Game Over

by Bill Moushey

  A breakthrough came during the 1982 season, when Paterno finally took Penn State to the top. Ranked second in the country, Penn State had a showdown with No. 1 Georgia in the Sugar Bowl. In the days leading up to the game, rival fans teased and taunted each other on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. At a big New Year’s Eve party at the media hotel, Paterno made a brief appearance as Pete Fountain’s jazz band provided the background music.

  During the festivities Paterno approached the media representatives to ask about the well-being of long-time Associated Press sports writer Ralph Bernstein, who was forced to make an emergency return to Philadelphia because his wife had been murdered. The day before the biggest game of his coaching career, he wanted to let the Bernstein family know his thoughts were with them. Penn State won the game 29–23. The defense, coached by Jerry Sandusky, largely shut down Georgia’s running back Herschel Walker to preserve the win. Finally, after all those years, Penn State was No. 1. Players hoisted Paterno onto their shoulders and carried him off the field. The Grand Experiment had succeeded.

  But as proud as Paterno was of the team’s victory, he made sure to talk about classroom achievements as much as football achievements. Todd Blackledge, the winning quarterback, was a Phi Beta Kappa. Better known today as a football broadcaster than for his career in the National Football League, Blackledge had a 3.83 grade point average out of a possible 4.0. Also on that team were three Academic All-Americans. The graduation rate for players that year was 90 percent, higher than for the overall student population at Penn State. “These players aren’t put in any easy classes,” Paterno said. “They have to work at it because that is the only way to get anything out of a university. Most of the people we recruit will accept that challenge. There is no sense in being involved in something unless you want it to be the best. I really believe there is something more to a college football experience than winning or losing. If after four years a kid leaves and he hasn’t learned anything from me, it’s been a tragic waste, for both of us.”

  IN THE GLORY DAYS OF the Roman Empire, a conquering general would be paraded along the Via Sacra to the cheers of the adoring mob. A slave following the conqueror would repeat a warning: “You are mortal. You are mortal. You are mortal.” After the Sugar Bowl victory, as the Penn State football team rode in coach buses from the Harrisburg airport back to State College, two hours away, the champions were saluted by people in every small town along U.S. Route 322. Occasionally the buses were escorted by local fire company trucks with lights flashing and sirens wailing. One church put a sign on its billboard with the message, “These Christians Root for the Lions.”

  The procession finally reached campus after midnight, greeted by a throng of celebratory students and townies. Trophy in hand, Paterno led them in a chant. “We are Penn State!” he crowed. At future home games, at the urging of cheerleaders, half the crowd at Beaver Stadium would yell “JOE-PA!” and the other half would respond “TERNO!” The nickname JoePa had been born.

  Penn State lost a bid to win a second national championship following the 1985 season, when the Nittany Lions were beaten by Oklahoma in the Orange Bowl. But in 1986, the 100th season of football at Penn State, the Paterno legend reached new heights. Ranked second in the country, Penn State beat heavily favored No. 1 Miami in the Sunkist Fiesta Bowl. Bowl officials asked NBC-TV to move the game to Friday, January 2, 1987, to get better ratings; it was the first time a bowl game was played after New Year’s Day. On Paterno’s directive, Penn State players arrived for the game wearing coats and ties, while Miami players donned combat fatigues. Miami’s coach Jimmy Johnson referred to Paterno at a news conference as “Saint Joe.” Paterno had already been recognized as Sportsman of the Year by Sports Illustrated, which said his combination of high graduation rates and football success made him “stick out like a clean thumb.”

  Penn State won the game 14–10 in Jerry Sandusky’s finest hour as defensive coordinator. The Lions recovered a pair of fumbles and had five interceptions, the last one a game-saving interception with eighteen seconds to play. Once again victorious players lifted JoePa onto their shoulders and carried him off the field in triumph. At the age of sixty, he was on top of the world, the new Lion King.

  Penn State gave up its status as an independent football power and began competing in the Big Ten Conference in 1993. The switch coincided with a new endorsement deal from Nike, which provided Penn State with uniforms and shoes, and in 1995 the Nike swoosh appeared on the team’s jerseys. The deal was worth more than $2 million to the university. But not everybody was pleased with the commercialism of the deal. When Keith Jackson, a Hall of Fame football announcer, saw the new look he said, “That’s like the Mona Lisa having a mustache.”

  In its first thirty-four seasons under Paterno, Penn State had only one losing season. The winning ways changed in 2000, one year after Sandusky retired as defensive coordinator. In the next five years the Nittany Lions had four losing seasons. Whether it was coincidence or Sandusky meant that much to the program, Penn State football entered into what fans called the Dark Ages. Penn State’s overall record during that time was 26–33.

  In addition to problems on the playing field, there were off-field issues as well. In 2003 alone, eleven Penn State players were cited or arrested for violations ranging from alcohol abuse to sexual assault. Some alumni and media columnists called for Paterno to step down for the good of the program. For years Paterno had talked about not wanting to stay too long, but he always kept going. “What am I going to do? Cut the grass?” he said repeatedly.

  At the end of the 2004 season Paterno, now seventy-eight, invited high-ranking administrators at Penn State to his house. He felt it was finally time to step down. The group included President Graham Spanier, Athletic Director Tim Curley, Senior Vice President of Finance Gary Schultz, and Steve Garban, chairman of the board of trustees. Garban had been a Nittany Lions captain when Engle was coach and Paterno was his assistant.

  The meeting took place at Paterno’s kitchen table, the same table where Mike McQueary sat in 2002 to tell the coach about Sandusky and the shower incident. Discussions were held on an orderly transition, as well as who Paterno’s successor would be. The group reconvened several times in the next several days. Eventually Paterno told Spanier he wanted his successor to be Tom Bradley, the defensive coordinator who had taken over when Sandusky retired. The group authorized Spanier to sound out Bradley about the possibility. Before Bradley was contacted, however, Paterno changed his mind. He decided he was going to stay and turn the program around. Nobody in the inner circle challenged him. Was there any doubt who was the ultimate authority at Penn State?

  Penn State’s football fortunes did rebound. From 2005 to the start of the 2010 season the Nittany Lions had a 58–19 record, won two more Big Ten Conference championships, and appeared in five more bowl games, winning four of them.

  In December 2007, at a black-tie dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City, Paterno was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. He said at a news conference, “I appreciate the fact that people have said, ‘Hey, you’ve been an asset to college football and we want to acknowledge that.’ I’ve tried to be good for college football. I’m not saying I’m the best coach. But I’ve worked hard to be good, because I really love college football.”

  Paterno’s love of the game was never in question. But the activities of his long-time assistant coach, long retired from his staff, would entangle the university and Paterno himself in the biggest sex scandal ever to hit college sports.

  Chapter 7

  The Beginning of the End of Sandusky

  From the start of her eleven-year-old son’s involvement in The Second Mile, a young single mother from Clinton County, Pennsylvania, thought the charity would provide a great opportunity for him; she hoped he would benefit from the self-image programs and positive direction it provided. The Second Mile’s objective of elevating the attitudes and changing the outlooks of troubled kids could help a ch
ild like hers. When Jerry Sandusky took a special interest in her son, who had no male presence in his life, she was even more pleased. The man was a celebrity in central Pennsylvania, where Penn State football was like a religion. He was an icon, the mastermind of the defenses that translated into great victories. Young children proudly and dutifully wore the school’s blue-and-white gear. The venerated founder of the charity was also bringing former Nittany Lions stars, elite pro football players, and other professional athletes to The Second Mile programs. All the athletes were eager to work with troubled children. The mother had no idea that Sandusky had been accused twice before of inappropriate sexual contact with young boys.

  She was a single mother raising two children, a son and a daughter. A school counselor had referred her son to The Second Mile. The first three years of his involvement with the charity were all good, as far as she knew. He had become fond of Sandusky, and they developed a close relationship. The boy thoroughly enjoyed the gifts he received from his mentor. He also gained entry into the exclusive world of Penn State football because of his Sandusky connection. While some of the affectionate attention unnerved him, eventually he was able to accept words of love and devotion from Sandusky, even if at times they made him uncomfortable. There were times when his mother became somewhat concerned at Sandusky’s behavior, thinking his attention was too friendly. She found it disconcerting that Sandusky would sometimes show up unannounced to pick up her child at his school bus stop, supposedly so they could chat. When the boy misbehaved, she noticed Sandusky trying to take over her role as a parent. She chose to let those issues go, however, because of the benefits her child was getting from his association with The Second Mile and Sandusky.

  Eventually the relationship became too much for the child. The mother listened to vague complaints about how controlling Sandusky was, but figured they stemmed from the streak of independence most children experience as they enter their teenage years. Her concern grew when the child told her he wanted to pull back from the relationship with the man.

  The comments from her son became more and more emphatic and alarming. Even when he had stopped attending Second Mile events, he told her Sandusky kept visiting him at school. Her concerns turned into action one evening when the child said he wanted to look up “sex weirdoes” on the Internet in almost the same breath that he mentioned Sandusky. She called officials at Central Mountain High to ask just how often Sandusky visited her child there. When she learned Sandusky spent an inordinate amount of time with him, often in private one-on-one situations during and after school without her permission, she asked them to discreetly question her son about the relationship.

  On a Friday in the spring of 2008, the young mother was summoned to the principal’s office at the rural high school. She found her son weeping and curled up in a fetal position in a chair. She was horrified to learn that he had broken down and admitted that the founder of The Second Mile charity had been sexually abusing him for years. The more she learned about her son’s allegations, the worse she felt. When she pressed him about why he hadn’t told her what was happening to him, he said he was afraid of Sandusky and also feared that no one would believe him. “Well, I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “You just can’t tell Jerry no.”

  The distraught mother didn’t know what to do either, but her first reaction was to demand that school officials call the police. At the time she didn’t know they were obliged by state law to report allegations of child abuse within forty-eight hours. But instead of telling her they would report Sandusky, she said they asked her to go home and consider her options over the weekend before making a decision. She was outraged. Her child was having an emotional breakdown over having to admit being sexually abused by Sandusky, and school officials seemed more concerned about Sandusky’s reputation than they were about him. Once home she angrily called a friend who worked in social services and quickly made a report of her own that ultimately landed on the desk of the Clinton County district attorney.

  At the time no one at the school knew there were previous reports on Sandusky dating back almost a decade. In fact, Sandusky showed up to volunteer as a football coach at Central Mountain High just months after he had been barred from bringing The Second Mile kids around the Penn State football program. The Second Mile’s chairman of the board, John Raykovitz, had been made aware of that probe, as well as the one from 1998.

  Pennsylvania law dictates that anyone in contact with children in a school must undergo a detailed criminal background check. It is unclear if Sandusky provided one, but the former coach would have passed muster anyway because the earlier incidents were either unsubstantiated or never reported.

  Central Mountain High officials were familiar with Sandusky long before he volunteered to coach football there. Several other children who used the services of The Second Mile went to school there. For years Sandusky made frequent trips to the school to counsel his charges, many of whom were in and out of trouble. School administrators and coaches alike considered him to be a nice guy with a heart of gold. They felt honored that a man with his coaching pedigree and concern for children would give so much of himself, especially since the kids he nurtured needed it the most.

  By the time the mother brought to everyone’s attention the alleged dark side of Sandusky, her son had enjoyed two years of his “kindness.” The renowned coach would single him out and take him aside at The Second Mile camps on the Penn State campus to help him improve his running form and other athletic skills. At the time Sandusky wasn’t even supposed to be on campus with young children. Also at Penn State, Sandusky would take the boy to preseason practices, allowing him to patrol the sidelines as if he belonged in the rarified football family. Sandusky took him to Philadelphia to see the Eagles play, and to college games. The child was invited to stay overnight in a basement bedroom at the Sandusky home.

  Sandusky created an emotional bond with the child by lavishing him with gifts his single mother would never have been able to afford. There were golf clubs, a computer, gym and dress clothes, and cash. The boy ate with Sandusky at restaurants, went swimming with him at an area hotel. He even attended church with the Sandusky family. The mother meanwhile was becoming more certain that the founder of the charity was going far beyond the group’s mission. She found out later that on nights her child stayed at the Sandusky home, the man would come into the darkened basement bedroom late at night offering to crack the boy’s back. That story would prove to describe the same grooming process Sandusky allegedly used repeatedly against others. The child said Sandusky would enter his basement room, get into bed with him, and then roll around until he was face-to-face on top of him. Sandusky would run his arms along the child’s back to “crack” it, something he did almost every time the child visited. As the child was preparing to enter the sixth or seventh grade, Sandusky started the practice of blowing on his stomach. Soon, the boy said, he began kissing him on the mouth, which caused the youngster to become so uncomfortable he would try to hide in the basement to avoid him. In 2007, the boy claimed, the oral sex began. The child said Sandusky performed oral sex on him about twenty times between 2007 and 2008, and forced him to do it in return once. He said that Sandusky also repeatedly touched him inappropriately.

  Tormented by feelings of self-hatred and shame, the child decided he had to get away from him. In 2008, entering his freshman year at Central Mountain High, he stopped taking calls from his Sandusky and told his mother to tell the man he wasn’t home when he stopped by. Unfortunately, by that time Sandusky had become firmly entrenched in his position as a volunteer assistant football coach at Central Mountain High, so it was impossible to avoid him entirely. He was always around, either coaching football during the fall season or overseeing conditioning programs during the rest of the year. He was also mentoring several kids in the school district school through The Second Mile, which gave him access to the school buildings. He was so trusted by administrators that they permitted him to pull kids out of class and
take them away from the school for what he told administrators were counseling sessions.

  There was a witness to Sandusky’s inappropriate behavior, the boy said. About a year before he began trying to distance himself from Sandusky in earnest, the two had been alone in the school’s weight room. The boy said he had been attempting to climb the school’s rock wall, but kept falling. After one failed effort, when he was still sprawled on the safety mat, Sandusky lay down face-to-face on top of him, then began rolling around with him. When they stopped rolling, Sandusky embraced the child for a period of time with his eyes closed. Joseph Miller, the elementary school’s wrestling coach, was retrieving something in the area when he noticed a light on in the weight room. He walked in and saw the two lying side-by-side in close contact. Sandusky immediately jumped up and said sheepishly, “Hey coach, we’re just working on wrestling moves.”

  Miller found the situation puzzling. He knew Sandusky was not a wrestling coach, and he wondered why they would be alone in that secluded area when a much larger wrestling room was nearby. The child let Sandusky do the talking. The boy said he had repeatedly been threatened to keep the relationship quiet. He also said he had been warned that no one would believe him if he did tell the truth about what was going on.

  Miller would not say anything about what he saw for almost two years. Like the rest of the Central Mountain High community, he knew Sandusky’s reputation as a man who was firm but fair with troubled kids. Shouting matches between Sandusky and the most troubled angry children were not uncommon on school grounds, because, it was believed, he wanted more from the kids than they were willing to give. Sandusky was given the benefit of the doubt in his interactions with the young people, in no small part because he was so respected as an honorable, well-intentioned substitute father figure.