Alan Page is different, always has been.
In 1971, he was the first defensive player to be recognized as the most valuable player in the National Football League, an honor that enhanced the reputations and salaries of defensive players everywhere.
When Page was introduced at the Pro Bowl as a new member of the Hall of Fame, one of the players who made a special point of greeting him was Lawrence Taylor of the New York Giants, the pre-eminent defensive player of the 1980s.
Page also was greeted by all the Bears and by all the Vikings at the Pro Bowl, because it is customary for each new inductee to be congratulated by members of the team or teams he represented. No Philadelphia Eagles shook the hand of Mike Ditka, but that`s because they couldn`t be expected to remember Ditka`s two years in a place he would rather forget.
In the case of Page, the handshakes were offered and received warmly by Bears and Vikings alike, who apparently hadn`t read newspaper headlines from Page`s press conference in Minneapolis the day he was voted into the hall.
”The first question was, `We hear you want to be inducted as a Bear and not a Viking,` ” Page said.
Now a lawyer, Page tried to avoid the question. In the first place, he knew there is no option. Even if he tried to erase 11 1/2 years in Minnesota, he knew there would be fans who might remember he played three times longer and probably better than he played in Chicago.
”They kept coming back to the question and finally I said, `Well, they did fire me,` ” Page said.
The Vikings ”fired” Page in 1978, when they decided at age 33 and at a weight around 225 pounds he could no longer be an effective ”Purple People Eater.”
Page was a defensive tackle, remember, not a linebacker. Defensive tackles were supposed to be big, if not fat. Until Page, who redefined the position with uncanny anticipation and quickness, defensive tackles were more immovable objects than irresistable forces.
Page had played as heavy as 270, which he considered ”gross,” and mostly at about 255. He said he couldn`t see much difference between 255 and 225.
His coaches in Minnesota could, and since Page is different, friction was inevitable. Once, when he was taken out of a game against the Bears, he refused to go back in, suggesting a coach play instead.
Former Minnesota coach Bud Grant is different, too, and so Page was fired. Grant will not be Page`s presenter at Hall of Fame induction ceremonies July 30 in Canton, Ohio, Page`s home town. Grant was among the nominees for this year`s Hall of Fame class and could have been sitting on the stage next to him, ”which would have been all right,” Page hastens to add.
Anyway, Page was disappointed when he saw the next day`s headlines about a ”Bitter Page” unable to forgive the Vikings.
”I have a lot of good memories of playing in Minnesota,” he said. ”I think I`m going to write a letter to the editor and try to better explain my feelings.”
If he were especially bitter, he probably wouldn`t choose to make Minneapolis his home with his wife, Diane, and four children.
Page described himself now as an ”actively casual” follower of pro football.
”Once you`ve done it, why would you want to watch someone else do it?”
he asked.
Looking ahead always appealed to Page more than looking behind. At his first Hall of Fame press conference, he was more concerned about the lack of black coaches in the league than he was about the lack of Viking Super Bowl victories.
”Have I ever been haunted?” Page said, echoing a question about being in four Super Bowl losses. ”Four games out of 200-some isn`t very many. Certainly it hasn`t made me a worse person.”
Page works in employment law in the Minnesota attorney general`s office. He said he is disturbed by a regressive attitude toward equal opportunity programs, as demonstrated by racist public comments from people such as former Dodger General Manager Al Campanis, former CBS-TV commentator Jimmy ”the Greek” Snyder and Arizona Gov. Evan Mecham.
”People wouldn`t have done that 10 years ago,” Page said. ”As much as they may have wanted to do it, it wasn`t acceptable.”
Page blamed the Reagan administration for fostering an ”insensitive atmosphere.”
”People talked about minorities that way in the `50s,” Page said.
That`s when Page was growing up in Canton. In July, he will become the first native of Canton to be inducted into that football city`s pride and joy. Because Page is rarely afraid to speak his mind, there had been some fear in NFL circles that he might embarrass the city or the league by belaboring
”bitter” memories.
”It was a place, where if you were black, like South Bend or a lot of other places, there are problems,” he said. ”Not that there are major problems, but there are problems. And those are some of my memories of Canton.”
Most of the memories are good, of ”good people who went out of their way to help me.”
So Page is happy to be from Canton and he doesn`t mind being called a former Viking or a former Bear, or even a former Notre Damer.
”His mural will be made in a Viking uniform,” said Don Smith, Hall of Fame vice president. ”The fact is, he really is being inducted as an individual.”
That`s for sure. Among other milestones, Page is believed to be the first Hall of Famer to carry a purse.
He also is the first one to thank not only former coaches for past favors but his fellow attorneys for finishing a brief that allowed him to make the trip to Hawaii for the Hall of Fame introduction.
For Page, the future is more interesting, always will be.
