Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m a huge Penn State fan. From the moment I walked on the campus in the heart of cold-country-Pennsylvania, I knew I wanted to live in State College and attend this, the mother of all football schools. (Sure, I was interested in academics, too, but hey, I was eighteen, and all about the party.)
To live in State College is to breath in the very air that is fall’s brisk gift and walk the sidewalks to Beaver Stadium on game day. Nicknamed “Happy Valley,” it’s where over one hundred thousand fans flock to tailgate, cheer, and watch the blue-and-white play as the Nittany Lion does one-handed push-ups after each score.
There, we revere Joe Paterno, or JoePa, who has built a program of respect, revered nationally for his tough standards on his players, his passion for ethics, and his no-nonsense approach. You won’t see the last name of Penn State players on their jerseys–it’s all about the team.
So you can imagine that when the story broke about Jerry Sandusky, who had coached at Penn State being accused of child molestation and a resulting cover-up in the Penn State football administration, I–along with thousands of other fans–were crushed.
Charged with multiple felonies including abuse of eight boys over a fifteen year period, Sandusky’s actions have lowered a shroud of shame upon revered Joe Paterno and his staff. Apparently targeting children who were part of a non-profit he created, The Second Mile (one which I personally helped raise funds for in college), Sandusky was seen at various times in inappropriate sexual situations with those kids.
Paterno reportedly did the right thing and notified his superior–athletics director Tim Curley–as soon as he became aware of the allegations.
Tim Curley and senior vice president Gary Schultz are accused of failing to report the abuse and have stepped down from their posts. Joe Paterno’s future is unsure, and rumors exist that Paterno will retire after this season amidst the Sandusky shame.
This Saturday, I’ll trek the five and-and-half hours through the Pennsylvania mountains to watch my Nittany Lions battle the cornhuskers with the college roommate I met twenty years ago in Pennypacker Hall. We’ll meet up with our old partners-in-crime, gather amidst thousands of cars in the middle of a grassy field, and enjoy a chili cook-off in the heart of frigid Pennsylvania with over one hundred thousand of our closest friends.
But all of us who love Penn State and all it has represented through the years won’t stop wondering: who could have done something to protect those children sooner? Who could’ve stopped him early-on? And who will step up and tell the truth about who knew what?
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