History matters only if we remember -- and learn

Happy Groundhog Day.

Perhaps you didn't know it, but Groundhog Day originated as a special day for dissecting the biggest sporting event in our great nation: the Super Bowl.

And perhaps you didn't know that I am something of an expert on the Super Bowl.

For example, I have closely followed the two competing teams in this year's Super Bowl, and as far as I'm concerned it looks like a mashup straight out of the Revolutionary War, with New England facing off with that other team, the one from Philadelphia, which is where the United States of America originated.

(Note to readers: the entire content of this entire column is based on the entire personal knowledge and experiences of the author, which may explain a few things. But quite frankly I wouldn't spend too much time analyzing. After all, it's professional football, not rocket science.)

I can -- and honestly, too -- claim to have personally witnessed one of the early labor pains of professional football that led to the birth of the Super Bowl. As I have told you before, here's what happened:

I was a brand-new reporter for the Kansas City Star in the mid-1960s. My assignment was to cover news in what is still known as the Northland -- the fast-growing suburbs of Kansas City north of the Missouri River, including the city of North Kansas City, the part of Kansas City known as Kansas City North, Gladstone, Liberty, Kearney, Park Hills, Platte City -- well, you get the picture.

There was a lot of hope -- and money -- being wagered for the future of Kansas City, including the announcement that a new international airport would be built near Platte City, somewhat midway between Kansas City and St. Joseph. That was a big, big story.

At the same time, a huge amusement park called Worlds of Fun was being constructed in the Northland, by some guy named Lamar Hunt whose daddy has more money than anyone could count. Oil money. Texas oil money.

No one knew much about Lamar Hunt in those days. You could bump into him on the street and never know it.

One day I was covering a meeting of the North Kansas City Chamber of Commerce, which met at the Gold Buffet, one of the first all-you-can-eat success stories. The meeting was well underway when a slightly balding young man came in and sat next to me because it was the only empty seat left in the room.

The man leaned over to me and whispered, "Do you think they would mind if I talked about some things?" he asked.

I informed the man he was talking to the person least in charge of anything that happened during the meeting.

There was a lull in the program, and the man stood up and introduced himself. "I'm Lamar Hunt. I'm building Worlds of Fun up the road, and I think Kansas City needs a professional football team."

And that was that. The rest is history.

I wrote a story, which should have been on the front page of The Star with a huge headline, something like "Texas billionaire proposes football stadium."

But the story got sent to the sports department instead. The sports editor didn't know anything about the NKC Chamber or Lamar Hunt or a new football team and stadium. Therefore, there was no story. No snot-nosed cub reporter from a suburban news bureau could possibly know more about Sports -- with a capital S -- than the almighty Sports Department -- double capitals -- of the Kansas City Star.

So there.

Eventually, of course, pro football in Kansas City became a huge story, just like the international airport -- whose terminal, by the way, is in the process of being replaced after more than 50 years of service.

More than 50 years.

And I was there.

Probably the third most important story I covered in Kansas City was the grand jury that indicted Nick Civella, the head of Kansas City's crime family -- and our neighbor when my wife and I bought a house in Gladstone.

Actually, this story also had football connections. I'm pretty sure if there were any significant wagers on any sport, including the nascent pro football team in Kansas City, the Civellas had a finger or two in the pot.

Lamar Hunt was a low-key, decent fellow. Civic leaders behind the new international airport were decent folks who looked into the future and saw a need. The Civellas were just trying to make a living. And they were decent neighbors.

I submit all of this in the interest of holding on to bits of history that otherwise might be lost. After all, more than half a century has slipped through the calendar, one year after another.

Happy Groundhog Day. Lest we forget.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.