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FeedThe Value of Play
The birth of America’s favorite sled can be traced to a hillside in Westtown.
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Never underestimate a goof-off. The love of play made Samuel Leeds Allen a rich man. He perfected this interest locally at the Westtown School, giving generations of American kids a toy for the ages.
In 1889, Allen patented the Flexible Flyer, the first steerable snow sled. The Flyer eclipsed memories of Allen’s nearly 300 other inventions, including a fertilizer that resembled the planet Saturn. But Allen, who maintained a lifelong passion for play, was not the sort to complain.
“The development in coasters is somewhat typical of that in many other directions,” Allen wrote in a short 1896 history of sledding, written to impress his business peers by placing the Flyer squarely in the vanguard of U.S. technology. “In nearly all the industries, we find an increasing demand for better speed, reduced friction, smoother ways, neater guiding and more accurate advancement.”
And, oh yes, more fun.
Born in Philadelphia, Allen was the son of a pharmacist. His father, John, a Quaker, had been a partner in a cracker-baking company, but sold out at the outset of the Civil War rather than make hardtack biscuits for the military. Allen was named for his maternal grandfather, Samuel Leeds of Leeds Point, N.J.
From his earliest days, Allen preferred mischief, exploration and tinkering over any assigned task. As a boy, he spent summers on an uncle’s farm, where he teased the maid by removing the pin from the pump handle. At Westtown—where his father sent him in 1850 to “get him out of the city”—Allen invented a small spring gun that he attached to the underside of his seat. The device was such a hair trigger that anyone walking past would set it off. It earned Allen several swats.
According to his cousin, George B. Allen, also a Westtown student, Allen’s nickname was “Skiance”—in part because he was tall and always seemed to be looking at the sky. It was the perfect metaphor for a youngster who often seemed to have his head in the clouds.
Allen was fascinated by anything technically difficult. For fun, he’d use a penny to draw a perfect circle, then write the entire Lord’s Prayer within it. He could kick a ball farther than any other boy, said George, because he’d studied the physics of the problem and “kicked it scientifically.”
Naturally, he made teachers impatient. “I believe I can’t study lessons like other boys, and the teacher says I’m lazy,” Allen told his cousin.
“No, thee isn’t lazy,” George replied. “If thee would just stop inventing all those queer things that run across the desk, thee could study as well as anyone else. It is not that thee can’t, but thee don’t.”
Shenanigans aside, Allen was not a bad kid. Among his earliest papers was a list of habits that the young man aimed to acquire or improve: “doing things systematically … finishing everything undertaken … learning something from everyone … politeness, cheerfulness … daily prayer … self-control.” To avoid: temptation, light reading (“which enfeebles the mind and corrupts the heart”), levity in regards to sacred subjects, and cursing.
