This weekend marks the continuation of one of the Nittany Valley’s most remarkable stories. What we know today as THON began humbly some 42 years ago and grew into a phenomenon. “The world’s largest student-run philanthropy” raises millions annually for pediatric cancer patients while uniting the Penn State community like little else. The appearance of various PSU personalities, including the head football coach, to address the crowd has become a highlight of the annual 46-hour celebration (insert #footballculture joke here). I decided to share three THON speeches by three different coaches to reflect on the tenor of the event throughout our recent past and consider what they can reveal about our shared story.

“I wish the whole world could see and feel what’s in this room right now. Love and commitment… in 58 years at Penn State, I’ve never been more proud than right now.” —Joe Paterno

In 2009, one of his final seasons on the sidelines, Joe Paterno famously spoke to an enthusiastic audience at the BJC, as seen in the video above. It has been only three years since his death, but already the name, image, and memory of Paterno seem increasingly remote, more and more like icons or totems. Layers of meaning and political subtext – positive and negative – are projected onto them, further separating us from the simpler reality of the flesh-and-blood creature.

I love this clip in particular for the ways in which it distills and captures Joe the person, earnest and disarmed. It recalls a happier time and reminds us of the actual human being who undeniably gave copiously of himself to better the institution and his community, who inspired such affection and stirred such controversy. I do hope that, one day, Penn State and the Nittany Valley will properly honor the Paternos and, when that time comes, we will find the wisdom to do so in a way that is fundamentally grounded in their humanity.

“Just having arrived at Penn State, you don’t know anything about THON until you’re in the arena. It’s awesome… I have all the respect in the world for everything that you guys do.” —Bill O’Brien

THON 2012 was probably one of the most emotional weekends of a uniquely tumultuous year. Facing a barrage of baseless and vitriolic attacks pouring in from the outside, internally wracked with anguish, confusion, and uncertainty, the community rallied around THON and its irrefutable statement about who and what “We Are” and clung tightly to it, comforted by the reminder that no amount of venom could dilute all that good done each year in Penn State’s name. It was with this backdrop that new head football coach Bill O’Brien took the stage. Only two weeks into his tenure, O’Brien was tasked with establishing credibility with a hopeful, but unsteady and unsure (in some quarters, quite skeptical) NIttany Nation, beginning the process of injecting enthusiasm and drumming up support for his football program, comforting a reeling and grieving community, and paying proper respect to the event and its purpose. His success here was a sign of things to come.

O’Brien stayed for only a short time, but probably two of the most critical years in the history of the town and school. He is seen here passing one of his first (of many) tests, standing in the same spot as his legendary predecessor and praising the special qualities of Penn State in that direct and honest way that endeared him to so many of us so quickly.

“What makes us special is the people, the people that understand we are part of something greater than just ourselves. We can make a difference in people’s lives. We can make a difference in the community.” —James Franklin

If Bill O’Brien’s tenure represented the time of painful transition, the energy and optimism of James Franklin capture our hopes for a gradual return to normalcy, the true arrival of a new era. Looking back on O’Brien’s tumultuous two years, the memories all possess a hazy, dream-like quality. As I note the disconnected tone in many of his remarks since leaving, I wonder whether there’s not some of that for the coach himself. As if we all passed through a fiery disaster together and, having survived it, then went our separate ways and on with our lives. The community now faces the necessity, the challenge, and the excitement of accepting that the identity of Penn State football will become the purview of new arrivals. Franklin and his staff must make this program their own, but with the luxury of keeping the focus on the field. They will pick up and carry forward the banner for Old State, ingraining themselves and their personal styles indelibly into its history—as will Eric Barron, Sandy Barbour, David Gray, Nick Jones, whomever replaces Roger Williams at the PSAA, and an entirely new generation of Penn State leadership.

We close with Franklin’s 2014 THON debut, the third speech from a third coach in five years, each representing the spirit of a moment. I hope it is the first of many for Franklin. I know it is just the latest in a long line that will march us ever further away from the living memory of Joe Paterno and that night in February 2009. The story goes on, and I hope you, like me, look forward to seeing what comes next.

Some have called it “Paterno’s Payback.” Others term it “superlative.” Others still have just been wonderfully, spontaneously emotional about the whole thing. No matter how you choose to express it, ever since the Freeh Report handed down its “absurd” indictment of the Penn State “culture,” we have all gotten a little more outwardly defensive about the consistently high academic standards maintained by the institution’s athletic programs.

Understandably, most folks have latched on to Penn State’s above-average football graduation rates to refute the nonsense and assert the continued success of the Grand Experiment. Allow me to offer a related statistic that’s quoted far less often in the press, but perhaps even more significant in making the case for Penn State: black graduation rates.

In reading a media report on the latest of the many, many lawsuits brought against the NCAA (we’re getting to the point of needing a scorecard to keep track), I came across the following passage:

“This academic debacle, at one of the nation’s finest public universities, could not have come as a surprise to the NCAA,” the lawsuit states. “It had ample warning, including empirical evidence from numerous academic experts, that many college athletes were not receiving a meaningful education, including — disproportionally — African-American college athletes in revenue producing sports.”

That’s an important point. As we wrestle with the social and cultural implications of big-time college sports and the widening gulf between the players and those who enrich themselves at their expense, the same issues of racial inequality that made national headlines this Summer are simmering just below the surface. The dirty little secret behind the already-uninspiring graduation rates at many football powerhouse programs is that the topline number actually masks a distressing (and depressing) disparity between black and white players.

This is not – and has not been – the case at Penn State. Penn State not only graduates its football players at a rate well above most of its peers, it does so with with little appreciable difference between white and black students. In preparing to write this piece, I came across a very helpful article on the topic from Onward State. I’ll quote from it here:

Penn State scored above the national average in every measurable category…

The data also reveals Penn State’s extraordinary commitment to African-American student-athletes. The 89 percent Graduation Success Rate is the second-highest figure in school history, just one point off the record 90 percent figure in the 2012 NCAA report. The figure was second-best among Big Ten institutions behind only Northwestern’s 92 percent, and 21 points higher than the national average of 68 percent. The four-year federal rate for African-American student-athletes also ranked significantly higher than the Division 1 national average since the first report was released in 1990.

Take note. That there has consistently been little to no gap between the academic achievement of white and black Nittany Lions remains one of the most underreported and underappreciated feathers in Old State’s cap.

This is nothing new in the Nittany Valley. By now, most Penn Staters have probably heard of Wally Triplett and his account of the “We Are” chant’s origins. In all honesty, it’s likely that he has “retconned” the famous cheer’s history, but the facts surrounding his story are not in dispute. In 1947, Triplett’s teammates did vote to forego a game in Miami where black teammates were not permitted to play. The following year, he did become the first black player to appear in the Cotton Bowl, deep in the heart of Texas. In the annals of Penn State history, Triplett’s name is synonymous with the struggle for equality. These are the best-known aspects of the story, but none is my favorite part. Thanks to the book Game of My Life – Penn State, I know this: Wally Triplett, the man who would become the first African American player to play in the NFL after being drafted, did not gain admission to Penn State based on his athleticism. One of the most significant players in the school’s signature sport failed to earn a football scholarship coming out of high school. He had his chance to become a Nittany Lion, but only because he arrived at Penn State on a full ride for academics.

Nothing is perfect, of course. There will probably always be room for improvement on this front. But if you’re looking for evidence that Penn State is a place that tries to do it the right way, that has tried and will continue to try, there it is. Almost 70 years after Steve Suhey declared, “We are Penn State. There will be no meetings,”and exactly half a century since Martin Luther King carefully chose isolated little University Park as a stop on his Northern speaking circuit, our University stands out as a place where young men can come to achieve great things on the field and in the classroom, regardless of where they came from or how they look.

You wanna talk about culture? Look around. This is culture.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

I hear that same countdown every night, a few seconds before midnight, from my Beaver Avenue apartment, although its consistency makes it no less painful to digest. The commotion, of course, is coming from the line outside the local bar known for catering to belligerent 21^st birthday crowds. Six short months ago, that would have been me in that line, watching juniors and seniors become initiated to the State College bar scene. But tonight, like most nights, I’m at my desk reading about the ancient legal code of Hammurabi of Babylon or the proper way to file a lawsuit against a foreign corporation.

Such is the transient existence between undergraduate studies at Penn State, a decidedly impermanent condition for most, and immersion into a more established segment of the State College community. I’m talking, of course, about grad school.

All told, somewhere between five and eight percent of my class at the Dickinson School of Law also holds an undergraduate degree from Penn State. We are, in many ways, the odd creatures in a heterogeneous class of 191, which represents 138 different institutions of higher education, 48 undergraduate majors, six countries, and 27 states (plus the Virgin Islands). By the time we graduate law school, my fellow Penn Staters and I will have spent at least seven years in the Nittany Valley, which will amount to something like 30 percent of our entire lives – and probably closer to half of the cognizant lives that we can actually remember. Other Penn State alumni-graduate students who are seeking Ph.Ds will spend upwards of 10 years here. The longest continuous student tenure that I’m aware of currently stands at 13 years, although I’m sure someone can beat that.

When your time here stretches beyond those first few years spent learning the academic and social intricacies of college life, a change happens.  State College, which starts out as little more than a temporary way station on life’s journey, starts to feel more and more like a home unto itself.

In any case, it’s a strange space to exist in, especially at first. Most undergraduates are content living between the comfortable rectangle created between where Atherton St. and University Dr. intersect with Park Ave. and Beaver Ave. (or Fairmount Ave. for the Greeks). To use a somewhat obnoxious law school term, this is the “nerve center” of the State College and Penn State experience, and few have a need to venture outside of that bubble (except, perhaps, to the DMV when the bar won’t accept your newly expired ID).

Most people probably intuit that the transition from undergraduate to graduate school is easier for Penn Staters. After one semester of law school, I’m not so sure about that. With the temptations and libations that made the Penn State undergraduate experience so fulfilling nearby, coupled with the professional and intense academic expectations of grad school, it can make for a confusing recipe.

While grad students may not be able to responsibly relive their “glory days” in the heart of the Valley (avoid driving by East Halls on a Friday night – trust me), I’ve found that grad school creates a unique civic space that can bring value to the community. Many grad students are homeowners in State College or its surrounding townships. Some have families and children in the school district. Most even know who the mayor is, which is actually a pretty high standard of knowledge for an undergrad. Issues like borough zoning ordinances and student healthcare policies often dominate the conversation at graduate student government meetings.

For Penn Staters continuing their education in the graduate school, some measure of devotion to Penn State and the Nittany Valley is already inherent in the decision to stay. Few undergraduates don’t appreciate their University to begin with – Penn State’s 92 percent freshman retention rate is one of the best in the country, especially among public universities—but the number of students who stay for seven or more years is a testament to the magic of the place.

Local government officials often cite a need to keep Penn State graduates in State College after graduation as a key to economic success and diversity. Most grad students are in the unique position of being both students and employees – teaching and graduate assistant stipends help bring money to the area that isn’t just a tuition check. Local entrepreneurial organizations like the New Leaf Initiative and InnoBlue help keep some Penn State graduates in town, but most young people cashing paychecks in State College are doing so with graduate student funding.

I don’t expect the birthday bar countdowns outside my window to stop tugging at my heart and reviving cherished memories of Old State life any time soon. But living in the unique space between transient student and established resident provides new opportunities for learning and growth that other groups might never get to experience. The cliché used in far too many commencement addresses is the concept of Penn State always being considered a home to its graduates, although the speaker usually only means that in an emotional sense.   Further study at Penn State and extended immersion in our living-learning community beyond the undergraduate years offers valuable life lessons about coping with change, becoming part of a community and appreciating a sense of place.

After five years, and with two more to go, it’s probably time to go get a State College driver’s license.