Six months ago when Joe Paterno died,

something of a sympathetic tone about him. In a way, it was not easy for me because I’ve always known the man was no deity, as so many for so long have desired to paint him.

But I also knew he was no demon, as some had suggested during the two-month wake of the

presentment bombshell. I wrote a column about a night when he met my mother and how kind he was to her. It was well-received by the throngs who wished to perceive the coach beneath a halo.

Today, we begin to deal with the man’s dark side. As it was the time then to extol some of

’s virtues, now it is time to examine his liabilities.

We all have both. Our culture seems more and more addicted to the concept of white hats and black hats, to taking sides, to painting the world and its inhabitants as either “good” or “evil.” It’s an infantile way to look at life and people, in my opinion.

And there is a certain sizable segment of the populace in this region who seems desperate to cling to the belief that Paterno was this saintly grandfather of all that’s noble and good about not only college athletics but higher education. That he could not possibly have been involved in the cover-up of a pedophile’s hideous deeds.

Those people will never believe what I have to say here because they are zealots in need of a hero, even if it’s someone they never knew.

I can only tell you that when I read Saturday’s

implicating Paterno in keeping the lid on Sandusky’s activities, I was not in the slightest surprised. I’ve suspected as much for almost two years. I did not print my full sentiments in the interest of fairness.

Jerry Sandusky trial: courtroom sketches 8 Gallery: Jerry Sandusky trial: courtroom sketches

As a columnist, I did not want to get out ahead of this story, especially when I could not prove what I had heard. I wrote merely that I believed

. I believed that on Nov. 9, and I believe it now.

In covering the man and

for 21 seasons, the single most dominant thread is this: his ambition and drive. He would allow nothing and no one to disparage the institution he had built without some form of retribution. And he had complete power over his domain.

He could be a vindictive man. At times, he was pointlessly petty and nasty.

Just like the rest of us. Except that in the case of a man who had accumulated such power, the consequences of his actions could take on much greater impact.

In mid-August 2010, I first heard an account of what went on in the Lasch Building shower, the scene we now know as involving then-assistant Mike McQueary and Victim 2. I was floored.

From the beginning, the account that was related to me implicated many who had knowledge of Jerry Sandusky’s “encounter of a sexual nature” with a young boy, including Paterno, then-President Graham Spanier and then-Athletic Director Tim Curley.

They were third-hand stories lacking any documentation. There was no way I could prove them or print anything about them. I told my editor and managing editor what I had heard, and we immediately set about trying to find out if law enforcement authorities knew anything about such accounts or were pursuing a case. We could find no police record of anything. We now know why.

On Sept. 15, 2010, Sandusky quit The Second Mile charity, and alarm bells went off for me. This was it, I thought. Police must know something. But I couldn’t know for certain without confronting Sandusky himself. I drove to State College on Sept. 16, knocked on his door in a rainstorm and was met by his wife, Dottie.

I asked if Jerry was home. No, said Dottie cordially, he wasn’t. I fished out a business card and handed it to her and said he might remember me as a reporter from when he was a coach more than a decade before and please would she have him call me. She pleasantly said she would.

And then, I mentioned police. Had police questioned him about anything lately? The question was that benign. I wanted to test her reaction.

It was not quizzical. Not: “Police? What do you mean, police?”

Instead, it was immediate and forceful. Dottie Sandusky narrowed her eyes and said to me: “If you have any other questions, you can ask the people at The Second Mile. And I do not appreciate you coming to my house.” She slammed the door in my face.

Then I knew. What I had heard about Sandusky had been heard by others. Police were very likely involved, even if no charges had been filed. And that lent credence to everything else I had been told.

Patriot-News Capital Bureau Chief Jan Murphy had simultaneously been trying to get an answer out of Spanier — via email, his preferred avenue of correspondence — about what he knew of any improper conduct by Sandusky. On the afternoon of Sept. 16, 2010, she forwarded me this exchange:

Murphy: "Hi — Are you aware of any police investigation into Jerry Sandusky for suspected criminal activity that occurred while he was a Penn State employee? If so, can you elaborate on what you know. Thanks."



Spanier: "I haven't heard this. Can you tell me more?"



Murphy: "By 'this,' you are referring to any police investigation into Jerry Sandusky, correct?"



Spanier: "Correct."



Murphy: "One more clarifying question on your statement. Are you aware of any suspected criminal behavior that Jerry Sandusky engaged in while he was a Penn State employee?"



Spanier: "I think I answered your question. The answer is 'no.' "

Unless you would give Spanier a pass on the technicality that Murphy asked about the time during which Sandusky was a Penn State employee, this is dubious. And if the CNN report is correct and the emails uncovered by the Freeh investigation indicate PSU officials knew about Sandusky’s conduct in 1998 as well, then it’s moot. He was an employee then.

It all points toward an effort to conceal Sandusky’s behavior and preserve the image of Penn State’s football program at the expense of his victims — past and future. If I am wrong and true evil exists in the world, this is pretty close to the real thing. Much closer, I think, than a sick individual irrationally compelled to commit the most hideous acts.

Now, unless you live in some sort of fairyland where Paterno had no influence over anyone but his players, the implication is clear: Spanier didn’t want news of a pedophile to break. And the man who hired the child torturer in the first place, the man Spanier was unable or unwilling to unseat, had no say in this? It’s a preposterous notion.

We don’t know the totality of what the Freeh investigation will uncover. I would just ask those who cannot get their minds around the concept of Joe Paterno acting in self-interest — acting to preserve his institution rather than individuals — to prepare themselves to have their bedtime story disrupted. You don’t get to be as powerful as this man was by sitting idly by and allowing others to call shots.

Such power breeds fame, and vice versa. Soon, we bestow the mantle of greatness on men who do not warrant it, as often as we ignore the anonymously noble, those truly worthy of our praise.

How many times do we instill intrinsic goodness in those we don’t even know? Have the Roman Catholic priest scandals in Boston and Philadelphia taught us nothing?

It does not have to be a lesson of bitter disillusionment, only one of caution. Trust those few you personally know.

The vast majority of you have never known these men at Penn State. You only knew of their station atop your chosen club buttressed by the trappings of their fame.

The most famous of them all was the head football coach. His fame did not make him a saint.

David Jones: djones8681@verizon.net. On Twitter: @djoneshoop.