April 29, 1948: Detroit, MI:
"Bet you can't do it, Barrell!"
"You don't have to do this, Freddy," Mario Gomez, one of Freddy's teammates, advised. Freddy scowled - a challenge was a challenge. And Jack Davis was notorious for being a loudmouth.
In this case, the challenge was to eat an entire can of pickled jalapeno peppers. According to Gomez, these peppers were incredibly spicy. Freddy was in the dark about them; he had never come across them before baseball practices commenced in February. Given that they had been practicing in the gymnasium at Pershing High School, located in Detroit, the chilly weather had confined the practices indoors.
The whole situation had its roots in Jack Davis' penchant for running his mouth.
Upon learning Freddy's last name, Davis had immediately asked, "Any relation to Miss High-and-Mighty Allie Barrell?"
After confirming that he was indeed Allie Barrell's cousin, Freddy had clarified that he was the son of the former FABL catcher Fred Barrell and the nephew of Maroons and Mustangs owner Rollie Barrell. In response, Davis had mockingly applauded, declaring, "Well, boys, we're destined to win the city championship now. We've got a bona fide Barrell on our team!"
Freddy brushed that off and redirected the conversation. "Why the grudge against my cousin?" he had inquired. Allie, within the family circle, was generally known for her intelligence and kindness.
"Oh, she's just so full of herself," Davis retorted.
"Not at all," Freddy countered.
"Oh, believe me, she is," Davis mimicked in a high voice, "I'm a senior and the head cheerleader," accompanied by a poor jump and leg kick, "I'm too good for you, Jack Davis, you junior peasant."
It clicked for Freddy. Davis harbored a crush on Allie, who had turned him down. Freddy could easily guess why.
And thus, Davis had taken an immediate dislike to Freddy as well—though he kept his animosity under wraps when the coaches were around. The catch was that Davis, standing at an impressive 6 feet 4 inches and weighing 180 pounds, was the star pitcher for Pershing, and a potential draft pick for FABL in 1949 if he didn't opt for college, given that he was also the star quarterback for Pershing.
But then came the jalapeno peppers. For weeks, Mario had been bringing these peppers for lunch. Hailing from Mexico, Mario's family considered these peppers a regular part of their diet. Davis had crinkled his nose at the "stench" of the vinegar-pickled peppers, insisting that he couldn't fathom eating them. Freddy had retorted, "I bet they're alright; I could probably eat the whole can."
In hindsight, that had been unwise. Freddy hadn't the faintest clue whether he could handle even one of those peppers. After all, Gomez had mentioned they were spicy. Yet, Davis' incessant taunting had ignited Freddy's competitive spirit.
And that was how he found himself on the bleachers after baseball practice, can of peppers in Mario's hand and Davis basking in his audience's attention.
Things took an interesting turn when Allie arrived. Freddy didn't see her much, considering that she was a senior and he was just a freshman. Their social circles rarely intersected.
"What's happening here?" she inquired upon approaching the group, her gaze shifting from Freddy to Jack Davis.
"Oh, look who's here..." Davis quipped, but Allie halted him with an upheld hand. "I wasn't addressing you, Jack," she said. Turning her gaze to Freddy, she asked, "Fred, what's going on?"
"I've been dared to eat this can of peppers," Fred admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.
Allie examined the label and queried, "What are ja-la-pen-os?" She mispronounced the word, emphasizing the hard 'J' and the final syllable like the writing tool.
Gomez corrected her, subtly explaining that they originated from his family's home in Xalapa, Mexico.
"And?" she prompted.
"And your audacious freshman cousin here claimed he could finish the whole can," Davis added with a smirk.
"Freddy... that might not be wise," Allie cautioned.
Freddy took a deep breath. "I'm doing it," he asserted, shaking his head to prevent further intervention. "You can't change my mind, Allie."
She sighed and crossed her arms. "Well, you're stubborn," she remarked, underlining her statement with an unhelpful, "It's your funeral."
Gomez popped open the can and handed it to Freddy. The teammates clustered around. Davis wore an almost gleeful expression. "This will be amusing," he predicted. Allie scowled at him, admonishing, "As team captain, you should know better."
Jack ignored her. "Go on, Barrell. Start eating," he urged.
Freddy swallowed as the vinegary aroma reached his nose. "Here goes," he muttered, and began to consume the peppers.
Initially, it wasn't overly arduous. He attempted to gulp them down without chewing, dreading the repercussions if he chomped into one. But his strategy proved only moderately effective; the peppers were genuinely fiery, and soon enough, his tongue felt aflame. And there were still numerous peppers left in the can.
"Holy smokes, he's actually doing it!" one of the other players exclaimed, earning Davis' glare.
"He's going to puke," another speculated, receiving a hopeful nod from Davis.
Freddy didn't vomit. He felt like he might, yet he powered through the entire can, which remained half-filled with the malodorous liquid.
"Now drink the juice," Davis suggested.
"No, that wasn't part of the deal," Gomez interjected. He turned to Freddy and advised, "Don't. No one drinks it, and if you do, you'll get sick."
Allie placed her hand on Davis' chest. He glanced down at it and responded with a smile.
"Enough, Jack," she scolded. "Freddy ate the peppers, and that was the agreement, wasn't it?"
Davis caught her wrist and pulled her hand away. "Perhaps it was."
Allie pulled her arm back. "Then it's settled," she declared, assertive and unwavering.
Davis shrugged. "I guess so," he conceded.
Freddy was tempted to ask if he looked pale. He felt unwell. He also yearned for the closest bucket of water to quench his thirst.
"That was foolish, Fred," Allie chided.
"I never claimed to be clever," Freddy retorted, mustering a bold smile. He almost succeeded. "That's your domain, Allie," he appended.
"Oh, hush," she retorted. Casting a glance at the other ballplayers, she commanded, "Alright, fellas, show's over." She fixed a firm look on them. "Go shower; you all reek."
"You should clean up as well," she instructed Freddy.
"How about we keep this incident under wraps?"
Allie frowned, then shrugged. "Yeah, alright."
Davis gestured toward the other players. "Let's move, guys," he directed. As he started to turn away, he glanced at Freddy and quipped, "Well done, Peppers. See you tomorrow."
And that's how Fred Barrell Jr. garnered the moniker— which he didn't particularly favor— of 'Peppers.' Allie smirked and shook her head. "You asked for it," she reminded him.
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Fred Barrell Jr. and his cousin Allie Barrell, 1948
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