Touching Home

The starting staff alone is mind-boggling: Tom Seaver, Bob Gibson, Whitey Ford, Johnny Antonelli, Don Larsen. Out of the pen come Ron Perranoski and Lindy McDaniel. Look around the infield, and you’ve got Dick Allen at 3B, Tony Fernandez at SS, Joe Morgan at 2B and Bob Watson at 1B. Behind them are Lou Brock in left, Jimmy Wynn in center and Al Kaline in right. The catching isn’t that stellar, but Hal Smith did play for 10 seasons and homered in double digits three times.

As if the year hasn’t been bad enough, 2020 also ripped baseball history to shreds, or at least the cards we cherished while growing up. Six Hall of Famers have died this year—Gibson, Seaver, Ford, Morgan, Brock and Kaline. And some would say that Dick Allen, who died yesterday, belongs in Cooperstown.

His death hit me particularly hard. I first knew him as Richie when he and the other ’64 Phillies took this Phillie fan on a joy ride for most of the summer. I loved them all, but Allen was especially appealing. He comes from Wampum, Pa.? He has to wear glasses, like me? Yeah, he made a lot of errors at third, but how dare they boo him at Connie Mack when he’s carrying the offense on his back?

But then the team went into a tailspin in the last two weeks of the season—the Phillies had already printed up World Series tickets. Here’s how infielder Cookie Rojas described it: “It was like swimming a long, long lake, and then you drown.”

When I look back lo these many years later, the euphoria I felt in early September, and the despair I felt on the last Sunday of the season, may very well have turned me into a sportswriter. I knew I wasn’t good enough to help the Phillies get into the World Series, but maybe I could write about them when it did happen.

When it finally did, when the Phillies beat the Royals in the 1980 World Series, I was there for Sports Illustrated. I remember venturing onto the Veterans Stadium turf after the final out… and getting growled at by one of the German Shepherds guarding the field, reminding me to maintain my objectivity.

But I didn’t really get closure until nine years later, when I covered the 25th reunion of the ’64 team. 

https://vault.si.com/vault/1989/09/25/the-year-of-the-blue-snow-that-was-1964-when-the-phillies-blew-the-pennant-and-broke-the-authors-heart-now-25-years-later-he-relives-the-loss-with-his-heroes

It was a glorious weekend—Allen was there, and so was the other hitting star, Johnny Callison, along with catcher Clay Dalrymple, infielders Cookie Rojas and Ruben Amaro, first basemen Roy Sievers, outfielders Johnny Briggs, Danny Cater and John Herrnstein, and pitchers Art Mahaffey, Dennis Bennett, Ed Roebuck and Jack Baldschun. Some of them went on to successful careers in and out of baseball, and others were scuffling a bit, but it was interesting to see them revert to the roles they played in ’64. Great as Allen was, he was still as sheepish as a rookie. So was Herrnstein, a bank president who shared the ’64 Topps Rookie Card with Allen.

The real star of the festivities, though, was Gene Mauch. Back in ’64, he was their 38-year-old manager (same age as I was that weekend). He was brilliant that season—so much so that other managers hated him. He was hard and distant—he felt he had to be because he was the same age as some of the players. He got the blame for the 10-game losing streak because he kept using his two best pitchers, Jim Bunning and Chris Short, on two days’ rest. But he also willingly took the blame—he insisted on being the first one off the plane when the Phillies landed in Philadelphia after the Cardinals won the pennant.

After 26 years of managing four different teams, Mauch brought a whole new perspective to the reunion at the Hershey Hotel. He was the emcee for the banquet, and he was effusive in his praise for each and every one of the players. Here is what he said about Allen:

“There have been many gifted ballplayers for the Phillies over the years, including Mike Schmidt. But of all those players, I’ll take my guy. He was the finest athlete I’ve ever seen on the field. He had 13 triples that year, and I think the triple is the most beautiful thing in baseball. He was a joy to behold. Dick Allen.”

A card that was farsighted

Later that weekend, Mauch said, “I’ve talked to them more in the last two days than I did in any two years as manager. I have a deep, deep feeling about this team. I did then, too, but I was hard on them because I felt that was the way to go. This weekend has given me a chance to tell the tell them exactly how I felt and to thank them. It felt great being a part of the ’64 Phillies again.”

One other thing happened that weekend that has stayed with me. Clay Dalrymple volunteered to be my guide on a tour of the old site of Connie Mack Stadium at 21st and Lehigh. “This a bad day to die,” the cab driver told us when he dropped us off in the rain. Dalrymple and I stood at was once home plate and pointed out where straightaway center was. “Richie hit one once that went over that wall and across the street.” 

And then he told me this story:

“One time, after a game, I offered to take this blind girl I knew down to the field. The fans are leaving, and I’m still in uniform. She wants to feel home plate, so I take her over there, and she feels around. Then we walk to first base so she can feel the bag, then over to second base and third base. We go all around the bases until we’re home again. I never did notice that there were people still in the stands until suddenly I hear all this applause. It was probably the biggest ovation I ever got.”

Twenty-five years later I was home again, too. And when I heard about Dick Allen the other day, I was back.

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