March 13, 1947: Sarasota, FL:
"I'm telling you, Deuce, Doria has it in for me," Charley McCullough said.
Deuce Barrell ran a towel over his head and then shook it in disagreement. "I think that guy just treats everyone poorly," he said.
"You're just sore because you hate how he treats you like a naive kid," Charley pointed out. "In my case, I'm a veteran player who lost his job because he served his country in war."
Deuce bristled at the "naive kid" comment and said, "I'm going to be thirty years old in June, Charley. I'm not a kid."
Charley flapped a hand at him. "How is it we always start talking about my problems and end up discussing yours?" he asked.
As was their custom, Deuce and Charley were spring training roommates, sharing a small apartment. Charley's wife, Gloria, who was also Deuce's sister, was back in Cincinnati.
"Because my problems are..." Deuce began, then struggled to find the right word for a moment as Charley gave him an exasperated look. Deuce finally finished, "Weightier, yeah, they're weightier than your problems."
"Weightier, my..." Charley began to retort when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Get that, will you?" Deuce asked. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand, having just taken a shower. Charley, an early riser, was already dressed. He grumbled about it but went to the door, telling Deuce, "You better get ready, the game's at noon."
"Yeah, yeah," Deuce said, turning to go into the bedroom.
When Charley opened the door, he found a Western Union man standing there.
"I've got a telegram for Charles McCullough," the guy said. Charley accepted the telegram and, despite being a little put out that the guy didn't recognize him as a FABL player, he thanked and tipped him.
He was holding the telegram, his mouth open in surprise, when Deuce came back out of the bedroom a moment later.
"Okay, Mom, I'm dressed," Deuce said sarcastically, then stopped when he saw Charley staring off into space, a shocked look on his face.
"What happened?" Deuce asked with concern.
"Telegram from Gloria," Charley muttered and waved the telegram.
"And? Is she okay?"
Charley was quiet and didn't respond right away. Deuce walked over and snatched the telegram from his hand.
He read aloud, "You two need to get a phone. Stop." He laughed and shook his head. "There she is, bossing us around from a thousand miles away."
Then he read the rest and his eyes widened in surprise. "Holy smokes!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah," Charley said.
"I'm going to be an uncle!" Deuce shouted, an enormous grin on his face.
"Give me that," Charley said and took the telegram from Deuce's hand. "There you go, making it all about you again," he pointed out.
"Well, at least I wasn't standing there looking like someone punched me in the face," Deuce retorted.
Charley shook his head.
Deuce frowned and said, "You don't seem happy about this."
Charley paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "Oh, I'm plenty happy. I just wonder what's going to happen."
"What do you mean? You know what'll happen. Gloria will have a baby, and you'll be a father," Deuce replied.
"Not what I mean, Deuce," Charley said and went on to explain that he had been quietly talking with a fellow from the Great Western League.
"Those guys? Why?" Deuce had made no bones about his general disdain for the GWL. As far as he was concerned, top-flight baseball consisted of the FABL and nothing else.
"Well, if Doria won't play me, then maybe those guys would," Charley explained.
"You can't..." Deuce said.
"Can't what? Look out for what's best for me... and now my family?" Charley replied, exasperation in his voice. "I'm not you, Deuce. I haven't won Allen Awards or been to, what, five All-Star games. I'm basically a backup infielder at this point, and I get paid like one. I need to consider what's right for my family."
Deuce was quiet. Charley was like a brother, even though he already had two of those, and he really liked Roger. He didn't want Charley to go.
Charley eyed him shrewdly. "You're thinking about how this would affect you, aren't you?" he asked.
"No," Deuce said, managing to sound insulted. Then he shrugged and said, "Well, yeah, maybe. A little."
Charley shook his head. Typical Deuce.
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Charley McCullough
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