GREEN BAY, Wisc. — Fourteen minutes into conversation at pristine Plae Bistro, a few blocks from the Fox River, his voice quivers and trails off. A single tear from his left eye rolls down his cheek. Then, a second from his right eye. He doesn’t bother dabbing either one dry.
Travis Glover goes completely silent for six seconds, eyes closed, reliving those precious final moments.
Wounds from this day — Dec. 7, 2023 — remain exceptionally fresh.
The grandmother who helped raise him, Martha Towns, was on her deathbed.
Glover held her hand tightly.
Glover watched her do everything in her power to stay alive.
He figured there was no way she even knew he was inside this bedroom when — suddenly — Towns yelled: “Travis!”
“I broke down,” says Glover, fighting off a waterfall here. “She just kept fighting. She barely can breathe. She’s fighting for her life. She just kept fighting. My auntie and them, they’re talking to her. They’re like, ‘It’s okay, Mama. Just relax.’ But… but… she just never stopped.”
With that, his voice fades again. Emotions are paralyzing. As if the Green Bay Packers’ hulking right guard can still feel his grandmother’s palm inside of his own. All of this feels like yesterday. For three hours, he stood by her side.
Right up to the second she took her final breath and passed away. Towns was 81.
He can still hear her calling his name. That plea for help — Travis! — permanently loops in his mind.
“She was shutting down. About to pass. Oh my God, I thought I was going to die,” Glover says. “I don’t know how she did that. Never seen nothing like it.
“She just didn’t stop. That’s why I can’t ever stop.”
This traumatic day does not collect cobwebs in his mind. He embraces it all. He treasures his grandmother’s pearls of wisdom — especially one message two months before her passing. Towns didn’t watch all of his collegiate games. She couldn’t bear seeing her grandbaby get hurt. But as Glover started to envision a life in the NFL, she told him something so simple that became so powerful: “If it’s going to work out, it’s going to work out.” Do not stress. Do not think too far ahead. Only worry about what’s right in front of you.
Glover took these words to heart. Right into his Knoxville, Tenn., predraft training, then into Green Bay as a sixth-round pick, a turbulent ‘24 that had fans spamming his DMs, a crushing ‘25 that ended prematurely with a freakish torn lat muscle, right into a defining 2026 season. This equanimity doesn’t only help Glover stay sane in a certifiably insane profession — it’s boosting the entire Packers team, it’s exactly what everyone needed through a nightmare start.
Game No. 1, the offensive line shape-shifted into Swiss cheese. Moldy, flimsy, disintegrating crumb by crumb in the face of a torrent Minnesota Vikings pass rush. A Viking horn blared. U.S. Bank Stadium was earsplitting. Game No. 3 was more of the same. Only, this time, the sound was different. Humiliating boos filled Lambeau Field.
Jordan Love, this team’s prized possession, the man making $55 million per year, was running for his damn life.
Brian Gutekunst, the team’s general manager, frantically (and correctly) purged the market for fixes. A mayday call that netted Green Bay three veterans with a combined 453 starts.
Yet win to win to win, the player bringing stability to right guard is a gentle giant who’s been here all along.
The 6-foot-6, 324-pound, 26-year-old from Vienna, Ga., seated right here with a honey mustard chicken wrap.
Green Bay inked Kevin Zeitler to a $4 million deal presumably to play. He’s putting off retirement to compete for a Super Bowl. The NFL season is an ultra-marathon full of ups and downs. Chances are, they’ll need Glover either way. At a very dark hour, this is the mystery man who has allowed Love to sling javelins deep. Perhaps the Packers turn to a veteran who’s a full decade older. Or, perhaps Glover is this team’s version of Bruce Wilkerson in 1996 or James Starks in 2010, a savior who appeared out of thin air.
He refuses to look too far ahead. He’s a cool gust of calm in a cutthroat profession.
“I try not to get too high or too low,” Glover says. “I ride in the middle. No matter when things are going terribly wrong, I’m still the same guy and I just try to figure it out. Even when pressure gets high, I find a way to ride the wave, a calm wave.”
He consciously thinks back to his grandmother and all the times she’d “sprinkle” words of wisdom into his life.
Especially that one everlasting message on staying present.
Especially the last gasp of her last day.
“I just keep going,” he says. “My mind tells me to keep going. When I face adversity — if I mess up a play, if I do good on a play — keep going.”
His voice lowers to a whisper.
“Keep going.”
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Back home in Georgia, he has a 4-year-old daughter who loves playing soccer, doing little flips and pretending to be a ballerina. Glover predicts that she’ll be very tall. He apologizes in advance.
Here in Green Bay, he has virtually adopted another child. Country to the bone with a bushy beard, warm eyes and mellow accent that hints at a tender heart, Glover views his day-to-day profession as another form of fatherhood. When Love relays a play inside the huddle, linemen smack their hands together, trot up to the line of scrimmage and — at this precise moment? — the same paternal instincts still kick in.
Glover imagines No. 10 in green is kin.
“I’ve got to protect J-Love,” Glover says. “It’s all in my head: Do my job, reset, refocus each play. Protect the quarterback. Don’t take no BS from nobody.
“Don’t be touching him. Why are y’all getting close? Get away from him!”
Refreshing rhetoric. This team’s soul needed a thorough cleansing after last season.
For too long, players stood idly by when their QB took a cheap shot. No more.
“It’s time to be who we are. We ain’t taking it from nobody. Stay away from J-Love.”
He shakes his head. He’s growing quite fed up with defenders who think they can sneak in extra shoves after the whistle.
“Stay away.”
This same mastodon of a man offering a stern warning to the entire NFL should’ve disappeared from the sport. Twice. Glover, a 202nd overall pick, entered this league as the most disposable of employees and then endured two breaking points that expel players of his stature to 9-to-5 jobs all the time. It’s hard to imagine a worst start to an offensive lineman’s pro career.
First, after playing all of 13 snaps during the regular season, the rookie was vaulted into the team’s wild-card game at Philadelphia when Elgton Jenkins suffered a stinger. In a span of three plays, he both hooked 336-pound Jordan Davis and tackled Moro Ojomo for a pair of penalties. On the Fox broadcast, Tom Brady and Kevin Burkhardt go from utterly speechless — “Wow,” one mutters, “geesh,” the other echoes — to full-fledged pity. Gnawing on his mouthguard, face covered in sweat, Glover is immediately benched.
The Packers lost, 22-10, and fans naturally took fanatical action.
Glover estimates there were 15 DMs in all. Some were laced with more vitriol than others.
Mostly? These team owners admonished Glover for failing to do his job.
Jokes Glover: “I’m like, ‘Yeah, you’re right, sir. You’re right. Why didn’t I just do that?”
Public humiliation to this extreme often vaporizes the confidence of linemen to dust. Over the years, I’ve seen the pale look of horror in their eyes before. Part of the problem is the fragile nature of this profession. Nobody gives a damn if an offensive lineman is perfect on 59 of 60 snaps. One bad rep can make any guard, any tackle Public Enemy No. 1.
And here was a kid from a small school flailing for his life on 28 playoff snaps. This Philly nightmare easily could’ve banished him for good. Into the offseason, however, Glover did not go into a shell. He repeated a few words to himself — “don’t nobody care, don’t nobody care” — and remembered what Towns told him. There were zero benefits to toiling in the past or fast-forwarding into the future.
Of course, he didn’t need to wait until January for the NFL to club him upside the head again.
The drill during training camp was innocent enough. During individuals, Glover simply moved off a B block and felt something minor. Like straining his pec. He figured the muscle simply needed to “calm down” and continued to practice.
The next drill, the pain was sharper.
A scan revealed that he had torn his latissimus dorsi (lat) muscle completely off the bone.
Packers medics told him they had never seen this in the NFL.
“A crazy freak accident,” Glover says. “I’m like, ‘OK. So this crazy stuff happened to me for no reason? It wasn’t even anything powerful.”
His 2025 season was over. No games, no snaps, no sensible hope for the future. Briefly, Glover even wondered if this was career-ending. Mom remembers her son posting an apology on Facebook — he thought he let everyone in Dooly County down. She told him he’ll come back better than ever. “You’ve got to believe,” she said. Still, another offseason guaranteed another opportunity for the Packers to sign and draft people to take his job. By July? He’d be one of 90. On the roster bubble. Damaged goods in their subconscious.
All mental strain that could’ve killed off his NFL career.
Lay this out in such blunt terms and Glover hardly blinks.
“Those things — if you think about that? — it’ll drive you crazy,” Glover says. “Because you could think of a million negative things. You’ve got to say something positive. Because it’s easy to think of something negative. It’ll lean on you and sit there. You’ve got to feed the positivity.”
This was one maxim imparted by a man described as an unsung hero in Green Bay: team psychology Dr. Chris Carr.
Glover’s been seeing Carr since his rookie year. There are classes each Thursday, an interactive app and — through his injury recovery — the young lineman met with Carr 1 on 1 repeatedly.
He describes each session as “a mental meal.”
He didn’t view the long wait as a burden, rather a 365-day opportunity to evolve.
Day to day, Glover felt himself get stronger. Glover actively chose to conduct himself as a leader, showing up to lift weights before most teammates even woke up. If there was one benefit to this torn lat, it’s that it happened in July. He refined his technique, matured as a pro and made the 53-man roster. By Week 4, Glover got the call to start… and knew exactly what fans were thinking. “From the DMs I got,” he says, “they probably weren’t too excited.” This time, he felt wholly prepared for anything on gameday.
Upon taking the field in Tampa Bay, Glover repeatedly told himself: Protect the quarterback. Protect the quarterback.
“I was ready,” Glover says. “I don’t know what my grandmother and my mama instilled in me, but I feel it in everything I do.”
With that, he looks inward. He tries to pinpoint and articulate those characteristics.
An exercise that requires emotional bandwidth. And a napkin, or two.
He reaches for the cell phone in his pocket and taps open Instagram.
Not to find those nasty DMs. He deleted all those. No, Glover wants to show us his proudest block as a member of the Georgia State Panthers. It’s the third reel in an archived collection. As the left tackle on a wide receiver screen, it was Glover’s job to pull wide and seal off the cornerback. A difficult trek for anyone lineman. But if you make contact, the result is glorious devastation.
This cornerback — Reddy Steward — weighed about 175. In other words, nearly half of Glover.
The video begins. No. 73 in blue chops his feet, fans out and manages to launch Steward airborne.
He wasn’t finished. Glover felt the need to douse this pancake in maple syrup by then dive-bombing on top of his victim.
It’s funny. Throughout this two-hour chat, Travis Glover’s voice is exceptionally soft. Compassionate. Then you listen closely to his actual words and realize this southern gentleman is coldblooded. Glover admits he belly-flopped this poor wretch for a reason. Steward made the All-Sun Belt first team in both ’22 and ’23. Today, he plays for the Dallas Cowboys.
“I was like, ‘Oh yeah, if I hit him hard enough, he ain’t going to want to keep playing,’” Glover recalls. “That’s why I jumped on him. He was pretty good. So if we get him a little weak, a little tired, it was good.”
To his credit, Steward managed to stay in the game.
On his way back to the huddle, Glover did hear a Troy coach screaming that this was a dirty play. Whatever.
There were many moments like this one through his 57 starts with Georgia State.
Which begs two questions: How did he land at a Sun Belt program created in 2010? and Why did he stay there?
For starters, he picked up the sport late. After one fall of youth ball at age 9, he didn’t play again until 11th grade. Mom wouldn’t allow out. Coaches stayed on Sandra — even visiting her at work — but she wanted her boy focused on academics. Oddly enough, Travis wasn’t exactly begging to play. So once Mom said yes, she wasn’t sure how this whole football thing would even go. Travis was so quiet, so cognizant of the fact that he was the largest human being in every conceivable social setting by 6+ inches and 75+ pounds. “Everybody’s expecting aggression or bullying — the stereotypical stuff,” Sandra says. “But he was never like that.”
Once games began, Sandra implored him to bring it and Travis admitted he didn’t want to hurt anybody.
He also didn’t know what in the hell he was doing. Glover simply ran into people.
But the more he hit, the more comfortable he got, the more he transformed into a “totally different person,” Mom says.
Western Kentucky was his lone FBS offer for a while. On the eve of Signing Day, a scholarship opened up at Georgia State and he decided to attend the Atlanta school a short two-hour drive away.
Stayed loyal, too. As NIL warped college football, Glover heard from power schools. And he was never blinded by their lavish offers. Instead? He was annoyed. He was ticked that all they wanted to discuss was money. In his mind, transferring would’ve been nothing but a temporary sugar high because there was a good chance he’d spend the entire season standing on the sideline. “I didn’t want to chase money,” he adds, “I didn’t want to chase the lights.” He believed his only shot at making the NFL was by staying on the field. Granted, this was a high-stakes bet. It’s not easy for any 21- or 22-year-old kid to decline life-changing money.
Let alone one who had just become a father.
Amari was born in the thick of it all.
Travis was forced to grow up in a hurry.
“I can’t be childish anymore,” Glover recalls. “I’ve got to lead the way.”
In-between practice… and class… and lifts… and diaper changes, Glover took on a job at a place called “Hot Dog Pete’s” right by the football stadium. He didn’t go through the motions, either. Glover worked his way up to a manager position. Hot dogs. Corn dogs. French fries. Ice cream. He did it all. He was so good at his job that — by the time he headed to the pros — the place permanently shut down. (“I was running the spot.”)
Through his agent, Marshall Rosenbach, he soon linked up with longtime NFL pro Lee Smith at the former tight end’s training facility. With Triple F, in Knoxville, Tenn., Smith created an O-Line-, Tight End-specific training ground for prospects. He was cut his first camp with the New England Patriots. He knows from firsthand experience that most all rookies are not prepared for the rigors of pro football, calling the business of pre-combine training a “racket” and a “hoax.” Yes, Smith can also shave a lineman’s 40-yard dash time from 5.3 to 5.2 seconds. But there’s so much more to the sport. And unless you’re a high draft pick, your margin for error in training camp is microscopic.
Smith bounced back and lasted 11 years. Along with fellow ex-pros Jon Feliciano and Rodney Hudson, and the trio’s 440 career games, he believes he’s built a more realistic NFL launching pad. Glover was one of his first clients.
“He’s like a son to me,” says Smith, who played for the Bills, Raiders and Falcons. “He’s the kind of guy you’d let take your daughter on a date and go into a bar fight with. There are very few humans on earth that check those two boxes. That’s what I always say about Josh Allen and Travis Glover’s another one of those. He has a special place in my heart.”
Glover was invited to the Hula Bowl and, later, the Senior Bowl.
The NFL dream neared.
But first, trauma. That December, he watched the life leave his grandmother.
Martha Towns was a force of nature. The “fabric,” the “glue,” the bedrock for the entire family, her daughter Sandra says. She had 10 children, 28 grandchildren. If anyone was going through anything, they called her. Not that a call was required. Towns made a point to spontaneously reach out to as many family members as possible daily. She’d know exactly what to say to completely turn your day around. And with Sandra working all week as a prison warden’s secretary to keep food on the table, Travis spent endless days with his grandmother. Never a daycare. The result: a very special, very deep relationship. When Towns yelled Travis’ name those final hours, Sandra remembers her son — in a state of shock — nearly picking her up out of the bed. “Baby,” she said to him, “where are you going to take her?”
Transitioning back into NFL mode felt impossible.
A week later, Travis and Mom boarded a plane to meet with his agent.
“I could tell that my son’s heart was in the same place as mine — wanting to go back and just be with family,” Sandra recalls. “She always encouraged him, always told him that he could be anything that he wanted to be. He held onto that.”
So when he started throwing around dumbbells again at Triple F, he did his best to press on. He was all business. Smith and Glover never discussed the episode in the weight room, and the ex-tight end is a man who’s dealt with his own share of trauma en route to becoming the voice of reason in every locker room he occupied.
At this fragile moment, all Smith saw was determination.
“He knows that’s what his grandma would’ve wanted,” Smith says. “So he came in, didn’t skip a beat and handled everything like a grown man and did what he needed to do. It was really impressive to watch. He is literally one of my favorite human beings on the planet.”
Clearly, this loss is still affecting Glover.
That day, he lost part of himself.
But he also knows her fight’s living on in him. Glover calls Towns “one of the most amazing women” he’ll ever meet in his life. A world-class cook. A fountain of wisdom. A devout Christian who’d quote verses from the Bible verbatim at the top of her head. Family DNA is strong. Back when he was in eighth grade, Glover and his little brother settled into the living room with their Chinese takeout to watch the BET Awards when, approximately two bites in, Mom flew in to say her mother’s house was on fire. Lightning struck the breaker box. Thankfully, an uncle smelled the smoke, noticed the fire inside the kitchen and everyone inside managed to escape in time.
The house was destroyed. Grandma and Grandpa Towns moved into Glover’s home.
To this day, Glover refuses to watch the BET Awards.
Or take Mom. She’s also tough as nails. Sandra still works Monday through Friday, and Glover assures she’s witnessed it all on those surveillance cameras inside the prison.
Or take Dad. Travis Sr. was an excellent football player himself and even played for the same coach as his son. Jimmy Hughes told Travis Jr. stories of Travis Sr. tackling the quarterback and running back at the same time because he didn’t know who had the ball. He stood 6 foot 3 inches tall and was naturally strong. “The way he grew up,” Travis Jr. says, “lifting refrigerators and stuff, he built that strength.” That is, until the accident. Until a terrible car accident his senior year left him paralyzed on the left side of his body. Travis Jr. says Dad cannot use his left hand, walks with a limp and has a scar on his head.
Driving down a hill, his vehicle slid underneath a truck and he needed to learn how to walk again through intensive therapy. He was lucky to survive. With his one functional hand, Travis Sr. now runs his own lawnmower business in Cordele, Ga.
All genes, all experiences equipped Glover for everything he’d face in a league that spits out players annually. When he became a new father — and the NFL closed in — he refused to stress at all. As far as he’s concerned, the emotion does nothing for you. There’s no reason to expend such negative energy. So now whenever anyone in the family is stressing out, they don’t call Towns.
They call Travis.
He calms them down.
“Ain’t no need to kill yourself from stress,” Glover says. “Let’s get through it.”
After weathering two years of turbulence with the Packers, he’s here. The kid grilling hot dogs and flattening collegiate corners has a chance to be the missing piece on a championship contender. And he’s not overwhelmed.
“No challenge,” Glover says, “feels too big or too tough.”
During practice, he refuses to walk off the field. Ever. Even if the distance is 2 ½ yards, he’ll gallop to the sideline. It’s all mental, all a reminder to remain the same person he’s always been.
“Don’t get lazy,” Glover tells himself. “Jog off the field.”
Once practice concludes, he doesn’t care if it’s raining, snowing or if the wind chill dips into the negatives. Glover refuses to hitch a ride across Oneida St. back to the locker room. He’s got to travel on his own two feet and recruited a handful of rookies to do the same. When Jager Burton and Dillon Wade missed a day, Glover was not pleased inside the locker room. He gave both the cold shoulder. “You good, Glov?” they asked. “Yeah,” he said, “Just a little lonely. I had to walk back by myself.” They haven’t missed a day since.
Again, it’s more mental than physical.
“I don’t think it’s as big to other people,” Glover says. “But it’s a big deal to me.”
When it’s time to play on gameday, there’s nothing highfalutin to his play style.
“I try to maul people,” he says. “Protect the quarterback, protect the guy on my right, guy on my left. Hit people, hit them hard, have fun.”
As this 2026 Packers season enters a critical stretch, Glover isn’t worrying about who’ll be playing where from left tackle to right tackle. He jokes that he’ll line up at wide receiver if called upon. (“I might not be very effective, but I’ll go do it.”) With or without Zeitler, odds are the Packers will be counting on him to mount a playoff run. That’s life on an NFL offensive line. Right when everything seems settled, lightning can strike that electrical unit.
The No. 1 objective for everyone is the same.
Keep Love clean and Green Bay can beat anyone in the league.
Glover spontaneously laughs thinking of throws his QB has made this season. He calls him a “fierce competitor” who’s also strikingly… chill.
“I love everything about him,” he says.
Every football player repeats the same trope of never getting too high, never getting too low, stayed even-keeled. But few live it. Few manage to maintain a steely disposition when 22 moving objects are colliding at dangerous speeds for three hours. Such laser-beam focus is Love’s greatest weapon, and it’s infectious inside the huddle. Back to ’24, Glover was blown away by his quarterback’s command. As the play clock ticks, Love has answers for everything.
There’s no guesswork. He speaks with conviction.
His calm becomes yours.
Heart rates settle down.
“You feel it,” Glover says. “That’s literally what I said one time. He got in the huddle. He was talking. I was like, ‘OK, he’s good. We’re good too.’ He’s chill, so we’re chill. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. You just feel it. It’s kind of crazy. It almost feels like not real. It’s this feeling you get in your body — ‘OK, bring it back down.’ The way he’s talking, he commands the whole thing.”
The ball’s snapped and Love’s brand of quarterbacking is an extension of such tranquility. He’s unbothered by all chaos around him. Even amid that Minneapolis hellfire, hit 15 times in all, he threw for 387 yards.
“No flinch. No flinch.”
Glover’s ascent from nowhere helps.
When he’s not busy protecting his quarterback, he finds ways to pass the time in football’s smallest market.
He’s gotten into reading… sort of. If a book is awful, he refuses to waste his time getting to the finish line. That was the case after picking up 2Chainz’s new memoir at the airport. He read two chapters and couldn’t last any longer. It was horrendous. Glover is finishing up “Chop Wood Carry Water” and has enjoyed “The Warrior Ethos” by Steven Pressfield. The part that stunned him? Mothers in ancient Sparta who disowned their kids if they returned home from war. It’s intense. He’s learned to shut off the outside world when he reads this book gifted by director of player engagement Grey Ruegamer.
He’ll hop on Madden, 2K and Siege to connect with his uncles, cousins and brothers back home.
He’s gone full Wisconsin, from bowfishing with teammates in Suamico to developing a damn good shot from 40 yards with his compound bow at a 3D archery range in De Pere. Glover hasn’t put the latter to use yet in the woods. If anyone wants to go deer hunting, let him know.
Glover isn’t with his daughter’s mother, but the two have maintained a healthy relationship. It pains him to be so far away during the season. Glover wants to instill all of his grandmother’s lessons into Amari. At age 4, he’s already seeing the “fierceness” and “toughness” that defined Towns. Nodding toward a nearby coat rack, he says Amari would leap off that ledge with zero fear.
He’d love to get his entire family up to a game at Lambeau before the arctic freeze sets in.
For now, videos must suffice. By the time Glover gets to his locker after games, there’s one from Mom waiting for him on his phone. She’s leaping up and down. She’s screaming “Go Pack Go!” one moment, then telling him exactly what he did wrong the next — “tighten that up!”
“I’m going to be forever in his corner,” Sandra says. “He has always been an exceptional young man and he could have chose any path, but chose not to get in trouble. I’m proud of him for having a mindset that he wanted a better life for himself. I’m 10 toes down behind him. Regardless of what anybody else has to say about him. Rome wasn’t built in a day. He won’t be stopped.”
Smith, an NFL survivor, fully expects Glover to last in the pros for several years.
He knows those paternal instincts are serving him well.
“Travis is not going to take his foot off the gas because he’s getting playing time, he’s getting loved on,” Smith says. “His character and his natural physical ability and traits that he has to be able to play guard and tackle and all the things that he’s able to do, barring injury, the young man’s going to play pro football for a long time.
“I cannot talk about how much I love him.”
As Plae Bistro’s lunch crowd clears out, our conversation winds down.
This was a perfectly fine meal. He enjoyed it. Nothing, however, will ever compare to his grandmother’s home cooking. His mind races back in time once more.
“Collard greens, dressing, fried chicken, black eyed peas, really anything. I don’t think I ever told her anybody about this…”
Glover pauses. His eyes close. His voice cracks.
Without warning, his emotions are hijacked again.
“She… she… three years before she passed, she told me she was going to make me a cheesecake. I didn’t want to bug her about it, but I wanted to ask her about this cheesecake.
“She never made it. So, I don’t eat cheesecake no more.”
More tears pour. He repeats this line — I don’t eat cheesecake no more — four times in a whimpered hush.
Simply, he didn’t want to bother her. Towns passed away and he vowed to never eat cheesecake again.
Glover stares ahead as the melancholic, yet soothing “How Good It Is” by Morningsiders plays overhead.
“I feel her willpower within me,” Glover says. “I know she didn’t live for no reason. I feel everything that she stood for, and I know that it’s in me. I know she had her purpose and I get the benefit from it and hopefully I can live on like that. She’s a great, great woman…”
His voice tremors, then fades. There’s no way to punctuate this thought. Travis Glover is still struggling with the loss of a loved one. Who knows what his future entails on or off the field — hardship is a guarantee.
This time, though, he wipes his tears away.
He won’t look backward. He won’t look too far ahead.
All he can do is take grandma’s advice, lift himself up and exit through the front door.