This is how my father came to know Len Dawson.

It was the mid-1950s, the corduroy and flat-top days at Purdue. Dawson and my father—Don Dienhart—shared a class in Lambert Fieldhouse. They were PE majors. The students sat in alphabetical order. Dawson sat in front of Dienhart, you see? Thus, a relationship was born at a time when Purdue was much smaller. Almost quaint.

It’s hard not to think about Dawson now, as the Kansas City Chiefs are on the brink of playing in their first Super Bowl in 50 years. On Sunday, Dawson’s old team—the one he guided to a win over the Minnesota Vikings in Super IV in January 1970—will play the San Francisco 49ers on the grandest stage in sports.

Over the years, my father would tell me stories about his days at Purdue, some of which included tales of Dawson, who lived in married student housing. They weren't best buddies--but they knew one another. The stories sometimes involved long neck bottles of beer and the basement of the Sig Ep house.

The kid from Alliance, Ohio with the impish grin and jet black hair was a year ahead of my father, getting to Purdue in the fall of 1953. My dad was a townie from nearby West Lafayette High School who lived at home on the rim of campus at 336 W. Oak Street.

Here is where the Dawson-Purdue story gets really good. In 1954 as a sophomore, "Lenny Cool" led the nation in passing efficiency. The highlight? An upset of mighty Notre Dame, which was riding a 13-game winning streak.

Dawson was the BMOC. Dawson was ... the golden boy. And, what does every golden boy need? A golden girl. Thus, it was Dawson and his glorious exploits that inspired the creation of one of the Big Ten’s greatest traditions that lives on today: The Golden Girl.

That was a long time ago. These days, Dawson isn’t doing well. He is 84 years old, in the deep, deep autumn of what has been a charmed life. It's a life that connected to younger generations over the years through his work with Nick Buoniconti as a co-host of HBO's "Inside the NFL." Who didn't watch Len and Nick?

My father—who passed away years ago—always let me know of the special place Dawson held as one of the first members of Purdue’s “Cradle of Quarterbacks.” He even had Dawson send a photo autographed to my sister and I that hung in my parent’s house for years. Dawson stood frozen in time in our family room, striking a classic quarterback pose in mid-dropback. His eyes cast off frame, probably looking for Otis Taylor, right?

“To Kathy and Tom Dienhart, Best Regards. Your friend, Len Dawson.”

The penmanship was beautiful.

For a kid who loved football, this was the pinnacle: An autographed photo of an NFL god and Purdue legend. I was too young to enjoy Dawson's peak years in Kansas City--I was just 4 during that Super Bowl triumph vs. Minnesota. But I could remember Dawson's waning years in Kansas City, playing on the hard, unforgiving fake turf of Arrowhead Stadium on gimpy knees. No. 16 looked old. He was.

Len Dawson was still special to me even while finishing a Hall of Fame career with consecutive 5-9 seasons on forgettable Kansas City teams of 1974 and 1975. The Chiefs dynasty was finished. And so was Dawson. It didn't matter. I felt like I knew the guy, autograph photo and all ... you know.

It was time to go. The year before, in 1974, KC head coach Hank Stram was fired. He was another “Purdue” guy who l loved to hear stories about. He came to West Lafayette from Gary, Ind., a 5-foot-nothing single-wing tailback built like a fire hydrant. Stram would become a Boilermaker assistant coach before leaving for NFL glory in Kansas City and coupling with Dawson to forge his own Hall of Fame career, a career that saw Stram develop the "moving pocket" while forging a reputation as an innovator on offense.

It was difficult for me to believe both Dawson and Stram came from Purdue, big heroes from small town West Lafayette. At one time, they were the kings of pro football! It was fun to think about. My dad assured me many times … yes, it was true. That's when I would look at the photo.

Stram came to life for me and countless others through the glory of NFL Films. Ever the showman, Stram agreed to become the first coach to be wired for a Super Bowl. And he was the star of his own show in Tulane Stadium during Super Bowl IV in New Orleans. The footage and sound bites have become legend.

Stram was like a cartoon character. Hair slicked back … barrel chest … papers rolled up in one hand. Stram was nattily attired in a black sports coat emblazoned with a Kansas City Chiefs logo on the chest. And his voice crackled … he giggled … he cajoled … he kidded … he was fun.

• “65 Toss Power Trap”

• “Just keep matriculating the ball down the field, boys.”

• “How could all six of you miss that call?”

And you can hear Stram call Dawson "Leonard." It was entertaining theater and a historic win that provided more credibility for the AFL, which had seen the Jets knock off the mighty Colts in Super Bowl III and was set to merge with the NFL the next season.

Stram and Dawson--Two Purdue guys!--showed that Jets’ victory wasn’t a fluke, that the AFL was legit as the NFL moved into its modern era.

It's a story I never grow weary hearing.

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