The things we remember
Reading the lines between a good man's obituary.
Donald Ray Hamill died on June 26 in Phoenix, Arizona. He was 78 years old.
One of the very first things you do in journalism school is learn to write an obituary. There is no such thing as Journalism 101, but if there was, obits would be in the curriculum. Everyone needs to know how to write an obituary because there are always going to be obituaries — death never goes out of style, it’s always newsworthy, and in their mission as keepers of public record, it is important that newspapers include them.
The most important thing to remember about writing an obituary is to state facts plainly. Don’t editorialize or sensationalize; that’s not your place. Start by reporting the deceased’s name, date of death, location of death and age at death.
Hamill is survived by his sister Gay Tepper, brother-in-law Mark Tepper, and three nephews Matt, Greg and Jeff Tepper. He was preceded in death by his father Herman Hamill and mother Valaree Hamill.
I don’t like the phrase “survived by” — I think it’s clunky — but this is a critical part of an obituary, because it gives context. Maybe you don’t know the deceased, but you might know one of their family members, which gives you, an outsider, a connection to it.
Born in Dallas, Hamill graduated from Kimball High School before moving on to Texas Christian University, where he earned a business administration degree. Hamill enjoyed a successful career as an entrepreneur.
I’ll be entirely honest: I never really knew what my Uncle Don did for work. He was the kind of uncle we didn’t see frequently — once, maybe twice a year — because he was always on the move, always traveling somewhere. By the time I reached a point where I could hold an adult conversation with him, he was many years into well-earned early retirement, so talking about work was a non-starter. Instead, we would have long talks about everything else: life, politics, religion, the state of the world and what it could be. Uncle Don was really, really smart — it was obvious within minutes of talking to him — but he always treated me as an equal. He never talked down to his second nephew. I appreciated that.
We did talk about my work, though. Don was always curious about my job, how I was handling the changing landscape of media, my writing and broadcasting. He watched our shows and read my work and would send me notes and encouragement. When my television career started to take off, he encouraged me to get an agent. Earlier this year, Don and my mom came to see me at work. I was showing him around my office, and he suddenly gave me a big hug and said “I’m so fucking proud of you.” That meant a lot. Turns out, that visit was the last time I saw him.
Hamill called many places home during his life — including New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta and San Francisco — before eventually setting down roots in Phoenix. His nomadic inclinations continued in retirement, traveling the world for decades.
The animating question about my uncle was always “Where’s Don now?” He was an insatiable traveler, picking a spot and spending months at a time there. Tokyo, Barcelona, Mexico City, Paris, Bangkok, the list goes on and on — he went everywhere, and worked to immerse himself in the culture. My mom met him in Argentina for a couple of weeks, then met him in Spain for another spell. And I thought that was so remarkable — having the confidence and curiosity and wanderlust to be a true citizen of the world. Phoenix was home, but he belonged to the world.
Hamill was a mainstay in the LGBTQ+ community in Phoenix, launching The Rainbows Festival, which grew into one of the area’s largest street festivals. The event, which now operates under Phoenix Pride, spotlights LGBTQ+ non-profits and vendors. Hamill helped to bring the AIDS Walk to Phoenix and served as an advisor to Aunt Rita’s Foundation, which advocates and organizes in the fight against HIV and AIDS. Active in local politics, Hamill served on the 2011 mayoral transition team for Greg Stanton, who now serves in the U.S. House of Representatives.
I knew my uncle was gay, though I didn’t always know it — I remember asking my mom when I was about 15 why Uncle Don wasn’t married, and she filled me in. But I didn’t know how involved in the LGBTQ+ community he was until recently, and I’ve learned even more about it since his death.
Uncle Don was probably the first gay person I knew. And I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what that meant, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. My uncle is someone I loved and admired and thought was genuinely cool, and my finding out he was gay…didn’t change anything about him. He was Uncle Don, now I just knew this thing about him. It crystalized for me not just that all people deserve dignity, but also the value and importance of knowing a person instead of just a label. That’s been an integral part of the way I’ve come to view the world, and how I hope my sons grow up to treat people.
Details on an upcoming Celebration of Life will be announced shortly.
I’ll be there to say goodbye to a good man and celebrate a life well lived. Mostly, though, I’ll remember all the things that don’t fit in an obituary.
