Six years after her interview with a teenage boy set off one of the most explosive criminal cases in state history, Jessica Dershem still works in the same windowless office in her hometown.
Dershem, a 32-year-old caseworker with the Clinton County Children and Youth Services department, investigates custody disputes and claims of child abuse and neglect. She handles twelve, maybe fifteen, cases each year. Most never make the news, because they don't involve someone like Jerry Sandusky.
In the rush of sometimes-global news coverage of the former Pennsylvania State University assistant football coach's arrest (photo) and conviction on child sex-abuse charges, Dershem's role barely registered a footnote.
But the tall woman with friendly eyes and the words strength and resilience tattooed on her wrist played a critical part. It was Dershem who listened as fifteen-year-old Aaron Fisher told her that Sandusky, now serving thirty to sixty years in prison, went from wrestling and back-cracking to reaching below Fisher's shorts. And it was Dershem who notified state police. And, though she barely knew who Sandusky was then, she was among the first to confront him with the accusations. "He admitted to everything except the sexual contact," Dershem said in an interview this month. "To me, that meant it was all true."
That conversation with Sandusky was the strangest Dershem had had during her career in social work, or has had since. It was also the start of a four-year saga that included her testifying in court, and that at one point stoked fears among Dershem's colleagues that they could be blamed for a case that cost famed football coach Joe Paterno and Penn State president Graham Spanier their jobs, and that roiled the university and state.
"Throughout all the media coverage and the attention paid to her, she's never changed her work ethic or let any of it get to her," said Gerald Rosamilia, director of the Clinton County agency where Dershem works. "She is someone who, day in, day out, does a great job. And when it was all over, she went right back to doing that."
Dershem was born and raised in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, a small town about an hour from State College, whose quaint Main Street is surrounded by mountains. She attended Lock Haven University, then worked in Pittsburgh before transferring to Clinton County so she could be near family and friends. She lives with her boyfriend and their two dogs.
Dershem was 26 and two years into her career in November of 2008 when her agency got a call from an official at nearby Central Mountain High School, who said Fisher was coming in to report inappropriate contact with Sandusky.
Fisher, who came to be known as Victim One, admitted little that day. Dershem sensed he was holding back, which she had seen before in victims of sex abuse. So she set up a second interview with Fisher and invited a state trooper. That time, Fisher revealed more, and Dershem sent Sandusky a standard letter informing him of the allegations and explaining the investigation process. Soon afterward, she called Sandusky to set up a time for him to come in and discuss Fisher's claims.
In January of 2009, Sandusky went to Dershem's office, accompanied by his lawyer, Joseph Amendola, who went on to represent Sandusky at trial. By then, Dershem had learned of Sandusky's exalted status in the Penn State community, as Paterno's revered assistant coach, and of his role in the Second Mile charity for at-risk youths. Even then, it didn't occur to her to feel nervous about where the investigation might lead.
"I was doing my job," Dershem said. "To me, it was a very simple case." She was surprised when Sandusky didn't ask many questions about Fisher's allegations or display much reaction. Sandusky said he thought of the boy as a member of his family and admitted to much of the contact Fisher described, such as blowing raspberries on the boy's stomach and even taking Fisher out of class at his high school.
When Dershem asked whether he had touched Fisher below the waist, the former coach said he couldn't remember. "That was unusual," she said. "Usually it's: 'No, I didn't do that.'"
The meeting, and Sandusky's evasiveness, further cemented Dershem's belief that Fisher was telling the truth. The report she filed with the state said her office had determined that Sandusky had abused the boy.
Sandusky initially appealed the report. But, after Dershem added a supplemental file with information from Fisher's psychologist, she said, Sandusky withdrew the appeal.
Michael Boni, Fisher's attorney, said Dershem was a key component in getting the case moving. "She was very active in her response," he said. "The important thing is that she treated his like any other child sex-abuse case."
Dershem's role in the investigation was over. But she was starting to realize the real story might be just beginning. She had learned more about Sandusky's work with children in the community and that he was a foster parent. Clinton County cut ties with the local branch of Second Mile, and she sensed it was only a matter of time before the case went public. "I didn't think it would get as big as what it became, but I was fairly certain there would be other victims," she said. "Maybe this was naive, but I didn't have any concern that it would get swept under the rug."
In the months that followed, Dershem learned of the grand jury investigation. After news of the investigation broke in 2011, Paterno's firing sparked outrage in the Penn State community, Fisher's identity became known, and Clinton County gained instant notoriety as the place where the case began.
Dershem followed stories about the case in the media and was saddened, though not surprised, to see people defending Sandusky. "People didn't want to believe he had done something like that," she said. That fall, Dershem and her colleagues were warned not to show up to work at a concession stand the county's foster parent association had at Penn State football games. "Some of the parents were afraid people would find out we were from Clinton County," she said. When Dershem learned she would be called to testify at Sandusky's 2012 trial, she met with prosecutor Joseph McGettigan. He warned her Sandusky's attorney might try to undermine her credibility, and she anxiously studied her notes from the case, expecting a challenge.
In the end, Amendola's questions focused mostly on her written reports and on what Fisher told her in his first interview. But nothing prepared her for the mob of reporters, attorneys, and onlookers who swarmed the courthouse. "That was the first time I felt intimidated," she said. "It was the most nerve-racking thing I've ever experienced."
Six months after Sandusky's conviction, Dershem was honored by the Clinton County Board of Commissioners for her work in the case. "It was something I never expected," she said. She displays the plaque on a shelf in her office alongside a courtroom sketch made from her day of testimony.
After the trial, life quieted down. Most people in Dershem's office know of her role in the case, but some she meets have no idea. She rarely mentions it unless it comes up, though she has been invited to speak to classes at Lock Haven University about the experience. She thinks about the case often, sometimes when she attends the occasional Penn State football game. Mostly, she asks herself how things might have been different had she understood who Sandusky was. If she had been aware of Sandusky's level of power, might she have doubted her instincts?
She also often thinks about the end of her day in court, the moment when another Sandusky victim approached her after her testimony and thanked her for believing in Fisher.
"I do think about it now," she said. "If I didn't believe what he was saying, I wonder if it all would have happened the same way."
Rico says that, being a sucker for puns, he's undoubtedly made the 'Jerry's kids' one already (with apologies to Jerry Lewis and his kids...
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