Todd Hodne, to this day, remains among the three most dangerous, physically imposing and ruthless excuses for a human being I have ever faced in court."
#INVESTIGATE ANOMALY WEEPING WOODS SERIAL#
"I have prosecuted serial killers and capital cases. Collins, who prosecuted one of Hodne's crimes, in a letter to a parole board. "I have been a prosecutor for nearly 30 years," wrote John B. His name was Todd Hodne, and he was perhaps the most dangerous predator ever to play college football. It's the story of a Penn State football player who, as his team ascended to the pinnacle of the sport, was ransacking the lives of women in the dark. It is not just a story that hasn't been told it's a story that doesn't exist, even in obscure corners of the internet.
You almost certainly don't know the second. until his career ended when the sexual abuse committed by an assistant coach named Jerry Sandusky came to light. If you are any kind of sports fan, you probably know the first story, all the way through its shocking denouement 10 years ago-the story of the football coach whose black shoes and white socks were seen as his moral underpinnings until they weren't. It was also a season that saw a serial sexual predator attack multiple Penn State students. It was the season in which Penn State football became Penn State Football, a season that saw head coach Joe Paterno become an American icon. 1, 1978, and ended against second-ranked Alabama, on Jan. "Are you OK?"įorty-three years ago, Penn State University played for its first national championship in a football season that began against Temple on Sept. "Karen, this is Joe Paterno," the man said. And when she realized who it was, she wondered immediately how he knew her name: This was someone familiar but not someone she knew. But when she picked up, she did not hear the voice she feared. She had heard some of the other women had received phone calls after their assault, possibly from the assailant. She had heard from the police that there were others who had been attacked recently.
When the phone rang, the call came through a line that a few weeks before had been cut by the blade of a knife. When she discovered that photos she kept of herself were missing, she knew they had been taken but couldn't be sure by whom. The attack she had endured was inescapably real but, in its aftermath, she faced a sense of unreality so powerful that she kept in her pocket the scant newspaper clipping about her assault to remind herself that it really happened. Karen felt as though she were being pushed aside and forgotten. The hospital had run out of rape kits, and the nurse who examined her was rude, she thought, "mocking." The rape crisis center had no therapists to recommend, only women around her age who offered more sympathy than expertise. She had opened the Yellow Pages and called a resource new to the town where she had gone to school and now lived, something called a rape crisis center.īut the police seemed to want more from her, even after she had told them everything she could remember. She had gone to the local hospital and submitted to an examination.
She had called the police on the night of the attack, when she finally convinced herself that she might be safe. It had been weeks since she had been attacked there, but the apartment still felt to her like a crime scene, a place that had been turned over and rummaged through. Karen was alone in her apartment when the phone rang. Editor's note: This story contains explicit language and graphic descriptions of sexual violence and a murder investigation.
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