James 'Pate' Philip, a towering figure who loomed large over Illinois politics as the state senate's longest-serving Republican president, has died at 93. Philip, who held sway in the General Assembly for an epic 36 years, passed away at his home in Wood Dale on Tuesday night according to reports from the Chicago Business. As Senate president starting in 1993, he was known for steadfastly and, at times, controversially championing the interests of his suburban Republican constituency against the Democratic stronghold of Chicago.
Marking the end of a political era, Philip's departure leaves behind a legacy that is as complex as the times he navigated—a mix of devotion to his political allies and often blunt, politically incorrect rhetoric. Former Gov. Jim Edgar, who served during much of Philip's tenure, admired Pate's loyalty, telling the Chicago Tribune, "he would really do whatever it took that he thought to help them get re-elected." Indeed, many who had come to stand side by side with Philip knew him as a figure who would go to great lengths to insure his members' triumphs.
Philip's era also notably featured blunt commentary on issues ranging from education to welfare. His stance was often characterized by a dismissive frankness that matched the shifting cultural landscapes of the 1960s and 1970s—a posture that won him both staunch allies and stern critics. He once notably remarked, "I guess I'm not politically correct, but I never have tried to be politically correct," according to the Chicago Tribune.
The former state senator, Kirk Dillard, who now chairs the Regional Transportation Authority, looked back upon Philip's storied career with reverence. "‘Pate’ Philip loved Illinois," Dillard told the Chicago Business. "What he should probably be most remembered for was his honor, patriotism, and integrity. His word was his bond to allies as well as political opponents. He was truly one of a kind." Indeed, his tenure did not just irreversibly shape Illinois politics but is also remembered by a personalized commitment to living up to one's word—a currency of honor that earned Philip both respect and a slice of immortality within the state's political annals.
Survived by his wife Nancy, four children, and nine grandchildren, Philip's family has communicated his wish for no services, with a private burial. A Marine veteran and ardent gun rights advocate, Philip never shied away from political combat, standing firm in advocacy for his beliefs and constituents.
