things possible. She also discussed world history in ways that caused us to analyze history in terms of the big picture, not just the histories of individual countries, but rather the evolutionary behavior of a whole globe of nations. She did so with a note of caution, but without the disempowering, biting cynicism of some teachers. She was so balanced. I am certain that Ms. Breach teaching us to think in terms of fundamental concepts and the big picture was very productive for many students at Prairie, and that is certainly a distinguishing quality of the Prairie education. I appreciate her work, have thanked her before, and now thank her again for her wonderful teaching as she developed thinkers and human beings.
Reflections on the Wall My father walked straight to 1968, fingers tracing across the smooth blackness and faceless names.
Vermont boys from Greenfield sent to Da Nang and Ben Tre, sent to death.
June, 1967 was graduation from Norwich, September was the wedding, officer training through the fall.
“It all happened so fast,” he whispered. He didn’t cry because I knew he wouldn’t, he just repeated those words and shook his head.
Then the lunar New Year, swept fiery down the Mekong.
I was only ten and couldn’t understand just why my father had a yearbook of black marble, Class of ’67.
– By Kevin Murphy ’94
She stood framed in the doorway, surveying the newest class of seniors to come before her, then coolly stepped into the room. Coffee cup in hand and air of purpose in tow, she proceeded to the front. No one talked, no one moved as she took her seat. Her gaze resting momentarily on her cargo – a Doll’s House – and then she began . . . Ibsen bled into Shakespeare and Shakespeare bled into us that year. Maybe we didn’t realize it at the time, but she would stand . . . coffee cup in hand, sense of purpose in tow . . . as a doorway.
S CIAL SHARING ONE OF SOCIAL MEDIA’S BEST, MOST BENEVOLENT POWERS IS THE WAY IT CAN BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER. A COLLECTION OF ALUMNI MEMORIES – ALONGSIDE THE MANY HAIRSTYLES OF MS. BREACH – ARE SHARED BELOW.
John Batten ’83: She was one of a
kind. Her teaching of grammar is forever
cemented in my mind.
People who draft things
Terry Chapko ’84:
for me know never to spilt an infinitive.
I certainly benefitted from Ms.
Breach drilling important grammar basics into my scattered 8th
grade brain. However, that she
actually succeeded in getting me to contemplate the underlying
rationale for those basics is what made her a special teacher.
Adam Gerol ’80:
Ms. Breach was the greatest teacher I had in all my years at Prairie. She was a great friend as well. I carried her Anthropology lessons through college where it was my major. She instilled confidence and a love of learning that stays with me today.
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Bill Walker ’83:
She was making her way through the receiving line in the
Dining Room immediately after graduation, shook my hand,
congratulated me, then suggested that I never return to the school. Classmates on both sides of me were mildly hysterical.
Shazia Rafiullah Miller ’85:
I still remember Austrapithicus Africanus.
Anthropology was such an amazing course.
Ms. Breach helped us little 7th graders begin to think like adults.
Ken Druley ’84:
Her attitude toward teaching subjects from
Anthropology to English has colored the way I teach in the kitchen. My only hope is that I am half as effective as her.
Armen Vidian ’88:
Diane Breach stood out as someone who never expected anything less than
greatness from her students. She was totally dedicated. Without people like
her, I wouldn’t have considered many of the aspirations I’ve carried with me to this day.
EDITOR’S NOTE: In September of 2024, Tim Ackermann, a former Prairie Middle School student who spent the formative years of 6th, 7th, and 8th grade at TPS from 1978-1980, was celebrating his fortieth high school reunion. It was a time of reflection and gratitude and, he realized, reaching out. For years, he’d thought about getting in touch with Diane to say ‘thank you’ for the impact she made on him during his Middle School years. That September, the time was right. Unfortunately, because of an invalid email address, his letter never made it through cyberspace. Until now. Upon seeing Prairie’s recent calls for memories and stories about Diane, Tim rediscovered the email and shared it with us so we could share it with you. And Diane.
A STUDENT’S LETTER
— By Tim Ackermann, Former Prairie Middle School Student September 15th, 2024 Dear Ms. Breach, It’s been a long time, so I’ll introduce myself: you taught me 7th grade Anthropology and 8th grade English from 1978-80. My dad, Mike Ackermann, was then the Head of Prairie’s Middle School. I don’t have photos that old handy, but this is one from my senior year – that’s me in the Northwestern t-shirt. [A] This is a letter I first thought about probably a decade ago, but life – small children, starting my own firm, “I’ll do it later…” – all conspired against me. Last weekend, though, I was in Racine for my 40th Reunion from Horlick High School. That’s a time for memories, and I had played hooky from work on Friday to fly up early, so I had time to explore, including a trip to Prairie. Now, it’s time. Many people have a favorite teacher, one that inspired interest, one that is remembered even decades later. For me, that’s always been you.
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The class that inspired me was Anthropology, that, and our wonderful trip to Kampsville. Did I grow up to be a scientist? No, but more on that later. Even today, four decades later, I always read news articles on archaeology and the history of the human species. This week, I was reading articles on the Denisovans and their place in our history and thinking how many of the prior species discussed were new since I first learned about “Lucy.” I recently read an article about the possibility that the ancient Egyptians used flood-based hydraulics to drive lifting mechanisms used to build a pyramid. I thank you for inspiring this interest, even if I took a different path. That path? After Prairie, we spent a year in Waco, then returned to Racine. I graduated from Horlick in 1984 and went to the University of Texas-Austin to study mechanical engineering. You might not be surprised to find that degree was light in English, writing, etc., especially if one tested out of the basics.
But even then, I might have taken a broader, more liberal arts path: UT has an honors liberal arts dual-degree plan that could be combined with engineering. Had I known of it originally, I might have gone that way. Instead, I graduated as an engineer, went into the Navy for four years, was stationed in Japan for a time, and then left, wondering what I would do. My dad suggested being a patent attorney. “What?” I said, “The engineers we laughed at, and warred against, at UT? Why would I do that?” But that’s what I did, going to UT Law School and back to Austin. Reading, writing, and more reading.
Now? I own my own small firm in a small suburb of Fort Worth. My wife, Laurie, is a musician who is also a lawyer (yes, we met via law school). And we’ve got three girls: Signy, who’s a sophomore at NYU in Theater, Roslyn, a high school senior who’s in theater and choir and wants to be a music teacher, and Liesl, a high school sophomore who’s becoming a leader in her marching band, likes to cook, and (might?) be an engineer someday. [B] My parents, Mike and Kathi, live in nearby Denton. The (requisite) photos are below and attached to the email. Again, thank you for being a teacher and for helping me grow and be interested in things in history and outside my own life.
Then into practice in San Antonio, with a first boss who signed off on briefs with few changes. And a second boss, in Dallas, who spilled more red ink than one might think possible on a single sheet of paper, but who taught me that I had a lot to learn about writing clearly and directly.
A B
TODD HOEKSEMA ’74
TOM PROOST ’77
GABRIELLE ORTIZ ’14
LIZ POWELL ’78
CLASS OF 2026 SCHOLAR
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ARTIST
ATHLETE
LEADER
AN EXCERPT FROM
“A BURN I NG FAS C INATION” To understand Todd Hoeksema’s burning fascination and determination to study our galaxy’s greatest star, it’s important to also understand his affinity for Stanford, and the university’s role as catalyst in supporting his scientific curiosity and affording opportunities to further his life’s work.
AN EXCERPT FROM
“SPECI AL AF F E C TE R” In these photos and so many others – Tom working on the movie A.I., Tom working on The Nightmare Before Christmas, Tom working on Coraline, Tom working on Wendell & Wild – you begin to notice it again and again. That smile. Aging gracefully over the decades while always maintaining the same excitement. The same confidence. The same zest for life. And for making magic.
AN EXCERPT FROM
“DUE NORT H” Today, some 12 years after she last suited up for Prairie, misdirection feels like a proper entry point into appreciating the journey of Gabrielle Ortiz. And yes, that journey was – and still is – emphatically influenced by the game of basketball. These days, much of her free time is spent dishing information to the next generation of hoopers – she started the GO Basketball Academy in Oklahoma and offers private lessons and small group training for young players. But, this is not a basketball story.
AN EXCERPT FROM
“UN SUNG H E ROIC S ” Without the conductor’s zeal for craft and steady, quiet leadership, direction is lost. Great leadership begins with a willingness to provide balance and organization and structure without ever demanding the spotlight. In this way, Liz Powell ’78, President & CEO of the Racine Community Foundation, contently serves as conductor not just for her team, but for her community.
READ THE FULL STORIES OF THIS YEAR’S INDUCTEES ONLINE AT PRAIRIESCHOOL.COM/HALLOFFAME OR BY SCANNING HERE.
4 0 5 0 L i g h t h o u s e D r i ve, W i n d Po i n t W I 5 3 4 0 2