This May 22, 2025, Tosh Shewmaker transcended the bounds of this Earthly realm, leaving behind a legacy of color, courage, and compassion. Born October 13, 1945, in McGehee, Arkansas, to Sam and Maxine O’Baugh—two adventurous spirits who recognized early the spark in their daughter—Tosh’s life was destined to be nothing short of extraordinary.
From the moment she first dared, at age five, to run away with the circus, imagining herself a trapeze artist dancing among the clouds, she was writing her own story of wonder. In adulthood, she brought that dream to life, mastering the trapeze, soaring with fearless grace. Years later, she would capture that chapter in a lovingly written and illustrated book, one she read to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, each page humming with her vibrant spirit.
Tosh’s curiosity and compassion carried her across continents and coastlines. She wandered from California’s misty shores to the rolling hills of Eureka Springs, always wearing “infinite hats,” each donned with purpose.
In San Francisco, she devoted her administrative talents to the Lighthouse for the Blind, ensuring that vision-impaired individuals found hope and support. At UC Berkeley, she lent her skills to the “Lucy” project under Dr. Donald Johanson—contributing to groundbreaking research on our earliest ancestors and marveling at the interconnectedness of human history.
Perhaps no arena stirred her as profoundly as the fight for civil rights. Tosh was a storm of conviction: if injustice raised its head, she would meet it with unrelenting resolve. In 1979, she helped organize the first National March on Washington for LGBTQ, rallying tens of thousands in a pre-digital era of telegrams and town-hall meetings. She brought her then-13-year-old daughter, Shea, into the heart of that purpose—Shea remembers being nicknamed “Arkansas” in the bustling office, fielding calls alongside her mother. “I had the coolest mom there was,” Shea would say later, “and all my friends were jealous.”
Every room Tosh entered, she did so with stealth and style. She was both a storm and a sanctuary—unyielding in her values and advocacy, yet unwavering in her capacity to love. As a mother, she protected her two daughters, Robin and Shea, with ferocious devotion. Robin recalled, “She would’ve snapped some people’s heads off who dared call me ‘too sensitive.’” To Tosh, sensitivity was a gift—a channel for empathy, a beacon through which she nurtured her expanding family.
That family bloomed. Christina and Kathryn Wallace, her cherished granddaughters, drew Tosh back to Eureka Springs, where she spent two decades as an administrator at Mercy Hospital in Berryville. And then came her trio of great-grandchildren—Rae Huntley, Charlie Huntley, and Jackson Todd—each of whom she delighted in guiding with lessons of patience and presence. In Tosh’s eyes, there was no greater purpose than witnessing their laughter, their first steps at the easel, their voices finding confidence in a world that desperately needs new artists and dreamers.
For Tosh was, above all, an artist. Her medium of choice was pastel, and her creations pulsed with color—vibrant and alive, like blossoms in perpetual bloom. She found joy in communing with fellow creators, be it teaching her grandchildren to blend hues or encouraging a stranger she met at an art fair to trust in their own vision. Her art was a testament to wonder, each canvas a celebration of life’s infinite palette.
She was also, in quieter moments, a connoisseur of simple pleasures. Her favorite place to dine was Caribe, where KJ greeted her with warm familiarity, honoring her impeccable taste, her wit, her wisdom. Tosh’s wisdom was effortless, often delivered without pretense, to anyone fortunate enough to cross her path. She could bridge generations with a single phrase, remind a weary colleague of their worth with a knowing smile, or teach a shy child to believe in the power of their imagination.
In these tender words linger the echo of Tosh’s fierce capacity to inspire love, to ignite yearning, to remind us that beauty and sorrow often share a single breath. She taught us that to live fully is to love without reservation, to fight injustice with courage, and to embrace creativity as a sacred act of defiance against a world that can sometimes feel gray.
Tosh’s final chapter was written in the gentle care of many dear friends and family. She rejoiced in the attentions of Doctor Stringfellow and Karli, who cared for her at home with the tenderness of two angels armed with smiles and a sense of humor. Tanya, Tonya, and Laura-Jo ensured her hair was as vibrant and artful as her spirit—her “good hair day” mantra standing as defiance against any looming cloud of worry. Her favorite show, of course, was the “Katie and Karli Show,” a delightful in person broadcast by friends of laughter and the occasional bit of gossip—Tosh insisted it was better than anything on Netflix.
Beyond that inner circle, Tosh considered many as true family; Katie H., Jamie, April, Lauren, Sarah Angela, Jessica, Catherine, Abbey, Caden, Noni, Amadeus, Trew, and Krystal—“all the girls” from Mud Street, and Patsy, who Tosh said “was the prettiest woman she’d ever seen in Hart’s.” Jan and Dede, her midnight confidantes, could always talk her off any metaphorical ledge, arm these poetic flights of fancy with just the right words to ground her. Amie, Betz, Gus, and Liz, as well as the loving support of Jason and Heather who filled her days with camaraderie, and the comforting certainty that she was never alone. Thanks to Circle of Life, who made it possible for Tosh to leave our world with ease.
Tosh Shewmaker is survived by daughters Robin and Shea; grandchildren, Christina and Kathryn; great-grandchildren, Rae, Charlie, and Jackson; brother Mike O’Baugh, nephew Hunter O’Baugh and his wife Tui, their children Adelaide O’Baugh and Eli Lytle, nephew Matt O’Baugh and wife Jessica, and their children Henry and Owen O’Baugh; and a constellation of friends, students, and fellow activists whose lives she forever brightened. As we mourn her absence, we also honor the riot of color she gifted us—the laughter, the lessons, the luminous tapestries of pastel that continue to speak long after her fingertips have faded.
May her spirit soar beyond the trapeze’s arc, dancing among the stars she always reached for. In every sunrise’s blush, in every child’s eager sketch, in every rallying cry for justice, we will find her. Goodbye, dear Tosh—may your art, your passion, and your boundless heart live on in each of us who loved you.
~ “My eyes are so swollen from crying—…can’t… be in the daylight for the pain.”
“My heart feels like a hollow tender drum—any beat hurts to breathe with. I miss her.” – Amie