Back when news leaked out of Pennsylvania’s Happy Valley that an assistant college football coach had been accused of raping/abusing a number of prepubescent boys, the world began to re-imagine the mythology of Joe Paterno. Surely he was not responsible for such an atrocity, some said. What a hypocrite, others cried. And then there were those who scratched their heads wondering how such a venerated university leader could even be mentioned in the same paragraph as child molestation.
A lot of time has passed since that great storm ravaged the Penn State community. The court of public opinion, for the most part, has determined Jerry Sandusky, the accused assistant coach, to be a monster. That same court has returned something of a hung jury on what to make of Joe Paterno. Prior to last fall’s revelations, his reputation was nearly unimpeachable. Since then, it has taken immeasurable dings. Now that the old coach has lost his battle against cancer, his side of the story will never get a full and legitimate treatment in an actual court. Some say that’s a shame. Others call it a relief. If there is such a thing as the truth in this scenario, I think it’s that Paterno was simply not much of a butcher.
In the great climactic scene of the film version of Frost/Nixon, there’s a line that doesn’t get as much play as the line for which the scene is known. Just before Frank Langella’s Nixon unleashes the quasi-confession (“When the President does it, it’s not illegal”), he describes his internal conflict regarding the men he knew and worked with, H. R. Haldeman and John Ehrlichman, that had been fingered as culprits in the Watergate break-in. At 1:35 in the above clip, he says, “I cut one arm off and then I cut off the other. And I’m not a good butcher.”
While the crime discovered on June 17, 1972 at the Watergate Hotel bears no resemblance in any sense to what Jerry Sandusky has been charged with, there’s an unusually logical correlation between Nixon’s mishandling of the former and Paterno’s mismanaging of the latter. Both men were public officials in whom the public had placed a lot of trust. And both men—if we take Nixon at his word—fumbled when faced with a scenario that pitted the greater good against their own institutional self interests(*).
What’s interesting about the scene in the film is how that version of Nixon chose to make sense of the situation: Do I sacrifice my lieutenants who have made a grave mistake or do I allow them to carry on with the mission to which they are so vital? It’s reasonable to presume this same thought crossed Paterno’s mind when he was first confronted with the horrors that have been attributed to Sandusky. If the leader believes the ultimate goal to be noble, then isn’t the leader justified in overlooking (or even permitting) misdeeds among his troops as they pursue a greater good together?
What emerges from both scandals is the notion that all “greater goods” are not created equal. Some are actually quite local. Among the localized greater goods, some conflict with neighboring greater goods. Indeed, they conflict with what ought to be overriding greater goods. Morality plays turn rather gray when muscular (and delusional) self interests tussle in defense of their turf. When they do, leaders often saw very sloppily.
Paterno was no fan of Nixon’s. He had good reason not to be. In 1969, the sitting President crowned Texas that year’s NCAA champion before any Bowl games were even played. Paterno’s Penn State team would finish that year undefeated (just like Texas did) after winning its Bowl game (just like Texas did). Granted, Paterno’s team reportedly declined an invite to play in the championship-deciding Bowl game to which Texas was ultimately invited. But the bad blood was already cooked prompting Paterno to quip in 1974, “How could Nixon know so much about college football in 1969 and so little about Watergate in 1973?”
Where the real connection between the two icons may have been icy and distant, their moral failings draw a short, terse line between each other. The question that has been asked again and again about whatever happened at Penn State jumps out at us from 1:10 of the clip up there. “Why didn’t you just call the police?” It’s such a simple inquiry. But life is never really that simple, is it? Or can it be?
Had Joe Paterno heeded the lesson of leadership offered by Frost/Nixon, the only greater good that mattered may have prevailed. Doing the simple (yet excruciatingly difficult) thing may even have preserved the mythology of “Joe Pa.”
As it were, Paterno did unto himself as Nixon did. He cut very poorly.
* Nixon’s self interest–particularly his lust for power–was an institution to itself. So much so that obtaining and preserving power probably was his core purpose. Paterno, by comparison, appears to have been an exceedingly benevolent dictator giving hella money back to Penn State to support a number of academic programs.
