[legendsport]

Toronto, ON: June 17, 1924:

Jack Barrell looked at his watch. Across from him, nursing a drink, John Connolly Jr. gave his friend a lopsided grin. "He likes to keep people waiting," Junior said, but the grin faded a bit as he spoke.

Junior's father, the mercurial and controversial Jack Connolly, was still in his room and apparently in no hurry. Jack knew he was in 412 - that was the room he always took. Though the elder Connolly and Bert Thomas had experienced a falling out, Connolly's money spoke well - he wanted 412 and Thomas was willing to give it to him for a slightly inflated charge.

Jack's discomfort was not solely due to Connolly's mind games. Being back in the Global Grand Hotel was strange. He still held a grudge against Thomas for pushing him out of his security job at the hotel, even if he could understand the rationale behind the move. Thomas owned the Toronto Dukes, Jack played for them, and Thomas expected hockey to be his lone priority. Jack Barrell was simply not wired that way - he sought the freedom to do the things that his athletic ability let him do - and playing pro football, as had been the case with baseball before it, fell into that category.

Junior swirled the whiskey in his glass. "Do you ever miss being able to do this," he asked as he lifted his glass, "when you're home in the States?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm not much of a drinker," he replied.

Junior shook his head. "I don't get Americans sometimes. You're a good guy, Jock, but your countrymen are a crazy bunch."

Jack laughed and said, "No arguments there, Junior. I like living in Canada, all things considered. But I'll always be an American," he finished and raised his glass in a mock toast.

"Which is why you're here," Junior retorted with a wink. "My father is going to push for you to join the USHA... again. Like you said, you're an American, you should come play in your own country."

Now it was Jack who shook his head. "We've been over this, Junior. I'm contracted to Bert Thomas. I don't like the thought of breaking my word."

Junior opened his mouth to reply, but was forestalled by the appearance of a frenzied-looking man who entered the hotel bar and began looking around. "What's going on here?" Junior asked, tipping his chin towards the man.

Jack spun in his chair. "That's Norb Hickey - he's on the Dukes," he began and then frowned and added, "and he replaced me as summer Security Chief here at the hotel."

Jack stood up and waved his hand. "Norb!" he called out, "What's going on?"

Hickey rushed over. "Hello, Jack," he said breathlessly. "Bert told me you were here. This must be Mr. Connolly?"

Jack wasn't surprised that Thomas was keeping an eye on him - he was talking to the competition in Bert's hotel after all. Still, it bothered him. "Yes, this is Mr. Connolly. Is Bert having you toss us out of here?"

Hickey was shaking his head before Jack had even finished.

"No, this isn't about you, Barrell." Hickey had a serious, even slightly sad, look on his face as he said this. Then he turned and looked at Junior. "It's about your father," he said.

Junior took a slug of whiskey. "Let me guess... Thomas is kicking him out?" he asked with the rasp of the whiskey still in his throat.

"No... it's...." Hickey was stammering.

Jack put his hand on his team mate's shoulder. "Norb? You alright?"

Hickey grabbed Jack's glass of whiskey and downed it in a gulp. He shuddered once, visibly steadied himself, then, still looking at Junior, said, "Your father's been shot. I'm sorry to tell you that he's dead."

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A week later Jack accompanied his friend to the USHA League Meetings, being held in Buffalo, New York. He had Marie and the girls along for the trip, but they stayed in the hotel room. It was all being paid for by the Connolly Mining Company. As a contracted player of the NAHC, Jack could be in trouble for being anywhere near the rival United States Hockey Association's League Meetings, let alone attending it.

But he was doing it because Junior Connolly had asked, as a friend. The past week had been a whirlwind. Junior's father had indeed been shot. It happened in his hotel room, room #412 at the Toronto Global Grand. The shooter was someone Jack actually knew: Miss Jane Clough. She'd been Jack Connolly's mistress for years - Jack had always found the redhead to be alluring, but frightening as well. He was thankful he had a solid, reliable and sane wife in Marie. Ms. Clough apparently had walked into the hotel room (she had a key), and found Jack in flagrante delicto with another woman. That neither woman was actually Mrs. Connolly was beside the point: Jane Clough was a jealous woman and one who also knew where Connolly kept his gun. So she had pulled the gun out of the drawer and fired four bullets into Connolly's back, two of which passed through his body and into the woman beneath him. Connolly was dead when hotel security arrived on the scene. The woman, a hotel maid named Alice Bertram was alive but gravely wounded, and Jane Clough was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the gun sitting on her lap, with her head in her hands, weeping.

Junior, bereaved though he may have been, was also a realist. He knew exactly the type of man his father had been and was determined to not be the same. But he was also ambitious, smart and determined. And he proved that to Jack and everyone else at the USHA League Meetings. He even kept a bit of his sense of humor; when Jack mentioned that word of his attendance could prove a problem in NAHC circles, Junior had suggested taking a page from Joe Barrell's book.

"What name did your brother use when he was playing football at Noble Jones?" Junior asked.

Jack smiled - he knew where this was going. "Buck Barnwell," he replied with a tone of bemused admiration.

Junior tapped his chin with an index finger. "So... what if you're.... Jock Barnwell? Moose Barnwell? Something like that..." he suggested.

Jack thought for a moment. "Let's go with Moose Barnwell. A moose is bigger than a buck, so I can lord it over Joe the next time I see him," he said with a grin.

So Junior Connolly and "Moose Barnwell" walked into the meetings, and their entry brought a hush over the room.

Junior gazed around the room openly. The dozen or so men in attendance looked at him in return. "No need to hold up the proceedings gentlemen," Junior said. "I'm here to represent the Buffalo club in lieu of my father."

One of the men stood, with an uncomfortable look on his face. "Uh, Junior, I'm here for Buffalo."

Junior whispered to Jack, "That's Tom Everett. He owns the arena and a small piece of the team."

He raised his voice and replied, "Thanks, Tom, but that won't be necessary."

Another man stood - this one Jack actually recognized as Tom Franklin, who owned the league's Philadelphia entry. "Junior, you don't hold legal title to the team. At least Everett here has a piece."

Junior held up the envelope in his hand. "This here is my father's will. In it he gives all his shares in the Buffalo Hockey Company to me as his sole beneficiary."

Franklin pointed out that the will had not yet been executed.

"True," Junior replied thoughtfully. Then his voice hardened a bit and he continued, "But we know it will be." He spread his hands in a conciliatory way and finished, "You gentlemen know me. I'm not my father and I'm not here to take over. I'm young, I know. But I will be the man running the Buffalo club, and I will remember what happens here today, good or ill."

Franklin frowned. "That sounds almost like a threat, Junior," he said, then nodded and held up a hand as Junior was about to reply. "But you are right. I know your father wanted you to have the team if anything happened to him. So I move that we recognize John Connolly Jr. as the representative for Buffalo with all rights and privileges thereby attached."

The motion carried.

Jack sat quietly for the rest of the meeting. Much of it bored him nearly to tears, but there were some interesting moments, such as when the group brought up the Yeadon brothers. The operators of the western hockey outfit were struggling in the three-way war for hockey primacy. Junior mentioned that his father had, prior to his death, been on the verge of an agreement with the Yeadons (both of whom, Jack himself knew all too well, simply despised Jack Connolly). That agreement would bring the brothers and their clubs into the USHA, relocating them to New York and Montreal, where they would go toe-to-toe with the NAHC clubs in those cities. This appealed to the rebellious natures of the three other owners, and the motion passed.

Jack was impressed - and convinced that Rollie needed Junior to be in on this basketball idea he and Jack Kristich were cooking up.

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