Harvard University - Conning Harvard: Adam Wheeler, the con artist who faked his way into the Ivy League

In the fall of 2009, life seemed to be going great for Harvard senior Adam Wheeler. His friends knew him as a lanky 21-year-old with muscles that showed his near-obsessive hours at the gym, a tall frame that made heads turn, and penetratingly blue eyes that drew women to him at parties. He was respected among his classmates as an academic all-star, working diligently for five or even six classes at a time on a campus where the norm was four. He had won awed recognition from his peers for the rare feat of winning Harvards top writing prize as a junior.

Though quiet, he was part of a large circle of friends who threw parties and played video games in their spacious suite. He had a steady girlfriend, an attractive Wellesley undergrad whom he had met the previous spring. He could frequently be found tossing a Frisbee across the courtyard of his dorm, Kirkland House.

To all appearances, Wheeler was in an enviable position. He was not only respected and well-liked among his peers, but also in a spot that students around the world pine for. He was a Harvard student, part of the minuscule percentage of applicants accepted each year. And in that rarified world of Harvard, Wheeler had essentially reached his peak. As his senior year started, he was on top of his game.

But one fall day in 2009, Wheeler was not playing Frisbee in Kirkland courtyard. Rather, he was indoors, sitting formally in an office, and the flawless identity he had built was about to come crashing down.

He did not know why the dean of Kirkland House had called him into his office, but a summons from the resident dean typically was not a good omen.

It was about his applications for the Rhodes and Fulbright scholarships, Dean Smith said. These were two of the most prestigious awards a graduating senior could win. Based on the strength of his application materials, Wheeler had a good shot at getting Harvards recommendation for one or both of them.

But what Dean David Smith said now was not, Congratulations. Instead, it was, You plagiarized your essay.

Wheeler froze. I must have made a mistake, he said. I didnt really plagiarize it.

Smith picked up two items and offered them to Wheeler. One was a copy of the essay Wheeler knew he had recently submitted to the judging committees, and the other was a crimson-colored book.

Smith had opened the book to a certain page. Centered at the top in capital letters, it said, By STEPHEN GREENBLATT. Wheeler knew the name: Greenblatt was his English professor from sophomore year, not to mention one of the worlds most famous Shakespeare experts. Then he glanced at the other piece of paper, his own essay.

The text is almost identical, Smith pointed out.

He started telling Wheeler about what would come next: a meeting with another dean. A hearing before the colleges disciplinary board. Intimidating procedures. He was invited.