http://www.post-gazette.com/sports/gene-collier/2016/07/14/Gene-Collier-20/stories/201607140086
Exactly one week elapsed from the moment 200 or so former Penn State football players beseeched the university’s administration to liberate the statue of Joe Paterno because “enough is enough” and “now is the appropriate time,” until the potentially definitive smoking gun on the late coach’s legacy emerged from unsealed documents.
So maybe this isn’t the appropriate time.
Maybe wait another week, perhaps another decade.
Some things happen fast in Penn State’s ever-deepening nightmare, just not enough things.
Barely seven months elapsed between Jerry Sandusky’s arrest on child sexual assault charges and a court sending him to prison forever. Barely two months passed between the night Paterno was fired in the blowback over the sordid pathologies of his former defensive coordinator and the head coach’s death from lung cancer.
But somehow nearly five years have passed without so much as a trial date for Graham Spanier, then president of the university; Gary Schultz, then his top vice president; and Tim Curley, then athletic director. All three were charged with perjury, conspiracy, obstruction of justice, failure to report child abuse and endangering the welfare of children. The first three charges against Spanier and Schultz were thrown out, a legal victory for the university that the State Attorney General’s office elected not to appeal, but Curley remains charged with perjury and all three still face the endangerment charge, a felony.
Penn State has spent another small fortunate — estimates ranging from $10 million to $15 million — on legal fees for the three men with perhaps more insight into the sickening Sandusky labyrinth than anyone alive. With that kind of cash, Spanier, Schultz and Curley have been able to activate aggressive legal tactics not even remotely available to the typical defendant, and the lawyers defending them have taken undue advantage of a state appellate system that seems to almost encourage excessive appeals.
Again, it will be five years in November since this story shook the foundation of the university and polarized its alumni around the world, five years since the largest university in the state became the national flashpoint for football trumping basic human dignity, and we don’t even have a trial date for the people who might best know how and why this happened.
It’s shameful, and it’s outrageous.
Legal opinions vary on the fate of the Penn State Three, but I’d say that fewer in the field think Spanier, Schultz and Curley will do any prison time than would wager on a dismissal of the remaining charges.
And that will be a darker day than any from this week, as it will mean this terrible narrative will never come fully to the public reckoning of broad daylight.
As Paterno’s indefatigable allies surely will, you might dismiss the man known as John Doe 150 in the unsealed documents, who says that in 1976, as a 14-year-old at one of Penn State’s football camps, he was assaulted by Sandusky and reported it immediately to Paterno, only to hear the blossoming coaching legend say, “I don’t want to hear about any of that kind of stuff; I have a football season to worry about.”
John Doe 150 had nothing to gain from that. As a Sandusky victim, he already has been Penn State vetted and Penn State paid. That testimony was elicited by the insurance company Penn State is trying to pinch for reimbursement, so the insurance company could say, “Look, here again you could have come to us about Sandusky, and you didn’t.”
As Paterno family lawyers have said, John Doe 150’s story might not withstand anything close to legal scrutiny, but there was a distinct echo in Paterno’s alleged reaction, wasn’t there?
“I don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff; I have a football season to worry about.”
It sounds a lot like something he said the week before he was fired.
In Joe Posnanski’s excellent biography, the author recounts this exchange between the coach’s lawyer son, Scott, and his father:
“Dad,” he asked his father again, “did you know anything about Sandusky?”
“Other than the thing Mike [McQueary] told me, no,” Joe answered.
“Nothing? No rumors? The coaches never talked about it?”
“No. I don’t listen to rumors. Nothing.”
“Dad, this is really important. If there is anything you heard …”
“I didn’t hear anything, why are you badgering me? What do I know about Jerry Sandusky? I’ve got Nebraska to think about, I can’t worry about this.”
Nebraska was Penn State’s next opponent.
“I don’t want to hear any of this; I’ve got football to worry about.”
Unless Spanier and the rest come to trial, we’ll never understand how the thought or thoughtlessness behind that Paterno response informed essential university dogma, or to what extent, or for how long, or many other things.
For that we’ll just wait, I guess. But again, don’t move that statue.
Exactly one week elapsed from the moment 200 or so former Penn State football players beseeched the university’s administration to liberate the statue of Joe Paterno because “enough is enough” and “now is the appropriate time,” until the potentially definitive smoking gun on the late coach’s legacy emerged from unsealed documents.
So maybe this isn’t the appropriate time.
Maybe wait another week, perhaps another decade.
Some things happen fast in Penn State’s ever-deepening nightmare, just not enough things.
Barely seven months elapsed between Jerry Sandusky’s arrest on child sexual assault charges and a court sending him to prison forever. Barely two months passed between the night Paterno was fired in the blowback over the sordid pathologies of his former defensive coordinator and the head coach’s death from lung cancer.
But somehow nearly five years have passed without so much as a trial date for Graham Spanier, then president of the university; Gary Schultz, then his top vice president; and Tim Curley, then athletic director. All three were charged with perjury, conspiracy, obstruction of justice, failure to report child abuse and endangering the welfare of children. The first three charges against Spanier and Schultz were thrown out, a legal victory for the university that the State Attorney General’s office elected not to appeal, but Curley remains charged with perjury and all three still face the endangerment charge, a felony.
Penn State has spent another small fortunate — estimates ranging from $10 million to $15 million — on legal fees for the three men with perhaps more insight into the sickening Sandusky labyrinth than anyone alive. With that kind of cash, Spanier, Schultz and Curley have been able to activate aggressive legal tactics not even remotely available to the typical defendant, and the lawyers defending them have taken undue advantage of a state appellate system that seems to almost encourage excessive appeals.
Again, it will be five years in November since this story shook the foundation of the university and polarized its alumni around the world, five years since the largest university in the state became the national flashpoint for football trumping basic human dignity, and we don’t even have a trial date for the people who might best know how and why this happened.
It’s shameful, and it’s outrageous.
Legal opinions vary on the fate of the Penn State Three, but I’d say that fewer in the field think Spanier, Schultz and Curley will do any prison time than would wager on a dismissal of the remaining charges.
And that will be a darker day than any from this week, as it will mean this terrible narrative will never come fully to the public reckoning of broad daylight.
As Paterno’s indefatigable allies surely will, you might dismiss the man known as John Doe 150 in the unsealed documents, who says that in 1976, as a 14-year-old at one of Penn State’s football camps, he was assaulted by Sandusky and reported it immediately to Paterno, only to hear the blossoming coaching legend say, “I don’t want to hear about any of that kind of stuff; I have a football season to worry about.”
John Doe 150 had nothing to gain from that. As a Sandusky victim, he already has been Penn State vetted and Penn State paid. That testimony was elicited by the insurance company Penn State is trying to pinch for reimbursement, so the insurance company could say, “Look, here again you could have come to us about Sandusky, and you didn’t.”
As Paterno family lawyers have said, John Doe 150’s story might not withstand anything close to legal scrutiny, but there was a distinct echo in Paterno’s alleged reaction, wasn’t there?
“I don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff; I have a football season to worry about.”
It sounds a lot like something he said the week before he was fired.
In Joe Posnanski’s excellent biography, the author recounts this exchange between the coach’s lawyer son, Scott, and his father:
“Dad,” he asked his father again, “did you know anything about Sandusky?”
“Other than the thing Mike [McQueary] told me, no,” Joe answered.
“Nothing? No rumors? The coaches never talked about it?”
“No. I don’t listen to rumors. Nothing.”
“Dad, this is really important. If there is anything you heard …”
“I didn’t hear anything, why are you badgering me? What do I know about Jerry Sandusky? I’ve got Nebraska to think about, I can’t worry about this.”
Nebraska was Penn State’s next opponent.
“I don’t want to hear any of this; I’ve got football to worry about.”
Unless Spanier and the rest come to trial, we’ll never understand how the thought or thoughtlessness behind that Paterno response informed essential university dogma, or to what extent, or for how long, or many other things.
For that we’ll just wait, I guess. But again, don’t move that statue.
