Vincent and Marguerite Sill, Virginia and Paul,
vacationing together at Camelback Inn

Jean Turnmire, Ron Milnarik's sister, now an equestrienne and music teacher in Chicago, recalls the many, many times she visited the Critchfield home, where she was first introduced to Virginia, a woman whose kindness, personality, and style easily inspired emulation in young girls. Jean Turnmire was no exception. As she recalls, "Virginia had a tremendous presence. The room would light up when she walked in. She was so gentle and kind and had a wonderful spirit that just glowed." Jean, who was a year younger than Paul, often stopped by the Critchfield home after school, where she was always welcomed as part of the family.

I lived two doors down from the Critchfields, and I remember that Carol always had WFMT, the public radio station, on in her studio. It was the first time I had ever heard public radio. She would hold studios for small groups of other women artists. It all seemed very modern. They would paint to classical music, Tchaikovsky, for example. It really opened my eyes as a child, the cultural influence in art, music, even food,I had artichokes for the first time at their home.

Jean also recalls being invited to stay over at Virginia and Paul's home in Evanston on one occasion:

I remember her wonderful maid, Alma, and how it was the first time I ever saw fresh-squeezed orange juice. Virginia introduced me to a lot of new things. My father was a dentist, and we had nice things, too, but Virginia had such elegant taste. When I was in high school, she started giving me Est'e Lauder compacts in beautiful gift packages. She was so sweet, and I looked up to her as the ideal lady. I even started dressing like her a little bit, with little scarves like she wore and a Chesterfield coat when I was in high school.

I never heard Virginia raise her voice for any reason. She was unflappable no matter what. I remember years earlier, for example, when she had a new car, a white convertible. It was the first time I had ever used a seat belt, and we all went to get ice cream cones. When we went to get out of the car, I had forgotten to take off my seat belt and my ice cream went flying all over the new car. Virginia just laughed.

I knew Virginia for more than fifty years, first as a child, then as a young woman, and finally as a married woman. Her sister Carol, Paul's mother, was a redhead, always perky, short, bouncy, fun. By contrast, I remember Virginia as tall and elegant but never less than warm. She would float into a room; she had such grace, such elegance. You couldn't find a better person anywhere. Virginia was the ideal of a perfect lady.

So while there was a professional, public side to Virginia, she also possessed, as Mrs. Paul Galvin, a private, personal side that so many remember with great fondness.

Years of marriage to Paul and loving attachments to friends and family gave Virginia the core strength she needed to navigate the difficult last phase of her marriage, when Paul fell terribly ill. She would prove a steadfast comfort to him, and much of her strength derived from the love and support of the Galvin and Critchfield families, who surrounded and supported her through the most difficult time of her life up to that point.

In May 1958, Paul, concerned about black-and-blue marks recurring on Virginia's arms, took her and their good friends, the Vincent Sills, to the Greenbrier hotel in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, to visit the famous health clinic there. Paul knew such marks were a potential sign of leukemia and wanted to have Virginia tested. As a matter of course, he had his own health checked, and ironically his tests, not Virginia's, came back with a possible though inconclusive indication of leukemia. In June 1958, after their return to Chicago, Paul, feeling unwell, entered Saint Francis Hospital to have more extensive tests. This time, the diagnosis of leukemia was confirmed.

Dr. Philip Sheridan, a former World War II naval aviator, now a general surgeon, had become friends with Paul and Virginia through his wife, B. J., Mary Galvin's sister. Phil, who became Paul's attending physician through the weeks and months of his final illness, recalls the day he was sitting in his small office on Central Street in Evanston when the front door banged open, and Paul, striding in, dropped a piece of paper on his desk, pointed to it, and gruffly asked, "What about this?" Paul was referring to his diagnosis of subacute lymphatic leukemia. As Phil explains, "It was one of those incidents in life that you never forget."

This was before any chemotherapeutic agents of any significance had been developed. I got hold of Dr. Schwartz, one of my mentors who was by then head of hematology at Cook County and at Northwestern. He gave Paul one year to live from the time of diagnosis.

The more I knew about Paul, the more I respected him. He was quite a man and showed a very serious concern for other people. He knew how to run Motorola and how to respect his employees. I even took care of a number of his employees for him. He was one of the very significant human experiences of my life. I've had the opportunity to meet a lot of great people, and he was right up at the top.

Describing Virginia during this time, Phil said, "She was very detail-oriented. I would go over to their house to check on Paul, and I wouldn't get out of that house until she had it all figured out exactly what I wanted her to do, in specific terms, in caring for Paul. Both Virginia and Paul were gracious, good people, possessed of honor, integrity, and loyalty."

For the next eighteen months, with Virginia devotedly at his side, Paul would fight his prognosis valiantly, with intervals of seeming success. He insisted on traveling with Virginia to Arizona, hoping the desert climate and relaxation they had always enjoyed there would give him strength. Paul and Virginia also visited his son and family on their new farm out near Barrington and in September 1959 would insist on hosting a surprise fiftieth wedding anniversary party for Virginia's parents. But his health quickly worsened after that, and Virginia took on an even greater role as his constant, devoted companion, doing whatever would lift his spirits, even bringing his favorite home-cooked foods to the hospital in those final weeks. Finally, on November 5, 1959, in room 219 of Saint Francis Hospital, with Virginia, his son, brother (Burley), and sister (Helen) by his bedside, Paul Vincent Galvin passed away at the age of sixty-four. Thirteen years old at the time of his uncle's death, Paul Critchfield remembers Big Paul as "a man with a terrific voice, big Irish eyebrows, and a great dynamic presence." Paul Galvin's son, Bob, says, "I had such respect for my father. I didn't know anybody who was as good as he was. He was just a remarkable man." The following formal obituary appeared in an official Motorola news release dated November 6, 1959:

Paul V. Galvin, chairman of the board and founder of Motorola, Inc., died yesterday evening (November 5) of leukemia at Saint Francis Hospital in Evanston, Illinois. Mr. Galvin's funeral will be on Monday, November 9, at 10:30 a.m. at a Requiem High Mass in the Holy Name Cathedral, State and Superior Streets, Chicago. Interment will be at All Saints Cemetery, Des Plaines, Illinois.

Paul Galvin had enriched and transformed Virginia's life in marvelous ways. Now, at his death and by her own choosing, she was left in charge of the Paul V. Galvin Charitable Trust. His charitable works had been extensive, yet a number of his philanthropic projects and dreams remained unfinished. Before his death, Paul explained to Virginia that those projects could easily be turned over to trusted advisors of his choice, and she would never need to be concerned with such a heavy responsibility. Or, if she chose, and only if she chose, she could elect to carry out his unfinished philanthropic work. Paul's sole concern was for Virginia's happiness, so he was adamant that the choice be hers. Virginia's decision to honor her husband's memory by completing his philanthropic work was unequivocal. Of her own volition, Virginia, upon being widowed, embarked upon a forty-year career as a philanthropist. She began by completing Paul's unfinished charitable works and in the process learned and mastered the art of philanthropy. In a final act of mentorship, perhaps realizing how much this would give his wife a sense of purpose after he was gone, Paul instructed Virginia in the details and protocol of philanthropic work.

Within days of Paul's death, the next phase of Virginia's life began. Learning to administer the Paul V. Galvin Charitable Trust as cotrustee with the Harris Bank of Chicago, Virginia became responsible for decisions about future recipients of the trust. As chief administrator, she would direct millions of dollars to scores of charities in the Chicago area and later in Arizona. After the Galvin Charitable Trust expired, Virginia would establish a trust in her own name. At Paul's death, however, there was the grieving, the comfort of friends and family, and the ordinariness of life, which returned with a searing loneliness. The man who had loved, mentored, delighted in, and deeply inspired her was gone, but Virginia would maintain her connection to Paul for the rest of her life, in part by emulating those qualities that had drawn her to him in the beginning: his Catholic faith, habits of hard work, and selfless dedication to the well-being of others. By following in Paul Galvin's footsteps, Virginia learned, in time, to forge her own path.