Almost exactly 10 years ago, Penn State announced that it would honor Joe Paterno ahead of the team’s matchup with Temple. The move marked the first time since Paterno’s firing that he would officially be recognized in Beaver Stadium. 

Something still didn’t feel right.

The statue that once occupied the area outside the stadium’s northeast side was no longer there. The pregame Paterno acknowledgment was disguised as a promotion, nestled deep in an email. 

But more than anything, the average college football fan still hated Penn State. The media attention was still vicious. And everyone outside of Happy Valley still had their mind made up that Paterno was, somehow, a pedophile.

The more you read, the more you will find out, and the more you find out, the more you will understand. It’s not my job to convince you that Paterno was used as a scapegoat. Nor is it the purpose of this article.

The point is that 15 years after the scandal broke, and a decade after Paterno was first honored, things are starting to feel different yet again regarding Joe Paterno. And that’s a good thing.

College football has strayed a long, long way away from what it once was. Many student-athletes aren’t “student” athletes at all, and a paycheck is now often considered more important than loyalty.

The sport hasn’t lost its character, but it’s quickly heading in that direction.

Growing up, we had a Paterno quote posted on my family bulletin board in the kitchen for as long as I can remember: “success without honor is an unseasoned dish; it will satisfy your hunger, but it won’t taste good.” 

To me, this is the pillar of what college sports should be about.

As Kevin Horne put it in 2016, “Sports don’t matter unless they’re put in the context of life. Teenagers and young adults running around a field throwing balls matters little unless you view it as a metaphor for the extension of the spirit of the university.”

The football team was, and still is, a microcosm of one of America’s most respected public institutions. First and foremost, Paterno’s priority was making sure his players got a good education. 

One of the things I find most telling about Paterno’s character is that, of all the places his name was removed from after 2012, it remains on the library.

With all the craziness going on in the world, that priority of education feels more important than ever. I’m going to safely assume that if all 5.6 billion adults in the world had the privilege of receiving a Penn State degree and spending four years in Happy Valley, we might be in a better spot. With some exceptions, of course.

When Michael Mauti and Michael Zordich gave that famous speech about staying loyal, Mauti noted that “this program was not built by one man and this program sure as hell is not going to get torn down by one man.”

“We’re the true Penn Staters,” Zordich added.

But when you think of what it truly means to be a Penn Stater, it’s nearly impossible not to recognize how much Paterno helped define that identity.

Much of the James Franklin era in State College featured controversy surrounding this topic. Many feel he shunned generations of lettermen and fans by neglecting to acknowledge the profound impact Paterno had on their lives and the university.

Penn State didn’t reinvent itself in 2012. That’s kind of the whole point. In trying to move the program forward, Franklin’s failure to look back ultimately alienated it from the ideals it was built on. For a fanbase that has always been rooted in tradition, it’s easy to see why it quickly turned on the head coach. In addition to, you know, the big game stuff.

From the moment Matt Campbell arrived on campus, you could tell that he understood what Paterno meant and still means to Penn Staters. Growing up in a small town in eastern Ohio, Campbell knew of Penn State’s winning ways, blue-collar mindset, and sense of pride Paterno instilled in his players.

It was success with honor. 

On Saturday, we were once again able to see Paterno’s values represented prominently in Beaver Stadium. And unlike in 2016, it didn’t feel forced or contrived.

Section 409 was highlighted in the stadium’s upper deck, a banner reading “success with honor” replaced the Franklin-era 1-0 sign at the entrance to the tunnel, and the Paterno Family Football Experience Room made its debut.  

If you’re one of the loud handful who believe the changes are pandering to a fanbase with a cult-like worship of a former football coach, let me calibrate your moral compass real quick. 

I challenge you to talk to one Penn State student who interacted personally with Paterno during his 46-year tenure and walked away believing he was a man of poor character. 

Last year, I spoke with Debby Kevin, the creator of “Dear JoePa,” a project where Penn Staters can send letters reminiscing about the moments Paterno positively shaped their Penn State experience. Read through some of those letters and ask yourself if the values presented are really ones Penn State should be ashamed to celebrate.

Paterno’s dedication to philanthropy and the community is admirable, and we must continue to embrace it to make Penn State and society as a whole better.

While restoring the statue would be a nice tribute to the legendary head coach’s legacy, continuing his commitment to serving others would be an honor greater than any piece of metal could provide.

Paterno was not a divine figure by any means. But there are special people in this world, and JoePa happened to be one of them.

‘We Are’ because he was.