February 27, 1950: Toronto, ON:
Fred Barrell was forced to admit: he had been bored of late. Taking the managerial role with the Toronto Wolves left him with an offseason that was a lot less demanding than it had been when he'd been the Scouting Director for the Detroit Dynamos. Sure, he could go to the Cuban Winter League for a bit. But he couldn't - or shouldn't - spend the entire two-month winter season there; for one thing, the club's scouting director would feel he was being slighted at best and begin fearing for his job at worst. And before that... well, there wasn't a lot of what you'd call "downtime" in the wartime OSS. Slinking about occupied France or the heart of the Third Reich had certainly kept him on his toes, even when he was simply observing.
Now... well, it was nearly the end of February. The CWL was done for the year, the January phase of the amateur draft was in the rearview, and things had been too quiet. Spring training was on the cusp, and he was greatly looking forward to that. The rhythms of spring, "boil out" as they'd called it when he was a young player, were as familiar to him as the contours of his own face when he looked in the mirror.
So while Fred pondered what to pack for leisure time in Florida - he'd heard Fred McCormick was renting a boat for some deep-sea fishing - he was surprised when the phone rang and Tillie informed him that it was for him.
"Who is it?" he asked in a low voice as he went downstairs, where Tillie was holding the receiver, her hand over the mouthpiece.
She was smirking, or so he thought until she said, "It's Millard's secretary," providing the proof that Tillie wasn't smirking; she was frowning.
Fred took the phone and said, "Hello."
"Good morning, Mr. Barrell. Please hold for Mr. Millard," he heard. He thought about Millard's secretary: a no-nonsense older woman. He realized he'd never seen her smile and sadly wondered if she was unhappy. Certainly, Millard could be a demanding boss.
"Barrell? I need you to come down to the office," Millard said without preamble.
Fred was taken aback and took a brief moment to gather his thoughts, which were really questions. "Certainly, Mr. Millard, I can be there in an hour."
"Good, see that you are. I have something I need you to take care of for me," Millard said mysteriously, adding, "See you in an hour," and then hanging up.
Fred held the receiver away and gave it a skeptical look.
"What was that about?" Tillie asked.
"No idea," Fred said, as he hung up the phone. "Millard wants me to come in."
"Maybe he's firing you," Tillie said in a deadpan voice.
Fred raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said.
His wife shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past that man. He was obviously against Dan becoming FABL President. Maybe he'll take it out on you," she said.
Fred shook his head. He wouldn't... would he?
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Two minutes short of one hour later, Fred walked into the downtown offices of the Toronto Wolves Baseball Club and headed straight for Millard's office.
"Right on time, Mr. Barrell," said the secretary. Looking at her solemn expression, Fred briefly wished he had Harry's wit. If anyone could get this woman to smile, it would be Harry.
"Barrell! Get in here," Millard boomed from the inner office.
"Show time," Fred said and walked toward the door. He thought that perhaps the corner of the secretary's mouth had quirked. That hadn't been particularly funny at all, but perhaps she wasn't made of stone.
A moment later Fred had taken a seat across from Bernie Millard. The owner wore his perpetual scowl and seemed to give Fred the once-over.
"You look pale, Barrell," he said. "Ready for some Florida sunshine?"
Fred nodded. "Absolutely. It will be nice to get back to work, Mr. Millard."
"Yes..." Millard said, sounding unconvinced, or perhaps just resentful that Fred had any downtime at all.
"So, if you don't mind my asking... why'd you need to see me?" Fred asked, figuring the direct approach was always best with Millard.
"I'm making some changes," Millard said, and Fred wondered if Tillie had been right after all. He blanched. Noticing this, Millard chuckled - yes, chuckled - and said, "Don't worry, Barrell, I'm not firing you."
"That's a relief to hear, sir," Fred said and attempted to smile while hoping it wasn't a grimace.
"No... no firings. I'm changing the team's logo and uniforms and wanted you to be the first to see them," the owner said and he actually smiled.
"A new logo?" Fred asked, genuinely stunned. He would never have fingered Millard for someone who cared about such things. Marketing wasn't exactly a cornerstone of the mining business.
"Sure. Our current logo... too plain. And I don't like blue."
"Blue?" Fred asked. His mind was spinning - Millard had brought him down here for this?
"Yes, I like red. And black. I like black," Millard said. "Coal's black, you know?"
Fred nodded and said, "Yes, I'm aware, sir."
Millard pushed a portfolio across the desk towards Fred. "Here, look at this," he said.
Fred narrowed his eyes, just a bit. Millard seemed really... eager? He seemed to be wanting Fred's approval of whatever was in the portfolio.
Fred picked up the package and opened it.
He was relieved; it was different, but not bad.
"Who did this?" he asked.
"I found an artist, back in Pittsburgh. He whipped that up in a couple of days," Millard said. He leaned forward and asked, "What do you think?"
Fred examined it. It was circular, but that was about all it shared with the old blue-and-white logo. It was a red double-circle on a black background with the word Toronto arching across the top and Wolves on the bottom. In the center was a rendering of a wolf that could have been pulled out of a horror comic. It looked mean, despite there being a red ballcap perched on its head; the cap was emblazoned with a white 'T' in the center.
"This is our new ballcap?" Fred asked.
Millard frowned. "That's what you focus on? The cap?" he asked.
"Yes, well, if that's what will be perched on my noggin' all season long..." Fred trailed off as he caught Millard's expression. "I like the Wolf... he looks like a man-eater."
Millard beamed. "Exactly. That's what I'm going for. We need to be killers on the field, Barrell. And I wanted a logo to reflect that. We're not howling at the moon any longer. Now we're out for blood."
Fred stared at the owner for a moment, wondering if he was serious with this stuff. They were ballplayers, for crying out loud.
"Uh, yes, sir," he managed to say. He wondered what the players would think of all this. He knew Millard would be there in Florida, making a little speech, which was apparently a tradition for him.
At least the uniform renderings didn't include anything radical. The color scheme had changed, but that was the main difference. Red replacing blue. No black except for the team name on the front of the shirt. 'Wolves' at home and 'Toronto' on the away jersey.
Fred gave a small sigh, trying to keep his dismay hidden. Millard was going off his rocker with this stuff. The logo wasn't bad, but this "killer" stuff.... It was going to be a long season.
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Toronto Wolves Logo, 1950
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