Paterno in Pennsylvania

Not much happens in Central Pennsylvania. Kids go to school, play sports, and – when they get older—work.  Adults take care of the kids, watch sports, and work.  Usually religion is in involved in the weekly routine as well.  As someone who spent the first eighteen years of his life in a suburb of Pennsylvania’s capital city of Harrisburg, I can tell you that not much commotion takes place in the area of the Keystone State between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Yet, residents of the area are generally happy people; we find ways to make life enjoyable. Usually this involves spending time with friends and family; invariably, it involves Penn State football.

It is hard to explain to an outsider the might of Pennsylvania State University within my home state. During the fall, the Nittany Lions usurp my local newspaper every Saturday (pregame coverage) and Sunday (postgame coverage).  I don’t even live that close to State College, the home of the university. The Patriot-News is located an hour and forty-five minutes from the supposed utopia commonly referred to as “Happy Valley.” Still, Joe Paterno and his team are of far greater importance than the professional Steelers or Eagles could ever hope to be.

For the past 40 years, Joe Paterno, a mere sports coach, has been the most powerful man in the entire state. Think of the governors, senators, and mayors who have all held the keys to the Pennsylvanian government over the past four decades.  “JoePa” had more clout than any one of them. This is the man who, after particularly unsuccessful seasons, told the university president and athletic director in 2004 that he would not be forced to leave the program. This is the man who runs the program that singlehandedly funds every other sports program (except basketball) at Pennsylvania’s largest university. This is the man who is primarily responsible for turning a university into the second largest economy in Pennsylvania. Without Joe Paterno’s 409 victories, PSU would never be able to draw such a significant amount of students from all over the state.

The recent Jerry Sandusky scandal brings the magnitude of Penn State’s power to light. JoePa’s defensive coordinator was under investigation for sexually abusing young boys in 1998, something there is no way a head coach of Paterno’s stature could not know.  JoePa’s head assistant coach, the man who was supposedly being groomed as his heir apparent, suddenly left his position with the team in 1999, but, for some reason, no one questioned the odd move. The Patriot-News first reported the scandal this March, yet, incomprehensibly, every other newspaper in the state decided that there was no story in one of the state’s biggest football personalities allegedly sexually abusing children. Contrarily, the newspaper says it received animosity for its purported defamation of the sacrosanct Penn State brand. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Central Pennsylvania.

Penn State’s hegemony does not solely gain it the distinction as first in the hearts of the countrymen.  The university’s dominance seeps into the Capitol, where the legislature provides an occupation for 28 PSU alums. The college provides the legislature with something in return—tickets to Beaver Stadium’s grandiose luxury boxes. Such a perk is worth prime capital in Central PA. When Governor Tom Corbett sensibly tried to find ways to balance the budget after consecutive years of fiscal impasse by reducing state funding in Pennsylvania’s independent schools, Harrisburg rose in opposition. Legislators would not tolerate the austerity of the 54 percent cut to their beloved institution and restored the majority of the funding.  Keep in mind that while Penn State is often referred to as a public university, it enjoys its secrecy too much to associate itself with the government. The university regales in its status as an autonomous establishment, as evidenced by its repeated refusal to release the salary of its employees (most notably that of Paterno).

Penn State obviously understands its colossal stature within the state, and the fact that it believed it could hide the fact that a prominent individual within the organization repeatedly assaulted children is grotesque. More grotesque is that it was very nearly correct.  The head coach, athletic director, president, and vice-president all, according to reports, allegedly knew about the monstrosity over ten years ago and successfully managed to keep it under the rug for a long time. One of the at least eight victims’ mothers says the police told her in 1998 not to tell anybody about the incident.  Even when the grand jury investigation was finally exposed to the public, Joe Paterno had the audacity to think he could just coach a couple more games before calling it quits.  He was evidently of the “I am Joe Paterno” mindset, in which his legacy is more important than the ruined lives of children.  Even if Paterno had followed the letter of the law and done everything he could have in the past to protect the boys (which it seems pretty clear he did not), the fact that he thought he could finish out the season knowing what  had occurred on his watch is inexcusable. That is not only hubris; it is sick, perverted hubris.

After Joe Paterno was fired, he was greeted favorably by hundreds of students outside his home excoriating the university’s decision. Former high school classmates of mine have changed their Facebook profile picture to Paterno’s face in solidarity with the plight of the man who could probably never become their persona non grata.

Many Penn State students and members of the community—probably a majority—understand the depth of the situation, as seen by the vigil the night before the Nebraska game. Yet, there still was a Nebraska game.  As long as there is a Pennsylvania, there will always be Penn State football. What else are Central Pennsylvanians going to do?

John  F. M. Kocsis ’15 lives in Canaday Hall.