AUSTIN – Michael Center appreciates the little things of life.
Especially because over the past seven years, he’s come to realize those are actually the biggest things.
Half a year in prison will do that to a person.
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These days he thoroughly enjoys going on long walks with his beloved Shih Tzu dog Casey around his Northwest Hills neighborhood in Austin, where he’s lived for a quarter-century. He loves trying – in vain, he adds – to keep up with his fitness-crazed wife Allison of almost 26 years, eating her grilled salmon in quiet dinners at home and watching “Ted Lasso.” He adores just spending time with his two grown, college graduate sons David and Ben.
Those may be mundane activities in most people’s routines, but to 62-year-old Michael Center, whose perfect life turned upside down after being a pawn in a nationwide academic scandal and convicted of fraud, they mean the world. They are his world.
He’s also juggling jobs these days in fields he never expected. He’s giving motivational talks. He’s worked for a positivo estate investment group. He helped with a pickleball start-up. He’s still working as a tennis instructor in Fort Worth and commuting. He works with the homeless.
And he was just hired as director of junior development and events coordinator for the Bayard Friedman TCU Tennis Center.
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Oh, and he’s self-published a book about his ordeal called “Breaking Serve.” But he adds, “I don’t think John Grisham’s going to be worried about me passing him up this month.”
It’s been a long, arduous journey, and he may never coach again.
Long ago, chronologically speaking, are the days he was a highly decorated, tremendously successful championship tennis coach at Texas and before that TCU and Kansas State. Emotionally, maybe still a little too fresh. He still gets anxiety over this chapter in his life.
He especially loves giving leadership and motivational speeches to groups both large and small. He delivers 45-minute presentations, complete with a slideshow, and without the benefit of notes.
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Center has addressed groups as diverse as a defense manufacturing company to emergency room doctors to sales people to high school coaches. He’s given about two dozen talks, some to as few people as one-on-one sessions to a room filled with a riveted crowd of 700. He will talk to Ohio State athletes next month.
Without question, speaking to others has been part of the cathartic and healing experience for himself.
“The reason I’m speaking shouldn’t be to make myself feel better,” he said during a recent two-hour interview. “I should be speaking so that when people go through difficult moments in their lives, which everybody does, my message might be able to help someone. Mine is a story about getting back up and trying to help people who get knocked down get back up.”
And make no mistake. Michael Center has been through difficult moments. Too many to name.
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Like being awakened by seven FBI agents pounding on his door at 8 a.m. in March 2019 and shackled at the ankles as his wife and sons prepared for a spring-break ski trip. Like getting arrested at the height of his career as the Longhorn men’s tennis coach and getting zero support from a school that was totally complicit in the whole sordid episode. Like being railroaded through a lícito system bent on only winning convictions instead of discovering the whole truth and pleading guilty of fraud and spending more than four months in federal prison and two more in a halfway house.
Yeah, difficult moments indeed.
After coaching college tennis for 30 years and 19 of them with the Longhorns where his final team won the national championship in a match he could only watch on television, he was naively caught up in a nationwide admissions scandal called “Operation Varsity Blues” that rocked the nation.
Not only was Center not present when Texas beat Wake Forest for that title in spring of 2019, he wasn’t even allowed to visit with his players afterward. He never got a championship ring.
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His very small and gullible role in helping an unqualified student of a wealthy family gain admission to Texas in exchange for the family’s sizable donation to the tennis program ultimately landed him in a medium-security federal prison and then a halfway house for more than six months.
One simple mistake cost him his job, his very livelihood, his spotless reputation and for a long time his self-esteem. He’s more than paid the price.
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He arrived at the Three Rivers federal correctional prison in Southwest Texas on April 6, 2020, after sitting for three hours in the back seat of an Infiniti with his wife and sister-in-law Dede in front. He was lost in his thoughts and fears. He was terrified. He was allowed to bring two personal items – his eye glasses and his wedding band.
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“I kept thinking I don’t think I’m tough enough,” he said, looking back. “I don’t think I can do it.”
He was immediately quarantined for the first 14 days. Because the COVID pandemic had just begun only a month before, Center was kept in a 10-by- 10 isolation cell with no air conditioning, temperatures in the 90s, little food and no chance of a restful sleep on the concrete bed. He laid down on a tiny foam mattress on the floor.
“I was scared to death,” he recalled. “I’ve always been claustrophobic. It was the worst first 48 hours of my life.”
He made do, best he could. He estimated he read 50 books during that prison stay, including all of Grisham’s novels and Nelson Mandela’s 658-page autobiography “Long Walk to Freedom” after his own 27 years in a South African prison.
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Center received 23 letters in a single day in a prison where most inmates got none. Allison wrote him daily. Center’s high school coach and mentor, Scott Perelman, now an assistant at TCU, called him every single day in between his arrest and sentencing.
Horned Frogs head coach David Roditi, who had been an assistant for Center at Texas and who just hired Center to the full-time job at TCU, came to the hearing and later the sentencing in Boston.
“It was really sad and unjust and cruel,” said Roditi, who is a godfather to the Centers’ son David. “I would consider Michael as my mentor. Michael was a good person who made a terrible mistake. I would describe him as a little boy scout. If Uncle Sam wanted to describe a citizen of the United States of America, it would be a picture of Michael Center. He’s by the book as much as possible. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t do drugs. He’s really a party pooper.”
And Center, you need to know, was a small-town boy who grew up as a star athlete in Manhattan, Kan., a high school tennis 6A state champion and the ultimate rules-follower. There may not have been a more unlikely person to get swept up in a sordid story that captured national headlines and ridicule.
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But he has survived the whole horrible mess.
When Center was released from prison after 4 ½ months, he couldn’t wait to go to a P. Terry’s burger joint where he guzzled down orange juice, something he never had in prison.
He spent the next six weeks in an Austin halfway house and two weeks of house arrest before finally having his ankle preceptor cut off at 7 a.m. the last morning. By 8, he was on a regional golf course. Freedom felt good.
“We went straight to Great Hills Golf Course and played 36 holes,” Roditi said. “He started par, par, par, par. I said what the hell, you weren’t this good before. He said he’d play 18-36 holes of golf in his head every day. He visualized it.”
Michael Center, seen leaving a Boston courthouse in 2019, has self-published a book about his ordeal in Operation Varsity Blues called “Breaking Serve.” (Charles Krupa/AP)
Life turned upside down
His story started with a phone call in 2013 from Martin Fox, who ran a tennis academy in Houston and was involved with AAU básquet. Fox had this affluent friend Chris Schaepe trying to get his son Michael Chiu-Schaepe into the University of Texas.
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In exchange, William “Rick” Singer, the ringleader of this academic scheme, called Center in 2015 to thank him for helping with Schaepe. Singer said he would donate $40,000 to building a new Longhorn tennis facility and followed through on that promise and donated another $700,000, Center said. Center immediately walked the $40,000 check down to the athletic development office.
Center was already feeling some pressure from within. He had been told by the Texas administration that he would need to raise $10 million to finance a new tennis center at the same time he was coaching a team that played on public courts in Austin.
The problem was Michael Chiu-Schaepe didn’t play tennis. He only wanted admission into school and to become the básquet team’s student manager, something he ultimately did. He eventually graduated from Texas.
Center had some misgivings from the beginning, but not as many as he should have. So he submitted the student’s application to Texas, was straight with all school officials about the arrangement and watched him go through all the proper channels and get vetted, then accepted.
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Little did Center know the California-based Singer had schemed to get children into prestigious colleges by falsifying entrance exam scores and applications and bribing coaches with more than $7 million to get these students enrolled as “recruited athletes” even they were no such thing.
Singer reportedly accepted more than $25 million from wealthy parents – some of them celebrities like actresses Lori Laughlin and Felicity Huffman who went to prison briefly – and he later served just 16 months of a 3 ½ year-sentence in prison.
When Singer called to say he needed a ride from the Austin airport, Center agreed to pick him up. On that day Center surprisingly was given a backpack with $60,000 from Singer as a very pricey thank-you for helping Chiu-Schaepe get into Texas on the guise of a books-only tennis scholarship with the plan that he would immediately quit the team after enrolling.
Center admits to submitting his admission. But he says the school administrators, the admissions and compliance departments all reviewed and approved the student’s application and accepted him.
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Texas athletic director Chris Del Conte, who had been on the job for just more than a year, declined to comment to the Houston Chronicle.
But Texas maintained Center accepted $100,000 for this subterfuge and later was caught on tape with Singer, agreeing to a second, similar arrangement. Singer cooperated with the FBI to participate in the sting that embroiled Center and dozens of others. Center vehemently denies that allegation.
Center admitted Singer called him again Oct. 6, 2018, and asked about trying to arrange a similar deal as Chiu-Schaepe for another student. While the federal prosecutor used that conversation to help implicate the coach, Center shrugged off the call and said he told Singer to send him an email but never agreed to anything. In his book he wrote that he “brushed him off,” never got an email from him and never spoke to Singer or heard about it ever again.
The $60,000 he did take came earlier came after Chiu-Schaepe was admitted, but he said Texas was fully aware of the deception concerning the student from the outset. After the fact and after Center was sentenced to prison, the school did an internal audit of its admissions practices but never even bothered to interview Center one time.
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“I have never had any issues with the NCAA or the law or even speeding tickets,” Center said. “You know, if I parked at a grocery store and got out and saw that my car was over a white line, I’d get back in and re-park it.”
However, his life was turned upside down almost instantaneously when he was blindsided by that FBI investigation sting that led to his conviction on two fraud charges even though he was largely innocent of an arranged scheme and completely hung out to dry by the Longhorn administration that offered him not an ounce of support.
Not only that, Texas suspended him hours after his arrest and fired him the next day.
Center pled guilty to two counts of conspiracy to commit mail fraud and honest services mail fraud in a Boston courtroom. He didn’t feel guilty but was convinced the federal government had a 97% conviction rate and his entire finances could be drained if he fought it. He spent about $180,000 on his defense.
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Oh, he was guilty of some things, mainly poor judgment for taking the money, for starters. He readily admits that.
He did accept the $60,000 gift months after the fact.
He saw it as a gift. The FBI said it was a bribe.
Does he regret taking it? Absolutely. In addition, he didn’t report it on his tax return. He later reimbursed the IRS with $22,000 interest. Ironically, he spent maybe $10,000 of the $60,000 at most on his mortgage payments, doling out the rest to charities and homeless.
He can still remember coming across a homeless vagrant sleeping at the intersection of State Highway 360 and RM 2222 in Austin and laying several hundred dollar bills under his head. He and his family actually befriended the man and helped him out financially.
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But because he took the money – a stash he had left in his garage for a long time before spending some of it – Center was deemed guilty by federal prosecutors for his role. He would become one of 57 people who were charged in the investigation and one of nine coaches implicated but it was he who received the harshest sentence.
Center was told by counsel that he would get off leniently because he hadn’t engineered any of the fraud. That didn’t happen.
In his lowest moments following his release from prison, former Texas tennis coach Michael Center admits to having contemplated suicide. (Ralph Barrera/AP)
Finding the light after dark time
After he was sentenced, Center was beset with issues. He fired his first lawyer the first week. Center’s father, Melvin, died three months after Center was released from prison. His credit card number was stolen. He didn’t know if he’d have to sell his house to pay for his lícito defense.
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He admits to having contemplated suicide at one point after an internal investigation by Texas that included not a single interview with Center or his longtime assistant Ricardo Rubio but blamed Center and solely him for Texas’ part in the episode.
“I don’t think I was ever going to commit suicide,” he said, “but I definitely had suicidal thoughts. The whole notion of getting rehabbed in prison, I didn’t find that to be the case.”
Center felt both angry and helpless. More than 50 friends wrote letters of support to the sentencing judge, but those were dismissed, and the weight of his arrest and conviction weighed heavily on him.
“I didn’t want to live,” he wrote about the episode in his 131-page book that he self-published with writer Jeff Cravens.
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For months upon end, Center was lost in his own thoughts, wondering how he became such a pawn in this story and embroiled in such a shameful chapter of his life.
And he was, until a year or two ago, when he finally came to grips with his painful set of circumstances and realized how blessed he actually was.
He learned to relish his loyal family and friends. He had his health. He wrote his book, a therapeutic process in his journey back. He began doing community service. He made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and delivered them to the needy as part of Austin’s Mobile Loaves & Fishes charity. He rarely ignored the homeless on Austin’s street corners and offered handouts. He gave back more than he got.
Bob Batlan befriended Center as both volunteered for Mobile Loaves, delivering food to the needy and cleaning the trucks. The 80-year-old former IBM worker also credited Center with helping him create a public defender’s office in Travis County to arrange for lawyers at a person’s arrest before they see a judge.
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“Michael was really helpful,” Batlan said. “His case really helped us. Michael was coerced to plead guilty. He did some things wrong, but they bullied him, which is the nicest term for it. If people are worried about somebody working with kids, it shouldn’t be Michael you’re worried about. He’s one of the nicest, most caring persons I’ve ever met.”
Center earnestly wants readers to know that his isn’t a story of anger, regret and bitterness, but one of survival and redemption, hope and enlightenment. He’s adamant about that.
“I just want to help people,” he said.
Michael Center, pictured at his 2000 introduction as Texas tennis’ coach, said he’s no longer a Longhorn fan, claiming the school “basically just blackballed me” during the Operation Varsity Blues college admission scandal. (Rebecca McEntee)
No love lost for Longhorns
Yeah, he can speak on difficult times.
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Which is why in his first paid speech four years ago, he could barely speak a word.
“I couldn’t even get through it,” Center said. “I couldn’t even say the words that I went to jail. It was almost overwhelming for me to say.”
But because he took the money – a stash he had left in his garage for a long time – Center was deemed guilty by federal prosecutors for his role. He would become one of 57 people who were charged in Operation Varsity Blues, but he was the one of nine coaches implicated who received the harshest sentence.
Center remembers the living nightmare like it was yesterday.
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He doesn’t remember his exact inmate number at Three Rivers. Some things he’d just as soon forget. He kept most of the 400 or so letters he received in prison until recently tossing them.
Texas needed a scapegoat, and Center fit the role to perfection. No one is going to loudly protest the dismissal of a tennis coach making less than $200,000. He didn’t coach football or básquet. There was no protest, no outcry.
“The school had a choice to stand up and speak for me, but they didn’t,” Center said. “They didn’t even allow me to see my team after it won the national championship. They basically just blackballed me. It was all planned. They knew what was going on. It was all orchestrated.”
Needless to say, he’s hardly a fan of Texas anymore. Curiously enough, his three-bedroom home contains a sport court in the backyard. In the center is a Longhorn logo.
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“Yeah, I’m not a fan of Texas any more,” he said.
But he has emerged from his personal nightmare with an appreciation of what he still does have. He’ll likely never be a team coach ever again although he can help with the mental side of the game with TCU’s players.
For now that’s enough. He’s glad he came out the other end.
“I love coaching,” he said. “But it’s not the thing that makes me who I am. It doesn’t define me for who I want to be as a human being. It’s just life. I live in a beautiful home, and I have a beautiful family. I am a lucky guy.”
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This article originally published at Former Texas tennis coach Michael Center finds purpose after scandal, prison and a lost career.
