Henry Barca (1886-1961)

Henry Barca (1886-1961) aka Stephen Hainer Parker, Sr.; aka Hayner Parker. He was a hat maker and die maker. (b. August 18, 1886, Chicago, Cook County, Illinois, USA - d. December 08, 1961, St. Louis, St. Louis County, Missouri, USA)

Name
He changed his name from "Henry Barca", to "Stephen Hainer Barca", and later to "Stephen Parker".

Parents
He was the son of Katrine Jensen (1857-1912) aka Katherine Jensen, of Farsund, Norway; and Steffan Barca (1860-bef1900) of Stavager, Norway. Katrine got pregnant from another man. Steffan Barca raised the child as his own.

Sibling
Henry had the following sibling:
 * Leopold Barca (1887-1924)

Chicago, Illinois
They appear in the 1900 US Census under the name "Barcon", living in Chicago, Cook County, Illinois. Both he and his brother worked as hat makers.

Marriage
He married Zelma Edith Aldrich (1886-1919) on April 10, 1907 in Chicago. Her parents were Edith Harris and David Jesse Aldrich. He was listed as "Stephen Hainer Barca" and she was listed as "Zelma Edith Aldrich". They had three children and they used the last name "Parker".

Children from first marriage

 * Edith Parker (1907-1981) who was born on New Years Eve, December 31, 1907, and married a Lawson
 * David Parker (1913-?)
 * Kenneth Hainer Parker (1917-1918)

Death of wife
Zelma died of "pulmonary tuberculosis" on March 14, 1919 at the Municipal Tuberculosis Sanitorium in Chicago, Illinois. Her death certificate was number "6008924". She was buried in Montrose Cemetery.

Second marriage
He later married Loretta Diefenbach (1906-1962) of St. Louis, Missouri and they had nine children.

Children from second marriage

 * Stephen H. Parker, Jr. (1927-1988) who married Doris Joan Skaggs (1930-2008)
 * Thomas E. Parker
 * Bette F. Parker who married a Patten
 * Patricia Parker who married a Krome
 * James R. Parker
 * Daniel L. Parker
 * Paul Parker
 * Marilyn Parker, aka Mae Parker, who married a Stewart
 * Joann M. Parker, aka JoJo

Death
Stephen died in 1961 in St. Louis, Missouri under the name "Stephen Haines Parker".

Burial
He was buried in Laurel Hill Cemetery, St. Louis, Missouri.

Memories about Henry Barca

 * Bette Parker wrote in 2006: "[He] went by Henry, an English sounding name, when he was young, but I do not think that was his given name. He later went by "Hayner" and referred to himself one time as "Haynser". He took his father's name "Stephen" and used the middle name of "Haines Barca" and used the last name of "Parker". He was very artistic and musical and played at least 5 instruments. He played the piano by ear. [He] passed away on December 08, 1961."


 * Paul Parker wrote on March 03, 2006: "He was called Sam by his associates and had intelligent and sensitive eyes, narrow, sharp features and thick dark hair with a shock of white down the temples that later turned pure white. His hands were large and strong but had a certain bony delicacy. They were the master tools of his labor as an expert tool and die maker, and were expressive instruments for pleasure at the keyboard of any available piano. From the time of my childhood through my years as a young adult, watching him use his hands either in the preparation or manufacture of aluminum or plaster models, or stroking joyous music from the piano keyboard, was always a magical experience. His life and work spanned the years of the invention of flying machines, two world wars, and the leap of Astronauts into space. From making plaster models and polishing aluminum dies for the manufacture of fancy fashionable hats he graduated to creative tool and die work to support building of fighter planes at McDonnell Aircraft Co. during the Second World War. McDonnell would later work on sub-orbital space vehicles and while having difficulty with the escape hatch on one called Dad back out of retirement to produce a die of the hatch for study. That was quite a leap for an old hat man. As a parent of two small children myself, I took them and visited the home of my birth where the first five years of my life were spent, and where I recall visits from people bringing work for Dad to complete in his shop at the back of the house. There, in a pile of rubble still at the back corner of the lot beneath overgrown grass I found a couple of pieces of plaster containing the finger impressions of my Father's hands. We took them away and I kept them for a long time. Some of us recall that he was a gentle man, humorous and caring. Some of us say he was remote, indifferent, not a touchy feely kind of person. Each of his children experienced a man of remarkably contrasting natures. He was musical, literate, thoughtful, creative, gifted. Once, during my adolescence, I fell asleep on the couch and was in a deep slumber. In the darkness of that dreamless nap I became aware of a warm, moist hand pressing softly against my forehead, and slowly awakened. He was bending down, his face close to mine, and in a gentle voice he said, "It's time for dinner." It was a tender moment unlike any I ever experienced with my Father. And, like the awful smell of the inevitable cigar smoke that often laid in a drifting cloud throughout the rooms of our home, or the whimsical sound of him whistling a pointless melody while sloshing plaster in the workshop at the back of the house, I remember that warm hand on my forehead. Later, I was a young Seaman in the Navy on my way to Cuba on the last day I would see him alive, and although unknown to me at the time, not well. It was in 1961. A local bus left the circle in town and turned up our road passing in front of our house on the trip to the Greyhound Bus Terminal in downtown St. Louis. Dad was sitting in a chair on the small step-up porch to the front door of the old two-story frame house as the bus rounded the corner. Perhaps it was then that I realized how frail and tired he looked. He clutched a proverbial pipe between his teeth, and as usual, seemed pensive and distant. He did not see me on the bus. When he passed away that December I recall thinking how sad that never again would his wonderful piano adventures ever be heard. Memory is a transient visitor. Some of us are better at invoking clarity of recollection than others. I admit mine is poor. But, I recall that his hands were the keys to his heart, to his work, and to the sound of joyous music."


 * Patricia Parker Krome wrote in 2006: "Many Saturday nights, friends and relatives would gather at our house and Dad would play the piano and everyone would sing along. This would go on all evening. Dad had a shop where he did plaster molds for companies. For his own amusement, he made a pair of plaster casts of the profiles of Roman soldiers in their armor. They were a beautiful piece of art and our aunts had sets of these hanging in their homes. A St. Louis builder had Dad make a panel facing for a house in plaster cast to be made later in stone or brick. Some of these facings are still seen on buildings today."


 * Bette Parker Patten wrote in 2006: "When we were little, Dad would sit in his easy chair while waiting for dinner. With kids sitting all around him and hanging on every word, he would read all the cartoons to us from the daily paper. He enjoyed drawing cartoon characters for us, such as, little characters peeking over a fence or through fence holes and around corners. Sometimes they wore hats or braided hair hanging down the fence top. He would give these little people our names. I remembered these characters and drew them for my children when they were little. On Saturday mornings we would walk to town with Dad. We would go to the hardware store or dime store. Dad didn't know any strangers and he would visit with everyone. He was always proud to show off his family. If we behaved, he would buy us a penny lollipop on the way back home. I still like going to the hardware store. Dad would buy parts of bicycles from a junk man. He would take these parts and make bicycles for his children. I was the only one of his children to get a brand new bicycle from a store for my eighth birthday. One constant in our house was music; singing and, believe it or not, whistling. My brother Jimmy would whistle tunes while leaning against the door jam to the kitchen, waiting for supper. Dad would whistle while working in his workshop to ease the whirring sound of motors from tools and also just for pleasure. Mom would whistle while working around the house or sitting quietly in the yard. And when it was time for supper, who could forget the famous whistle from the back door to call all the young wanderers home from Cunningham Avenue and an afternoon of play. This whistling tune, which was called by my Father, Mother, and older brothers, still comes to me even today in the wind whistling in the trees in our backyard and the memories flood my thoughts and I want to run up our hill and home for the day."


 * Bette Parker wrote on Aug 31, 2010: "My brother Thomas, who is in his 80's now, wrote this memory to me of our half-siblings: Our brother David, who was like a second father to me, was a friend of Walt Disney. He attended art school with him. ( David was an excellent artist and produced many oil paintings). When Walt came up with his 'ever famous Mickey Mouse', Disney invited David to come to Los Angeles and work with him on cartoons. Dave did go out (sometime in the early thirties) and worked for a while with Disney. He got bored with the process of making pages and pages of cartoons in motion. He returned to St. Louis and lived with the family in Maplewood for a while. He had a small restaurant at the of the McCausland Ave. Bridge over the Frisco railroad tracks. Brother Steve and I use to walk over to the restaurant and gorge on hamburgers and fries. David, Edith and Mae were the most loving half-siblings in the world. They made Christmas happen many times when things were rough for Mom and Dad. They took Steve and Me to places that were educational and delicious. I will never forget the trip to the Forum Restaurant in downtown St. Louis. It was a serve-yourself cafeteria. I never saw so much food before. They said we could have whatever we wanted. I don't know what I ate that day, but will never forget the thrill of so much food in one place."

External link

 * Henry Barca at Findagrave