Once upon a time, the Chicago White Sox endured a dreadful season, losing more than 100 games, finishing an appalling 42 games out of first place in the division, and drawing less than 500,000 fans all season. From the doldrums, the team ascended from Baseball Hell and re-established the White Sox as a competitive team, leading to a winning season and a reinvigorated fanbase. Sound familiar?
The parallels between the 1972 Chicago White Sox and the current team are many. Still, unlike the roster-wide juggernaut currently working its way into the All-Star Break with a winning record and sole possession of first place, the former team was carried on the back of a single prodigious player.
I had the honor of being invited to a special screening of “My Father, Dick Allen,” a five-part documentary series that chronicles Allen’s life, career, and overdue posthumous induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. I wasn’t alive for Allen’s baseball career, so I called my dad, a lifelong White Sox fan, and asked what he remembered about him.
“Dick Allen was one of my favorite players!” he answered.
Naturally, I had Dad accompany me to the screening at The Chicago History Museum. After collecting our Cracker Jacks, we fangirled over resident South Side Queen Nancy Faust (as per usual) and sang along quietly to “Rosanna,” by Toto, a classic Nancy tune.
The night was emceed by five-time Emmy-winning broadcaster and living legend Kenny McReynolds, whose profound baseball wisdom was on display in real time. Also in attendance was Allen’s teammate (and seemingly his biggest fan besides McReynolds), Rich “Goose” Gossage. Ferguson Jenkins, who played with Dick in Little Rock for the Philadelphia Phillies’ minor league affiliate, The Travelers, was also on the post-screening panel. John Owens, who penned the book “Chili Dog MVP,” which tells the story of the 1972 White Sox and Allen’s impact on the team, and serves as the foundation for the documentary series, was also on the panel along with fellow writer David Fletcher.
The most special guest was Dick Allen Jr., also known as “Doobie,” a nickname affectionately given to him by his father. The story of his father and his life in baseball is told through his eyes, and shortly after the screening began, I learned that Dick Allen, the person, was even more important than Dick Allen, the player.
Yes, Dick Allen, the player, saved the White Sox in 1972, so he, too, is of great importance. His genuine nature, unwillingness to be anyone other than himself, and his pure strength of will are the stuff of legends, and that’s not even mentioning the man’s fabled forearms. As talented as Allen was, the real celebration lies in his lifetime of being himself through the trials and tribulations of a true baseball pioneer.
The screening covered two episodes of the docuseries: first, his early life and the beginning of his baseball career; then, a jump to episode five, covering Allen’s time on the South Side.
Dick and his family grew up in Wampum, Pennsylvania, and by high school, he and his five brothers were already making tracks in sports, both in baseball and basketball. Wampum was integrated, and Allen’s experience growing up hadn’t prepared him for the prejudice and intolerance he’d soon face in his career.
In 1963, Allen became the first African American player on the Philadelphia Phillies’ Triple-A affiliate, the Arkansas Travelers. Although Jackie Robinson paved the way for Black players two decades before Allen was signed, he was still subject to unjust treatment.
Imagine being as talented as Allen and playing unyieldingly with your team, but not being allowed to stay at the same hotel or eat at the same restaurants as your teammates. Through death threats, intimidation, harassment, heckling, and worse, Allen shone. He was voted the International League’s Most Valuable Player.
Allen’s first full season in the majors with the Philadelphia Phillies remains one of the most distinguished rookie seasons of all time for any player. He led the MLB in runs, triples, extra-base hits, and total bases, and also in errors, still being green at his new position as third baseman. Here was a man who could adapt to any spot they placed him — a truly elite athlete.
Despite his Rookie of the Year title, Allen still endured worsening adversity. During his time in Philadelphia, which spanned five seasons, he averaged 20 home runs and 90 RBIs per season. His impressive lines in Philly didn’t make his career a walk around the baseball diamond, however.
“When Dad began to speak out against the racism he experienced at the ballpark and in the city of Philadelphia, his situation became worse,” Allen Jr. wrote. “Our family was subjected to some pretty unfortunate things, too, like having trash thrown on our front lawn, or having to hear the nasty boos when we went to the ballpark to watch Dad play. Although he pleaded with the Phillies to trade him to another team, they refused because Dad was their best player. The longer he stayed with the Phillies, the more he spoke out against the racism he experienced.”
Allen had initially withstood verbal jeers and threats, but after speaking out about the racism he’d endured in Philadelphia, it grew worse instead of better. Phillies fans threw fruit, ice, trash, and even flashlight batteries at his head, but the physical abuse wasn’t enough to make him quit. He simply wore his batting helmet when taking his eventual position in left field, like an absolute boss, and challenged the racist abuse with an even louder voice, always trying to shine a light on the truth of his experience.
In 1969, Allen was finally traded to the St. Louis Cardinals and found some respite from the unjust harassment. After time on the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Oakland A’s, he was eventually traded to the Chicago White Sox in December of 1971.
The myth of Allen being “difficult” to work with was perpetuated by the racism he’d had to endure since the start of his career. White Sox manager Chuck Tanner had a special relationship with Allen and nurtured his talent, permanently placing him at first base so he could focus on his offense, which paid off. That year, Allen led the American League in home runs, RBIs, walks, on-base percentage, slugging percentage, and OPS, winning him the AL MVP. That was also the year he single-handedly saved the Chicago White Sox.
The most memorable Allen game in 1972 was the fabled “Chili Dog Game”. During the second game of a doubleheader on June 4, 1972, Dick Allen was called up to the plate to pinch-hit. Tanner had given him the second game of the day to rest, as he’d played in every single game the entire season up to that point. Over 51,000 White Sox fans were in attendance, with standing room only, as fans illegally sat on stairways to catch a glimpse of greatness; more than 8,000 additional fans were unable to gain access to the ballpark. That game broke an 18-year attendance record, and most of the fans were there to witness a piece of Allen’s record-breaking season.
Tanner was saving Allen for late-inning heroics, much to the chagrin of White Sox owner John Allyn, who wanted to give fans of the beloved Allen a show.
It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and the White Sox were losing 4-2 to the despised New York Yankees. Tanner was waiting for a couple of runners to be aboard, and the time had come after Beltin’ Bill Melton walked, and Mike Andrews singled. He made the call for Allen.
But he wasn’t ready. Allen was eating a chili dog when he realized that Tanner had summoned him, and he wasn’t being careful, either.
“I had chili all over my shirt, so I put on a new one and a pair of pants with no underclothes,” Allen remembered in an interview.
Allen ambled out with his heavier-than-heavy bat. He took a strike, then a ball, and then proceeded to launch a 370-footer into the stands for the ninth walk-off dinger of his career, winning the game for the South Siders. The electric crowd remained in the stands long after the game was over. And thus, the Chili Dog Game became legend.
Unfortunately, some legends take a long time to be cemented into history. The important part of Allen Jr.’s story lies in his efforts to get his dad inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame.
Regardless of how beloved Allen was by his teammates and those who had the privilege of watching him play, his achievements were muddied by the negative spin the press had put on his career. Despite being the highest-paid player who broke record after record, and despite the deep admiration from his teammates and players from around the league, Allen always had to fight to be seen. In 1994, writer Bill James wrote that Allen “did more to keep his teams from winning than anyone else who ever played Major League Baseball. And if that’s a Hall of Famer, I’m a lug nut.”
Well, Bill, you lugnut, thanks for your lousy non-contribution.
Allen was celebrated as a leader, a cornerstone, a genuine, funny, loving, caring guy who tried his hardest to be the best he could be. He wasn’t just a larger-than-life baseball star. He knew his worth and fought for himself, leaving an example for generations to look up to when they’re struggling with their own self-worth and feel an urge to make themselves smaller to avoid controversy. It wasn’t just his teammates who knew this about him, either. He cared for his family, his rivals, his friends, and his fans, and with profound humility. Yet, the uphill battle to get Allen the spot in the Hall of Fame that he deserved was anything but easy.
Over 50 years after his career ended, Dick Allen was inducted into the Hall of Fame, where he belongs. “My Father, Dick Allen” covers this journey in a reverent, real, and fascinating way. I hope you get the privilege to see it soon.
Dick Allen was always a Hall-of-Fame player, despite the long road to get there. There is so much more to this epic story that I couldn’t cover here, so if you haven’t already, do yourself a favor and pick up “Chili Dog MVP” by John Owens and Dr. David Fletcher. Note:I purchased this book and am not being incentivized to endorse it.
After learning about Allen from those who knew him best, it’s easy to see why he is a fan favorite to this day. In honor of him, and one of his best quotes, I will now accept the inherited mantle of hating the Phillies.
“I’ll play first, third, left. I’ll play anywhere — except Philadelphia.” — Dick Allen
Source: The Sporting News (April 11, 1970)
