Saint Louis University hired Rick Majerus to coach its basketball team in 2007 in hopes of gaining a national identity. It is no secret that athletic success perpetuates academic accomplishments as athletic teams bring money and national attention to a school. This is a fact: Alumni and prospective students like to see successful athletics programs.

But what happens when a university invests millions of dollars in an icon, only to see him falter at the helm?

Enter Joe Paterno. “Success with Honor” has become the motto of the Penn State University Athletic Department, adapted from one of Paterno’s favorite sayings. Upon being hired in 1966, Paterno adopted what he called a “Grand Experiment,” aiming to seamlessly integrate athletics and academics in the collegiate experience. Penn State has grown into an elite public university under Paterno’s tenure, in large part due to his support and donations. During the week, students study at Paterno Library; on weekends they watch his football team, which consistently boasts one of the highest graduation rates in Division I football.

After coaching the Penn State football team for 46 years, Paterno’s career finally came to a disgraceful close last week, just like that. The reputation and moral upstanding of a university he held in his hand, gone.

The story has been examined from every angle by now, and the healing process has begun at Penn State. But how could such a seemingly ethical institution go so far astray? Look no further than Paterno’s handling of the scandal. Even as the power structure of the University was falling apart around him, Paterno maintained the illusion that he held total power and control. “The Board of Trustees should not spend a single minute discussing my status. They have far more important matters to discuss,” he said.

As details of the child abuse scandal continued to pour out, it became clear that power at Penn State lay not in the hands of the president or administrators, but in the hands of the moneymaking athletic department. More specifically, the “Father of Football,” Joe Paterno, held all the power. As the coach of a team that generated more than $50 million in profit a year, no one had the fortitude to risk upsetting the power structure. As long as the team was winning and generating revenue, any crime that threatened to upset this pattern needed to be quickly silenced.

When it comes to colleges, many people still hold the ludicrous notion that power within the University has something to do with education. “Athletics aren’t everything,” they will say. Walk around any major college campus though, and you’ll no doubt pass a statue of their most successful and revered coach. And good luck finding someone to name the current president. The football coach is the most visible figure at the University, providing a window into what the culture of the school may be like.

When something is successful, people are afraid to ask questions, afraid of what the answer might be. Not only do universities give coaches all the power and money, they also provide little oversight, giving coaches the task to win at all costs. And as long as that happens, everyone is happy.

It happens in sports; it happens in society. Unchecked power becomes corrupt and arrogant, until someone finally steps in to take control. When the scandal finally starting came to light, Paterno begged administrators and the public not to ask any more questions. But the only way to take back power is to start asking these very questions.

In the “Slumdog Millionaire,” Salim points a gun at his brother and says, “The man with the Colt 45 says shut up!” Joe Paterno was pointing his gun at everyone, and they were afraid to speak up.