Dick Allen passed Monday at age 78. He is arguably one of THE BEST baseball players to have never been inducted into the Hall of Fame. As a life-long Philadelphia Phillies fan growing up just outside of Philadelphia in the 60s, we knew him as Richie Allen. Turns out, he preferred to be addressed as Dick. This was one of the smallest of indignities that this enormously talented young man had to endure.
Mr. Allen was baseball’s best hitter over the first decade of his career, as Allen’s 165 OPS+ from 1964 to 1973 led the majors, better than all-time greats such as Hank Aaron, Harmon Killebrew, and Willie McCovey. OPS+ is an advanced metric that combines on-base percentage and slugging percentage and normalizes it across the major leagues by accounting for external factors like ballparks.
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From 1880 to 1990, 24 players registered a slugging percentage (total bases per at-bat) of .510 or better over at least 6,300 plate appearances. Allen is the only one not in the Hall of Fame.
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Mr. Allen was one of nine children and two of his brothers -- Hank and Ron -- also reached the major leagues. The Allens lived in Wampum, a small town 40 miles north of Pittsburgh where Mr. Allen said racial tension did not exist. He signed with the Phillies in 1960 and spent his final minor-league season in segregated Little Rock, Ark. Mr. Allen was the team’s only Black player.
Mr. Allen, in a video played at his number-retirement ceremony, said a police car pulled behind him in Little Rock while he tried to buy a soda from a machine. The officers, Mr. Allen said, pointed their guns at the 21-year-old.
“Hell, they were trying to kill me right here,” Mr. Allen said. “In America.”
He went back to his room, called his mom, and said he wanted to go home. His mother, Era, told him that God gave him his talent and he could not quit.
“Very few days went by when somebody didn’t let the air out of his tires, break the windows of his car. We were all young then and didn’t understand,” Lee Elia, Allen’s Little Rock teammate and former Phillies manager, said in 1983. “I never knew how Richie was reacting all the time, but I do remember he was scared. But it was interesting to see how much of a fan favorite he became when he got it going. I would say that introduced Richie to the hypocritical facts of life.”
Excerpts from a second article:
Allen was the Phillies’ first African American superstar. In 1964, he was voted the National League Rookie of the Year. Over the next seven years, he batted over .300 three times, averaging almost 30 homers and more than 90 RBI. But fans never forgave him for allegedly instigating the trade of Frank Thomas, a popular white veteran, in 1965. They booed Allen every night, often using the N-word, and threw pennies, bolts, or beer bottles at him. Off the field, they sent him hate mail and dumped garbage on his front lawn. Philadelphia’s sportswriters excoriated the beleaguered star as a rebel who manipulated race and expected special privileges. In fact, Richie was a sensitive individual who was hurt by the horrific treatment and internalized it.
No, Richie was not perfect. When his repeated requests for a trade were denied by ownership, he tried to force a deal by arriving late to games, making controversial remarks to the press, and scrawling letters in the dirt around first base to show his displeasure. But unlike Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and many other baseball immortals, Richie never lowered himself by shouting back at abusive fans, flipping profane gestures, or charging the stands.
My teachers at the small Quaker school I attended admired Allen’s example, referring to it as “speaking truth to power,” a nonviolent protest against racism. They compared his restraint and human dignity to that of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and taught us to honor their examples. As a result, I developed an early interest in African American history and the civil rights movement; subjects that continue to captivate me as a writer and historian.
When Allen retired from the game in 1977, he was a seven-time All-Star and the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 1972 when he played for the White Sox. During a 15-year career, he batted .292 and hit 351 home runs and 1,119 RBI. In addition, Allen’s impressive slugging and on-base statistics rank him as arguably the best offensive player in the majors between 1964 and 1974.
^^^ Dick Allen was, hands down, one of the best hitters of his time. He suffered from being an African-American in a complacently white-dominated world. That he died before being inducted into the Hall of Fame is an ugly sin. But none of the many indignities he suffered can touch him now. He's gone, and with his passing, a piece of my youth has died with him.
I vividly remember him launching a homer deep and high into the black night up over the lights and out of the ancient Connie Mack stadium. For all I know, it never came back to earth.
I salute you, Mr. Allen! I wish I'd better known and understood all that you had to endure. You deserved better . . . much, much better. But you've crossed the ethereal plate and the cosmic ump has made the call: SAFE! You're home now. At long last, you're safe.
Mr. Allen was baseball’s best hitter over the first decade of his career, as Allen’s 165 OPS+ from 1964 to 1973 led the majors, better than all-time greats such as Hank Aaron, Harmon Killebrew, and Willie McCovey. OPS+ is an advanced metric that combines on-base percentage and slugging percentage and normalizes it across the major leagues by accounting for external factors like ballparks.
[...]
From 1880 to 1990, 24 players registered a slugging percentage (total bases per at-bat) of .510 or better over at least 6,300 plate appearances. Allen is the only one not in the Hall of Fame.
[...]
Mr. Allen was one of nine children and two of his brothers -- Hank and Ron -- also reached the major leagues. The Allens lived in Wampum, a small town 40 miles north of Pittsburgh where Mr. Allen said racial tension did not exist. He signed with the Phillies in 1960 and spent his final minor-league season in segregated Little Rock, Ark. Mr. Allen was the team’s only Black player.
Mr. Allen, in a video played at his number-retirement ceremony, said a police car pulled behind him in Little Rock while he tried to buy a soda from a machine. The officers, Mr. Allen said, pointed their guns at the 21-year-old.
“Hell, they were trying to kill me right here,” Mr. Allen said. “In America.”
He went back to his room, called his mom, and said he wanted to go home. His mother, Era, told him that God gave him his talent and he could not quit.
“Very few days went by when somebody didn’t let the air out of his tires, break the windows of his car. We were all young then and didn’t understand,” Lee Elia, Allen’s Little Rock teammate and former Phillies manager, said in 1983. “I never knew how Richie was reacting all the time, but I do remember he was scared. But it was interesting to see how much of a fan favorite he became when he got it going. I would say that introduced Richie to the hypocritical facts of life.”
Excerpts from a second article:
Allen was the Phillies’ first African American superstar. In 1964, he was voted the National League Rookie of the Year. Over the next seven years, he batted over .300 three times, averaging almost 30 homers and more than 90 RBI. But fans never forgave him for allegedly instigating the trade of Frank Thomas, a popular white veteran, in 1965. They booed Allen every night, often using the N-word, and threw pennies, bolts, or beer bottles at him. Off the field, they sent him hate mail and dumped garbage on his front lawn. Philadelphia’s sportswriters excoriated the beleaguered star as a rebel who manipulated race and expected special privileges. In fact, Richie was a sensitive individual who was hurt by the horrific treatment and internalized it.
No, Richie was not perfect. When his repeated requests for a trade were denied by ownership, he tried to force a deal by arriving late to games, making controversial remarks to the press, and scrawling letters in the dirt around first base to show his displeasure. But unlike Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and many other baseball immortals, Richie never lowered himself by shouting back at abusive fans, flipping profane gestures, or charging the stands.
My teachers at the small Quaker school I attended admired Allen’s example, referring to it as “speaking truth to power,” a nonviolent protest against racism. They compared his restraint and human dignity to that of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and taught us to honor their examples. As a result, I developed an early interest in African American history and the civil rights movement; subjects that continue to captivate me as a writer and historian.
When Allen retired from the game in 1977, he was a seven-time All-Star and the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 1972 when he played for the White Sox. During a 15-year career, he batted .292 and hit 351 home runs and 1,119 RBI. In addition, Allen’s impressive slugging and on-base statistics rank him as arguably the best offensive player in the majors between 1964 and 1974.
^^^ Dick Allen was, hands down, one of the best hitters of his time. He suffered from being an African-American in a complacently white-dominated world. That he died before being inducted into the Hall of Fame is an ugly sin. But none of the many indignities he suffered can touch him now. He's gone, and with his passing, a piece of my youth has died with him.
I vividly remember him launching a homer deep and high into the black night up over the lights and out of the ancient Connie Mack stadium. For all I know, it never came back to earth.
I salute you, Mr. Allen! I wish I'd better known and understood all that you had to endure. You deserved better . . . much, much better. But you've crossed the ethereal plate and the cosmic ump has made the call: SAFE! You're home now. At long last, you're safe.
