One Screw-Up Will Erase 20 “Attaboys”….

Joe PaternoA very wise former basketball coach used to tell me that frequently, usually after I’d dribbled a ball off my foot or committed a similar faux pas. I didn’t really appreciate the significance of that then, but as I’ve grown older I’ve come to understand the truth behind it.

After the death of Joe Paterno, I’ve found myself thinking about that phrase. JoePa’s legacy may end up a case study in just how sadly true that sentiment is. After 61 years at Penn State, the good he did may well be tarnished by the undignified denouement of his career.

One screw-up….

Thankfully, the deluge of profuse and sonorous instant analysis in the wake of Paterno’s death has ebbed. Like most sports fans, I’ve been subjected to more than my share of pundits pontificating their analysis of Paterno’s life and career. The desire to memorialize someone who impacted as many people as Paterno did is understandable. The man was an anachronism; a coach who became an icon for several generations during a career that lasted longer than most of us have been alive.

After 61 years, I would think he deserved the benefit of the doubt….

I’ve forgotten exactly where I heard that, but it was from a fan expressing his frustration with what he perceived as the rush to judge Paterno harshly.  Why, he asked, are so many focusing on how Paterno’s career ended? Why are so many ignoring the overwhelmingly positive nature of his body of work? Perhaps it has something to do with an assistant football coach violating a 10-year-old boy in a shower stall…and Paterno’s subsequent actions (or inaction, depending on your point of view).

There seem to be two schools of thought regarding Paterno’s legacy. One, composed largely of the Penn State community and those who idolize him, wants to remember him as a great man, educator, and coach. To them, JoePa was a hero and icon who stood for excellence and commitment. The second believes that, no matter what Paterno accomplished on the sideline, his legacy will be defined by the Jerry Sandusky scandal. For these folks, nothing- no matter how many games and championships he won- can excuse Paterno’s inaction and silence when he knew that Jerry Sandusky was a monster who sexually preyed on children.

The general outline of events isn’t in question. Quarterbacks coach Mike McQueary came to Paterno and told him that he saw Sandusky having sex with a 10-year-old boy in a shower. Paterno was undoubtedly shocked and dismayed by McQueary’s report. That said, any morally well-adjusted person would have recognized the need to pass McQueary’s report on to someone with the authority to take action. Paterno did that. What he failed to do was ensure that Sandusky’s predatory behavior was stopped. Instead, he advised his superior of his conversation with McQueary and evidently went on about his business. JoePa passed on the responsibility to do what a decent, moral human being should have done immediately. There’s simply no way to condone what Paterno didn’t do. By not following up, Paterno in essence colluded with his superiors in covering up Sandusky’s depravity. It would be difficult to spin Paterno’s inaction in a manner that could make it acceptable or reasonable. How many more children did Jerry Sandusky molest because of JoePa’s inaction and lack of resolve? There’s no way to know, of course, but if the answer is even one child, then Paterno deserves to be shamed and remembered primarily for what he DIDN’T do.

I’m not going to minimize the remarkable nature of Joe Paterno’s career as a football coach. That he coached until he was 85 and for 61 years at the same school is a feat that will never be duplicated. Imagine Mike Reilly, Chip Kelly, or Nigel Burton remaining in their current jobs until they’re 85. Not going to happen, right? Who’d want to subject themselves to the long hours and constant pressure of coaching for that long? That remarkable aspect of Paterno’s career is undeniable…but it shouldn’t overshadow what he DIDN’T do…and the children who suffered for it.

There’s no question that JoePa impacted the lives of thousands of young men who played under him. Paterno and his wife donated $4 million to Penn State. How many of us donate money to our employer…much less a sum that large? Paterno was an honorable man who made an impact in a manner unlikely to be duplicated. His impact far exceeds anything most of us could even think about approaching. I doubt there are enough superlatives to do Paterno justice in that regard. And yet….

One screw-up….

History isn’t written in the short term, so it’s difficult to know how history will judge Paterno. Perhaps in time the focus will fall on Paterno’s accomplishments- the championships won, players impacted, and the contributions (financial and otherwise) made to Penn State. At this point in time, it’s difficult to ignore the fact that JoePa had an opportunity to stop a monster…and whiffed on it.

A lot of good can be accomplished over the course of 61 years. In the end, though, Joe Paterno was a victim of his own inaction. Paterno didn’t follow up on McQueary’s report. Children continued to be victimized. How can that be overlooked when taking the measure of a man?

JoePa was idolized by those associated with Penn State. His statue on campus has become a shrine to greatness…and the dangers of elevating a fallible human being above the realm of mere mortals. I was struck by video footage of a young couple laying flowers at the feet of Paterno’s statue with their two small children in tow. I couldn’t help but wonder what those parents will teach their children about Paterno? Will they focus on the games and championships won? Will they discuss how JoePa’s career ended? Will they be honest about Paterno being a fallible human who, despite success and longevity, saw his career end in shame and infamy?

When we elevate a human being above less accomplished mortals, we inevitably set them up to fail. When they do fail, we’re shocked, as if we believed the object of our devotion to be somehow free of the demons and imperfections that plague lesser beings. Joe Paterno was no saint and he wasn’t larger than life, though he did much that was good over his 85 years. Perhaps the passage of time will soften history’s judgment of him.

Today, the specter of what Paterno didn’t do looms large. He failed to protect children. The manner in which he failed seems unforgivable. I can only hope that the children harmed by his inaction will be able to find it in their hearts to forgive him.

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