It's only right

Along comes word of the death of Dick Allen, a baseball player of great talent in the 60s and 70s. He came up with the Phillies and later played for the Cardinals, Dodgers, and White Sox, before going back with the Phillies and wrapping up his career with the Oakland A's (where he wore #60, to salute his graduating class of 1960 at Wampum High School in PA.)

He was known as one of those "angry" ballplayers, and he had every reason to be damned angry. His minor league career got off to a rocky start when the stupid Phillies sent him to finish his minor league training in Little Rock, Arkansas, that well-known bastion of racial tolerance back in 1963, but he persevered and go to the major leagues.

He was born Richard Anthony Allen and was known as "Dick" all his life until the Phillies, who had a Hall of Famer named Richie Ashburn in the 1950s, told him that he would be known henceforth as "Richie" Allen. 

Phillies fans, never known as the friendliest, started throwing batteries at him while he played first base.  These were his home fans! He wore a batting helmet in the field after that. Before his torturous days in the City of Brotherly Love came to an end, he took to scratching "Good Bye" with his spikes in the infield dirt as he played and dreamed of playing in a town where he was appreciated.

With the White Sox in 1972

He found appreciation - and was known again as "Dick" -  in the other towns he played in, and even came back to the Phillies for a stretch.

But the story about Dick Allen that I wanted to share has nothing to do with baseball, and everything to do with money. Dick signed for a $70,000 bonus right out of high school, and earned decent money through his 13-year big league career, although what he made would be what today's big timers tip the clubhouse attendants with. 

And when he retired, Dick went back to his hometown of Wampum PA, and fell in his with his old friends.  In the evenings, they liked to go a favorite bar and have a few beers, as old buddies will do.

Dick told a biographer that he couldn't win when it came to those nights at the bar. If he offered to buy a round for the house, everyone would say, "Hey, look at the big shot, waving his bills around..."

And if he DIDN'T offer to set up the house, what did he hear? "Hey, $70 G Man! Too cheap to buy an old friend a beer. What are you, a big deal already?"

I guess I was in my late 20s when I read that book and it taught me a lesson that I have shared with as many young people who would listen. And that is, no matter who says what, you have to do what feels right. It's not selfish to do what's right for you. Especially if you have people jumping at the chance to tell you what is the right thing for you to do!