[legendsport]

June 22, 1942: Jersey City, NJ:

The judge's scowl was quite possibly the most frightening thing Roger Cleaves had ever seen.

"Mr. Cleaves, you have entered a plea of guilty, perhaps in the hope of getting off lightly, perhaps because you are - as you claim - truly sorry for your actions. But that does not diminish the seriousness of the crime."

Roger bowed his head. He sensed that a response at this point would not only be unhelpful, it would actually hurt his chances of getting a light sentence.

This wasn't supposed to go this way. Roger had turned 18 in January, had enjoyed a solid senior season as the catcher for Hoboken High School, even making the All-State team. Both his grandfathers had assured him that he was going to be drafted - and in fact, the FABL Draft was taking place on this very same day as his court appearance. He had graduated, squeaking by grade-wise, just the previous week and was looking forward to starting his baseball career, and eventually joining his three half-brothers in the big leagues.

Behind him, in the first row of spectator seating, was his mother. Charlotte had been right - his "work" for Big Tony Falcone had been a bad idea. Roger had certainly enjoyed the money and until this most recent arrest, whenever the cops had picked him up, he was a juvenile and received a mere slap on the wrist (though he had spent most of his 16th summer in the Youth House).

He was in court because he had agreed to do one last pickup for Tony. It was straightforward - there was a guy who ran a candy store on Hudson Blvd in Jersey City, near PS #8 where Roger had gone to school. He'd made a bet on the Gothams, and lost big. Roger had gone to collect and the guy had run out the back of his shop, into the alley. There were a handful of kids in the store, and Roger figured the guy was going to lose some merchandise. He knew exactly where the alley ended and his car was right outside. He sprinted to his car, jumped in and drove around the block, screeching to a halt just before the man emerged from the alley.

Roger had jumped out, chased the man down - the guy was middle-aged and slightly overweight, he wasn't going to outrun an athlete like Roger. Roger caught up with the man and shoved him hard, knocking him to the sidewalk. He'd rolled the man over, sighed and shook his head. "Why'd you have to run?" Roger said and then punched him in the face. And that was when two of Jersey City's finest had walked out of the deli on the corner and immediately spotted Roger sitting on the man, fist raised for a second punch.

Roger's attention snapped back to the present as the judge spoke again. "You have an impressive record, young man, which... luckily for you, I can not take into account since they all occurred as a juvenile. But now that you are an adult, you're looking at jail time."

Roger, for obvious reasons, had no desire to spend any time in the Hudson County Jail. His connections with the Falcones would protect him, but the future he had desired for himself and worked hard to achieve would be delayed and possibly destroyed.

His lawyer - provided by his brother George (after Jack had flat-out refused to help saying that perhaps jail would cure Roger of his wild ways) - had been honest about his chances. There had been witnesses and it was obvious to the arresting officers that Roger had assaulted the candy store owner. This had made his chances poor to say the least, causing Roger to enter a guilty plea. It had avoided a trial at least and lessened the media's interest in this younger brother of the famous ballplayers Jack and George Cleaves (Roger's actual father being Joe Barrell was not known outside the family, hence his being Deuce Barrell's half-brother as well was still a secret).

"However," the judge said, and Roger's head rose and he gazed at the old man whose face still bore a serious scowl. Still, 'however' was a great word to hear when everything Roger had heard before it had been so bad.

"We are, as everyone knows, now at war." The judge took his glasses off and stared hard at Roger. "I am giving you a chance, Mr. Cleaves. You are to immediately enlist in the Marine Corps. Not the Army, not the Navy, and certainly not the Coast Guard. The Marines. They will both make you a man of character and also will ensure you provide some service to our nation in its time of need."

Roger's lawyer looked at the judge and raised his eyebrows. The judge nodded once, slowly. The lawyer leaned over and whispered to Roger, "This is a great deal and I strongly suggest you take it. The judge himself was a Marine in the first war, and that's likely why he's offering you this chance."

Roger whispered back, "So I'm supposed to go volunteer to get my *** shot off? What's the alternative?"

The lawyer frowned. Seeing this, the judge spoke again. "Mr. Cleaves, if you are entertaining the thought of refusing this chance, let me tell you this: I will sentence you to the maximum allowable sentence and you will likely spend the next few years in prison. Not the county jail, sir, but Rahway State Prison. So choose wisely," he finished and put his glasses back on.

Roger looked over his shoulder at his mother. She bobbed her head at him. The Marines? It would mean postponing his baseball career, but Roger also knew that even if jail wasn't hanging over his head there was an excellent chance he'd be drafted anyway... "I accept," he told his lawyer.

"My client finds your solution more than fair, your honor and accepts," the lawyer - his name was Ken Williams - said.

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Two hours later Roger had signed on the dotted line - he was going to be a Marine. Mr. Williams agreed to take a copy of the enlistment papers to the judge the next morning. Roger was going to be taking his physical and then heading off to boot camp.

The telephone rang while he was in his room, packing a few meager belongings, knowing the Marine Corps would be giving him virtually everything it believed he'd need for the duration of the war plus six months (that was his term of enlistment - nothing like signing your life away for an indefinite period of time, Roger had thought).

Roger heard his mother answer the phone and she spoke with someone for a few moments. Roger couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter to him anyway. She appeared in the doorway. "That was your grandfather," she told him.

"I take it he heard what happened," Roger said, then bitterly added, "And I'm sure the great George Theobald was more disappointed than words could express..."

"That's not fair, Roger, and you know it," Charlotte snapped. Then after a moment she continued, "And no, it was your other grandfather, Mr. Barrell."

Roger looked at his mother and frowned. "So, same thing, just a different old man being disappointed in me," he muttered.

Charlotte shook her head and her voice was cold when she spoke. "Listen, Roger. That judge may have just saved your life. Not literally, but he may have salvaged it for you. I really hope the Marine Corps does mold you into a good, dependable and mature man. Instead of this," she waved a hand at him.

"What do you mean?" Roger shot back.

"This... boy, who spends all his time feeling sorry for himself," she replied hotly, then she looked down, took a deep breath and when she raised her eyes to meet his again, he saw tears in them. "Roger, I failed you. Your father - both the one you thought was your father and the one who actually was your father - are gone and when they were here neither of them were there for you then either. And that was unfair to you, and I'm sorry for all of it. But you're an adult now and you need to decide if you're going to be a hoodlum, or if you're going to try to make something worthwhile of yourself. That judge gave you the chance to make something of yourself. I hope you take it."

Roger bowed his head. Charlotte turned to leave. She had taken one step when she stopped, turned and added, "And what your grandfather wanted was to congratulate you. The Philadelphia Keystones drafted you in the seventh round of the draft today."

She left the room. Roger sat on his bed quietly stunned, and deep in thought.

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