Juror No. 4, the foreman, gray-haired and middle-aged, stood high in the back row of the jurors' box, looked down at some sheets of paper, then at Jerry Sandusky and began to deliver a verdict a long, sad time coming.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
Of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse. Of indecent assault. Of endangering the welfare of children.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
Of terrorizing the poorest and most vulnerable of this area's youth. Of abusing his fame as a former Penn State defensive coordinator. Of conducting a charade of charitable work to supposedly help children.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
Forty-five times it rang out. Juror No. 4 hammered each one home with the independent force each one deserved.
There were just three charges Sandusky escaped on. After each of those not-guilty counts, it seemed that the foreman raised his voice as he returned to this parade of guilty verdicts.
He seemed to make sure each count was granted its own moment to linger, to emphasize the torture and pain and shattered innocence it produced. Oral sex. Anal sex. Fondling. One despicable act worse than the next.
This here was a night of redemption, a predator laid bare with nowhere to hide, with no more lies to tell, with no one left to save him.
'Mr. Sandusky,' Judge John Cleland said when this dramatic, nearly eight-minute condemnation was finally, fully read, 'you have been found guilty by a jury of .