Work Text:
CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE
This is to certify
That on the 15th day of August
in the year of our lord 1936
James Buchanan Barnes, aged 19, son of Winifred and George Barnes,
and
Stephanie Grace Rogers, aged 18, daughter of Sarah and Joseph Rogers,
Were united in marriage.
Witness to the marriage was Sarah Rogers, the Barnes family, and Rev. Johnson.
CERTIFICATE OF DEATH
1. NAME OF DECEASED: Sarah Rogers Ó Broin
(First) (Last) (Maiden)
PERSONAL PARTICULARS (To be filled in by Medical Examiner)
2. Usual Residence: (a) State N.Y.; (b) Kings; (c) Town or City Brooklyn; (d) No. 166 Montague St; (e) Length of residence or stay in City of New York immediately prior to death 19 yrs
3. SINGLE, MARRIED, WIDOWED, OR DIVORCED (write the word) Widowed
4. WIFE of Joseph Rogers
5. DATE OF BIRTH OF DECEDENT April 9th 1893
(Month) (Day) (Year)
6. AGE 43 6 11
(Years) (Mos.) (Days)
7. OCCUPATION Nurse
8. BIRTHPLACE OF DECEDENT (State or county) Ireland 9. How long in U.S. (if of foreign birth) 19 yrs
10. IF DECEASED WAS VETERAN, NAME WAR
PARENTS OF DECEASED
11. NAME OF FATHER OF DECEDENT Brín
12. BIRTHPLACE OF FATHER (State or country) Ireland
13. NAME OF MOTHER OF DECEDENT Catriona
14. BIRTHPLACE OF MOTHER (State or country) Ireland
15. SIGNATURE OF IMPORTANT Stephanie Barnes
RELATIONSHIP TO DECEASED Daughter
ADDRESS 166 Montague St
MEDICAL CERTIFICATE OF DEATH (To be filled in by Medical Examiner)
16. PLACE OF DEATH (a) NEW YORK CITY; (b) Borough Brooklyn; (c) Name of hospital or institution Seaview Hospital
17. DATE AND HOUR OF DEATH October 19th 1936 11:03 AM
(Month) (Day) (Year) (Hour)
18. SEX Female 19. COLOR OR RACE White 20. Approximate Age 43
21. I hereby certify (a) that in accordance with Sections 878-2.0 and 878-3.0 of the Administrative Code for the City of New York, I went to, and took charge of the dead body at Kings County Morgue this 20th day of October 1936; (b) that I examined the body and investigated the circumstances of this death, and I further certify from the investigation, (complete autopsy) - (partial autopsy) and examination (c) that, in my opinion, death occurred on the date and at the hour stated above and resulted from (natural causes) - (accident) - (suicide) - (homicide) - (undetermined circumstances pending further investigation) and (d) that the causes of death were: Tuberculosis.
Signed: Jonathan Greene
PLACE OF BURIAL OR CREMATION Cemetery of The Evergreens
DATE OF BURIAL OR CREMATION Oct. 23rd 1936
FUNERAL DIRECTOR Richard Callahan
BUREAU OF RECORDS DEPT. OF HEALTH CITY OF NEW YORK
COPY OF RECORD OF BIRTH
Name: Sylvia Jane Barnes
Date of Birth: October 1st, 1937 Time of Birth: 4:08 PM
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NYC
Sex: Female Race: White
MOTHER
Full Name: Stephanie Grace Barnes Rogers
(First) (Middle) (Last) (Maiden)
Age/Date of Birth: July 4th, 1918 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Nurse Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
FATHER
Full Name: James Buchanan Barnes
(First) (Middle) (Last)
Age/Date of Birth: March 10th, 1917 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Stevedore Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
REGISTRATION CARD---(Men born on or after February 17, 1897 and on or before December 31, 1921)
1. NAME (Print): James Buchanan Barnes
(First) (Middle) (Last)
2. PLACE OF RESIDENCE (Print): 166 Montague St Brooklyn NYC NY
(Number and street) (Town, township, village, or city) (County) (State)
[THE PLACE OF RESIDENCE GIVEN ON THE LINE ABOVE WILL DETERMINE LOCAL BOARD JURISDICTION; LINE 2 OF REGISTRATION CERTIFICATE WILL BE IDENTICAL]
3. MAILING ADDRESS Same
4. AGE IN YEARS 24; DATE OF BIRTH March 10 1917
(Mo.) (Day) (Yr.)
5.PLACE OF BIRTH Brooklyn NY; NATURAL OR ALIEN? Natural
(Town/State)
6. NAME AND ADDRESS OF PERSON WHO WILL ALWAYS KNOW YOUR ADDRESS
Stephanie Grace Barnes 166 Montague St
7. NAME OF EMPLOYMENT
Stevedore
8. PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT OR BUSINESS
Red Hook, Brooklyn, NYC
I AFFIRM THAT I HAVE VERIFIED ABOVE ANSWERS AND THEY ARE TRUE.
James B. Barnes
(Registrant's Signature)
WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
BROOKLYN NYC 10:26AM 03/10/45
MR. AND MRS. GEORGE BARNES
The secretary of war desires me to express his deepest regret that your son, Sergeant James B. Barnes, has been reported missing in action since five March in Austria. He is presumed dead. If further details or other information are received you will be promptly notified.
Dunlap Acting The Adjutant General
WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
BROOKLYN NYC 8:37AM 03/15/45
MR. AND MRS. GEORGE BARNES
The secretary of war desires me to express his deepest regret that your daughter-in-law, Captain Stephanie G. Barnes, has been reported missing in action since twelve March in Greenland. If further details or other information are received you will be promptly notified.
Dunlap Acting The Adjutant General
(Letters archived by the Smithsonian Howling Commandos Exhibit; graciously donated to the Smithsonian by Sylvia J. Hayes. Each letter shown in full.)
Dec. 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
I don’t want to write this letter; I don’t want you to have to read it. I hope that if you ever do read this, it’s with us at your side. If that’s not the case, if you’re reading this alone, all I want to say is how sorry I am. Jesus, sweetheart, I am so, so sorry.
Stevie, your Ma, told me to write this. I have to write lots of these: for when you graduate, when you turn eighteen, when you get married, when you have kids of your own. All in case we both die during this war. This letter is the one where I say how much I love you and how sorry I am and tell you everything you need to know about me and your Ma, and, well, you, too.
We got married on August 15th, 1936, less than a month before your Grandma Sarah died. I remember, I gave your Ma a promise ring in 1934, either the day before my birthday or in the early hours of it. I was turning eighteen and I was so in love with your Ma, I felt dumb with it. I had some big dumb speech planned out but in the end, I just asked, “Will you marry me? In a few years? Whenever we’re ready?” and she said “Yes,” and she cried and I cried. I swear, sweetheart, your parents aren’t criers, but when it comes to you, and each other I suppose, we can be. Anyway, we got married when we did because Grandma Sarah was sick and dying. We only got any time together after puberty hit because of her; Grandma Winnie didn’t like your Ma too much.
I don’t have enough time to write everything that I want to write. I want to write you volumes, sweetheart, and if I could I would. I want to go on and on about every detail -- the way your Ma looked in her nicest dress, the way she held my hand when she slid your Grandpa Joseph’s ring on my finger, the way she kissed me, the love in her eyes. How even my Ma looked relaxed and happy for once. How Grandma Sarah cried and hugged us and let us live with her. I could write a whole novel on the way I felt when you were born. But I can’t. I have to wrap this up before I tell you everything, even the things you shouldn’t know, and then throw it out and start over. Let me finish, okay? You need to know this now.
I met your Ma when we were younger than you are now. We were just kids. She was four, and I was five. I met her on the playground, starting a fight over some little Jewish kid getting bullied. She was fighting these boys older than us both, probably eight or nine. I’ll spare you the details -- please, god, for my sake, fight your battles without your fists -- they aren’t kind. We became friends that day and got married fourteen years later. Your Ma got sick two days after we got married, and then Grandma Sarah got sick, real sick. It was a hard time, for us both, but especially for your Ma. Grandma Sarah died on October 19th, just short of a year before you were born. It was a hard year. We found out your Ma was pregnant when she started feeling -- you know what, I’ll let her tell you about that. Anyway, we went to the doctor, and sure enough, you were coming. We went home and got in bed and cried, not good tears, either . Please don’t think we didn’t want you -- when I was your age I thought I’d have ten kids when I grew up, and I loved them even though they weren’t real -- because we did, I swear we did. You are the best thing to ever happen to us, sweetheart. But you have to understand, your Ma was so small, and her family has a history of rough births. Plain and simple, we thought she’d die giving birth to you. I thought I’d lose one love of my life the same day I got another.
It didn’t happen like that, thank god. Stevie was in a bad way for a while, but she recovered -- your Ma is a superhero, Sylvia, remember that -- and she became the best mother I’ve ever seen. She took real good care of the both of us, quit her job so you could always have one of us around. Then she went back to school, almost got a degree in Art, but Pearl Harbor happened and we both knew I’d have to go off to war.
I don’t want to end it there but I need to get a move on. I have a few more things to say, though -- first, when you were born, you had a full head of blonde hair, thick like mine, and I laughed through my tears because I couldn’t help myself. It grew so long so fast that it’s hard to believe it was ever short. Second, Stevie and I love you so much. I already said that but you have to know. I have never and will never love someone like I love you, and neither will your Ma. Third, be good for your Ma or your grandparents or whoever you end up with. Be the good girl you’ve always been, okay? Fourth, I’m so, so, so, so sorry. I am so sorry I’ve missed so much of your life and will continue to miss things.
Finally, since I am writing this on Christmas in [REDACTED] , Merry Christmas.
I love you, your old man,
Bucky Barnes
...
Dec. 25, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
I want to start this off by saying I’m not good with words. Your dad is much better at that; it’s always been easier for him to make friends, and get out of trouble. I’m good with my hands. I’m keeping these letters with all of the drawings I want you to have. I’m going to try, anyway.
I grew up without my Dad. He died about two weeks after I was born, in the Great War. I never knew him, only through my Ma’s stories. If you’re reading this, then you don’t have even that. I don’t want to talk just about Bucky in this letter but he inspires me. I’ve drawn him a thousand times, a thousand different ways. There are no pictures of me as a child, and none of your Dad, but you will have this, at least. I’m going to make sure my sketchbooks and our pictures and everything in between goes to you. You look just like him, sweetheart. You have my hair and eyes but everything else is Bucky. You have his heart, and his bravery. His brains. Already, I see so much of him in you. It’s amazing, it really is. You aren’t much like me -- you get your righteousness from me, but you’ve never gotten in a fight. Your Dad told you not to get in fights in his letter, didn’t he? (I haven’t read it to make sure it’s appropriate, but I assume he did.) He’s not wrong -- but if you have to fight, make sure you do it right. Don’t break your nose, and keep your thumb outside your fist when you throw a punch so your don’t break any fingers. Most importantly, don’t be afraid. You might go up against people bigger and scarier than you, but as long as you stand your ground and give as good as you get, you’ll be fine. Try not to settle for things; don’t settle for love, don’t give up on your dreams for any reason. Never give up.
I want to tell you how I joined the war. Before you were born, I was training to become a nurse. I had to work long hours even though I was small; it was exhausting but fun. I had to quit when I was six months along with you -- I got too tired. And when you were born, I couldn’t go back. Not because they wouldn’t take me but because I wanted to stay home with you. You were a full-time job, sweetheart. You woke us up every night for a year with your crying. You were small like I was, but you ate more than we ever expected. Your first word was “Mama”, and you said it to your Dad. He tried to get you to say “Dada” for a month before you finally said it -- to me. Bucky likes to joke that you got that from me, but you should’ve seen him in class. He talked back to every teacher -- which you should not do! -- and was a real terror to your grandparents. You were well behaved, just silly. You liked playing tricks on us. When you learned how to crawl, you’d crawl around the couch and hide from us. Your Dad would get down on his hands and knees and chase you around it and make sure he never caught you. When you learned to walk, you liked to lock yourself into our bedroom. Do you remember that? You would cry and cry and we’d have to jimmy the lock. When we opened the door, you’d hug us like the world had ended while you were in there.
I’m getting offtrack. I don’t know if you remember this or not, but your Dad had to go to Wisconsin -- [REDACTED] -- for two weeks for training, and only had a few days with us before he went to war. All three of us cried -- there were tears in his eyes when he got on the train. You didn’t understand what was happening until we got home. You asked me, “when is Daddy coming back?” and I had to tell you that it wouldn’t be for a long time. That we’d have to talk to him through letters. You said, “Let’s write one now!” and started practicing your cursive. The night before he left, we went to see Howard Stark’s Expo, and I left you with Dad for a few minutes. I met a man named Dr. Abraham Erskine that night, and he changed our lives. You and I only had a few days together before I went off for training, too. You’ve been so brave about this, sweetheart. I know it was confusing and I didn’t tell you everything and I’m sorry for that. You’re so young, too young to lose both of us. Trust me when I say we would have stayed with you forever if we could have. Unfortunately, we couldn’t. Your dad went to war, and I couldn’t let him do it alone. I don’t know if I made the right choice -- leaving you to chase him. I don’t regret coming -- in time, you’ll understand -- but I miss you with my entire heart, my entire being. I would never wish you here, I would never wish this on anyone, least of all you. But I can’t leave, either -- I’m doing some good, or at least, I hope I am. This isn’t fun but it’s exhausting and that’s something I need. Maybe you will too. We don’t know yet.
I have to wrap this up, it’s getting too long. The last thing I want to say is please be good for your grandparents. Be good for your aunts and uncles. Do what they tell you unless you think it’s wrong. Be a good person, don’t let injustice reign supreme. Never let anyone get away with anything wrong -- especially men. Not all of them are like your Dad. Be strong and courageous and please, don’t forget us. We both love you so much. I wish I could hug you one last time.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you,
Your Mama,
Steph Barnes
...
Dec. 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
DO NOT OPEN THIS UNTIL YOU ARE EIGHTEEN. You better be reading this on October 1st, 1955. Are you eighteen? Yes? Okay, keep reading.
I already told you this, but when I was eighteen, I was already engaged to your Ma. If you’re engaged or married by the time you read this, then I hope he’s a nice guy. Or a nice girl. You’re old enough to know this -- your Ma and I are queers. Part queer? I don’t know. I love women and men and especially your Ma; she loves men and women and especially me. If you’re queer, or if you’re not, you’re perfect. When your Ma was eighteen, she was real self-conscious, thought she was ugly. I told her she was beautiful every single day, until she finally realized how perfect she is. If you feel that way, I want you to know that I think you’re beautiful, perfect, the most amazing girl in the world (besides your Ma, that is). Whoever you are with or end up with, they better make you feel like you’re the only girl in the world.
There are lots of things I know you’re going to have questions about, and I wish I could answer them for you when you have them. I’ll try my best here. (Sorry for sounding cheesy, it can’t be helped.)
Stay true to yourself. Don’t let other people change you. If you realize you’re wrong about something, then change yourself. Apologize when you’re wrong or do something bad, but don’t apologize if you’re right. Be the bigger person, forgive but don’t forget. Don’t give up on your dreams, be what you want to be. Marry someone you love, don’t have children unless you want them. You don’t have to be or do anything you don’t want to, even if society says you should. Carry on our legacy in whatever way you can. Be kind to everyone you meet, even if they aren’t kind to you. But, and this is important, that doesn’t mean you have to agree with them or do what they want. There are bad people in this world, Sylvia, and you’ll meet them over and over. Humanity is multifaceted, sweetheart, and when you meet these bad people you’ll wonder how there can be people so evil. I don’t know what to tell you. You’re old enough to know your Ma and I don’t have all the answers, we aren’t always right. We try our best, and that’s all you have to do. Try your best and you’ll do you’re best.
I’m going to let your Ma finish this one out, so one last thing -- you can always turn to your aunts and uncles if you need anything. I know it’s not the same but it’s better than nothing, right?
Oh, I forgot -- always be grateful. For everything. Even when you get a present you don’t like, or a bad grade, or something like that. Stay positive.
I love you, sweetheart.
Bucky Barnes
Sylvia --
Dad thinks I’m telling you about “women stuff”. I’ll save that for another letter. For now, you need to know some things, some tough things.
We got pregnant again when you were three. We never told you because I was barely four months along and not showing when I started bleeding. I doubt you remember, but we woke up in the middle of the night and there was blood everywhere. Our friend Arnie was sleeping on the couch. He watched you while Dad and I dealt with it. We flipped the mattress over and replaced the sheets and we never talked about it again.
I got my Last Rites three times. I almost died of Scarlet Fever, pneumonia, and the last time was the winter after I miscarried. The women in our family are prone to illness, but I hope the Barnes in you will keep you healthy.
I, along with the other USO girls, went to Italy to entertain the troops. We performed for the 107th, which is the division both your Dad and mine fought in. I had no idea; your Dad wasn’t in the crowd. My good friend Peggy told me which division it was, and when I found out, I yelled at the man in charge. He told me your Dad was MIA, that they knew where he was but weren’t going to rescue him, and told me to focus on performing. I didn’t listen, and in fact, I had Peggy and Howard help me go to where they were and rescue him and 300 other men. Your Dad will never tell you this and he’ll never want you to know but you have to . I found him tied to a table -- he was held as a POW and tortured. He didn’t know who I was -- given, I had changed a lot, but not enough that he couldn’t recognize me. I don’t know the extent of his injuries; they healed too quickly, and he hid them from me, anyway. You just need to know that he survived awful things and still stayed and fought. He’s a good man, Sylvia, a very good man.
These are the hard truths of our family. I’m sorry if you think differently of us now. Like your Dad said, we’ve tried our best.
Happy birthday sweetheart.
Love, Steph Barnes
CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE
This is to certify
That on the 23rd day of January
in the year of our lord 1958
Thomas Robert Hayes Jr., aged 19, son of Julia and Thomas Hayes,
and
Sylvia Jane Barnes, aged 20, daughter of Stephanie and James Barnes,
Were united in marriage.
Witness to the marriage was Winifred Barnes, Mr. and Mrs. T. Hayes, and Rev. Johnson.
(Letters archived by the Smithsonian Howling Commandos Exhibit; graciously donated to the Smithsonian by Sylvia J. Hayes. Each letter shown in full.)
Dec. 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
DO NOT OPEN THIS UNTIL YOU’RE MARRIED/ABOUT TO GET MARRIED.
I could count the number of big arguments your Ma and I got in before we were married on one hand. We fought about getting in fights, about girls who were after me, getting in fights again, whether I should drop out or not (I didn’t, by the way), and getting in fights for the third time. You know, everyone we knew said it was crazy how close we were, how we never argued about things. To be clear, we did argue -- but rarely were they big, loud arguments that followed us wherever we went. We had one of those right after Grandma Sarah died, actually.
It started because when I got home from work, I’d leave my clothes lying around. See, your Ma doesn’t like doing the laundry, the dishes, all the cooking and cleaning, and I don’t blame her. She told me to put my clothes in the hamper when I got home, and I said I would, but I never did. She would pick them up, huffing and puffing, and I’d get concerned she was having asthma. “D’you need a cigarette?” I’d ask, which -- Syl, your Ma does not like be pitied or taken care of in most situations -- made her mad. We had lots of small arguments for several days, culminating in our biggest argument to date. I don’t pick up after myself, which led to I’m not helping with anything -- and I’ll admit, I wasn’t -- which led to me saying that I was the only one making any money. It got bad, fast. I told her she’s reckless and is going to get herself killed; she said she hated it when I was constantly worried about her and constantly being overbearing. I yelled and said it was because I loved her. She cried so hard, Syl. Harder than I’d ever seen. It was heartbreaking, and all my anger left so suddenly I was dizzy with it. I took her to our bed and we stayed cuddled up all night long. After that, I cleaned up my stuff and didn’t make her do all the chores, and she was more considerate about my working all day.
The point of that story is to tell you that arguing isn’t always bad. Grandma Sarah used to say, “People in love have to argue or one or both of them are stupid”. I hope whoever you end up with isn’t stupid.
Sylvia, marriage is a full-time job. Your Ma and I are so close that it’s easy for us, or easier, at least. You’re old enough to know this; once we all got back to base, and we were all checked out, your Ma, me, and the Howling Commandos all went out for a drink at a pub -- funny how they’re called pubs here. If you ever come to Europe, don’t call them bars, or you’ll get some stink eyes. Anyway, we left early and got reacquainted with each other. Your Ma had -- well, we thought it was an asthma attack, but apparently she can’t get those anymore. She couldn’t breathe, in any case, it was like...a nerves attack. I really do swear we weren’t criers, but that night was a bad, bad night. It’s so hard to see the person you love so upset, and it’s hard to comfort them, especially when you’re upset, too. But you can get the hang of it, eventually.
I keep getting offtrack. Stevie’s great at getting me offtrack, even when she’s not here. Well, she is. Your Ma is at the desk, I’m on the bed.
ANYWAY, Sylvia, my point is don’t marry anyone unless you’re positive they’re the one. When you marry the one, you have to become a team. You have to work together. Realize that it can’t be all about you and don’t let it be all about them. It’s 50/50, sweetheart.
God, I wish I could be there. I wish I could see you. I bet you’re a sight in a wedding dress. I’m sorry I won’t get to walk you down the aisle, or dance with you…. Jeez, how many times am I going to apologize to you? It’ll never be enough.
I’m sorry this got sad. I don’t want this to be a sad situation for you, for your spouse. But whoever you are, be good to my little girl or I’ll come back from the dead and make you regret it.
Love you sweetheart,
Bucky Barnes
...
Dec. 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
If you're reading this on your wedding day, or you’re about to get married, I want to tell you this: it'll be one of the best days of your life. Don't panic. Even if everything goes wrong, you'll still be married to the person you love at the end of it.
However, if they show any of the following red flags, run while you still can: lie for any reason, don’t communicate, argue with you about every little thing (arguing is normal, but over everything? No, not normal), not willing to compromise. There are more, I’m sure. The most important thing about marriage is communication and compromise.
I can’t very well tell you that whoever you marry has to treat you like your Dad treats me, but...they should. Being married is something special, something amazing. It should be fun and sad and messy and stressful and there are going to be moments you think, “I love this person more than I love myself, or my favorite food, or some other, favorite thing.” and some moments you think, “I hate you, leave me alone, I don't want to talk to you or even look at you.” Marriage is like a roller coaster that always ends in a collision with another car.
Your Dad is laughing at me for that part. He won’t be for long -- we have to write First Kid letters next.
I don’t have much to say this time, except that if they don’t make you happy, don’t stay with them. If they hurt you or any kids you have, kick their ass, baby.
Love you,
Steph Barnes
COPY OF RECORD OF BIRTH
Name: Stephanie Grace Hayes
Date of Birth: October 3rd, 1958 Time of Birth: 11:29 PM
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NYC
Sex: Female Race: White
MOTHER
Full Name: Sylvia Jane Hayes Barnes
First Middle Last Maiden
Age/Date of Birth: October 1st, 1937 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Student Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
FATHER
Full Name: Thomas Robert Hayes Jr
First Middle Last
Age/Date of Birth: April 14th, 1938 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Student Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
(Letters archived by the Smithsonian Howling Commandos Exhibit; graciously donated to the Smithsonian by Sylvia J. Hayes. Each letter shown in full.)
Dec 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
Your first kid. Jesus, isn’t it crazy? And scary? There’s a human being, completely dependent on you now. God, it’s scary.
Have you started looking for how they look like you yet? Have you been able to see any similarities yet? When I looked down at you for the first time, I saw Stevie in every inch of you, but everyone we know swears up and down you’re a mini me. It’s so odd, seeing and hearing yourself in your kid. I still can’t see much of me in you, except for your temper. The rest is all Stevie.
I have no idea what to say. How am I supposed to know what you need to be told when you’re reading this? How am I supposed to know where you are in life? For me, you’re only seven. I don’t want to think about you getting married and having kids without us there with you. I hope you never have to read these letters….
God, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m in a right mood.
When you were born, I was so scared. I thought Stevie was going to die, and I thought you were, too, and I thought I was going to be going home alone. I’m real sorry to say that you got crazy running in you, Syl. Your Ma has nervous troubles, and you know by now how your aunts and uncles are. Queer and crazy and dead. Jeez, what a lot you got saddled with.
This is what I was thinking about when we took you home. I was scared you were gonna somehow stand up in your dinky crib and fall out and hit your head. I thought Stevie was gonna move wrong, pull something, and die. Maybe I have nervous troubles, too. I don’t know.
[Unintelligble]
Shit I’m sorry. I hate this, Sylvia. I hate that you might have to read this someday. I hate that I have to tell you all these horrible things that never even happened. I should be telling you tricks to make your baby stop crying. Which, by the way, singing always did the trick for you.
You know what, I’m just going to attach a list of things we tried and if they worked or not. Try them all, okay? Every baby is different.
I love you, Syl,
Bucky Barnes
...
Dec. 25th, 1944
Dear Sylvia,
I didn’t write much in my last letter because I wanted to write it here.
I think I already said your Dad and I thought we’d never have kids? I can’t remember. Either way, we didn’t. And when we found out, we were sad but we were happy, too. I’ve already said this, I know that much. What I didn’t say earlier is that when I was pregnant, I thought a lot about Bucky being a dad. I thought about that even when I wasn’t pregnant, actually, but mostly at that time. I thought about him with a little baby, taking care of you and reprimanding you and feeding you. And when you were born, he was even better than I’d imagined.
This is embarrassing and of course he’s reading right over my shoulder -- You’re an asshole Buck Don’t write that on a letter to our daughter Good God Stevie Let me write! I let you write, so go sit back on the bed and think about Howard Stark Don’t even bring up his name, doll Oh fine, but go on, now, leave me be -- when we were young, before we were together, I thought I might like to have kids, but only if they were his. And I got my wish. How much did he say before he had to stop? Oh, it doesn’t look like much.
We got your crib from Grandma Winnie, you know, and it had been passed down quite a bit. Your Dad slept in it when they got it new, and all his ten million siblings after him used it, too. When you were born, Aunt Baby was about three, and she didn’t need it anymore. Thank god they didn’t have anymore kids after her, or we would’ve had to have given it back. You looked like an angel in it, when you were sleeping. I’m sorry to say this, sweetheart, but when you cried your whole face scrunched up and you looked like a prune. It was cute but not nearly as cute as when you were asleep. Or smiling -- your Dad wants me to add that you smiled at him more than you smiled at me. He’s not wrong; you’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. Still, your first word was “Mama” and I’m never going to let him forget that.
There are a million stories I want to tell you, and I think I’ll write them all down in my sketchbooks, but for now I want to tell you just one story. We lived on the third floor, and I was so scared you would fall off the fire escape, I never let you go out there. Well, one day, you got halfway out the window. I was taking a shower, and your Dad was making dinner. It was summer, you were almost three, and you were stuck. At first, you seemed fine to be half in and half out -- and honey, I don’t know why you didn’t go all the way out or came all the way in, you weren’t stuck -- but you got scared quick and started screaming. Bucky ran so fast he almost stubbed his little toe clean off on the door jamb, and I ran out of the shower with suds still in my hair, wrapped in a robe. Your Dad pulled you back in and closed the window so tight it never opened right again. We both hugged you and asked you what the Sam Hell you thought you were doing and I nearly had an asthma attack and by the time I got back to the shower, someone else was using it, so I had to wash my hair in the sink. When we hugged you, you stopped crying and it was as though nothing had happened. I still cannot believe you.
I hope your children pull stunts like that one on you, too.
Love you Sylvia,
Steph Barnes
COPY OF RECORD OF BIRTH
Name: James Buchanan Hayes
Date of Birth: March 26th, 1961 Time of Birth: 8:01 AM
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NYC
Sex: Male Race: White
MOTHER
Full Name: Sylvia Jane Hayes Barnes
First Middle Last Maiden
Age/Date of Birth: October 1st, 1937 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Student Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
FATHER
Full Name: Thomas Robert Hayes Jr
First Middle Last
Age/Date of Birth: April 14th, 1938 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Student Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
COPY OF RECORD OF BIRTH
Name: Thomas Robert Hayes III
Date of Birth: December 9th, 1963 Time of Birth: 3:51 AM
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NYC
Sex: Male Race: White
MOTHER
Full Name: Sylvia Jane Hayes Barnes
First Middle Last Maiden
Age/Date of Birth: October 1st, 1937 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Nurse Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
FATHER
Full Name: Thomas Robert Hayes Jr
First Middle Last
Age/Date of Birth: April 14th, 1938 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Lawyer Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
COPY OF RECORD OF BIRTH
Name: Julia Barnes Hayes
Date of Birth: June 14th, 1967 Time of Birth: 1:18 PM
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NYC
Sex: Female Race: White
MOTHER
Full Name: Sylvia Jane Hayes Barnes
First Middle Last Maiden
Age/Date of Birth: October 1st, 1937 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Nurse Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
FATHER
Full Name: Thomas Robert Hayes Jr
First Middle Last
Age/Date of Birth: April 14th, 1938 Birthplace: Brooklyn, NYC
Occupation: Lawyer Race: White
Residence: Brooklyn, NYC
LADY LIBERTY ALIVE!
MAY 10TH, 2011 -- In the wake of the Battle of New York, many, many things are becoming apparent. For one, ALIENS ARE REAL. Which is a big one and one definitely getting the most attention, well deserved attention. But one worthy of way more attention that it’s receiving is the Lady Liberty -- imposter? Clone? -- that fought alongside Tony Stark’s Iron Man and Thor, the literal God of Thunder. No one could decide who she really is -- pictures taken on the scene of the Battle revealed that this Lady Liberty looked shockingly like the real one who died in a plane crash some 70 years ago, leading to theories of cloning. We know the truth, now -- SHIELD, the operative alphabet agency behind the Avengers, came forward today with the news that Lady Liberty of World War Two and Lady Liberty of the BoNY are one and the same. Stephanie Barnes (née Rogers) who was turned into Lady Liberty in early 1943 apparently survived the crash, purportedly caught in suspended animation in an icecap near Greenland. She was found comatose and woke up on April 20th of this year.
It is well known that Lady Liberty and Howling Commando Bucky Barnes left behind a daughter, Sylvia Hayes (née Barnes). Since losing both of her parents at only 7 years old, Sylvia has spent her life making sure they were not forgotten. She is a founder of the Bucky Barnes Veteran’s Help Foundation, which aids veterans of all wars with their PTSD, as well as the Stephanie Barnes Nursing Scholarship, which is given to young men and women in poor financial situations. SHIELD has said that Stephanie and Sylvia are in contact and have met face-to-face. Sylvia is reportedly overjoyed to have her mother back; SHIELD has indicated they’ve spent every day since Lady Liberty woke up together at their old apartment on Montague St, which has not exchanged hands since the turn of the 20th century. [MORE]
