I had the honor to be his communications director; to work along side him; and there was never a bad day working for him as long as the NY Times crossword puzzle was promptly on his desk every morning. He would tell us his amazing stories of FBI days: his interview with J. Edgar Hoover; interviewing Oswald’s wife; undercover during Abscam. We would encourage him to write a book because he could tell a story like absolutely no one else. But he said no, you don’t write books in the FBI. We would ask for the same stories over and over again, including the story about the Stanley Cup in the trunk of his car showing us that ring.

I may not remember every piece of legislation he wrote. The records books can do that. But, I remember how he would go to every senior group that would have them to teach them how to not be scammed or self defense because he thought they needed to know. I remember the well-worn phone book in his bottom drawer. If an angry constituent sent a letter he disagreed with, out came the phone book and a call from Mr. Barnes to talk it over. Almost always they would agree on some point before the call ended.

He rooted for every single one of “the kids in the office” to do well and succeed and he took pride in our success. After leaving his office, he would always look me square in the eye and put an hand on my shoulder to ask about how the new job was going “How are you? Are they treating you well?” Always loyal, always keeping an eye out.

Mr. Barnes — everyone who ever worked for him called him that no matter how much his wife would say “oh call him Peter!”. But, the amount of respect everyone who has ever worked for him would not change. He will always be: Mr. Barnes, one of kind.

Every Friday we would say to staff “You worked hard all week. Take the next two days off!” So I say to him “You worked hard your whole life, May you rest in eternal peace.”

Keep an eye on us, Mr Barnes. And thank you for a life well-lived.