[legendsport]

New York, NY: October 29, 1929:

Jack Barrell emerged from the cigar store and stepped back into the bustle of Times Square. A man shot past, nearly running into Jack; the man's hat was askew and a moment later fell off entirely where it was immediately crushed under the shoe of another man rushing in the same direction.

Jack, in town because he had found out that - once again - he had been traded (this time from Quebec to the New York Eagles), wondered what it was with New Yorkers. Always in a hurry, but this seemed more extreme than was typical. He turned his head to follow the men who joined a throng surrounding a newsboy.

The newsboy had perched himself on a lamppost, his bag of newspapers hanging off the arm that hugged the post, his other held aloft. His mouth was moving and Jack could hear his strident voice, but the words themselves were lost in the cacophonous noise of thousands of people and a mass of snarled traffic crossing the busy junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue.

The offices of the New York Eagles, where Jack was scheduled to meet with coach and part-owner Bill Yeadon, were on Sixth Avenue and 45th Street. He had decided to stop in the cigar shop, thinking to give his new boss a gift. He had been surprised at the mayhem that greeted him when he exited the shop.

Using his size and strength much like he did when fighting through the line on the football field, Jack shouldered his way closer to the newsboy. As he approached he began to catch snatches of the kid's shouted cries... "Stock Market" and "Crash" among them.

Deciding that fighting through the crowd in what would likely be a vain attempt to secure a copy of the morning paper, Jack changed course and started heading across the square, looking to escape to Sixth Avenue, where he hoped things would be at least a little calmer.

Feeling like a fish swimming upstream as he fought the crowds heading into Times Square, Jack eventually made it to the offices of the New York Eagles Hockey Club. The secretary, a plump and matronly woman with grey hair, greeted him with a tired smile and escorted him into Yeadon's office.

The tall, spare man rose from his chair, a warm smile creasing a face that bore more than one scar from his own days as a hard-nosed defenseman.

"Jack! It is good to see you again," he said as he thrust out his right hand.

The two men exchanged a nearly bone-crushing handshake. Though they had crossed paths many times in the years since Yeadon had unsuccessfully tried to woo Jack away from Jack Connolly's Toronto Dukes, this was the first time they'd met in a one-on-one setting.

"You had a good trip?" Yeadon asked.

Jack reflected on that for a moment before answering. He'd played a football game Sunday in Buffalo and caught the Monday morning train for New York. He'd arrived at Grand Central the previous evening. All told, it was a tolerable trip for a man who spent a lot of time on trains. "It was uneventful," he replied, then grinned and added, "And I've learned how valuable that is when you're traveling."

"Indeed," Yeadon agreed. He too spent a lot of time on trains.

Then Yeadon, showing a good memory, reflected on Jack's "formidable" grandmother, who'd sided with him when he and the Transcontinental Hockey Association had tried to get Jack to go west to play hockey back in the early days of the sport (and Jack's career). It had been a decade since Vera had passed away, but Jack felt a pang of grief and as he thanked Yeadon for this words. He had a small, sad smile on his face as he nodded his agreement that Vera Reid had been a "tough woman" in every sense of the word.

"Well... I guess it's been far longer than I'd hoped, but I've finally got you for my team," Yeadon said.

"Yes and I look forward to the opportunity," Jack replied. Then his face grew serious and he continued, "Though I have to admit to feeling like a bit of a vagabond lately. I've gone from Toronto to Chicago to Quebec and now here, in just a few years."

Yeadon bobbed his head and said, "You can look at that one of two ways: either you're a problem that teams are seeking to rid themselves of, or that you're a valuable commodity that teams are trying to add."

Jack grimaced as he replied, "Or maybe it's a bit of both."

Yeadon laughed. "Possibly," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "But," he continued, "rest assured, I do not take on other team's problems as some sort of public service. You're here because I think you can help us win: plain and simple."

Jack thanked him again. Then the two men settled into a routine that Jack had become quite accustomed to: the negotiation of a contract. Jack had enjoyed a good year for Quebec and his track record on the ice was a good one. Yeadon, to his credit, acknowledged this and both men negotiated in good faith. At the end of the talk, Jack felt he had gotten a fair shake and Yeadon looked pleased so Jack reflected that it was likely a win for both of them.

"I'm guessing you haven't failed to notice all the problems the stock market is having," Yeadon said as they both lit cigars. Business was done; they were now just talking.

"I came through Times Square... that's where these came from," he nodded at the box of cigars on Yeadon's desk. "It was pandemonium around the newsboys."

Yeadon puffed with a thoughtful look on his face. Then he leaned forward and said, "I've heard that your old boss Bert Thomas has got himself in a bit of pickle."

Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? How so?" he asked, the eagerness in his voice all too evident.

Yeadon chuckled. "He put a lot of his money in the stock market. Figured he could buy on margin like all these other greedy sons of..." Yeadon stopped and shook his head, "Well... you know."

Jack nodded and Yeadon continued, "The market took a big tumble Thursday and again yesterday. People like Bert are losing fortunes." He paused and tapped ash into the tray on his desk. "And I mean that literally: fortunes."

He mentioned that his brother George - who was the League President - had phoned and told him just that morning that he thought Thomas would have to sell both his baseball and hockey clubs. Jack almost - but not quite - felt sorry for the guy.

"What about you?" Jack asked.

"Me? My father ran a successful lumber business for years. He believed in cash on the barrel head and in not trusting a banker. I reckon I'm the same way." He looked proud as he finished, "Most of my money is in that same lumber business and what isn't, is here in the Eagles' offices. I'm not going to gamble with my family's hard-earned profits, and my children's futures."

"Sounds smart. My father is the same way. My brothers..." he paused and shook his head. "My brother Joe has a lot of money in the market. So did Rollie, but I believe he began pulling it out this summer. He's sharp and could read the tea leaves. Personally, I don't have a lot, and what I do have, I don't put in get-rich-quick schemes."

"Sounds like you're smart, too, Jack. Don't undervalue the virtues of caution."

Jack nodded in agreement. He figured Rollie would be fine, but he worried about Joe. As for himself, his main concern was keeping Marie and his daughters safe and happy.

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