There are two ways to get voted in the Baseball Hall of Fame either by the BBWAA (around 400 writers) or if you miss out after ten years via the Veterans Committee composed of 16 relevant ex-players. Either way you’ll need 75% to get in. It’s an insanely high bar, just consider the fact that around 21,000 men have played in MLB and only 276 are in the MLB hall of fame.
This year the Veterans Committee voted in two players, Richie “Dick” Allen and Dave “the Cobra” Parker. The players had a lot in common, both were black, both were Superstars and both were shrouded in different types of controversy. Some would say their stats weren’t good enough and I say phooey.
Both players had the salt, a combined 13 All Star appearances, 2 MVPs (one each), 3 Gold Gloves (Parker), one ring (Parker) and a Rookie of the Year (Allen). For the record Dave Parker is 78 years old and currently battling Parkinsons disease. Congrats Cobra! The focus of this article however is the Wampum Walloper (see below)
RICHIE ALLEN- played from 1963-1977, deceased in 2020
At first glance, his statistics were very good, not great. The biggest gap he had was in games played, in only six of those seasons did he play 140 or more games and commonly missed 50 games or more. Injuries took a toll, starting in the minor leagues: a broken face from a pitch and a spiked hand. The major leagues were even worse: a frozen shoulder, elbow, hamstring, two and a bad back. In addition, somewhere along the line he put a hand through a car headlight. For that and more read his well-written autobiography, Crash-the Life and Times of Dick Allen.
Being in the right place at the right time is a factor in life and never more so than in pro sports. For Allen, who born in Pennsylvania and went to high school in Philly, the Phillies seemed to be a a solid fit. NOT.
Consider the fact that the Phillies were the last team in the National League to integrate in 1957. Less than three years later, he became the first African American to get a Philadelphia Phillies signing bonus ($70,000). Days later in Little Rock, Arkansas he got death threats. He was only 18 years old. Three years after tearing up the minors (and making a ghastly 103 errors in the process) he was promoted and went on a subsequent three-year tear in the big leagues that read surefire hall of fame talent.
As far as Philly being, maybe not, the right place; look no further than the brawl he had with a cracker teammate Frank Thomas. Apparently, in 1965 after some racial and dehumanizing comments by Thomas, Allen barked back. A brawl ensued- Thomas had a bat and Allen used his fists. Some say that Allen’s shoulder was never the same. Either way the Phillies had a public relations nightmare on their hands. Even though Frank Thomas was an over- the- hill player by then he was popular with the fans, particularly the white ones, and even had a strangely true nickname, the Big Donkey. Richie Allen was only 23 at the time and was “asked” by management not to report the incident to the press and that Thomas was history. He did what he was told but there had to be psychological scars.
Five years later Allen left Philly but still had game and took his heavy 40-ounce ash bat on a HIRED GUN tour of North America to St. Louis, then to Los Angeles, then to Chicago where he won an MVP at 30 years old, then back to Philly again and finally to Oakland. Unfortunately for him, in fourteen seasons he appeared in a post season only once and never played on the biggest stage, the World Series. Every sport has mythological talents, Richie Allen is just one of the forgotten.
I’ll never get tired of reading stories about him. Below are just a couple.
Richie Allen’s take on his name- don’t call me Richie, that’s a boy’s name, from now on I’m Dick. Duly Noted.
His take on Astroturf- If a horse won’t eat it, I don’t want to play on it. He owned horses and often said he wished he was a jockey. This was an anti-establishment guy frequently described as aloof.
I have two personal memories of Richie Allen, the first one I saw in person at Shea Stadium. After batting practice was over, he stayed at the plate, lobbed a ball up and tried to hit it out of the stadium. Not over the fence. Not into the upper decks. Over the roof. It sounded like a cannon going off. For the record the best he could manage was the third deck. The other time was while watching a Mets game on a black and white screen. The game was at Connie Mack Stadium in Philly, and he was playing first base and drew with his cleats C O K E. The announcers were mystified but we all got the answer when Allen batted that inning. On the first pitch he blasts a ball to deep left centerfield, gone, goodbye, and directly over the C O K E sign! No lie. Years later, the haters would say it was a reference to the demon known as cocaine that was supposedly prevalent in MLB at that time. Years later, when asked about it he denied it in true Richie Allen style by saying I don’t do blow, alcohol is my thing.
The saddest part is that this summer on July 17th Richie Allen from Wampum, Pennsylvania will not be under the sun at Cooperstown basking in his glory to receive his penultimate accolade. In his honor- I may make the trek.
I happened to visit the Hall two summers ago and noticed that the Great Hall with the plaques was getting a bit crowded. This year, for the first time, future plaques will be displayed, not at the rotunda at the Hall but down the road at the Clark Sports Center. Altogether an ironic spot for an opinionated, complex, great ballplayer who by his own admission marched to the beat of a different drummer
Better late than never,
