February 10, 1948: Detroit, MI:
"Well, well, well, the prodigal husband returns," Tillie exclaimed as Fred Barrell walked into their home, clutching his battered suitcase.
"Tillie, darling, I missed you," Fred said wearily. He felt as though he'd been put through the wringer not once, but twice.
"How was your trip?" his wife inquired as he hung his hat and shrugged out of his heavy coat.
Fred let out a short, humorless laugh and responded, "I think I enjoyed my boat ride across the channel in '44 more."
"That bad, huh?" Tillie asked, her tone carrying an edge that made Fred uneasy. He glanced at her and saw her frowning.
"Okay, what happened?" he asked, a mix of resignation, apprehension, and sheer exhaustion in his voice.
"Your sons…" Tillie began, but Fred interrupted, asking, "All of them?"
Tillie had her hands on her hips as she nodded. "Yes, all of them."
"What did they do?"
Tillie proceeded to list the offenses of their three sons, each of whom managed to drive their mother to the brink of madness whenever Fred wasn't around. Fred himself wasn't much of a disciplinarian, but his sons saw him as unbreakable, strong, and unwavering. They listened and respected him. Tillie, however, had a hard time reining them in.
Their oldest, Freddy, was now 15 and a high school freshman. "Junior's grades," Tillie hissed, "are terrible. That boy isn't dumb, but he sure acts like it." She handed Fred a report card, and after a quick glance, he could confirm that the grades were indeed terrible. "I'll talk to him and remind him that school is important," Fred promised. And he would - Junior was definitely not stupid, but like his cousin Charlie (even though both were unaware of this common trait) he had himself pegged as a soon-to-be pro athlete, and exerted no effort when it came to schoolwork.
"Benny got into another fight," Tillie informed him next. Ben at 10 years old, was too young for Junior to want anything to do with him and too old to want anything to do with his younger brother. And he had a lot of Reid in him: a short-temper and was quick to go to his fists to settle disagreements. Much like Fred's brother Joe had been.
Fred raised an eyebrow at his wife, awaiting details. With a sigh, Tillie explained, "Benny was walking Hobie to school, and they came across a bigger boy who was… I don't know, trying to steal some kid's lunch money or something. The details are fuzzy, and Ben won't talk about it - most of this is from Hobie."
Fred nodded. Hobie, their youngest at six years old, was certainly a handful. Tillie continued, "Ben walked up to this kid, who apparently is 13 years old, and punched him in the nose."
Fred shrugged and said, "Well, if this other kid was acting like a bully, I'd say he got what he deserved."
Tillie shook her head and admitted, "I'd agree, except that he's now suspended from school because this happened on school grounds and the boy he punched? His father's a cop."
Fred rolled his eyes and said, "Great." He made a mental note to find out who this cop was - maybe a couple of tickets to Opening Day would soften him up.
He took a deep breath and then asked, "And what did Hobie get into?"
Tillie chuckled and replied, "He decided to paint his bike."
"Paint his bike?" Fred questioned, pointing out, "It's February, and we live in Detroit. The streets and sidewalks are covered in snow or ice."
Tillie agreed with a nod. "Exactly. That's why our industrious Hobart thought it would be the perfect time for bicycle maintenance."
Fred shook his head. Hobart was named after Tillie's maiden name, and he lived up to it. He was flighty and carefree, traits he clearly inherited from his mother.
"So, how did that turn out?" Fred asked hesitantly.
"About how you'd expect when a six-year-old takes on the task," Tillie said with a sigh. "The garage is a mess, and there's red paint on the Lincoln's bumper."
Fred groaned, realizing he'd have to clean up the mess. He loved that car, and it hadn't come cheap.
Tillie fixed him with a look. "Clearly, you need to have a serious talk with them."
"I will, tomorrow. I'm tired," Fred replied.
"Me too," Tillie said, her tone softening. "Are you hungry?"
Fred realized he was, and he nodded. She smiled—cooking for him was something she loved. "Come to the kitchen, and you can tell me about Cuba."
They settled at the table. It was mid-afternoon, and their three boys were at school.
Fred recounted his time in Cuba. The Cuban Winter League had wrapped up the previous week and the Havana Sharks, who drew their players from Fred's employer the Detroit Dynamos as well as the Cincinnati Cannons (each of the Cuban league teams were affiliated with two clubs, one from the Federal and one from the Continental Associations).
"Jackie Harper looked good," Fred noted. Tillie bobbed her head - she still followed baseball, that was how they'd met and she knew that Harper, a minor league catcher, was someone Fred kept an eye on as a former receiver himself. "I gave him a few tips," Fred admitted. Tillie laughed and said, "Oh, I'd have expected nothing less."
Fred also mentioned Hub Bledsoe, an outfielder with good power. "He hit 10 homers which was tied for third in the league, but I don't think he'll hit for enough average to hack it in FABL," Fred explained as he ate his sandwich. "Cuba's one thing, the FABL is something else entirely," he added before taking another bite of his sandwich.
"This sandwich is great, Tillie," he said with a grin that punctuated his statement.
Tillie gave him a level look. "I have some news... unrelated to our hooligan sons, or at least, mostly," she said.
Confusion ran across Fred's face. "News? And that bit about the boys... what's going on?" he asked.
"Well, it appears that you accomplished something before you left for Cuba," Tillie said.
Fred frowned, and thought a moment. "I don't remember anything," he said.
Now she harrumphed and said, "Oh, you did something alright, Fred Barrell." She reached across the table and poked him in the chest. "I'm pregnant."
Fred almost choked on his sandwich. After quickly swallowing, he sputtered, "Pregnant!"
She crossed her arms, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. "Yes, three months along," she said. "I'm thrilled to see how excited you are."
Fred ran a hand across his face. "I'm surprised, that's all," he said honestly. "I didn't see this coming. I mean, I'm 42, and you're 39. I thought we were past the diaper stage."
Tillie smirked and quipped, "So did I. But, you know, we did have that memorable send-off before you left for Cuba."
Fred blushed, remembering that night. He grinned and said, "Guess that's what did it, huh?"
"Apparently," Tillie replied dryly.
As he chewed, Fred mulled over the news. "You know," he said, "maybe this time we'll have a girl."
Tillie laughed and said, "We can only hope."
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Fred and Tillie Barrell at home, 1948
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