Alger: The sadness at Penn State

WATCHING the Penn State coverage on TV Wednesday night, the only word that could describe my feelings toward the situation was embarrassment.

There was embarrassment as a young adult. In the hours after the Penn State board of trustees announced the firing of Joe Paterno, thousands of students — people my age — took to the street to protest. They championed for a coach who had been the face of the university since 1966. They roared for the sustainment of a top-level football program, overturning cars and trucks that stood in the way of their anger. They stood at the doorstep of the 84-year-old’s home and cheered for a man whose complete moral failure let Jerry Sandusky, a man accused of unthinkable crimes against young boys, walk free. The message of the masses protesting Paterno’s firing came across clear Wednesday night: We support the concealment of child molestation as long as we win on Saturday.

Then there was embarrassment as a journalist. The press conference that announced the Paterno firing was a disgrace to the profession. When board vice chairman John  Surma announced the decision to fire Paterno, the packed room of press erupted in displeasure.

This is awful. This is a rush to judgment. How do you explain this to the students? Why don’t you let him coach until the end of the season? Campus is going to burn.

Question by the press corps in the room sounded no different than the chants of the protesters outside. As journalists, we’re supposed to be objective, but the reporters in that room bombarded Surma with accusatory questions that, to summarize, came off as “How dare you?”

It begs the question: What would of had to happen in order for those journalists to stop eating out of the palm of the athletic department and ask real questions?

It’s no wonder those who covered up this mess within the university thought they could get away with it. Instead of reporters asking why and how something this monstrous could happen within the Penn State institution, they’re more concerned with how the board let Paterno have the news. “You let a man go who’s been here for 46 years and you won’t tell us whether you let him go over the phone or in person,” one reporter asked. Surma responded that the board notified Paterno by phone in order not cause a large scene. “You didn’t have the courtesy to go to his house?”

At no point in the press conference video can you see the reporters asking the questions, but I wonder how many of their faces were painted blue and white?

And then, there was embarrassment of myself. After I left work, I was at a bar watching SportCenter highlights of Paterno’s career. I’ve never been a huge college football fan, but Paterno was someone that I always admired. The way he ran his program since the 60s, with what we thought was dignity and class. I sat there and watched black-and-white footage of him in his early years. I watched highlights of his two national championship wins in the 80s and the image we’re used to now of an old, vulnerable man patrolling the sideline amongst giants.

I couldn’t help but start feeling bad for the coach. Paterno was going to go down as one of the most revered coaches in sports history. No man has ever put in the time or been as big of a presence as Paterno has to Penn State, and Thursday afternoon, for the first time since 1950, Paterno woke up unemployed by the university. His legacy is vanquished.

But that’s when I caught myself. Paterno’s legacy doesn’t matter. The students, the journalists and most of all football doesn’t matter.

 What does matters in this situation is the children that were abused. What should matter is a full investigation to find out how this happened, why it happened, and how it can prevented so nothing this despicable can ever happen again.

Is Joe Paterno the villain of this story? No. He didn’t commit the crime. But he failed to act. He could have prevented Sandusky from ever abusing another child.

And that’s when embarrassment turns to sadness.