Baseball Way Back: Fans came to love him, but Allen trade considered a zonk by critics

By Steve Zalusky

Several major league teams held their own version of "Let's Make a Deal" on Dec. 2, 1971.

Traders included the Baltimore Orioles, who parted company with a key member of two of its World Series champions, former NL and AL MVP Frank Robinson, who was sent, along with teammate Pete Richert, to the Los Angeles Dodgers. Behind the curtain for the Orioles were four young players, including pitcher Doyle Alexander, who, nearly 16 years later, would be traded by the Atlanta Braves to the Detroit Tigers for a pitcher named John Smoltz.

The Kansas City Royals reached into their purse and acquired a future mainstay in their lineup, John Mayberry, from Houston.

And, on the heels of a 79-83 season and a third-place finish in the AL West, the rising Chicago White Sox were also trading.

The Sox made a modest deal, but one that paid off handsomely, when they shipped infielder Rich McKinney to the Yankees for pitcher Stan Bahnsen, a 21-game winner for the Sox the following season.

But that was a "quickie" deal compared to the Big Deal that landed 1964 NL Rookie of the Year and 1967 All-Star Game hero Richie Allen. All it cost the Sox was infielder Steve Huntz and pitcher Tommy John, who had compiled a 82-80 record in seven seasons on the South Side and had not been the same since separating his pitching shoulder in a fight with Detroit's Dick McAuliffe in 1968.

The move galvanized Sox fans into diving into their own purses for ticket money, something they had been reluctant to do in recent years.

On Dec. 8, Sox General Manager Stu Holcomb told columnist David Condon, "The White Sox telephones have been ringing like I've never heard 'em ring in my time with the club. It seems that everyone is talking about us." Holcomb said the box office had reported more than $100,000 in season ticket sales already.

Condon captured the mood when he wrote that McCuddy's, the venerable watering hole across the street from White Sox Park, would have two extra bartenders on duty for the home opener, while Schaller's Pump, another neighborhood institution, would be adding a gourmet chef.

Meanwhile, one banner headline suggested that Allen and Bill Melton would form the nucleus of a new murderers' row.

Despite this wave of local optimism, in the view of writers in other cities, the Sox had received a zonk, the "Let's Make a Deal" term for an undesirable prize. Perpetuating the stereotype of Allen as moody, difficult to handle, and toxic to managers, the critics pointed out that, after all, the Sox would be Allen's fourth club in four years.

Charley Feeney, writing in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, said Allen "is now (Sox Manager) Chuck Tanner's problem," adding, "It's a shame that Allen doesn't take his baseball more seriously. He might become the first 200 grand player in history."

One columnist, Frank Dolson, wrote how he told Dodgers Vice President Al Campanis the year before, "I think a year from now you'll regret having Richie Allen on your ball club."

And when Tanner was quoted saying, "I've known Richie Allen for a long time. And I think he'll play great for me," Boston Globe writer Clif Keane quipped, "Famous last words heard every year."

What was missing from these press assessments was insight into Allen's point of view.

An exception was a letter to Philadelphia baseball writer Bill Conlin penned by The New York Times' George Kiseda in the Philadelphia Daily News on Nov. 3, 1971. Writing about Allen's stay in Philly from 1964-69, he said, "The Phillies couldn't even understand the little things that bothered Allen - little things like the name. He preferred to be called Dick Allen. He tolerated Rich Allen (and signed autographs that way). He disliked Richie Allen. He thought it made him sound like a BOY ... How did the Phillies react? Every day at Connie Mack Stadium the public address announcer would introduce RICHIE Allen."

For his part, Tanner sent good vibes, playing up the fact that his home in New Castle, Pennsylvania, was only 20 minutes from Allen's hometown of Wampum, Pennsylvania.

"I don't anticipate any trouble with Richie. We're neighbors," he said.

Tanner said he had talked with Allen's mother, who was pleased with the trade.

But it was difficult to sustain the optimism, as Allen walked into Sox training camp in Sarasota on March 14, 1972, rejected a contract offer, asked for a trade, and didn't return until March 31, signing a $135,000 contract the next day, which happened to coincide with the beginning of a major league players strike.

In the end, Allen's 40-ounce bat had the final word.

He earned AL MVP honors and led the league in home runs and runs batted in.

Meanwhile, the Sox finished second behind the AL West champion A's with an 87-67 record and drew 1,177,318 fans, third best in the league and better than the 1971 attendance of 833,891.

In Chicago, the South Side fan base came to appreciate Dick, not Richie, Allen, and, for a time, the skeptics were silent.