Tragedy at Penn State, a Play in Several Acts

I'm a Pennsylvania girl, born and bred, a graduate of Pitt, whose arch rival has long been Penn State. Still, I was shocked and saddened and angered by what is now becoming known far and wide as the Penn State Sex Scandal.   

I am sickened at the mere idea of the sexual abuse of kids by a trusted mentor in a setting which should have been benign. I am also appalled at the way this tragedy has become a national drama, complete with sometimes hourly updates on who said they saw what and what they did or did not do about it.  This is followed, of course, by “expert opinion” from those who have made a career of studying child abuse or talking about child abuse or, sometimes, just sufferers of child abuse. And then there is the inexpert opinion, from those of us who have something to say and, thanks to the internet, a place to say it. I’m amazed at people with not even tangential relationships to Penn State or college ball weighing in with fangs bared about Joe Paterno, who, truth to tell, is not the guilty party in this tragedy.

I think it was that, the instantaneous firing of Paterno, which has seemed so wrong to me. It seemed an act of desperation on the part of the Penn State Trustees: perhaps if we throw Joe Pa under the bus, the world won’t notice our culpability.  It worked, I’m sure they’re pleased to note, as the burden of the heat has been attached to the alleged perpetrator and the supporting players. The Trustees themselves seem to be taking no credit for having created the world at Penn State in which these hideous acts, both of commission and omission, could take place.

Bob Costas said the other night on NBC's Rock Center that it’s fascinating watching this happen in real time.  

What is the ‘this’?  The implosion of careers?  The destruction of a mighty university?  And why is that fascinating?  (I can imagine it’s fascinating to Costas because he’s benefiting from his reporting of the situation).  But the rest of us?  Why are we so eager to see the successful brought low?  Or is it the mighty brought down to our level?  Why do these tragedies become such a singular part of our collective consciousness?

As I tried to sort the whole thing out for myself—both the general response and mine—I was suddenly back in one of the classrooms at Pitt, studying theatre, reading Aristotle’s Poetics.  The Penn State Sex Scandal is indeed a tragedy, in the original sense of the word.  It is a drama in which heroic characters are brought low not by chance, but by a fatal flaw within them.  The purpose of tragedy is to bring about strong emotions in the audience, catharsis, which allow us to experience the consequences of the tragedy without actually having to go through it.

And what was Joe Paterno’s fatal flaw?  One that I bet lies within most of us.  It does within me. 

When I first moved to Elk Grove, I worked as a mental health therapist at a social services agency for children.  My clients, who ranged in age from 4 to 17, were troubled kids sent for therapy by the County of Sacramento.  Usually, I saw them in my office, but occasionally I had to make a home visit.  The first time I did, I was nervous for all sorts of reasons:  fearful of the neighborhood, anxious about doing my job properly, concerned that I could create a bond with the mother that would facilitate my treating her older child.  

When I walked up to the front door of the house, it was a mess of overflowing garbage bags, kid’s toys, and a rollicking litter of kittens.  I tried not to notice; no, I noticed but I tried not to judge.  The inside of the house wasn’t any better.  There was not a clear surface on which to sit down. The kitchen was an illustration of every meal the family had had since--I don’t know when:  dirty pots and frying pans, a sink overloaded with dirty dishes, dried foodstuffs vying for space with empty cans and cereal boxes on the counter.  There was, as I recall, a trail of ants marching up to it all.  The smell was old bacon and rancid frying grease mixed with a peculiar acrid odor that I couldn’t at first place. Eventually I saw that it was coming from a toddler and an infant who were confined in front of the TV.  Their diapers, it was obvious even at a distance, held at least a day’s worth of urine.  

Remembering and writing this now, I think, My god, why didn’t you do something, Jane?  Why indeed.  I was in that house as a Mandated Reporter, which meant that by law I had to report any and all cases of abuse, neglect and endangerment.  A significant part of my education had been devoted to California law regarding such things, to imagining scenarios and determining whether they called for me to report them. 

What had never been illustrated to me was a home where people are so poor that the basics of civilized living become less than important.  Faced with the scene in that house, I was horrified, shocked even, but I couldn’t be sure that my response wasn’t just a function of my middle class upbringing.  I remember so clearly trying not to notice all the mess so as not to embarrass the mother.

When I got back to the office that day, I discussed it with my supervisor.  Should I report that mother for neglect and child endangerment?  If I did and Child Protective Services took action, the kids would be taken from their mother.  But was it really neglect and child endangerment; maybe it was just a really filthy house and the mom was having a bad day.  I didn’t report it—then.  Months later after I was more experienced going into the homes my clients lived in, I knew without question that what I saw that day was both neglect and child endangerment.  Then, I called CPS and made the report, explaining why it was so long after the fact.  

I am in no way comparing the child neglect I witnessed to sexual abuse. I am telling you all this to warn you that fatal flaws are inherently human.  Sometimes tragedy happens when good people are unsure when they should do more because so much of life as we’re living it is subjective.  In hindsight, I knew I should have reported that mother.  In hindsight, Joe Paterno knew he should have done more than just report the coach.  However, hindsight, like Monday morning quarterbacking, is only as good as the lessons it teaches us for the next time.  Real life is not a theatrical drama, not even when it’s being presented to us that way.