by Aaron Fisher
It chills me even now to realize that the worst still lay ahead.
After Eric and I split up, I sometimes worked for a call agency in town, selling magazine subscriptions over the phone. I put Katie in the preschool program at Head Start and put Bubby in another day facility for infants. I was working thirty hours a week but it didn’t last long, because the day-care costs for Bubby were more than I could earn. I’m not a firm believer in day care when it comes to infants anyway. Babies can’t tell you if something is wrong. My parents helped me with the kids, but I couldn’t expect them to take care of all three of them. So I got some assistance from the state and moved into public housing after living with my parents for about four or five months. I even got my GED and enrolled in college at Kaplan University. I was still in college when all of this stuff broke with Aaron, so I had to put my education on a back burner.
Aaron was about ten and a half and in the fourth grade at McGhee Elementary School when Nancy Bruckner, the guidance counselor, called me. Nancy knew that I had come out of an abusive marriage and that the divorce had just been finalized. She knew because it’s a small town and because I had to file for a restraining order, called a PFA—Protection from Abuse. The school put it on the record that there had been domestic violence. I was a single parent now, and the school had to have a heads-up about the situation in case there were any issues with Aaron at school or if Eric tried to show up there.
As I said, Nancy was aware of what the kids and I had been through, and she said there was a program that would be beneficial for Aaron. She told me a little bit about the Second Mile and their summer camp on the grounds of Penn State. Nancy said that each school district only got to refer a couple of kids, and since Aaron was such a good kid and a good athlete, and especially because there was no father in the picture, this was a perfect fit for him.
I’d never heard anything about the Second Mile before, but after Nancy told me all about it and I filled out the forms, it sounded great. It felt like a good opportunity for Aaron, who would otherwise just have been hanging out with his friends and playing catch and riding his bike around the yards. This was a chance for him to have a one-week sleepaway camp. That was something I couldn’t give him for sure.
I drove him up to the Second Mile camp in the town of State College, where Penn State is located. It was the summer after Aaron finished fourth grade. He was pretty excited but a little hesitant, because he didn’t know any of the other boys there. I was a little nervous, too, because I’d never been away from him unless he was with my folks.
We had to register at a big building, where they did a bunch of safety and medical checks, including combing the kids for lice and making sure they had all their shots and the supplies they needed. I was beginning to feel a lot better about the place. It seemed like they took real good care of these kids; there was swimming and all kinds of other sports, as well as team-building exercises. It seemed golden and I trusted the place.
The next summer, Aaron couldn’t wait to get back to camp at the Second Mile for another week. That second summer, just like the first, they had a closing ceremony. But at this year’s ceremony I met Jerry Sandusky. Aaron really wanted me to meet him. I remember how excited Aaron was. He was eleven and a half years old.
“You have to meet this guy, Mom. It’s Jerry Sandusky!”
I said, “Who is he?”
To this day I’m not big on football, and I’d never heard of the guy. I saw him talking to people who seemed to know him but I didn’t think much of it. Even when he was speaking at the ceremony, I figured he was just one of the speakers and there were a few of them. When Aaron introduced us, Jerry shook my hand, put his arm around Aaron, roughed up his hair, and said, “You got a good kid on your hands there.” I thanked him and said that I thought Aaron was awesome, too. Then Jerry said he hoped we had enjoyed the camp and to please come back next year. He went on his way and that was it that day.
Just a couple of weeks later, after camp ended that second summer, Jerry called my house. It was July. He asked if we wanted tickets for the Penn State/Akron game and then he said that he was taking some area kids to Blanchard Dam to swim and maybe even do some Jet-Skiing. Would it be okay for Aaron to go, too? He said that he would transport them and pick them all up, so I didn’t have to worry about driving. I asked how many kids were going and he named a few; Jerry said that Aaron should know them from camp.
I was a little hesitant. It was Aaron’s first time going off with someone who I really didn’t know. In the meantime, of course, after Jerry called and asked me for permission, I called some friends to see what they thought of the idea, then I called my dad and I said that this guy Jerry Sandusky from the Second Mile had asked to take Aaron on a day trip; what do you think? When my dad heard, he said, “Wow! Jerry Sandusky!” When I mentioned it to some of my neighbors before Jerry came to pick up Aaron, they all said, “Jerry Sandusky is coming to your house?”
When Jerry came to pick up Aaron, everyone was watching from their windows. All the neighbors were talking and buzzing, and it was only then that it occurred to me just what a big figure he must be. I really didn’t know anything about him but everyone else seemed to know. Until then, I had no clue. Little by little, I was beginning to realize that this Sandusky guy was a big deal.
After Aaron went off with Jerry and two other boys to Blanchard Dam that day, I was talking to my dad. He said that when he was president of the local baseball league and my mom ran the concession stand, he knew who Jerry Sandusky was because there was another little boy that Jerry used to hang out with. My dad actually knew the boy because he played on the same ball team as me when I was twelve. My dad said that Jerry used to run around with that boy all the time and he once heard that Jerry even paid for the kid’s college education. I figured my dad thought Jerry might do the same for Aaron one day.
I never thought about sexual abuse when I wondered if Aaron should go to the dam that day with Jerry. I only asked my friends and my dad about Aaron going off with this Jerry Sandusky because I didn’t know him well, even though he was one of the bosses at the camp. I was cautious about people I didn’t know. I actually checked out guys I dated to make sure that they had no criminal records, or even to see how many traffic tickets they had. But I still wasn’t worried about Jerry Sandusky when it came to stuff like that. Jerry Sandusky was squeaky clean, and even if I had looked him up, there wouldn’t have been anything there. As we all learned once it was too late for my child, Jerry had been getting away with his abuse for years.
If there are lessons to be learned from all of this, one is certainly that if you have a gut feeling about anything like this, never mind who the offender might be—listen to your heart. It doesn’t matter whether you suspect a teacher, a politician, a coach, or any of those people who are called pillars of the community.
The other lesson I learned is to push your child to talk. And if he or she doesn’t open up, then make them talk to someone else. Forbid your child to see the person who gives you the feeling that something is not right. I know now how wrong I was, but at the time I believed that my child would tell me anything and everything.
I also believed that Jerry Sandusky was some sort of an angel.
2
Meeting the Monster
Aaron
WHEN I GOT TO THE SECOND MILE CAMP THAT FIRST SUMMER, I’D never been on the campus of Penn State before. It was awesome. All of us campers walked into this building that looked like an armory and we all set down our stuff. There were quite a few of us boys there. I didn’t know any of them, but we were all the same age, from all over the counties. There were maybe a hundred of us. I knew I’d be there for a few days, and even though I didn’t know what I was going to be doing, I was happy to just be there and I couldn’t wait to check it out.
We were in groups for sports and arts and crafts and we played a lot of games—including dodgeball, which I really liked a lot. It was a real summer sleepaway camp, even though it on
ly lasted seven days. Jerry formally introduced himself to all of us that first summer, but we all knew who he was. A pretty famous coach and the guy who started the Second Mile and ran the place. He was the boss.
That first summer, after I got back home, I just hung out with my two best friends. We went biking around town and playing ball and swimming. One of my friends had a pool at his house, which was great, but sometimes we went to the lake beach down by the YMCA. It was just another one of those lazy summers. Maybe you’ve seen summers like that in movies, where in towns like mine you can leave your house in the morning and come back just before the sun sets; where there’s just nothing better than summer and no one worries about where you are. Nothing bad ever happened in my town, so kids could be running around and biking all day long.
If anyone had told me then that my first summer after the Second Mile camp would be the last of my childhood, I never would have believed them.
When I went back to the Second Mile the next summer, Jerry introduced himself to all the groups again, but he more personally introduced himself to me. He hung out with my group more than others, which was pretty cool. It was also cool not to be the new kid anymore and to know the ropes. Jerry was doing his usual mingling from group to group but when we were playing games, he seemed to notice me more than the other kids. He said how well I was doing in the games and that I was real competitive.
There were about fifteen or twenty kids in my group, so I was happy that Jerry took a shine to me. He’d rough up my hair and cheer me on and once he pulled me aside and asked me a lot of questions about the camp—what I would like to have more of and if I liked it and how he could make it better. I said that I liked the sports and dodgeball most of all, and he said that the next summer we’d play more of that. He even decided to feature me and my sister in the camp’s promotional videos that summer—with Mom’s permission.
A few weeks after that second summer of camp, Jerry called my mom to say hi and ask if she wanted some football tickets. Then he asked if he could take me and some other kids for a day trip to Blanchard Dam.
I look back now and understand from my sessions with Mike Gillum that Jerry had things all planned out from the start. It’s taken me all these years to realize that I was too young and innocent to know what was happening—or was about to happen. I was eleven and a half that second summer. How was I supposed to know that he had a big plan for me then? Looking back, I can put two and two together. Back then, I couldn’t. I wish I had. I want other little kids to see the signs that I didn’t.
Aaron at twelve, nearly two years after meeting Sandusky
People keep saying that Jerry took an interest in me because I was fatherless and because I didn’t have a strong male figure in my life. I did have a stepdad once, and that didn’t go so well. The male friends and boyfriends that my mom had in her life had no effect on me, either positive or negative. I was a grandparents’ kid. My grandparents always had me over at their place and bought me things. My grandfather—I call him Pap—had been in my life from the time I was a baby. I wasn’t looking for a father figure—I had one in him. So when Jerry was paying so much attention to me, I wasn’t thinking, “Wow, this is great. I finally have some kind of a dad paying attention to me.” I just thought it was cool that Jerry was asking me my opinion on stuff at the camp and that he thought I was a good athlete. I started to feel real lucky and proud that I was Jerry’s favorite kid at camp.
When Jerry picked me up that day for the trip to Blanchard Dam, Mom walked me out to his car, which was parked outside our apartment. There were other kids there: one in the front seat and one in the backseat. Jerry sat behind the wheel of his silver Honda in a T-shirt. When Mom saw the other kids she seemed more relaxed, and I was glad because I knew that she was worried at first. I climbed into the backseat and it was like we were off for an adventure.
Blanchard Dam is located in Bald Eagle State Park, which isn’t far from State College. The park is just acres and acres of land, and the drive was long enough that it felt like we were all taking a fun road trip. When we got to the park, we played in the playground and did some water games in the lake. Jerry had even brought stuff for a picnic; we had snacks and drinks and sat around the picnic tables. It was just a typical perfect summer day—not too hot—as we sat outside just talking and laughing and having a good time. There were no funny feelings that day. No nothing at all. We were all together—just the three of us boys and Jerry.
Even though I look back and realize now what I didn’t know was happening then, I still can’t say I felt singled out that day. It wasn’t like it had been at camp when Jerry was cheering me on so much. There was nothing in my mind that made me question why Jerry wanted to be with me or with any of us kids that day. To me, he was just a really good guy who ran a camp for kids and did things with them. In my almost twelve-year-old mind, there was no wondering why he wanted to hang out with kids since he was a grown-up. I just thought he was generous. I had no reservations and no suspicions. I didn’t get any negative feelings. I just thought, Man, this is a great day.
That was really the only thing that Jerry and I did that second summer. But then in the fall, Jerry started picking me up with other kids and we started going to this hotel near the Penn State campus where they let Jerry use the indoor pool even though he wasn’t a guest. But one day at the pool, when there were about four of us boys there, I got my first sort of funny feeling. Jerry was roughhousing with all of us in the water, but when he picked me up—you know, to toss me in the air and then I’d come down with a splash—I felt like he was holding on to my crotch just a little too long. I was wondering if the other kids felt that way, too, but I would never have asked them something like that. I told myself that I was just being stupid and we were all just playing and it was probably just my imagination anyway. I felt very awkward but decided not to think about it.
After that, Jerry started taking a few of us places, and I was the kid who always got to ride up front with him. After a while, he drove with his hand on my thigh, and it creeped me out a little. But then I told myself that this was probably just Jerry’s way of being affectionate with me. I figured that’s just what Jerry does, the way he is with kids, even though it made me feel weird. Also, I was taught that if I go over to a friend’s house or to anyone’s house, for that matter, I should respect the adults, the rules, and whatever it is that grown-ups say or do.
Still, when it came to physical contact, something was different here. My grandfather Pap and I are real close, but he never can really hug me because he has a hard time lifting his arms; he had polio when he was younger. Pap will put his arm on my shoulder and stuff like that, but he can’t really hug me close or tight. I thought, Pap and I are really close, but he never puts his hand on my leg. So part of me thought it was strange that Jerry did that. But we were doing fun things and I continued to go with Jerry. I just decided not to pay attention to my own thoughts.
As that fall went on, Jerry started taking a few of us boys to his house, and then it was just me. The first time we were alone I think he took me swimming at the hotel and then to his house for dinner. His house was big, with a two-car garage, a real yard, and a basement that had a few rooms with a pool table, video games, and a water bed, and a small bathroom with a shower. It was the kind of basement rec area that I imagined rich kids had.
Jerry was really becoming like part of our family. He was calling Mom all the time to see how I was doing and how my brother and sister were doing. He even brought us an old computer and some books, and offered us tickets to Penn State games.
Jerry’s wife, Dottie, was almost always at their house when I was there. Her name was Dottie, but everyone called her Sarge. I’m not sure why she had that nickname, and I never asked. Sarge was nice to me and a pretty good cook. I knew that Jerry and Sarge had kids they had adopted who were grown-up and living elsewhere. Sarge was okay. The only thing that I wondered about was why, even though it was her house, too, she never went dow
n to the basement. It was like that was Jerry’s place and not hers.
It’s still hard for me to talk about it. I remember when it all started and how I was just so confused. At the time, “it” had no name. But now I know it was sexual abuse. It started for real in that basement. Whenever we were in the basement, we’d play darts and pool and shuffleboard and air hockey, and we’d be having a really good time. Then I’d go and take my shower before it was time for bed. I had my stuff with me because Jerry had gotten me started spending the night there. It was a treat for me, he said. He told my mom it wasn’t a problem for him and his wife.
I’d take a shower in the basement bathroom, dry off with a towel, then put on my shorts and walk down the hallway into the big room, and then into the smaller basement room, where I slept on the water bed. Then Jerry would come down from upstairs. He’d crack my back, but then he started to lie on top of me on the bed. Sarge was always upstairs. When he lay on top of me, it didn’t feel right, and I can’t tell you why I still slept over, except that being at Jerry’s and playing in that great basement room was fun. Jerry made it out like it was supposed to be special.
Jerry planned our weekends so that they became a routine, with things like playing catch or driving around. Like it was all just fine and good and right.
As the sleepover weekends went on, he started having me lie on top of him for a long period of time; he would just be lying there with his eyes closed as I did. I didn’t know what to think about it. When I lay on top of him, I kept thinking that this feels too weird, and then I would talk myself out of thinking that way. My mind kept crisscrossing itself. I told myself that I just wasn’t used to this kind of affection or something. It was like there were two voices. One was saying, “This is wrong and something bad is happening to you,” and the other was saying, “No, it’s fine. You’re being stupid. Jerry is a really good guy.”