Irene Walter Johnson Barnes’s Memorial Tribute for MI 50th Reunion

                                      December 1947- August 1995

Submitted by Susan Frelich Appleton and Sally Schaum Witte.

In 1995, the class lost one of its most uniquely gifted members, Irene Walter Johnson Barnes, at age 47. We remember her as stunningly beautiful, an avid and prodigious reader, an accomplished student, and a seeded junior tennis player. Most of all, however, we remember Irene as unique.  Irene was like no one else we had met in our once-younger lives and, now that we are much older, we have never encountered anyone like her since. She possessed a truly unique persona that one might describe as a cool serenity coupled with sophistication well beyond her years.

We had the good fortune of friendship with Irene. Irene’s unique persona meant that this friendship differed from our friendships with other classmates and with one another.  But we worked together (on Mary’s Diary), played together (often at Irene’s home), and felt a genuine bond.  Through this tribute, we hope to share with classmates our memories of Irene. We hope to capture how it felt to be a child and, later, an adult in Irene’s aura. 

Irene was uniquely privileged by way of her birth—which gave her not only a place in one of St. Louis’s most prominent families but also a fierce intelligence, impressive athletic ability, and an adoring father.  Irene did much with these natural gifts, becoming a glamorous member of our class who was equally well suited to play the princess in our second-grade play Many Moons, to read precociously and voraciously, to acquire deep and extensive knowledge on many different subjects, to win tennis championships, to become a successful attorney, and to develop close and meaningful friendships.  Irene had and became the best of everything.

Irene joined our class in second grade.  Our teachers were awed by her reading abilities and habits.  She quickly consumed all of the Dr. Dolittle books.  (By eighth grade, she had moved on to the works of Sigmund Freud.)  Of course, the part of Princess Lenore in our second-grade play Many Moons had to go to Irene. The play, based on a story by James Thurber, depicts an ailing princess whose devoted father, the King, will do anything to make her better.  Princess Lenore wants the moon, and the King enlists all his wise men to do what it takes to follow through.  The story’s plot and happy ending mirrored the many situations in which we saw Irene’s father, Oscar Johnson, lovingly indulge his only child’s wishes.

Mr. Johnson loomed large in Irene’s life.  A recluse who closely followed the U.S. space program, he bought a home in Cape Canaveral and he took the family to watch many a rocket launching.  The family also had homes in Pebble Beach, California, and Holly Springs, Mississippi, in addition to St. Louis (first on Portland Place and later Apple Tree Lane) and the family’s farm west of St. Louis in St. Albans.  The biographical fact about Irene’s father that stood out most for those of us who spent time with the Johnsons, however, was his escape from kidnappers.  A descendant of one of the founders of the International Shoe Company, Mr. Johnson at age 26 survived a kidnapping-ransom attempt at gunpoint by “notorious gangsters.”  Who else in our class could compete with that family history?

One of the lasting after-effects of the trauma Mr. Johnson suffered as a young man undoubtedly was his need to protect his only child from similar peril.  Irene was not allowed to visit our homes, but we were warmly welcomed at Apple Tree Lane, a stone’s throw from Mary Institute. Kelly, the family’s really protective standard poodle, would bark like he meant it as a staff person would open the door and direct us to the drawing room where we would find Irene’s parents.  Mr. Johnson would be found seated in an easy chair near the TV, often watching something paradoxically inane, given his intellect. As he shyly greeted us, he would invariably be smoking a cigarette with its long ash teetering on the edge of an ashtray and a cup of syrupy, black expresso nearby.

Irene’s mother, Eloise Johnson, also warmly welcomed our visits.   She would be sitting on the love seat reading or doing some sort of needle point, her glasses having slipped to the tip of her nose. Mrs. Johnson had definite ideas about how to do everything, and we surmised that it could not be mere coincidence that one of her daughters (Irene’s half-sister) was an acclaimed concert pianist and the other a tennis champion. Mrs. Johnson had biblical sayings painted on the kitchen walls and hosted regular Bible study sessions.  She determined that Irene would attend Bradford Junior College and no doubt influenced Irene’s original plans to study landscape architecture, which had been her mother’s profession.  Irene seemed to have a more complicated relationship with her mother than her father—mixing healthy doses of respect with the rebellion necessary to achieve independence.

Irene’s parents took our antics in stride, including our frequent all-girl “black tie” parties at Apple Tree Lane and even our appearance at Union Station dressed in fake maternity clothes when we greeted the family on its return from one summer in Pebble Beach.  Oscar wryly commented:  “I see you girls have been busy this summer.”  Although we must have been trying hard to attract attention while developing our own adolescent identities, feeling comfortable in her own skin seemed to come effortlessly to Irene.  We have vivid memories of her during our high school years, when she drove a cool green Carmen Ghia, smoked Newport menthol cigarettes, endlessly drank Coca Cola, dressed fashionably, lived in a palatial home, and enjoyed the companionship of her dainty miniature poodle, Peanut.

The three of us had a wonderful experience writing and editing for Mary’s Diary in our senior year.  In addition to our regular visits to Messenger Printing in Kirkwood for “layout,” we frequently met at Irene’s home to collaborate on articles for the paper.  One of the most memorable Diary episodes occurred after we wrote an editorial in praise of public school desegregation.  Of course, Mr. Beasley called us into to office to explain why Mary Institute girls don’t talk about such topics.  Although Irene would usually write intellectual analyses of important books and serious subjects, on some occasions—as we worked late into the night—our ideas devolved into silly satire, which our advisor, Mr. Reed, would reject out of hand the next morning.

 Through such collaboration, Irene, who was often reserved and aloof, became more accessible and our friendship became even closer.  And the Diary provided an opportunity for others to become acquainted with Irene’s terrific sense of humor.   (Even Susan’s mother appreciated Irene’s sense of humor—showing up at Irene’s home for the year-end Diary party dressed in a tuxedo, with an equally formally attired three-year-old Annie Frelich as her “date.”)

Irene had several devoted male admirers, including some she had met in other cities with exotic names like Donny Lovelace.  She met Craig Barnes while traveling in Greece, married him in St. Louis in December 1969, moved with him to Denver and then to Little Rock, where he pursued his career as a television journalist and she continued her studies, culminating in her law degree.  By all accounts, she was a successful and accomplished attorney.

We saw Irene less frequently during this period, but she seemed particularly happy and full of life. In December, 1972, dressed in jeans and armed with cans of spray paint she appeared the morning of Sally’s wedding and magically transformed the defoliated bushes in the backyard reception tent into a winter wonderland—a memorable gesture of generosity and friendship.

Whatever Irene’s unique persona, strengths, and accomplishments, Irene was our friend. We lost touch in 1991. The news of her death in 1995 stunned us. We felt profoundly sad to learn that she died alone and shrouded in mystery, quite possibly suffering from serious mental illness.