January 28, 1949: Toronto, ON:
"This sucks," Freddy Barrell Jr. said. Fred had barely begun to turn to chastise his son when he heard the crack of his wife's palm slapping Junior in the face.
"Ow!" the 17-year-old shouted, rubbing his cheek. He glared at his brother Benny, who was smirking.
"Watch your mouth!" Tillie barked at her eldest child.
Fred grinned at his wife. "What?" she asked, in the same irked tone she'd used on their son.
"I'm impressed," Fred said. "You managed to slap Junior without waking the baby," he pointed out, nodding towards the sleeping seven-month-old Lorette Barrell cradled in her mother's right arm.
She scowled at Fred for a moment, and then let out a small chuckle. "I've learned to multitask with you away so much," she said, this time without the same heat in her words.
The family was looking at their new home. Fred had just been hired as manager of the Toronto Wolves, leaving his scouting job with the Dynamos. Managing had long been a dream for Fred, and though he'd turned down the opportunity to skipper the Cougars after the '47 season, this time the move felt right. Tillie had sarcastically remarked that she'd have hoped he could have found a job with a team in a more southerly climate, a joke that had a hint of truth to it, in Fred's opinion.
Junior, Benny, and Hobie were all in agreement with the sentiment Junior had just expressed. They didn't want to move and made no bones about expressing that sentiment. Leaving their friends behind, they were headed to new schools full of kids they didn't know.
Junior's budding high school sports career would take a left turn as he'd play his final years at Northern Secondary School instead of Pershing High in Detroit. There had been discussions (very brief discussions), sparked by Junior himself, of allowing Junior to live with Rollie so that he could continue at Pershing. The discussion was brief because Tillie wouldn't stand for it. "My son stays with me," she said firmly, which was fine with Fred, but much less so with Junior himself.
"You fellows will adjust," Fred told his sons. They all wore identical looks of disbelief and scorn.
The process of changing jobs had been a challenging one for Fred. Not only because it was a big change for him, but also because it was the first major decision he'd be undertaking without having his father around as a sounding board. Rufus knew virtually everyone in baseball, including the owner of the Wolves, Bernie Millard. Fred dearly wished he could have had Rufus' thoughts on the man who'd now be signing his checks. Powell Thompson was a pain in the neck, but he was a pain in the neck Fred knew how to deal with. As scouting director, he worked mostly for the GM in Detroit, with whom he enjoyed a good relationship. Rumor was that Millard was not above going around the GM to let the manager know what he felt, good, bad, or indifferent. That would be an unwelcome change for Fred.
His brother Dan had given Fred his impressions of Millard. Dan, after Rufus, was probably the member of the family most familiar with the overall landscape of FABL due to his role as the head of the OSA. Dan had said that Millard was "hard-headed, quick to anger, demanding, and a bit of a condescending prig. But you can handle him." When pressed on how, exactly, he might 'handle' the mercurial Millard, Dan had slapped Fred on the shoulder, grinned, and said, "You'll figure it out."
"Hey, look at the bright side," Fred told his sons.
"What bright side?" Benny asked, morosely.
"Well, we had Uncle Rollie and his family in Detroit," Fred said, continuing, "and here in Toronto, we'll have Uncle Jack and his family."
"Sure..." Junior pointed out. "Except that both Uncle Rollie and Uncle Jack only have daughters..."
"And they're all older than us too," Benny added.
"Well, Aggie is married to Quinton Pollack, that's great, isn't it Hobie?" Fred asked his youngest son, who had become a bit of a hockey fan.
"Sure, if I was a Dukes fan. I'm a Motors fan, Dad!" Hobie replied, the exasperated tone in his voice a near-perfect imitation of his mother.
Fred shook his head. "Well, we're living here now, so you're just going to have to get used to it," he said.
Tillie glared at each boy in turn. It worked only on Hobie. Junior and Ben were now old enough that they didn't quail in fear of Tillie. Fred was still a different matter, and he punctuated his wife's look by firmly saying, "No more complaining, or else."
The press conference announcing him as manager had gone well. Millard, who had by all accounts desperately wanted to hire Fred, had been friendly, warm, and enthusiastic, making Fred wonder if Dan had been pulling his leg.
That had lasted until after the press had left the room. Then Millard turned to Fred and said, "That went well."
Fred nodded pleasantly. Millard continued, "It's your job to make sure that the ballclub goes well. I want a winner, Barrell, and that's why I wanted you. Everyone says you Barrells have the magic touch. Your brother Jack won the Challenge Cup for Welcombe, I expect you to win the World Championship for me."
Fred was taken aback, and it showed.
Millard's glare faded, and he said, "Look, Fred. I expect results, and I don't beat around the bush. You're here to win. If you don't, you won't be here very long. I want to make that clear, and I know my delivery isn't particularly friendly, but I'm not your friend, I'm your boss." Then he patted Fred on the shoulder, spun on his heel, and stalked off.
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Fred Barrell at the 1949 Press Conference announcing him as Toronto Wolves manager
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