Diminishing returns on Philly athletes

Allen Iverson's tearful homecoming on Thursday was a reminder of the peculiar physics of Philadelphia's sports universe. Here, it often seems, our greatest athletes are surrounded by gravitational fields that both attract and repel with astonishing force.

Throughout the years, some superstars have pulled the city and its fans toward them, then bitterly spun away, only to reconnect later, frequently at the point where pity and need intersect.

Iverson, his ascending NBA career stalled in its post-Philly orbit, is just the latest local star to prove F. Scott Fitzgerald wrong: There are second acts in American lives, as long as a portion of those lives was spent on Philadelphia's playing fields.

From Jimmie Foxx and Chuck Klein to Dick Allen, Wilt Chamberlain and now Iverson, this city has welcomed home aging, big-name prodigal sons, unclenching its fist in many cases to open its arms.

The 76ers' "Answer" returned red-eyed and remorseful. Thirty-four years ago, when the Phillies brought him back, Allen remained detached and slightly defiant. And in 1965, Chamberlain had to have his long arm twisted before agreeing to abandon San Francisco's soul-soothing lifestyle for a return to Philadelphia.

The reasons for these trips back home - most, but not all, sentimental journeys - were as varied as the athletes themselves.

Iverson, 34, was as eager as the Sixers to make the move, while Chamberlain was reluctant.

And unlike the others, Chamberlain was in his prime, just 29 when the San Francisco Warriors shipped him back here.

For Foxx and Klein, as well as for the woeful Phillies franchise that signed those aging sluggers, desperation was their motivation. An old relationship with Ike Richman, one of the brand-new 76ers' owners, lured Chamberlain back to his hometown. Allen was told he'd be the final piece in the Phils' pennant puzzle. And while Sixers GM Ed Stefanski talks constantly of this as "a basketball move," the 76ers hope Iverson will win fans, too.

Among all those who heeded the advice of the old Boyd's commercial to "come home to Philadelphia," it was Allen's return that most resembles Iverson's.

On the day the Phillies announced that homecoming, Inquirer columnist Frank Dolson wrote something that, except for the sport, could have applied to Iverson.

"One of baseball's truly great talents has come home," Dolson said. "So what if hardly anybody else wanted him."

Iverson, unlike the Phils' bespectacled slugger, won't be joining a contender, but otherwise the two seem virtual mirror images.

Both were immensely gifted African American athletes whose talents would be shrouded by controversial extracurricular activities.

Both led Philly teams to the brinks of championships. Both were beloved and despised. Both made headlines beyond the sports pages. Both begged to be traded. Both meandered through their sports after leaving here. And, finally, both were reunited with their birth teams.

No one can say whether Iverson is truly as remorseful and reformed as he appeared during Thursday's news conference, but if his return follows Allen's script, controversy will ensnare him again.

Allen would not reach the mountaintop with the Phillies. He was long gone by the time they won the 1980 World Series. His statistics in a 11/2-season comeback were mediocre. But, if nothing else, he reinforced that team's confidence and helped young stars, such as Mike Schmidt and Greg Luzinski, find themselves.

Luzinski had his best year in '75. Schmidt idolized Allen, even before the veteran persuaded him to maximize his power by hitting down on the ball.

"Allen was not the same player when he came back in 1975," said Chris Wheeler, the Phillies broadcaster who was then employed in the team's public-relations department. "But he did contribute and helped some of the younger guys learn how to handle their emerging stardom."

Allen was the NL's rookie of the year in 1964, nearly leading those overachieving Phils to a pennant. In his next five seasons here, even as the Phils flagged, his power remained prodigious. So did his ability to generate controversy and befuddle managers.

"Dick was an amazing talent," said '75 teammate Dave Cash. "But he was different. He followed his own drummer."

His fate probably was sealed in 1965, when he fought with a white teammate, Frank Thomas. In the midst of the civil rights era, in a racially divided city recently hit by rioting, Allen soon had as many detractors as supporters. By 1969, he was begging to leave town.

He was traded to the Cardinals and quickly moved to the Dodgers and White Sox, winning an AL MVP at the latter stop. But late in '74, for typically unfathomable reasons, he walked away from Chicago, which in turn sold him to the Braves.

He wouldn't report. When a white sportswriter asked him why he was so adamant about not going to Atlanta, Allen, who had experienced racial taunts and worse as a minor-leaguer in Little Rock, Ark., said, "I wouldn't have been if you had let me borrow your skin."

Meanwhile, the '75 Phils felt as if they were one bat away from overtaking the Pirates in the NL East.

"They felt like by putting Dick in there with [Luzinski] and Schmidt, it was a lineup that few pitching staffs were going to get through," said former Phillie Del Unser.

That spring, as he worked with horses on his Bucks County farm, Allen looked up to see Schmidt, Cash and Richie Ashburn walking toward him. The team's superstar, its spiritual leader, and popular broadcaster had been dispatched to convince Allen to come home.

The Phillies said Allen, who now works for the team, would not be available to comment on this story, but in his 1989 autobiography Crash, cowritten with Tim Whitaker, he described his reaction this way:

"At first I figured it had to be a joke," Allen wrote. "It's not my style to return to the scene of the crime. But I had to admit the idea of coming home did fire me up a bit. I always did like surprises - even when the surprises were on me."

He eventually agreed to a trade here. Right away there were signs of the old Allen independence. While Iverson cried at his welcoming news conference, Allen smoked, punctuating his answers with long drags on a cigarette that GM Paul Owens had lit for him.

Like Iverson, he vowed to be a solid citizen.

"I'm not here to stir up trouble," he said. "I'll try to play ball as hard as I did when I was here before, and try to have better relations with the press."

The fans were glad to see him. In a Daily News poll, 1,531 readers said they favored Allen's return while 887 opposed it.

"Damn near blew me away," wrote Allen.

He would hit .233 with 12 homers and 62 RBIs in 119 games that first year; .268 with 15 homers and 49 RBIs in 85 games in '76.

But after the Phils clinched the NL East title in Montreal, the team went to St. Louis. Allen went home.

"I was happy to be on a winner, but I was torn up about how I felt about the Phillies organization," he wrote. "My shoulder was hurting. I needed to mentally recharge for the playoffs."

Recharged, he went 2 for 9 as the Reds swept Philadelphia in three games.

Before that series, owner Ruly Carpenter had told Allen he would not be re-signed for '77.

"They did wish me luck," he wrote.

Allen would drift off to Oakland, where following 54 games his mercurial career ended.

"I love Philly," Allen wrote. "I want Philly to love me. I hope that someday the fans there realize how much I wanted to win a flag for them. I think somewhere they know that."

Sounds as if it could have come from Iverson's lips.