Citizen Mom

Penn State's Public Acts of Contrition

(image via OnwardState )

So, where do we go from here, Penn Staters?

I’m talking to all of you, or at least, to the hundreds of thousands of alumni and friends living in the Philadelphia area. Where do we take our school next?

When I last wrote about this, one of the questions fellow alumni had was about what we can do going forward. The alumni I talk to who are remaining loyal to the school aren't doing so to preserve Joe Paterno's legacy. Collectively, there is a genuine interest in how we can address the penalties, acknowledge the shortcomings and craft a future for Penn State.

First -- please don’t sweat the $73 million in combined penalties from the NCAA and Big Ten, or Gov. Corbett's foot-stomping about protecting taxpayers. Because if there’s one thing PSU knows how to do, it’s raise money. And Penn Staters know how to give: In recent years, big-name alums have donated hundreds of millions of dollars -- much for sports, yes, but also for study of the law, food sciences, cancer research, and honors education.

So it’s not about the money. It’s about punishment and penance for the entire city-state of Happy Valley.

Like the removal of the statue and the plaques behind it, the NCAA's cancellation of several seasons worth of football wins was a literal prying away of the physical traces of the Paterno years. It's about public shaming on the NCAA's part, and institutional preservation on PSU's.

In this way, it's very much not about the game of football, but the sacrament of sport.

Obviously it’s no coincidence that I keep using Catholic imagery. So much of Penn State is now exposed as having indulged the same kind of systematic moral failings as the Church in its own child sex abuse scandal. JoePa was a father figure, a grandfather figure, a head of state whose many undeniable good works are undermined and overshadowed now by critical errors in leadership and lack of moral clarity when it mattered most. 

[It also bears noting that the secular, public university has already been held more publicly accountable, showed more genuine humility, and been more welcoming of correction, than the Church will likely ever be.]

Someone asked what I thought of the timing, of workers removing the statue in the quiet of a State College Sunday morning, covered from public view with blue tarps like a crime scene. It seemed about right, I said. Let’s face it, the bronze monument was never going to be felled in some Saddam Hussein-style public uprising. Nor are students and alumni in any mood to riot to keep it there.

But with some obsessing on the question -- Will the statue stay? -- to the point of flying banner planes over University Park, Penn State’s leaders had two choices. Either take it down and end the discussion for now, or make a public statement of support saying the statue was staying put. And that couldn’t happen, what with the alcove off Curtin Road already turning into a shrine to a martyred saint.

To me, the timing that really matters is the year 1998, which now seems fixed as the point at which any further abuse by Jerry Sandusky could have --  and should have -- been stopped.

What the NCAA decided, and the university signed off on by signing the consent decree, is the notion that Paterno’s coaching career effectively ended in 1998, too. Canceling out every Penn State win from 1998 on (when McQueary was quarterback and Ray Gricar was Centre County’s District Attorney) is a direct arrow in the side of the Paterno legacy, a most personal strike.

And you’d better believe the Paterno loyalists are taking it personally.

On one Penn State Alumni Facebook page I frequent, the level of denial about the Freeh Report is approaching moon-landing-hoax levels of ridiculousness. They’re mad as hell -- at the trustees, at Louis Freeh, at the media (naturally), at Mark Emmert, and at Tom Corbett -- especially Tom Corbett, but I suspect that's because many voted for him. (I assure you, they won’t again.)

Now there's a petition calling on President Erickson to step down, something about “failure of leadership and damage to the Penn State brand.” The brand! Way to prove Emmert’s point, folks. And that’s only about 11,000 people out of all the Penn Staters on Facebook.

Time and again I’ve seen people try to make rational points about the failure of leadership at Penn State and be shouted down by the Paterno absolutists, for whom preserving the win total and maintaining “the brand” are paramount.

It’s time to tune out that noise, to let actions speak louder than the rantings.

For the future that we wait

Can we stop talking about what's going to happen to the Paterno shrine now?

It hurt like hell to wake up Sunday to see the statue come down, and the look on Jack's face when I told him made me catch my breath. I said Joe hadn't shown leadership when he didn't call the police, that he didn't protect the kids when Jerry Sandusky was abusing them at Penn State. Factually correct, yet hardly enough words to contain all the heartbreak.

A friend reminded me that this is what comes of erecting statues to the living. Hard to argue right now. I guess the next questions we'll all obsess on will be what happens to that space on Curtin Road, and -- once again -- what should happen to the JoePa statue?

 

Joe Paterno, Penn State, and how our own errors in thinking let this happen

Updated: 

You can also read this on NewsWorks (and see other pics), and listen to  an audio portion from WHYY.

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In my house, there isn’t a room that doesn’t bear at least some evidence of my relationship with Penn State. Since the child sex assault scandal began unfolding last year, only one piece of my Penn State collection went into the trash can. 

It was a dark-blue T-shirt, with a sketch of Joe Paterno’s face and the words LET GO AND LET JOE in white, a play on the old saw about turning your troubles over to the Lord, trusting he’ll handle everything. 

In hindsight, I see how deeply bizarre that sounds, and how perfectly it sums up how and why we got here. The shirt (bought at Cheesesteak Tees, I think)  just seemed funny, so ironically over-the-top that only another Penn Stater would understand. It went into the garbage when the thought of wearing it left me feeling disgusted and ashamed, and afraid of what else we didn’t know.

With the Freeh Report released, we know more than ever and it’s nothing short of horrifying. The report isn’t just a retelling of how there were “more red flags than we could count,” as Freeh said, nor is it about pinning it all on the dead guy as others insist (they’re wrong).

It confirms things we didn't want to accept about all of the men running the university, including the one to whom they all deferred. It proves that “let go and let Joe” was the guiding principle at Penn State. It wasn't the law and it certainly was not compassion for those boys.

Those boys. Some the same age my son was when we took him to his first game, dressed him in PSU gear and waved to President Spanier as he passed by in a minibus on the way back from Beaver Stadium. Nobody cared enough to do anything for those boys.

Let go and let Joe.

Everyone knows Joe had an effect on people it is accurate to describe as religious.  A few words from him could revive exhausted THON dancers and shake loose money from donors’ pockets. His words certainly could have stopped Jerry Sandusky from abusing kids.

Penn State's motto is "Success With Honor."

Imagine the honor that would have come with the success of Joe being the coach who took a public stand for protecting children, the one who refused to tolerate the mere idea of a child abuser in his midst? But even the janitors at the bottom of the blue-and-white food chain knew no good would come of blowing the whistle. Blowing the whistle is the coach’s job.

To the Paterno family, which released its own statement, no sane adult would knowingly cover for a child sex predator. They say if Joe had “understood what Sandusky was,” he would have done more. No one really expects the Paternos to reject their patriarch. But.  

Realizing all this hurts. It makes me nauseated, it makes me ashamed I was part of that culture of unquestioning loyalty that let atrocities go on right under JoePa’s famous nose.

Does understanding all these things mean I don’t love Penn State, that I should take my diploma off the wall and send it back? No, it means I believe a better Penn State exists. That there is more good to be done. That I want to do better by its students than was done for those other boys, the ones Sandusky and his enablers destroyed.

A moment keeps coming back to me: Oct. 29, 2011, the weekend of that freaky Halloween snowstorm, when we joined a bunch of Penn State friends to watch the Illinois game. The group of us that had bonded over long nights in the Collegian newsroom gathered in a New Jersey living room to watch on TV, cheering and pointing out Joe to the kids.

Should we have known that would be the last time a big win would give us that kind of pride? That it would be the last time, probably for a long time, that Beaver Stadium would be that innocent universe of joy it became in the moments just after a win?

I’m involved in alumni groups, I mentor students, I give money and time back to my school. None of that changes for me. Some are calling for the football program to be shut down, if not the whole university. Penalties, charges, fines, yes, but dismantle Penn State? Of course not.

Letting the entire institution be defined by one person is our yesterday. I’d rather work to build Penn State’s future. Or maybe, just go back to the start. From the 1941 campus guide for freshmen, via Papergreat:

There is something in Penn State that goes on and on, unchanging even while buildings, faculties, and student bodies come and go. If you find out what that is, you will have found the source of the notable Penn State spirit and loyalty. 

Philly parents, students show THON the love -- even when the Philly media doesn't

UNIVERSITY PARK -- So, I'm back in the press box at the BJC as THON's first 18 hours drift away, watching the swirling mass of color and movement on the floor below. Two women approach me -- "Are you a reporter?" Yes, I tell them, I'm a freelancer from Philly and a former THON dancer who's here to write about it for my blog.

"Why isn't the Inquirer here?" they ask. Good question. I've often wondered why the Philly media so pointedly ignores what happens at THON, when so many of the dancers, volunteers and organizers are from the Philly area. You've seen them standing on street corners all over the city during canning weekends.

Nevermind the sheer size and impact THON has -- $7.4 million last year, the largest student-run philanthropy in the world, not to mention it's the STATE UNIVERSITY --  these are the sons and daughters of the people who buy your newspapers and watch your TV broadcasts, and in many cases, they're alumni themselves. And they want to know why you can't be bothered.

Completely unsolicited, these two women -- the mother and an aunt of a dancer, Abington High School graduate Alix Porreca -- then read me the straight-up Riot Act and asked me to pass it along to my friends in the Philly media. Gladly.

"I really find it shocking, actually," said Andie Porreca, a 1975 graduate who was on campus the year of the first dance marathon. "Why can't Philly at least acknowledge this huge effort? They cover Penn State sports, why are they not covering this?"

This is Andie Porreca's third time at THON, the third year she's made the road trip to campus and joined the thousands of family and friends who crowd into the stands to cheer on the dancers.

"One out of four people you run into in Philly is a relative, a friend, a cousin, a girlfriend of somebody who's involved with Penn State, or with THON," Porreca said. It's illogical to her that nobody in the Philly media (except Citizen Mom, of course) can be bothered to cover the event in any meaningful way.

Down on the floor, Alix was surrounded by friends, supporters and fellow dancers from her sorority, Zeta Tau Alpha, while her mom and her Aunt Robyn (they're pictured above, busting moves during this year's line dance) talked about running into fellow Penn Staters on their travels around the world. Alaska, China, even in the middle of nowhere in Yellowstone National Park.

"We're out on a remote trail with a guide, and he saw my Penn State clothing and introduced himself by saying, 'So, how'd we do last night? I had the Penn State on, and it made us friends," Porecca said.

OK, that's enough ranting out of me. It's time for another line dance.

This is definitely not Yr Mom's THON

UNIVERSITY PARK -- Pardon me while I sound like one of Those Alumni for a minute, but in my day, THON was held in the White Building, not some fancypants arena. Hell, the arena wasn't even here then -- when I graduated back in the '94, the Bryce Jordan Center was a hole in the ground where our tailgating field had been. 

And forget this 46-hour stuff, we stood for 48 hours and liked it! OK, liked it is a stretch. What you do at THON is endure.

In the 16 years since Scott Dodd and I staggered through two days on a team representing the Daily Collegian news division, Penn State's annual fund raiser for pediatric cancer research has grown to include 708 dancers in an effort that last year raised $7.4 million to benefit the Four Diamonds Fund.

Over 33 years, THON has raised more than $61 million, making it the largest student-run charity effort in the world. It's a massive undertaking, keeping the dancers fed, hydrated and entertained around the clock for two days, and it's all done by student volunteers, as THON doesn't have a single paid staff member.

As I write this, I'm sitting in the press box at the BJC, watching this year's dancers stream in and plop down on the floor, catching whatever rest they can and gearing themselves up for the weekend to come.

At 6 p.m., they stand, and they won't sit down again until 4 p.m. Sunday.

Over the weekend, they'll be looked after by more than 3,000 volunteers and will spend time with about 200 kids affected by cancer, and their families.

At its heart, THON is a party meant to give the kids a good time and a break from their daily battle with cancer. There's lots of silliness, goofy costumes, bands, performances, and a legendary annual line dance.

Meanwhile, on campus and in town, it feels a bit like a football weekend, which is about right. Once the football season ends, this is the biggest gig in town until Arts Fest, in the summer. 

"Fall is for football, but spring is THON," said Caitlin Zankowski, this year's overall chair. "People understand that this is part of Penn State culture."

I can say, from my own perspective, that it was one of the most affecting experiences of my time here in Happy Valley. If nothing else, it took me a while to get the smell of baby powder out of my nose. But more on that later. I'll be checking in at various points over the weekend.

Love Me With A Feeling: The Queen Bee, Tonya Browne, Is Still A Buzz

Photo by Gary Korman

The in-between season, while the kid and husband are home on winter break, is always a slow time for me, but I have a piece in this month's Penn Stater Magazine about how live music -- Queen Bee and the Blue Hornet Band in particular -- got me through a long winter before graduation.

A .pdf of the story

The idea came from finding a bunch of Queen Bee clips on YouTube, at very, very long last. Here's Tonya Browne singing, and an early incarnation of the band playing, "Every Night About This Time" in 1990. I love how Mark Ross just kind of sways back and forth, the metronome keeping everyone in time. 

By the time I came around about a few years later, her voice had both strengthened and refined (Their MySpace Player has a few good clips from that time, especially "Let Me Tell You What Love Is.") and the band had changed up a little bit to include Rene Witzke and Doug Bernstein, who later split for Nashville. Through the wonders of Facebook I've got back in touch with Rene and am happy to find him -- and his beautiful, multi-talented wife, singer Molly Countermine, of Pure Cane Sugar, Maxwell Strait etc. -- living, playing and raising a family in the State College area. Mark Ross's son is now old enough that he played with the band on a recent reunion gig (Ryan Jones blogged about it for the Penn Stater here), and "Sleepy" Jack Wilkinson is still banging away, God love him.

Longtime Citizen Mom readers know about Tonya Browne. From '06:

. . . am fondly remembering sneaking up to an apartment above the Shire in Cape May with Tonya and a few others, and getting completely hammered during the drum solo in "Too Tall To Mambo."

During the next song, three hoochies and a large bouncer-looking dude from the (now bulldozed) Wildwood strip club C.R. Fannie's come in. The girls start busting moves on the dance floor -- not stripping, though they were wearing assless jeans and the CR Fannie's logo was painted on their buttcheeks. Such helpful girls, bless their hearts.

After they left, we were all so loaded we just looked at each other like "did that just happen?"

The Blue Hornet Band, with Tonya out front, accomplished a lot: Not just regular regional gigs, several CDs and a large and loyal group of fans, but European dates and opening for B.B. King -- who was said to have been drawn out of his dressing room by the sound of Tonya's voice. Every band needs its legends, and that one is beloved.

My own personal legend is about the night we finally graduated, and both my parents and Pop Cesspool's folks sat around a table at Cafe 210West, toasting themselves on their accomplishment and rocking out to the Queen Bee. There couldn't have been more happy people in State College that night.

I'm grateful to Tina Hay and the Penn Stater for publishing the piece -- I was hoping it might be a catalyst for Queen Bee fans to find each other, and the music, again. Cue social media! 

I have plenty for which to thank Tonya, Mark, Rene and Jack -- and not just New Year's Eve '93 and '94 at the North Star Bar, though that alone would be plenty -- but the biggest may be that those shows ignited my love of live music and appreciation for the people who make it. Keep rocking.

For The Record: The version of "My Baby Loves The Way," on the MySpace Player, is my all-time favorite.

DAILY COLLEGIAN: Singing the blues, April 4, 1994

Something Relating To Bees AND Nutrition For Which Jer n' Jess Can't Take Credit

Penn State researchers say a spoonful of buckwheat honey is better than any OTC cough syrup for helping your lil' Nittany Lion sleep. Which comes in handy, since you can't give cough syrups to kids under 6 anymore. Further evidence that the God-given (or, bee-given) tools usually get the job done.

And hey, the Seinfelds had nothing to do with it! No, credit for this startling discovery really belongs to the National Honey Board, "an industry-funded agency of the United States Department of Agriculture," which funded the study.

Remember: NEVER give honey to a baby under a year old. It's got all kinds of bacteria and whatnot. In fact, mention it to your pediatrician before you give it to the kid for the first time, to make sure there isn't some other reason your sprout shouldn't have it.

RELATED: Jerry Seinfeld Is The New Billy Crystal

[hat tip, Action News. More details after the jump!]

Five Boxes Of Ziti

Earlier, the Harrisburg Patriot-News revealed Joe Paterno's salary, a not-so-princely sum, all things considered:

The long-awaited secret is out: Joe Paterno's salary this year will be $512,664.

The State Employees' Retirement System released Paterno's salary today along with that of two other Penn State administrators following a five-year court battle waged by The Patriot-News.

Officer, Gentleman: Lt. Michael Murphy '94

Penn Stater and Navy SEAL Lt. Michael Murphy, killed in Afghanistan June '05, will be awarded a posthumous Medal of Honor at a White House ceremony today. His parents, Dan and Maureen, will accept on his behalf.

Murphy graduated with a degree in political science and psychology, but passed on law school and joined the Navy instead.

On June 28, 2005, Michael and three other SEALs were pursuing a key Taliban militia commander when confronted with heavy gunfire from a much larger enemy force, according to the Navy.

Michael was shot several times in the back and stomach, but was intent on radioing headquarters for reinforcements, according to the Navy. He moved from the protection of the rocky mountainside into the open -- exposing himself to Taliban forces -- in hopes of obtaining a clearer signal. He began to relay the troops' location to a dispatcher.

Shot once more in the back, Michael dropped the transmitter. He quickly retrieved it, completed the call, and continued to fire at the enemy while returning to his cover position.

Low on ammunition and severely wounded, the team continued to fight. But after two hours, Michael and two of the other soldiers had fallen. Locals carried the surviving soldier to a nearby village where he awaited rescue by U.S. forces.

According to the Navy, Michael's "undaunted courage, his intrepid fighting spirit and inspirational devotion to his men in the face of certain death" ultimately led to the rescue of one fellow officer and the recovery of the remains of the other three. [Daily Collegian]

Murphy died a hero in Afghanistan, and will be the first veteran of combat there to receive the nation's highest military honor. He's also the Navy's first Medal of Honor winner since Vietnam.

The Navy Times has a more graphic account of the firefight that ended in Murphy's death, including this detail, about the end of the satellite call he gave his life to make:

Then, Luttrell heard Murphy say, “Roger that, sir. Thank you.” The lieutenant continued to train fire on the enemy fighters.