Unacceptable: Privilege, Deceit & the Making of the College Admissions Scandal

by Melissa Korn, Jennifer Levitz Narrated by Brittany Pressley

Overview

FORBES TOP 10 HIGHER EDUCATION BOOKS OF 2020 

The riveting true story behind the Varsity Blues college admissions scandal, a cautionary tale of parenting gone wrong, the system that enabled families to veer so far off course, and the mastermind who made it all happen.

When federal prosecutors dropped the bombshell of Operation Varsity Blues, it broke open the crimes of exclusive universities and wealthy families all over the country, shattering the myth of American meritocracy. In Unacceptable, veteran Wall Street Journal reporters Melissa Korn and Jennifer Levitz dig deep into how otherwise smart, loving parents became caught up in scandal, led through the side door by one man: college whisperer Rick Singer.

Unacceptable traces how, over decades, the charismatic Singer easily reeled in parents hoping to guarantee top educations for their children, and exploited a system rigged against regular people. Exploring the status obsession that seduced entitled parents in search of an edge, Korn and Levitz unfurl a scheme that entangled more than fifty conspirators, from wealthy CEOs to famous actresses, leading to imprisonments, ruined careers, and terminated enrollments.

An eye-opening account of corruption in America's most exclusive institutions, Unacceptable tells the story of helicopter parenting, coddled teens, and the man who thought he couldn't be caught. Detailing Singer's steady rise and dramatic fall, Korn and Levitz expose the ugly underbelly of elite college admissions, and the devastating consequences of buying success.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"Amidst the challenges posed by getting into competitive colleges, especially in this 2020 admissions cycle, Korn and Levitz’s book provides a telling look at the dark side of competitive college admissions. Only by frankly acknowledging the faults in the system can we begin to change it.”—Dr. Aviva Legatt, Forbes

“Melissa Korn and Jennifer Levitz narrate their well-researched account as if it were a thriller about the mob . . . a whodunnit in which the central crimes seem less significant than the crumbling social system they reveal – more Gosford Park than The Godfather."—The Times Literary Supplement

“Through Unacceptable, Korn and Levitz grant us access to [admissions’] seedy underbelly. From the social-climbing antics of Rick Singer, the mastermind behind the cheating scheme, to the velvet-gloved F.B.I. raids of celebrities’ homes, they take us along the roller-coaster ride of Operation Varsity Blues. Piercing the veneer of perfection worn by Hollywood A-listers and corporate elites, Korn and Levitz show how wealthy families bribed their way into colleges like Stanford and the University of Southern California rather than bet on their children’s potential.”—The New York Times Book Review

"The authors' highly readable exposé goes well beyond the tabloid level. . . A capable examination of the seamy intersection of ambition, money, and higher education."—Kirkus Reviews

"A ticktock account of last year’s explosive admissions scandal . . . The stories highlighted by Korn and Levitz are read-out-loud appalling . . . more outrageous and more haunting as a book."—The Washington Post

“I’ve been savoring [Unacceptable] . . . It’s jaunty, it’s readable, and the authors aren’t scared of tabloid argot."—The Boston Globe

“A fast-paced account of the massive college admissions scam devised by Rick Singer...This indictment of contemporary American culture offers an in-depth look at the families who were willing to break the law and ignore ethical principles to provide higher education for their children...A well-researched and detailed picture of a crime emerging in an American culture corrupted by wealth and celebrity.”—Library Journal

“This may be the tell-all book on which people will rely for details on the case."—Inside Higher Education

"One book alone can't change everything. But this is an excellent start."—LinkedIn

“Gripping.”—Financial Times

"What makes Unacceptable a worthwhile book is not just the voyeuristic insight into the way money-hungry institutions (or their employees) can fleece status-hungry parents, but rather the moral insight into the rottenness of the whole system . . .   For hard examples of how the American class system is becoming more rigid as the wealthy find ever-less salubrious ways to pass on their privilege, Unacceptable is hard to beat."—Higher Education Strategy Associates

Library Journal

06/19/2020

Wall Street Journal reporters Korn and Levitz present a fast-paced account of the massive college admissions scam devised by Rick Singer, a hard-driving admissions counselor who convinced wealthy parents to make large payments to guarantee their children admission to prestigious universities. Numerous arrests in March 2019 revealed the dishonesty of wealthy businessmen and celebrities who wanted to ensure "the best" for their already privileged children, often using "side door" access through low-profile athletic programs. The book focuses on California families and the University of Southern California, but the cheating and hustling extended to other schools and states. The authors followed the trials and plea bargains, searched legal documents, and interviewed the families, their associates, and the network that falsified applications and test scores. This indictment of contemporary American culture offers an in-depth look at the families who were willing to break the law and ignore ethical principles to provide higher education for their children, though the work would have been stronger had it analyzed the causes of this shameful scandal. VERDICT A well-researched and detailed picture of a crime emerging in an American culture corrupted by wealth and celebrity.—Elizabeth Hayford, formerly with Associated Coll. of the Midwest, Evanston, IL

Kirkus Reviews

2020-05-30
Wall Street Journal reporters Korn and Levitz dig deep into the college-admissions scandal that figured so prominently in recent headlines.

It's difficult for most students to gain admission to elite colleges and universities, and especially so for those of indifferent achievement. This has been a cause of anguish for doting parents who see an Ivy League degree as a ticket to the good life. Jared Kushner is a case in point; he represents “perhaps the most egregious example of a back door deal,” a mediocre student with poor test scores but with a father who donated $2.5 million to Harvard. Bingo: instant admission. Enter a hustler named Rick Singer, who, himself a mediocre student who took eight years to get through college, found a decidedly lucrative gig in coaching students in the intricacies of college admissions, to which he later added shortcuts including back-door and side-door deals. Singer became a master of gaming a system with few safeguards. The nut of the story of course, is how Singer’s machinations played out with the actors Lori Loughlin and Felicity Huffman. Interestingly, they write, Huffman eventually figured out, ruefully, that Singer was a scam artist, albeit one who got results in the form of admissions—notably to the University of Southern California, where three coaches were bribed to admit students as “recruited athletes,” even if it sometimes took extensive use of Photoshop to get a decent photograph of a student in action. Huffman and Loughlin may have been the public faces of the scandal, but, Korn and Levitz write, it was far more extensive—and it ruined some students’ lives. The authors’ highly readable exposé goes well beyond the tabloid level, though, in exposing malfeasance throughout the higher-education system in the chase for ever scarcer dollars.

A capable examination of the seamy intersection of ambition, money, and higher education.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940177547787
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	07/21/2020
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1: Future Stars

Kim Miller had a long list of things she'd rather do. Perusing the Arden Fair mall, for one. Spending time with her boyfriend. Anything was more exciting than the heavy gray pages of a college application, for sure.

It was fall 1993, and Miller was sixteen. In upper-middle-class Sacramento, this was what you did at sixteen. You started planning to get into college. Though she was a good student, the prospect scared her. Those little fill-in-the-dot tests were just not her friend. She had already convinced herself she would bomb the SAT. And what would she study? She liked theater and fashion, but "I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do," she recalls.

But then a minor miracle touched down in her life, a force of nature.

Years later, she would still have his business card, imprinted with future stars, the royal blue letters in all caps with a star in place of the A.

Miller's parents had retained Rick Singer as a private college counselor. She liked him straight off. He was in his early thirties, super fit, energetic, tanned, and conspicuously casual, often in shorts, running shoes, and a windbreaker. He was hired to help her study for the SAT, to weigh her college options, and to complete those intimidating applications.

Singer led strategy sessions at the formal dining room table in her family's pretty Mediterranean-style home on leafy Forty-Sixth Street in East Sacramento. Just as important as nailing the test, he told her, was shaping her image.

"What is going to really make you stand out on paper to these schools?" he would probe. "What are you going to bring to the table, Kim Miller? Who are you? Who is Kim Miller?"

No one had ever talked to Miller like that before. She liked it. His words, his coach-like "you got this, kid" attitude, empowered her. She discovered a growing strength inside, and a new, kick-the-door-down confidence that she could choose who she would be.

***

Singer knew firsthand about transforming himself.

The sun beat down on Proesel Park in the Chicago suburb of Lincolnwood, Illinois, one summer around 1973 when "Ricky" Singer was a young teenager on the edge of high school. He was a regular at the park, where he ran for miles in a sauna suit, like what boxers wear to shed weight fast. He lived off Diet Coke, raisins, and peanuts for the summer. He encouraged his close friend Cheryl Silver to do laps with him so she could make the tennis team. "Silves," he would say, using her nickname. "Come on, we gotta do this because, don't you want to make the team? You've got to push hard. Watch me. Push hard. Push harder."

Ricky had curly dark hair and a spirited personality that made him popular. He could wallop the ball in Little League. But he was also chubby and by the time he reached his teens, it gnawed at him. He was the heavy kid and he hated being the heavy kid. He wanted to be like everyone else, and at the beginning of high school he set out to make that happen. It wasn't just his physique that bugged him. Ricky seemed to always have something to prove.

He played baseball and football at Niles West High School, a strong public school that propelled most teens to college, with alumni that included future Supreme Court nominee Merrick Garland. Lincolnwood was a comfortable, heavily Jewish suburb that had ballooned in recent decades after the opening of an expressway offering easy access to Chicago. Roomy homes with backyards and double garages dotted tree-lined streets, while less well-off families, like Singer's, lived in townhouses.

His parents married in Los Angeles in 1959, and had Singer the next year in Santa Monica and then a daughter a few years later. They divorced early, and his father moved away and remarried when Rick was nine, building a new family and giving Singer half siblings. His mother also remarried. She and Singer's stepfather were down-to-earth parents and Singer adored his mother. He rarely saw his father, and friends later thought it bothered him, but he didn't talk about it. No one talked about divorce back then.

Kids in Lincolnwood had ways, besides the size of homes, of knowing who had money and who didn't. In wealthier families, the kids got braces, the moms were at after-school activities because they didn't work, and the children went away to overnight camps. Singer and his good friend Silver stayed in town and went to day camps. Now Cheryl Silver Levin, she recalls, "He always wanted more. He always said he was going to have a million-dollar home, be a multimillionaire with a million-dollar home."

Singer's personality could fill a room. He smiles in his senior yearbook photo, in which he wears a wide seventies-style collared shirt and a big afro, like an extra on the sitcom Welcome Back, Kotter. Singer had a notable quality that would only become more pronounced as he got older-and would, one day, make him infamous. He was prone to gross exaggerations, if not outright lies. He didn't win the basketball game by two points, he won by fifty points. If he had a hit in baseball, he didn't just get a line drive, he hammered one out of the park. Animated and fun to be around, Singer got away with the obvious embellishments, which were then harmless. Everyone knew he was fabricating, but they didn't care because they loved him.

He already seemed to know that his ability to command attention was his ticket. His yearbook message said, "I would most like to be remembered for the outstanding personality I have been given, and being able to get along with others."

In late summer 1978, he drove to Tucson with Levin and another friend and they all enrolled in the University of Arizona, but any plan for a typical college life seemed to change fairly quickly. Unlike most of his high school classmates, Singer didn't graduate in four years from a name-brand college. Ironically, he took a somewhat hardscrabble path that he'd build his career helping others to avoid. He joined a fraternity and enjoyed school, but left in fall 1979, mentioning that he was having trouble coming up with the out-of-state tuition. He moved to Dallas, where his father, who had fallen ill, lived. Singer later said he moved to help run his father's vending business, selling candy, soda, and cigarettes, after the old man had a heart attack. The small business employed Singer, his father, and his stepmother, until his father died just a few years later, in 1983, in his late forties.

Singer went to Brookhaven College, a community college in suburban Dallas, where he was featured in the school newspaper for his skill at intramural basketball, and then went to Our Lady of the Lake, a four-year Catholic university in San Antonio, for one year. He then transferred again, enrolling in Trinity University in that city in 1984.

Trinity, a small private liberal arts school, was not well-known outside the region, but it was respected and felt like a school on the rise. It was known for its Division I tennis team, but the Division III baseball and basketball teams also recruited promising student-athletes from other schools in the area, and Singer played on both teams.

Singer was six years out of high school by the time he entered Trinity. The school had plenty of rich preppy kids, Izod and Polo and nice cars bought by Mom and Dad. The other students, many from Texas, had established cliques when Singer arrived as a transfer student. With an afro and beard stubble, Singer looked obviously older and out of place. He was cocky, an outsider, not likely to be seen at the fraternity and sorority parties that dominated weekend social life.

Singer had a part-time campus job at the gym and, at five foot ten, he was one of the very smallest guys on the hoops team. But he had swagger. He was super competitive even during a friendly pickup basketball game. Classmate Grant Scheiner, originally from New York, liked him, but not everyone did.

"I was asking him, 'Why are you this way? If you throw elbows, people aren't going to like you,'" Scheiner recalls. "He says, 'I just want to win.'"

Videos