‘The luckiest man in the world’

This story starts with a picture.

It is the picture of a 1981 graduate of IU – a man known as Fred Glass, but listed as George.

In the black-and-white photo, placed in the middle-top section of a 1981 copy of the Arbutus yearbook, Glass is wearing a suit and tie, with hair down to about the middle of his ears and a smile that stands out among the 41 other portraits on the gray-toned page.

About 28 years later, he got his portrait taken again, this time in color.

The hair is still the same style, parted in the middle with most of it flowing to the left, but it’s a gray now and not nearly as long.

He is wearing an IU windbreaker with white stripes down the shoulders over a crimson shirt, a less formal getup than in the previous picture.

And this time, he is not smiling because he is close to graduation. He is smiling because, after nearly three decades, he has earned the position of his dreams.
He has become the IU athletics director.

***

Now, picture this.

Glass is standing in front of chapter leaders of the Indiana Alumni Association, about six hours before kickoff Oct. 3, wearing another IU top – this time a crimson fleece with Hoosier Football etched across the front – speaking about IU’s success during the week against their opponents, including a win against Purdue in volleyball on its home court, which he attended.

“I was so proud to watch those smug, arrogant Boilermakers walking out with their heads down,” Glass says.

His smile still stands out in the room, and he shows it proudly as he talks about how great a privilege it is as a fan to be IU’s athletics director.

The second he steps away from the podium, he is bombarded by his fellow alumni, asking him questions and complimenting him.

“We appreciate you making yourself available,” says Larry Alt, the Lakeshore region chapter president.

Glass smiles as if he is looking at a life-long friend – mostly because he, in a way, is. As alumni, they all share a connection, a bit of cream and crimson that now runs through their blood.

A 2008 alumnus, John Potts asks Glass to pose for a picture with his friend, Brooke Dyer, and himself.

Then, Potts asks a question only a true fan would.

“Can I get one with just him?”

***

The Smart Car Glass drives around the tailgating fields is picture perfect for visiting students and fans around Memorial Stadium and in Hoosier Village, the Alumni Association’s tailgating area.

“Fred Glass” is written in cursive script across the top of the curved frame of the cream and crimson car, which hits top speed at 29 miles per hour. With Glass driving, that happens quite often.

“You’re gonna have to hold on tight,” he says as he climbs in.

He waves out the doorless car to fans, honking as he drives past them with “Indiana, Our Indiana” playing in the background.

“Thanks for being here,” he yells to the groups of fans.

His first stop is the Schroeder tailgate, where he meets up with an old college friend and fellow alumnus, Mike Schroeder.

They crack jokes about the good old days, although both agree not to talk about the more embarrassing blackmail they have on each other.

“Fred was a great student and a fan when he was here,” Schroeder says with a grin. “Best thing that happened to the University.”

A female fan snaps another picture as Glass drives past on his way to the stadium.
“How do you get one of those?” she asks.

Glass, smiling again, shouts back, “Gotta be the athletics director.”

***

Glass’ excited grin as the game inches closer minute by minute is picturesque.

Thanks to visiting with every fan that stops him – including some of the Buckeye faithful – he has now fallen off his original schedule and has to make up for lost time.

But forget the schedule – there are fans to tend to.

“Hey Hoosiers!” he yells as he flies by plots in the stadium parking lot.

He greets everyone with that same grin and that same child-like excitement – from students to the mayor of Kokomo.

“I’m thinking an all-out blitz – first play,” a fan suggests to him. “And then maybe a late hit.”

Another fan is in Bloomington for her 31st birthday, which Glass finds particularly thrilling.

“There’s no better way to spend it,” she says in agreement.

As he heads toward the tents near the western part of the stadium, the Fred mobile suddenly screeches to a halt as Glass pulls out his phone.

He puts on his glasses and begins to read. Then, that smile surges back again.

“Purdue got beat by Northwestern,” Glass says. “Is that great or what?”

He stops by yet another tailgate. IU fans are roasting pig and drinking Miller Lite as they talk about the prospects for the day’s game.

As Glass pulls up, he is immediately recognized.

“You guys got it going on,” a fan says to him. “You just gotta keep it going.”

He stays to eat after one of the cooks talks him into a bit of pulled pork, pasta salad and a diet Coke.

One of the fans mentions a wooden post holding up a tree branch in the middle of the fire pit area, signed by various passersby. Of course, Glass picks up a marker and heads toward it.

Again, the camera flashes fly, and that smile shines.

***

Several pictures and another diet Coke later, Dunn Street is packed with cars full of fans trying to find a place to park prior to kickoff. Glass heads to the wrestling, baseball and volleyball tailgates to speak with recruits and meet with the teams.

As he rides by, the cheerleaders begin to chant the theme of the game – “Go IU! Roast the Buckeyes!”

Next stop is the traditional “Walk to the Rock,” which Glass leads along with IU football coach Bill Lynch. As they walk down the row of fans, they give out high-fives like candy, showing unparalleled enthusiasm as they make their way toward the stadium.

As he leaves the main entrance afterward (he has much more to do before kickoff) he is greeted by three members of the track team. One, wearing a fake crocodile head hat and light green argyle socks, is third in line to get in once the stadium opens. He thanks her for supporting the other teams at IU, and she smiles and thanks him for all he’s done for the student-athletes.

As he works his way back toward the smart car, there are more loony costumes, including a man in a chicken suit and one dressed in Reno 911 attire. This time, Glass takes a picture of the group for them with their camera.

But in the end, as usual, he winds up in the picture, as well.

***

A picture of Glass flashes on the screen at Memorial Stadium, just minutes before the game is set to begin.

He is out on the sidelines, clapping along to “Fight IU” just as he did as a student.

He points out a fan in the stands wearing a top that says “Worst State Ever.” The outline of the shirt looks like Ohio.

“You see that shirt?” he says. “That’s good.”

As “Indiana, Our Indiana” plays, Glass again claps along, finishing with the IU hand gesture nearly every alumnus knows.

As the game begins, he slaps Terrence Turner and Justin Pagan, an IU starting wide receiver and offensive lineman, on the shoulders, saying “Let’s go get them.”

He then goes on to his next self-given duty – walking through the student section to thank fans.

As he makes his way down the aisles, shouts come his way.

“You’re the man!” one says.

“It’s incredible you are here,” another crows.

“Fre-ed Gla-ass!” a group cheers.

More pictures come as he weaves through the crowds, stopping every now and then to watch the next play.

He runs into Emily Kasavana, co-captain of the IU rowing team, on his way to the band section.

“This is amazing,” she says. “Look at this!”

Again, Glass smiles. How can he help but do so?

Now, he’s on to the Hall of Champions, where he greets fans who have bought out the corporate dining area for each of IU’s six home games.

He meets another old friend, and as a few fans off to the side take pictures, they talk.
“You’re the luckiest man in the world,” his friend says.

Glass pauses, that smile flashing forward once again. This time, it’s brighter than ever.?“I know,” he says.