In Paterno We Trusted. Now We're Left Cold.

Death comes for us all.  And while it seems to have come with relative and merciful swiftness for Joseph Paterno, there are many who believe that the man truly died in November of last year when his Valley was flooded with sick, pale light and a stinking truth stirred in its glare.  Death was not swift, but rather a protracted, miserably public, three-month torture session.  Some see this as the gross mistreatment of a scapegoat who had nothing to be ashamed of.  Others view it as the bitterly just end of a pompous villain, brought low in time to suffer his downfall. Neither view is accurate or at all helpful.What must be avoided, in fact, is a binary approach to viewing the man as his body cools and his soul proceeds to whatever is next.  Demanding that Paterno be either lionized or demonized allows for a pernicious diversion from what desperately needs to be understood, which is how the demons of secrecy, misery and darkness thrived in “Happy Valley” in the first place.Far too many would prefer a two-dimensional explanation to the real one.  They’d prefer, consciously or not, to reduce the shattering, life-altering experience of God-only-knows how many victims, fueled and protected by a monstrosity of an institution, to a stage play and a handful of players.  Western culture and the tender, succor of myth shield us nicely; it’s not a frightening, complex issue at all, but rather a simple “Greek tragedy” with an almost poignant, tsk-tsk lesson for those with ears to hear.  Paterno was its flawed hero, its fallen angel. A neatly wrapped archetype for the ages to follow.This is dangerous oversimplification.Acknowledging that the allegations are yet unproven, I believe they are true and that they involve far more than nine victims. I also believe that whatever blame there is for what occurred at Penn State is shared more broadly and in more nuanced ways than much of what’s been suggested so far.To be clear, I do not in the least blame the innocent spirit that underpins the excitement of cheering for the team.  I fully acknowledge the greatness of the football tradition that has played such a positive role in the development of the university, the lives of the players, and the fans and supporters. But if there is one thing I believe our universe is truly ordered with, it is the unbending concept of the yin-yang, the Chinese philosophical intellection that tells us light cannot exist without darkness, joy without sorrow, pleasure without pain.Prize without price.For decades, the prize of Penn State football greatness was won by many, but guided by, channeled through and embodied in Joe Paterno.  To assume that that prize came without some price exacted for it is the height of foolishness. The question is not whether it was paid, but how and by whom.  Paterno apparently had high personal and professional standards and valued character, service, and education as much as he did wins. He should be remembered warmly for it and emulated appropriately. But as well, he was both product and protector of an entity far too large for any ‘saint’ to control, and more importantly one that was depended on to produce: Money. Glory. Status. The entity became a beast. The beast needed to be fed. It’s worth noting that the Sandusky matter is not the first time institutional concerns and image have been accused of taking precedence over the welfare of youth in Happy Valley.While many questions remain unanswered, it appears at this point that Paterno acted without malice, but also with at least dangerous naïveté and at worst a perception noxiously colored by the responsibilities he felt toward his institution. His “superiors” appear much more directly responsible for decisions that apparently allowed a predator to spread additional misery in amounts we are years if ever from fully grasping. But wherever these men fall on the scale of guilt and accountability, it is the institution- the beast- they served that likely guided their decisions whether they fully understood it or not.And beyond these caretakers are the rest of us. We who demand the glory of gridiron victory to fill our lives, diminishing those who cannot deliver it. We who increasingly depend on the filling of stadiums rather than  public commitment to fund research and open classrooms. We who allow the stakes to rise higher and higher until nothing else can possibly trump the needs of the hungry institutions we've created, regardless of what unholy things thrive within their bowels.  We who eventually agree, whether in high-level meetings or in our own hungry hearts, that nothing else matters.Certainly not the silent anguish of boys on cold, locker room floors.