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FEBRUARY 2019
You probably donât think you need to hear this. I wouldnât have guessed I did. But hereâs the thing: when special agents from the Internal Revenue Service and Federal Bureau of Investigation knock on your door at 7 a.m. and flash their badges and ask whether they can come in, your answer should be no. Tell them youâre happy to reschedule when you have a lawyer by your side.
Maybe that knock will come, as it did for me, after you have just finished changing your daughterâs diaper, and the remnants of your kidsâ breakfastsâyogurt and smashed berriesâare all over your Red Sox T-shirt and pajama pants. Maybe you and your wife will be in the middle of snapping onesies and tying shoes and packing backpacks so you can get to daycare drop-off before you both rush off to work. Youâre going to be puzzled by the agentsâ appearance on your front step and probably a little nervousâI know I wasâand your instinct will be to say, âSure, of course, come in.â
You may even offer them coffee and help with their chairs as they settle in at your kitchen table. Then youâll join them and fold your hands in front of you and look at them openly, ready to help. Youâll think you are doing the right thingâafter all, you have nothing to hideâbut you will be making a colossal mistake.
Only innocent people let them in, my lawyer would tell me later. Criminals know not to do that.
But there they were, sitting across from each other: two federal agents, both female, both around thirty years old, both in gray pantsuitsâall business. The IRS agent, who had introduced herself as Elizabeth Keating, had placed a blank yellow legal pad and a pen in front of her. The other woman, from the FBI, whose name I did not catch, had pulled a stapled packet of papers out of a portfolio. From where I was sitting at the end of the oval table, I could make out a few words on the top page. I saw my name. I saw âStanford University.â
âSo, we just want to confirm a few things with you,â the FBI agent said. âYou are John Vandemoer.â
I heard Boston in her pronunciation. Vanda-moah.
âYou are the head sailing coach at Stanford.â
âYes,â I said.
âBeautiful school. Must be nice living here right on campus?â
âIt is. Yes. Itâs great.â
My wife, Molly, and I had moved to this development of spacious, two-story houses built by Stanford for its coaching staff seven years before. Weâd brought each of our two children home from Stanfordâs Childrenâs Hospital after theyâd been born, and now they were enrolled in a terrific on-campus daycare center a few blocks from our house. Our fellow coaches were our neighbors and friends. We went to each otherâs competitions, cheered each otherâs successes, and celebrated holidays and birthdays together. Molly and I loved the community and life weâd built here.
âNow, part of your job, Mr. Vandemoer is recruiting athletes for the sailing team. Is that correct?â
âThatâs right.â
âWould you walk us through that a little? How recruiting works at Stanford?â
I started in on the basicsâthat academics were the primary consideration, that there were no scholarships in college sailing, and that my sport wasnât part of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), so I wasnât under those constraints. I told them that Stanford admissions allotted me six or seven slots for recruited sailors each year, provided those students met the schoolâs stringent academic standards. Agent Keating took notes while I spoke.
The FBI agent asked me about application timelines and test scores and GPAs, often referring to the paper in front of her as if she were reading from a script. They were the kinds of questions Iâd answered happily hundreds of times at college nights and high school regattas during my eleven years at Stanford and before that, as head coach at the US Naval Academy in Maryland. Recruiting was one of my favorite parts of the job. I knew a lot of coaches who dreaded it, but I liked interacting with young athletes, learning what their strengths were, and figuring out where they might fit on the team. What I didnât enjoy was having to tell kids no. But I prided myself on being honest if I didnât see a spot for them. I never wanted to give anyone false hope.
âAnd when you find a student you want, what do you?â she asked, turning to the next page in her packet.
âI take their academic information to the admissions office. Theyâre only looking at grades and test scores at that point, just the feasibility of them getting in.â
âAnd this happens when?â
âJuly and August, mostly. I do it then because the Ivies canât offer kids anything until September 1st. I try to, you know, beat them to the punch.â
âMakes sense,â she said, giving me a fleeting smile.
I smiled back. Agent Keating didnât look up.
âAnd if they have the appropriate grades and scores, what happens then?â
âThen admissions might give me a pink envelope to send to them,â I said.
âPink envelope?â
âPink envelopes are what Stanford calls early application packets that are just for recruited athletes.â
I told them that Stanford usually offered me about a dozen pink envelopes for potential recruits. Receiving that application didnât guarantee the school would accept the kids, and it wasnât a promise that Iâd ultimately use one of my admissions slots on them. It just meant they were over the first hurdle in the recruiting process. Sometimes, the high school students who received the pink envelopes decided not to apply to Stanford. But if they did fill out the application, those bright pink envelopes went into a special pile and got an early read from admissions officers.
âAnd this gives them a leg up on regular applicants?â
âTo a certain extent, yes, because theyâve already been vetted. Admissions wouldnât offer a pink envelope to them unless they had a very good shot at getting in.â
âAnd do you know how many of your recruits get in?â
âMy acceptance rate is about 80 percent,â I said.
âAnd the usual Stanford acceptance rate?â
âItâs less than 5 percent.â
She looked up at me, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. âOkay. So, your support does help a great deal.â
I detected a hint of disapproval in her voice. I shifted in my seat. Upstairs, I could hear Nicholas repeatedly asking Molly who Daddy was talking to. Nora had started to cry. I felt terrible that Molly had to deal with the kids by herself. I glanced at my watch. It was almost 8 a.m. We both had to get to work.
âCan you tell me what this is about?â I asked.
I knew a big NCAA basketball scandal had blown up recently; recruiting rules had been violated, coaches had been fired, shoe company executives had been caught bribing athletes. It had been all over the national news. I thought they might be gathering background information for that case, getting the lay of the recruiting land, something like that.
âJust a few more questions,â Agent Keating said, glancing up at me.
The FBI agent turned to another page. I spotted a familiar name. Rick Singer.
âNow, Mr. Vandemoer, I want to ask you about some donations to the sailing program,â she said. âDo you remember a man by the name of Rick Singer?â
âYes.â
âAnd he is?â
âHeâs a college placement counselor Iâve worked with.â
âAnd he donated to your team, did he not?â
âYes, he did.â
She asked how I met Rick Singer and how often I spoke to him. I did my best to summarize our handful of encounters since heâd first called me in 2016.
âSo, whatâs this about?â I asked again. âIs he in some kind of trouble?â
âHe might have done some bad stuff, yeah. Weâre just following up.â
Molly and the kids came down the stairs. The two agents stayed seated while they introduced themselves. Molly said hello and then looked at me with raised eyebrows. I gave her a look to say, No idea.
âIâm going to take the kids now,â Molly said. She had Nora in her arms and a diaper bag on her shoulder. I asked to be excused so I could help her load the stroller for the ten-minute walk to the Stanford daycare center.
âWhatâs going on?â Molly asked when we got outside.
âI donât know.â I bent down to buckle Nicholas in. âTheyâre asking questions about that big donor, Rick Singer. I think maybe heâs in trouble. Iâll call you when they leave.â
âBeautiful family,â both women said when I sat back down at the table.
âSo, we were talking about donations,â the FBI agent said. âWould that be a factor in your decision to recruit if the family had the means to donate?â
âIn my decision to recruit?â I said. âNo, I mean, families do donate. We welcome donations, but that wouldnâtââ
âWould you take money for recruits?â
âDonations?â
âHow much money would you take?â
âIâm not sure what youâre asking me. How much families donate?â
âWhat about Rick Singer? What was your arrangement with him?â
âNo arrangement, really. He brought me a couple of possible recruits, but they didnât pan out.â
âYou had a financial arrangement with him.â
âHe made some donations to the team. His clients wanted to donate, and then heââ
âBut you h...