Free The Lion in Autumn by Frank Fitzpatrick

spaghetti. After a couple of beers, it all tastes the same. And I got to like the people. And I liked coaching.”
    Before the 1952 season, defensive line coach Jim O’Hora and his wife, Bets, moved into a new home, and partly to help defray expenses, they asked Paterno to live with them. He stayed with them even after the O’Horas moved to another house and wouldn’t depart their extra bedroom until 1961.
    As a single man, he was unusual among Engle’s assistants. A photo of Penn State’s 1953 staff shows Paterno, standing in the snow without his trademark glasses, as the only aide without a spouse. Marriage was of little importance to someone with his ambitions. Paterno and the rest of Engle’s staff enjoyed an unusual closeness. The married couples included Paterno in their off-the-field rituals, even before he was married.
    â€œThursday nights we used to say, ‘The hay’s in the barn,’ and we’d go out and relax,” he said. “We worked hard but on Thursday nights we wanted to spend a little time with the family. So we would take the wives to one of the coaches’s houses and we’d have a couple drinks and then we’d go out and get something to eat. We’d go downtown to the Tavern or Duffy’s, different places.”
    Still, the native New Yorker’s frequently abrasive style annoyed some of the older, more low-key members of Engle’s staff. He had, in his late brother’s words, “a rage to win.” That trait, coupled with his natural drive and impatience, frequently made him an irritant.
    But those early colleagues also recognized Paterno’s coaching gifts—his ingenuity, detail-oriented mind, and an uncanny ability to convince people that his was the best way. Engle put him in charge of quarterbacks and gradually, throughout the 1950s and 1960s, began delegating more and more responsibility to his protégé.
    That didn’t leave Paterno much time for a social life, not that he could have conducted much of one from his quarters in the O’Horas’ bedroom. Finally, in 1961, O’Hora suggested it might be time for the then thirty-four-year-old coach to do something about that. He took Paterno aside and offered him some Irish advice.
    â€œYou know, Joe, when my dad came over from Ireland, my cousins used to come over, and they needed a place to stay,” O’Hora said. “So my cousins would come over and they’d be here three or four months, and my dad would say, ‘Sean, you’ve been here three months, it’s about time you find yourself a lady and get on with your life.’ Joe, you’ve been with us [almost ten] years.”
    Paterno took the hint and rented an apartment a few blocks away from the O’Horas. Shortly afterward his relationship with Sue Pohland, a brainy student from Latrobe, Pennsylvania, blossomed. One of their first dates took place at a lecture by literary critic Leslie Fiedler. In May of 1962 they were married.
    â€œSue’s a German girl but she turned out to be a good cook,” he said. “When Mom found out we were going to get married, she said, ‘A German girl? Where are you going to eat?’ ”
    By then Paterno had become enamored of Penn State and State College. And the feeling was mutual.
    â€œWhen I came here, I was a little bit of an egghead but I was accepted,” he said. “A guy by the name of Phil Young, who was one of the foremost Hemingway guys, he and I used to argue all the time about Hemingway. I never thought he was as good as Phil thought. And we used to go downtown and sit around and argue about things like that. We’d go to faculty clubs. I wasn’t looked down on as a dumb football coach. They were accessible. The town was small. You know the thing about this place is if I get on the phone with my staff and said we want to meet in fifteen minutes, everyone can be here. They don’t have to