Any seasoned Penn Stater has seen them before and may even possess a few of their own.

In 1972, Central Counties Bank (CCB) started manufacturing paper-backed pins to give out before home football games. But what was once seen as a throwaway item began to grow into a novelty for many.

As the buttons gained popularity, the bank began making them more durable, using metal as the material for the back side of the pins. And while the first year only saw buttons being produced for home games, the public’s growing interest in the keepsakes got the bank to produce them for every Penn State football game. 

CCB eventually merged with Mellon National Corporation, and in 2001, sold its banking operations to Citizens Financial Group, the company that manufactures the buttons today.

These Penn State football bank buttons are a staple in Happy Valley. Those little blue pins with light jabs at opposing teams have become an integral part of the gameday experience. But to Jonathan Dougherty, these buttons signify something much bigger than football.

Dougherty graduated from Penn State in 1999 with a degree in architectural engineering and got his Ph.D. in 2006. He has since taught architectural engineering classes at the university and serves as the president of the Penn State Engineering Alumni Society.

Long before he attended Penn State, Dougherty felt a strong connection to the sense of community and tradition that come with being a Nittany Lion. His father graduated from the school in 1972, so Dougherty is a proud legacy to the blue and white. 

Dougherty’s father also studied architectural engineering and was not only a family member to his son, but a mentor.

“He was my go-to guy,” Dougherty said.

In the summer of 2004, Dougherty and his family were vacationing in North Carolina, where his parents were in search of a potential retirement home. What started out as an ordinary day turned into an unimaginable tragedy.

Dougherty, his two sisters, and his sister-in-law were at home when they received word that his parents had been in an accident. His mother was in critical condition, and his father had passed away in the crash. Dougherty and his father shared a unique bond, so losing him put his entire life on hold.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him,” Dougherty said.

As Dougherty took a gap year to support his family during a difficult time, he found himself in conversation with Lou Geschwindner, a long-tenured engineering professor and a mutual friend of his father.

Upon talking with Geschwindner, Dougherty learned that the professor was a collector of Penn State bank buttons. He also learned that the year CCB started production on the buttons was the year his dad graduated from the university. The rest is history.

Dougherty had a small collection of the buttons from when he attended school in Happy Valley but decided that expanding his collection would be a great way to pay homage to his father.

Inexperienced in large-scale collection, Dougherty continued conversations with Geschwindner for guidance. Geschwindner gifted him two garbage bags full of pins, including ones from the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s.

Through eBay auctions and conversations with fellow collectors, Dougherty’s basement is now filled with large frames that hold buttons from nearly every Penn State game since the tradition began, some being hundreds of dollars in worth.

Each frame represents a decade’s worth of Penn State football, with the columns of pins in chronological order by year. At the top of each decade are three pictures. One is an image of Beaver Stadium, another is a picture selected by Joe Paterno that was intended to represent the era, and the final image was picked by Dougherty himself. 

As it stands currently, Dougherty has managed to acquire all but three of the bank buttons ever created, including some that never even made it to mass production. From misspelled words to misprinted colors, the rarity of some of the pins is what makes the collection so remarkable.

One may wonder just how Dougherty gets his hands on all of these collectibles. And no, it’s not solely through attending every football game, though he’s a devoted season ticket holder of three decades.

Dougherty has purchased many of the buttons in his collection through the bank, with a portion of the money going to the State College Food Bank. It’s just one unique way that Dougherty’s collection is intertwined with the local community.

As the collection grew, so did the legend of the “Button Man.”

Dougherty’s mother was involved with the Penn State Club of Wyoming Valley, a branch of the Penn State Alumni Association. In 2005, she asked her son if he was willing to carry the banner in the annual University Park homecoming parade. In an effort to stand out, he decided to put some of the buttons he had been collecting on a black overcoat for the event.

Needless to say, it was a hit among the crowd. People started calling him the Button Man from the sidewalks, and the moniker stuck.

“I went home that night, and I laid in bed and was like, ‘OK, I’m the Button Man!” Dougherty said. 

Dougherty and his family knew they had to make this an annual tradition after the instant success of the stunt. After buying a doctor’s coat solely for the parade, Dougherty had the goal of putting 409 buttons on the jacket, symbolizing each one of Paterno’s wins. Unfortunately, that only filled half of the coat, leaving a lot of blank space to work with. Now, the coat holds 1,000 buttons.

For Dougherty, the most difficult part of being the Button Man is the burden it comes with – literally.

“I don’t weigh it because I have to wear it,” Dougherty said after breaking multiple hangers in his house. The button coat is as heavy as it is iconic. 

Dougherty has become a local celebrity, as the likes of Keegan-Michael Key and David Taylor have asked to take pictures with him during parades. James Franklin even recognized the Button Man at an event and went out of his way to make a comment about the collection.

One of Dougherty’s favorite memories came when the Nittany Lion jumped into the back of his parade truck and started dancing “Gangnam Style” with Dougherty.

“It’s been awesome,” he said. “To be able to be a part of the Penn State lore, as the Button Man, has been really really cool.”

The community aspect of the collection has been incredibly meaningful for Dougherty.

“It’s bringing so much joy to people, but it all started with a family tragedy,” he said. “To be able to have that kind of connection with the alums and bring them some joy because they can reminisce about their times at Penn State, that’s the best part.”

While Dougherty has appeared on news and radio stations, had a sandwich named after him at the now-closed Fraser Street Deli, and even now helps create some of the slogans that appear on the buttons today, his goal now remains what it has always been: finish the collection, share his story, and help others start collections of their own. 

As an introverted kid turned State College VIP, Dougherty often reflects on what has become of his life since his life changed in 2004.

“I can’t imagine what my dad is thinking about this now,” he said. “To have this kind of celebrity status in the Penn State community from a little kid who grew up in Forty Fort, Pennsylvania.”

Folks interested in learning more about Dougherty’s unique connection and its many easter eggs, or anyone who knows where to find the three missing buttons from the early ’70s, can follow the Button Man on Instagram or Facebook.