When Giants Walk Among Us

Every family has its bragging rights to a famous person: a sister or brother or relative who has made it big in the world and can boast of his or her own Wikipedia page.

In our family, that was my Uncle Larry Glueck, who passed away last week at the age of 84.

Larry played defensive back for the Chicago Bears for three seasons from 1963-1965. If you know your football, you will know that the 1963 Bears team won the NFL Championship, beating the New York Giants for the title.

You will further know that it was the defense that was largely credited for winning that championship for the Bears. The 1963 defensive unit, which was coached by the future Hall of Famer George Allen, gave up only 10.3 points per game that season, a modern franchise record for the Bears.

My uncle celebrating the title game victory with head coach George Halas

In the title game, on a bitterly cold day at Wrigley Field on December 29, 1963, the Bears defense shut down quarterback Y. A. Tittle and the rest of the Giants’ offense in a 14-10 win.

That was the team my Uncle Larry played for, along with Hall of Famers Stan Jones, Doug Atkins, Bill George, and (on offense) Mike Ditka. Larry Glueck was the first nickelback in the NFL at a time when defensive-minded coaches like Allen began employing a fifth defensive back to shut down potent offenses in passing situations.

Winning ran in my uncle’s blood. Born and raised in my hometown of Hatfield, Pennsylvania, he was a standout athlete at Lansdale Catholic High School where he was named the MVP in football, basketball, and baseball in his senior year. Yeah, that’s MVP of three different sports.

He got a full scholarship to Villanova University, where he played both sides of the ball and helped the Wildcats to two bowl appearances. The Chicago Bears, in need of defensive talent, picked him in the third round of the 1963 NFL draft.

Prior to the start of that 1963 championship season, Larry played on the College All-Star team that shocked the world by beating the NFL champion Green Bay Packers, which were coached by Vince Lombardi, 20-17 in the 1963 College All-Star Football Classic preseason game.

In all, my uncle played 37 games for the Bears before his NFL career was cut short by a knee injury. From there, he went onto a successful coaching career. He was an assistant football coach at the University of Pennsylvania, Lehigh, and Harvard before being named head coach at Fordham University, which at that time played in Division III of the NCAA.

At Fordham, Larry led the Rams to back-to-back Liberty Conference championships in 1987 and 1988. Being the competitive man that he was, my uncle was instrumental in the school’s decision to uplevel its football program to Division I—AA in 1989. Fordham was one of only three football programs ever to move up two levels in a single year.

If it sounds like I’m bragging, that’s because I am. I’ve been bragging about my uncle since I was a kid. At school, I would tell anyone who wanted to hear about the uncle who had played in the NFL and had a championship ring. It gave me clout with the kids. I felt taller somehow. More important. A somebody.

Every kid needs a giant in his midst, someone to look up to, to show him what’s possible if only he or she is willing to put in the hard work of getting there. That, for me, was my Uncle Larry when I was growing up.

I remember being in awe of him when he came to family events and parties. He was so tall and good-looking with his chiseled chin and deep bass voice. He had a presence about him, a cool, calm confidence and warm magnetism that drew people. I wanted to be like him.

One Christmas, he gave me and my older brother a set of kid-sized Chicago Bears football gear complete with helmet, jerseys, pants, and pads. When fall came around, Bill and I would put on those black-and-white outfits and play one-on-one games of football in the back yard. We dreamed of being NFL players like our uncle.

As it turned out, football wasn’t for me, but my uncle’s accomplishments spurred me to dream big and to work hard. Both my uncle and his wife, my dear Aunt Kathleen, knew that I wanted to be a writer, and they encouraged me to go for it, to take risks, to go for the gold.

The thing about my uncle was that for all of his accomplishments, he was the most humble, down-to-earth person you’d ever want to meet. Whenever I was around him, he never wanted to talk about himself. He wanted to know about me, about how I was doing. It was the same way with all of his nephews and nieces, and with everyone he was with.

Along with being a coach, Larry served as a career counselor and mentor to hundreds of young people. In my twenties when I was confused about my career options, he sat down with me and talked about different paths I could pursue in making a living from my writing. If there was ever anything I needed, I should just give him a call, he said.

While visiting my aunt and uncle in Cape Cod in 2011

That was my uncle. He was a man of the greatest integrity. A servant-leader. A real class act.

At his viewing on Sunday up in Cape Cod where he and my aunt lived, I heard those words spoken again and again by all the former players and students that Larry Glueck touched in his life. They talked about how my uncle never bragged about his NFL accomplishments. How he would never curse during a game. How he would never cheat. How he let his actions speak more loudly than his words.

It struck me how desperately our world needs more men of character and integrity like my Uncle Larry as role models for our young people—humble, quiet leaders who lead by example, not by boasts.

Sadly, we lost one of those role models last week. But the thing about role models is that their legacy lives on long after they are gone in the people they touched in their lives. I saw evidence of that everywhere I looked during my uncle’s services, especially in his family: my cousins Jennifer, John, and Kristin and their children, who are the kindest, most down-to-earth people in the world.

Rest in peace, Uncle Larry. I can see you in your Chicago Bears uniform running out onto the great football stadium in the sky. There’s number 43, young again, giving high-fives to his teammates as the crowd cheers.

What a great feeling that must be.