Rosemary Capone of Medford, MA born Rosemary McLaughlin to father William and mother Mary on February 3rd 1929. Passed peacefully on May 24 2023 at the ripe age of 94.
Raised in Medford, Rosemary attended Saint Joseph School with her younger sister Margret when the nuns were still running the show. She made it through without getting the ruler because her father was the chief of police and her mom carted the nuns around to do their shopping. As a child, when she wasn’t dodging the nun’s rulers; she loved summers with her family in Hull, going to the movies, bowling alley and soda shop in Medford Square. After graduating from Saint Joe’s, she attended Notre Dame Academy where they would gather up all the students every semester to read each student's grades aloud for the whole assembly to hear. Rosemary always thought that was cruel.
Her dad wanted her to go to college and become a doctor. So off she went to Boston University to study pre-med. That all came to a halt when one day she walked into class to be greeted by a cat waiting to be dissected. She promptly excused herself from the class and switched majors. Rosemary went on to be one of the first women to graduate from the BU School of Journalism in 1951.
After graduating, Rosemary packed a bag and headed off to Europe. Returning home just long enough to unpack her suitcase and briefly answer phones at the Edison Company. She hated it. After all, there was a whole world to see out there. So, much to the chagrin of her father, Rosie packed her bags once more and set off in a puddle jumper all the way to Japan. Where she taught English at the US Army base in Okinawa.
Grandma loved talking about her travels around the world. She would regale us with stories about Japanese men and women coming up to her on the train touching her red hair saying, “Suki Ne”. French people who pretended they didn’t speak English and receiving letters with words expertly cut out from a friend who traveled to mainland China while she stayed back in Hong Kong. Oh and dodging coffee dates and complaining about the poor pours that London restaurants had to give.
Once home she began working as a speech therapist. First in Tewksbury for a year then finding her home in the Boston Public School System. That was where the action was, she said.
Over her thirty year career as a speech therapist Rosie helped countless children overcome speech impediments and reading disabilities.
Even some of Boston's more notorious characters. Ensuring when they grew up and robbed a bank or ordered a hit, the commands were given clearly and in proper English.
From time to time some of those students would pop up in the newspaper. She would remark about how they were such good kids that tried really hard. That's how she was, always seeing the good in people.
Teaching didn't stop when the bell rang. At home she would practice "S'' sounds by sounding out, Sammi the Snake with her nieces and nephew coaxing them along with Rollos.
Rosie loved music. She was a regular at the Wonderland Ballroom in Revere. It was there one night in 1965 she met the man who would be the love of her life. He had a thick fresh off the boat Italian accent and by all accounts smoked like a chimney. She called him Benny. They danced and talked and in short order were married, remaining so till the day of her passing.
Soon a baby boy was born and the family was complete. The early years of their time together were a whirlwind of love and travel. With a paper map and a husband who thought he didn't need it, they set off. Traveling old route one to Florida. Visiting family in California Going up to Lake Winnisquam in the summer cruising on her sister’s party barge with her nieces and nephew to Jumping Jack’s for ice cream. When a cottage up the street went up for sale they jumped right on it. It was a well loved cottage held up by a metal pole, some haphazardly placed cinder blocks and most importantly that first bit, love.
Well before anyone expected, Rosemary’s first grandchild came along, me. Hi, I’m Frankie. Rosie didn’t skip a beat. She juggled teaching five days a week, dinner every night at six, and me on the weekends. She would wheel me down to Medford Square in my stroller and buy me cupcakes at the bakery. When I was finally too big for the stroller we would walk together down to the square. “Put on your slop clothes” she would say and out we’d go into the world. In the fall we would walk down Forest St through the falling leaves singing, “scuff the leaves, scuff the leaves-scuff-scuff-scuff”. She would play Elvis in the kitchen while making dinner and we’d dance together, my feet on top of hers in between stirring the gravy. Rosemary was a master storyteller. At night while I drifted off to sleep she would tell me heroic tales of the ghostbusters and ninja turtles working together to save the day.
Around 1991 Rosemary announced she was retiring. Little did her husband know that meant she was retiring from making dinner too. That announcement came via pay phone one evening from the Meadow Glenn Mall when I wanted McDonalds and she didn’t feel like cooking. I can still hear her to this day, “You're going to have to make it your goddamn self” she said as she hung up the phone.
She was a liberated woman. No more fighting traffic everyday both ways. No more waking up at the crack of dawn and most importantly, no more cooking dinner. Now she spent her days pursuing one of her great passions in life, people watching. She would have lunch in Medford Sq at Papa Gino's, sip coffee and pick at a donut at Dunks just watching the people go by.
She took up a social life, spending time with her good friend Renee discussing the world as they saw it at Colleen's. When she wasn't enjoying her retirement she'd be carting her grandson and his friends around town.
Even taking them to a Limp Bizkit concert when no one else would. "How do you listen to this stuff" she said, " you can feel it in your chest" making heart beat motions with her hands against her chest.
After her first grandchild graduated high school. Rosie and Benny shipped off to Florida once again for the winter. She was a snow bird now.
It was in that little condo in Florida that Rosemary raised her second grandchild, Anita. Mornings started at 7:15 with a song to wake Anita up and back scratches that did the opposite. "Off we go into the wild blue yonder, flying high into the sky." And at 2:30 in the afternoon, Rosemary would be standing right outside the school gate waiting for Anita to get out and treat the two to a hot fudge sundae from McDonald's. Both of these things she did without fail. She never missed a day in the six years they lived down there. Never missed an honor roll assembly, or one of Anita's shows, or any event that was important to the little girl she was raising. The trio that had become Rosemary, Benny, and Anita spent their days and nights together. Saturday afternoons sitting by the pool, Rosemary's white hat under the awning always watching over the little girl in the water. Sunday mystery trips to Goodwill or the Dollar Tree where Rosemary and Anita would split a jelly donut and a medium decaf iced coffee with extra cream and sugar before dinner. At night they'd be watching reruns of old westerns or Walker the Texas Ranger or whatever movie Nono wanted to watch that no one was ever silent through. They'd end the night, each night, with Channel 7 News at 11. But the nights really ended, for the three of them, when Rosemary sang Anita a lullaby, putting the little girl and Benny to sleep before she followed suit, ready to wake up and do it all again the next day.
If you made it this far, you've read just a fraction of the awesome life Rosemary lead. A life well spent, living in the towns she loved with the people that loved her. She was loved in every sense of the word, in every possible way a person could be loved even though it was only half of what she gave to us. Tirelessly, loyally, and with perpetual forgiveness; Rosie filled every space she entered with love. This telling undoubtedly has missing pieces. Please share your stories with us to commemorate our beloved Rosie. But for now it seems right to end the tale here and say;
Off you go Rosie, into the wild blue yonder.
Love, Frankie
Rosemary’s funeral will be from the Dello Russo Funeral Home, 306 Main St., Medford Friday, June 2nd at 10:30 AM followed by a funeral mass celebrated in St. Joseph Church, 118 High St., Medford, at 11:30 AM. Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend. Visiting hours on Thursday, June 1st, from 4 to 8 PM. Services will conclude with burial at Oak Grove Cemetery, Medford.