Welcome to the memorial page for
Barbara A. Garcia
January 10, 1969 ~ August 28, 2017 (age 48) 48 Years Old Light a Candle
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A candle was lit by Michael Stein
on November 10, 2018 9:12 PM
Message from Michael Stein
November 10, 2018 9:11 PM
Was thinking of my baby sister Barbara tonight and stumbled onto this site. Below is what I said at her memorial service. I love you dear sister. You're always in my heart.
I’m Michael, Barbara’s oldest brother. As the touching words of Julie, Mike and Colleen show, my sister profoundly impacted many people. While all of us would give anything not to be doing what we are doing here today, it is altogether fitting and important that we are here.
When asked if he wanted a brother or a sister, my brother Marc opted for a sister, pointing out he already had a brother. Truth be told, when Mom and Dad informed us we were in fact getting a sister, I was thrilled but also a tad concerned. I figured we needed a third brother to play pickle when Dad was at work. Could a sister throw and catch a baseball? Who knew?
One person who had no concerns was Grandpa Frank. He received with unbridled joy the news that at long last, a Stein newborn would be called “her” rather than “him.” That joy is captured in every photograph of the two of them together.
Grandpa loved Marc and me very much. He could always be counted on to help us with homework, drive us to this outing or that and celebrate our accomplishments, big or small, with visible pride.
But Grandpa and Barbara had a truly special relationship, due in no small measure I’m sure to the fact she was the family’s first granddaughter. Grandpa’s “doll,” as he called her, wanted for nothing on his watch – after school cookie and potato chip treats, mandatory membership in the sticker club Marc and I had formed or rides to the local bowling alley conditioned on allowing Barbara to roll the ball “Granny Goose” style down the lane.
What my sister may have lacked in athletic ability, she more than made up for in competitive spirit, practicality, insight and pragmatism. Each of these traits was displayed countless times as we grew up in ways I have coined “Barbara – isms.” Here are just a few examples.
#1: Competitive Spirit
Grandpa Frank loved the TV game show “The $20,000 Pyramid.” Marc and I liked to play along, turning our back to the television and trying to guess the correct answers from the contestant’s clues. Not to be outdone, a 7-year old Barbara insisted she could do as well as us. One difference. Barbara faced the TV, pretended to cover her eyes but clearly separated her fingers to sneak a peek at the answers.
Although she steadfastly denied our accusations of cheating, her cover was blown one afternoon when the category was “Things associated with a church,” the first answer was “The bible” and Barbara shouted out confidently “the bibble.” Marc and I fell over laughing, informed her the word was pronounced “bible” and declared she had been caught red handed. Grandpa Frank’s response? Marc and I were told to finish our homework. Barbara was taken out for ice cream.
#2: Practicality
One of our family’s favorite eateries is The Apple Pan, a famous 1947 West Los Angeles burger joint with a simple but memorable motto – “Quality Forever.” Problem was on her maiden voyage to the place, a then 8 or 9 year-old Barbara wasn’t sure all of the condiments on the Pan’s signature hickory burger would be to her liking. Dad reassured her “That’s OK sweetheart, just tell the man exactly what you want.” The waiter walked over, asked my sister what she was having and with a determined face she replied matter of factly “I’ll have a hickory burger with meat.”
#3: Insight
I once commented to Barbara the irony in the fact that while I managed to win many arguments in court, I never seemed to win arguments with her. She smiled and offered this explanation: “Michael, whenever it looks like you’re winning the argument, all I have to do is start crying and you stop.”
#4: Pragmatism
The Summer and early Fall of 1987 was a particularly stressful time for me. I took the bar exam in July and was awaiting my results which would not arrive until the day after Thanksgiving. During that long delay, my sister refused to entertain even the remote possibility I might not pass with this objective pronouncement: “If my brother Michael doesn’t pass that test, there’s obviously something wrong with the stupid test.”
With a grandfather, father and two older brothers protecting her from the outside world, Barbara was justifiably apprehensive about bringing home would be male suitors. She knew each would face the Jewish equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition.
Then along came James. Although too formidable a presence to be intimidated, it became quickly apparent that James’ impressive physical stature was surpassed by something considerably more powerful and eminently more important – the dimensions of his heart. He possesses a full, deep and unconditional love for my sister – a sentiment she returned in full for him. All who witnessed them exchange their wedding vows knew both had found their partner and it was equally clear Marc and I now had that third brother, courtesy of our sister.
From their union came Barbara’s prized jewels – Frankie and Max. It is impossible to look into my youngest nephews’ faces and not see my sister and James. I take considerable comfort in that.
So many memories compete in my mind for recognition – like the time Barbara secured the coveted role of a first incisor in an elementary school play. You heard me correctly. My sister portrayed a tooth. She diligently memorized her single line that we all of course considered pivotal to the play’s success – “Phew, what a day! That Johnny sure is a big eater.” In the interest of candor, my sister was not exactly Meryl Streep. Despite our best efforts, Marc and I simply could not impress upon Barbara the fact that the word “P-h-e-w” was in reality a sound effect. So, on opening night, fully encased from head to ankle in the Gumby shaped tooth costume Mom had constructed, Barbara got her cue, shuffled confidently to the front of the stage and declared in full voice to a mesmerized audience – “Phew, what a day!” To no one’s surprise, Grandpa Frank proclaimed it a Tony-worthy performance.
There’s the time Barbara stayed with me the weekend before classes started for my second year of law school in Berkeley. Anxious to show her all the city by the bay had to offer, I took her on one of San Francisco’s famed cable cars through the downtown district, Barbara repeatedly persuading the conductor to ring the trolley’s distinctive sounding bell. Our ultimate destination was Pier 39, a treasure trove of shops, restaurants, street performers and the Mecca for practitioners of people watching.
As we walked together, Barbara laughed each time she was startled by a horn blast from one of the big passenger boats navigating the choppy white caps of the bay. She successfully pleaded with me for an early lunch after smelling the tantalizing scent of bacon wrapped shrimp grilling in the open-air food stands lining the walkway. She marveled at how the Golden Gate Bridge reflected the sun into the cloudless blue sky overhead. Like most weekends, Pier 39 was bustling with sightseers that day. Yet, somehow, it felt like we had the place all to ourselves. Just me and my sister. A perfect moment in time.
And then it happened. Something neither one of us could have foreseen but something that would create Stein family folklore for decades. We spotted a karaoke recording booth. Thanks to a fair amount of encouragement from me, and a considerable amount of flirting from the young man behind the counter, Barbara agreed to sing. Given where we were, one tune amongst the dozens of available options immediately proved the obvious choice. Barbara’s wistful cover of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” was . . . well . . . let’s just say it was performed in her own unique key. By now you undoubtedly know who proclaimed Barbara’s rendition superior to Tony Bennett’s version of that iconic song.
I would be remiss if I did not briefly share an important discovery I made this past August. Before then, I had occasionally pondered if angels really exist. I now know they do. You can find quite a few of them posing as doctors and nurses on the 4th floor of Community Memorial Hospital at 147 North Brent Street in Ventura. The unyielding care, compassion and tenderness these real-life angels bestowed upon my sister was extraordinary and replenished my faith that there are truly good and decent people in this world. As I told them then, with all due respect to the last names engraved into their identification badges, in my book, each one of them is forever more a Garcia and a Stein.
In closing, looking out at the wide circles of people present today to celebrate my sister’s life and share how much she meant to them, I am reminded of my favorite line from a movie Barbara loved, The Wizard of Oz. After granting the Tin Man’s wish for a heart, the Wizard offers this sage piece of advice:
“A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”
Job well done dear sister. Job well done. I love you, now and always.
I’m Michael, Barbara’s oldest brother. As the touching words of Julie, Mike and Colleen show, my sister profoundly impacted many people. While all of us would give anything not to be doing what we are doing here today, it is altogether fitting and important that we are here.
When asked if he wanted a brother or a sister, my brother Marc opted for a sister, pointing out he already had a brother. Truth be told, when Mom and Dad informed us we were in fact getting a sister, I was thrilled but also a tad concerned. I figured we needed a third brother to play pickle when Dad was at work. Could a sister throw and catch a baseball? Who knew?
One person who had no concerns was Grandpa Frank. He received with unbridled joy the news that at long last, a Stein newborn would be called “her” rather than “him.” That joy is captured in every photograph of the two of them together.
Grandpa loved Marc and me very much. He could always be counted on to help us with homework, drive us to this outing or that and celebrate our accomplishments, big or small, with visible pride.
But Grandpa and Barbara had a truly special relationship, due in no small measure I’m sure to the fact she was the family’s first granddaughter. Grandpa’s “doll,” as he called her, wanted for nothing on his watch – after school cookie and potato chip treats, mandatory membership in the sticker club Marc and I had formed or rides to the local bowling alley conditioned on allowing Barbara to roll the ball “Granny Goose” style down the lane.
What my sister may have lacked in athletic ability, she more than made up for in competitive spirit, practicality, insight and pragmatism. Each of these traits was displayed countless times as we grew up in ways I have coined “Barbara – isms.” Here are just a few examples.
#1: Competitive Spirit
Grandpa Frank loved the TV game show “The $20,000 Pyramid.” Marc and I liked to play along, turning our back to the television and trying to guess the correct answers from the contestant’s clues. Not to be outdone, a 7-year old Barbara insisted she could do as well as us. One difference. Barbara faced the TV, pretended to cover her eyes but clearly separated her fingers to sneak a peek at the answers.
Although she steadfastly denied our accusations of cheating, her cover was blown one afternoon when the category was “Things associated with a church,” the first answer was “The bible” and Barbara shouted out confidently “the bibble.” Marc and I fell over laughing, informed her the word was pronounced “bible” and declared she had been caught red handed. Grandpa Frank’s response? Marc and I were told to finish our homework. Barbara was taken out for ice cream.
#2: Practicality
One of our family’s favorite eateries is The Apple Pan, a famous 1947 West Los Angeles burger joint with a simple but memorable motto – “Quality Forever.” Problem was on her maiden voyage to the place, a then 8 or 9 year-old Barbara wasn’t sure all of the condiments on the Pan’s signature hickory burger would be to her liking. Dad reassured her “That’s OK sweetheart, just tell the man exactly what you want.” The waiter walked over, asked my sister what she was having and with a determined face she replied matter of factly “I’ll have a hickory burger with meat.”
#3: Insight
I once commented to Barbara the irony in the fact that while I managed to win many arguments in court, I never seemed to win arguments with her. She smiled and offered this explanation: “Michael, whenever it looks like you’re winning the argument, all I have to do is start crying and you stop.”
#4: Pragmatism
The Summer and early Fall of 1987 was a particularly stressful time for me. I took the bar exam in July and was awaiting my results which would not arrive until the day after Thanksgiving. During that long delay, my sister refused to entertain even the remote possibility I might not pass with this objective pronouncement: “If my brother Michael doesn’t pass that test, there’s obviously something wrong with the stupid test.”
With a grandfather, father and two older brothers protecting her from the outside world, Barbara was justifiably apprehensive about bringing home would be male suitors. She knew each would face the Jewish equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition.
Then along came James. Although too formidable a presence to be intimidated, it became quickly apparent that James’ impressive physical stature was surpassed by something considerably more powerful and eminently more important – the dimensions of his heart. He possesses a full, deep and unconditional love for my sister – a sentiment she returned in full for him. All who witnessed them exchange their wedding vows knew both had found their partner and it was equally clear Marc and I now had that third brother, courtesy of our sister.
From their union came Barbara’s prized jewels – Frankie and Max. It is impossible to look into my youngest nephews’ faces and not see my sister and James. I take considerable comfort in that.
So many memories compete in my mind for recognition – like the time Barbara secured the coveted role of a first incisor in an elementary school play. You heard me correctly. My sister portrayed a tooth. She diligently memorized her single line that we all of course considered pivotal to the play’s success – “Phew, what a day! That Johnny sure is a big eater.” In the interest of candor, my sister was not exactly Meryl Streep. Despite our best efforts, Marc and I simply could not impress upon Barbara the fact that the word “P-h-e-w” was in reality a sound effect. So, on opening night, fully encased from head to ankle in the Gumby shaped tooth costume Mom had constructed, Barbara got her cue, shuffled confidently to the front of the stage and declared in full voice to a mesmerized audience – “Phew, what a day!” To no one’s surprise, Grandpa Frank proclaimed it a Tony-worthy performance.
There’s the time Barbara stayed with me the weekend before classes started for my second year of law school in Berkeley. Anxious to show her all the city by the bay had to offer, I took her on one of San Francisco’s famed cable cars through the downtown district, Barbara repeatedly persuading the conductor to ring the trolley’s distinctive sounding bell. Our ultimate destination was Pier 39, a treasure trove of shops, restaurants, street performers and the Mecca for practitioners of people watching.
As we walked together, Barbara laughed each time she was startled by a horn blast from one of the big passenger boats navigating the choppy white caps of the bay. She successfully pleaded with me for an early lunch after smelling the tantalizing scent of bacon wrapped shrimp grilling in the open-air food stands lining the walkway. She marveled at how the Golden Gate Bridge reflected the sun into the cloudless blue sky overhead. Like most weekends, Pier 39 was bustling with sightseers that day. Yet, somehow, it felt like we had the place all to ourselves. Just me and my sister. A perfect moment in time.
And then it happened. Something neither one of us could have foreseen but something that would create Stein family folklore for decades. We spotted a karaoke recording booth. Thanks to a fair amount of encouragement from me, and a considerable amount of flirting from the young man behind the counter, Barbara agreed to sing. Given where we were, one tune amongst the dozens of available options immediately proved the obvious choice. Barbara’s wistful cover of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” was . . . well . . . let’s just say it was performed in her own unique key. By now you undoubtedly know who proclaimed Barbara’s rendition superior to Tony Bennett’s version of that iconic song.
I would be remiss if I did not briefly share an important discovery I made this past August. Before then, I had occasionally pondered if angels really exist. I now know they do. You can find quite a few of them posing as doctors and nurses on the 4th floor of Community Memorial Hospital at 147 North Brent Street in Ventura. The unyielding care, compassion and tenderness these real-life angels bestowed upon my sister was extraordinary and replenished my faith that there are truly good and decent people in this world. As I told them then, with all due respect to the last names engraved into their identification badges, in my book, each one of them is forever more a Garcia and a Stein.
In closing, looking out at the wide circles of people present today to celebrate my sister’s life and share how much she meant to them, I am reminded of my favorite line from a movie Barbara loved, The Wizard of Oz. After granting the Tin Man’s wish for a heart, the Wizard offers this sage piece of advice:
“A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”
Job well done dear sister. Job well done. I love you, now and always.
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