Dr. Tom McCauley
I took care of Virginia for many years, as well as her parents Ken and Dearie. Later, I also took care of Ken Piper. When my wife, Pat, and I moved to Arizona in 1961, Scottsdale was a much smaller place. We felt like we were all family, very close, very personal in our relationship with the family.

Virginia was one of the thriftiest yet most generous people I've ever known. In her personal life, she literally saved everything, an influence from her poorer, simpler childhood. When she came to my office, she would wait out in the waiting room along with everyone else for an hour or more and never once complained. I'm frankly surprised now when I see everything with her name on it; it doesn't fit with the Virginia I knew. It's not her. She made a distinction between her private self and what she did publicly.

Virginia had a lot of character from her rock-solid upbringing. She was not a controller and never tried to lead anybody else's life. She had a tremendous devotion to her parents. Virginia was a woman who lived in many generations; that is, she was old-fashioned in many ways: she loved music from the '20s and '30s, was a friend of Wayne King (the saxophonist), had Victorian ideas, and the decor in her home was sort of French Versailles. She just wasn't locked into any particular era.

Virginia Piper was a complex woman. She was required each year to give away a certain amount of money, and she was as dedicated to her profession as I am to mine, and by God, she was going to do it better than anyone else. She would not be happy to be called rich. She didn't see herself as rich. She was a steward of Paul's money; that was her job. She was honest and had a strong radar for dishonesty. I liked Virginia a lot.

Christina Critchfield-Huber
Virginia passed away on my birthday, June 14. I had seen her the previous day when she was in bed at home, not talking. My dad, Paul Critchfield, his wife Claudia, and Carol, my grandmother "Mimi," were all there, and a couple of nurses were in the kitchen. I held her hand and talked to her, telling her everything was fine, that we were all there with her. I remember telling her I would look after Mimi (Carol) for her. I knew, driving home, that she would die on my birthday, that she would be my angel. At her public memorial service on June 18 at St. Francis Xavier, the Phoenix Boys Choir sang for her, the Phoenix Symphony Trio played, and with all the people there, it was clear that no one was present out of duty but because they wanted to be there for her.

Virginia deferred her own needs for the needs of others. I know she spent hours and hours a day at her desk, either in correspondence or on the phone. She was a phenomenal writer, one of those people who automatically make you feel like you are the most important person in the world. At her desk, she had a bajillion thank-you notes from all the young people she put through college or medical school. They'd correspond with her throughout their lives, send pictures of their children, etc. I really doubt she shared or catalogued all the young people she helped in her lifetime. That's how Gin most liked to give,silently. Off the public record. I think she might be uncomfortable to see her name now. I believe she preferred the quiet gift of compassion for others as well as for the community. She preferred the invisible gift.

Father Frank Fernandez
Most people love talking about themselves, but not Virginia. I saw Virginia for five years on a weekly basis, every Sunday, from 1994 until her death in June 1999, and I was never able to completely figure her out. She was so elusive in her simplicity, in her style of faith. When it came to making decisions about gifts, philanthropy, Virginia always asked Paul Galvin, spiritually, to help her make the right decision. Always. He was with her from the beginning, and he was with her until the very end. She knew it and trusted it; part of her faith experience was Paul Galvin. He really was her guardian angel.

In her house, the cats all slept on the dining room table next to a big glass Steuben cat. Her office was small and personal, but it was sacrosanct, that office. She did all her work there, but we were always in the kitchen. That was her place; she loved it there. I was much more comfortable with her as a person than as a priest. We were just good, close friends. Bishop O'Brien was really the official priest in her life.

The last five years her life changed dramatically because of her health, and she began to speak of her grandmother and Paul Galvin constantly. You mentioned Virginia Piper, and all people thought about was money. That was not her real world, however; inside Virginia, there was a gentle, innocent girl. She played the role of Mrs. Paul V. Galvin, of Mrs. Kenneth Piper, and then of Virginia G. Piper sublimely, magnificently, and to some degree, I'm sure she enjoyed it. But so constantly it was tedious and awful, too; she was always booked for something. And what I found so curious, after a life like that, is that her last years were lived alone, except for her sister Carol, a few close friends, and her immediate family. She was bound by being childless and widowed. And when she couldn't be the perfect image people expected, she withdrew.

I truly grew to love Virginia and to this day I miss her.

Helen Dusch
I worked as Mrs. Piper's housekeeper for eleven years, from 1988 to 1999. Before she became ill, she liked to go shopping at Fashion Square or in the little Main Street shops in Scottsdale, to go out for ice cream at the Sugar Bowl. I remember her favorite flavor was peppermint.

We were like sisters, and before the nurses came, if she was unwell, I'd stay over many nights so she wouldn't be alone. To me it was a privilege to know her. We always decorated at Christmas and had a Christmas party for all the help. Julio was her handyman, and he and his wife would always be there. People were very, very loyal to Mrs. Piper. It didn't matter what you got Mrs. Piper; she would be thrilled with it, with the thought of the gift.

The last two years of Mrs. Piper's life were the hardest. I would get to her house around seven in the morning and make her breakfast, always oatmeal or a blender drink. I would bring clothes from Nordstrom for her to try on. Sister Ann Ida would fly out from Chicago twice a year to visit, Father Frank came on Sundays, and other nuns used to come and visit, all very, very nice. The most important thing I can say about Mrs. Piper is that I put her in the same category as my mother. I don't think I have ever met anyone who had such dignity. Mrs. Piper was elegant. She was a loving, caring woman. Just marvelous.