Why We Loved JoePa

As the Jerry Sandusky scandal unfolded, there were plenty of people around the nation, and even some in State College, that openly wondered about the sanity of the people of Pennsylvania. Why, given the shocking nature of the Grand Jury presentment, did many Penn State students, former players, Penn State alumni, and people of Pennsylvania immediately leap to Joe Paterno’s defense? The most extreme and reactionary form of that defense came in the destructive behavior of some students on the night when Paterno was fired by the Penn State Board of Trustees. Yet since then, there has been a less violent but no less insistent drumbeat that Paterno, if not innocent of wrongdoing, was at least unjustly tarred and feathered with a broad brush for the alleged crimes of another man.

Now he has died. People are lighting candles at his statue outside Beaver Stadium as if he has been elevated to sainthood, Thousands today and tomorrow will solemnly file by his body. The great and the small laud and lionize him. Some still shake their head and wonder. Not aloud, of course. Not now.

But the accusations are there: Football is God at Penn State. Everything is permitted, even child sexual abuse, as long as Penn State wins. People are so besotted with their idols that they can’t face the truth.

It’s an easy answer and one that doesn’t bear scrutiny. I think I know why the young, the old, and those in between so valued Joe Paterno.

John Hughes’s iconic ‘80s movie ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ tells the story of high-school senior Ferris Bueller and his friends, and of their adversaries. Their parents are self-centered yuppies whether of the avaricious or vacuous type. Their teachers have had their souls long since stripped of anything resembling passion. Their administrators give them slogans bereft of any meaning and their only enjoyment seems to come from tormenting the independent-minded, out of resentment for the people they could have become. Ferris and his friends seek a day off from the mindlessness and soullessness of ‘the institution’ to live life. Even in a cynical, materialistic way, they are seeking a genuine community of meaning.

When Joe Paterno spoke to a crowd at a Pep Rally or at Thon; when he spoke one-on-one with alumni, students, fans, and fellow coaches; when he and his wife Sue brought pizzas to Paternoville; when they donated millions of dollars to build libraries, spiritual centers, and hospitals; when he spoke to his players, the people got the feeling that he was giving himself to them. He gave them the opportunity, even vicariously, to share in something greater than themselves: something that resembled a genuine community of meaning, perhaps the only one they had ever known.

It was the exact opposite of the deadening character of John Hughes’s vision: here was a man who believed in something, who believed in you and in us. The fact that he was still believing in us in his 80s was just still more testimony that he was one of us. He could have been, should have been thinking more of himself. He reportedly didn’t, to the last.

When he was unceremoniously dumped in November, by a Board made up of living people but faceless to most, young and immature people acted how young and immature people will act. But many of the older wiser ones felt the same way: a man who had given himself to them in community was being cast aside like a relic, like an embarrassment, like a stranger. If you’ve ever had a coach, a director, a teacher, a priest or pastor, a parent, who had vision and inspired you with it, you might understand why this felt like a massive betrayal.

It is possible to think that it was the right thing to do. Even had it not been for the practical impossibility of Paterno’s continuing to coach in the maelstrom of the scandal, there was (and perhaps still is) enough doubt about his role in the scandal to warrant a change in leadership. It is possible to think this and still grieve for the way in which it was done. It is possible to still honor the man for his vision and his demonstrated impact on so many lives, including the ones who never met him.

But it should be impossible to think that Penn Staters and those who laud Paterno for his life simply are so football-besotted that they can convince themselves of anything. There is more than football at work here. A man has died who believed in meaning, who believed in community, and who believed that there were genuine things in life. Along the way, he made others believe too.

That’s why we loved JoePa.