From the Negro Leagues to the 82nd Airborn and back, meet the skinny, left-handed, crooked-armed kid who, in pursuit of a six dollar dream refused to strike out.
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(Old-timey sound of a Tootsie Roll advertisement fades into jazz.)
Sam Allen: Yeah, next month I'll be 89.
Nichole Hill: This is Sam Allen.
Sam Allen: And I was born April the 25th, 1936. Born at the house. The midwife was supposed to deliver me. She had to go deliver another baby. So when she got back, my Grandmama had delivered me. And during those days, you know, they would put you in a drawer--dresser drawer, and put a pillow in the dresser drawer. You don't remember that, see.Yeah. (laughs)
Nichole Hill: Ladies and Gentleman, the often imitated, never duplicated, high swinging, fast running, no nonsense, squeaky letterman jacket wearing, former Negro League player….
Sam Allen: My name is Samuel Lewis Allen.
(Baseball charge plays under the following)
I'm from Norfolk, Virginia, born, raised, a Norfolkian born, Norfolkian bred, and when I die I'll be a Norfolkian dead.
(Stadium crowd laughter)
My first memory of picking up a baseball, see I lived with my Grandfather and my Grandmother, my father was dead, and my, with my Grandmother. So the baseball park was on Church and Rugby Street, about three blocks, just about, it was in the neighborhood. So I used to go, when I was about four years old, my Grandfather would carry me to the baseball games because it was cheap. And my Grandmama would make him carry me, so at night, when the game was over, he had to bring me home.
I fell in love with baseball when I was about five years old, I knew the players, I knew how to umpire, call the strike balls. So then, when I went to elementary school, I started playing.
And I used to go around with my glove in my belt. In that Barraud Park, I used to play.
(Jazz music)
Nichole Hill: Sam was the talk of the town. People would say---
Sam Allen: This is Sam Allen, he's about 5 feet 7, real skinny, strong, fast, and he could hit the ball a long ways, because I had a lot of strength. I was strong for a small man. I could hit the ball, I could hit home runs. See, and I could run real fast. Yeah, I was, I could run. I could really run. Yeah. I'm left-handed. Yeah. Yep. But the only problem is wondering if I would be large enough to play.
I tell you, I was fortunate that I was 156 pounds back in 1953. And I'm 150 pounds now, so about three to six pounds from all that time. I didn't have problem with the weight. But life been good to me. I got a deformed arm, was able to throw with this arm, played football with the arm.
Matter of fact, at Booker T. I've got the scoring record in football. I scored six touchdowns and four extra points in one game. So I was blessed with talent but baseball, I played baseball and I had a lot of, a lot of older fellows that mentored me and they saw something in me and they would drink and they would smoke, but they saw that I didn't drink or smoke and maybe that's why I'm able to, to live a long life, but they weren't letting me drink or smoke. See, and that was one reason, because they said I had a chance to make it.
(Sound of Jackie Robinson being announced by a broadcaster, fades to Jazz)
Nichole Hill: Enter Jackie Robinson and Satchel Paige. They weren’t just names on rosters. They were visions walking. Living proof that the gates could open and Black boys could walk through with cleats on and heads high.
In 1947, when Jackie broke the color line and Satchel followed in 1948, they weren’t just making history… they were handing out mirrors. Mirrors that said, “Yes, you. You, too, belong in the big leagues.”
They stood on dusty diamonds and became a picture of possibility for every boy with a bent glove, a crooked arm, or a six-dollar dream in his back pocket. They didn’t just integrate the game. They integrated hope.
Sam Allen: When Jackie Robinson integrated, that's when we all started to try to be baseball players. Everybody wanted to be a baseball player.
I went to one of the camps, and I thought that I made a team, but I didn't. I met a fellow that played with the Kansas City Monarchs. If you see the KC, this was the team that Jackie Robinson played with in 1945, and Satchel Paige, and I played with them in '57. So, we all Monarchs. I played with the last championship team of the Kansas City Monarchs in 1957.
I called the fella when I got cut from the Cincinnati Red Minor League Team. I came home and I had 25 dollars. I was frustrated. And I met this fella named Bob Mitchell And I called him, he said, "Come down to Jacksonville, Florida." He was with the Monarchs. "He said, you can make this team."
So, I waited until my mama went downtown, because, you know, during that time, your mama was going to talk you out of it, saying, “Now, how you, where you going to Jacksonville, Florida, You don't know anyone in Jacksonville. You don't have any money.” So I got, got me a 19 ticket.
(Sound of money clinking)
And I took off to Jacksonville with six dollars in my pocket.
(Sound of bus pulling away and cicadas with the crack of a baseball bat)
And when I got to Jacksonville, the team was getting ready to move, come back to play in Charleston. So I had to get on one bus, get on another bus. When we got to Charleston I'll never forget, on Easter Sunday, 1957, the team that the Monarchs was supposed to play, the players, they didn't show up.
He showed up with three players. He said that the bus had broke down. So, the Monarchs told me, said, "Well, we don't usually do this, but you have to play with the, it was the Jacksonville All Stars." I said, "Okay." So I played with Jacksonville. They hadn't seen me play. I hadn't been to bed from Thursday night till the Sunday afternoon.
So, I'm playing, I'm playing with the Jacksonville All Stars. At first time of, I think I got a hit, stole a base. Next time of I was struck out and I thought about it, I said you don't have but six dollars in your pocket. So now, if you get cut, you stranded.! And you can't, I can't call my mama. See, now I'd rather, look, I gotta go jump overboard rather than call my mama 'cause she gonna tell me, “Stay down there”. So the next time I hit a home run, in that evening, the man signed me with a contract. I didn't even look at the contract. It was $150. Yeah, so that was the beginning of my career with the Negro League.
(Sound of cicadas fades to inside of a bus)
I thought I loved baseball until we started traveling.
In Negro League you travel, you play Monday through Thursday, one game. Friday, you play two games. Saturday, you play two games. Sunday, you play three games, or four games. And you ride, that's after the game, you get on the bus, you take a shower. One great thing was that most ballparks had hot showers.
You could take a hot shower, get you a some peanut butter. But I had a cup of jar of peanut butter, and honey in a bag, and you get on that bus and you ride all night. And we had one fella that didn't play that well, but he could tell jokes. He'd tell jokes across three states. Then the next night, he'd tell some more jokes. But he wouldn't tell the same jokes. I mean, he really was a comedian.
(Sound of laughter and 40’s and 50’s jazz)
On the back of the bus, they had a table where they could play cards, but I didn't, I didn't play cards, I hold a light. So they could play it, but, and we had the jazz on the radio, we had radio, and during that time, there was two stations late at night, you could hear all over the country.
But we had a bus driver, now if we lost, he said, “You're not going to listen at the radio”. So, it would be silent, I mean, he took it serious. So, but that's why we always tried to win, so we could listen to the music.
(Jazz and stadium sounds fade to piano)
It was hard, but it was a good life. I loved it, you know. And I tell ya, I took a calculated risk going out there, and in the first year, I was, I led the league in runs scored, and I went back the next year, and I thought I was gonna be with the Monarchs, but a fellow that played in 1947, name was Willard Brown. He came back to the Monarchs. So they sent me to Raleigh. And that was the year I could have stayed home.
I ended up, I'm up in West Virginia. The man left us up there. I'm, I'm stranded in West Virginia. Got a suitcase, a record player. And a baseball bag on the side of the highway, hitchhiking.
I called my mama and told her, I said, "Look I'm stranded. Send me some money." She said, "You must be crazy, I'll send you a bus ticket." So I said no, I wasn't ready to come home. So my Uncle sent me 50 dollars and I went to Raleigh rather than come to Norfolk. And I, when I got to Raleigh, the owner of the team gave me some of my money.
He didn't give me all, but he gave me some of my money. Yeah, so that year, that was '58. Then '59, I went to Memphis. The Memphis Red Sox. Now that was a classy outfit. So, I played at Memphis,
When I got home that year, that December got one of those long letters and they said, "Your friends and neighbors and the President of the United States have chosen you, got to go into service."
(Pause, and all background sound stops)
So that killed the career.
I had to go into the service, and that's when they would draft, and then they could, if you had one eye or whatever, yeah, but one arm is straight, and the other arm is about three or four inches where it won't, it won't stretch out, so...
I mean, my grandmama birthed me, so I but. Normally, if you were going to the hospital, they would have broke it and reset it, you know. But they didn't, during that time, they didn't, you know, know anything about breaking it and resetting it.
And when I went in the service, they looked at me, so the man said, he said, "Yeah, well you played baseball, so don't worry about it."
I had to go into service in 1960. So I stayed in the service from '61. Got out in '62, and I went in the 82nd Airborne, but I was fortunate that while I was in the service, I played football, baseball, and I was on the battle group basketball team, so that was good, I lived a good life in the service, so I was in the 82nd Airborne, and that's my story, and I'm gonna stick with it.
Nichole Hill: And stick to it he did.
Mr. Allen still works with the Boys and Girls Club to encourage young people to play baseball. He even has a scholarship to help round out those $6 dreams. You can donate to his scholarship fund by clicking the link in the show notes. You can also see a plaque in his honor inside Harbor Park–which was built in 1993. He was also awarded a National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues lifetime pass that allows him entry into any stadium in the world.
Visit our website Truthbetoldcommunity.com to find out ways to get involved, and share this episode with friends.
This series was written by Jackie Glass and Hannah Sobol, edited and hosted by me, Nichole Hill, Sound Design by Trendel Lightburn, and our work has been supported by the Elizabeth River Trail Foundation through a National Park Service Chesapeake Gateways Grant. Follow our work by subscribing wherever you get your podcasts. We couldn’t do this without people brave enough to share their experiences, so thank you Sam Allen.