Remembering The Mentor
Coaching legend Hank Stramleaves legacy of a pioneer

Hank Stram, the former Kansas City Chiefs coach who died on the Fourth of July at age 82 in suburban New Orleans, has been widely heralded as a key player in the success of the upstart American Football League and its eventual merger with the more-established NFL.
But that's like saying George Washington was a great Revolutionary War general.
Stram's once radical approach to the game is now standard fare in football circles, and his offensive and defensive schemes - and his passion for the game - breathed new life into a stagnant sport, turning the NFL into a true national pastime and a television-ratings powerhouse. He may not be the father of the modern NFL - Pete Rozelle's name is on that birth certificate - but Hank Stram played a huge role in its delivery.
When Stram was hired in 1960 as the head coach of the Dallas Texans - three years before the team moved to Kansas City and became the Chiefs - most NFL teams played smash-mouth, up-the-middle, three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust football. Stram's innovations transformed the game into the fast, athletic, fan-pleasing sport it is today.
"In football, like any other business, people copy whatever works. That meant staying with whatever the New York Giants and the Green Bay Packers were doing," says Len Dawson, the Chiefs' Hall of Fame quarterback. "Hank wasn't afraid to be different and innovative. We were playing West Coast offense before it was the West Coast offense."
Stram was one of the first NFL coaches to understand that football should be entertainment - and he cast himself in a leading role. He was the first coach to be miked for a Super Bowl, and he came up with funny nicknames for players and coaches long before Chris Berman and ESPN. He spoke a unique language that wasn't quite Stengelese - Stram's aphorisms at least had a certain logic - but it wasn't quite English, either.
Compared to NFL peers such as stodgy old Vince Lombardi and sphinx-like Tom Landry, Stram - who had a penchant for referring to himself as "The Mentor" - was a ball of fire on the sidelines. But Stram paid a price for marching to a different drummer. He should have been a shoo-in for Canton, says Hall of Fame linebacker Bobby Bell, but he was overlooked until the Senior Committee got him through in 2003.
"It kept him out of the Hall of Fame for 25 years," Bell says.
"Let's matriculate the ball down the field"
Stram's greatest legacy is the many new wrinkles he brought to football. He was one of the first coaches to conduct mini-camps in May and June. He was one of the first to emphasize weight training and special teams. He also understood that a field is not only 100 yards long but also 53 yards wide, and he designed offensive schemes that used every square inch to help Dawson and company, as he put it, "matriculate the ball down the field."
Stram's moving pocket protected Dawson from mammoth defensive linemen; his two tight end offense gave his running backs more blocking. His motion plays created confusion and doubt among defenders.
Stram understood that if the AFL was going to challenge the NFL for fan interest, its product had to be fresh and exciting. "He personified the brand new AFL because he was a salesman," Hunt says. "I always thought he was one of the most imaginative, creative coaches the game has ever known."
Stram was equally creative on the other side of the ball. His Triple Stack defense essentially created the nose guard position and presented new headaches for centers who previously helped offensive tackles block. His zone defenses were an effective antidote to the early AFL's wide open passing game.
"Playing for Hank," says Hall of Fame middle linebacker Willie Lanier, "was like taking an advanced course in football."
"Coin of the realm"
When the Texans moved to Kansas City and became the Chiefs, former Cowboys executive Gil Brandt says the home-team bench was on the same side of the field as the press box. Stram put his team on the other side of the field, so the TV cameras would look at his face, not his back. "Hank was a showman," Brandt says.
When Stram became the first coach to wear a wireless microphone during a championship game, his performance set the standard for Mike Ditka, Bill Parcells and every other sideline diva.
"Like stealing, boys, like stealing," The Mentor bragged as he paced up and down the sidelines while his Chiefs put a whupping on the Vikings during Super Bowl IV.
Stram was such a natural it's hard to believe he almost refused to wear the mike. NFL Films founder Ed Sabol and his son Steve visited Stram at the Fontainbleu Hotel in New Orleans before the game to ask him to wear the wire. "He had done it once before in the regular season so we didn't think it would be a big deal," says Steve Sabol, now the president of NFL Films. "But Hank said, 'Well, there's going to have to be some coin of the realm changing hands here,'" Sabol says. "We didn't know what he was talking about. He said, 'Dead presidents! The Mentor wants dead presidents!' We offered him $250, and he said, 'That won't even cover The Mentor's dry cleaning bills.' So we gave him $750.
"But I think he would have done it for free. He enjoyed being the center of attention."
"Hit and splatter"
Stram was a poet with a whistle and a clipboard, a sidelines bard who made even the most mundane conversations interesting. Every player, every assistant, every beat reporter had a nickname. The priests who led the pregame prayer were called "blackbirds." Referees were known as "sausage stuffers" and "striped puffbellies."
"It was just his style," Lanier says. "During a practice he'd say so many funny things. He enjoyed keeping you loose."
But even veteran Stram watchers were shocked when he brought in a seven-piece band on a flatbed truck after one lackluster training camp session. "He said, 'You guys are playing so bad, we might as well just listen to music,'" Bell says.
Stram's best line, Sabol says, came during a 1969 regular-season game when rookie cornerback Jim Marsalis bounced off a ball carrier. "Marsalis, you tackle like bird crap," Stram shouted. "All you do is hit and splatter."
"Look sharp, play sharp"
Stram might have been a coaching oddball, but he was no hippie. He coached at the height of the flower power era, but he didn't tolerate long hair or facial hair. The son of a custom tailor, he demanded his players wear suits and ties when they traveled. "He'd say, 'If you look sharp, you play sharp,'" Bell says.
At one point in his career, Stram owned almost three dozen suits, 15 sports jackets and too many of his trademark red vests to remember. He'd wear a scuba diving vest beneath his clothes to keep his posture straight.
Stram would even dress his assistant coaches, Sabol says. He'd select matching outfits for his staff and have his equipment manager lay them out before each game.
"He thought clothes weren't worthwhile if they were laundered more than two or three times," Sabol says. "He always wore new clothes. He called it 'breaking plastic,' like 'I just went shopping, lets go break plastic.'"
"Elway to throw"
After Stram retired from the coaching ranks, he became a groundbreaking analyst for CBS television and "Monday Night Football" radio. He was the first analyst, Brandt says, who told the audience what would happen before it actually did.
"He'd tell (broadcast partner) Jack Buck, 'I think Elway will go deep here,'" Brandt says. "Buck would say, 'Elway to throw, he throws deep, he hits Steve Sewell. You called that one, Hank.'
"And Hank would say, 'John just saw what I saw.'"
"Rats"
Stram called his players the "rats," but nobody ever took it for anything but a term of endearment. When it came to his players, Stram was as protective as a mother hen. He made sure guys who weren't making big paychecks had offseason jobs. He asked about his players' wives and kids. When they screwed up, he knew how to chew them out without tearing them down. "He could step on your shoes but not mess up your shine," Sabol says.
Stram was a fierce competitor, he just didn't let his team get caught up on the little things. "He was the 'don't worry, be happy' coach," Sabol adds. "The results of one particular game didn't matter. If his players did the right things enough times, the results will take care of themselves."
Adds Dawson: "He hated to lose, but he knew how to get over it."
One rap against Stram was that he couldn't win without exceptional talent, couldn't mold great teams out of ordinary players. His players say that's not accurate. Dawson, for example, was a seldom-used backup in five years with Pittsburgh and Cleveland. Then he hooked up with Stram, who turned him into a Hall of Famer. "It's not accurate to say he resurrected my career, because I didn't have a career," Dawson says. "My skills had eroded in five years. I'm an example of what Hank could do."
Stram, his players say, was a unique coach because he led his teams with warmth and friendship, not discipline.
"We had a lot of fun with him" Bell adds. "When you were on his team, you were a member of his family. That's how he made you feel. That's why all his players loved him."

MICHAEL O'KEEFFE
DAILY NEWS SPORTS WRITER