Paul Galloway: A beloved legend
"Sheep, Galloway, sheep!"

The Fun and Kindness of Paul Galloway: No memories can ever match an original, but they are better than nothing. I arrived at the Chicago Tribune in June of 1973, right out of college and found myself kind of like Alice, surrounded by giants. Giants whose ability to write so beautifully was even more intimidating because it seemed so effortless. Roger Ebert, of course, and others including Ron Powers, Mike Royko, Paul McGrath, Dorothy Storck, Dorothy Collins, Jeff Lyons, Mary Daniels, Roger Simon, Bruce Vilanch, Jim and Michaela Tuohy, John McHugh, Bob Greene, Tom Fitzpatrick, Denise DeClue and a half dozen more I’m going to regret not mentioning. But Paul Galloway was in a subset of the best of the best. He wrote prose like a poet and a craftsman.
But these writers were storytellers too and some were unrivaled at comedic monologues. In social situations --- they seldom asked a question, that was what they all did for a living --- they traded narratives and one-liners. So, I tried to keep quiet, listen to the stories and duck. Galloway was a master of this format too. (Roger Ebert recounted some of the classics on his blog this week.)
But there was no room in anyone’s repertoire for stories of the many kindnesses that were Paul Galloway’s modus operandi, he would have been embarrassed and angry if you ever brought mentioned it. I was somewhere in my mid-twenties and having a bad year --- it was one of those decades plagued by sudden death, mayhem and plenty of realized and unrealized dread. That year, Paul Galloway gave me a special birthday present.
Here’s the background: At the time, the young gods of Chicago journalism carried navy blue Smythson pocket journals with their names engraved in gold on the covers. The little books had a cache similar to an iphone now --- but you had to know how to obtain one. In order to know where to get a diary you had to have a friend who would give you one so you would know how to order it the next year. At the time, I stood about as much chance of getting a pocket calendar as I did of joining the Cliffdwellers or any of the men-only clubs in the city. So Paul Galloway gave me the gift of that diary. Somehow he knew I would be thrilled and I would never forget it.
Recently Paul wrote some stories for a magazine where I was the editor on Jon and Jennifer Vickers and Fr. Andrew Greeley, among others. He had to come to our office and work at a computer there because he didn’t own one. He would arrive early in the morning and struggle for hours, getting every phrase exactly perfect, looking up words in the dictionary and making everyone laugh all day long. This went on for days. He was such a joy to be with and then, he used whatever pittance we paid him to treat everyone to lunch. So much care and attention went in to everything did and every friend he had. Luckily for everyone, he found at least one person worthy or his attention and affection and his wife Maggie is still with us. I am so sorry he is gone and so very happy that he was my friend.
---This will appear tomorrow in my Shore e-newsletter and then archived on the site VisitShoreMagazine.com

You really captured him, Roger, in all his zaniness and brilliance.

My greatest regret is that I didn't meet Paul until I was in my 60s -- some 20 years ago. Joanne and I had so much fun with Paul and Maggie that I mourned all the years that had passed before I met him. We have visited the Galloways in Michigan, in Oklahome, and of course, in Chicago. We ate countless meals together in our favorite Viet Nam restaurant, the name of which we've never been able to remember. I could seldom find their house in Michigan and Paul would meet us on the Red Arrow highway and guide us in. And once, he even had trouble himself finding his way home. As with several of the other commentators, I really loved the guy and shall miss him greatly. Paul came to all the many fund-raisers and political get- togethers we used to have. He admired my son Jonathan and loved to visit with him. I look at Paul as a part of my family and am saddened more than I can write.

Dear Roger Ebert:

My name is Mal Huntley. I was a friend of Paul Galloway for sixty years.

It has always been my opinion that iw would be impossible to catch the essenceof Paul in print. Wrong. You did it beautifully. Thank you.

By the way, did you ever hear the one about his proctologist, the prostate exam and Ted Williams?

Ebert: I don't think you have the right to bring that up and not share it with us. I believe Paul would agree.

I met Paul Galloway at a party in Norman, Okla while attending the University of Oklahoma. On television, that very day, was the Ed Sullivan show introducing Elvis Presley. We all laughed our heads off at his gyrations and predicted his utter failure in show biz. None of us knew who we were, what we were going to do with our lives, but what I did know, for sure, that Paul Vernon Galloway would be my friend forever. And, he has been. From 18 years of age to age 74. We have been there for each other through thin and thin. Thick and thick, etc. He flew to Scotland to watch my son get his PHD at Glasgow University. He cried like a baby at my husband Jimmy's gravesite who died in a jet airplane. I met him in October for a football game and the year before, I brought my grandson, and he too was wowed by Paul. I loved his voice and the way he walked. I took some of those four mile walks with Paul and Maggie. Mandatory if you visited them. He took me to a party in Chicago where Barack Obama chatted to us all while running for his senate seat. I have saved everything he has ever sent me. There are people coming to his funeral from all over the United States. As a friend of mine said,"I would walk over broken glass to get to his services." Yep, and he would do the same for us. I will miss him forever. I will also now begin to celebrate the life he had with all of us. Kaye Boren

I will miss Paul Galloway forever. His voice, his walk and his generosity. I've known him since we were 18 years old. I laughed every single time I was with him. Kaye Boren

When I was in my 1st year of Law School at the University of Oklahoma, in '62-'63, I worked at a boarding/rooming house just off campus----Paul was back in school working on a masters in journalism (I think, you never really knew WHAT he was doing)---Paul worked there, too. We were a rowdy bunch who passed the time harrassing the proprietress. A fun old lady from Ohio, Hettie had come to Norman when her older sister was a student, and stayed to open her little business (we also had fun with the boarders, and the roomers, the latter of whom were all girls, usually in graduate school).The house was an institution at OU, and there were waiting lists to board, to room, and even to work there. Paul gave nicknames to all 8 girls "Fifi" and other such names one might associate with a Parisian or New Orleansian brothel. We were supposed to wear clean aprons when coming on to duty for each given meal, so naturally Paul secreted one away that was totally encrusted with food stains and grime that he would don as he came to work---this went on for several days, and Hettie finally said; "Now Paul, you know that apron should be replaced before the evening meal, don't you?"----I still remember the response 46 years later---"Yeah, I guess so---Unless it shapes itself up in the next couple of hours!"
OK, so maybe you had to be there, but we all couldn't stop laughing for the rest of the day---sorry to hear of his passing, but not surprised at his success and reputation!
Blakjak

Paul Galloway was my first journalism crush.
Even before I set foot in the Sun Times newsroom as a teenager, I listened to this handsome man tell hilarious tales of newspaper hijinks with his fellow Chicago hacks John McHugh, Jon Anderson and Roger during long weekends at Roger's summer home where my family spent many of my teenage days. I followed all of their work and dreamed of one day being like them.

Still, it was a shock when, 20 years later, I actually did end up working with Paul as a fellow Tempo reporter at the Chicago Tribune. He was such an elegant writer. He cared about every word he put out. He wanted you to see what he saw, and often he wanted you to chuckle. He fretted over "tin-eared" editors who would change his copy without telling him, only to ruin the flow and the rhythm of his sentences. He cared about finding (and producing) that story that could draw readers in, make them curl up on the couch and agree to spend a chunk of time with a writer.

In the late 90s he wrote one of the first profiles I ever read of Starbuck's CEO Howard Schultz, meeting him at a downtown cafe for the interview saying:
"Schultz is tall, lean, impeccably dressed and very hungry. He hasn't had anything since breakfast. He'd spoken earlier to a well-attended luncheon at the Standard Club, but had been too keyed up to eat.
He asks if it's all right if he grabs something, and his interviewer, always gracious to the rich and powerful, says sure. Schultz then follows the ritual of the ordinary customer--getting in line, placing his order and paying for it, then carrying it to a table. To do otherwise would profane his philosophy that everybody in the company, no matter the rank, is family."

Paul wrote this story when Starbuck's was a relatively small operation, but he had an inkling this Schultz was really going somewhere.

Paul was old school. He called people instead of just Googling them. He wore an elegant fedora. He put on a jacket and tie for work each day. He proudly supported the artistic exploits of his magical wife Maggie--whom I also adored. And he was fiercely loyal to his colleagues whether they were in or out of official favor.

By the time Paul left the Tribune he, like any smart, skeptical journalist, was disappointed and sad over the state of our industry. It didn't seem to value the Paul Galloway stories, the kinds of quiet, thoughtful, moving tales that made our readers feel connected to us--and we to our world.
Paul wasn't wrong. And things never got better.

Storytellers like Paul aren't born everyday. People who can mesmerize us with a topic we thought we had no interest in and make us understand why it is special are rare commodities.
It's sad that we live in a world that no longer has much room for Paul Galloway stories. But much sadder to be in a world that no longer has Paul Galloway.

This Okie tips her hat.

One of you has described Maggie as magical, I agree. And then I met Paul. I was in love with his brilliance! My favorite beach story happened a few years ago. It was an unusually warm spring afternoon and I had invited a few friends over for Sunday Supper. Maggie and Paul never refused good food or my mile high apple pie. The dining table was set. The first few guests arrived. The men pronounced, "why can't we eat outdoors". Even though my tabletop was Martha Stewart perfect, I said why not! These men removed all the placesettings and proceeded to carry the 95" farm table and dining chairs out to the Lake Michigan deck, precisely resetting the tabletop as I had originally designed it. Five hours later we were still telling stories, taking pictures, eating ice cream and pie and weaving each moment into the tapesty of our friendship. Paul and Maggie walked Lake Shore Drive every day. Their colorful attire sometimes made them look like the cast of Cirque. My heart goes out to Maggie. I shall never forget the gift of his friendship.

Your write suddenly makes me aware to cherish people more since oneself apart nobody is going to be around indefinitely

The days of real journalism, exciting journalism, "can't wait to get back to work" journalism have grown cold but the warm memories of passing friends will forever remain. There should be a 'Nation Throw A Chair Day' just to let the world know that we are still alive. Paul would definitely approve. Thanks for the memories, Roger.

Duane Hall

"How swiftly the days pass! It makes us realize how few are the years we have left. Friends enjoy the cherry blossoms together on spring mornings, and then they are gone, carried away like the blossoms by the winds of impermanence, leaving nothing but their names. Although the blossoms have scattered, the cherry trees will bloom again with the coming of spring, but when will those people be reborn? The companions with whom we enjoyed composing poems praising the moon on autumn evenings have vanished with the moon behind the shifting clouds. Only their mute images remain in our hearts. Though the moon has set behind the western mountains, we will compose poetry under it again next autumn. But where are our companions who have passed away?"

Nichiren Daishonin (1222-1281)

Roger Ebert,

I don't know what to say about Paul other than he was my friend since high school, and he was one of a kind. The best kind. He will be missed by all who knew and loved him. Maggie, we will be hold you in our hearts and prayers.

Joe and Bonnie Knowles

Terry and I are so sad to hear about Paul. We were all friends though the Pejos at Oklahoma, and Paul was in our wedding. We had visited too infrequently through the years. Terry took our sons to Chicago, and Paul left a huge impression on them. My mother thought he hung the moon. Maggie is a wonderful girl, and we are so glad they did meet. Our thoughts and prayers are with her and all the rest of his friends which are counted in multitudes. There is a hole in our lives without him. Joyce Mays

Thank you, dearest Roger, for giving me the chance to hear the sheep story again. As a veteran of those earlier days, the chair-throwing days, I remember so many times when he led the mischief and we happily rode along.
I also loved his work, of course, and the way he wrote so beautifully about things the rest of us failed to notice.
He once concocted a wonderful series on second-story Chicago. It involved a visit to some forgotten beauty shop on the second floor somewhere downtown, and the next day Mr. Elegant came with a permanent--the ugliest set of curls I had ever seen, outside of Alabama. It still makes me laugh more than three decades later.
If I built a monument to the Chicago of our day, Galloway would certainly be at booth number one.

Oh Roger, reading this is like sitting on the back porch with you and Paul and Maggie and Chaz. I had always envisioned spending my dotage doing such with Maggie painting our pictures and serving us iced tea and sandwiches. Paul had a way of turning my puny little personal tragedies into hilarious comedy routines. He brought out the best in us. I loved him dearly and love you all the more for adding to his immortality.

Ebert: People keep referring to stories I haven't heard, like the one about his proctologist, the prostate exam and Ted Williams. Did you ever hear it?

This week we lost the last liberal, no dinner party will be the same. As our Michiana friends and extended family will reflect the evenings will be quite who will challenge our thinking, we lost our best friend!

Few editors are lucky enough to work with a writer like Paul Galloway even once. I got lucky twice.

The first time was in 1969 when I was a boy editor at The Sun-Times (Jim Tuohy actually managed to call me that in the paper!). One day Paul joined the star-studded staff and immediately stood out. He had an effortless way of making people his friends, and I fell, or rather dived, into his gravitational field. I've never been able to escape, or wanted to.

I got lucky again in 1985 when, after 15 years at papers in Philadelphia, New York and Kansas City, I returned to Chicago as the Trib's Tempo editor -- and there was Paul. It was like we'd never missed a beat. He took me under his arm and made sure I had an easy entry. Even with the era's extraordinary assemblage of Tempo talent -- Mary Schmich, Jon Anderson, the Pulitzer-winners Peter Gorner and Jeff Lyons, Clarence Peterson -- Paul's writing set the standard and the tone.

To this day I marvel at how widely Paul read, and to the depth of knowledge and wisdom he brought to his stories, no matter how light-hearted. Reading Roger's post and all the loving comments about Paul's side-splitting stories helps me remember Paul and mourn, but I the acuity of Paul's mind sticks with me just as much as his story-telling. Conversations with Paul led me to read several books I'd otherwise have passed up, and my understanding of the world is far richer for this gift from him. His depth came to the surface more as the religion writer; he excelled at this very different calling as much as he did in Tempo.

Alas, I abandoned the Chicago newsrooms once again, in 1990, so Paul and I saw way less of each other after that, dammit. But his gravitational field is no less strong today, and I'll never escape.

My heart is with dear Maggie, and with the throng of newspeople and so many others who loved Paul.

Roger, thanks for such a loving remembrance of a one-of-a-kind human being and one-of-a-kind writer.

(The comments of my mother, Kaye Boren, appear above). As far back into my childhood as I can remember, Paul Galloway was a tremendous presence in a way that neither of my parents was: he was avuncular, but more than an uncle. Or an older brother. Or my mentor or idol— all of which he was.
My first clear memory of him crystallized after spending two nights with him in his small Norman duplex. My mother and I had flown to Oklahoma from California in October 1967 to celebrate my sixth birthday. She went off with friends to recreate and left me in the hands of Paul. We ate pizza recklessly somewhere in Norman. He whisked me to a store in his inimitable jaunty gait and insisted on my selecting anything I wanted to purchase for my birthday.
I chose a fake BB gun (complete with smoke and an alarming sound effect made upon firing). We then spent some time in the small backyard "shooting" beer cans. At the end of that weekend, Paul, my mother and I prepared to fly from OKC to Kansas City to continue the birthday tour. While lining up on the tarmac leading up to the aircraft, I popped off the realistic weapon, sending terror into many and laughter into other passengers-to-be. (Security measures at airports have mutated considerably since that day).
In the 1970s, his renditions of Steve Martin's various tags sent my sister and me into spasmodic convulsions of laughter. How could someone be funnier than Steve Martin doing Steve Martin? Years later, I followed his lead into journalism (although I was never able to match his LEADS), and that career on four newspapers in Texas ran from 1985 to 1993. I then jumped into academia, but I never left his continuous imprint behind.
After being hired in essence by then-Vice President for Academic Affairs Dr. John Feaver in 1998 as Assistant Professor of Language and Literature at USAO in Chickasha, I discovered after informing Paul of this that he knew Feaver—who is now president of the college—quite well. My being drawn to Feaver upon our first interview was no surprise after learning of his connection to Paul. Unbelievably to me (and I believe to some extent to Feaver), the Norman dwelling in which I spent two magical nights 30 years earlier, was shared at that time by none other than his then-roommate Feaver, who was a grad student at OU and away from the bachelor pad on that particular weekend.
Inevitably, whenever I feel as if I am closer to completing a circle by channeling Paul, Paul represents its completion—and he always will—even though I will never achieve his profound benevolence, wisdom and spirit. I can only continue to try.

I am in Tulsa for the services. Ted Williams story to follow on Monday.

When I think of Paul...I smile. I am very proud to have shared a small part of his life.

A Pejos,

Donald Horne

There are some people that you know in life that are an influence even though they may only be an acquaintance or separated by one of those degrees … Paul Galloway was part of the lore my Dad’s Tulsa youth. In my childhood he was a consistent presence in my Dad’s social circle and stories & when I was in school in Tulsa he would often be there at the same time my dad would visit & I would get to sit on the sidelines through a nice dinner or breakfast while they tripped down memory lane, gossiped, and/or debated current events. I feel lucky to have had these moments & hold them in my memory, I wonder how I can pass onto my son the things I have learned about life just listening to the stories about theirs. My heart goes out to the family & friends that will miss him so deeply but also it goes out to the people who don’t know what they have missed.

Summers in Michiana will never be the same. Paul punctuated our weekend dinners with his graciousness, his style, his indefatigable story-teling, and his zeal for a good argument with the resident Republican. We will miss him terribly.

Anne and Richard Harris

Roger, the Winter Home story has had me chuckling ever since you explained it.

I never knew of Paul before, but reading the testimonials you, and other people, have left here makes me feel like I've missed out on knowing one incredible person.

I and my family have been privileged to live next to Paul and Maggie in Michiana since 1994. My children have known them their entire lives, and they identify with Paul and Maggie as a virtual uncle and aunt, respectively (Paul would refer to my daughter, Mary Therese, who has grown up with long, slender legs, as Cyd Therese...classic). Paul and Maggie are like family to us.

Paul was a gifted communicator. During his months in Tulsa every winter, we would recieve a note from him with comments regarding a recent election, a big game or an event in Chicago or statewide that garnered national attention (there's been no shortage of material in recent months). A year or two ago, we received a note from Paul, and inside it was tucked a picture cut from the pages of Sports Illustrated. The picture showed some key sideline play from an Oklahoma football game. In the red sea of Sooner fans, one particular fan...Paul...stood out. He was wearing a turquiose Polo shirt...collar up, of course...and he was the only fan not cheering wildly. Affixed to the picture was a Post-It note with the simple phrase "Where's Waldo?" Quintessential Paul Galloway.

At yesterday's memorial service, a couple hundred people gathered to remember Paul and celebrate his life. While there were tears to be sure, the mood of the participants was upbeat, and the stories were limitless. Maggie remarked how much fun Paul would have had at the service, and she was right. A couple of us reveled in the fact that--even in death--Paul left us with one more story. In a unique twist of fate, Paul died of a heart attack suffered at a Japanese massage parlor. Delicious.

Paul Galloway was an old school, Chicago-tough journalist with unparalleled insights, all wrapped up with a sense of humor and a Southern charm that made him truly one of a kind. To know Paul was to love Paul. He will be sorely missed.

I love reading what you write about Chicago. I remember the Treasure Island supermarket in Old Town. Don't take this wrong, you have a wonderful gift of observation and you are a good enough writer to show everybody what you observe, just hitting the nail on the head over and over. Nicely done, keep it up.

Signed, Rob ( a loyal fan)

I live in Tulsa, where Paul spent his winter months. He was a lifelong friend. I walked with him and Maggie often at our river.
Had just walked with them Saturday and talked to him on the phone Monday morning. His death is a shock to all of us. But, you really captured the person Paul was and I have sent the website to many who knew him. We so appreciate your tribute.

My memories of Paul are from the late 1960's when I was with Sigma Delta Chi on Wacker Drive way back in the old days. I want to extend my very deepest condolences to Mrs. Galloway, and to all of Paul’s friends. If you are in that group I don’t need to tell you what an amazing person & friend Paul was. Whenever there was a get together with Paul it would always include "think about this" moments, fun adventures & funny misadventures! We were blessed to have him in our lives. My heart is with you all. Most sincerely Ellen Schneider Fine

The Galloway/Ted Williams Story

1. The Back Story

For thirty years Paul and I did the "entertainment" at our high school reunions. Seven years ago, at our fiftieth, we were having breakfast on the morning of our act. Paul told me the prostate story. I thought it was great and urged him to put it in his material. He was uncertain that it was appropriate for the audience. I assured him it would be great. So he did it. The class reaction was mixed. 20% loved it...40% didn't get it and sat in stunned silence...40% got it and were severely offended (we had five or six walk out). I, of course, publicly joined the "what were you thinking?" crowd - much to his annoyed amusement.

2. The Disclaimer

All of you who knew Paul realize that his material loses a great deal when reduced to writing. At least 60% of the humor was in his performance.

3. The Story

It seems that Paul's proctologist was the daughter of a man who had once been the public relations guy for the Boston Red Sox. He was a good friend of Ted Williams and they hung together frequently. She remembered, as a little girl, walking hand in hand with Williams.

Thinking of this during the indignity of his annual prostate examination gave Paul a special feeling of bonding with the baseball legend. The hand that was probing his prostate had once been clasped by the great Ted Williams.

Ebert: Those who walked out must have been women, and didn't know that a man will grasp at anything to distract himself during a prostate examination. In fact, I am now going to think of this story during my next exam.

Roger your write up on Paul was excellant and enjoyed very much. I have been very taken back reading the words of many who have responded to your article and a chance to express. When I say taken back it helps me to reflect on the rich and rewarding relationship I too have enjoyed knowing Paul. I grew up up with Paul living three doors down from the Galloways. The timing was during jr. and Sr. high school. Many great young boy adventures could be shared but will not bore you. Paul was a couple years ahead of me so he went on to High school before me. One great adventure that I was part of with Paul was going to Mendota, Ill and working for Delmonte at a Pea Harvest, WOW what an experience. I did join him at OU for one year then transfered back to Tulsa University my second yr.. I went on and got married in second year and moved around the country. Paul and I rejoined up later in life during my bussiness trips to Chic.. Later we gathered up again in later years in Tulsa where I have lived since 68'. I had the pleasure of visiting at some length with him about a week prior to his pasing. We recalled child hood memories and the Chic. visits. Ofcourse I cherish that visit and will til my grave. I will miss this man very much but will keep some of the relationship alive through the visits with Maggie. What a guy. Glenn Wright

I remember a piece by Paul, it had to be at least 35 years ago,
regarding how to treat and deal with people on a level that would virtually insure leaving a profound and memorable relationship.
This was a HUGE revelation to a 17 year old kid. I later had the good fortune to make aquaintance one J. Tuohy at Sterch's and he reinforced every notion I had conjured of this grand man. I wish I could track that old essay down.

Ebert: Jim Tuohy. Now there is a genial good fellow. And a great reporter. And Bob Smerch, who introduced the carrot to Lincoln Avenue. Whenever I think of either one, they are smiling.

I read of Paul's passing with heavy heart. Although I had not even talked to him in many years, his death hit me with a double whammy--one, the shock of his death and, two, the anger at myself for not keeping up with him as the past years turned into decades.

Paul and I were roommates at Oklahoma University for a couple of years in the early sixties, living in a small modest apartment near the campus in Norman and working as "kitchen boys" at Hettie's boarding house (see the Jack Rippy post, above). We got though the drugeries of academia by stirring up as much frivolity as we could during the evening hours and, as can be appreciated, this was fairly easy with Paul in the mix. Often Paul and I would have a small group of fellow students (especially girls, if we could persuade them) over to the apartment for some "laughter and looseness" as Rick Kogan put it in his piece on Paul for the Tribune. Armed with nothing more than a supply of libation and Paul's personality and wit, we had some of the best times that I can remember. When the rest of us ran out of conversation we would simply ask Paul to take over and tell some jokes and stories, and he would continue to carry the evening. (Did you ever hear him tell his "suit" joke--I still break out in laughter when I even think about it).

I did reach out to him recently (thank goodness) and sent him a copy of a book I wrote, leading to an exchange of notes which, thankfully, I kept. I knew he was a writer but I didn't appreciate his accomplishments at the Tribune until I read Rick's piece, and, as you can appreciate, I didn't hear from Paul on the subject.

I would certaily like to read some of his writings and if anybody knows how I can access them, please email me at wkice@sbcglobal.net. In fact, plese email me if you can tell me anything about Paul.

Thanks to all who posted above. It was terrific reading.

Ebert: The suit joke? I'm standing by.

It is amazing how comfortable you can be with people you have known a long time but you don't see very often.

I first met Paul Galloway when I was in Jr. high school, visiting my cousin Carolyn Pfeifer (now Horchow) in Arkansas, where we would hang out with the same crowd. Then, after Paul moved to my home town, we met again at Tulsa Central High School. It was that early meeting in Little Rock that gave us a sort of "old friends" feeling, and especially nice for me to know Paul who was readily accepted by the "cool" kids' crowd which included Mallard Huntley. Mal also shared our very special English class with Miss Gertrude Rector at the helm. She absolutely beamed when either of those two read their assignments aloud.

Years went by - I left the southwest to attend Smith College, and ended up in Chicago having married Alan Schwartz in 1958 (50 yrs ago if you are counting). It was a nice surprise to reconnect at one of the Tulsa high school reunions and learn that Paul and Maggie lived in Chicago, and since we all seemed to hit it off, we agreed to meet in the city (we were Highland Parkers) as often as our travel calendars would allow. It was fortunate that not too long ago there was someone up there who liked us and selected Ok City as the venue for the Czech-USA Davis Cup tie. Needless to say the Galloways and Schwartzes had a great time at this made-in-heaven weekend.

Maggie, thank you for telling me about Roger's blog. I really enjoyed it - as did Alan - reliving the Sheep story and hearing about the chair toss. Roger, so glad you mentioned Tootsie and the Tall Ships. I have the Tall Ships article somewhere in the basement, saved because I take pride in knowing the author, and because (I am going to bet Maggie on this) I am sure Paul got a Pulitzer prize for this series.
Thank you, Paul, for being a writer. We can continue to reread and savour your words. Thank you for being my friend.

Roslyn (Ronnie) Schwartz

Roger, The suit joke cannot be expressed with mere words. It requires a physical presentation that could only be done effectively by Paul (and perhaps Robin Williams). I have heard that Paul was still telling it in his later years.

Roslyn, You mentioned the "tall ships" article. I would appreciate it very much if you, Roger, or anyone else would send me a copy as well as any of Paul's other writings. wkice@sbcglobal.net

Roger - I must report that, alas, I cannot find the Tall Ships series of articles. Can you tell Warren (above) and me and anyone else interested how we can get those?

A personal note: Maggie has told me how you introduced her to Paul. Good job!

Regards to you and Chaz - Alan and I sat across the aisle from the two of you once on a long plane ride to (from?) Europe. I was star struck.

My lip quivered continually throughout inauguration day. But when I read your piece on Galloway a tear on each side rolled all the way from eye to jaw-line.

Here in small-town Oklahoma I knew the name of Paul Galloway, who was the un-churchified godfather to a friend of mine, university assistant prof. and former newspaper man, John Bruce. (Galloway inspired John into the newsroom.) Paul had signed an inscription sometime last year inside a gift to John: Bob Greene's When We Get to Surf City. (Reading it, though I had no nostalgia for Jan & Dean beach music, I found this warm story a moving testament to humanity at its natural best.)

Galloway was a close family friend to John Bruce, and on the tail of the news of his death, sadly told, John told me an early memory involving himself and Paul on some airport tarmac in 1966, John a five-year-old holding a rifle-looking popgun that he shot unexpectedly, causing a whole column of passengers to drop to the ground. Paul apparently lived in a realm where stories happen.

And from the photo on your site, by God the man looked as if HE were the bishop.

Another story for you, Roger. In the late fifties, my husband and I were stationed in Beeville, Texas and Paul was teaching highschool English in nearby San Antonio. One weekend, a group of us decided to go to Nuevo Laredo for the bullfights. Loaded up with tequila, we watched the first bullfight and Paul stood up and stormed out of the arena declaring it to be "barbaric, the g.d. bull doesn't have a chance." We all continued drinking and watching the spectacle. After the bullfight, we wandered around downtown looking for Paul. We found him. He was happily interviewing prostitues, and they certainly seemed to be enjoying the hilarious attention. He remarked that at least they had somewhat of a better chance in life than the bulls. Down the road, Paul was largely responsible for my "finishing" drinking. No more tequila. Kaye Boren

1. It is my understanding that there are no plans for any type of Galloway memorial gathering in Chicago. Am I correct in this?

2. Thanks again for your blog. Paul would have loved it.

3. I have been your fan for many years dating back to the At The Movies days. There is a mystery that has troubled me all these years: How could the nation's premier movie critic prefer Godfather 3 to Godfather 2?

Ebert: !. I think a memorial is currently being planned.

3. That troubles me too.

Unfortunately the only times I ever saw Paul were at my grandmother's funeral and his mother's funeral, but Paul was my Favorite Second Cousin.
He and Aunt Elizabeth, his mother, came down for my grandmother's funeral. Paul introduced himself to my sister, cousin, and myself and said, "I am your Favorite Second Cousin Paul. Remember that." We nodded and said "Okay." Later he came up to each of us and asked, "Who is your favorite second cousin?" We each said, "You are, Cousin Paul." He gave us each $10. For the rest of the day, we would go up to him and let him know that he was our favorite. We must have driven him crazy.
Something like eight years later at his mother's funeral in Arkansas, I was sure to tell him that he was still my favorite second cousin.
At Thanksgiving my cousin mentioned this to my sister and me. We had a little laugh because after seventeen years that was how we remembered him.

While searching for some information on Gertrude Rector--freshman class sponsor and my favorite English teacher--and one of my three best teachers ever--good competition with Mr. Schlenker (Math) and the Mr. Vestals (Chemistry) (SP?) the only teacher to have the grading system that was fair for everyone (of course Lyman Fretwell screwed the fairness up--but that is another story. Reading all the notes I hardly recognize the Paul Galloway I remember but will read more about this distinguished classmate from Central--class of 1952. Would be interested in hearing more from other classmates.