“That’s Alan Page of the Vikings,” her boss pointed out.
Diane was a football fan and quite familiar with Page, who had doubled back to inquire about car keys that had inadvertently been left behind in a conference room.
And yet, she had no idea what he would come to mean to her.
“Right away, I recognized the name,” Diane Page recalls now.
Alan looks at me and nods his head once, slowly. Decisively.
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” he says.
Diane and Alan sit on a futon near the breakfast bar in the Minneapolis home they have shared for decades.