Rosemary Hamilton

She was born on October 30, 1939, in Los Angeles, California, and her earliest years were shaped by her uncle Russell, who lovingly took care of her and remained an anchor throughout her life. When she was five years old, her family moved to Sacramento, settling in a neighborhood that wasn’t easy for a young girl. She walked to school alone through a rough area, learning early what courage and independence meant. That quiet bravery—doing what needed to be done without complaint—became a lifelong trait. Her family lived for a time above a Filipino Gospel Church, where her father served as treasurer, and later moved to Broderick, a working-class neighborhood filled with government housing. Even as a child, she showed a bold streak—venturing out to see the horses near their home. At thirteen, she was bucked off a horse, losing her two front teeth, yet what stayed with her family was not the injury but her unflappable spirit: she laughed about it later, already turning pain into story. She found joy and purpose early in her faith community at Bethel Temple in Sacramento, organizing Sunday school routes and bringing neighborhood children to vacation Bible school. Her sense of mission—lifting others up and helping them belong—carried through every stage of her life. As an older sister, she was fiercely protective. Once, when a neighborhood bully stole her sister’s bike, she marched straight to his house, retrieved it, and made it clear that no one would ever take advantage of her family again. That same courage appeared years later on a family beach trip, when she sprinted toward the surf to pull her small niece away from strangers who had picked the child up without permission. She never hesitated to step in when someone she loved needed protection. She was also the sister who made life richer, more cultured, and more joyful. She took her siblings on trips to San Francisco, exploring the city, and later, as a mother, she passed that same sense of wonder to her own children—museum visits, the King Tut exhibit, the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and so many other adventures. Her curiosity was contagious. She made education not just a duty but a celebration. Music was one of her first loves. As a teenager, she took accordion lessons and even performed on television, an early sign of her creativity and willingness to try anything. That love of the arts would stay with her all her life, resurfacing decades later in her work with the Arizona Opera Association, where she attended performances and befriended local singers. Teaching was her calling. For over forty years, she taught bilingual first graders, moving easily between English and Spanish, ensuring her students felt seen and capable. She also served as a state representative for the California Teachers Association, traveling to conferences—New Orleans was one favorite trip, where she visited a plantation and the Napoleon exhibit, mixing history and art in her explorations. She brought professionalism, humor, and heart to every classroom she entered. Her adventurous spirit reached its peak when she joined the Peace Corps in Morocco, teaching French in Casablanca. She rode camels in Fez, wandered the crowded markets, and once watched in amazement as a snake charmer’s venom splashed on her friend’s arm (the arm swelled up and turned magenta) —a moment she would recount with laughter for years. Later, she traveled to Peru, and her travels instilled a lifelong fascination with cultures and languages. When her son pursued his PhD, she sold her RV to help fund his studies, an act of love that spoke volumes about her generosity and belief in education. She proudly attended his graduation and was honored in the dedication of his dissertation—a quiet acknowledgment of the sacrifices that had made his success possible. After retirement, she moved to Arizona, where she found her final home and a deep sense of belonging. She fell in love with the high desert around Prescott, photographing its light and colors, and taking weekend trips to Jerome and the Grand Canyon. Her house reflected her artistic eye—wildlife paintings, opera programs, and sunlit photos of family lined the walls. She joined the opera association, attended local performances, and hosted friends, continuing to nurture community wherever she lived. In her later years, her pride and joy was her grandchildren who she loved with devotion. Last Thanksgiving, despite illness, she herself to the airport and flew across the country to be with them. She loves to bake cookies with them, play games, tell stories, and share her knowledge with them. Her life was a mosaic of education, adventure, and service—a teacher’s heart, an artist’s curiosity, and a protector’s courage. From the Sacramento schoolyards of her childhood to the Moroccan classrooms of her Peace Corps years, from her vibrant California teaching career to her quiet Arizona evenings with friends and art, she lived with gratitude and purpose. Even near the end of her life, she remained the same strong, intelligent, loving woman—interested in the world, deeply proud of her family, and surrounded by beauty. Her story is one of devotion, discovery, and enduring love. Those who knew her will always remember her as someone who not only taught lessons but lived them—with grace, humor, and an adventurous heart