Rich: “boy, do they do a job.”

(Here Rich Allen presents an autographed photograph of pitcher Bob Feller, Al's favorite ever Cleveland Indians player!)


Dad’s favorite thing: Someone who does a good job.

Dad’s favorite saying – as a compliment: “boy, do they do a job.”

I have the memory of one scene, it was around Boston somewhere, in1957 or 58, that is so vivid: I’d been playing hooky in the 7th grade, as the situation at L.R. Peck Jr. High was so unacceptable, to me, that I was seriously thinking of leaving home and becoming a fur trapper, like Daniel Boone. I’d go off in the woods on school days to figure out how is there a future for me out there. Tiny Martin, the Principle, was inspired enough to bring over Fur Fish and Game magazines, but nothing seemed to being doing the trick for dad, who was busy trying to support the family and could do without this new problem and just wanted me to go to school and act normal.

Tiny suggested that Dad take me with him to work during the school day, so I could see for myself what work was like. So one morning after a snow Dad and I drove from RI up toward Boston as he made sales calls on appliance stores and restaurants, where he moonlighted selling background music. There was more snow near Boston but it was warm, as I remember, we had the car windows open, so I guess it was early spring. I forgot what he was doing, exactly, but I mostly waited in the car. Once I went with him into where someone signed something for dad, then offered him a cigarette, then offered me one. Dad interrupted, saying, “no, no, I hope he won’t be doing that for a while.”

Heading home we were at an intersection and I look to the right at a man in his car at the light, his window is open and he’s looking at us. Just then a truck crosses in front and sends a huge pile of dirty slush right up into the man’s face and drives off. The man was swearing and yelling back at the truck, brushing the slush from his face. Dad was laughing at the swearing man and thought it was the funny thing he’s ever seen. Later, he tried to describe what made him laugh - it wasn’t the swearing. Almost home, he was still shaking his head, saying “that poor guy.” I’ve asked him if he remembered this a few times, but he has no recollection of it. Another time we were talking of our relationship in those days and he got a hurt look and said “you threw stones at my car.” I vaguely remember being mad and picking up stones from the drive way and throwing them at his car as he drove away from me. Neither of these incidences seems important, but they must have been, because we remembered them.