Kozlowski: What the PSU scandal teaches us about reputation

The recent scandal at Penn State has caused a great deal of outrage and vituperation.

The grand… The recent scandal at Penn State has caused a great deal of outrage and vituperation.

The grand jury indictment of Jerry Sandusky, the former defensive coordinator for Penn State’s football team, is extremely serious and sickening to read. Penn State is facing tough questions about how much members of the administration knew about the alleged abuse, Joe Paterno’s coaching career has come to an abrupt and inglorious end, and some Penn State students disgraced themselves and their university on national TV by rioting after Paterno was fired.

The complete story of what happened is likely never going to be unearthed. For what it’s worth, Sandusky hasn’t been convicted of anything yet, and neither have the two Penn State officials indicted on charges of perjury. But it’s not too early to offer some observations. The Sandusky scandal teaches us important lessons about reputation.

One month before now, Sandusky had a stellar reputation. He volunteered to coach youth sports. He had an ice-cream flavor named after him at the on-campus Berkey Creamery. Most significantly, he founded The Second Mile, dedicated to helping disadvantaged kids. The indictment notes that the organization raises millions of dollars. According to The Washington Post, politicians and community leaders often praised Sandusky for his charitable work.

Who accused, or could have accused, Sandusky of abuse? People of no note or consequence. The victims in the grand jury indictment were all involved with The Second Mile — hence, disadvantaged youths. They, and others who testified to being creeped out, might have wondered whether anyone would believe them. Mike McQueary, the eyewitness who reported to Paterno what he had seen, was a mere graduate assistant. The man who saw the abuse of Victim 8 was a janitor. The parent of Victim 6 who went to police was the mother of a disadvantaged youth.

Had a tenured professor come forward with the same allegations, the response would have been different. But as it stood, the whistleblowers and witnesses were people without clout or fame. If they accused a respected member of the community of serious crimes, and their allegations were deemed spurious or even too embarrassing to pursue, then they faced the very real possibility of losing their jobs. They might have feared that if they stepped forward, Penn State would destroy them. It is not for nothing that some are praising the courage of Victim 1, the boy who finally did step forward.

In the end, personal and institutional reputation became Sandusky’s suit of armor, a suit pierced only when the principal of Victim 1’s school contacted authorities, prompting the grand jury’s investigation.

Paterno could have dented that suit of armor in 2002, when McQueary allegedly told him about the rape he witnessed. At that point, Paterno had several options. He could have used his tremendous prestige and stature to see to it that a thorough investigation was conducted. He could have contacted the police without fear of losing his job — had he blown a whistle and been fired, he could have marched at the head of 50,000 students in protest.

Without Paterno’s reputation backing them, the charges were easier to ignore, minimize or dismiss entirely. Graham Spanier, former president of Penn State, might have truly believed that what was described to him in 2002 as “horsing around” and the grand jury describes as anal intercourse was the former and not the latter. After all, if it were something truly serious, Paterno would have been in his office in person. But as far as we know, Paterno wasn’t. His failure to use or risk his reputation to get to the bottom of McQueary’s allegation is his great moral failing. And because of this failure, his reputation is forever tarnished.

There remain many unanswered questions about this case, but several things should be uncomfortably clear. People have a tendency to weigh reputations heavily and unfairly, so much so that when unknown people level accusations against distinguished ones, they’re all but discounted. There is a particularly strong urge to discount them when the reputation of a powerful institution is tied up in the reputation of the accused. Those of high stature have a moral obligation to use their reputations to protect victims who have no standing and hence softer voices, and those who fail in that obligation should be removed from positions of influence, as Paterno was. Ultimately, we must consider the advice of Psalm 10: “The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined.”

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