EUGENE "GENE" W BARNES JR

Today, we gather to celebrate the life of Eugene William Barnes, Jr., a man who lived with strength, devotion, and a love that was unmistakably his own. Gene, as most knew him—though his beloved wife Patricia always called him Eugene—graced this world for 88 years, leaving behind a legacy of service, family, and an unwavering zest for life.

Eugene was born on July 11, 1937, in Baltimore, Maryland. He was always proud of his name, though he and Patricia would laugh about the fact that technically he wasn’t really a “junior”—his father was William Eugene Barnes, not Eugene William. But Eugene wore that name with pride nonetheless, signing everything “Eugene W. Barnes, Jr.”

In 1955, at just 18 years old, Eugene joined the United States Air Force, beginning a 20-year career that would define much of his life. He served with distinction, achieving the rank of Technical Sergeant and working at one of the most secure and fascinating military installations in the world: Cheyenne Mountain, home of NORAD—the North American Aerospace Defense Command. Behind those massive blast doors that some of you might recognize from the movie “War Games,” Eugene worked with early computer systems, keeping military secrets and serving his country with dedication. He was immensely proud of that service.

Living in Security, Colorado—aptly named, as they were surrounded by military installations on all sides—Eugene’s family would listen each Christmas as NORAD tracked Santa’s journey around the world. One Thanksgiving, Eugene received special permission to bring Patricia and their children into Cheyenne Mountain for dinner. His kids still remember the awe of driving through those enormous doors and walking deep into the mountain, only to find a regular cafeteria inside. It was just Eugene’s normal workplace, but to them, it was extraordinary.

Eugene met the love of his life, Patricia Ann Jones, on an evening cruise in Baltimore Bay. Their courtship had its memorable moments—including one first date when Patricia, in a fit of anger, threw a cement pineapple paperweight at his head. Fortunately, Eugene’s athletic reflexes were quick enough to catch it. They married on August 22, 1959, at St. Pius Memorial Roman Catholic Church in Baltimore. Eugene, raised Baptist, converted to Catholicism so they could be married in her church—a testament to his devotion to her. This past August would have marked their 66th wedding anniversary.

Eugene and Patricia’s life together was one of adventure and partnership. While stationed in Germany from 1966 to 1969, living in Bad Kreuznach, the family explored Europe together in their 1964 blue Chevy Bel Air. They visited Spain, where the children got wooden castanets and dolls of Spanish dancers. In France, Eugene navigated the chaotic traffic circle around the Arc de Triomphe—around and around until he finally parked the car, found a hotel on foot, and came back for his family. They took a boat ride on the Rhine River, marveling at the castles along the banks. In Britain, Patricia made the kids tell jokes to the guards at Buckingham Palace, trying to make them laugh. When they flew to Germany on TWA Airlines, young Tim got to visit the cockpit and received a pair of pilot wings—special treatment that would become a running family joke.

Their daughter Dorothy was born in 1970 at the Air Force Academy Hospital in Colorado Springs. The boys still remember standing outside on the grass, looking up at their mother through the hospital window because children weren’t allowed inside. They remember coming home to burnt bacon that Eugene cooked for breakfast—something they never let him forget. For a while, baby Dot even slept in a doll crib because that’s what they had.

Eugene retired from the Air Force in 1976 after exactly 20 years of service, but he wasn’t done working. He had a family to provide for, and he took that responsibility seriously. Even before retiring, he’d started working part-time at Sears, Roebuck and Co., first selling paint—coming home with paint on his clothes—and then moving to large appliances as a commission salesman. He worked there for at least 20 years, retired, and then went back for several more. Family friends used to joke that everything in the Barnes house came from Sears, “including the baby sister.”

Eugene was also proud of earning his Associate’s degree in Computer Science from Pikes Peak Community College, likely while working at Sears—always pushing himself, always learning.

Every morning before work, Eugene would get dressed in his dress pants, nice shirt, tie, and polished shoes. Then, for some reason, he’d go outside to give their dog Buster some water. Buster—a somewhat pathetic-looking dog with one blue eye and one that wasn’t quite right—absolutely adored Eugene. The dog would get so excited he’d pee all over Eugene’s pants and shoes. Eugene would come back inside furious, having to change clothes all over again. But he kept doing it. That was Eugene—loyal, routine-driven, and devoted to those he loved, even a goofy dog.

On Saturday mornings, Patricia would yell at him to finish getting ready for work at Sears, but Eugene would come out with shaving cream still on his face, razor in hand, because his favorite cartoon was on—Foghorn Leghorn. He couldn’t miss it. The kids would be watching from the couch and look back to see him standing there, transfixed, white foam covering his face.

Eugene was an athlete and a competitor. He was a Baltimore Colts fan until they moved to Indianapolis, and then he became a devoted Denver Broncos fan. He attended games at the stadium, cheering loudly—sometimes yelling at players, once upset because a Broncos player helped up someone from the opposing team. “That guy’s going to wear himself out helping the other team!” he’d shout. He loved football most, then basketball. He and his children would go to games together, and he’d get so invested, so loud, so passionate.

When something frustrated him, Eugene had a unique expression—he’d yell, “Kiss a bear!” It became one of those family quirks everyone remembered.

Eugene was a confident, skilled driver. He’d always drive in the left lane, always seemed to be going fast. His family would follow behind, watching him weave slightly back and forth in his lane, but he had complete command of the vehicle. That confidence extended to everything he did.

He loved road trips. In their Buick Estate Station Wagon, Eugene would drive the family from Colorado to Baltimore—a three-day drive—with Patricia packing food and the kids reading books in the back. One time he drove them all the way to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon, only to arrive right at closing. They got out, took some quick pictures, and left. The kids never forgot that one.

Eugene loved to swim. He was a fish in the water, completely in his element. One day in Germany, he took Tim and Shawna to the pool. He put them on the side of the deep end, told them to hold on, and jumped in. Shawna, young and not yet a swimmer, let go and started floating. Eugene saw it immediately—he dove under, swooped her up just like in the movies, and got her back to safety. She wasn’t scared at all. She knew she was safe with her dad. But Eugene was probably terrified, because they left right after that.

His love of swimming stayed with him his entire life. Even in his older years, when his body was giving him trouble, he wanted to get in the pool so he could move freely again.

Food was a source of joy for Eugene. He simply loved to eat. For his birthday, Patricia would make him pineapple upside-down cake—his absolute favorite. She’d also make tapioca pudding or a white cake covered in coconut, which Eugene would eat entirely by himself because the kids didn’t like it.

Eugene and Patricia bought a house in Security, Colorado, for about $15,000. He took meticulous care of that house—mowing the lawn, maintaining everything. When they sold it around 2020, it was worth around $130,000. He was proud of that investment, proud of providing a home for his family.

Eugene had a special relationship with each of his children. His daughter Dot was his “pumpkin.” They shared a bond that was clear to everyone. Every Memorial Day, they’d wake up early and go to Dunkin’ Donuts, loading up on all kinds, then head downtown to watch the hot air balloon festival at dawn—a beautiful spectacle they both treasured. On New Year’s Eve, they’d stock up on pretzels, potato chips, and soda, and stay up all night to watch the ball drop. When Dot was inducted into the National Honor Society, Eugene wrote the piece for her ceremony, beaming with pride. He attended all her ballet recitals. They understood each other in a special way.

With his son Tim, Eugene shared a deep pride. Tim served in the Navy while Eugene had been in the Air Force—different branches, but both men of service. In Eugene’s later years, especially in these last months, Tim stepped up in extraordinary ways, managing the estate, talking to staff, negotiating bills, handling the banks, making difficult decisions. Eugene trusted him completely.

Eugene’s love for his family extended powerfully to his grandchildren. Matisse would say, “I love me some grandpa,” and those two had a bond that was undeniable. In his last years, his grandson Quinn spent countless hours with him—taking him to doctor’s appointments, understanding his medications and symptoms so thoroughly that when Eugene would show up with Tim or Dot or Shawna, the medical staff would ask, “Where’s Quinn?” Quinn became his advocate, his companion, his helper.

Matisse flew in for Thanksgiving and returned again on Saturday night, December 6th, arriving at 1 AM on December 7th to say goodbye. She spent about an hour with him. He couldn’t speak clearly, but they didn’t over-medicate him, so he could open his eyes, smile, and even laugh a little. It was a sweet, touching moment.

After Patricia was diagnosed with dementia in 2012—likely Alzheimer’s—Eugene couldn’t care for her alone. She would get confused, pack her things in a Costco bag, and try to leave. He’d put a buzzer on the door, but he’d take his hearing aids out and wouldn’t hear it. Eventually, Patricia moved to 24/7 memory care, and Eugene moved to Affinity Adult Living Apartments in Lafayette, Colorado—a community for people 55 and older. It was hard for him to sell the house in Colorado Springs and move north, but he made it work.

At Affinity, Eugene found a new community. He made wonderful friends and discovered something unexpected—he loved to sing. He joined the choir, and while no one would say he had a professional voice, he absolutely lit up when performing. They did quarterly concerts, and one of them featured music from “The Sound of Music.” Eugene sang the man’s part in “Sixteen Going on Seventeen,” and he was beaming—just radiating joy. His friend Walter had encouraged him to join the choir, and Eugene was grateful for that friendship. Sadly, Walter died suddenly on a golf course the day after a concert, but Eugene remained connected to other friends from Affinity—people like Haruka, who stayed in his life even after he moved.

When Eugene could no longer live independently, he moved to Coal Creek Post-Acute Care, and later to Adara Living Center in Broomfield. Even there, he built friendships. He sat at an assigned table with at least three friends—Kim, Karen, and Roger—and after meals, they’d play cards for hours using machines. They had adventures together, going fishing, visiting Walmart, just being out in the world. Eugene loved karaoke and would sing his heart out.

He also loved happy hour Thursdays back at Affinity, and his siblings would pick him up and take him over so he could stay connected to that community he’d built.

Eugene’s body began to fail him in his later years. His fingers swelled, his neck stiffened, his back gave him trouble—he couldn’t turn quickly or drive safely anymore. He had kidney failure and congestive heart failure, which ultimately led to his passing. He’d been hospitalized numerous times and was on about 15 medications. He’d also dealt with prostate cancer, though in recent months they’d stopped that medication as things seemed stable.

Throughout all of this, Eugene kept showing up. His caregivers and staff at Coal Creek Post Acute Center and Adara grew to love him. When he was being moved to the hospital in those final months, he’d insist they stop and call Dot to let her know where he’d be—even though she was the one who’d made the arrangements and already knew. He looked to her, relied on her, trusted her completely.

Eugene’s last days were filled with visits from family and friends who cared deeply for him. Caregivers and staff came back just to sit with him at the end—a testament to the impact he had on people’s lives.

If anything defines Eugene’s legacy, it is his unwavering devotion to his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. He was a proud Black man who navigated this world with strength and dignity—a man who once had a brand new pair of dress shoes taken by the FBI after a bank robbery near where he worked, shoes that were never returned. He lived through experiences many of us cannot imagine, and he kept his head high.

Eugene was a man with a beautiful heart, a hearty laugh, and a genuine love of life. He was generous. He liked to have fun. He kept showing up, even when things were hard.

**In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you consider donating to swimming lessons for children through the YMCA of Central Maryland, by texting the word FISH to 707-070 or One Tree Planted by texting the work TREESFORGENE to 707-070.**

Eugene William Barnes, Jr., you were a force. You were devoted. You were strong. You lived a full life, and you loved your family fiercely.

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Thank you all for being here to honor the life of Eugene William Barnes, Jr. Please join us in celebrating his memory and the incredible impact he had on all of us.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Shawna, Tim, and Dot