Closure, pain and scars: Where Penn State and State College stand 10 years after the Sandusky scandal

STATE COLLEGE, Pa. — Ron Filippelli, State College’s current mayor, can still remember the message that appeared on his phone — almost to the day — 10 years ago.

He can’t recall the exact headline, nor the specific wording. But, standing in the lobby of the downtown State Theatre during an intermission, he can still remember what was conveyed: Former defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky was arrested. He was accused of 40 counts of sex crimes against young boys — a number that would eventually increase to 48 counts — while several university officials were being investigated for how they handled complaints against him.

The retired academic dean showed the news bulletin to a Penn State trustee. He shook his head, stunned, and walked back to his opera seats.

“I remember that day very well,” Filippelli said. “We were shocked by it. Of course, the opera went on and we stayed — and the events started to spiral as they did. Rapidly.”

It’s been 10 years since Penn State and the small college town of State College watched their insulating bubbles and illusion of security instantly burst. It’s been a decade since the university that was a cause for national recognition and local pride transformed into an object of scorn, shame and disappointment.

Those raw emotions have since faded, based on interviews with a half-dozen community leaders and officials. But the Penn State, State College and Centre County communities still haven’t forgotten those victims — or the wrongs that came to light 10 years ago.

“I was just frightened and sad,” well-known philanthropist and Town & Gown founder Mimi Barash Coppersmith remembered. “It was like a bomb you weren’t expecting.”

Newspaper stories, rumors and whispers echoed around the community in the months leading up to Nov. 5, 2011. But that’s the day the unthinkable went public, when details began coming into focus and accusations surfaced that made residents’ skin crawl.

At the time, the town and gown held its collective breath as it wondered what came next. Was this the end of Penn State? Would Happy Valley survive? Could Happy Valley be happy again?

“I didn’t see how we could weather that economically,” acknowledged Bonj Szczygiel, current faculty senate chair and a faculty senator back then, adding she feared the university downsizing.

“It was my home, and you’re sort of rolling along smoothly — and then this bomb goes off.”

For months, both the news and an overwhelming sentiment of shame and anger were impossible to avoid. At least 20 news vans descended on downtown State College, with some residents fearful of taking afternoon strolls downtown because of the probability of having a microphone shoved in their faces. The scrolling ticker on CNN, ESPN and every major TV news network always mentioned Dear Old State. And the headlines were ugly, the accusations uglier.

“We couldn’t escape it,” remembered longtime resident Lou Prato, the first director of the Penn State All-Sports Museum. “No matter what we did, we couldn’t escape it.”

Penn State and State College became late-night punchlines, and the community wasn’t laughing. Wearing a Penn State sweatshirt in rival territory was an invitation for harassment. Football recruits would ask Penn State’s commits at national camps why they wanted to go to “Pedophile U.” Even a full year later, one opposing team’s soccer player was suspended for a game against the Nittany Lions after publicly making light of the scandal.

Roger Williams, president of the alumni association at the time, remembered long days in the office. He received more than 4,000 emails and phone calls about Sandusky and Penn State’s role, and his life revolved around responding to each of those messages.

He’d head over to the office around 5:30 a.m. or 6 and work until it grew dark. He didn’t know more than the general public, and he didn’t have many answers to many alumni’s questions. But he listened. Their words changed, but their state of shock and anger remained.

“It was a real crisis,” Williams said. “I have repeatedly, since that time, referred to this as probably the worst institutional crisis in the history of American higher education.”

But Williams didn’t share the same dread over the future as some others did. He still remembers one particular phone call with a professor from West Point, one whose daughter was a Penn State freshman at the time. I think you’re going to collapse. I’m pulling my daughter out. Why should I keep her there?

Williams asked for a day to respond. He researched. He found past cheating scandals that rocked West Point. “That wasn’t the start of more cheating or the crumbling of an institution,” Williams remembered telling the professor. “West Point has not folded. It’s stronger than ever. The same is true of Penn State. We will endure, we will survive, and we’ll be stronger for it.”

The professor’s daughter stayed at Penn State.

Closure was a slippery thing during the course of the Sandusky scandal.

The county remained in shock for weeks. Penn State officials Tim Curley and Gary Schultz left their university posts Nov. 6 and were arraigned Nov. 7 for failing to report possible abuse. On Nov. 9, head coach Joe Paterno announced he was retiring at the end of the season — and, by the end of the day, college football’s patron saint of loyalty and longevity was unceremoniously fired over the phone.

He died two months later. Sandusky was sentenced in the summer of 2012, Penn State’s football program faced unprecedented sanctions soon thereafter, while fines and sanctions and reputation remained concerns for years. Even now, news of the case hasn’t stopped. Sandusky’s petition for a new trial was denied in May, and former university President Graham Spanier was released from prison this past August after serving 58 days.

“Everything that has happened after Sandusky’s (first) trial has drawn a little less attention,” Centre County Sheriff Bryan Sampsel said, referring to the crowds that descended on nearby Bellefonte and the county courthouse. “People obviously still remember, but it’s fading a little bit, I guess I would say.”

Ten years later, the pain has shifted from open wounds and the forefront of the community’s minds to scars and the back of people’s minds. Penn State and the community did endure. There was no mass flight from Happy Valley, no institutional crumbling. U.S. News & World still ranks Penn State as one of the nation’s top-25 public universities, it recently surpassed the elusive $1 billion mark in research expenditures, and it has set several fundraising records the last few years by raising more than $1 billion total.

Penn State has weathered the pandemic, financially, better than many of its Big Ten peers. Undergraduate enrollment at University Park is even up 2% this year, in spite of COVID.

“Everybody has their own position on what should or should not have been done,” Barash Coppersmith said. “But this is a remarkable community and university, who are learning more and more how to be good friends and cooperative neighbors.”

Sandusky, they said, forced the community to take stock of itself. The monstrous acts of one individual shouldn’t prevent thousands of residents from their own good acts, they said. Penn State is still home to Thon, the largest student-run philanthropy in the world. Students and community members can still outdraw “hateful” speakers at counter-events by 7-to-1 margins. State College and Penn State still receive high marks in how welcoming they are to the LGBTQ community.

Penn State and State College haven’t forgotten about Sandusky. But it doesn’t dominate the conversation anymore. Those interviewed varied in their responses to when that change happened — whether it was the chilling acts of Larry Nassar and other school-related sex-abuse scandals, the imprisoning of Sandusky, current political events or even the pandemic.

“The lesson that we’ve learned from Sandusky is that you must always be aware,” Szczygiel said. “You must never become complacent. Never, never think we are somehow protected in central Pennsylvania from some real-world issues. You can either put your head in the sand and try to ignore it, or you can get involved in problem solving.”

That day from 10 years ago can’t be erased. Neither can the 45 counts that Sandusky was convicted of.

But, for those who find memories of the events lingering even another decade from now, those interviewed said it’s important to remember the lessons imparted. Listen, watch your children, and take nothing for granted.

“We all need to be reminded that there’s light at the end of the tunnel,” Barash Coppersmith said. “All of us are human with feelings to which we’re entitled. But it’s our responsibility to move on and make the improvements that will make a difference. And I believe we’re in that process — in high gear.”