Fans grieve 'the father of this place'

For the first time in months, there was little talk of the child-sex-abuse scandal that cost him his job and plunged the school he embodied into one of the darkest chapters in its history.

Instead, Joe Paterno's death Sunday unleashed an outpouring of condolences and fond memories.

From Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, from Harrisburg to Happy Valley, across state borders and the sports spectrum, fans, friends, and admirers recalled the Paterno of legend: the short, bespectacled coach who for decades kept the same middle-class house in State College, donned the same outfit each week on the Beaver Stadium sidelines, and preached the same mantras about football and life even as he transcended Pennsylvania State University and became a gridiron giant.

Losing him, some said, was like losing a close relative.

"He really was the father of this place. I don't think that's an overstatement," Diane Farley, a member of the Penn State marching band in 1982, when Paterno won the first of two national championships, said near his statue outside the stadium. "It's pretty Unhappy Valley right now."

The coach, 85, died barely two months after being diagnosed with lung cancer and a week after he entered Mount Nittany Medical Center, weakened by the disease and attempts to treat it.

Supporters began their vigil Saturday, when word spread that Paterno's five children and 17 grandchildren had been called to the hospital to be with him in his final hours.

At 10:15 a.m. Sunday, the family announced his death.

"He died as he lived," the family statement said. "He fought hard until the end, stayed positive, thought only of others, and constantly reminded everyone of how blessed his life had been. His ambitions were far-reaching, but he never believed he had to leave this Happy Valley to achieve them."

Social-media outlets exploded with memories and expressions of grief. Across State College, stores posted condolences in their windows and on marquees. Fans at a wrestling match between Penn State and Iowa had a moment of silence, followed by a 30-second standing ovation.

"We grieve for the loss of Joe Paterno, a great man who made us a greater university," university president Rodney Erickson said.

Asked to describe Paterno's impact, legendary South Carolina coach Steve Spurrier put it this way: Paterno, he said, was the only opposing coach he ever asked to be photographed with.

Said Bill O'Brien, who was hired this month to replace Paterno: "The Penn State football program is one of college football's iconic programs because it was led by an icon in the coaching profession in Joe Paterno."

Gov. Corbett said he and his wife were saddened to hear the news.

"As both man and coach, Joe Paterno confronted adversities, both past and present, with grace and forbearance," the governor said in a statement. "His place in our state's history is secure."

Beneath the sadness bubbled an undercurrent of empathy, even anger, over the tumult that marked Paterno's final months.

On Nov. 5, a week after Paterno notched his 409th win, the most of any major-college football coach, prosecutors charged his longtime defensive coordinator, Jerry Sandusky, with abusing eight boys over at least a decade.

A grand jury report said some of the assaults occurred on Penn State football team trips or in the team locker room, after Sandusky had retired in 1999 but still maintained a campus presence.

According to the grand jury, Paterno learned about one of the attacks in 2002, when a graduate assistant, Mike McQueary, told him he saw Sandusky and a young boy engaged in sexual activity in the locker room showers on a Friday night.

Paterno waited a day, then reported McQueary's account to university administrators. No one called police.

On Nov. 9, as the case drew a national spotlight, the university trustees fired Paterno in a late-night phone call. Paterno, the board decided, had failed to do enough in 2002 and could no longer be effective as head coach.

Paterno accepted the decision, though he said he thought he acted properly, in part because Sandusky was no longer his assistant.

"I didn't know exactly how to handle it and I was afraid to do something that might jeopardize what the university procedure was," Paterno told the Washington Post in his only interview on the matter.

His firing ignited outrage among his legion of fans and alumni, and stirred thousands to write letters or pack town-hall meetings with university administrators. The emotions still smoldered with the news that he had died.

Kenny Dubin, a 1986 Penn State graduate, was among those who could not separate Paterno's death from the scandal.

"He died of cancer, medically speaking, but he died of a broken heart," Dubin, 47, of Merion, said as he sat in a Bala Cynwyd coffee shop wearing a Penn State sweatshirt. "To me, it's the saddest event to hit Penn State."

Anthony Lubrano, an outspoken donor and alumnus, said university trustees might endure another backlash because Paterno died before they could restore his name or give him a proper tribute.

"Sadly, I believe it means that the scar becomes more permanent," said Lubrano, who has campaigned for a seat on the board.

Among those publicly mourning Paterno on Sunday were the two former administrators charged with covering up the 2002 attack, athletic director Timothy Curley and vice president Gary Schultz, and the defendant who some blame for tainting Paterno - Sandusky.

"This is a sad day," Sandusky, who has maintained his innocence, said in a statement released by his lawyer. "Nobody will be able to take away the memories we all shared of a great man, his family, and all the wonderful people who were a part of his life."

Others preferred to focus on the Paterno they knew before November, the face of an institution and source of inspiration.

David Marselles, a Penn State senior, hauled a cardboard cutout of the coach to the gathering outside the stadium. Marselles said he met Paterno once, when he was a high school student on a campus tour back in 2007.

"He basically just told me to come to Penn State, [that] I'm going to do great things," Marselles said. "And that struck me on a really personal level."

When Paterno died, Marselles said, he broke down and cried.

"It's like losing a family member."

Inquirer staff writers Jeremy Roebuck, Susan Snyder, Anthony Campisi, Carolyn Davis, Suzette Parmley, and Joe Juliano contributed to this article.