December 29, 1951: Washington, DC:
The phone rang loudly in the Barrell household, cutting through the quiet of the afternoon. Mike and Steve, the 18- and 15-year-old sons of Dan and Gladys Barrell, exchanged glances from their spots in the family living room. Mike, sprawled on the couch with a comic book, raised an eyebrow, while Steve, tinkering with the camera he'd received for Christmas, shrugged.
Gladys walked into the room, her expression a mix of irritation and amusement. She glared at her sons before picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she answered, her tone carrying clear exasperation.
"Mrs. Barrell, is your husband home?" a male voice asked on the other end.
"Who may I say is calling?" Gladys asked, her irritation giving way to curiosity. Dan rarely received calls at home.
"This is Bill Whitney, Mrs. Barrell. It's FABL business," the man replied.
Gladys’ eyes widened slightly. Bill Whitney was the owner of the Chicago Chiefs, one of Dan's strongest allies among what he often called "that bickering nest of vipers," also known as the FABL club owners.
"One moment, Mr. Whitney. Dan is walking the dog. I'll see if he's on his way back."
Covering the receiver with her hand, she shot a look at Steve. "Go outside and see if your father is nearby. He should probably take this call," she said.
Steve opened his mouth, ready to ask why Mike couldn't do it, but thought better of it when he caught the look in his mother's eye. "Okay," he muttered, pulling on his coat from the rack by the door and stepping out into the cold winter morning.
A minute later, Steve returned, with Dan in tow and the family dog shaking off snow onto the small rug inside the door. Normally, Gladys would have chided Dan for not brushing off the dog outside, but this time she held her tongue. Instead, she handed him the phone, her voice calm but firm. "Bill Whitney for you."
Dan frowned slightly as he took the receiver. "Bill? Happy holidays, how are you?"
He listened for a moment, and his frown deepened into a look of anger. Gladys, standing close by, felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach.
"When?" Dan barked into the phone, his voice rising.
He listened again, his face darkening further. "And they don't want me there? I won't even have a chance to speak for myself?"
Gladys could feel the tension radiating from him as he gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white. Even the boys exchanged uneasy glances as they watched their father, usually so composed, struggle to keep his anger in check.
"Okay, Bill. Thanks for letting me know," Dan said through clenched teeth before hanging up the phone with a controlled, yet forceful motion.
Turning to Gladys, he took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain his composure. "Let’s hear it," she said, her voice resigned.
"There’s been an owners' meeting called. They want to oust me as FABL President," Dan said, his face flushing with anger again.
"Why? I thought things were going well," Gladys replied, her surprise evident.
"Oh, they are. Financially, the game is thriving. We don’t have any major on- or off-field issues."
"Then why are they trying to fire you?" she asked, noting the way Dan winced at the word "fire."
Dan glanced at Mike, who, like Steve, looked thoroughly confused. There was a tinge of sadness in Dan's voice as he answered. "They say I have a conflict of interest. Actually, several."
Now it was Gladys’ turn to get angry. "What conflicts of interest?"
"Well, there's the fact that two of my brothers are managers and two others are players, as are two of my nephews."
"But that's nothing new. Why is it suddenly a problem?"
Dan sighed. "It isn’t just that. There are two new developments. First, Rollie wants to buy the Dynamos from the Thompson family."
Gladys looked surprised. "When did he decide that?"
"He mentioned it to me last month, said he was thinking about getting into baseball, but didn’t give any details. Rollie’s always looking for ways to expand his business interests."
Gladys shook her head in disbelief. "He probably should have told you it was more than just a passing thought."
Dan nodded. "I agree, but frankly, I'm surprised Junior—Powell Thompson Jr., I mean—would even consider selling. And Rollie told me he’d probably have to sell the basketball team to free up the cash to buy the Dynamos." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But that’s not the only issue Bill Whitney mentioned."
Gladys' brow furrowed. "What else?"
Dan hesitated, looking sheepish. "I talked to Max Morris about Mike."
Mike’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in shock. Gladys, however, instantly grasped the implications and her anger flared.
"What exactly did you talk to him about?" she demanded.
"Getting Mike an appointment to Rome State," Dan said, trying to keep his tone calm.
"And you did that without asking me?" Gladys snapped.
"Mike wants to explore a military career, and he’s 18 now. I didn’t see the harm in talking to Morris about it."
"I thought you hated him," Gladys said, her voice still sharp.
"That was a long time ago," Dan pointed out, his tone softening. He recalled the years of tension with Morris, who had then been a skirt-chasing superstar outfielder who'd set his lusftful gaze on Claudia, who at the time had just been widowed following Dan's brother Jimmy’s death. Dan had a serious crush on Claudia himself and had taken an instant dislike to the wolfish Morris. "He was a blowhard then, and he’s a blowhard now. But he’s a blowhard with influence, and he knows my family."
"What did he say?" Gladys asked, her anger still simmering.
"He said he’d think about it, that he had several good candidates in his own district, so he could make no promises. The only reason I asked is because we live in DC and don’t have our own Representative. I probably should have asked someone else. Lord knows I know plenty of members of both the House and Senate now."
Gladys turned her gaze to Mike. "And you… Did you know about this?"
Mike shook his head vehemently. "Dad didn’t tell me he talked to Morris, I swear. But he’s right—I do want to go to Rome State and become an Army officer."
Dan’s voice was flat as he added, "Morris stabbed me in the back. He went straight to Bernie Millard. That old s.o.b. has been gunning for me since day one. Now he has the ammunition he needs."
Gladys rubbed her temples, trying to process everything. "When is this meeting?"
"Next week, right after New Year’s," Dan replied. "It’s a full owners’ meeting, and I’m not permitted to attend. It was supposed to be a secret, but most of the owners figured Bill would tip me off."
"And there’s nothing you can do?" Gladys asked, her tone blunt.
"Unfortunately, no," Dan admitted. "We just have to hope the vote fails, although…" Dan trailed off, his voice heavy with uncertainty.
"Although what?" Gladys pressed.
Dan sighed deeply. "Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if the vote passed. I’m not sure I’m cut out to deal with those…"
"Vipers?" Steve offered quietly.
Dan let out a forced laugh. "Exactly."
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US Congressional Photo of Max Morris, 1952
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