Publishers Weekly
★ 08/09/2021
In this gripping debut, former Stanford University sailing coach Vandemoer makes a strong case for his innocence in the notorious “Operation Varsity Blues” pay-for-play college admissions scandal. While coaches at other schools accepted large payments for designating unqualified students as athletic recruits, Vandemoer claims he didn’t take one penny for himself—instead, he believed the checks flowing into Stanford’s coffers from Varsity Blues plot mastermind Rick Singer were legitimate donations to the university, allegedly confirmed by Stanford’s athletic director Bernard Muir. Despite that, when Vandemoer’s name came up in connection with the FBI’s investigation of Varsity Blues, Stanford fired him and evicted him, his wife, and their two small children from Stanford housing and childcare. While the author notes that his lawyer advised him that the court would go easier on him if he pleaded guilty (“This was how the system worked: innocence didn’t matter”), he proclaims his guiltlessness in powerful prose—which the judge appeared to have believed by his sentencing of Vandemoer to only probation after he took a plea deal. Vandemoer’s earnestness is apparent throughout his tale of intrigue and ruination, making it easy to empathize with his predicament and root for him to successfully rebuild his life. Expertly told, this powerful story will have readers riveted. Agent: Deborah Grosvenor, Grosvenor Literary Agency. (Sept.)
From the Publisher
Expertly told, this powerful story will have readers riveted.” — PUBLISHERS WEEKLY STARRED REVIEW
"An effective mea culpa that reveals much about the economics and politics of college sports along the way." — KIRKUS
“Detailed and compelling.” — LIBRARY JOURNAL
Library Journal
08/01/2021
Vandemoer, one of the coaches charged in the Varsity Blues scandal, shares his side of the story. He pled guilty to racketeering charges for accepting donations to the Stanford sailing program in exchange for sponsoring wealthy student applicants as athletes. Portraying himself as a victim of recruiter Rick Singer's scheme to get students into college using bribery and fraudulent résumés and SAT scores, Vandemoer claims that he was focused on building his sailing program and was unaware of Singer's machinations. Vandemoer describes in unflinching detail how, after being charged, he lost his job, community, home, and freedom. However, he doesn't show much awareness of how privilege has affected his life, his sport, and his school. The Varsity Blues story attracted so much attention in part because of how it shone a spotlight on the relationship between privilege and academia; a more critical examination in this memoir would have better served Vandemoer's narrative. VERDICT Detailed and compelling, though not as nuanced as it could have been, this memoir unearths particulars of the scandal that casual news readers may have missed. It will appeal most to readers with a strong interest in the Varsity Blues scandal.—Sarah Schroeder, Univ. of Washington Bothell
Kirkus Reviews
2021-07-14
A plea of innocence from one of the college officials implicated in Operation Varsity Blues, the recent, well-publicized college admissions scandal.
Vandemoer was the sailing coach at Stanford when he was approached by an operator named Rick Singer, who infamously worked the pocketbooks of celebrities and wealthy clients to get their children admitted to elite colleges. Singer offered largely unrestricted donations to the sailing program, which, according to the author, was underfunded, while letting it drop that a given client of his might donate $1 million to the program if their child were admitted. “At Stanford, as at most colleges, small, non-revenue-generating sports—in general, everything other than football and men’s basketball—lived and died on donations,” writes Vandemoer. “And as the head coach, I was responsible for bringing much of that money in.” The money came in, and, in time, charges of bribery and racketeering followed. The author writes ruefully that the development officers in the athletic program saw nothing wrong with taking the money as a quid pro quo. “I will place Molly on the development ‘watch list’ to indicate to admissions that development has an interest in the ultimate admissions decision,” wrote one officer of a student under consideration. The IRS disagreed, and though the courts later found irregularities in the investigation, Vandemoer—who admits that he had questions about the ethics of the contributions and Singer’s wheedling approach—was the only one of the college officials charged who did not personally enrich himself, which earned him the lightest of sentences. It also lost him his job and reputation, a punishment, he notes, that Stanford did not apply to anyone else: “I didn’t buy for a minute that I was the only one who’d been taken in by him. Why would Singer keep coming back, year after year, if his efforts weren’t bearing fruit?” That’s a good question.
An effective mea culpa that reveals much about the economics and politics of college sports along the way.
