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Old 05-15-2015, 11:46 AM   #1
reds1
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United Leagues of Braeland

Quote:
A Royal Commission
February 1936

Dr. Westfall had just removed his reading glasses and turned off his bedside lamp when the phone rang. Such an occurrence was not uncommon in the Westfall household. As a doctor on call, he was used to being rung up at all hours when not on duty at the King Edgar Hospital in Braeland City. The day had been exceedingly strenuous, however, and the soft, warm bed was inviting. But the phone was unmoved. So was Mrs. Westfall, who continued to lie under the covers beside him.

“You better get that dear”, she called out in a quiet, resigned voice. “It’s probably for you anyway.”

Westfall made his way to the hallway and slowly picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Is this Dr. David Westfall?”, asked the voice on the other end.

The doctor wiped the drowsiness from his eyes. “Yes, this is he.”

“Sorry to bother you at such a late hour, David, but this is Alexander Louden.”

The hearing of that name jolted the doctor from his weariness. Indeed, Westfall immediately recognized that this was no ordinary phone call, for he was speaking to non-other than King William’s own Private Secretary. They knew each other well, from the days when Westfall served in the government-in-exile.

“Alex, this is a surprise. How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m fine thanks. But I’m calling you about business. Judging by the late hour, you can probably surmise why.”

A gentle smile crossed Westfall’s face. He was well aware of the young King’s impetuous nature and no doubt the call was in response to one of the King’s spontaneous whims.

“I assume the King asked you to ring me up at once?”

“Indeed. His Majesty is requesting a meeting with you tomorrow morning at 0900 hours sharp at the Royal Residence.”

Westfall was taken aback. “Am I in trouble?”, he asked, after a slight pause.

Louden laughed.

“Well, I guess that will be for you to decide. But no, you’re not in any trouble. The King wants to speak to you. We will send a motorcar and chauffeur around to pick you up at 0830 hours and drive you back following the meeting. Can I give His Majesty the news that you be in attendance in the morning?”

Westfall quickly looked through his day schedule. “Well, I will have to have someone cover for me at the residency, at least in the morning.”

“I’ve already taken care of that for you, David. You’re free until noon.”

Westfall was not surprised.

“Oh my, what service,” Westfall responded drolly. “And are you at liberty to tell me what the meeting is about?”

“Not over the phone, no. But all will be revealed soon enough. Thanks David. We’ll see you in the morning.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Pierce-Arrow sedan dropped off its passenger just before 0900 hours at the front entrance to the King’s Palace. Waiting at the top of the steps was Alexander Louden who extended a hearty handshake to his old friend.

“Good to see you again, David. I trust you slept well?”, Louden asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Hey, after being rung up like that, who wouldn’t”, Westfall replied in jest.

The two men bounded up the steps and through the Grand Entrance to the Private Staircase. To Westfall, it seemed like old times, running through the old stately halls, and keeping up with the athletic Secretary when the Royal Government functioned out of New York City. Despite the crisis of the times, Westfall had fond memories as he organized the Resistance from oversees, having received his appointment from William’s father, King Henry, in the midst of the Civil War.

As they made their way to the King’s personal offices, Westfall noted the official family portraits that hung along the imposing Marble Hall, recognizing them from when they were on display back in New York.

“I see the portraits made it home safe and sound”, observed Westfall in a hushed voice.

“Yes - heaven forbid if we should have lost them at sea”, Louden replied facetiously. “Ah, here we are. Just down to the end of this corridor and we’ll be there.”

Walking briskly along the Kings Corridor, Westfall noted that the portraits lining the walls had changed. They were not of family or even Prime Ministers. In the dim light, they appeared to be athletes wearing uniforms with American cities written across their chests. Suddenly, the doctor realized who they were.

“Say, aren’t those –“

“Yes, they are,” Louden replied, not allowing Westfall to finish his sentence. “After you, David. Ah, Nora has kindly brought us some tea. Thank you, Nora.”

The maid curtseyed and deposited the tea tray on the round oak table that stood before an immense desk; one that Westfall immediately deduced was the King’s.

Westfall moved towards the couch when Louden interceded.

“No please, sit here, David.” Louden motioned to a luxurious high back wing chair adjacent to the table.

“Are you sure?”

“I insist. Please.”


Westfall sat back in the wing chair that seemed to envelope him. Louden handed him his tea cup as Nora readied the tea. As Nora poured his tea, a mighty crash from just outside the room startled the residents, causing the tea to spill upon Westfall’s lap.

“Oh, sorry, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed a distraught Nora. “Please forgive me!”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. It’s only a few drops,” assured the doctor. Nora handed him her towel while Louden looked on with a wide grin on his face.

“Oh, he’s at it again! I’ll come back with a fresh pot. I’m so sorry!”

Just then the rear door to the office from where the source of the large crash had originated flew open. A young man wearing peculiar clothing emerged, still dealing with the fallout from the accident.

“Blasted mirror, wasn’t doing anything, anyway. Ah, Nora – could you take care of this, um, matter for me – please?”

The young man belatedly hid the bat that incriminated him behind his back and smiled sheepishly. Nora, who obviously still intimidated the young King, composed herself.

“Yes, your Majesty.” Nora curtseyed but then stormed off through the doorway leaving the King to quietly close it himself.

“I’ve got to stop doing that”, the King whispered to his audience. Placing the bat on his desk, the King rubbed his hands together as he approached his guests.

“Good morning, Alex. You brought along our esteemed company, I see.”

Westfall, having risen upon the King’s entrance, bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Good morning, Doctor. Thank you for coming. It’s good to see you again. It’s been – what, almost three years since we last met? I was just a rambunctious teenager then. Oh, by all means, please sit down.”

Westfall returned to his seat in the wingback chair, while the King instead hopped onto the oak table directly in front of Westfall, allowing his legs to dangle off the floor.

Westfall observed as the King removed his cheese-cutter and ran his fingers through his blond hair. Allowed a closer look, Westfall noted what struck him as peculiar about the King’s attire. While wearing the traditional silk tie and sweater, along with a pair of plus fours, it was his hosiery that stood out. Instead of regular socks, he was wearing stirrups with white sanitaries.

The King continued.

“David – May I call you David – David, once again, your country needs you.”

Westfall was taken aback. “Needs me? Well, I’ll do whatever I can, sire, to be of any service.”

“I’m glad to hear that. As you may have heard, we are setting up an unprecedented enterprise nation-wide even as we speak. Are you familiar with the ‘United Leagues’?”

“Well, I have heard something of it, sire. Thanks to your leadership, baseball is taking the country by storm. But sire, I know scarcely anything about the sport; my skills are more suitable for a doctor. I don’t know what qualities I can offer.”


“On the contrary”, countered the King. “You have just the qualities needed to run this operation successfully. I realize you are too modest to admit this, David, but you are a national hero. No, no, you are. Everyone knows the bravery and leadership you displayed during the dark years of the Civil War. Your organizational skills are impeccable. Your sense of fairness and justice are well known. In fact, there is no one in Braeland that is more trusted and respected than you; and that is why I need you as my Royal Commissioner – Commissioner of the United Leagues of Braeland.”

“Commissioner, sire?”, replied Westfall. “You mean like the American judge?”

“Precisely!”, responded the King. “Just like Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis. See, you do know something of the game. And just like Judge Landis, you shall have the final say on all matters. The owners and players shall answer to you, and you will have the backing of the King. Thus the need of someone who commands as much respect as you do. Oh, and there is one more thing. Alex, hand him that piece of paper, would you?”

Louden retrieved the paper from his attaché case and handed it to Westfall. Written on the King’s official letterhead, Westfall recognized it as a contract. Looking towards the bottom of the page, Westfall noted an immense figure and realized it was his proposed salary. Westfall’s jaw dropped.

“This is a king’s ransom,” exclaimed a stunned Westfall.

“Does it get my man?”, asked the King with a wide smile on his face.

Westfall remained speechless.

“May I be frank with you, David?”, the King asked. “I know the dedication you have to your calling as a doctor, but, well, the fact is, you’re not getting any younger and the late hours are taking their toll. I can see the bags under your eyes. But let me assure you David that from now on, the only bags you’re going to see will be the ones on the baseball diamond.”

Westfall finally found his words. “Sire, if you really think I am suitable for this privilege, than I am your man.”

“Capital! Glad to hear it! Alex, do you have a pen for the good doctor? Just sign at the bottom of the contract David and it will be all set. The League offices – your offices – will be housed on the executive floor of the Residence. We have already made arrangements with the Hospital so that you can start next Monday. Oh, and one more thing; I will need you to sign this blank sheet of paper.”

“By all means, sire”, replied Westfall. “But what is this for, if I may ask?”

The King quickly retrieved the ball that had been implicated in the accident from the corridor, hopping over an exasperated Nora as she kneeled to clean up the broken glass. “Splendid, Nora!”

The King returned to his office and showed the ball to Westfall. “You see this blank space right here? That is where your name is going on all baseballs produced for the United Leagues. ‘Dr. David R. Westfall, Commissioner’.”

The overwhelmed Westfall signed the blank sheet of paper.

“Ah, excellent!”, the King exclaimed. “You have wonderful penmanship for a doctor! Alex, before he leaves, why don’t you show David around to his new offices. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

The two men rose and bowed as the King dismissed them.

As they were leaving, the men observed the King returning to his desk, but instead of sitting down, he picked up his bat again and began taking practice swings.

Westfall paused at the doorway and looked at Louden, with a face of excitement and disbelief. “Commissioner of the United Leagues!”

Louden nodded and reassured him: “Commissioner of the United Leagues.”

“I can scarcely believe it.”

“Well, it won’t be all it’ll be cracked up to be”, replied Louden.

“What do you mean?”, asked a puzzled Westfall.

Louden cupped his right hand around his mouth and whispered in Westfall’s ear. “From now on, whenever the King breaks a window or mirror with a baseball, it will have your name on it.”

Westfall looked at Louden and the two men shared a laugh.

Just like old times.
--------
Excerpt taken from the forthcoming book At The Wall: How Baseball Saved A Nation, by Paul Shirley, senior sports editor of the Brunswick Courier. Reprinted with permission.
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United Leagues of Braeland
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