June 4, 1945: Washington, DC
Rufus Barrell, retired baseball scout (as he often thought of himself these days), was tending to his chickens on a sunny morning in Egypt, Georgia. At 71 years old, Rufus's 72nd birthday was fast approaching and sometimes he felt the weight of every one of those years. He had spent nearly fifty years scouting baseball, an extraordinarily fulfilling career that had come about after a fluke head injury abruptly ended his promising pitching career back in 1892.
Rufus and his wife, Alice, had built a large family together. They had raised ten children, nine sons, and one daughter, and were now blessed with many grandchildren. However, the ongoing war had filled their hearts with worry for their grandsons, James and Roger, fighting in the Pacific, as well as their sons Fred, an OSS agent, and Harry, who was serving in the Army and though his duties largely consisted of playing baseball, he was often in the warzone, or had been - he was currently in Europe where the war was finally over.
As Rufus was feeding the chickens, a mindless task he found relaxing, the sound of the telephone startled him. It was unusual to receive a call so early in the morning. Alice, in the kitchen, had answered the phone and called Rufus inside, informing him that the call was being routed through the switchboard at the Pentagon.
Surprised and intrigued, Rufus hurried into the house to take the call. The operator's voice was brisk and businesslike: "Good morning, Mr. Barrell. I am an operator at the Pentagon and I have a call for you from a service member. I will need to verify your identity before connecting your call."
Rufus, wondering what was going on here, and slightly worried this was something about James or Roger, responded, "Uh, sure. This is Rufus Barrell speaking."
The operator, a young woman by the sound of her voice, had likely picked up on Rufus' discomfort. She sounded much more friendly as she replied, "Thank you, Mr. Barrell. Please hold the line. I have a call for you from U.S. Navy Captain Calvin Stockdale."
Surprise replaced worry for Rufus. Calvin was the son of Rufus's old friend, retired Admiral William Stockdale, who also happened to be the owner of the Washington Eagles baseball team. Rufus accepted the call, unsure of what to expect.
The voice on the other end of the line was scratchy, the connection distant. "Rufus, it's Calvin Stockdale here. I'm aboard the USS Baltimore, off the coast of Okinawa. I have some news to share."
He was calling from his ship? Rufus knew Calvin was commanding a cruiser - the admiral had made no bones about his pride that his son might soon follow him to flag rank. So why was he calling from a combat zone? Rufus' voice was tinged with concern as he replied, "Captain Stockdale, it's been a while. What's the matter? You sound serious."
"Rufus, I regret to inform you that my father, Admiral Stockdale, has passed away."
Rufus was silent for a moment. Admiral Stockdale had been a good man and a better friend. Rufus told Calvin exactly that when he found his voice a moment later.
Stockdale, who had apparently had time to absorb the news, answered in an even tone, "Thank you, Rufus. That means a lot. But the reason I'm calling goes beyond the news of my father's passing. He left the Washington Eagles baseball team to me in his will, but I can't leave my post to take over."
Perplexed, Rufus wondered aloud how he could be of help in such a situation.
"Rufus," Captain Stockdale said, "I need you to run the team."
Rufus was taken aback. The idea of running a baseball club was completely foreign to him. But as he considered Captain Stockdale's request, memories flooded back—memories of a lifetime spent in the world of baseball, from the moment he threw his first professional pitch at the age of 16. The very thought of getting back into the game sent a thrill through his old bones.
"I've never run a baseball club before, Calvin," Rufus admitted, his voice filled with doubt.
Stockdale chuckled, the ship-to-shore radio distorting it a bit. He said, "Rufus, you may not have run a team, but you've been around the game longer than anyone I know. My father had full faith in you. I need you to step in and run the team on my behalf. When the war is over, I will come home and take over. In the meantime, you'll be Club President, with full power over baseball operations and a salary commensurate with those duties."
Rufus glanced at Alice, who was watching him closely, sensing that something significant was unfolding. Her expression hinted at both concern and reluctance.
Stockdale, no doubt noting the silence and thinking it reluctance on Rufus' part, continued, "Rufus, you've scouted baseball for nearly fifty years. You know the game inside out. Besides, I trust you, and my father trusted you. You're the right person for the job."
In the face of Captain Stockdale's trust and the weight of Admiral Stockdale's belief, Rufus couldn't bring himself to refuse the request. With a mix of apprehension and determination, he accepted the challenge, knowing that it would be a whole new chapter in their lives.
Captain Stockdale expressed his gratitude, and as the call ended, Rufus looked at Alice, his face a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.
"We're going to need to find a house in or near Washington, D.C.," Rufus informed Alice, his voice tinged with a touch of unease. He explained the situation, and added that he wanted her with him in Washington. His days of leaving her side were over.
Alice's initial reaction was far from enthusiastic. She had built a life in their small town, and the prospect of uprooting and moving to the city wasn't what she had envisioned. However, knowing Rufus and his deep connection to the game, she understood that this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.
Alice sighed but offered Rufus a supportive smile. "Well, Rufus, if this is what you truly want, then we'll find a way to make it work. We've faced challenges before, haven't we?"
Rufus's eyes softened as he looked at his devoted wife. "Indeed we have, my love. And we've always come out stronger. This time won't be any different. We'll find a way to make it work for our family and for the Admiral's legacy."
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Admiral William Stockdale, oil painting, circa 1940