Paterno (31 page)

Paterno respected Sandusky’s efforts on behalf of children. In the foreword to a self-published book Sandusky wrote about coaching linebackers, Paterno wrote nice things about him. Reporters quoted Paterno praising Sandusky, and he made a few half-hearted gestures of support for the charity. But when you scratched just below the surface, it was not difficult to see how Paterno felt about The Second Mile. When Sandusky painstakingly relived the early financial struggles of The Second Mile in his ominously titled book
Touched
, the absence of Paterno’s name and support is unmistakable. One of Paterno’s financial advisors said, “I could be wrong, but I don’t think he ever gave a dime to The Second Mile, certainly not in the later years.” Sandusky conceded as much in a detailed interview with Ron
Bracken of the
Centre (County) Daily Times
in April 2000: “Joe gave me the opportunity to coach. And he gave me the opportunity—or maybe I should say he didn’t stop me—to start The Second Mile.” In
Touched
, where he thanked dozens of people for the work they did building up The Second Mile, he did not mention Paterno.

Paterno would say again and again that he did not see anything perverse in Sandusky’s dealings with children. His problem with The Second Mile was much simpler: the kids annoyed the hell out of him. There’s really no other way to say it. Paterno had compartmentalized his own life, putting work and family in separate categories, so that there wasn’t much crossover. Football was sacred. Practice was sacred. Family was sacred. Paterno had drawn his famous blue line around every element of his life. He did not want kids around when there was work to do. And Sandusky brought the kids around. He worked on The Second Mile constantly. Paterno and other Penn State officials with knowledge said Sandusky would often use Penn State letterhead and mailing capabilities to promote the charity (which drove Paterno crazy in a different way; he would not even let his own children use Penn State pencils at home).

These were problems that drove Paterno to distraction. He did not want to fire Sandusky; he had never publicly fired a coach. He felt loyalty to Sandusky for all his successes. He also understood the politics. Because of the team’s defensive success, his gregarious personality, and The Second Mile, Sandusky was almost as prominent in the Penn State community as he was. Paterno turned seventy in 1996. Rip Engle had retired at fifty-nine, Bear Bryant at sixty-nine, and Vince Lombardi had quit the Green Bay Packers at fifty-four. Sandusky was seventeen years younger than Paterno. If a vote had been taken in 1997 to name the next Penn State coach, Sandusky probably would have won in a landslide. There were many who thought that change was long overdue.

Paterno felt certain that Sandusky did not have the work ethic, maturity, or dedication to be the next head coach. And besides, Paterno did not want to retire. Sandusky never said anything about it publicly,
but he did tell a friend that Paterno had promised him the job when he retired, and then would not retire. Sandusky felt betrayed. Paterno told his family that Sandusky had stopped caring about coaching. Paterno felt betrayed. The animosity between the two men grew to the point where, according to three different coaches, change was inevitable.

AT THIS POINT, WE MUST
swim in murkier waters. In spring of 1998, according to a Pennsylvania grand jury presentment, Sandusky met with one of the many boys he knew from The Second Mile and brought him to Holuba Hall, the indoor practice facility on campus where the football team trained. The boy was identified as “Victim 6” in the presentment. Sandusky and the boy worked out together, and the boy told investigators that Sandusky did some things that made him feel uncomfortable. Victim 6 said that Sandusky put his hand on his knee, wrestled with him on a mat in Holuba Hall, and handed him shorts to put on even though the boy was already wearing shorts. Then, Victim 6 said, Sandusky insisted that they shower, even though the boy did not feel sweaty. In the shower, Sandusky allegedly grabbed the boy, picked him up, and said, “I’m going to squeeze your guts out.”

When the boy got home, he told his mother what had happened. She was shocked and enraged that Sandusky had showered with her son and reported the incident to Penn State University police, who had jurisdiction over the campus. The investigation led to a hundred-page police report and at least two recorded conversations between Sandusky and the boy’s mother on or around May 13 and May 19; the latter included a haunting quote from Sandusky: “I was wrong. I wish I could get forgiveness. I know I won’t get it from you. I wish I was dead.” Sandusky was questioned directly by detectives and told not to shower with young boys. The case was closed by Centre Country District Attorney Ray Gricar (who disappeared years later under mysterious circumstances, sparking many conspiracy theories). Sandusky was
also investigated by Centre County Child and Youth Services, but, for reasons that are not clear, the agency did not indicate the report, which would have put Sandusky’s name on the Pennsylvania Statewide Central Register of child abusers.

In 2011, Sandusky was charged with more than fifty counts of sexual abuse of children. In 2012, he was convicted of forty-five counts.

In his grand jury testimony, Paterno stated that he did not recall hearing about the 1998 incident, but he admitted that rumors about Sandusky could have been discussed in his presence. In the last months of his life, he sounded more sure that he was never told about the 1998 incident. Sally Jenkins of the
Washington Post
interviewed Paterno a week before he died and wrote, “Paterno insists he was completely unaware of a 1998 police investigation into a report from a Second Mile mother that Sandusky had inappropriately touched her son in a shower.” This denial matches what Paterno told me.

“I don’t want to say Jerry was the last guy I would ever expect something like that from,” he said, “because I don’t want to exaggerate. But he would have been one of the last guys I would have expected it from. Jerry was a man’s man, you know, a tough guy. This is not exactly my field of expertise, but I certainly never thought anything like that about Jerry.” As we will see, the truth is cloudier than that. In the months after Paterno died, some evidence surfaced that he had been told something about the 1998 incident, though what he was told remained unclear.

There is reason to believe that, whatever Paterno was told, it did not make much of an impact on him. The coaches’ meeting that leads this section was held on May 26, 1998—precisely at the time Sandusky was being investigated—and his detailed and pointed notes make no mention of any investigation. Also, by the late 1990s, he had explored numerous options for removing Sandusky from his coaching staff. He tried to start a football program at one of Penn State’s satellite campuses with Sandusky as head coach; it didn’t pan out. He tried to find Sandusky a job in athletic administration; Sandusky refused to consider it. If Paterno did know the details of the 1998 investigation,
he might have used it as a way to get rid of Sandusky. He did not. The fact is, Sandusky coached with Penn State for two more seasons, the second of those being one of the most frustrating and infuriating of Joe Paterno’s coaching life.

WHEN SANDUSKY SUDDENLY DECIDED TO
retire in 1999, it surprised many people. From the outside, he seemed to be at the top of his game. He was fifty-five years old, decorated as a coach, celebrated as a humanitarian, beloved by Penn State fans and players alike. His retirement would later be used as circumstantial evidence that Paterno, knowing about the 1998 incident, quietly pushed him out.

Some evidence, however, points to the contrary. The notes Paterno wrote to himself leading up to the retirement did not contain any reference to the 1998 investigation. These files could have been censored, of course, but there were so many private notes in the files that it seems unlikely. Multiple sources, including Sue Paterno and several Penn State administrators, confirmed that Paterno made several attempts to move Sandusky into another job before the 1998 incident occurred. “Jerry was the second most famous coach in Pennsylvania,” Sue said. “And the perception was that he was a great coach. Joe knew that if he tried too hard to push Jerry out, there would be an uproar.”

In May 1999, when Paterno was seventy-two, the school announced a special retirement program in which employees could get a large percentage of their retirement package early. Sandusky showed interest. He was fifty-five and had grown tired of waiting for Paterno to retire. He went to see Paterno, and the discussion did not go well. Paterno would say he unloaded on Sandusky about his dwindling work ethic, his divided attention, and his lack of effort as a defensive strategist. He told Sandusky he would not be the next head coach at Penn State. Sandusky mentioned the early retirement package, and Paterno suggested it might be a good time for him to take it. Both men later said that the 1998 incident was never discussed.

Paterno said of the meeting, “I told Jerry he wasn’t going to be the next coach. I think that disappointed him a lot, and he was angry and hurt. I can’t really blame him for that, but it was the decision I made. He decided to retire.”

Sandusky did take the retirement package, but he had a series of demands, another sign that the 1998 investigation was not the reason for the retirement. It’s hard to imagine his being in a position to negotiate if that was the case. He negotiated his deal almost entirely with Athletic Director Tim Curley. The Lancaster, Pennsylvania, newspaper, the
New Era
, reported in 1999, “Interestingly, Sandusky said he never informed Paterno of his decision. Instead, he went to Penn State athletic director Tim Curley . . . . In fact, Sandusky and Paterno didn’t confer on the subject very much at all, even before a decision was made. ‘We talked some, but I didn’t talk to him that much about it,’ Sandusky said.”

Sandusky wanted to maintain an office on campus and access to various athletic operations. This was something several other coaches had been granted on their retirement. But he had other, more formidable demands, the big one being the chance to coach the Penn State defense for the 1999 season. It was obvious why he wanted this: the 1999 defense was one of the most talented in the school’s history. Sandusky still aspired to be a head coach, and he knew that coaching this defense could make him an attractive prospect to other schools. Paterno’s concession on this is harder to figure; he would say before he died that he thought Sandusky had earned the right to coach the 1999 team because of his many years of service. In other words, he acquiesced out of loyalty. Undoubtedly, Paterno was also being practical; Sandusky retired in May, and it would have been disruptive to replace a defensive coordinator so late in the year. Whatever his reasons, Paterno allowed Sandusky to coach the 1999 season, something else that seems unlikely had he been conscious of Sandusky’s secret life. But even for reasons having solely to do with football, letting Sandusky coach was a decision Paterno would deeply regret.

THE 1999 SEASON, SO FULL
of promise at the start, developed into a disaster. Paterno had long believed that the Penn State program tracked through peaks and valleys. He saw the 1999 team as potentially his last great peak. The defense was anchored by defensive end Courtney Brown and linebacker LaVar Arrington, who would make history by becoming the No. 1 and No. 2 picks in the 2000 NFL draft. (This was just the third time in the sixty-four year history of the draft that the top two picks had come from the same school.) There were future NFL stars all over the roster. That team was bursting with talent, so much so that
Sports Illustrated
ranked Penn State the preseason No. 1 team in America. “Joe knows this can be a special year,” an unnamed player told the magazine’s Tim Layden, “and doesn’t want anything to mess it up.”

The tension between Paterno and Sandusky gurgled just below the surface. At the team’s Media Day in August, the defensive players said they wanted a photo taken with Sandusky. As Paterno walked out of range, Sandusky barked out, “I’ve waited thirty years for that.” He laughed. Paterno did not.

Still, with so much talent, and with the hope that Sandusky would refocus in his final year, Paterno felt optimistic. Penn State opened the season by destroying fourth-ranked Arizona 41–7. A week later, even Paterno’s best efforts at sportsmanship could not prevent his team from scoring 70 points against Akron. As November began, Penn State was 9-0 and had defeated four teams ranked in the top twenty. But Paterno sensed there was something wrong. The defense was not dominant; they had not put together a shutout, and with this kind of talent, Paterno thought, this team should be pitching shutouts. The defense gave up 23 points to Miami, which had an excellent offense, but then gave up 24 to Indiana and 25 to Purdue. Reporters made clear in their stories that Paterno was edgier than usual.

On November 6, Penn State played Minnesota. It was Paterno’s
400th game as head coach. It was also Penn State’s homecoming. There were almost 97,000 people in the stands. Minnesota was coached by Glen Mason, who idolized Paterno so intensely that he began wearing ties on the sidelines to be like Joe. It seemed like a nice setup for Penn State, but the game did not go as expected. With less than two minutes left, Penn State led 23–21 and had the ball on the Minnesota 33-yard line on fourth down. Paterno could have had his kicker try a 50-yard field goal (the wind would have been at kicker Travis Forney’s back), but he didn’t feel good about the chances. He decided—and he never wavered from the rightness of this decision—that the best chance he had to win the game was to punt the ball and make Minnesota drive the length of the field against the most talented defense in America. “I didn’t think they could do it,” he said.

Minnesota did do it. The Gophers stumbled down the field, overcoming a sack by Arrington and a crushing hit by David Fleischhauer. They found themselves facing fourth down and 16 on the Penn State 40-yard line. Minnesota quarterback Billy Cockerham flung the ball downfield, all the way to the Penn State 13. The ball might have been tipped by Penn State’s Derek Fox; it definitely deflected off Minnesota receiver Ron Johnson. Then, somehow, the ball was caught by another Minnesota receiver, Arland Bruce. When asked after the game if the play involved luck or skill, Cockerham did not hesitate. “Luck,” he said. Three plays later, just before the clock expired, Minnesota’s Dan Nystrom kicked the field goal that beat Penn State.