Inquirer Editorial: The tarnish is there, but the glory, too

Amos Alonzo Stagg, Glenn "Pop" Warner, Knute Rockne, Paul "Bear" Bryant, and now Joe Paterno.

The legendary Penn State coach, who died Sunday after battling lung cancer, has joined a pantheon of departed gridiron generals who pushed college football to its lofty place among America's pastimes.

Even the tarnish to his reputation that Paterno deserved, for failing to act more decisively after the alleged rape of a young boy was reported to him, won't keep football historians from giving him his due as one of the greatest coaches ever to walk the sidelines.

In 46 seasons as Penn State's head coach, Paterno won 409 games, the record for major-college football coaches. The member of the College Football Hall of Fame had five undefeated teams. His 24 bowl victories are more than any other coach, and his Nittany Lions won two national championships.

Including his time as an assistant coach, Paterno was at Penn State more than 60 years. He had become as much a part of the campus as the old President's House, which was built in 1864. Paterno's contributions to the university went far beyond being a coach. He was a major donor to the school and easily its biggest cheerleader.

But the university that Paterno, a Brown graduate, grew to love, the university that had loved him back with the same fervor, unceremoniously fired him with three games left in the 2011 season after the rape allegations became public.

Adding insult to injury, the firing came in a telephone call from the board of trustees, which decided it would be too difficult to attempt a face-to-face meeting. Instead, it had an envelope delivered to Paterno's home that included a directive for him to call the board.

But while its method of delivery might be questioned, the board's decision to dismiss Paterno certainly seemed justified. The coach contended he followed proper procedures in reporting the alleged assault to administration officials, but many of his fans still find it hard to believe that he didn't do more.

Indeed, Paterno himself acknowledged regret for not doing more after a graduate assistant in 2002 told him that he had witnessed former Penn State assistant coach Jerry Sandusky molesting a boy in the locker-room showers. Paterno told his superior, athletic director Tim Curley, and left it at that.

The police weren't contacted. Paterno suggested that was the administration's decision to make. It didn't, which is why university president Graham B. Spanier was asked to resign. Curley, who is on administrative leave, and school vice president Gary Schultz, now retired, have pleaded not guilty to cover-up charges.

Meanwhile, Sandusky is awaiting trial on 52 counts of child sexual abuse presented in a grand jury indictment that alleges he molested 10 boys over 15 years. Some incidents allegedly occurred inside Penn State facilities. Sandusky is accused of using the youth foundation he started, the Second Mile, to make contact with his victims.

It's despicable conduct that should have no connection to a man lovingly known as "JoePa." But Sandusky was one of Paterno's top assistant coaches for 30 years. Even if Paterno had not been told Sandusky had molested a boy, critics would suggest he should have known more and done more.

Had Paterno taken a different course when a young assistant tried to describe what he had seen inside a locker-room shower without getting too graphic, the name of Sandusky might not be mentioned in Paterno's obituaries.

Had Paterno taken it upon himself to see that police investigated an alleged rape by a former colleague, he would have likely finished last season as the Nittany Lions' coach, and his fans might be speculating whether an ailing 85-year-old could put enough gas in the tank for one more season.

Without the incentive of another football season, Paterno's zest for life took a blow. His cancer-ravaged body was worn out, and it couldn't be convinced otherwise by a mind that in the past had no problem allowing football to supersede any other thoughts, any physical pain.

That Paterno would die within weeks of coaching his final football game was in a way fitting. That had also been the fate of an old nemesis of Paterno's, Alabama's Bear Bryant, whose victory record Paterno once chased. Paterno's coaching longevity sometimes seemed motivated by his desire to do what kept him alive. And he did it well.

The Sandusky scandal notwithstanding, Paterno will live on in the memories of college football fans as one of the greatest. He will live on in the minds of Penn State students and alumni as a man who showed his gratitude to the school by becoming one of its most generous patrons.

Now that Paterno is gone, perhaps his career can be put in its proper perspective. He was human. He made mistakes. But none that are known relate to what he accomplished as a coach. In acknowledgment of that, the Big Ten Conference should restore his name to its football championship trophy.