KANSAS CITY, Mo. — If you had the happy fortune to spend time with Len Dawson on occasion, the conversation almost invariably touched on what he considered the serendipity of his own life — quirks of fate he reckoned were bestowed upon him by birthright as “the seventh son of a seventh son.”
Never mind that the arc of his remarkable journey was far more about pluck than luck. And that most of the folklore about seventh sons of seventh sons emphasizes that the legacy conferred powers of healing and clairvoyance more than luck, per se. And that he was in, fact, the ninth of 11 children overall.
Because when it came to Dawson, it was a little bit like Stanley Kowalski said in Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire”: “Luck is believing you’re lucky.”
Certainly, Dawson prospered by that outlook. Not to mention it was a nice way of conveying humility despite having little to be humble about.
So the pure luck of a seventh son of a seventh son was the theme of his induction speech at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1987. And it was a thesis he had a way of trying to reinforce about any time, anywhere.
“I just happened to be at the right spot at the right time to get an opportunity,” he said, invoking the phrase when we spoke at the Chiefs’ training facility on the occasion of his 50th year in Kansas City.
At his dining room table in 2017, he alluded to the term as he spoke about his health issues and the impending end of his broadcasting career, and stressed that most people likely would opt in if they could have led his life.
It was, in fact, a wonderful and singular life that came to an end this week. Early Wednesday morning, KMBC-TV shared a statement from Dawson’s widow, Linda, and his family, saying that Dawson had died. He was 87.
Revered around the nation for his role in the surging rise of pro football and the grace and even chill with which he played and conveyed off the field, Dawson became one of only three men (along with Frank Gifford and Dan Dierdorf) inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame as both a player and broadcaster.
Quite a feat in any context, but all the more improbable after an often-underappreciated part of his story: He had languished through five NFL seasons and became an afterthought who hardly seemed destined to be well-remembered in either capacity.
“I am sure if anyone would have asked at that time, ‘Don’t you think Len Dawson might one day be here?’ … after they got up off the floor from laughing, they would say, ‘Why should he? What has he done?’” he said at his 1987 induction in Canton, a mere 20 miles from his hometown of Alliance, Ohio.
Among his other ripples nationally, he later became a prominent voice as a host of HBO’s “Inside The NFL” and was recognized as the 1972 NFL Man of the Year for his contributions on the field and in the community.
But all of those accolades and achievements emanated from his role and stature and indelible legacy in Kansas City, a place he helped transform and where he would become one of our most enduring and endearing figures.
He was perhaps Kansas City’s first true sports icon. And, better yet, by way of an entirely unique path full of curious twists.
‘He never let you see him sweat’
