Admitted!

It was late August, 1976. Every year after all the kids returned home from summer camp or wherever we'd been all summer, my family would take a short road trip vacation. My older brother was going to be a senior in high school, so this year it was time to visit colleges. Our vacation consisted of visits to several colleges in New England: schools like Amherst and Wesleyan. They seemed so tiny. And somewhere in there, we visited Yale. By the time our tour guide got us to Ezra Stiles College, I was sold. "This is where I want to go to college." Was it Saarinen's building? It was the coolest dorm I'd seen, for sure. Whatever the reason, from that moment on I had one central purpose to my high school years and that was to get in to Yale.

In hindsight, I can say that was a profoundly awful purpose; one that I don't recommend for anyone today.

My brother was not admitted to Yale. Nor Amherst. Nor Wesleyan.
He "settled" for Cornell, my mother's alma mater.
In 2019, this seems almost ridiculous to say, "settled for Cornell." But in 1977, that's what it felt like. At least, that's what it felt like to me.

My mother, not wanting a repeat of disappointment for child #2, started making phone calls. Maybe my brother hadn't played the college game well enough. I intended to play, and I intended to win.

I needed more extra curricular activities, so said the parents of a friend who got in to Princeton. The more far afield from my core studies in math and science the better. I took a leading role in our model UN, and I got a varsity letter in a sport that I never actually played.

Mom placed a call to Robert Redpath, the chairman of the Alumni Schools Committee for Central New Jersey, asking for advice. "Can you send him to Andover?," Mr. Redpath asked earnestly. That was pretty funny to my mother. "Can you at least send him to summer school at Andover?" That, we could do. I spent the summer of 1978 in Andover, Massachusetts, taking a pair of (really good) English courses. I read books like If Beale Street Could Talk and We, went to Red Sox games, and played pool with kids from across the country and world who -- like me -- were trying to stake their claim to a place at an elite college. We were all playing the game.

I took the PSAT in 10th grade, and my verbal score was 56. I wasn't getting in to Yale with a 56. So I took an SAT study course at Newark Academy, a private school conveniently located in Livingston. When I took the SAT shortly thereafter, I got a much friendlier-to-Yale verbal score of 670.

I was captain of the chess team. Who knew we had a chess team? I sucked at chess. I just sucked a little less than everyone else. I came in 3rd place in a poorly attended County tournament because my opponent in the opening match threw a temper tantrum after making a mistake. So I was the captain and a champion, too! (I never touched a chess board at Yale. Not even once.)

I applied to Yale early and full of confidence and... was deferred.

Mom promptly called Worth David, the Dean of Yale Admissions, though not to complain. Mom's smart like that. She asked what I needed to improve on my application. Mr. David, far from dismissing my mother's call, politely got out my application and replied that I needed a better essay, one that was less about whatever my so-called accomplishments were, and more about something I was passionate about.

I wrote the better essay. In my mind, I was shamelessly exploiting the recent deaths of two people to get that winning essay. That it was "good," that I knew it was "good," seemed less important. Mom tearfully typed it up (at least Yale accepted typed essays; Brown did not).

It was a very big deal when that letter came: "Admitted!" But I have no illusions: In 1980, 20% of Yale applicants were admitted. Today, it's closer to 6%. A deferred student 40 years ago is likely a rejected student now.

My one purpose, my only purpose, was to get in to Yale. Once admitted, I might was well have been Robert Redford in "The Candidate" after winning the election: "What do I do now?" To that question, I had no answer at all.
Writing as someone who fancied himself as having played -- and won -- the game, I can say this: it's a dumb game to play.

Yesterday it was revealed that several very wealthy people conspired with a few willing-to-be-bribed proctors, college coaches, and a few others to bypass the game altogether. One parent bought their daughter a spot at Yale for $1,200,000, by way of the Women's Soccer Coach. The daughter does not play soccer at a level necessary to compete for a spot on the Yale soccer team; apparently she does not play soccer at all.

Spots were allegedly purchased for the scions at Yale, USC, UCLA, Wake Forest, Stanford, Georgetown, and the University of Texas.

I'm furious at the behavior of these spoiled idiots, and only somewhat less so by the inert initial response by Yale President Peter Salovey; my gmail filter threw it in my spam box. Salovey wrote that "Yale has been the victim of a crime" with all the convincing passion of Renault declaring himself to be "shocked -- shocked!!!" to find that gambling is going on.
To anyone playing the game: Is a Yale admission really worth $1.2 million to you? If your answer is "yes," why? What lessons does that teach your child? What happens when the child attempts to answer the question, "what do I do now?" What happens when the child realizes that she's not going to make it at Yale, and that mommy can't buy her academic success in college nor the respect of her peers?

Sure, had it not been for being caught, you might have gotten away with it. Your daughter might even have received the diploma: it's not that hard to avoid flunking Yale. I managed it, after all. Still: Was it worth it? Was it worth the risk of getting her an expulsion -- by far the likeliest immediate outcome for the students admitted under false pretenses?

When I played the game, I had significant advantages: I attended a premier public school in a safe, affluent town. My parents could afford to send me to Andover Summer School. I didn't need to work at the grocery store, and had time for many extracurriculars. I was able to take an SAT review course. I also had a parent willing to do some serious advocacy on my behalf.

I've considered the question as to whether even this -- which involved no cheating at all -- was "worth it," and as much as I cherish my Yale degree, my instinct today would be to say that I might have been better served trying to figure out who I wanted to be, rather than where I wanted to be.

Whether or not Yale is a victim in this case, I'd say that -- at least in isolation -- getting in to the college of choice is not a purpose worth the extreme pursuit. Yale, and the other colleges ensnared in this scandal, have allowed the perception that college admission is the goal. It's a perception that has expanded far beyond my experiences when I was an applicant. I don't have the answers, not beyond obvious administrative steps such as forcing oversight of all admissions recommendations by the coaches. But I know the game needs to change.