Intern Blog

On Sunday morning, I stood next to the iconic statue wondering how we got here. Just three months ago, I watched Joe Paterno coach the Penn State Nittany Lions. Just three months ago, the quiet town of State College, Pa., was just that -- quiet. Just three months ago, I wasn’t prepared to face what was to come in the months ahead.

It began one Saturday morning. Reports hit the Internet and media across the nation, and soon the world, that former defensive coach Jerry Sandusky was being charged with 40 counts related to child sex abuse. I couldn’t believe the headlines I was reading. This wasn’t who we all believed he was, not to mention that my beloved school was being slammed in newspapers, television shows, news shows, etc. across the world. How could we have let this happen? That’s what so many wondered.

I want to share my story of being born and raised in central Pennsylvania, of being a townie. State College may not be “small” while students are in town, but the three months they’re gone are peaceful and quiet. Everyone knows everyone in this town.

Jerry Sandusky was always considered a “good guy.” He was known for being a defensive coach for the Nittany Lions and for helping underprivileged children in the region. He was a man anyone in this town, for the most part, would never have guessed would be charged with sexually abusing children.

I remember receiving a text from my friend that Saturday morning. She told me Tim Curley was in trouble and that something big was going to happen. I remember emailing my bosses to tell them that something big was going down on campus and that it could reach national media’s attention. I remember looking at my mom and saying, “This isn’t good. Jerry Sandusky just got charged with forty counts relating to child sex abuse.” I remember her face being shocked, stunned.

I spent the next two months living and breathing the case. I went to bed every night between 2 and 3 a.m., waking up 6 hours later to go to class and cover everything happening.

On Nov. 9, I sat in the Penn Stater waiting to hear anything from the Board of Trustees. I pushed my way into the room, reporting for my class (Centre County Report), and sat in the front row. I had my camera ready to go, hoping something would be worthy of capturing.

I sat on the floor, recording, waiting. Then it hit. John Surma, then vice chair of the Board, announced that head coach Joe Paterno was fired, effective immediately. I sat there stunned. Not because I was shocked or upset that he was fired, but I couldn’t believe the only coach I’ve ever known was just fired. I wouldn’t see the 84-year-old coaching at the next home football game. The room was silent for a brief second as everyone processed the news.

I went home that night and I cried, but not because he was fired or anything relating to the scandal. I cried because he was one of my heroes. That man coached with heart, integrity and the mindset to help men not only play football, but earn meaningful degrees. The man who has done so much for this university was just fired.

The next month unfolded more twists and turns in the case. While I got to help out with both my class and Fox, it was still hard to deal with. This was my hometown. This was where I went to school. I knew nothing but Happy Valley, as the town is often called, and in the past few months nothing about this valley had been happy.

On Saturday night, Jan. 21, I received a text message saying Joe Paterno had fallen ill and I needed to grab my camera and gather information on his status.  I couldn’t believe I had covered not only a child sex abuse scandal and the firing of Joe Paterno, but now I was investigating whether he had died.

I sat in the waiting room near the Mount Nittany Medical Center main entrance, unable to process fully what might come of the night. I ran into Jay Paterno, Joe’s son, and asked how his father was.

He told me his father was in a “tough place,” but that he was “a fighter.”

I sat stunned. Paterno was still alive, and I was the only one (from the media) who got to speak to a family member about his status. In a matter of minutes reports came flooding in that Joe had passed. I couldn’t believe it. Jay hadn’t been crying; in fact, he had left the hospital. There was no way he would have left and not been crying if his father had died, right?

I sat there for the next two hours, hoping to find information disputing the reports of Paterno’s death. In time, it was announced he was still alive — through a statement given by the family’s spokesperson.

With two other journalism students, I covered what was happening at Joe’s statue outside of Beaver Stadium that night. The mood was somber as students started putting memorabilia next to his statue.

I went to bed knowing that when I woke up, Joe would probably not be alive, and that the legacy he had worked so hard to build could not continue.

Shortly after 9:30 a.m. I received an alert on my phone that Joe Paterno had passed away. I was stunned and saddened. This wasn’t happening. It’s not the way this was supposed to go.

Among townies, it was always a joke that Joe would die on the field, coaching. He loved the sport so much. He loved this university so much. He was the university. Donating his money, his time and his heart to this university, Joe was an icon and role model for millions.

Sunday morning, after Joe had passed, I went with another classmate and covered what was happening at Joe’s statue. People had laid flowers, cards, photos, memorabilia and more in Joe’s honor. I had held it together while listening to stories of those who knew and didn’t know Joe. They told us of the man he was, the role model he was and the sadness they felt.

Then an elderly couple appeared to my right. The man looked to be in his 70s or 80s and was in a wheelchair. His wife was pushing him along. They continued to Joe’s statue, where the man laid down a bouquet of flowers. He sat there looking at Joe’s statue and started to cry.

And that made me cry. Joe Paterno had touched so many lives in so many ways, many unknown. From football players to fans to community members to students, he had a role in many people’s lives. 

Joseph Vincent Paterno died Sunday, Jan. 22, 2012, shortly after 9:30 a.m. The legend and soul of JoePa, however, will live on in those who loved him for being “our coach.”