A farewell to Joseph Vincent Paterno: Goodbye, dear JoePa

Joe Paterno is gone. After winning 409 football games, after coaching at the highest level of football for over 60 years, after winning two national championships, after winning Sports Illustrated Man of the Year in 1986, after becoming the face of not only his team, but of his institution, “JoePa” is gone.

And many people will say one thing.

He could have done more.

The fateful, reflective phrase “I wish I had done more,” uttered by Paterno on Nov. 9 when asked about his lackluster effort in the confrontation of Jerry Sandusky will no doubt serve as his epitaph to the public. Rarely has the condemnation of a coaches career been so brief but so adhesive. When a coaching assistant presented Sandusky’s heinous crimes to him, Paterno reported the crime to his athletic director and a school director with connections to the university’s police force.

Still, Paterno knew, he could have done more.

Yet in the world we live in today, the harsh public is still quick to forgive and forget the transgressions of the athlete who comes back and produces wins and highlight reel material. But for coaches, regardless of the success, the road is much tougher. And for Joe, it may be impossible. The public sees his life story in one way.

He could have done more.

But one can’t deny that Paterno was to college football what John Wooden was to college basketball. He was the stoic grandfatherly figure. On one hand, tough and demanding, yet loyal and tender on the other. He was the stalwart general with oversized spectacles and a distinct hobbling pace. And before the Sandusky episode, he seemed to be the last bastion of integrity in a collegiate world filled with scandal and suspensions.

While Paterno regularly recruited teenagers with rough pasts, his players graduated from college, 78 percent of them to be exact, second only to Texas Tech in powerhouse football programs and well above the 67 percent average among Division I programs.

In his years coaching, 36 players were named Academic All-Americans, fourth most ever. He turned jocks into productive citizens. He helped raise millions of dollars to build his university’s library, which was then fittingly named after him. Students loved him, piling at his door and starting nothing short of a destructive mob party when he was let go from the university.

He displayed loyalty, spurning numerous offers from NFL teams to move up to their ranks. He displayed toughness, most notably in 2007 and 2009, where he broke his leg and had hip replacement surgery, respectively. Both times, whether by wheelchair or in the press box, he was there for his team, coaching the next game. He displayed hard work simply by doing what he loved every single day.

Yet, he knew, he could have done more.

Paterno felt for the victims, expressing his sadness over the situation many times. In an interview with CBS, he called it “one of the greatest sorrows of my life.” He described himself as “absolutely devastated” for the children and their families.

He was a good man who handled a situation poorly, something we are all guilty of. He committed no crimes, he blamed no one for his handling of the situation, and expressed no bitterness to the university who ousted him after so many years of service.

Yes, he could have done more, but so could we.

Now we can forgive, and we can remember.