If you haven't heard about the Penn State University scandal this week, then please let me know the location of your remote tropical island.
For those few islanders, here's a
full recap of the whole sad situation.
I happen to be married to a very proud Nittany Lion alumnus (thank you Rory Glimore for teaching me the appropriate single noun), so I have been regaled for years about the greatness that is JoePa.
For those who aren't lucky enough to have a Penn Stater in your life, let me explain to you that Joe Paterno is Penn State. I truly believe this scandal and its fallout would not be so controversial or attention-grabbing if Coach Paterno wasn't smack in the middle. JoePa is the embodiment of where man blurs with legend.
While no one will argue the depravity of Jerry Sandusky, many vehemently disagree that Paterno did anything wrong and are outraged at his termination. The majority opinion running across my facebook homepage is that Paterno did the right thing and is now being hanged in the media.
Did Joe Paterno do the right thing in simply reporting to his superiors a troubling incident conveyed to him by another person?
I have read and heard the argument that legally, Joe Paterno did what he was bound to as a court-mandated reporter by relaying the information to his bosses. Legally, he was responsible for no more than that.
As an aside, Mike McQueary's actions were dismally shameful, and I'm at a loss as to why he is still employed by PSU today. He should have done more, much more, as the actual witness to the crime, and why any 28 year old man calls his daddy to report a sex crime instead of the police is beyond my limited understanding.
But back to the media-assaulted Paterno.
Legally, he did as he was bound to do. But ethically and morally? He failed. Epic fail, as my brother would say.
Several years ago, my husband and I spent a brief several months living in North Carolina. While there, I was employed as something similar to a social worker, but for a private company, working with people with developmental disabilities and mental illness. It was an absolutely horrid experience, and one that taught me many sad lessons.
In short, I discovered that a home that housed many of my clients was stealing money from them, refusing them medical supplies, basic necessities such as toilet paper, and even food. As a court-mandated reporter, I immediately called Department of Social Services and reported the home.
My boss, the company owner, was contacted by the home's company owner and told about my "troublemaking." I was told to stop talking to DSS, and I informed my boss that legally, I could not, and morally, I would not.
Over the next few weeks, I was threatened by the home's director, prevented from seeing my clients, and subtly pressured by my boss to stop. The home's director had a quick lesson in Yankee stubbornness when I showed up with DSS to get into see my clients.
A week later, I was abruptly relocated to another office, where I only lasted three weeks before I was fired under pretext of paperwork problems uncovered during an audit which had caused problems. Which was entirely false, as I keep impeccable paperwork and still have an email sent out by the other owner saying there were zero findings during the audit and the company passed with no issues.
I know why I was fired for the first time in my life, and it was for doing my job. I had seen it coming from the first conversation my boss had with me when he told me not to cooperate with DSS or call them again.
It was for fighting for people who couldn't fight for themselves, and I had naively thought that was what I was getting paid for. I was angry, out of work, and ashamed.
But I could sleep at night.
In spite of knowing the cost, I chose to do the right thing. Not the legal thing. My legal responsibilities were simply to contact DSS, and I could have left it there. But I couldn't because it wasn't the right thing to do. People were depending on me. They called me because they trusted me. They told me things even when they were scared because they believed I would help.
They needed me, and I couldn't look away. I didn't want to look away.
I suppose my disappointment with Joe Paterno is that he looked away. He took the easy way and simply did the legal minimum required of him, and that was that.
When he had the chance to step up and be someone's hero, he didn't.
I am angry with the other players in this sick game. I'm furious with the cowardly McQueary. I'm disgusted by Curly and Schultz, to whom Paterno reported the incident.
But with Paterno, there's a greater sense of disappointment and disillusionment. The great JoePa, who has repeatedly spoke of how much the students mean to him. A father and a grandfather. A man who always seemed genuine and upstanding, a fair player.
For the rest of my life, I will look back on my experience in North Carolina with sadness, but no regrets. When confronted with abuse, I met it head on and fought it as best I could. I gave more than required.
When Paterno looks back on his chance to confront abuse, I can only think his
own words will come to him: "With the benefit of hindsight, I wish I had done more. [It's] one of the great sorrows of my life."
I think this is a question we all face. When confronted with the choice between right and wrong, will we have the courage to do more than what is required of us?
Because the real sorrow of this tragedy is that Sandusky's victims were never allowed that choice. It was made for them. And Joe Paterno must live with being one of the many responsible for that. He must live with knowing that he could have stopped the pain of so many innocent children if he had just stepped forward and done more than "legally required."
And as I still believe Paterno is a decent man at the core, I believe that will be a far greater burden than the loss of his coaching position.
Genius is the ability to act rightly without precedent –
the power to do the right thing the first time.
~Elbert Hubbard~
