"Who would believe a kid?"

One of the sins of the older generations - basically, anyone over 25 - is they don't consider views of the younger generation valid. "They don't know what they're talking about." "They don't have the experience to understand the real world." Stuff like that.

Often, this comes off as a tongue-in-cheek observation about things like finding a first job, or expressing a position on some current political event. But since November 4, 2011, much of the free world has watched and read in horror and disgust about the 14-year abuse of power by the powers that be in Manic Depressive Valley, Pennsylvania, where unfathomable horrors took place behind closed doors and in open shower stalls, and the voices of young boys were essentially ignored by alleged leaders and authority figures.

Silence can be golden, and ignorance bliss ... if you are self-absorbed with your own narcissistic greatness. Not if you're a victim of child abuse or pedophilia, not if you allow criminal activity to flourish and foster for over a decade. And most certainly not if you are in a position of authority, and have the legal and/or moral obligation to, as Spike Lee so eloquently phrased it, "do the right thing."

Yes, Jerry Sandusky - for 31 years an assistant coach under Penn State University's legendary football coach, Joe Paterno - was found guilty last night. Guilty on 45 out of 48 counts of sexual crimes against children. Guilty of involuntary deviant sexual intercourse, corruption of minors, endangering the welfare of a child, indecent assault, and other offenses. Guilty of abusing his power, and abusing young boys with that power.

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

And by forcing this to go to trial, where eight victims of his abuse had to endure the stigma of testifying before not just Sandusky, or the judge and jury, but the entire nation - and, in the process, had to re-live those terrifying moments of helplessness and pain - Sandusky chose to abuse his victims yet again. And again.

None of the eight should have had to suffer on the witness stand and tell how Sandusky molested them in campus showers, basement bedrooms, even the football team sauna.

There is a special place in Hell for Sandusky - assuming Hell accepts him. Then again, even Satan might be scratching his head and having second thoughts.

By all accounts, Sandusky was a pillar in the State College, Pennsylvania community. He was an intelligent, hard-working coach. He was a stimulating leader, a charming speaker, and a supporter of children - as both a coach and the founder of The Second Mile (a charity for troubled youths). People believed in him unconditionally, because his track record and active participation in the community gave them good reasons to do so.

But pillars of a community don't run; they crumble. And crumble down, Sandusky did - toppling an historic, model collegiate football program and the positive public perception of Penn State University in the process. The scandal ultimately brought down Paterno and school president Graham Spanier for failing to stop it.

And as much as many would like to think justice has been served and the entire ordeal is a wrap ... well, that's just not the case. Nothing is ever that simple.

While Sandusky has to be held responsible for his individual choices and pathologies - and the absoluteness and swiftness of the verdict have, at the very least, achieved this, whether the 68-year-old agrees with or comprehends the jury's decision - it does not truly bring closure to this horrific story. His victims - survivors, really - and their families will need years, perhaps decades, of professional counseling to try and grasp some aspect of a "normal" life. His legal counsel has already indicated it will appeal the decision, regardless of how futile this gesture may appear to the vast majority of observers - thus prolonging the public specter. And other trials are still pending; Penn State, Sandusky and The Second Mile will likely face multiple civil lawsuits demanding monetary damages in the future, and both PSU senior vice president Gary Schultz and Athletic Director Tim Curley have been charged with grand jury perjury and failure to report suspected child abuse - the indictment accuses each of not only failing to inform law enforcement, but falsely telling the grand jury assistant coach Mike McQueary never informed them of sexual activity.

(McQueary testified that he witnessed Sandusky raping a boy in a shower in the Penn State locker room. He reported the incident to Paterno, who informed Curley and Schultz, who oversaw the Penn State police department at the time. Ultimately, the only action taken by Curley and Schultz was to order Sandusky not to bring any children from The Second Mile to the football building - an action approved by Spanier.)

Further, while Sandusky was the most culpable individual here, he was not alone in these transgressions. The whole lot of them - McQueary, Paterno, Curley, Schultz, Spanier, maybe even more administrators - all failed miserably in this tale.

Too few spoke too little and too late - if at all - in this scandal, which left a trail of broken moral compasses in its wake.

Paterno wasn’t charged, but when Sandusky was found guilty, Paterno (who died five months to the day of the verdict) was found equally guilty. As was Schultz, Curley and Spainer. Guilty of protecting a football program before a child.

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

Fucking bastards.

It reminds one of the response the Catholic Church had in years past when allegations of child sex abuse were made against priests. Rather than turn the matter over to the relevant law enforcement agency, they investigated the matter internally, paid off witnesses, and moved priests around to other churches where they would inevitably molest again. Ironically, the day of the verdict, the Pennsylvania courts rendered another high-profile sex offender conviction, as Monsignor William Lynn was found guilty of child endangerment becoming the first U.S. church official convicted of a crime for mishandling abuse claims. According to the charges, the 61-year-old Lynn helped the archdiocese keep predators in the ministry, and the public in the dark, by telling parishes their priests were being removed for health reasons and then sending the men to unsuspecting churches.

"One of the recurring themes of the witnesses' testimony, which came from the voices of the victims themselves in this case, was, 'Who would believe a kid?'" Pennsylvania Attorney General Linda Kelly said in addressing the media after the verdict was announced. "And the answer to that question is, we here in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, would believe a kid. And as reflected by this verdict, we all just heard a jury here most definitely would, and did, believe a kid."

Well, now we do. At least 14 years and 10 victims later.

Kelly and other members of the law enforcement community are hopeful not only will other Sandusky victims come forward now that "the monster" has been convicted, but the case will motivate other survivors to come forward, as well as encourage more prosecutors to vigorously pursue cases of sexual violence.

Ironically, Sandusky chose silence throughout and after the trial. He didn't take the stand. He didn't address the media. Even as he was being led away in handcuffs, to spend the first night of his many future nights as a convicted felon, he never made a noise.

His silence was deafening.

Who knows - maybe the older generation will finally take voices of the future more seriously. Finally.

Note: RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization. The National Sexual Assault Hotline number is 800-656-HOPE ). Pass it on.

The Hall Of Something Or Other

Does the man define the Hall of Fame, or does the Hall of Fame define the man?

This question has reared its metaphorical head once again, after retired major league pitcher Roger Clemens emerged from a federal courthouse in Washington late yesterday afternoon, having been acquitted of multiple counts of perjury, obstruction of justice and making false statements before Congress.

Now, I'm not going to address the question of whether the United States federal government should have been actively involved the past decade in having Clemens, Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, and other MLB athletes (a) testify before Congress and/or (b) put on trial for their alleged (and in some cases, proven) use of anabolic steroids, performance-enhancing drugs (PED), or human growth hormones (HGH) during their playing days at this time. That's another argument for another day.

Instead, I'm focusing on the baseball end of things - specifically, whether players caught or strongly suspected of using some form of synthetic assistance to "gain an edge" and create a not-truly-equal playing field belong enshrined in Cooperstown.

Which circles me back to my opening question.

Let's look at Clemens' professional resume, since he's currently the most prominent victim / scapegoat / idiot / holier-than-thou diva (choose one, or more) who represents the face of MLB's Steroid Era.

From a purely (OK, "purely" might be a stretch, but work with me here!) statistical standpoint, Clemens ranks among the greatest players ever to take the field. During Clemens' 24-year career, "The Rocket" was one of the most dominant pitchers in major league history, tallying 354 wins (the ninth-most all time), a 3.12 earned run average (ERA), and 4,672 strikeouts (the third-most all time; only Nolan Ryan and Randy Johnson have more). An 11-time All-Star and two-time World Series champion, he won seven Cy Young Awards during his career, the most of any pitcher in MLB history (three with the Boston Red Sox, two with the Toronto Blue Jays, one with the New York Yankees and one with the Houston Astros). He won the 1986 American League Most Valuable Player Award, posting a 24-4 record with a 2.48 ERA - the last starting pitcher to be named MVP until Detroit's Justin Verlander in 2011.

Baseball, more than any other sport, is all about single-season and career stats. If you're a rabid baseball fan, you know what these numbers represent.

And then on December 13, 2007, everything changed, when The Mitchell Report - a study conducted by U.S. Senator George Mitchell - was released, uncovering many prominent baseball players who allegedly took performance-enhancing drugs. Clemens was the top name in the report.

The Mitchell Report was, in part, a follow-up to former MLB slugger José Canseco's 2005 tell-all book, Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits & How Baseball Got Big. Along with admitted to using anabolic steroids, Canseco claimed up to 85% of major league players took steroids, a figure disputed by many in the game. In his book, Canseco specifically identified former teammates McGwire, Palmeiro, Jason Giambi, Iván Rodríguez and Juan González as fellow steroid users, and admitted that he injected them. Canseco was also cited in the Mitchell Report.

Clemens has vehemently denied ever taking steroids or HGH, but has been criticized and scrutinized by the media and the public ever since. The federal government got involved in the situation as Clemens testified in front of Congress on February 13, 2008 that he never took performance-enhancing drugs. The USFG has twice prosecuted Clemens for lying in his testimony, and is batting 0-for-2; the first ended in a mistrial last year, and now he's been acquitted in court.

But the damage has been done. Clemens' reputation has been tarnished and destroyed, and who knows if he will ever be able to recover from it.

Again, from a career statistical standpoint, Clemens should be a shoo-in. But the questions linger in the wake of his numbers after leaving Boston following 1996. Coming off a 10-13 season with the Red Sox in 1996 (when Boston General Manager Dan Duquette claimed Clemens was “entering the twilight of his career”), the following happened:

1997 (Toronto): 21-7 record, 2.05 ERA, 292 strikeouts, winning the "Pitchers Triple Crown (wins, ERA, strikeouts), winning the AL Cy Young Award.
1998 (Toronto): 20-6 record, 2.65 ERA, 271 strikeouts, again winning the "Pitchers Triple Crown (wins, ERA, strikeouts), again winning the AL Cy Young Award.
2001 (New York, age 38): 20-3 record, 3:51 ERA, 213 strikeouts, again winning the AL Cy Young Award.
2004 (Houston, age 41): 18-4 record, 2.98 ERA, 2.98 ERA, 198 strikeouts, winning the NL Cy Young Award.
2005 (Houston, age 42): 13-8 record, 1.87 ERA (leading the NL), 185 strikeouts, placing third in the NL Cy Young Award voting.

Overall, Clemens went 162-73 after leaving Boston, with a better-than-average ERA, an amazingly high number of strikeouts, and a ton of accolades. But the Mitchell Report - which mentions Clemens' name 82 times - states former trainer Brian McNamee injected Clemens with a steroid during the 1998, 2000, and 2001 baseball seasons.

During his post-aquittal press conference, Clemens noted he "put a lot of hard work into that career”, reiterating the claim he made on 60 Minutes on January 6, 2008, when he addressed the allegations. (That night, he told Mike Wallace his longevity in baseball was due to "hard work" rather than illegal substances and denied all of McNamee's assertions that he injected Clemens with steroids, saying that they "never happened".)

Of course, no one ever accused Clemens of being a slacker.

But the problem Clemens is going to have, when it comes to reaching the Baseball Hall of Fame, is that the crimes for which he was acquitted yesterday had nothing to do with whether he did or didn’t use steroids - and, despite the court verdict, there is still considerable evidence he was a cheater.

The real thing Clemens needs to be concerned about will be the fifth point of the ballot eligible voters receive every winter from the National Baseball Hall of Fame. It's there in clear, concise language: "Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played."

In other words, cheating counts - against you.

It's the character clause that will cause trouble. It already has for a number of other retired players who are already allowed to be on the ballot (Clemens isn't eligible until 2013, five years after his retirement). In his sixth year on the ballot, McGwire (the first player to hit 70 home runs in a season) received 19.5 percent of the vote in December 2011 - the lowest total he's garnered in the six years he's been eligible (the minimum percentage to gain entry is 75 percent). Palmeiro - one of only four men to have more than 3,000 hits as well as more than 500 home runs in a career (which should have gained him a near automatic admission to Cooperstown) - was only able to get 12.6 percent. And in 2013, the Hall of Fame ballot will feature three men who by all statistical measure should be voted in on the first ballot: Bonds, Clemens and Sosa.

Clemens seems very confident that the Court of Law verdict will translate effectively with the Court of Public Opinion and the Court of HOF Voters. But he might want to review baseball history, in particular the statement MLB commissioner Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis issued the day after the eight Chicago “Black Sox” were acquitted of throwing the 1919 World Series: “Regardless of the verdict of juries, no player who throws a ballgame, no player that undertakes or promises to throw a ballgame, no player that sits in conference with a bunch of crooked players and gamblers and does not promptly tell his club about it, will ever play professional baseball.”

Even though Shoeless Joe Jackson, one of the greatest hitters of all time, was acquitted in court, he never played another game in the majors, and there is no plaque for him in the Hall of Fame. This looms large for Clemens and Bonds, in particular.

Now, some writers have argued the sportsmanship clause (which is unique to the MLB HOF ballot) should be removed, and voting should be based entirely on the empirical evidence of each candidate. There is some merit to this position; after all, how can one take a sports Hall of Fame - which is supposed to represent the best of the best - seriously when, in all likelihood, the career home run leader (Bonds), career hits leader (Pete Rose), first-ever to 70 homers (McGwire), first-ever to 60 without leading the league (Sosa), and most Cy Young Awards (Clemens), among other statistically great players - aren't enshrined? Buster Olney, ESPN’s leading baseball voice, noted post-acquittal he “was already going to vote for Clemens, for the same reason that I have always voted for Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro: The institution of baseball condoned the use of performance-enhancing drugs for almost two decades with inaction. To hold it against a handful of individuals now is, to me, retroactive morality.”

If anything, I think a special wing of the HOF should be devoted to the Steroid Era. It's a significant part of MLB history, and should be told as part of the story - just as wartime baseball, the Negro Leagues, and other "eras" have been part of its fabric. To ignore the sins and errors of the past would be a travesty; even NASA has a section of its museum dedicated to the space shuttle tragedies and Apollo XIII. However, while noting some of the more outstanding examples, only the Era should be discussed as a historical commentary. The players should not be officially inducted.

And the same holds true for Jackson, Rose, and others who cheated the game and its integrity, even if it wasn't through the use of chemical enhancement.

As it stands today, no one is going to get into the Hall of Fame with a checkered past in regards to performance-enhancing drug use. Clemens, Bonds and Sosa - among others - have that stigma, and based on the recent voting for tainted-past players, it seems very likely they will join McGwire and Palmeiro in a club whose membership is growing despite no one wanting to be part of it.

The Mash-Up

I had the wonderful opportunity this afternoon to attend "Adventures in Wonderland," a three-hour-long dance recital at Palm Beach State College's Eissey Campus Theatre in Palm Beach Gardens. The ticket was a gift from one of my freshmen students, who was one of the many (and I do mean many) dancers who performed on stage.

The Susan Lyle Studios program was split into two distinct events. The first half was a collection of different dance styles: tap, ballet, African, contemporary, jazz, acrobatic ... I'm sure I'm missing a few. Performers ranged from pre-kindergarten to high school, with a few guest artists as well (including one currently majoring in dance at The Juilliard School, and an SLS alum slated to work with the London Contemporary Dance Studio this fall).

Not surprisingly, the biggest applause was for a group of about a dozen children who must have been about 3 or 4 years old, often from proud parents and grandparents, who were probably most happy that their pride and joy didn't freeze on stage in front of an audience of nearly 500. But there was plenty of cheering for older students and their routines as well, from interpretations of pop songs like Michael Jackson's Thriller (complete with a tribute to its famous "zombie" dance routine, and yes, I mouthed along with Vincent Price's commentary), Lady Gaga's Born That Way, a mix of Nancy Sinatra's Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) and Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon, and the Bee Gees' You Should Be Dancing, as well as an eclectic selection of classical, instrumental and jazz selections.

Prior to the opening, I thought about my family upbringing and our participation in the world of art. My sister, Miriam, was heavily involved as a child and teenager in painting and drawing (including a comic strip for a Gaba family-created newsletter during our formative years), dancing, and being a clarinetist in the high school marching band. My brother, Charles, played cello and helped create a award-winning movie during his days at Michigan State University, before venturing into the artistic world of web design. I pondered my own background as a violinist, violist, electric violinist, kazooist (is that a word?), writer, and photographer. I thought of our parents, who always encouraged us to be active and creative, and embrace all that the world of art, in its various forms, offered, for a chance to grow and mature. I remembered our musical performances in the living room, mom and dad's attendance at our school concerts, our family trips to the Detroit Institute of Art and Cranbrook Art Museum, and attending the Meadow Brook Theatre for Shakespearian performances.

And as the dancers performed their routines, I was struck that each of their parents had similar, if not identical, ideas and goals for their children, and each dancer was taking his or her skills, dedication and love, and applying them in ways they perhaps never dreamed possible.

It was sometime during the first half - specifically, during one of the solo dancer performances - my mind wandered to the sequence in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, where Ferris (Matthew Broderick), Sloane Peterson (Mia Sara) and the Gordie Howe sweater-clad Cameron Frye (Alan Ruck) are strolling through - and taking in - the Art Institute of Chicago. In particular, I locked in on Frye's moment of self-realization while gazing deeply into (and I do mean "into") Georges Seurat's A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.

According to the DVD commentary by director John Hughes, the museum scene - and, specifically, Frey's connection with the famous painting - was vital. "You don't have any idea what you've made until you step back from it," he said. "I used it in this context to see that he's (Cameron) looking at that little girl. Again, it's a mother and child. The closer he looks at the child, the less he sees. Of course, with this style of painting. Or any style of painting really. But the more he looks at, there's nothing there. I think he fears that the more you look at him the less you see. There isn't anything there. That's him."

Hughes didn't beat us over the head with this idea. He didn't force it upon the movie's viewers. It was done with subtle and creative editing, allowing us, the audience, as critically thinking humans, to infer as we individually chose.

Now, art in its many forms - dance, theatre, painting, drawing, sculpture, printmaking, ceramics, photography, movies, music, etc. - is open to three possible positions: from that of the producer (the artist); of an individual interpreter (the viewer); and of a group (the audience). And what the author chooses to convey doesn't mean the audience will take it that way.

After all, dance isn't concrete; it's abstract, performed in many different cultures and used as a form of expression, social interaction and exercise - and can be presented in a spiritual or performance setting, as it was today. Dance may also be regarded as a form of nonverbal communication. It's even found its way into sports; gymnastics, figure skating and synchronized swimming incorporate dance. Art is expression and opinion wrapped into one. Hughes had an idea of what he wanted out of the scene, just as the choreographers of each dance element wished to achieve. Did my alternative thought process mean the choreographers were failing in their approach? Absolutely not; for if their goals were to make the audience, both individually and collectively, think and ponder the possibilities of art, and what it means, then their goals were met with flying colors.

After a brief intermission came Part II - a full-throttle ballet presentation of Alice in Wonderland. From the legendary White Rabbit to the Mad Tea Party (the Dormouse, Mad Hatter and March Hare - not to be confused with the fanatical right-wing political faction); from the Two Tweedles (Dee and Dum) to the Caterpillar and Cheshire Cat; from the King and Queen of Hearts to Alice's trial; the performance cleverly incorporated dance, lighting and music (and a few video tricks) into a compellingly fluid and professional show.

However, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the mind-wandering phenomenon reared its head during the second half as well. At various moments, I pondered some of the various interpretations others have had of Alice in Wonderland over the years, both long ago and fairly recent. From The Jefferson Airplane's psychedelic rendering of White Rabbit to the Disney animated classic to the surreal imagery in Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers' Don't Come Around Here No More, the Lewis Carroll novel has been captured in a variety of media since it was first published in 1865.

And yet, as with the first half of the program, my wandering thoughts did not cause me to lose my focus on the overall performance in front of me, or my appreciation for the dance routines to lessen. In fact, I think it allowed me to be more deeply touched and appreciate what the young adults on stage were doing. They had learned from their teachers, worked as a team with their peers, and viably presented their own interpretation of both individual routines and a collective piece of literature (which is also a type of art).

Now, I have no clue if "mind wandering" during a dance recital is a good thing, in the grand scheme of things (although it's probably a bad thing if you are the performer). I suppose one could argue the implication that, if my mind was wandering, I wasn't really paying attention to the program on stage in front of me. But I would argue the opposite, that my mind wandering was a direct correlation to what I was witnessing and emotionally processing. And I see no harm in the end result: a deeper appreciation for the world of dance than I had previously.