A clouded legacy: Joe Paterno 1926-2012

When I heard of Joe Paterno's passing two days ago, the first thing that came to my mind was the closing words to Ben Folds' song, "The Luckiest":

Next door, there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep.
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away.
I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know
That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest.

Paterno died a mere three months after he coached his Nittany Lions to a victory against Illinois, establishing himself as the winningest coach in Division One history, a mere ten and a half weeks after his 46-year hold over the program was abruptly wrested away by a phone call from the Penn State Board
of Trustees. While I was deeply saddened by the loss of a man who has over the years symbolized more than a football team, more even than football itself, but the entire world of sports, I found it very much fitting that Paterno died so soon after parting ways with the program he had come to define.

When I learned that JoePa had been dismissed as Head Coach of the Penn State football team in lieu of accusations that he had not properly disclosed alleged sexual abuse of a young boy (which turned out to be up to twenty young boys) by his former defensive coordinator, I somehow knew that he could not survive long when the future no longer held the prospect of pacing the field at Beaver Stadium every other Saturday. It seemed impossible to me that Joe Paterno would endure, not when his days of leading the team out of the tunnel and leaning into the microphone to speak in his low, Brooklyn dialect, with the blue lion emblem boldly emblazoned on his jacket and the screen in the background, were finished. How can a man carry on when the team with which he has been joined at the hip for 3/4 of his life (including his time as an assistant) is ripped away? The Nittany Lions were everything to Joe, the core to his very being. Paterno and Penn State truly were the sports equivalent of a long-time marriage: inseparable, even indiscernible from one another. To speak of one was to speak of the other. With his cruel, ungracious firing and the loss of something not unlike a spouse and longtime partner, I believe that JoePa lost his identity, and with it, the will to live. For 46 years, Joe Paterno coached Penn State to a record 409 victories, five undefeated seasons and two national championships, and was adored by generations of fans. Within three months, the world was reminded that when someone pours all they have into something they love, they are often left with nothing when it is gone.

Paterno's career will be viewed as an unparalleled achievement of longevity and enduring success, of humility and selflessness, and devotion to a university whose growth and stature can be directly attributed to its head coach of nearly fifty years. Yet there will always be a blemish, one screaming, blinding footnote. When Mike McQueary, at the time a graduate assistant of the team, informed his head coach that    he had witnessed former defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky in the shower with an underage boy, allegedly engaging in acts of a very sexual nature, Paterno fulfilled his legal obligation by passing it on to the school's administrators, but failed to live up to the moral standards expected in a man by not alerting the authorities of the matter once it was clear that the university would not do so. From 2002 until the story's break in 2011, a span of nine years, Joe Paterno carried the unpublicized knowledge that a senior member of his staff was a child predator to every game, every news conference, in every waking moment, and he never divulged it, though he must have known its significance. I must admit, that disturbs me.

JoePa did incalculable good for Penn State University. He brought it to the forefront of the football world, and built it into a fine institution in terms of both athletics and academics. Under his tenure, the Nittany Lions were one of the very few major conference teams that had never been charged with a recruiting violation. Joe and his wife donated millions of their own dollars back into the school. He transformed hundreds upon hundreds and generation after generation of boys into young men under his tutelage. Unfortunately, the bad that resulted from his gross moral inaction on behalf of a young boy, who turned out to be just one of many, has stained and tarnished an otherwise perfect record.

With Joe Paterno dies (or at least should die) the final vestige of a coach whose authority is unequaled on the campus he calls home. No matter what rationale JoePa had for keeping his secret, a decision of that magnitude should not have been left to the judgment of just one man. More people should have known. Paterno should never have been in the position in which he, and he alone, could keep justice from being served, and childhoods from being desecrated at the hands of a pervert. As it happened, he was, and lives were marred because of it.

But I am not saying that Joe was a bad man. I firmly believe that he was a very good man, even a great one. His contributions to the school that he loved were enormous. He had innumerable redeeming qualities which truly made him a unique and legendary figure in sports history. I feel assuredly that he was a wholly benevolent and well-intentioned man. But he was human. Perhaps we lost sight of that over the years, but Paterno was not perfect, just as no one else is. After a long conversation on this topic with fellow LBS contributor Henry Emerson (https://twitter.com/#!/henryemoson), I arrived at the conclusion that Joe was thrust into a situation in which his personal faults would doom him. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever these hitherto unknown defects were, they prevented the coach from doing the right thing, and contributed to what is now a jeopardized legacy for both the man and his school. Had Jerry Sandusky never set foot on Penn State's campus, this article would not have taken me nearly as long as it is now. The newfound complexities surrounding Paterno would not exist, leaving only a faultless tale of success and love between a coach, a school, and all those connected to it. Of course, Paterno must be held liable for his transgression(s). What I am attempting to say is that JoePa was, at least in my mind, much more of the great and noble man that was ever-present for six decades than the bad he was forced to reveal in his final three months on earth, even if the damage caused by his failings put his legacy into serious question.

Either way, I think we can all agree that this man, after all he did for Penn State, deserved a hell of a lot more from his board of trustees than a phone call at 10:00 at night (which is pretty late for an old guy) notifying him that his "services were no longer needed", and he was therefore "terminated." A 10-second call, after 61 years. I know that Joe died of lung cancer. But I don't think I am alone in thinking that if this horrible scandal had never taken place, Paterno would still be fighting this disease, maybe even beating it. He'd be doing his absolute best to be back on the field come September, a passionate, lovable old man with no faults known to his name. The present could not be farther from that happy fiction. And, I suppose, that's just life.

Rest in Peace, Joe Paterno. May the legacy of your good deeds resonate beyond the bad.