The Ballad of the Brothers Barrell - A Figment Story

[legendsport]

Washington, DC: March 31, 1923:

Danny Barrell looked about ready to spit nails. His brother Fred stood beside him and nudged him with a shoulder.

"Mom will kill you if you scuff those shoes," Fred muttered out of the side of his mouth. On Danny's other side, Tommy Barrell tugged at his collar and groused, "How can people wear these things?"

The three brothers were sporting formal wear and none of them were too keen on it. But both Alice and Rufus had warned their sons to be on their best behavior.

The occasion (and reason for Danny's foul mood) was Claudia's wedding to Powell Slocum.

"The Ragland Ripper" was coming off a second-straight .401 season and though he had twelve years on his bride (Claudia was 24, Slocum, 36) and was generally considered the best baseball player on the planet, today he was a groom who was giddy as a schoolboy as he stood at the front of the church with two of his Cannons team mates (Joe Chattman and Phil Miller, who was the best man). Which just put Danny in an even fouler mood.

Danny and his brothers were acting as ushers for the ceremony, along with Clyde Hinzman, who was supposed to be standing with them but was nowhere to be seen. Freddy glanced around and asked, "Where'd Clyde get off to?"

Danny had just finished shrugging his response to Freddy's question when Rufus walked up to his sons and nodded in apparent appreciation. "You fellows clean up well," he said with a wry grin.

"Thanks Pop," Fred replied. Tommy tugged his collar again and frowned saying, "I hope so because this sure is uncomfortable."

Danny said nothing. Rufus eyed him for a second then patted his shoulder and said, "Try to be happy for Claudia, will you?"

Danny muttered something that might have been an affirmative and Rufus sighed and walked off. He'd be walking Claudia down the aisle and it was time to get in position.

An older couple shuffled up and noticing that neither Fred nor Tom moved, Danny gave an audible sigh and stepped forward, extending an elbow for the old woman to grasp.

As he escorted them down the aisle, the old man told him that he was Slocum's father and asked to be seated on the groom's side. The woman - Slocum's mother, Danny supposed - told him he was a handsome young man and patted his arm as they entered a pew and took a seat. Danny grumbled a thank you and then saw his mother sitting on the bride's side and giving him one of her patented looks that indicated she knew exactly what was going through his head. Danny fought down the urge to squirm - he knew his mother couldn't read minds, even if she acted like she could...

Seated beside his grandmother, James Jr., now three years old, was busy swinging his legs and humming something... Yankee Doodle?... Danny wasn't sure. Then the kid turned his head, saw Danny and stuck his tongue out at him. Danny smirked and quickly shot his tongue out in return. The kid laughed - this was a common activity between the two of them. He'd miss the little rascal, now that he'd be moving to Baltimore with Claudia.

Danny turned and began walking back to his position at the rear. As his gaze passed over the growing crowd of well-wishers, he nearly stumbled as he spotted Emily Talbot and her parents. Emily waggled her fingers at him, an amused look at his evident surprise on her face. He gamely put a grin on and half-waved back at her.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The ceremony itself passed in a haze for Danny - he was thankful to be standing in the rear of the church, safely away from the prying eyes of his parents, Claudia and even Emily. Clyde had appeared as if by magic right before the ceremony began (having coincidentally missed nearly all the ushering in typical Clyde-like fashion) and now he and Fred stood off to the side, whispering to each other. Tommy had somehow sniffed out one of Slocum's team mates, a lefty pitcher named Ken Carpenter and sat with him in the rearmost pew, chatting off and on.

Now that the religious and legal technicalities had been taken care of, the entire group had reconvened at the townhouse. Potentas was cheerfully leading a toast to the bride. With Prohibition in effect, even the kids were able to join in since all the drinks were non-alcoholic.

The whole Barrell clan was on hand and Danny realized it was the first time that had been true since Christmas of 1921. He was dying to corner Jack and ask about playing football with Joe in Chicago (Jack had decided to take his brother up on his offer after all and Rufus had opined that sticking it to Bert Thomas was the icing on the cake).

Joe Barrell stood beside Edna on one side of the room. Edna was chatting with a very pregnant Francie Barrell while Rollie was off on the other side of the room with Jack and his equally pregnant wife Marie. Joe's kids, Rufus and Gloria, were running around with both James Jr. and Agnes. Danny frowned as he watched his brother Jimmy's children play all the while not realizing they were half-siblings. Little Agnes looked like Marie while James... well, he looked like a blonde-headed version of their father.

Powell Slocum was beaming beside his new wife in the center of the room with several other ballplayers standing around them. Rufus and Alice stood nearby, Alice watching her grandchildren play while Rufus chatted with Slocum and the other ballplayers, so seamlessly in his element that it made Danny jealous. He did smile a bit when he saw his baseball-mad youngest brothers, Bobby and Harry, circling the group of FABL players around Slocum, peering up at them, hopping from foot to foot and hoping to be noticed.

Fred sauntered over and slapped Danny on the back. "Hey!" he said cheerfully. "Pop just gave me this," as he handed Danny a letter from the Capital Academy.

Danny frowned and began reading. His mouth dropped open and he gave Freddy a wide-eyed stare. "You're kidding!" he nearly shouted.

"Nope. That's the real McCoy. Like you, I am graduating this year."

Danny shoved the letter back at his brother. Freddy, like Rollie, was apparently too smart for the rest of the clan. He'd been working hard at school, there was no doubt of that, and now he'd be graduating with Danny - who was a year older and barely scraping by academically?

Then to make it worse, Fred added, "Oh, yeah, and I got accepted to Georgia Baptist. I'll be catching for them next season!"

Danny shook his head, steeled himself and though extremely jealous, slapped his brother on the back and congratulated him.

"With these two galoots gone, it'll just be you and me carrying the Academy next season, eh, Clyde?" Danny heard his brother Tommy say from behind him.

He spun around and smiled at Tommy, saying, "So you've decided to go to school here too?"

Tommy had. "I figure I need to run with a faster crowd, and Pop agrees." Danny had heard how Tommy had essentially dominated Effingham County's opponents - and Capital did play some good competition.

Danny chewed his lip. He'd applied to Nobel Jones, figuring on playing football and competing in track and field - the Olympics were still a dream of his. Baseball? He wasn't sure about it - Coach Beckmann seemed lukewarm on Danny this season and he hadn't been getting regular time in the early games (though Freddy had). But Nobel had a good Track & Field program and Coach Spangler spoke highly of the coaches there too.

He glanced at Claudia, happily smiling and about to start her new life with her famous husband. Danny thought that maybe it was time for him to start giving serious consideration about what he was going to do with his life. Maybe what everyone had been telling him was right: it was time to stop moping and move on.

He felt a tap on his back and spun around to see Emily Talbot smiling at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she said. He smiled back at her.

--

[legendsport]

Toronto, ON: April 13, 1923:

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Jack Barrell told his wife.

Marie, now eight months pregnant, frowned at her husband. "It is a petty world, my love," she said and grimaced a bit as she shifted in her chair.

A concerned look crossed Jack's face as he asked, "Are you okay?"

She waved a hand and said, "I am fine. Tired," she admitted. Then resting her hand on her abdomen, she added, "Ready for this little one to join us."

Jack resumed his pacing across the room. He paused and bent over, picking up Agnes' doll off the floor. "I know someone else who can't wait for the baby," he said, nodding his head towards the door to the bedroom where their daughter slept.

Marie smiled. Agnes was nearly four years old, and to say she was looking forward to being a "big sister" would be an understatement. "And you?" she asked.

Jack walked over and took his wife's hand. "You know how I feel about this - I am over the moon!"

Marie squeezed his hand in return. "You have been so good to Agnes. And to me."

"You both mean the world to me. And this little one will be just the same," Jack said with a smile.

"If only Bert Thomas wasn't such a hard-headed..." he muttered, Marie squeezing his hand again before he could finish.

"He is upset and this is the only way he can show it," Marie pointed out.

Jack nodded his agreement. He felt it was petty, but Thomas had fired Jack as his hotel's "summer" security chief. He didn't bother to hide his reason, either, telling Jack that because he had left early the previous fall to "pursue another foolhardy side-job" as a professional football player, he had left Thomas no choice.

"This isn't baseball," Thomas had added noting that the physical nature of football made it far riskier than baseball had been. That Jack had shown a lot of talent on the gridiron likely only made it worse. Naturally, Thomas hadn't sprung this on him until the NAHC season ended the previous month. Jack had led the Dukes to a first-place tie with the Ottawa Athletics. That the Dukes had lost the two-game total-goals playoff 4-3 wasn't Jack's fault - he'd scored two of Toronto's three goals. In fact, he had finished tied with Ottawa's Charlie Oliphant for the league lead in goals with 27 and just one point behind him in points as Oliphant had 13 assists to Jack's 12. Still, Ottawa had gone on to capture the Cup by defeating Vancouver in four games and Thomas was apparently holding a grudge.

"We'll get by," Marie said.

Jack frowned and said, "I'm not sure how. It's a long time between now and September with no income." Jack knew he had a spot on the Chicago Wildcats. His brother Joe and partner Carl Boon had both been pleasantly surprised at how good Jack had been. Teaming with Joe in the Wildcats backfield in the fall of '22, Jack had shown that he was a dangerous runner and adept passer and was also a fierce and effective defensive back. His hockey experience made him a singularly fearless tackler.

"What about Connolly?" Marie asked.

Jack shook his head. "That would certainly drive Thomas through the roof," he replied. "Still, I don't know..."

Jack Connolly had sent his son, Jack Connolly, Jr. to meet with Jack, once again trying to lure him into the USHA. Junior and Jock, as they referred to each other, were about the same age and had actually hit it off to the point that they could be considered friends. The younger Connolly was a much more likable person than his mercurial father. Junior had told Jack that if he ever tired of Bert Thomas' attempts to control his life, there would be a spot for him in the USHA. Jack wasn't surprised - as one of the better players in pro hockey, he knew what a coup it'd be for the rival league to bring him into the fold. Still, he held to the convictions his parents had engendered in him.

"He did offer you a job with the Mining company," Marie reminded him. And it was true - Junior had told him that the Connolly Mining Company would give him a job, and that this would be true regardless of whether he jumped his NAHC contract. "My father won't like it, not unless you jump too, but he's left the mining side of the business to my uncle Dan and me," Junior had told him.

Jack frowned. What did he know about silver mining?

As if reading his mind, Marie smiled and said, "I am sure they know you're no expert on mining, my love."

Jack sighed and then grinned, saying, "It sure would put a bur in Thomas' pants, wouldn't it?"

After Jack explained what a bur was, Marie chuckled and nodded with a twinkle in her eye. Her English had come a long way - and she insisted on speaking it as often as possible, while still ensuring Agnes was fluent in both French and English.

Jack looked at his watch. "Too bad it's so late. I'll call Junior in the morning and see if the offer still stands."

[legendsport]

Egypt, GA: July 2, 1923:

Danny Barrell stood bare-chested, sweating in the July heat, his shirt thrown aside. He bit his lip and tried to ignore the burning in his legs.

He was out behind the barn, near the edge of the property. He was peering intently at the makeshift high jump apparatus he had put together with a bit of help from Rollie. Landing on the pile of hay wasn't exactly comfortable, but Danny had learned at Capital Academy that comfort wasn't in the equation when it came to greatness.

He puffed out a breath and took off in a sort of shambling run, gathering himself as he approached the horizontal rod he'd placed on a pair of rickety uprights. He launched himself, using the so-called "Western Roll" his coaches had taught him, and groaned as he felt his rear end brush the bar, dislodging it as he landed in a puff of hay.

Behind him, he heard a sneeze.

He stood up grumpily, brushing the hay off his sweaty chest to find his sister squinting at him. She sneezed again.

"What are doing here, squirt?" he asked, grimacing as he reached behind his back to get at a piece of hay he couldn't... quite... reach.

Betsy walked up to him and non-chalantly plucked the offending piece of hay off his back.

"You're smelly," she said with a wrinkled nose. "And all that hay in the air makes me sneeze."

Danny grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, then replied, "No one asked you to come out here and bother me."

Betsy gave him a smirk and retorted, "That's not true. Mama told me to come out here and get you."

"What for?"

Betsy shrugged and said she didn't know. "But there's a man at the house. He has spectacles!" she said in an annoyingly cheerful way.

Danny shook his head. "OK, let's go see who this bespectacled fellow is, then. Shall we?" Then he reached out and scooped up his sister, planting her on his shoulders.

"Put me down!" she squealed and kicked her legs.

"Whoa! You'll fall off, squirt!" Danny said with a laugh. Then, grasping her legs firmly, he added, "You're helping me train. If I can run to the house with you on my shoulders, it'll help make me stronger."

Betsy ran a hand through his hair. "You're all wet!" she complained.

"Well... it is about ninety degrees out here, you know," Danny said and began trotting towards the house, his sister's laughter ringing in his ears.

-------------------------------------------------------------

It turned out that the "man with the spectacles" was none other than John Christian, former football and basketball coach at Noble Jones College. Christian had left the school and was going to be coaching at Red River State in Texas. Danny had yet to enroll anywhere for the fall semester and wondered if Christian was there to recruit him.

So he was a bit surprised when Christian told him (after his typically business-like greeting and a congratulatory note about working out in the blazing Georgia heat) that he thought he should enroll at Chicago Poly.

Danny was flustered and Alice, who was standing beside him, was stunned speechless. Like Danny, his mother had assumed Christian would want Danny to come play for him in Texas.

"Not that I wouldn't be pleased as punch to have another Barrell playing for me," said the man who had coached both Joe and Rollie at Noble Jones. "But, given your obvious talent for track and field, I would be remiss in my greater duties as a coach if I didn't recommend you to Coach John Thomas Wesley at Chicago Poly."

Danny had heard of Wesley, of course. Like Christian and Pug Johnston, Wesley was a legend among football coaches. In fact, Wesley was arguably more of a legend than either of the other two, having been at it since the 1890s.

Christian pushed his glasses up his nose and said, "I'm not sure you know this, but Coach Wesley will be coaching the Olympic Track and Field squad next year. I would think that someone with your talent might find that interesting Daniel."

Danny's mouth dropped open. "The Olympics?" he asked in wonder.

Christian chuckled and nodded. "Yes, sir. As you undoubtedly know, I have been in contact with your coaches at Capital and they all are unanimous in assessing you as a top-flight track and field talent. That you also play football and baseball is merely the icing on the cake, as it were."

Alice had by now recovered a bit. Wishing that Rufus were here and not out scouting in Arkansas, she asked, "And Coach Wesley? He knows about Danny?"

Christian nodded. "Indeed he does. I am a bit surprised you haven't received a letter from him. Perhaps the mail is simply late..."

Alice grinned and said, "Yes, sir. The mail can be a bit slow out here - we're at the end of the route, you might say."

Betsy looked up at the coach and asked, "Can you see without your spectacles?"

Alice gasped and gave her daughter a stern look, a reprimand on the edge of her tongue when Christian forestalled her by replying, "Well, yes, I can see without them. But they make all things that much clearer, young lady."

Betsy looked a bit confused, but having seen her mother's expression, she wisely did not follow up on her question.

Danny's head was spinning. He truly hadn't decided on where he would attend college. Noble Jones had seemed the likely choice, though the prospect had taken a hit when he heard that Coach Christian was leaving. Red River State was on his mind, but Texas seemed a bit far afield after spending his high school years in the nation's capital. Chicago Poly? He hadn't even been considering it. Though the fact that his brother Joe lived in Chicago was a point in its favor. And Jack would be there in the fall, playing for the Wildcats. Maybe Chicago Poly was the place for him...

He thanked Coach Christian for his kind words, and the efforts on his behalf, but his thoughts were roiling and he wished that his father, or Rollie, were around to talk to. His mother meant well, but... she was his mother and he'd feel more comfortable talking with his father or older brothers about this kind of thing.

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: July 19, 1923:

Joe Barrell cut into his steak with relish, thinking that a good steak was one of life's great pleasures, and this particular steak was even better, since he wasn't even footing the bill for it.

He shoved the meat-laden fork into his mouth and chewed, his pleasure evident on his face. After swallowing, he nodded across the table and asked, "So, what can I do for you, Mr. Moran?"

The heavy-jowled fellow across from him waved his own fork and said, "Call me, Bugs. Everyone else does."

Moran ate some of his steak while Joe waited for an answer.

The restaurant owned by Augustus Hoch, a meat-packer who was now cutting out the middleman, was one of the city's finest. Joe knew from his brother Jack that Hoch was rumored to not only have ties to the bootlegging gangs that were now rampant in Chicago, but he was also rumored to be interested in bringing professional hockey to the city. But that was neither here nor there, because it was probably his ties to the North Side Gang's bootleggers that enabled a known criminal like Bugs Moran to get the best table in the place.

Moran wiped his fleshy lips with his napkin and dropped it on the table. He took a deep breath and said, "We have a problem, Mr. Barrell."

Joe's confused look brought a small and humorless grin to Moran's face. "I can see that you require an explanation."

Joe nodded, his stomach churning a bit. Though he feared no man physically, Joe was also no fool and knew that Moran and his associates would think nothing of shooting him if there was any benefit to be derived from doing so.

"You have a brother... Jack, right? Lives in Canada?"

Joe nodded again and replied, "You're well-informed. I have many brothers, but yes, my brother Jack lives in Toronto."

"He also plays football, here in Chicago. With you." Stated as known facts, not questions.

"As I said, you're well-informed," Joe replied, wondering - but not asking - where this was going.

"And you... you're..." Moran spread his hands and winked, "involved, shall we say, with Charlotte Cleaves?"

Joe sat back, stunned and confused. He just bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

Moran smirked, and spread his hands. "We're not spying on you, Barrell. Cleaves' husband? He works for our... business associates... in Kentucky."

Moran tapped a fingernail on the glass of illegal whiskey sitting beside his plate. "They make good whiskey in Kentucky, you see."

Joe said nothing, and while he was listening and registering what Moran was saying, he was also still wondering what Moran wanted with him.

Moran raised his glass, cocked it at Joe in a mock toast and then downed his drink in a gulp. "No more evidence," he croaked and then he winked at Joe.

"So... I know you're thinking what does my having my way with another guy's wife, and my brother in Canada, have to do with anything. Am I right?"

"Yes, you know you are. Where's this going, Bugs?"

"Well... our friend Mr. Cleaves, he's not happy. See, his wife, the lovely Charlie? She's in a family way and Mr. Cleaves? Well, he figures the kid ain't his. So... as you can imagine, he is somewhat out of sorts about the whole thing."

"And how does he know, or thinks he knows, about me?" Joe asked.

Moran smiled that cold smile again. "He got it from the horse's mouth, of course."

"Charlie told him?"

"Let's just say he persuaded her to come clean."

Joe's fingers whitened as he tightened them on his own glass of whiskey. "He hit her?" he growled.

Moran shrugged. "I wasn't there, but like I said, he got it out of her. One way or another."

"So... he wants you to what? Rough me up? Make me pay somehow?"

Moran barked a short laugh. "Yes. But if we were going along with that, they'd be pulling you out of the Chicago River right about now."

Moran tapped his glass again, this time loudly. A waiter rushed over and took the glass. "Neat," Moran said and the waiter nodded quickly and hurried off to wherever Hoch stashed his illegal hootch.

"We figure you can pay in a way that benefits us all, and keeps you breathing."

Joe frowned and squeezed his glass again. Moran nodded at his hand and said, "You grip that any harder, you're gonna shatter it. All that glass could really mess up your hands."

"What do you want me to do?" Joe asked, the strain in his voice making it sound almost like a whisper.

"Well, there are two things. One, if we say to throw a game... you throw a game." Joe was shaking his head before Moran even finished. The gangster cocked his head and asked, "No?"

"No. I can't throw a game by myself. There are eleven guys on the team. Even if I play terribly, I can't singlehandedly make us lose."

Moran scoffed and shot back, "Oh, I think you could. But... there's option number two."

"Which is?"

Moran cut another piece of steak and popped it into his mouth. "Your brother Jack. He's over the border and back so much, he's practically a regular to the border people."

Joe shrugged. "I don't know. He usually comes over through Windsor into Detroit, I think."

Moran pointed his fork at him. "Right. And goes back the same way. We're thinking maybe he brings something back to Canada for us."

"Something?" Joe asked.

"Dough... You get Jack to run money into Canada for us... and we forget what you've been doing with Mrs. Cleaves. And if Mr. Cleaves gets too... uppity about it? We'll take care of him."

Joe swallowed. He looked down at his steak, thinking what a shame it was that he had completely lost his appetite.

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: August 11, 1923:

Danny Barrell trotted across the field, doing his best to keep even a trace of a smirk off his face. For one thing, he knew Coach Wesley would not stand for it, but even more because he didn't want to let anyone see his self-satisfaction. He might only be a freshman, but all those years of running and playing in the heat and humidity of Georgia had made him better prepared for the torturous practices that John Thomas Wesley put his Chicago Poly Panthers through. Certainly better prepared than these northern boys were, he thought while continuing to keep a stony look on his face.

"Don't look so smug, Barrell," Coach Wesley shouted at him as he grabbed a cup of water and gratefully drank it down. As the "winner" of the race the coach had put them through, Danny was permitted to be the first to take a drink of water. His team mates, or at least the vast majority of them, were still trickling onto the field, exhausted and some of them had even vomited from the exertion.

Danny frowned and said, "I'm not smug, Coach."

Wesley narrowed his eyes and replied, "Barrell, I've been coaching football for over thirty years. I know a smug look - even a well-disguised one - when I see it."

Danny decided discretion was the better part of valor and just nodded with a "Thank you, coach, I won't let it happen again." He knew Rufus would be proud of his restraint.

It was Joe Barrell, not their father, who had convinced Danny to enroll at Chicago Poly. Rufus, who knew his sons all too well, and was honest to them and everyone else, told Danny he didn't think Poly was the school for him - because of the school itself, not because he lacked the athletic talent to play for Coach Wesley. As one of the nation's better engineering schools, Danny's lack of interest in scholarly matters didn't seem to Rufus like a fit - and he told his son as much. But Joe had made (in Danny's eyes) a better argument: Poly was a football force, and Wesley one of the best coaches in the sport. Plus he coached baseball, basketball and track and field as well. And the clincher was that Wesley was not only going to coach the U.S. Olympic Track and Field squad in 1924, but the coach had told Danny that he thought he "might" be good enough to make the team. Despite Rufus correctly pointing out that if he was indeed good enough to make the Olympic team, it wouldn't matter where he went to school, Danny decided to follow Joe's advice and go to Poly.

"Don't worry, Pop," Joe had told his father. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Rufus had raised an eyebrow and grunted a response. Alice just shook her head and told Joe, "You'd better keep an eye on him. It'll be good for both of you."

Wesley was a no-nonsense coach. He was a religious man who had told Danny that he wouldn't countenance swearing, smoking or drinking from his athletes. When Danny had pointed out that drinking was illegal, Wesley had growled, "This is Chicago - legality doesn't mean a thing."

"You may think he's an old fool," Joe told Danny (who did in fact think the 60-year-old Wesley was more than a little out of touch with the realities of life for young men such as himself). "But, remember, this guy knows more about sports than you'll ever dream of learning. I didn't much care for Coach Christian's trying to run my life at Noble Jones, but the man taught me how to be a football player. Wesley's cut from the same cloth."

So Danny was working as hard as he could. Classes would start soon, and though he planned on working hard, he was skeptical that he'd be able to succeed, despite the very real chance of not being able to compete if he couldn't keep his grades up.

Wesley had told Danny that he wanted him primarily for track and field and football. "I do, however, know that you are a passable baseball player and believe you could succeed at any athletic endeavor. But..." he paused and glared at Danny before continuing, "I don't think you should spread yourself too thin. I think you should concentrate on track and field and football. Forget baseball, you won't have time for track, baseball and classes."

So, as much as it pained him, Danny was not planning on playing baseball at Poly.

Wesley gave his usual post-practice speech, encouraging his players to maintain a clean lifestyle (Wesley himself was a vegetarian and openly suggested a vegetarian diet to his players - Danny wanted no part of that, but wisely kept his counsel). Wesley then provided the plan for the next day and dismissed his thirty-odd players for the day.

Danny was headed for the showers when he heard, "Hey, sport!"

Turning, he grinned as he recognized his brother Jack.

"Jack! What are you doing in Chicago?" he asked.

Jack gave him his crooked grin and replied, "Here to see Joe and Carl Boon. We're about six weeks out from the season and I need to discuss some things about my contract."

Jack tipped his head toward the field, "How are things going with Coach Wesley? He's got a bit of a reputation."

"Really? How so?"

Jack shrugged, "Well, we've got a few Chicago Poly guys on the Wildcats. Carl thinks it's good to have some local players on the team to help rope in the paying customers. Those guys think the world of Wesley as a coach, but admit he can be tough."

"Ah, well.... yes, he's different than what I was used to back in D.C. But I can see why he's successful. He's a hard-charger and though he's only just begun going through the plays, I can see why his teams tend to be good."

Jack nodded, then leaned in closer and asked in a low voice, "You've been staying with Joe & Edna, right? Until school starts?"

Danny nodded. "Sure. Joe nearly insisted."

Jack took a deep breath before continuing, "And everything seem ok?"

Danny shrugged. "Well, now that you mention it, Edna has seemed kind of quiet. And Joe... it's almost like he's being overly cheerful or something."

Jack's frown deepened. "Yeah, something is going on. He called me and asked me to come in. Contracts are usually just done through the mail. They send it, I sign and send it back. This time, he asked if I could come in. Something's going on. I asked, but he wouldn't say."

Danny rubbed his chin, thinking before he replied. When he did speak, he said, "I would guess that maybe Edna's angry with him, but I don't know why. I haven't asked. Don't want to butt in on what's not really my business, you know?"

Jack nodded. Then he slapped Danny on the shoulder and said, "Go shower up. I'll give you a ride over to Joe's. Whatever's going on... I'll get to the bottom of it."

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: August 11, 1923:

Danny climbed into Jack's Packard. "Nice car," he said.

Jack grinned and said, "This here is my Chicago auto. I only drive it when I'm in Chicago. You'd have to be nuts to drive an automobile from Toronto to Chicago. It'd take forever. The train's a lot more convenient."

Danny whistled and replied, "You must be doing okay if you can afford a spare car, Jack."

Jack shrugged and explained. "I let the Packard dealer put me in an ad for his dealership. Instead of cash, he gave me use of the car. Technically it still belongs to the dealer, but it's always available when I'm in town, so..." He grinned again.

They made some small talk on the drive to Joe & Edna's place. Jack told his brother about his most recent season with the Dukes. "Couldn't get past Ottawa. That team is a burr in my side, I tell you."

"But you led the league in goals? That's great!"

Jack shrugged, "Tied for it technically." He shot Danny a sidelong glance and continued, "You ever skate?"

Danny shook his head, "Naw. I could have I suppose... it does get pretty cold in Washington."

Jack said, "You'd probably make a decent hockey player if you could skate. You're a lot like Joe... and me. I bet you'd enjoy the physical part of the game."

Danny laughed and said, "I have my hands full already with football and the decathlon. Not even going to play baseball this year."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he asked, "Really?"

"Yep. Coach thinks I'll be overextended if I try to squeeze baseball in too."

"And you're good at this decathlon thing? That's some kind of all-around competition, right?"

Danny explained the decathlon and it's various events. He noted that he found the high jump easiest and liked the hurdles and the throwing events, but wasn't fond - or good enough, in his opinion, at the pole vault. "That darn pole is tricky," he complained.

"Ah, I'm sure you'll get it." Jack said as he braked to a stop outside Joe's house.

Moments later, Jack and Danny found themselves in the middle of a domestic crisis.

They found Edna waving a cast-iron pan at Joe. The twins, Rufus and Gloria, were cowering in the corner, eyes wide as their mother shouted at their father.

Jack stepped between Joe and Edna, holding his hands up to both. "Please! The kids are here!" he shouted. "Everyone needs to calm down."

Danny had meanwhile gone to the twins and was leading them out of the room, shaking his head as he glanced back at his brothers.

"OK, what in tarnation's going on in here?" Jack asked, his gaze skipping from Joe to Edna and back again.

Joe, red-faced, said nothing, but Edna was willing to reply.

"Your brother has a woman on the side and he got her pregnant," she snarled and waved the pan again.

"Ed, please put the pan down," Jack said as calmly as he could, given he was getting agitated himself.

He turned to Joe and asked, "That true?"

Joe, breathing hard, nodded slowly and muttered, "Yeah," in a small voice.

"What the hell, Joe?" Jack blurted out then took a deep breath.

"This is none of my business, but you two have your kids to think about," he said.

"Ed won't tell me how she found out about this... I didn't even know for sure until last week," Joe explained.

"That when your piece of trash girlfriend got in touch?" Edna asked.

"No... and don't call her that," Joe snapped back. "I heard it from a guy who knows her husband."

"Husband? Ah, Joe...." Jack said sadly while shaking his head.

"I'll call her worse than that! Homewrecking..." Edna started, stopping as Jack raised a hand palm out and said, "Edna, please."

Jack held out his hand and Edna handed over the frying pan. Jack frowned and told her, "If you hit him with this, you might have killed him."

"He'd have deserved it," she snapped back.

"So... how did you hear about this?" Joe asked her.

She narrowed her eyes and for a moment Jack thought she wasn't going to reply. Then she said, "Some guy came here. Looked like a hood. His name was Moran or something."

"Bugs, I knew it," Joe said. "He's pressuring me."

"Pressuring you why?" Edna asked, right before Jack was going to ask the same thing.

"Well... he wants me to get Jack to run money back to Canada for his boss."

"His boss? This fellow's a gangster isn't he?" Edna shot back.

"Yes, he is. If Jack doesn't do it, they've threatened to kill me... and you," Joe told her.

Jack's mouth dropped open. "Oh.. for cryin' out loud," he said and sat down on the couch dumbfounded.

"You're gonna do it, right, Jack?" Joe pleaded.

Edna turned on her heel and walked out of the room, into the kitchen. Jack heard her ask Danny if he wanted some food or something to drink.

"You need to take care of this, Joe," Jack said.

"What? Edna? She'll get over it," Joe said. "My real problem is Bugs Moran."

Jack shook his head and replied, "No, your problem is yourself. You're not a kid and you're responsible for your wife and kids, Joe."

Joe raised his hands and said, "Don't lecture me, alright. I know I screwed up. But I need you to help me get past this. I'm fast, but I can't outrun a bullet, Jack."

Jack shook his head slowly, then rubbed his hand across his face. He looked up at his brother and said, "Of course I'll do it, Joe. But you need to work this out with Edna."

Joe was nodding and saying thank you when Jack stopped him with a look. "You need to get Moran to back off. I can't be doing this forever, I got a wife and kids too, you know."

Joe nodded and thanked him again. Then he pulled Jack to his feet and gave him a hug. Jack looked over Joe's shoulder and saw Edna standing in the kitchen doorway, the anger and pain plain to see on her face.

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: October 27, 1923:

"It was nerve-racking, to be perfectly blunt," Jack Barrell said, a deep frowning creasing his face.

Danny shook his head. "The whole thing sounds like something out of a cheap magazine," he replied.

"Nice place you have here," Jack put in, eager to change the subject. The brothers were sitting in the cramped closet that Chicago Poly deemed "good housing" for a freshman student, even one considered a rising star on the school's generally acclaimed football squad.

Danny wasn't put off so easily, he wanted some details. "Why was it nerve-racking? They didn't search your bags or anything, did they?"

Jack shook his head, "No, it was business as usual." He laughed, more like a humorless bark than a real guffaw and continued, "That Moran guy knows how to pick 'em. He knows that the customs guys know me. The Canadian side guys are Dukes fans and the American guys are much the same, although some of them are more football fans than hockey. Either way, they just want to glad-hand and make nice. It's all very pro forma."

Danny made a face and groaned before replying, "Ugh, don't use any Latin, huh? That class is killing me."

This time Jack's laugh was genuine, "Maybe you should have tried engineering classes after all, sport. History? You? What do you think, you're going to teach or something?"

"Well... I had to pick something. I just want to play football and compete in the decathlon. I'm planning on playing professionally. Who needs this school stuff, anyway?"

Jack pointed at him and said, "You do. My biggest regret is I didn't go to college. You're lucky." He paused and pushed his finger into Danny's chest. "And you need to try to keep your grades up."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Danny said glumly, then glanced at his watch and brightened. "Ah, time to get over to the field. You're going to watch, right?"

Jack grinned as he replied, "Yep, definitely. I think Joe is coming too."

Both brothers were silent for a bit, each reflecting on the mess their oldest sibling was making of his life. Not only was Edna threatening to leave him because of his affair (and pending birth of an illegitimate child), but the North Side Gang had him in their pocket, a situation made worse by the fact that he roped Jack into it... and Carl Boon had found out. The managing partner in the Chicago Wildcats partnership of which Joe Barrell was the other half, had made it plain that if Joe exhibited any "shenanigans" on the field at the behest of the North Side mob, Boon would report it to AFA President Jack Kristich and their partnership would be over. With Edna having kicked him out, lately Joe had been spending too much time in the North Siders' speakeasies and gambling halls and sleeping in cheap hotel rooms.

Danny broke the silence with a sad, "I hope he can make it."

"We have a game of our own tomorrow. He'd better crawl out of his hole for that, and I will take it up with him if he misses this game. Your first start! Give 'em the business, Dan!" Jack clapped his brother on the back and then left, saying, "I'll see you after. Don't be nervous - you're more than good enough."

Danny thanked him and then started gathering his things, the nervous excitement building.

The game itself was with hated rival Whitney College. The schools shared Chicago and the annual match between them was the definition of a grudge match. Still, the Whitney boys were no match for Poly on this day. Dan played fullback and though Coach Wesley wanted the focus to be on halfback Win Young, his freshman fullback did get a handful of carries and acquitted himself well. Joe did make it to the game, and Danny saw him sitting with Jack, both cheering madly whenever he got his hands on the ball. Poly won easily 27-0, and Wesley, dour even in victory, was satisfied enough that he didn't give his usual speech listing the litany of mistakes his charges had made. Instead he issued a gruff, "Well done, boys," to the team which, coming from him, was the equivalent of a rousing cheer.

After the game, Joe took them out to eat. "My treat," he said with a wide smile that was more like the old Joe than either Jack or Danny had seen in a couple of months.

"Ed's going to give me another chance," Joe explained as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"That's great, Joe!" Jack said, Danny echoing the sentiment.

"Yeah, she loves me, the poor fool," Joe said in a way that his brothers recognized as his "I screwed up and I know it" tone of voice.

Jack nodded. "Yes, she does. And you're lucky to have her. Don't screw it up again," he finished. Danny, chewing, nodded in agreement.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Image of Chicago Poly coach John Thomas Wesley (center) with his 1923 team. Danny Barrell stands at left, listening to his coach.

[legendsport]

Detroit, MI: October 28, 1923:

"Come on, boys...." Rollie Barrell muttered. He was pacing back and forth across the modest width of the so-called "owner's box" at Thompson Field. In reality the "box" was a section of the lower bowl seating with a false floor built over several rows of seats to be level with the concourse behind it, and three painted wooden panels for walls to separate the baseball Dynamos' brass from the paying customers while leaving the fourth side open to the field. It was located just left of directly behind home plate. Great for baseball, but a bit less so for football: it was more or less directly behind the corner of the near end zone.

Rollie was watching his Maroons struggle against the Evansville Lions. The Lions were frustratingly good (especially defensively) and stood as the prime example of Jack Kristich's thus-far-successful "small town" vision for the American Football Association. The AFA, now in its fourth year of existence, had teams in some large cities: Buffalo, Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh specifically. But it could not yet make inroads into the cities that Rollie - and Jack - knew would really spell the big time: the East Coast metropolises like Boston, New York and Philadelphia. All three had blue laws preventing Sunday sporting events (although baseball had somehow wriggled an exception to those laws). So the AFA featured a slew of smaller cities... like Evansville (and Duluth, Gary, Rochester - thinking of that one always made Rollie frown, having failed there himself).

Rollie's musings came to an abrupt halt when he heard the door behind him swing open and a booming voice say, "Barrell! A moment of your time, if you please."

Rollie swung around and forced a smile onto his face. Standing, or rather hulking, in the doorway was Edward W. Thompson. "Big Eddie" as he was called (behind his back) stood 6-foot-5 and weighed somewhere just south of 250 pounds - and it wasn't fat. Though he was in his fifties, Big Eddie looked like he'd be right at home down on the field, playing tackle and shoving opponents around. But instead, he was the owner of the ballpark (and the baseball team that called it home). And he was Rollie's landlord.

"Eddie, good to see you," Rollie feigned pleasure at seeing the gruff and blunt older man. He didn't dislike Thompson - he could be a generous and genial man in the right mood - but he was frightening due to his size and his mercurial temperament. Rollie briefly hoped that George Theobald was standing behind Thompson. Big Eddie's partner was the grand old man of baseball and a perfect gentleman. But he was not in luck - Eddie walked into the box (the floor shaking as he did so) and no sign of Theobald behind him.

"I won't take up much of your time. I figured you'd be here, with your team playing," he gestured toward the field with his chin. Rollie glanced down and saw his team take a two-yard loss on an attempted sweep. "I need to pick your brain," Thompson said, again drawing Rollie abruptly away from his own thoughts.

Taken aback, Rollie asked, "My thoughts? No offense Eddie, but you know more about this business than I do."

Eddie nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "That may be true, but this isn't about baseball... or football for that matter. It's about hockey."

Hockey? Rollie couldn't keep the confusion off his face. "I beg your pardon, Eddie, but I don't know anything about hockey."

Eddie laughed (at least Rollie thought he did - it sounded more like a bear trying to cough up a fish). "Not about the sport itself, more about whether you think it would work here in Detroit."

Rollie turned and looked out past centerfield. In the distance you could make out - barely - a sliver of water that was part of the Detroit River. "Canada's right over there, Eddie," he pointed with his chin. "Yeah, I think hockey would work here."

"I think so too. Point is this, Barrell. I know your brother is a damn fine hockey player, and I know you two talk occasionally. Heck, he comes through town all the time on his way back to his wife and kids in Toronto, right?"

Rollie was a bit surprised at how well Thompson knew his family, but opted for a simple nod in reply.

"Well, next time you see Jack, feel him out. The main question isn't so much whether I'll own a hockey team. I'm sure you've seen the Palladium going up next door." Rollie nodded. It wasn't as if you could miss the giant hole in the ground that was beginning to sprout a building. Thompson continued, "The question I'd like your opinion on, and Jack's as well if he's willing, is which league should I put it in?"

Thompson went on to explain that both the NAHC - of which Jack's Toronto Dukes were a part - was one party that had approached him about a team in Detroit. And the USHA was the other. That one was Jack Connolly's outfit (and Rollie remembered all too well that it was Connolly's gift of a fancy - and fast - car while trying to woo Jack that had started Jimmy down the path towards racing automobiles. A path that ended in his brother's death).

As if reading his mind, Eddie added, "I know your family has no use in general for Connolly. But this is business, and I am fairly certain that you will be able to put business first here. I'm not asking you to partner with Connolly. Just if you think it'd be better to go with a league that, bluntly speaking, is completely American, or one that is - for now - entirely Canadian."

Rollie took a deep breath. "Sure, Eddie," he replied. "I'll talk to Jack when I see him next. He's in Chicago, of course, his team's playing Buffalo at North Side Grounds today."

Thompson nodded. "Thanks, Rollie."

Then Eddie stepped forward to the rail of the box and looked out at the field where a mass of Evansville defenders were chasing Red Turnbow towards the sideline.

"Hmm," Eddie grumbled, "I bet I would have made a fine footballer, don't you think, Barrell?"

Rollie smiled and replied, "Come on, Eddie, you can't fool me. I know you played this game back at Detroit City College. Tackle, wasn't it?"

Eddie laughed. "I like you Barrell," he said and gave Rollie a slap on the back that nearly sent him tumbling over the rail.

[legendsport]

Egypt, GA: December 5, 1923:

Harry Barrell was asleep on the couch, his arm thrown over the family's old coonhound. Ol' Blue, despite Alice's best efforts, had never quite gotten the memo on dogs not being permitted on the furniture. A light snore could be heard from that corner of the room. Rufus Barrell smirked as he looked at his youngest son and the dog, idly wondering which one was snoring.

Normally Rufus would be out of the house, doing... something. Despite having passed his fiftieth birthday, the Barrell patriarch hadn't yet lost his drive towards keeping busy. But today was a special day - it was draft day for the Federally Aligned Baseball Leagues, and for the first time in several years, there was a Barrell on the lengthy list of eligible draftees.

That the Barrell in question, his son Daniel, was hundreds of miles away in Chicago, likely (hopefully, Rufus corrected himself) sweating his way through his final exams, was not really pertinent. Rufus figured it was a longshot that his middle son - fifth of nine - would ever play in FABL. Still, his dreams of playing in the league had never quite left him, even all these long years later and though Jack hadn't made it, Rufus thought Danny could... if he applied himself in that direction.

Rufus looked at his wife. Alice was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting. Rufus and Alice had just that evening discussed their "middle son" as they liked to call him (as if they had three boys rather than nine) - it was as inside a joke as you'd find in the Barrell house.

"I hope he finds some direction in his life," Alice had said. "He pined over Claudia something fierce," she added, shaking her head.

Rufus' nod was slow and short as he replied, "I think in his heart he always knew that was not going to work out."

"And the head doesn't always listen to the heart."

"Exactly so," Rufus had replied with a warm smile. He and his wife had been together a long time and their thoughts were often - but not always - in sync. This was one of those times.

If he'd been a betting man, Rufus would have put his money on Danny following Joe and Jack into professional football. He was more like Joe than Jack, but where Joe and Jack primarily relied on their great strength, stamina, and toughness, Danny combined those attribues with great speed. Rollie was athletically gifted too, but less strong and imposing. His younger boys... Fred and Tom were earnest, hard-working boys - they'd succeed at whatever they put their minds to, Rufus reckoned. Bobby showed every sign of being an outstanding athlete; everything seemed to come so easily to him. Harry was a revelation. His reflexes, even at just ten years old, astounded Rufus. His scout's eye said Harry could end up being one of the best shortstops (or maybe centerfielders) to ever play if he chose baseball over his other passion: basketball. He quickly chided himself on "scouting his offspring" as Alice called it and turned his attention to his teletype as the next pick came over the wire.

He glanced over and read, "Round 16... pick 8... Montreal Saints select.... OF Daniel Barrell, Capital Academy, District of Columbia"

He took a deep breath and let out a whoop of relieved joy.

On the couch, Ol' Blue's head popped up and he let out a startled chuffing noise. Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What...?" he muttered.

Alice was peering at Rufus intently. "Dan?" she asked.

Rufus nodded with a grin on his face. "Saints, 16th round."

Harry, who had gamely hung on for as long as he could before falling asleep as he waited with Rufus to see Danny's name called, said, "16th round? He should stay in school."

Alice quirked an eyebrow at her youngest boy and said, "You said it, buster."

Rufus shrugged, but the happiness was still evident on his face. "It'll be up to him. I'd like to see what they'll offer. I might give Pierre a call in the morning."

Now Alice turned his gaze on her husband. "You will keep your nose out of this, Rufus," she said.

Rufus put a hurt look on his face. "I'm not going to interfere. I just want to see if there'll be some kind of bonus offering."

Even Alice knew this was unlikely. "He was a 16th round pick, Rufus."

Rufus shrugged and replied, "Only because they know he's playing football in college and unlikely to sign. I can, erm... realign their perspective." Rufus smiled, proud of himself for his phrasing.

Alice shook her head. "That would be interfering. Let them deal with Danny on their own."

Rufus grumbled and nodded, knowing he'd end up calling Pierre Lafitte anyway. After all what the heck use was having the direct line of every scouting director and GM in baseball if you couldn't use it when your own kid got drafted?



NOTE: We currently have an opening in the Figment League if you're interested in being a part of FABL. The available team is our defending champion club in Cleveland. Shoot me a PM if you'd like more info or want to sign on.

[legendsport]

Fort Wayne, IN: February 20, 1924:

Jack Kristich was no longer running the American Football Association out of his restaurant. The AFA had come up in the world and warranted its own office in downtown Fort Wayne.

Rollie Barrell stood outside the frosted glass door, admiring the gold lettering that read "American Football Association League Offices" for several heartbeats before grasping the doorknob and entering the office.

Rollie smiled, Kristich had even hired a secretary/receptionist who sat primly behind a well-ordered desk facing the door. The young woman seated behind the desk nodded and smiled at Rollie before offering the expected, "May I help you, sir?"

"I'm Rollie Barrell. I have an appointment with Jack."

Her smiled widened a bit - was it a put-on? If so, she was very well rehearsed. Rollie felt genuinely welcomed and made a mental note to congratulate Jack on his hiring choice.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Barrell, the owner of the Detroit franchise. Welcome to Fort Wayne," she said as she rose to her feet. She motioned towards a trio of cushioned chairs and added, "Please have a seat, and I'll let Mr. Kristich know you're here."

Rollie barely had time to cross his legs before Jack Kristich stepped out of his office with the young woman trailing behind him and said, "Rollie! Good to see you. Please come in."

Rollie stood and thanked the young lady. Kristich held his arm out, motioning for Rollie to precede him into the office before saying, "Gladys, please get Mr. Barrell a coffee."

Gladys asked how he'd like his coffee. Rollie wasn't much for coffee, but he took it black - another nod to his no-frills father, who drank it the same way.

Rollie walked into Jack's office. It was modest, but neat and orderly. Jack had already proven himself a perfect choice to lead the AFA. His office simply reinforced that fact.

Both men seated themselves and got some small talk out of the way.

Jack broached the subject of Joe Barrell. As Carl Boon's longtime friend, Jack was bound to know about Joe's situation. And he wasn't too shy to ask about it.

Rollie sighed. "I think... and stress the word 'think' that the worst is behind us. My brother Jack did some favors for the North Siders, but he's let them know this can't be an ongoing thing. So far, that seems to be acceptable."

He spread his hands and added, "We'll see..."

Jack nodded but his face was grim. He spoke up, saying, "I know I don't have to tell you this, but we can't afford even the appearance of impropriety in the AFA. We're... reasonably healthy... but the college people continue to question our integrity and we're still shut out on the East Coast."

"I know - and so does Jack, and Joe for that matter."

"Good," Jack said with a firm bob of his head. "As for the situation that caused this whole thing?" he asked.

Rollie frowned. "Well... Joe's a father again. They named him Roger... Cleaves. As far as the world is concerned, he's legitimate. But the husband knows... he's obviously not happy, but he's tied up with the bootleggers and stuck as long as they tell him to stay away from Joe. The whole thing's a mess. Joe feels terrible, but he created this situation out of his own childishness."

"Agreed. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of his common sense," Jack said. He was tapping a pen on his blotter, deep in thought.

"What else is going on? How's your other football playing brother... Danny, I believe?"

Rollie smiled. "He's well. Getting ready for track and field season. He did get an invite to the Olympic trials in June. Decathlon. We're hoping he can get a spot, but trying to keep his expectations realistic. He's been in a bit of funk lately and just got some news that he didn't take very well."

"Hmm, sorry to hear about that. Anything you can talk about, or is it hush-hush?"

Rollie shrugged, "No, it's no big secret. My late brother Jimmy? His widow remarried - to Powell Slocum."

"The ballplayer?"

"The very same. Danny had a... I don't know... fascination with Claudia. That's Mrs. Slocum, now."

"OK, yes, I can understand that. Young love can be difficult, especially when it's not returned."

Rollie frowned and replied, "Exactly. But Slocum's decided to adopt my nephew, Jimmy's son, and Danny did not take that news well at all."

"That's understandable I guess. But the kid's already living with Slocum, so..."

Rollie nodded in reply. "Yes. He's raising the kid, and the rest of the family is fine with it. But Danny.... he got really close to young James when they all lived together in DC."

On that note, the men left the small talk behind and got down to business.

"I've done some research Jack and I think we should try to bring some like-minded people in on this."

Jack was nodding as he listened. "I agree. I think the time is ripe - and with our experience running the AFA, I see no reason why this wouldn't be a success."

Rollie took a sip of his coffee. Jack craned his neck and raised his voice, calling out, "Gladys! Can you please bring in my notes from yesterday?"

Rollie heard her muted, "Yes, sir," and then saw her enter the office with a folder in her left hand.

"Rollie, this is my niece, Gladys Summers. She's doing night school at Northwestern Indiana and working here for me. She's pretty much indispensable," he finished with a grin.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Summers," Rollie said as she handed Jack the folder.

"You as well, Mr. Barrell," she replied before leaving the office.

"She really is a wonder, Rollie," Jack said. "My sister's daughter. The women in my family have generally had prodigious intellects. Gladys is no different."

Jack tapped the folder laying on his desk. Rollie could see the writing, presumably Gladys' on the tab. It read "Basketball League."

"OK, let's get down to it, shall we?" Jack said and opened the folder.

[legendsport]

New York, NY: June 11, 1924:

"I'm always surprised when I find a green spot here," Rufus Barrell told his wife as they walked arm and arm across the lawn beneath stately oak trees on the campus of Henry Hudson University. The University was hosting the 1924 United States Olympic Trials and the Barrell clan had come to the nation's largest city to cheer on Danny Barrell as he attempted to make the U.S. Track and Field team as a decathlete.

Alice, no stranger herself to the large and bustling metropolis (although she did admit it had been a while since she had been in New York), patted Rufus' arm and said, "I know you're just a country boy at heart, Rufus, but even those of us raised in big cities like a bit of greenery, you know."

Rufus chuckled softly, but didn't reply. Beside him, Claudia Slocum walked with her son.

"It was very nice of you to come, Claudia," Rufus told his former daughter-in-law.

"It is good to get out of the house," she replied. "We've only been in Brooklyn for three months and James is still adjusting also," she explained. Rufus knew, of course, that the Kings were on a road trip and Claudia's husband, Powell Slocum, having recently been traded from Baltimore to Brooklyn, was therefore away. In a small bit of irony, the house Powell had purchased for his family was located just three doors down from the former Barrell residence (that Rufus had sold back in 1919).

Rufus shot a look at his grandson. James, now Slocum instead of Barrell, after the adoption had become official in May, was a quiet boy. He reminded Rufus of Jimmy, who had also been a quiet boy who was often lost in his thoughts. Of all Rufus and Alice's children, it was Jimmy who had been the most thoughtful. He had also been a bit of a rebel and daredevil. Rufus hoped that James hadn't also inherited those qualities from his deceased father.

Behind his parents, Rollie Barrell walked with his wife. Francie was pushing a pram where their daughter, Martha, was staring out at the world with the wonder typical of a one-year child. Behind Rollie and Francie were Jack and Marie. Jack held Agnes' hand while Marie pushed a pram of her own, with the couple's other child, Jean, riding happily therein. Jean, just 17 days younger than her cousin Martha, was also openly gazing around in wonder.

"Francine, the children are certainly enjoying the scenery, no?" Marie called out to her sister-in-law. Francine gazed over her shoulder and nodded, saying, "Yes, this is all so new to them."

Joe Barrell was traveling solo on this trip; he was walking with his youngest siblings. Fred and Tom flanked him, with Bobby and Harry just ahead of them. Betsy was beside Tom, but continually craning her neck to speak around him to Joe.

"Why didn't Edna come? I wanted to see Deuce and Gloria!" Betsy said.

Joe sighed. "Edna's busy," he said with a weary tone.

Tom gave his sister a look, "Leave it be, Betsy," he said quietly.

Betsy stuck her tongue out at Tommy, then skipped ahead to walk beside Agnes. She grasped her niece by the hand and asked Jack if they could skip. Jack shrugged and agreed. Agnes was five now, she could probably skip... he thought. Marie didn't object and the two girls began skipping down the path.

They approached the stadium. A modest crowd was milling outside the main gate.

"Not much of a crowd, eh Pop?" Fred called out to his father.

"Not too surprised, Freddy," Rufus said, adding, "this isn't the kind of event that brings out a big crowd."

Joe perked up to add his thoughts, saying, "You should go to a college football game, Fred. Then you'll see a crowd!"

Jack laughed and said, "Yeah, too bad the same can't be said for pro football."

Now Rollie joined in as well: "We'll get there, Jack. You wait and see."

Beside her husband, Francie Barrell, muttered, "It better... you've tied up all our money in it, Roland."

Rollie nodded and whispered, "Trust me, Francie."

The large and boisterous clan entered the stadium. The younger members of the family were impressed by the size of the stadium. Betsy pointed at the various pieces of apparatus strewn about the field.

"Hey! We have one of those at the farm!" she exclaimed as she pointed to the high jump.

"Well... of course we do," Bobby pointed out. "Danny uses it for training, you dope."

Alice shot her son a look. Harry elbowed Bobby in the ribs and said, "Hey, maybe someone will fall over the hurdles. Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

"You two better behave," Alice warned, memories of their various shenanigans (a memorable hot foot, for one) going through her mind.

Harry did his best to appear nonchalant and asked, "Hey, Pop, can we buy some peanuts?"

Fred shook his head and told Joe, "That Harry is a master of changing the subject."

Joe gave a rueful laugh and replied, "I think Mom's just plain worn out. She's too tired to ride Bobby and Harry the way she did us older kids." Now Rollie laughed too and said, "That's right. We wore her down to a nub!"

For most of the family, this was their first exposure to a track and field competition. Rufus, Fred, and Tom had seen Danny compete in high school (as had Claudia). But for Alice, aside from seeing Dan practice at home, this was her first experience. Joe could have seen his brother compete collegiately this past spring, but had been too distracted by his disintegrating marriage to do so. Jack had gone straight back to Toronto to his own family, and his off-season job working for the Connelly Brothers Mining Company.

Bobby and Harry were enraptured by the track events. Both boys were outstanding athletes - as good as his older boys were athletically, Rufus privately thought his two youngest were the best of the bunch. Time would tell, but he was secretly pleased to see them visibly thrilled by the country's top runners as they competed.

Most of the family cheered loudly when Danny made his appearance. Eight decathletes had been invited to the competition - four of them would make the team that would travel to Paris in August for the Olympic Games. Danny was the youngest, but U.S. Track and Field Coach John Thomas Wesley (also Dan's coach at Chicago Poly in both football and track & field) had invited him, noting to Rufus that "Daniel earned this. I play no favorites, Mr. Barrell." The coach was so earnest that Rufus completely believed this to be true.

The first event was the 100 meters. Danny was fast - faster in fact than any of his brothers (time would tell for the younger boys), and did very well, placing third. The long jump was the second event - here he was even better, finishing second. In the shot put he was fourth. The high jump - his best event - was a showcase for Danny and he won... barely. After finishing fourth in the 400 meters, he was solidly in second place overall and things looked good for him.

"He's really quite good," Alice noted.

Rufus raised an eyebrow and retorted, "You sound surprised."

With a sheepish look, Alice replied, "Well... he's been moping so much," she paused and shot a sidelong glance at Claudia who was pointing at the field and explaining something to young James. Alice finished, "About... you know. I didn't think he'd be at his best, to be honest."

Rufus had harbored his own doubts, but didn't voice them. He simply nodded in reply and squeezed his wife's hand.

The hurdles were next. Danny was middling, finishing sixth. Much to Harry and Bobby's dismay, no one fell, though one runner did stumble after knocking one of the hurdles down.

With four events left, Danny was tied for second. The remaining events were those in which he was probably weakest: discus, pole vault, javelin and the 1500.

Danny's lean frame didn't lend itself particularly well to the discus (or shot put) and like the shot put, he placed fourth in discus. Alice nodded as the man at the scoreboard updated the standings: Danny was third.

"Pole vault... he has trouble with this," Jack told Marie. Marie uttered a brief prayer in French that made Jack smile. He bounced Jean on his leg. Beside him Agnes was listening to Betsy about... horses? Jack found his sister amusing, but also bewildering.

Danny flubbed his first attempt badly. "He's too nervous," Joe told Rollie. Alice put a hand to her mouth, her nerves at the breaking point.

Down on the field, Danny looked into the stands. He could see his family, all their eyes turned on him (except Betsy who was chattering away at Agnes). He saw his father calmly raise his right hand and make a fist. Danny set his lips and gripped the pole. He took a deep breath and began his run, focusing his mind on the simple mechanics of the event as they had been drilled into him first at Capital and then at Chicago Poly. He dipped the pole, felt it hit squarely and began to use physics to his advantage. He didn't fully understand Newton's Second Law (Coach Wesley had explained why it was important for vaulting, but Danny hadn't quite gotten it) but he knew he had it working in his favor. Keeping a tight grip on the end of the pole, he swung his body up and as he reached the apex, pushed himself over the bar, successfully completing the vault. Ultimately, he finished fifth - and that was good enough to stay in the top four.

By the time the ninth event - the javelin throw - began, the crowd was nearly as exhausted as the athletes. Normally a two-day event, the decathlon was being shoehorned into one very long day.

In the stands both Jean and Martha were sleeping and Agnes had visibly yawned several times, with Betsy likely the only reason she hadn't fallen asleep. James was leaning on his mother's arm.

Danny felt better about his chances - javelin was his best throwing event. The mechanics were closer to those of throwing a ball, something he had done thousands of times. His arm was strong and he figured he'd do well. Watching from the stands, his family felt the same.

"Wow, they get to throw a spear?" Harry asked.

"It's called a javelin," Tom replied.

"Looks like a spear," Harry shot back.

"Maybe so... but it's called a javelin," Tom said with a smug look on his face.

"I bet I could throw one further than you," Fred told Tom.

Tom spluttered and was about to reply when Rufus turned around and said, "Guys... enough."

Danny made a very strong throw when he needed it, finishing third to keep his fourth-place standing.

"What do all those points mean, anyway, Pop?" Bobby asked his father.

"Well, each event is scored individually. I'm not sure how they calculate it, but at the end they add up all the points and the guy with the most wins," Rufus explained. It was all a bit mysterious to him too.

"So we really have no idea how Danny has to do in this last event to make the Olympic team?" Fred asked as a follow-up.

Rufus shrugged and admitted that he didn't know. "I would suppose if he can finish fourth or better, that would do it," Rufus suggested.

"1500 meters? How far is that, anyway?" Harry asked.

"About a mile," Jack replied. He knew this from Marie who, being French, was a resident expert on the metric system.

"I run that far all the time," Bobby said. Harry rolled his eyes and shot back, "Only when you're trying to get away from Mom!"

The gun sounded and the competitors began running. "They're going kind of slow, aren't they?" Harry asked.

"They have to run almost a mile, dummy," Tommy said. "You can't sprint that far."

"I bet I could," Harry said.

"Not a chance," Tommy scoffed.

"Guys...." Rufus said, his eyes still on the track. The eight runners were bunched together but Rufus and Alice had no problem picking Danny out.

As the race progressed, two runners broke out of the pack. "That's Tom Killington," Jack pointed to the lead runner. "He's going to make the team as a 1500 runner, so he's the guy who should win this."

Danny was still bunched with three others as the race hit the midpoint. Killington now was visibly increasing his lead. The second-place runner had a respectable edge on the trio of which Danny was a part. Three others were strung out behind the middle pack.

"He needs to separate from those other two guys," Rollie said unnecessarily. Everyone watching knew

As they turned into the final stretch, Danny sped up. Unfortunately so did the other two runners. Rufus leaned forward, his lips compressed as he seemingly willed some extra energy to his son. Beside him Alice was biting her knuckles. Even Harry and Bobby had quieted down as they watched.

Danny seemed to put on a little bit extra over the last 50 meters. The three runners crossed the finish line in rapid succession. In the stands, the younger Barrells began arguing over where Danny had finished. Fred and Bobby felt his had been fifth. Harry was certain he had been third - Tom said fourth. Joe smirked and said simply, "He did it. He's in."

The two minutes or so that it took for the scoreboard operator to post the final results were two of the longest of Rufus Barrell's life. Finally the man placed the numeral 10 in the fourth slot. Ten was Danny's number - he had made it to the Olympics.

Rufus stood up and threw his hands into the air. Bobby and Harry were jumping up and down. Both Jean and Martha were crying, the hubbub around them having startled both young girls awake.

"Hey Pop?" Tom asked his father. Rufus looked down expectantly. "How much does it cost to go to Paris?"

Rufus said, "I don't know...." Then he smiled broadly and said, "But we're going to find out!"

[legendsport]

Egypt, GA: June 13, 1924:

A slew of bleary-eyed Barrells stepped, dropped or were carried out of a series of automobiles strung out in a line along the drive that connected the family farmhouse to the distant county road. Rufus took his wife's hand and led the troop towards the house.

As Rufus approached the porch, the front door swung open and Possum Daniels stepped out. Rufus smiled at his oldest friend; Possum had been kind enough to keep an eye on things while the family had gone to New York for the Olympic Trials.

Possum cocked an eyebrow, asking the question Rufus had known he'd ask. Rufus grinned and nodded in return. "Hoo boy!" Possum exclaimed and did some kind of jig on the porch, looking to Rufus' eye surprisingly nimble for a man in his fifties who had spent a decade in a squat behind home plate.

The joy was a little short-lived as even as Possum capered on the porch, the door opened again and his brother Cooter stepped out, followed by Rube Farmer. Rufus stopped in surprise, setting off a chain reaction as the rest of the family were all forced to stop short as well. About halfway down the line, Jack Barrell swung his gaze to his brother Joe.

Jack saw Joe's mouth drop open when the growing crowd on the porch was increased by three as Edna stepped out of the house, holding the hands of their twins, one on each side. Jack swallowed and squeezed Marie's hand; this wasn't going to be good.

"Edna?" Joe blurted. "What are you doing here?"

Edna gave her husband a stony-eyed look, her mouth set in a hard line. Her father stepped to the edge of the porch and glared down at Joe.

"She's here to..." Rube Farmer began. He was stopped by Edna, who had stepped up behind her father and grasped his arm. She shook her head when he looked at her, then frowned, sighed heavily and stepped back, turning his hard-eyed gaze back to Joe.

A moment of silence ensued that was quickly broken by Betsy Barrell who ran towards the porch with a shouted, "Gloria and Deuce!"

The twins had a shell-shocked look on their faces. Now seven years old, they didn't quite understand the interplay going on around them, but knew it wasn't good. Gloria smiled weakly at Betsy; Little Rufus - or Deuce as Joe called him - stared at his father with an unreadable expression on his face.

Even as Alice caught Betsy by the arm as her daughter attempted to race past her onto the porch, Edna took a breath and spoke, saying, "I want a divorce."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The return trip had started on a high note thanks to Danny's success at the Trials. They said their goodbyes to Claudia and James at Penn Station before boarding a train to Philadelphia for the first leg of the long trip south. In Philadelphia they'd switched trains and headed south, taking up an entire car to themselves.

The ride was enjoyable for Rufus and Alice who were surrounded by nearly the entire family. By the time the train had finally arrived in Atlanta on the 13th, the patriarch and matriarch were fully up to speed on their far-flung clan.

Joe's situation was tabled - everyone knew how precarious things were for him with Edna and no one spoke about it. Rollie and Francie were happy - their daughter Martha (they called her Marty) was healthy and precocious and Rollie talked as much about more children (Francie rolled her eyes at this and muttered, "We'll see") as he did about his plans for a professional basketball league. He told his father that he and Jack Kristich had a well-formed plan and were approaching the operators of some of the more successful barnstorming clubs as well as the owners of other teams in other sports - Carl Boon, for one, was interested and Jack mentioned that James Connolly Jr had expressed interest as well. Rufus frowned a bit when Connolly was mentioned - Jack saw this and told his parents that Junior was nothing like his father.

Jack and Marie were also doing well. Agnes would shortly turn five; between her and baby Jean, Marie had her hands full while Jack spent his weekdays working for the Connolly Mines. The business often meant traveling to the silver mining areas, keeping Jack away from Toronto for days at a time. Still, Marie had grown used to this, as it seemed like an extension of his football and hockey careers. "The children... they keep me company," she said with a small smile.

Everyone agreed that Claudia had seemed happy. Even Danny grumpily acknowledged that she and James looked well. "Powell is a good man; he'll take great care of them," Rufus told Danny.

Danny himself was thrilled at the prospect of going to Paris for the Olympic Games. A not insignificant amount of time was spent in discussion about which Barrells would go to Europe and how expensive the trip might be. Though Rufus made good money at the OSA and with Rollie's help had also invested wisely in the burgeoning stock market, he and Alice had lived through the tough economic times of the 1890s and remembered all too well how things could quickly take a dramatic turn for the worse. So they were frugal. Rollie grinned and said, "We're going, and we'll pay our own way." Jack said the same. But Joe had said, "I don't know," with a grim look on his face.

Fred grumbled a bit about Georgia Baptist coach Ed Allen. Rufus had laughed - he remembered Ed from his playing days. "Eddie came up the hard way through independent ball, and he's always had a chip on his shoulder," Rufus explained, adding, "And the fact that his FABL career was short and unaccomplished didn't help." Fred groused about how Allen rode him, calling him "Golden Boy" because his father was a connected big-wig who would make sure he got his chance in FABL. Despite all this, Fred kept his head down, worked hard at school and baseball, and hit .352 for the Gators, who posted a disappointing 24-26 record (which hadn't helped Allen's mood).

Things were better for Tommy. Though Rudy Beckmann was gone, having become the Athletic Director at St. Matthew's University, his replacement, Kid Cady, had been at Capital as an assistant for over a decade. A former pitcher, he loved Tom and made no bones about it. "That boy is going places," he had told Rufus when he and Alice had stopped in DC on the way north. Tom, like Rollie and Fred, was smart - he had his eye on college. Clyde, the unofficial Barrell, had improved as a junior, raising his batting average from .203 to .252, thanks in part to working with Powell Slocum before the latter had moved to Brooklyn. Hinzman's strength was his fielding; Rufus was nearly certain he'd have a professional career.

Bobby was pondering where he would play high school ball. On the one hand, his brother was in DC and Capital had a burgeoning reputation for turning out professional baseballers. But Bobby had a bit of Jimmy's fierce independence in him and was leaning towards staying in Georgia and perhaps playing in Atlanta. Rufus figured it didn't much matter: Bobby would be a success wherever he played.

Harry was a bundle of manic - and sometimes comic - energy. Even Rufus admitted that their youngest got away with far too much - "We're simply plum tuckered out," he had once told Possum, who found Harry to be a kindred spirit and actively encouraged his shenanigans (to Alice's general disapproval). Still, when he was around, Possum worked with Harry on "inside baseball" as he called it. Harry was a baseball sponge and Possum poured out the knowledge he'd accumulated as a hard-nosed catcher, crafty manager and eagle-eyed scout. Though Rufus felt that all four of his youngest sons had it in them to play professionally, but Bobby and Harry would be the most successful. Both had prodigious athletic gifts - Bobby could already hit the ball a country mile. Harry, with Possum's tutelage was a more well-rounded player even at age 11. He had cat-like reflexes, was wiry and fast, with keen eyesight and a budding sense of how the game worked. Also, to his credit, Harry did not solely rely on Possum's knowledge; he had cornered Powell Slocum and somehow convinced the game's best hitter to describe his approach to hitting - to a then 10-year-old boy!

The lone down point in the trip came in Atlanta. Joe Reid, Alice's father, had turned 70 the previous October and was in failing health. Ever since Vera had passed away some of old Joe's vitality had gone missing. Though he and his wife lived hundreds of miles apart, they were tied together by their love for Alice and their 10 grandchildren. Now retired from his life's work as a baseball executive, Joe was fading fast. The entire clan had trooped over to Joe's rambling and increasingly tumbledown house. They had left their cars there.

Rollie convinced Joe to agree to help him do some repairs on their grandfather's home. Bobby eyed his grandfather warily - if he were going to attend school in Atlanta, the plan was for him to live with Grandpa Joe. Alice had quietly opined to Rufus that maybe Bobby living with him would give her father the spark he needed. "His life is so empty now that both my mother and baseball are out of his life," she pointed out. Rufus agreed.

Thinking that nothing could be more depressing than Joe Reid's dwindling vitality, the clan had headed to the farm, only to discover that they were wrong.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edna could not be swayed. "It's over," she said, repeatedly as Joe tried to reason with her. Rufus and Alice, along with Jack and Rollie, had shepherded the younger members of the family into the house, leaving Joe and Edna alone. Rube Farmer stood by the door, peering through the glass with his fists clenching and unclenching. Jack stood nearby, eyeing him warily, in case things turned violent.

Outside Joe was pleading with his wife. "Come on, Ed, you know I love you!"

"You sure have a funny way of showing it, Joe." She went on to list the litany of sins he'd committed, blaming much of it on Chicago itself. "Why I ever let you drag us to that cesspool of a city, I'll never know," she said.

She had turned her back on him and he could see her shoulders shaking as she cried. "Ed..." he started to say, but she spun around, with fury written on her face.

She thrust an envelope at him. "Here, take this...." she snarled.

Joe gingerly took the envelope. It was a plain, white envelope with something heavy inside it. He opened it and looked inside. A photo of a baby. And the key to their home in Chicago - her key.

"That's your son, congratulations," Edna said and the tone of her voice made Joe realize his marriage really was over. "His... mother... mailed it to the house." The anger was gone from her voice. What replaced it was... empty and forlorn.

"She mailed it... to our house," she repeated sadly, with an emphasis on the word "our."

Joe raised his eyes from the picture of Roger Cleaves.

"Where will you live?" Joe asked her in a small, resigned voice.

"Here in Georgia, with my parents. Honest, hard-working people who will show our children how good, morally upright people live. Not like Chicago, surrounded by gangsters and flappers," she said, some of the anger back in her voice.

Joe nodded. "I'd like to see them. You know, when I'm here in Georgia," he replied.

"You're still their father and they love you," Edna replied in that same weary tone - a tone that frightened and saddened Joe far more than her anger had.

"And you?" Joe asked, then rubbed his fist over his eyes which were tearing up.

Edna looked at him, tears in her own eyes. She just shook her head in reply.

---

[legendsport]

Toronto, ON: June 17, 1924:

Jack Barrell looked at his watch. Across from him, nursing a drink, John Connolly Jr. gave his friend a lopsided grin. "He likes to keep people waiting," Junior said, but the grin faded a bit as he spoke.

Junior's father, the mercurial and controversial Jack Connolly, was still in his room and apparently in no hurry. Jack knew he was in 412 - that was the room he always took. Though the elder Connolly and Bert Thomas had experienced a falling out, Connolly's money spoke well - he wanted 412 and Thomas was willing to give it to him for a slightly inflated charge.

Jack's discomfort was not solely due to Connolly's mind games. Being back in the Global Grand Hotel was strange. He still held a grudge against Thomas for pushing him out of his security job at the hotel, even if he could understand the rationale behind the move. Thomas owned the Toronto Dukes, Jack played for them, and Thomas expected hockey to be his lone priority. Jack Barrell was simply not wired that way - he sought the freedom to do the things that his athletic ability let him do - and playing pro football, as had been the case with baseball before it, fell into that category.

Junior swirled the whiskey in his glass. "Do you ever miss being able to do this," he asked as he lifted his glass, "when you're home in the States?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm not much of a drinker," he replied.

Junior shook his head. "I don't get Americans sometimes. You're a good guy, Jock, but your countrymen are a crazy bunch."

Jack laughed and said, "No arguments there, Junior. I like living in Canada, all things considered. But I'll always be an American," he finished and raised his glass in a mock toast.

"Which is why you're here," Junior retorted with a wink. "My father is going to push for you to join the USHA... again. Like you said, you're an American, you should come play in your own country."

Now it was Jack who shook his head. "We've been over this, Junior. I'm contracted to Bert Thomas. I don't like the thought of breaking my word."

Junior opened his mouth to reply, but was forestalled by the appearance of a frenzied-looking man who entered the hotel bar and began looking around. "What's going on here?" Junior asked, tipping his chin towards the man.

Jack spun in his chair. "That's Norb Hickey - he's on the Dukes," he began and then frowned and added, "and he replaced me as summer Security Chief here at the hotel."

Jack stood up and waved his hand. "Norb!" he called out, "What's going on?"

Hickey rushed over. "Hello, Jack," he said breathlessly. "Bert told me you were here. This must be Mr. Connolly?"

Jack wasn't surprised that Thomas was keeping an eye on him - he was talking to the competition in Bert's hotel after all. Still, it bothered him. "Yes, this is Mr. Connolly. Is Bert having you toss us out of here?"

Hickey was shaking his head before Jack had even finished.

"No, this isn't about you, Barrell." Hickey had a serious, even slightly sad, look on his face as he said this. Then he turned and looked at Junior. "It's about your father," he said.

Junior took a slug of whiskey. "Let me guess... Thomas is kicking him out?" he asked with the rasp of the whiskey still in his throat.

"No... it's...." Hickey was stammering.

Jack put his hand on his team mate's shoulder. "Norb? You alright?"

Hickey grabbed Jack's glass of whiskey and downed it in a gulp. He shuddered once, visibly steadied himself, then, still looking at Junior, said, "Your father's been shot. I'm sorry to tell you that he's dead."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later Jack accompanied his friend to the USHA League Meetings, being held in Buffalo, New York. He had Marie and the girls along for the trip, but they stayed in the hotel room. It was all being paid for by the Connolly Mining Company. As a contracted player of the NAHC, Jack could be in trouble for being anywhere near the rival United States Hockey Association's League Meetings, let alone attending it.

But he was doing it because Junior Connolly had asked, as a friend. The past week had been a whirlwind. Junior's father had indeed been shot. It happened in his hotel room, room #412 at the Toronto Global Grand. The shooter was someone Jack actually knew: Miss Jane Clough. She'd been Jack Connolly's mistress for years - Jack had always found the redhead to be alluring, but frightening as well. He was thankful he had a solid, reliable and sane wife in Marie. Ms. Clough apparently had walked into the hotel room (she had a key), and found Jack in flagrante delicto with another woman. That neither woman was actually Mrs. Connolly was beside the point: Jane Clough was a jealous woman and one who also knew where Connolly kept his gun. So she had pulled the gun out of the drawer and fired four bullets into Connolly's back, two of which passed through his body and into the woman beneath him. Connolly was dead when hotel security arrived on the scene. The woman, a hotel maid named Alice Bertram was alive but gravely wounded, and Jane Clough was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the gun sitting on her lap, with her head in her hands, weeping.

Junior, bereaved though he may have been, was also a realist. He knew exactly the type of man his father had been and was determined to not be the same. But he was also ambitious, smart and determined. And he proved that to Jack and everyone else at the USHA League Meetings. He even kept a bit of his sense of humor; when Jack mentioned that word of his attendance could prove a problem in NAHC circles, Junior had suggested taking a page from Joe Barrell's book.

"What name did your brother use when he was playing football at Noble Jones?" Junior asked.

Jack smiled - he knew where this was going. "Buck Barnwell," he replied with a tone of bemused admiration.

Junior tapped his chin with an index finger. "So... what if you're.... Jock Barnwell? Moose Barnwell? Something like that..." he suggested.

Jack thought for a moment. "Let's go with Moose Barnwell. A moose is bigger than a buck, so I can lord it over Joe the next time I see him," he said with a grin.

So Junior Connolly and "Moose Barnwell" walked into the meetings, and their entry brought a hush over the room.

Junior gazed around the room openly. The dozen or so men in attendance looked at him in return. "No need to hold up the proceedings gentlemen," Junior said. "I'm here to represent the Buffalo club in lieu of my father."

One of the men stood, with an uncomfortable look on his face. "Uh, Junior, I'm here for Buffalo."

Junior whispered to Jack, "That's Tom Everett. He owns the arena and a small piece of the team."

He raised his voice and replied, "Thanks, Tom, but that won't be necessary."

Another man stood - this one Jack actually recognized as Tom Franklin, who owned the league's Philadelphia entry. "Junior, you don't hold legal title to the team. At least Everett here has a piece."

Junior held up the envelope in his hand. "This here is my father's will. In it he gives all his shares in the Buffalo Hockey Company to me as his sole beneficiary."

Franklin pointed out that the will had not yet been executed.

"True," Junior replied thoughtfully. Then his voice hardened a bit and he continued, "But we know it will be." He spread his hands in a conciliatory way and finished, "You gentlemen know me. I'm not my father and I'm not here to take over. I'm young, I know. But I will be the man running the Buffalo club, and I will remember what happens here today, good or ill."

Franklin frowned. "That sounds almost like a threat, Junior," he said, then nodded and held up a hand as Junior was about to reply. "But you are right. I know your father wanted you to have the team if anything happened to him. So I move that we recognize John Connolly Jr. as the representative for Buffalo with all rights and privileges thereby attached."

The motion carried.

Jack sat quietly for the rest of the meeting. Much of it bored him nearly to tears, but there were some interesting moments, such as when the group brought up the Yeadon brothers. The operators of the western hockey outfit were struggling in the three-way war for hockey primacy. Junior mentioned that his father had, prior to his death, been on the verge of an agreement with the Yeadons (both of whom, Jack himself knew all too well, simply despised Jack Connolly). That agreement would bring the brothers and their clubs into the USHA, relocating them to New York and Montreal, where they would go toe-to-toe with the NAHC clubs in those cities. This appealed to the rebellious natures of the three other owners, and the motion passed.

Jack was impressed - and convinced that Rollie needed Junior to be in on this basketball idea he and Jack Kristich were cooking up.

-

[legendsport]

Paris, France: July 10, 1924:

The Barrells had made it to Paris. The long trip across the Atlantic had left a few of them looking a bit green (it turned out that Alice, Fred and Tommy were not fit to be sailors). Rufus and the others had fared much better; for everyone except Marie it was their first voyage by sea.

When they arrived in Brest, Jack noticed that Marie seemed melancholy at first. "It is strange to be back," she told him when he asked her about it. "I have... the, mixed feelings..." she said, explaining that Brest was where she had left when she went to Canada to begin looking for Jimmy. She brightened up soon enough, when she heard Agnes reply to an old woman in French when the latter complimented her on her hat.

As the clan rode by train from Brittany to the capital, Marie was beset by her curious young brothers-in-law, Bobby and Harry especially, who wanted to know all about France. Jack finally had to threaten them to get them to leave his wife alone. "You'll figure this stuff out," he told them. "Now go bother someone else before I bang your heads together," he said, managing to grin to show he was only partially serious.

Alice was glad to be back "on solid ground" as she told Rufus. She was also worried - Danny had left with the U.S. Olympic team two weeks earlier. They needed to be in Paris for the opening of the Games on July 5. "I hope he's been eating," she told Rufus. He smiled back at her and said, "He has his coach with him and trust me, that man will make sure Danny takes care of everything that needs doing." Alice looked skeptical about this, but seemed to accept it.

In Paris, the group which consisted of Rufus and Alice, Joe, Rollie and Francie, Jack and Marie, Fred, Tom, Clyde, Bobby, Harry and Betsy, plus all their grandchildren except Joe's twins and with Possum Daniels along for good measure, emerged from the train into the Gare Montparnasse station, filled with milling crowds. Rufus, who had spent what felt like years of his life on various trains and in dozens of stations across North America, gazed around at the old 19th century station, smiled and asked Alice, "Isn't this great?" She shook her head and muttered, "In his fifties and still a rube," which Rufus pretended not to hear.

Rollie stepped up to his parents and said, "Let's see if we can't find our way to the hotel, huh?"

Alice nodded and grabbed Rufus by the arm. "Come on, you," she said and began dragging her husband (still busily gawking at the station and the Parisiennes streaming around them) towards the exit.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, Alice came down in the elevator from their hotel room, her three youngest children in tow. She was looking for her husband, who had gone off "looking for a newspaper" nearly an hour earlier.

She found Rufus in the lobby, chatting with an older Frenchman, despite neither of them being fluent in the other's language.

When he saw his wife, Rufus introduced the old man (who turned out to be a priest of all things) to her and asked, "Did you know my name is Latin?"

Alice sighed. She sometimes thought she had 11 children, not 10 - this looked to be one of those times. She arched an eyebrow and said, "It sounds Latin, I suppose."

Rufus nodded. "Father Luc told me it is - apparently it means 'red' - isn't that great?"

"Red? Like the color?" Alice asked dubiously.

Rufus nodded again. "Exactly," he said.

Harry piped up, "Uh, Pop, your hair is brown," he pointed out.

"I know! I wonder if my father knew what it meant," Rufus replied.

Bobby looked at Harry and said, "Hey, you know when he gets real mad? And his face turns red? Maybe that's what it means!" The two boys began cackling as if this were the funniest thing in the world. The old priest looked confused and Rufus began to get angry. Harry pointed at him, "Look! You're right!" he said between guffaws.

Alice grabbed both her sons by an arm and they clammed up. Betsy was looking at the priest. "My name is Betsy. Is that Latin too?" she asked.

The priest shook his head. "It is not," he said with a kindly smile.

Betsy frowned, then remembered and said, "Actually my name is Elizabeth!"

"Ah, that is a good English name," the priest told her. "But still not Latin."

Alice was tired, and getting flustered. "Did you find your newspaper?" she asked her husband.

"Yes, it's a London paper, so I can read it, even if it is a day old, and completely bereft of baseball news," Rufus waved the newspaper at her. Then he said, "But finding Father Luc was even better - he's seen Danny!"

This got Alice's attention. "Really? How is that?"

"He is serving as the chaplain for the French team. He met the American team at a reception when they arrived. The French are big fans of the U.S. You know... because of the war," Rufus told her.

The priest was nodding. "Yes, I remember your son. He looks like his father," he told Alice. She smiled and nodded - that much was certainly true.

"He had a young lady with him, too. A lovely girl," Father Luc continued.

Alice abruptly released her grip on her sons. Harry rubbed his arm, muttering about his mother's "iron grip" while Bobby simply shook his appendage as if loosening it.

"A girl? What girl?" she asked.

"Alas, this I do not know," the priest said. "But they seemed friendly."

Alice's lips tightened into a thin line. "Friendly? We'll see about that," she said. The priest looked confused.

Rufus gave the old man an apologetic look and said, "Thank you, Father," as he led his wife and children back towards the elevator.

Harry whispered to Bobby, "Danny can manage to get Mom mad at him even when she isn't in the same country!"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know why she'd be angry," he whispered back.

"You two should stop whispering," Alice said over her shoulder. "I'm not in the mood for any more secrets."

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The next day "the mystery of the girl" as it had been dubbed by Tommy (who had been reading Sherlock Holmes stories of late), was quickly solved.

The Barrells arrived at the Stade Olympique early on the morning of the 11th, which was to be the first day of the decathlon competition. The 45,000 seat venue was already about a third full as the family made their way to their seats.

Rufus as was his wont at athletic events (usually baseball, but he figured sports were sports) waited until his brood was settled then stood and walked down towards the field. He stood at the rail, his hawk-like gaze roaming as he looked for his son. The field was large and there were a lot of young men on it at the moment, some warming up, some chatting and a handful just standing around in the morning sun. He looked for the U.S. uniforms, which were white; unfortunately many of the other nations also were wearing white.

Eventually he spotted the American contingent and found Coach John Thomas Wesley first. The short, stout coach was wearing a white suit and was guiding his charges through a series of warm-ups. A moment later, Rufus spotted Danny. Noting that no one was paying attention to him, Rufus walked onto the field, only to discover that someone was watching after all. A thin, bespectacled man rushed over and began speaking rapid and stringent French at him. Rufus held up his palms, muttered, "Sorry," and went back behind the rail. The man walked away, occasionally looking back and shaking his head.

The commotion had drawn the attention of some of the athletes - and Danny had been one of them. Rufus saw his son begin trotting towards him, with Coach Wesley watching (and frowning).

"Pop! What are you doing? Trying to get evicted from the stadium before we even start?" Danny said with a broad smile.

Rufus patted his son on the shoulder. "You look well," he said - and meant it. The white uniform top had very short sleeves and the muscles in Danny's arms were more prominently displayed than Rufus was used to seeing. He was impressed at how fit his son was, and said so.

Danny laughed and said, "Well, yes, Coach keeps us all busy, Pop!"

Rufus pointed to where the rest of the family was sitting. Harry pulled at the corners of his mouth and stuck his tongue out at his brother. Danny laughed again and asked, "You couldn't have left the King of Comedy home, Pop?"

Rufus turned to look, frowned at Harry (who stopped his antics) and said, "Ah, he's as glad to see you as any of us."

"I bet," Danny said.

"So..." Rufus began, and Danny gave him a questioning look. Rufus sighed and said, "We met a priest at the hotel who said he'd seen you at the welcome dinner. He mentioned you were with a girl."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "And?" he asked. "What's so important about that?"

Rufus shook his head and explained that Alice was "wondering" who it was.

"Ah," Danny said with a nod. "Well, you can put her mind at ease. The girl was Emily Talbot."

Now Rufus looked surprised. "The Emily Talbot from Capital Academy?"

"One and the same. She's here to root for the English team. Being that she's, you know, English herself," Danny said with a smile.

"Right, I remember that. Her father's a diplomat or something."

Danny nodded. "Yep. Right again."

Danny looked over his shoulder where the coach was still looking at him with a frown on his face. "Look, Pop, I need to get back. Tell Mom not to worry. It was just Emily... not some wayward woman trying to steal away her innocent son!" He laughed, slapped his father on the arm, and turned to trot back to his team.

-

[legendsport]

Paris, France: July 11, 1924:

Alice Barrell rolled her eyes. "You'd better not be late!" she warned her husband.

He grinned widely and replied, "No worries, dear, we'll be back in plenty of time."

Behind Rufus, her four youngest sons could barely contain themselves. Her frown loosened a bit, but nevertheless she further chided Rufus by saying, "And stay away from the Australians! They're a bad influence... 'no worries' indeed!"

Reminded that he (and Possum) had enjoyed perhaps one too many drinks the night before with several coaches from the Australian swimming team (swimming was to be contested the following week), Rufus reddened a bit and nodded at his wife. Behind him, Harry said, "Those Aussies sure know how to have fun, huh, Pop?"

Rufus replied, "Harry, you're not helping."

The reason Rufus and his sons were so excited was that the 1924 Olympics were to feature an exhibition of baseball. It was to be only four innings - an American team versus the host nation of France. Rufus found the location - the Stade Pershing - to be appropriate. When Bobby and Harry had learned of this, they had gotten Tommy and Freddy on board immediately and the quartet took it upon themselves to figure out if they could see both the baseball game and the first half of the decathlon. Rufus believed they could, and though skeptical, Alice had agreed.

Possum had enjoyed himself even more than Rufus had the night before - and he would not be joining them.

"Don't be late!" she barked again as the quintet hurried out of the hotel room.

"Those Frenchies have no chance, Pop!" Fred told his father in the taxi. Rufus shushed his son, the driver spoke enough English to understand that and he wasn't looking to offend the man.

When they arrived at the Stade Pershing, Harry's first comment was, "Where are all the fans?" to which Tommy retorted, "This is France, they don't know much about baseball here. That's why the game is so early in the morning - and why the team is here to show them what they're missing."

Harry nodded but it was apparent in his expression that he couldn't fathom anyone not knowing about - or enjoying - baseball.

Rufus shepherded the boys into the stadium, found them excellent seats behind the makeshift backstop and turned his attention to the field where the players were warming up.

Bobby elbowed Harry and whispered, "Look, Pop's already turned into a bird dog."

Rufus, without turning his eyes from the field, replied, "I heard that."

"So who's on the team, Pop?" Freddy asked.

Rufus peered around, mumbled let's see and then began naming the players. The boys were impressed that their father knew so many - these were amateurs - collegians, mostly, who weren't yet professionals (they were still playing back home, after all), but Rufus seemed to know most of them.

"The catcher is Frank Haab. He's from Wisconsin State. Probably a second rounder..." he pointed to the tall, thick young man whose oversized mitt gave him away as he tossed with a shorter player. "The fella he's tossing with is Jim Renfroe. Now he's one of the top prospects... an outfielder... probably go high in the first round. Likely the best player on the team."

He paused and looked around, "Well... I didn't know he'd be here..." he noted quietly. Harry, impatient, asked, "Who?"

Rufus pointed and said, "Don Ward."

"Who's Don Ward, Pop?" Bobby asked.

Rufus smiled and said, "Oh... sorry, was just thinking. Ward's a shortstop - one of the best in the college ranks. Another high pick, for sure."

Harry visibly perked up upon hearing this. "A shortstop... and a good one? I'll keep my eye on him!"

Rufus nodded at his son. "Yes, he's a good one to watch. A very good fielder, and he can hit too."

He pointed out some others, none of which his sons had ever heard: Dick Horner (1B), Neal Mesker (3B), Whitey Robinson (2B), Les Woodward (RF), and Al Brewer (CF) ("He's a sophomore, most of these other guys are upperclassmen," Rufus said).

Then he pointed to the pitcher. "And speaking of underclassmen... that's Jim Morales, he just finished his freshman season for Brunswick."

Tommy leaned forward. "Looks like he throws hard," he pointed out. Rufus nodded. "Yes, and that's somewhat rare for a left-hander. One of the interesting things about Morales is that he was born in Cuba."

The game started shortly thereafter - and as expected, the Americans had little trouble with the French team. Rufus noted that the French had an American coach, Ray Harvey. "He coaches St. Blane," Rufus reported. The American coach was the highly respected Frank Christian, brother of the man who had coached Rollie and Joe at Nobel Jones, John Christian. Renfroe homered, Morales struck out a slew of opposing hitters and the U.S. team won easily 5-0 in the four inning showcase. The handful of French fans on hand seemed... disinterested.

Rufus frowned and said, "I don't know that the locals really understood all this."

Then he looked at his watch. "We need to find a taxi and get back, if we're going to make it to the decathlon."

----------------------------------------------------------

They made it. Barely.

Alice and the rest of the family were already in their seats at the Olympic Stadium when Rufus and the boys showed up. Even Possum was there, bleary-eyed and miserable-looking, but there nonetheless.

"You cut it close," Alice told her husband. He nodded sheepishly.

"Our boys look good?" Possum asked. Harry plopped down next to him and enthusiastically replied, "They sure did! 5-0 in four innings!" Possum cringed a bit at the relatively high volume of Harry's voice, but smiled at the kid's enthusiasm and nodded, saying, "Good, good."

The decathlon began shortly thereafter.

The first event was the 100 meters. There were 36 athletes competing, representing a total of 22 countries. The U.S. had four representatives. Danny ran in the third heat and posted a time of 11.6 seconds. That placed him in a 12-way tie for 8th place (there had been a six-way tie for 2nd). Bill O'Neill - a fellow American - had won with a time of 11.2.

"Not too bad," Rufus said. Danny was fast but all these guys were world-class, so to even be in the top half was, Rufus felt, a real achievement.

The long jump was the second of the day's five events. O'Neill went before Danny and he posted a very strong 6.92 as his best jump. An Estonian posted the best mark, an impressive 6.96 meters.

"That's really far," Betsy noted. Harry snorted and said, "That's why the call it the long jump!"

When Danny went, the best he could muster was a 5.94 meters - which ended up being good for 31st.

"Oof," Jack said. Joe shook his head. "I think his leg's bothering him. It looked like there was a slight hitch in his step."

Rufus raised an eyebrow. Joe saw this and smiled, saying, "Hey, Pop, you're not the only one who can observe things, you know."

Still, Danny did better than one of his three team mates (Bob Jackson) who faulted on both jumps and posted no mark. In doing so, he dropped out of the competition and was the first to do so.

The shot put was the third event. Though this was an event that Danny himself did not consider to be one of his best, he ended up posting a very strong 11.01 meters.

"That thing looks like a cannonball," Bobby said. Tommy nodded and added, "Yeah, it does. I bet it's heavy. That was a really good throw by Dan."

And it turned out that it was a good throw - Danny ended up placing 12th. After three events, his points total was 1922.3, good for 19th place. The other two Americans, O'Neill and Ed Paulson, held the top two spots.

"He's got some catching up to do if he wants a medal," Alice said sadly.

"A lot of events still to go, Mom," Rollie said, adding, "Even if he doesn't earn a medal, the fact that he even made it here is quite an accomplishment."

Rufus agreed. "True - and he can always come back in '28 when he's likely to be even better."

"Unless he starts a pro career in football," Joe pointed out. Jack nodded his agreement, but said, "True, but if I were him, I'd want another shot at this."

Seeing his mother's face, he hastened to add, "Assuming he doesn't medal here, of course."

"Well played," Rollie whispered to his brother. Beside Jack, Marie shouted encouragement at Danny in French. This drew strange looks from some of the French fans in attendance (the host country's lone decathlete was two spots ahead of Danny after three events).

The fourth event was the high jump. Alice clapped her hands. "Finally, an event in which Danny excels!" she said.

But, it turned out that Joe's observation might have been true after all. Danny turned in a rather disappointing 21st place with a 1.60 jump on his first attempt, failing the 1.70 that would have placed him in the top 10. Again, O'Neill took top marks with a 1.97 meter jump. "That O'Neill is something else," Joe said, not bothering to hide the admiration in his voice, despite a glare from his mother. "Hey, it's true," he said with a shrug.

The relatively poor result in Danny's best event dropped him to 23rd overall.

"I don't think he's going to get a medal," Bobby pointed out.

The fifth and final event of the day was the 400 meters. Rollie noticed that Danny was rubbing his left thigh. "Looks like you're right Joe, that leg is bothering him," he said, pointing.

"Well, let's hope he can muddle through," Rufus said, squeezing his wife's hand.

Danny did muddle through. He managed a 12th-place tie with a time of 54 seconds flat. "Seems like he can run - it's the jumping that's bothering him," Joe noted. Rollie and Jack both nodded in agreement.

Rufus watched the man at the scoreboard as he updated the standings. Danny did move up the list - a bit - and ended the first day of competition in 20th place. Rufus didn't say so, but he thought there was little chance his son would take home a medal.

"I hope he doesn't get too down on himself," he told his wife.

Tomorrow would tell. There was still the hurdles, discus, javelin, pole vault and 1500 meters to be contested.

Down on the field, Danny was gathering his things when one of the other competitors walked over to him. "Barrell, right?" the man said by way of greeting. His English was good, but Danny couldn't quite place the accent. The man had a towel over his shoulder and this hid the national mark on his shirt.

Danny nodded, a quizzical look on his face, and said, "Yes." Then he asked, "I'm sorry... do we know each other?"

A sheepish grin appeared on the man's face, and he replied, "No, but we have a mutual acquaintance."

Danny still had a confused look on his face. The man noted this and laughed, then said, "Emily. She's my cousin."

"Oh..." Danny said and then smiled. "You're not British, though..." he noted.

The man pulled the towel off. "No, I am not," he said with a grin. "Sid McAllister," he stuck out his right hand to shake. "I'm competing for South Africa. My mother and Emily's are sisters."

Danny nodded, as he shook hands.

"Say.... any chance you'd be willing to take a photograph? Emily asked me if you would," Sid said.

Danny shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"

As they were taking the picture, he wondered why Emily would want a picture of him with her cousin. After the picture was taken he shook his head and thought about how little he seemed to understand girls.
------------------------------------------
Photo of Dan Barell (left) and Sid McAllister at the '24 Olympics

[legendsport]

Paris, France: July 12, 1924:

The Barrells returned to the Stade Olympique in Colombe for the second day of the decathlon. Though few (if any) of the family thought Danny could realistic pull out a medal-worthy performance, they did hope he could improve on the disappointment of the first day's performance.

"He did say his leg is feeling better," Rufus reported to Alice after speaking with Danny that morning. Rufus had left the hotel early, heading over to the series of log cabins that the French had built as an "Olympic Village" for the athletes. This was a new concept, designed in the wake of the World War, to foster good relationships between the athletes from the participating nations. The irony in this, as Claudia had pointed out to Rufus at the Olympic trials in New York, was that her nation of birth (Germany) was banned from participation. Also missing was the Soviet Union, though their refusal was on ideological grounds.

Rufus had a long conversation with his son as they walked around the "village" which the French had decorated in a quaint and welcoming manner. It was nice, Rufus felt, and he was glad his son had earned this experience. Danny, for his part, admitted to a lot of disappointment at his performance of the prior day and promised to "do better" on day two.

"I know I'm not going to win a medal, but I will definitely give you and Mom something to be proud about," he told his father. Rufus replied that he and Alice were both already proud, and to just do his best and not get down on himself.

Now, several hours later, Rufus watched as Danny warmed up for the first event of the day: the 110-meter hurdles.

Bobby and Harry, as they had in New York, were both not-so-silently hoping someone would fall. In the very first heat, they actually got their wish as one of the competitors, from Finland, fell over a hurdle halfway through the race. The youngest Barrells found it hilarious, though both quieted as they watched the young man hop off the track with an arm draped over the shoulders of a team mate.

Danny ran in the fourth heat and though he had said his leg was better, he wasn't as fast as he had been in the trials, posting a 19-second flat time, good for a disappointing 23rd place-tie.

With grim faces, the Barrell clan watched as Danny stepped up for the discus throw. And here, he posted the best mark so far, finishing a solid fifth with a throw of just over 35 meters. His throw was the best of the three Americans in the competition, something Rufus noted with pride. Bill O'Neill's throw was a good half-meter short of Danny's. Having had little else to cheer, the younger boys applauded and cheered wildly after Danny's throw.

After dropping from 20th to 21st after the hurdles, Danny's performance in the discus lifted him to 17th. Next up was the pole vault - the event Danny dreaded most, but the one in which Coach Wesley had drilled him the most after the trials.

Rufus whistled when he saw the bar for Danny's first attempt. "Looks like he's trying to make a move up the standings," Rollie said, noticing the same thing. The bar was set at 3.4 meters, which was a tenth of a meter higher than Danny's best mark at the trials. Having already seen O'Neill clear 3.8 and Paulson clear 3.50, this showed that Danny wanted to keep up with his older teammates.

The family watched as Danny took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the long pole slightly, then begin running down the lane towards the bar. The plant looked good to their untrained eyes and they saw Danny successfully push himself up and over the bar... barely. With a mark of 3.40 safely in his pocket, no one was surprised to see him ask for 3.60 on his second attempt - a mark that would place him second behind only O'Neill if he could clear it.

Again he took a deep breath, and his run looked good, as did the plant. But he barely nicked the bar going over, and it was displaced. Visibly displeased at not being able to improve on his mark, Danny shook his head as he walked away. Nevertheless, the first vault was good for a fourth-place tie, and pushed him all the way to tenth place.

The javelin was next. Danny had performed well in this event at the trials, and it was much the same at the Olympics. He went tenth, and though he was before O'Neill, he did top Paulson who posted a 42.09 meter throw. Danny showed off the type of arm that most of the Barrells shared, winging the javelin 54.9 meters down range. There was a series of "oohs" and "aahs" from the mostly French crowd, bringing a smile to the faces of both Rufus and Alice. Danny's throw was the best of the first batch of competitors. O'Neill threw next-to-last, and his throw was 46.7 meters, far below Danny's effort. The last competitor, Aleksandr Vaino from Estonia, had been third for most of the competition - and he was an excellent javelin thrower. He bumped Danny from the top spot with a stupendous heave that traveled nearly three meters further than Danny's - 57.7 in all: a new Olympic record.

"Holy cow...." Harry muttered as he watched the javelin soar through the air.

"Just imagine trying to take an extra base on that guy," Possum said to Rufus, the astonishment plain on his face.

The second-place finish in the javelin pushed Danny to the 8th-place spot with just the 1500 meters left.

Though there was now no chance Danny could medal, a top ten finish at the Olympic Games was still something of which he could always be proud. With 25 athletes of the original 36 still active in the competition, and knowing that distance running was not one of Danny's strong suits, Rufus was nervous.

Rollie leaned over to Francie and said, "I reckon he needs to finish mid-pack to stay in the top ten." Francie nodded in agreement. Rufus, listening, also inwardly agreed. He just hoped Danny could finish in the middle of the pack or better.

As the gun went off, they watched Danny settle in with a pack of runners - as predicted - in the middle of the pack. Though O'Neill was considered a good distance man (he had won the event at the trials), he seemed to be playing it safe - at this point only a disaster would deny him the gold. Danny ran at O'Neil's shoulder for most of the race.

"This is interesting," Fred noted, adding, "all of the top guys - O'Neill, Paulson and that big Estonian; they're all either in the middle or towards the back."

Rufus agreed. "The decathlon is a pretty good all-around event. No one's going to be great at all these different events - but the guy who can be good to great at most of them, can overcome being average in some others."

And that was true - the top five in the 1500 were all athletes who were far down the overall standings - though they were good mid-distance runners, they lacked the overall talent to succeed in the jumps and throws. Halfway through the race, O'Neill separated a bit from the middle of the pack, though he did finish ninth, nearly 20 seconds behind the winner. But he was still 12 seconds faster than Danny, who crossed the finish line in 12th place. Paulson ended up next-to-last, while Vaino was barely better, finishing 18th.

All eyes turned to the man at the scoreboard as he adjusted the standings. To no one's surprise, Bill O'Neill took the gold. Fellow American Ed Paulson earned silver and Aleksandr Vaino was the bronze medalist. As the rest of the numbers were added, the Barrells all watched with bated breath for #242 - Danny's number. He finished eighth, and the entire family applauded.

"I know he'll be disappointed, but he's just 19 years old - almost all these other guys are three, four years older," Jack said.

Joe agreed, saying, "Yep, that was a good effort. If he does stick it out for another go in '28 I think he could medal."

Joe perked up and said, "And I've heard Amsterdam is a fun city."

Rollie shook his head, leaned over to Francie and whispered, "I think Joe's had enough fun to last a lifetime."

Alice sighed and said, "I don't know if I could handle going through all this again." Rufus draped his arm over her shoulder, smiled and said, "Oh, sure you can. And you know it."

----------------------------------------------------------

The Barrells remained in Paris another week. Alice took Betsy to watch tennis, which began the day after the decathlon. Rufus and Possum watched swimming (earning a warning from Alice about their friends from Down Under). Joe convinced Jack and Rollie to watch the boxing competition with him. Rollie - and Francie - were disappointed that golf was not on the menu.

Rollie bemoaned having missed the football (or soccer as Americans termed it) competition that had been played nearly two months earlier in May. As was typical for him, he had a business angle in mind and openly mused about whether a soccer league could work in the States. Francie just shook her head with a grateful smile.

Jack similarly would have liked to watch the rugby competition (which the U.S. actually won), but that too had been contested in May. "I guess I just like the rough stuff," he told Marie while sporting a wide grin.

As for Danny, he moped about his eighth-place finish for a day or two, but then began spending more time with Emily Talbot, who "forced him" (Rufus suspected the arm-twisting wasn't too difficult) to attend the volleyball exhibition and some of the gymnastics. "I've noticed that he hasn't complained all that much," Rollie noted drily to his mother. For her part, Alice discovered that she actually liked Emily and told Rufus she was hoping that Danny would now finally stop pining over Claudia.

The clan departed Paris on July 21st for the long trip back to the United States. But as an athlete, Danny was able to remain in Paris until the closing of the Games. And, since Emily was staying, Danny felt there was no compelling reason to rush home. Emily convinced him to go watch the equestrian events that began the same day his family left. "You really want to watch a bunch of horses prancing about?" he'd asked Emily, not even attempting to hide his skepticism.

"It takes a lot of discipline, training and team work between the rider and horse to do this, I'll have you know," she told him. Emily's cousin Sid hung around a bit too much for Danny's liking, but despite himself he discovered he liked the boisterous and fun-loving South African (he'd run the 400 meters at the Games and didn't get out of the qualifying round, but didn't seem to mind that at all).

The U.S. earned one medal (a bronze) at the equestrian events and Danny teased Emily about it as the British team had not earned a single medal. She took it good-naturedly, however, and asked Danny, "How did you find this?" after the last event.

Danny smiled and said, "Oh, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it."

Emily was surprised and asked, "Truly?"

Danny waved a hand at the now empty field. "Oh, yes - but I'm not talking about the horses. I just meant that I enjoyed every minute because I spent it with you."

She blushed and he laughed. Danny thought he might finally be able to cadge a kiss, but naturally Sid strolled over and ruined the moment.

"Just my luck," Danny muttered to himself.

-

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: November 8, 1924:

Danny Barrell had never seen a better football player - and he had seen a lot of the pros too, thanks to frequently heading to North Side Park to watch his brothers play for the Chicago Wildcats. Nope... not even any of the pros looked as good as Urban Dane.

Dane, Lincoln University's star halfback, was like something from another planet. He was just a junior, had been an All-American the year before and barring every voter in the land going clinically insane before casting their ballots, Dane was a shoo-in to be All-American again. And... he still had yet another year to go.

Danny's Chicago Poly team, which came into the game with a record of 4-0-1 (and that 7-7 tie with Central Ohio two weeks back still stung), was hosting the game which had been moved to Whitney Field because of the ballpark's more generous capacity. Urban Dane drew a crowd like no one before him. The Lincoln Presidents were 5-0 and looked pretty much unstoppable - thanks to their entirely unstoppable halfback. Much to the disgust of Chicago Poly Coach John Thomas Wesley, much of the capacity crowd at Whitney were Lincoln partisans. Granted, the visitors were based in Springfield, Illinois, but this was Chicago - and this was Poly's hometown.

Poly was on defense, it was late in the third quarter and the score was 9-3 in favor of the home team. Danny was playing linebacker, and he had been chasing Dane all over the field all afternoon long. The ball was on Poly's 43 yard line. Coach Wesley was pacing the sideline, a scowl on his face. Beside Danny, middle backer Cy Cline - the team's best player and defensive captain - wiped a splotch of mud off his brow. "OK, fellas," he growled. "We know all too well who's getting the ball, so let's stop him."

Danny frowned and thought, "What does he think I've been trying to do all game long?" but kept his mouth shut. Cline slapped Danny on the shoulder and told him, "You're our fastest man, Barrell, so you chase that s.o.b. and hold him up until the cavalry arrives, yeah?"

Danny nodded. The group of Poly players spread out, taking their positions. The Lincoln squad assumed their standard single-wing formation. Though nearly every team used the single-wing, none of them had a singular talent like Urban Dane. Dane was fast, strong and could also pass and kick - a true triple-threat.

In the stands, Jack and Joe Barrell sat watching. Joe had been musing for much of the game about moving the Wildcats to Whitney. He said to Jack, "The Cougars are sticking it to us on the rent at North Side. I wonder if Carl would go along with talking to Wash Whitney."

Jack shook his head, but kept his eyes on the field. "I don't know, Joe. Doesn't the lease run another couple years?"

"Yeah, but there's ways to get out of a lease, Jack."

"If you say so - I just want to play."

Lincoln snapped the ball and all four backs headed left. Jack and Joe both focused on the field, each noting automatically where the individual players were going. "Lincoln's well drilled," Jack muttered. Joe just kept watching wordlessly; Jack was right - Lincoln was a well-coached team. But so was Chicago Poly. The defense reacted - both brothers saw Danny following Dane.

Suddenly Dane cut back and reversed field even as the other 21 guys on the field continued moving in the other direction. "That guy's something else," Joe muttered. "Imagine having him on the Wildcats..."

Jack smirked and said, "You'd lose your job."

Joe was about to reply, but he saw Danny reverse and break into a sprint, closing ground on Dane. Cy Cline, to Danny's right, also reversed and followed Danny.

"Cline's smart," Jack said, "Look how he's cutting the angle. If Danny can get a hand on Dane, Cline will be there to bring him down."

And that looked like what was about to happen.

Danny drew closer to Dane and was about to lunge when Dane, cradling the ball in his left arm, shot his right arm out and hit Danny with a straight-arm.

Jack and Joe both grimaced in sympathy as the stiff-arm pushed Danny upright and then knocked him off-balance.

Cline, charging in from behind and less nimble than either Danny or Dane, stepped on Danny's foot. An audible crack sounded from the field and Danny crumpled to the turf. Dane spun around the fallen Danny and began sprinting down the sideline. Cline, now off-balance himself after stepping on Danny, tried to dive, but fell atop Danny instead.

Jack had a concerned look on his face. "That didn't look - or sound - good, Joe," he said breathlessly.

"No, it sure as hell didn't," Joe replied, concern on his face as well.

Down on the field, Dane crossed into the end zone and the Lincoln fans cheered wildly. Joe and Jack Barrell weren't even looking at Dane because their brother was still crumpled on the field. They watched Cline roll off Danny and instead of rising, drop to a knee, bend over and talk to Danny.

Danny was squirming in obvious pain. One of his arms looked... wrong. And his left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Aww, no..." Joe whispered. Jack shot to his feet and began making his way out of their row of seats towards the aisle. Joe closed his eyes for a moment, then stood to follow.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Joe stood leaning against the wall, the receiver of a University Hospital payphone pressed against his ear. On the other end of the line was Rufus Barrell.

"Pop, I'm not going to lie... it's bad," Joe told his father.

He heard only silence over the line.

"Pop? You still there?" Joe asked when several moments of quiet had passed.

"Yes, I'm still here, Joe," Rufus said, his voice sounding like the weight of the world had landed on his shoulders. Joe heard him tell someone - Alice, most likely - that Danny had been badly injured.

"What do the doctors say, Joe?" his father asked. In the background Joe thought he could hear his mother crying.

Joe took a deep breath. "Well, he's got a broken right arm and a separated shoulder, his left leg is broken in two places and his knee is a mess."

"You talk to him?" Rufus asked.

"Jack's in with him now. The doctors came in a little while ago..." Joe paused, a hitch in his voice. He steeled himself and continued, "They told Dan he might lose the leg."

For the first time in his life, Joe Barrell heard his father utter a curse word.

"You tell him that his mother and I will be there as soon as we can," Rufus told his son.

Joe said he would, then hung up the phone. It rang again immediately and the operator told him he needed to add money. A nurse nearby had heard Joe's end of the conversation and handed him five nickels. Joe nodded his thanks, too choked up to speak.

Down the hall Jack sat with his brother. Danny was on morphine and only semi-coherent, but he knew he was in bad shape.

"Guess that's it for going back to the Olympics, eh Jack?" he asked in a slurred voice.

"We'll see about that, Dan. You can't keep a Barrell down. There's a lot of fight in us - you know it."

Danny gave Jack a sad smile. "Thanks for saying that. But one-legged men don't win gold medals, Jack," he said.

Anger crossed Jack's face and he snarled, "Don't say that. You are not losing your leg, you hear me?"

Joe walked into room. "What's going on in here," he asked, seeing the anger on Jack's face.

Danny, with the same sad smile, told Joe, "Jack's trying to cheer me up."

Jack looked at Joe and said, "He's talking like he's already lost his leg. And that's not going to happen."

Joe nodded and in a firm voice said, "That's right. You'll be back on the field in no time."

Danny shook his head slowly and his eyes closed. In another moment he was sleeping.

"Well thank God the morphine finally took effect," Joe muttered.

Jack sighed heavily and looked at Joe. "What if he's right, Joe?"

Joe frowned and said, "We'll take things as they come. But he's a fighter, just like us. I bet he won't lose the leg - we just need to stay positive around him."

Jack nodded and closed his eyes, the emotional exhaustion evident on his face.

"And we've got to play a game tomorrow," Joe said.

Jack opened his eyes and gave a rueful chuckle.

"It's like you said, Joe. We're fighters - we'll have to fight through this too. I figure I'll be taking my frustrations out on the field tomorrow. How about you?"

Joe just smiled, then looked at Danny and the smile slowly faded.

-

[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: November 22, 1924:

The Detroit Maroons were in town to play the Chicago Wildcats and that meant that Rollie Barrell could catch up with his brothers Joe and Jack. And because of Danny's injury, both Rufus and Alice were also in town.

"It's practially a family reunion," Rollie said to lighten the rather somber mood. "You guys look like we already beat you, and the game's not until tomorrow," he told Jack. Jack smirked, muttered something Rollie didn't quite hear and turned away.

Rollie, like his parents, was staying at Joe's home while in town. Since Edna had returned to Georgia with their children, Joe had an empty house and the company was welcome, despite the circumstances.

"We can't act like someone died, you know," he told Jack. They were alone in what was formally "Deuce" Barrell's room, which Rollie was using. Joe had moved into his daughter's old room and their parents were staying in the master bedroom. It was early on Saturday morning and the house was fairly quiet. Jack had slept on the couch after staying up late talking with Rufus, Joe and Rollie about Danny's situation.

"You don't get it," Jack told him, his back still turned.

"What don't I get? He's going to keep the leg, that's a good thing."

Jack shook his head, sighed and then spun around, looking at Rollie with pain in his eyes. "Did you see him in Paris? That kid was the best athlete in the family... and that's saying something right there. Now, at best, he'll probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life."

Rollie felt his own anger rise. He pointed at Jack. "Yes, he's had a terrible injury. So did Pop, and you can't say he didn't make something out of his life, now can you?"

Jack frowned, but remained silent.

Rollie wasn't finished. "And what about me? Those goons in New York beat me so badly I can't golf any more. But am I moping around?" Jack opened his mouth, but Rollie plowed on. "No. We're more than just athletes. That's what Mom and Pop both gave us - more than just the ability to run fast, hit, throw, punch, whatever... the knowledge that we're much more than what we are on whatever field we play on. You know that, deep down, and we need to make sure Danny remembers that too."

Jack said, "I'm sorry. You're right." He smirked and added, "You always were the smart one, Rollie."

Rollie frowned, "Yeah, so smart that I couldn't prevent Jimmy - the brother I was probably closest to out of the whole family - from always pushing the boundaries. Danny was there that day... the day Jimmy died. And Danny needs to know - he's not dead and there's more to life than the Olympics, or football, or any other sport for that matter."

"You're right, Rollie," said Rufus Barrell, who had appeared in the doorway.

"Hey Pop, sorry about the noise. Did we wake you?" Rollie asked.

"No, I was up. Your mother's still asleep though," Rufus replied, then stepped into the room and sat on the bed. "We need to stay positive around Danny. Yes, this is bad. I remember how I felt after... well, after what happened at Bigsby Oval all those years ago. But Rollie, you're correct - life does go. And Danny's young - just like I was. He can make it through. I had your Mom to help me out, but he's got all of us and that's a lot of Barrells." He finished with a soft chuckle.

The room was silent for several moments as all three men reflected on the situation. Finally Rufus broke the silence telling his sons, "We need to see if we can get Danny to come around and see sense on that offer from Claudia."

Claudia Slocum had called from Brooklyn the day before. She was a nurse at one of the best hospitals in Brooklyn, where her husband, Powell Slocum was playing for the Brooklyn Kings and had recently been hired to be the team's player-manager. She had suggested having Danny move to Brooklyn and live with them while recuperating.

Claudia's work as a wartime nurse had given her vast experience with bitter and broken men. She was confident in her abilities and eager to help Danny get back on his feet, both literally and figuratively.

However Danny, still in the hospital with his entire left leg encased in a plaster cast, was bitter and angry, and had flatly refused. "I'll stay in Chicago," he growled. He added some disparaging remarks about Powell Slocum, which made Alice snap at him. After that he stonily refused to budge on the issue.

"I don't know Pop, there's some not-so-great history there," Jack pointed out. "He made it pretty plain how he feels about Powell."

Rufus nodded and replied, "Granted. But he needs treatment and he needs to get adjusted to life after... well, after being an athlete, I suppose. And Claudia does love him, just more like a brother. And that means a lot, even if it isn't the way Danny would like her to feel about him."

"True," Rollie agreed and Jack nodded too.

"But Claudia has a husband and a kid. Are we sure Powell's okay with this?" Jack asked.

"Claudia said Powell's very supportive of the idea and we all know little James loves Danny."

Rollie sighed again. "So all we need to do is convince our extremely bitter, nearly crippled brother to go live with a woman he was infatuated with and who is now married to someone he flat out says he can't stand?"

"Sure, piece of cake, right?" Jack added with a rueful laugh.

Rufus frowned and said, "Well, boys, the worthwhile things are rarely easy. Maybe what Danny needs right now is a swift kick in the pants to knock the self-pity out of him. He won't ever have a normal life if he stays the way he is now."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day at North Side Grounds, Rollie watched his Detroit Maroons play great defense and beat the Wildcats 6-0. He smirked as he sat with Jack Kristich. "Looks like I'll have the bragging rights on Joe and Jack this year," he said and slapped his knee.

Kristich, the commissioner of the AFA, was also the owner of the league's Fort Wayne entry. His team was idle (and not particularly good). Kristich chuckled and said, "I'd love it if my team was anywhere near as good as your club or the Wildcats, Rollie." Fort Wayne was 4-4. Rollie's Maroons were 8-1 and had two more games on the slate, both of which he figured they'd win.

"Polish up that silverware for me, Jack," he said and slapped his knee again.

"If you're done gloating, let's head into the office, Rollie," Kristich told him and stood.

Rollie followed the commissioner into the offices of the Chicago Cougars, which were empty on this Sunday before Thanksgiving, and on loan to Rollie, Jack Kristich and Chicago Wildcats co-owner Carl Boon. They were going to finalize their plans for a professional basketball league.

Carl joined them about fifteen minutes later, his hair still wet from the shower he'd just taken. Boon was not only the co-owner (with Joe Barrell) but like Joe, he also played for the team as an end - and a good one at that. But he was a smart and shrewd businessman as well, and very interested in the basketball idea.

Jack Kristich opened the briefcase he'd left in the Cougars' GM's office and pulled out his ubiquitous folder.

"How's that secretary of yours doing, Jack?" Rollie asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Hey, you're a married man, Rollie," Kristich replied.

Rollie laughed and nodded. "Oh, yes, I am and my wife would kill me for even asking, but your niece is an impressive young lady."

Kristich shook his head. "Gladys is fine, Rollie. Now let's get down to business, boys," he said and tapped the folder.

Carl leaned forward. "You really think we can get the Luckies, Jack?"

"We absolutely need to, so I am going to do my very best to make that happen," was the reply. The "Luckies" were a traveling team, technically, in New York (and in fact were actually called the 'New York Lucky Five'). They were generally considered the best basketball club in the country.

Rollie frowned. "I'm not sure I want to get mixed up with them," he said.

"Sam Bigsby is only a minority owner, Rollie," Kristich replied. He and Carl Boon both knew of the history between the Bigsby and Barrell families. "Stan Lippman is calling the shots. If it wasn't for Bigsby Gardens, Sam wouldn't have even gotten a sniff of involvement with the Luckies. Unfortunately for us, Sam Bigsby controls the best arena in the nation - and we need a team in New York."

Rollie sighed, "I know. I just don't like it, is all."

"OK, so if we get the Luckies, we'll have teams in New York, Chicago, and Detroit. I'm shooting for Boston, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Cleveland and St. Louis as well. We need to go big league with this if we can," Carl pointed out.

Kristich nodded in agreement. "Yes, definitely. The issue is venues - some of those cities have hockey clubs and those that do have nice venues. That's Boston, Philly, Pittsburgh and Cleveland. St. Louis? I don't know. I talked with Dutch Schmidt and he's non-committal."

Schmidt was a German immigrant who owned a brewery in St. Louis. The brewery had a basketball team, but it wasn't particularly successful against top competiton.

"His team's not exactly good, Jack," Rollie said.

Kristich nodded and said, "True. But he has money. And he hasn't yet said no to the idea of building an arena in St. Louis. I mentioned that he could perhaps lure a hockey club in if they build one. With the USHA and NAHC fighting it out, either would probably jump at the chance to put a team in there."

Rollie nodded - his brother Jack had told him as much.

"OK, well, if we can get teams in all those places, then I'd say, yes, we have a shot at making this thing work," Rollie said. Then he took a deep breath and asked, "But how do we get this done?"

Carl Boon grinned and replied, "Oh, I think we can get it done."

Rollie was doubtful - but Carl's confidence was infectious. Maybe this would work after all.

-

[legendsport]

Egypt, GA: December 26, 1924:

Claudia Slocum sat down on the porch swing of the Barrell farmhouse. Danny Barrell was three feet away, leaning on his crutches and gazing out towards the barn.

"Oh, it is so nice to come here in the winter. It is cold in Brooklyn," Claudia said. Danny didn't turn, or respond. "I take James to the Prospect Park because it reminds me of Germany in winter. He likes to ride the subway and when we get to Grand Army Plaza we look at the arch. It is not so nice as the Brandenburger Tor...." she trailed off, a sad look on her face.

A moment later, Danny finally broke his silence. Without turning around, he said, "I was just a squirt when we left Brooklyn. I don't remember much, but I do remember Prospect Park. Pop would take us there and we'd run around, play catch and just have... fun."

Claudia waited a few beats and then said, "You really should come to Brooklyn. I can help you and James would love to have you there."

"What about Powell?"

She waved a hand dismissively, though Danny still hadn't turned and therefore couldn't see it. "Powell is fine with it. When spring comes he will be gone much of the time. It would be nice to have you there. It would make the house feel less empty."

Suddenly the screen door shot open, slamming against the wall with a bang. Bobby sprinted out of the house, leaped off the porch, and tore up the path towards the barn. Harry appeared a split second later in hot pursuit. And before the door could swing shut, Betsy ran out as well, chasing her brothers, her pigtails streaming behind her. Danny watched them as they ran towards the barn. His lips twisted in a grimace.

"I remember doing that kind of thing," he said sadly, adding, "Only it was usually Jimmy I was chasing, and Fred or Tommy running after us, not wanting to be left out."

Now it was Claudia who stayed silent. Danny finally turned around, and there were tears in his eyes. "I still miss him, Claudia," he said.

Claudia teared up as well. "As do I," she replied. Then she took a deep breath, steeled herself and continued, "But he was a fighter. He would not want you to give up. You have been badly hurt - as Jimmy was when he was shot down. But I helped..." she struggled for words for a second, then smiled and said, "Patch him up, as he would say. I want to do the same for you."

Danny swallowed, raw emotion written all over his face. He opened his mouth, but no words came forth.

Claudia stood up and said, "Oh! I had almost forgotten! I saw Emily in New York."

Stunned, Danny once again looked like he was about to speak. Claudia laughed and said, "You look like a fish trying to breathe air!"

"How, where, why?" Danny asked in a rush.

She laughed again. "I called the British consulate to see if her father was there. Mr. Potentas informed me that Mr. Talbot had been reassigned."

"And she's there? In New York? I thought she was in school in England."

Claudia nodded. "Yes. She has... changed... schools. Sorry, I do not know the correct word. But she is now attending a school in New York. I do not know which one."

Danny was flabbergasted. Emily in New York? That certainly changed things.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a near-smirk and he asked, "Powell is really ok with this plan of yours?"

She nodded, the smile on her face widening. "Yes, yes. He is a good man. You do not need to be so..." She frowned, struggling for words. "Six years in America and my English... ugh. You do not need to protect me any longer."

She put her hand on his, where it gripped the crutch. "I know when Jimmy... was taken from us... that you stepped in to protect me. You are very sweet." She squeezed his hand. "Now I can return the favor. I will help you; let me help you!"

Danny, his face red, nodded.

-----------------------------------------------

Inside, in the front room of the house, Tommy Barrell was sitting with his parents. Sleeping on his lap was the puppy that Rufus and Alice had bought for their youngest children. Ol' Blue had finally passed away and 'New Blue' as Harry had dubbed the young coon dog, had joined the family on Christmas morning.

"I think I want to come home," Tommy said.

Alice gave him a serious look and asked, "Is everything okay in Washington?"

Tommy nodded and said, "Sure. I just miss Fred." He blushed a little and added, "And you, Ma."

Alice shook her head. "What about baseball? Capital is a top-flight team and you're a senior. You could be drafted a year from now."

Tommy shrugged and said, "I think I want to go to college. I was talking with Rollie and he pointed out that you can't take things for granted and college can help you with what he called 'real life.'" He stroked the sleeping puppy and added in a near whisper, "Besides, look what happened to Danny."

Rufus spoke up and said, "That was a fluke." Seeing his wife glare at him, he quickly added, "But I do think an education is very important. And I know Coach Allen would love to have you join Freddie at Georgia Baptist."

Tommy was bobbing his head in agreement before Rufus had even finished. "Yes, I think that's where I'd want to go."

Alice smiled and Rufus said, "Well, then I know Effingham will be glad to have you back. That team just plain scuffles when it doesn't have a Barrell to lean on. And Bobby still hasn't decided where he'll play next year."

Fred walked into the room, a catcher's mitt on his left hand and a baseball in his right. "You want to throw a little, Tom?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Absolutely," Tommy said with a grin.

Fred looked at Rufus and told his father, "Dick York's coming by later to work with me a little bit."

Rollie leaned his head in from the kitchen and said, "I can't seem to get away from that guy."

They heard a smack, saw Rollie cringe and then he added, "I think the only reason Francie agreed to live in Detroit was because Dick is playing for the Dynamos. She still thinks she needs to keep an eye on him, even though he and Millie have been married longer than we have," he said with a grin. Then they heard another smack, saw Rollie cringe again and pull his head back into the kitchen. They heard him say, "Stop hitting me, woman! You know it's true!"

Rufus and Alice laughed. Freddie and Tommy both wore looks of confusion.

Fred shook his head slowly. "Let's go, Tom," he said and headed for the door.

_

[legendsport]

Athens, GA: February 20, 1925:

A tall, dark-haired young man was following Fred Barrell as he crossed the main quad at Georgia Baptist.

"Don't be a grind Barrell!" the man shouted. Fred shook his head, his Latin primer tucked under his right arm.

"Sonny, I'm going to be late for class!" Fred yelled over his shoulder.

"Who comes to college to go to class?"

At this ridiculous statement, Fred stopped and spun around, an incredulous look on his face.

"Why on earth would anyone come to college for any other reason?" Fred asked as the other young man trotted up and stopped before him, a wry grin on his handsome face.

"The social life, Freddie! That's what college is all about!" The other student was Sonny Coleman, Fred's roommate - and his teammate on the Gators' baseball team. Coleman was a good-looking, 6'3, chiseled pitcher who had a wicked curve and threw a hard fastball. He was also a strictly 'C' student who spent more time chasing women at 'petting parties' than he did studying. In fact, Fred believed the only thing Sonny considered worthwhile outside of girls was - maybe - baseball.

"You're going to flunk out," Fred said sternly.

Coleman scoffed and he ran a hand through his hair. "Not going to happen. Coach Allen will make sure I get the grades I need," he said.

Fred frowned and replied, "You can't be serious."

Coleman shrugged. "Let me clue you in Barrell," he said and leaned in conspiratorily. "We're here to play baseball. Coach and the administration don't care whether we actually get an education."

Fred shook his head, "No. That's not true."

"Come on Barrell, wake up! If you weren't a great catcher who could hit over .300, you probably wouldn't even be here."

Fred, whose grades were good, wore an offended look and shot back. "Yes, I would! My grades are top-notch, I'll have you know!"

"If you say so, Barrell..." Sonny's expression was openly disdainful. Then the twinkle came back into his eye and he continued, "Still, all work and no play make Fred a dull boy. Come to the party!"

Fred shook his head. "No, I need to study."

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Fred. I'll meet you outside Dinsmore Hall at six." He pointed a finger and wore a mock serious expression as he finished, "And you'd better be there, young man!" in a perfect imitation of baseball coach Ed Allen.

Fred grinned despite himself. "Fine. I'll go - but I reserve the right to leave whenever I want."

Sonny whooped and then nodded. "Trust me, you won't want to leave!" He turned and started in the other direction, shouting over his shoulder, "Tempus fugit, Barrell!"

---------------------------------------------

Athens, GA: April 3, 1925:

A loud buzzing pulled Fred Barrell out of sleep. His head was pounding. He groggily rolled over, blearily opened his eyes and gazed across the room. Sonny Coleman was snoring - which explained the buzzing he had heard. Bright sunlight peeked through the curtains of their dormitory room. Fred groaned and sat up, swung his feet to the floor and grabbed his watch off the table. A muted swear escaped his lips.

"Gonna be late for class," he moaned. Shooting a glare at his passed-out roommate, Fred started getting dressed.

Two hours later he was walking across campus. His head was still killing him. He was thinking that Prohibition was probably a good idea after all, then chastised himself as he felt the flask sitting in his hip pocket.

"Freddie!" came a high voice. Fred's eyes opened wider and he stopped. As he did, he had a fleeting worry that his hangover was going to be all-too obvious before accepting that if it was, well, he couldn't do anything about that at the moment.

He turned to see a young woman trotting across the grass. She raised a hand in a wave, her red hair styled in the fashionable "shingled" flapper style, a brightly brocaded kerchief wrapped around her brow. She wore an ankle-length dress - the dress code for women at Georgia Baptist was strict - and, for some reason, galoshes. The weather was sunny and warm.

"Hi, Lottie," Fred said with a grin. Charlotte "Lottie" Waterston was, like Fred, a sophomore. She was also, for all intents and purposes, Fred's girlfriend, though neither of them had made it "official" by actually discussing it.

"How was your class?" Lottie asked as she slowed to a walk and put her arm through Fred's. They began strolling slowly across the quad.

"Oh, fine. I had a bit of trouble keeping up. Sonny had me at the party at Roger's until..." he trailed off, realizing he didn't actually know what time they'd left the party. "Well, late - or early - depending on your perspective," he finished.

"That explains why your eyes look like a couple of cherry tomatoes." Lottie shook her head. "He's a bad influence," she said.

"Oh, no doubt," Fred replied with a chuckle. "But... if he hadn't pestered me into going to that party back in February..." he trailed off. Lottie finished his sentence with, "We would never have met. I know."

"It's his one redeeming quality," she added with a smile.

"You're coming to the game, right?" Fred asked her.

She nodded. "Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Fred smiled. "We're playing Opelika State. The guy who's pitching? Jean Drean's his name. That guy drilled me last year. Had a bruise the size of a grapefruit. I'm looking forward to getting some revenge," Fred said.

Lottie sighed. "I have no idea what you're saying - what's 'drilled' mean?"

Fred grinned - Lottie came to the games, but she didn't really 'get it' - and he explained, "Oh, that means he hit me with a pitch when I was batting. I'm not sure you know this, but baseballs? They're pretty hard."

"Ooh, my poor Freddie," Lottie moaned and then smiled. "It seems you survived well enough, despite that dreadful man's best effort." She quirked an eyebrow. "Was the bruise really as big as a grapefruit? Or are you just fishing for some sympathy?"

Fred laughed. "You are really something, Lottie," he said fondly.

"Well, I'll have you know that the Waterstons are one of Frankfort's most esteemed families," she replied in a mock serious voice.

"Yes, I'm sure you're the belle of Kentucky," Fred replied.

She slapped his arm. "I was mostly serious, Freddie. My father is an important man. He's a city councilman!"

"Ah, I had forgotten," Fred replied, though of course he hadn't. This was familiar ground. "And my father is the best scout in all of baseball," he reminded her.

"So you say. I really don't know much about baseball."

Fred patted her hand. "That's okay. I like you anyway," he said. She stopped and put her hands on her hips with a pout on her face. Fred looked at her and then they both started laughing.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat," Fred suggested and thrust out his right elbow. She tucked her hand through his arm and they continued their walk.

-