HOBOKEN, N.J. — By her own account, the past few months have been relatively peaceful for Barbara Casey. They might, in fact, have been the quietest since her oldest son and second child, Rashard, left his hometown, Hoboken, N.J., for Penn State five years ago to one day assume the role as starting quarterback.

That might sound surprising, given the media circus that has surrounded Rashard this summer — from the anticipation of him taking over the rebuilding Nittany Lions, to charges that he assaulted an off-duty member of the Hoboken police department outside a bar, to the skepticism around his now-guaranteed starting job.

"There isn't a football player that is going to walk on that field when we start practice that has his job, except for maybe Rashard Casey," Penn State coach Joe Paterno said Aug. 5 at a press conference.

Paterno's faith in his quarterback has been relentless to the point that his decision to play the senior has led some to question the morals of the 73-year-old coach, who, with seven wins, would surpass the late Bear Bryant and become the winningest head coach in Div. I-A history.

"It means the world to me, him believing in me that much," Casey said. "Just because I can look back at all the times I've met with him and spoken with him, that he knows the type of person I am and how I carry myself. So, just by him believing in me, it means the world to me and my family."

His teammates have been unwavering in their support as well.

"We're his teammates," Lions tailback Eric McCoo said. "Just being on a team with someone, you grow with them and you support them 100 percent no matter what happens. We don't know what happened with the situation, but regardless of the outcome, we're going to be behind him either way."

Still, their support hasn't been dissected nearly as much as Paterno's.

Doubters call it hypocrisy — a coach who built a program around integrity would keep, much less start, a player on his team charged with a second-degree felony.

Adrian Wojnarowski, a sports reporter for the (New Jersey) Bergen Record, wrote in a recent column, "When Joe Paterno gets No. 324 to pass the Bear and is carried out of the stadium, the conscience of college football shouldn't risk that it'll be on the shoulders of a felon."

Supporters of Paterno, on the other hand, wax poetic an age-old standard upon which America is supposedly founded.

"Oh sure, why not?" quipped Dennis McAlevy, Rashard's attorney, when asked if his client should strap on the pads. "I mean, you have to understand that it's a basic principle that we have in this nation, that all people are presumed to be innocent until proven guilty."

At that same press conference, one reporter went so far as to ask Rashard if he was "embarrassed" or "mad" that the focus of Penn State football has been on his troubles rather than Paterno's triumphs.

Budd Thalman, Penn State's associate athletic director of communications, thought the question had subtle undertones, and he tried to intercept it, calling it unfair.

Rashard, however, stood steadfast.

"I don't think I have anything to be embarrassed about," said Rashard, who has maintained his innocence throughout the ordeal. "I'll put it that way. As for coach Paterno, I'm pretty sure the focus will change sooner or later, that everybody will get tired of talking about me and will start talking about him."

Regardless, never before has a Penn State athlete been under so much scrutiny based on an allegation that has yet to be proved or disproved. Neither has this coach, who, as Wojnarowski writes, has clearly juggled his 50-year-old legacy on Casey's shoulders.

But perhaps more importantly, nor has this university, which has decided to postpone its role in this melodrama, saying the Hoboken police have refused to "cooperate" with Penn State's Office of Judicial Affairs. The Associated Press, however, reported last week that no one from Penn State had contacted the police department.

In the meantime, while this frothing legal epic expands, Rashard will be focusing on that goal he set for himself five years ago.

"He is going to be Rashard Casey, starting quarterback at Penn State, and he is going to answer questions that the starting quarterback should answer," Paterno said. "He is not going to answer questions that really have no significance today."

And fortunately for Paterno, he did come, despite a lucrative, low-to-medium six-figure deal that awaited him in the Tampa Bay Devil Rays' baseball organization after being drafted following a stellar diamond career at Hoboken High School.

"He did that because he gave his word to coach Paterno that he'd go to Michig . . . Penn State," McAlevy said. "I say Michigan State because quite frankly, I don't mind telling you that I tried to get him into Michigan State, which is my alma mater."

Keeping a promise

Barbara Casey heard about McAlevy's reminiscing of this "promise," and she raised her eyebrow.

Then, she started chuckling.

"Not that I know of, he didn't promise Paterno," Barbara said, laughing at the thought of McAlevy's miscue. "It wasn't a promise to me. It was a decision he made himself."

She curled back in her brown sofa in her apartment on the 300 block of Jackson Street, donning her white Hoboken Red Wings football shirt, sleeves cut off, and matching crimson mesh shorts.

Rashard's 1996 graduation picture hung directly above her, his toothy grin contrasting the crimson cap and gown he wore. An antiquated television set, with pictures of Rashard, Tonya, his elder sister of eight years, and his 20-year-old brother Dion, sat in the corner on the cold, carpetless tile floor across from her, behind an exercise bike draped with just-finished laundry.

"As far as I know," she added, "I don't think Rashard ever spoke to coach Paterno until he came here one Friday to pick up Rashard to take him to Penn State. He had been there before, with coaches from high school, and if he had spoken to Joe Paterno, I don't know."

That Friday, Paterno and then-offensive coordinator Fran Ganter walked up the rail-enclosed, concrete ramp on the side of the housing projects in which Barbara and Rashard live, pressed the black, worn elevator button and headed to the second floor.

Just out of the elevator, the two took a quick right, and focused on a door with a minute "126-Casey" inscribed just below a peephole.

They were there. And 10 minutes later, as Barbara recalls, they were gone.

"Oh, they came in and out so fast," she said, laughing. "And at the time, I didn't even know Joe Paterno was such a famous . . . coach."

Barbara got up from the couch and walked about six feet to a bookshelf chock-full of pictures, trophies, plaques and certificates. A few were Tonya's, more were Dion's, who, by Barbara's account, was a pretty good athlete himself but "entirely different" from Rashard. Dion is in the Navy today, stationed in Norfolk, Va.

The rest of those trophies, including Rashard's first one, an 8-inch high Hoboken Recreation Youth Soccer figurine from 1985-86 that Barbara picked up and polished with her fingertip, belong to the Nittany Lion QB.

He was the same quarterback who, in his senior year, garnered seven All-America honors, including a SuperPrep No. 2 national ranking behind former Kentucky and current Cleveland Browns signal-caller Tim Couch.

"I've got a whole highlight film just of his senior year," said Fran Totaro, a Hoboken assistant coach and mentor of Rashard's.

The rest of his life

Fifteen years have passed since that trophy found its way onto the bookshelf. In that time, Rashard, by his own admittance, has seen much more than a man his age should have seen.

And ironically, most of it has been far away from the playing fields.

By the time he graduated in 1996, Hoboken sported a crime rate of 70 offenses per 1,000 people, nearly double the 43 per 1,000 the state of New Jersey averaged, according to the FBI crime database. The database also reported that during that time, the population shrank from 42,411 in 1986 to 33,650 in 1992, while the crime index rose from 48 per 1,000 to 92 per 1,000.

Yet, somehow Rashard's involvement in sports and Barbara's stern guidance helped her son through those years nearly unscathed.

"You learn a lot. You go through a lot," Rashard said. "It made me a stronger man today than probably someone else my age. I had to grow up early and learn a lot of things at an early age, but I don't regret any of it. I enjoyed growing up where I grew up, and I just thank God for getting me here today."

Barbara, who raised Rashard as a single mother, might take some credit, too. It was hardly easy for her. As a two-parent family until Rashard was 5, the Caseys would take trips across the Hudson River every New Year's Day to Madison Square Garden to see the Knicks. It was a way for Rashard's dad to relive his high school basketball days, and it served as one of the few escapes the family had from its crumbling foundation.

"His name is Albert Casey, but you could put down Barb Casey because I am his mother and his father," she said.

When asked if Rashard and his siblings ever visit Albert, Barbara's voice tightened.

"No, his father never visits him, either. They haven't seen his father since, Rashard had to be 6 or 7, and Dion had to be 4, because he was only in pre-kindergarten.

"I raised him with the help of my parents, but I didn't go for fighting on the streets to hanging out on the corner and not going to school and playing hooky and all of that," Barbara said. "I didn't tolerate any of that. When they leave from here they go to school and if they weren't in school, then they'd have to answer to me, because that's where I sent them."

Rashard takes his middle name from Barbara's father, Benjamin Brown. Her mother, Irene, died when Rashard was 12, leaving an enormous void in his heart for quite some time. To remember her, he used to write her name on the tape he used to wrap his feet before football games.

Last year, he had a personalized tattoo etched just outside his right biceps muscle. The design is an angel, coming forth from a spew of clouds. Underneath the picture, an inscription reads, "An angel watches over me."

"My mother, she's the angel that watches over him," Barbara said.

She put the soccer trophy down.

"These things, I don't even know what they are anymore. I don't know what to do with all these trophies," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

And those weren't all of them, either. There were some at Tonya's, who is married now, there were some at Barbara's sister's. And, there were some at her father's.

There's the Sylvania Alamo Bowl Outstanding Offensive Player trophy Rashard won last year, too, after leading the Lions to a 24-0 blanking of Texas A&M. That's down the street at coach Totaro's little shop — Hoboken Watch, on 7th and Washington.

Watching the clock

The watch shop lies at the bottom of a metal staircase covered with artificial turf. The door has no windows, and neither does the store. Many customers knock before they come in, thinking maybe it is not a business, but instead another part of the projects.

Those who enter, however, find themselves immersed first in Rolexes, and then, in football — pee-wee, high school, college, a little pro.

Rashard's Alamo Bowl trophy sits alone in its stainless elegance, perched atop a wooden pedestal near a watch display case.

"Try and lift that," Totaro shouted from behind the repair desk.

The trophy, which looks bulky, is actually heavier than it looks. It's at least 50 pounds, but it's highly unlikely Rashard thought of that when he hoisted it above his shoulders after passing for 146 yards and a touchdown against the Aggies in San Antonio last Dec. 28.

Totaro keeps it in his shop, along with tiny helmets representing the colleges of all the Div. I Hoboken players he's coached. A framed jersey of Tyrell Dortch, a standout Red Wings running back now at Michigan State, hangs above framed pictures of Totaro and a myriad of other gridiron greats, including Paterno and John Cappelletti, who won Penn State's only Heisman Trophy in 1973.

Another jersey lay draped across a green, vinyl chair near a desk — the same one Totaro fixes his watches out of. It's Rashard's, red with a white No. 12 painted on the front and back. He has plans to hang that one too, just like he did with Dortch's.

"Rashard was like a man playing against boys," Totaro said. "Nobody could tackle him. There was nobody bigger than him, nobody stronger than him and nobody faster than him."

Totaro leaned back in another chair. He opened his conversation with a recollection of former Penn State quarterback and the man who started ahead of Rashard last year, Kevin Thompson. The first time Totaro met Thompson, the coach said, the quarterback stuck out his hand to shake his, then said, "You must hate me."

Totaro didn't. He hated the fact that Rashard wasn't playing as much, especially for a man with the athleticism for any skill position. But, as Totaro said bluntly, "Rashard Casey is a quarterback."

The two still talk about once a week. "Four or five times, if he needs a favor," said Totaro, laughing.

Hoboken High has a small Hall of Fame of sorts, where the memories of its finest athletes are kept. Totaro says it's just a trophy case, but trophy cases don't bleed red. This one does. Among others, it honors Casey, Dortch, Ravon Anderson -- formerly of North Carolina and now of Rutgers, and Syracuse safety Keeon Walker, who found himself in the unluckiest of situations the morning of this past May 14.

May 14, 2000

The events of the case surrounding Rashard Casey, by now, have been well documented. Hoboken police say he, Walker and friend Desmond Miller approached Patrick Fitzsimmons, an off-duty Hoboken police officer who happens to teach a community course in racial tolerance, around 2:41 a.m. the night before Mother's Day on Newark Street, across from the River Street bar.

Fitzsimmons, who is white and married, was courting a black woman named Elsa Ballantine. His wife was in Florida at the time.

"What do you make of a married guy in the middle of the street in a really hot embrace with a 20-year-old girl while his wife is in Florida?" McAlevy asked. "Has Fitzsimmons denied that, being with that woman?"

Hoboken police chief Carmen LaBruno reportedly said that Miller shouted at Ballantine: "What are you doing with him? You should be with us. You're one of us."

What happened next might boil down to the biggest question in Penn State football history.

Police said Casey and Miller punched and kicked Fitzsimmons until he was unconscious. Walker reportedly was not involved in the altercation.

"Fitzsimmons is still not fit for duty," LaBruno said. "We've had him examined recently. The doctors said they wouldn't take the chance."

Casey admits to being at the scene of the crime, but denies doing what the police say he did. Of course, he has been instructed by both McAlevy and Paterno to not speak with reporters. Casey, however, has said he would talk if he could.

McAlevy, who has represented numerous police officers in his career, said he isn't surprised about his client's forthcoming attitude. McAlevy claimed Rashard is "100 percent innocent" of the aggravated assault charge levied against him.

LaBruno, however, disagrees.

"Mr. Casey's lawyer never lets the facts of the case interfere with a high-profile case that will eventually enrich his bank account," LaBruno said. "I'm 6-0 in criminal cases against his lawyer, and I am looking forward to the trial."

Ironically, at the time of the River Street incident, McAlevy was representing a police officer from Jersey City, adjacent to Hoboken, who was involved in a struggle with a 15-year-old black man. The officer's gun went off, killing the 15-year-old instantly.

The news that McAlevy had decided to represent Casey against Fitzsimmons upset some local residents.

"I got some hate mail and stuff from people saying, 'What do you have against cops?' " said McAlevy. "I have nothing against cops. I've represented over 50 cops, and I'm talking about 50 cops who have been indicted."

McAlevy, who is as lively in his appearance as he is with his comments, said he was not a "cops lawyer," however. In this particular case, he firmly believes Casey, whom he has known for 15 years as a friend — but never as a client — was wrongly pointed out.

Regardless, someone hit Patrick Fitzsimmons that night. Someone will have to answer to that. Casey has let the public know it won't be him, and until the case goes to trial, which it might or might not, depending on what the grand jury does, that same public has little choice but to watch him lead the Lions at the beginning of the season.

"I think nothing anybody can say about me or do toward me will change what I have to do on the field," Casey said. "For me, all the stuff that happened in the offseason has been forgotten about.

"Right now, I'm ready to put on the pads and go to work," he added. "My spirits are fine, they've been fine. I don't think I have anything to hang my head over. With the support of my teammates, my coaches and my family, they've proved that I don't have anything to hang my head over. So I walk with my head up high, and I'm not ashamed of anything."