Penn State, with its quasi-Ivy League pretensions, was the perfect place for Paterno. It was situated in the country, in the middle of the state in a Norman Rockwell little town, State College, that was nestled in a bucolic valley, Happy Valley, and surrounded by protective, lush green mountains. There is something eerie about Happy Valley, with its neat colonial houses, manicured hedges, spotless malls, friendly people. Happy Valley seems like a place out of time, or maybe just out of a movie — “The Stepford Wives,” say, or “Pleasantville.”