Jerry Sandusky’s gaze followed the sun as it set behind an army of trees lining his backyard. A cloud of smoke painted every exhale as he contemplated some of his more questionable life decisions.
Behind him, his home. Inside was his emotionally battered wife, Dorothy. Donning a turkey-themed blouse and a white turtleneck, she tended to her famous string bean casserole with great care. Dorothy was used to hosting a houseful of hungry feasters on Thanksgiving. This year, however, the “Happy Turkey Day” photo-invitation of her husband posing with a group of timid young boys did not elicit that warm holiday cheer it had in years past.
It was Jerry’s decision to go ahead with a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, despite the fact that all invited guests were “Not Attending.” He noticed a rift in his marriage ever since victims six through eight starting running their mouths — so he thought this a good opportunity to try and do some damage control.
Dorothy stepped outside. “Dinner’s on the table.”
Jerry nodded. It was very important to him that dinner went well, for it could be their last together. A few days earlier he met with his attorney Joe Amendola to go over strategy. Joe stressed the importance of strong familial support in the courtroom. Believing whole-heartedly in the idea that laughter is the best medicine, he suggested that Jerry try and make light of the situation to his wife.
“It’s important that although the world sees you as a monster, your wife stands by your side. It can make all the difference to a jury,” Joe told him. “Here, I’ve come up with a few one-liners that I think she’ll enjoy.”
Jerry spent the previous few evenings memorizing his shtick. The jokes were self-deprecating and topical. Joe described his comedic sensibilities as “a hybrid between Woody Allen and Daniel Cook.” Dorothy was in for a treat.
Jerry took a deep breath and walked inside. Dorothy sat quietly at the table.
“Boy, everything smells great!” Jerry exclaimed.
“Wait, did I say ‘Boy?’ I meant lover! Bam!” Jerry chuckled.
Dorothy looked up, confused. Her lip began to quiver; she was unaware of how to interpret what just came out of her husband’s mouth. Speechless and on the verge of a breakdown, she began forking at her turkey.
“Maybe it went over her head,” Jerry thought. “Let me try some improv.”
“Hey! I’d stop poking that tender meat if I were you — might get ya’ in trouble some day. Bada Bing!”
Dorothy dropped her fork in shock. Her left eye shed a single tear. Jerry noticed, sensed her discomfort, yet was totally unaware that he was the cause of it.
“Everything alright, Dottie?”
She didn’t respond. Appetite lost, she stared at her plate.
Jerry, unsure of what to do or say, decided to let the air settle. He ate in silence as Dorothy drowned her sorrows in red wine. The night wasn’t going as well as he would’ve liked. His jokes weren’t landing.
Jerry cleared his plate and got up from the table. “One more try,” he thought.
“Hey Dottie, dinner was excellent.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m gonna go have a quickie in the shower.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Whoops! I mean a quick shower!”
Jerry winked and walked away.
“Nailed it,” he said to himself.