Working your way through college no longer possible

When anyone asked my mother her age, she always said she was “21-plus.” My sister and I heard her say it so many times, we believed it was an actual age — we thought “grown-ups” counted up until they were 21, then stayed at the indeterminate “21-plus” for a lengthy period of time, perhaps until they turned 40.

I am sorry to say that we believed this for a long time, despite excellent public school education and serious kindergarten math skills. When I began teaching, then, I tried the “21-plus” statement with my students, but, alas, high school students are far less gullible than 5-year-olds. For a while I gave my actual age, but then, about 10 years ago, a student pointed out that I was technically middle aged, if I lived the average 75 years or so.

That depressed me enough to consider coming at the question from the opposite end, so now if students ask how old I am, I say, “I’m 105. Don’t I look great for my age?”

This introduction is a long way of getting to the fact that I am 47, which is of absolutely no interest to anyone except in that it makes me part of what I believe to be the last group of people for whom it was possible to work one’s way through college.

I moved to Alaska in 1988 after two years at a small, private college. Midway through my second year there, my parents told me they would not be able to pay for it any longer. I loved the school, and I briefly considered applying for the extensive financial aid that I would need for the remaining two years, but something in me balked at the idea of accruing the student loan debt that would involve.

Seeking inexpensive college (and a place I would never have to suffer through the heat and humidity of an East Coast summer again), I planned to move to Alaska. I got a job at the local mall, worked through the summer and following fall, and moved to Alaska in January of 1988 to attend the University of Alaska Anchorage.

My parents paid for my moving costs, and they pitched in toward my first semester’s expenses. I got a work-study job in the Academic Affairs office, and from then on was able to earn enough money through my job to pay tuition plus room (there was no meal plan at University of Alaska Anchorage at that time; the dorms were apartment-style, and we bought our own groceries).

I worked on the dorm cleaning crew each summer, which included free housing for the summer, and so was able to earn enough for the following semester. The only loan I took out was for my final semester, since I was student-teaching and couldn’t work at the same time.

I graduated in 1991 with only a small amount of debt. Even then, though, I knew that my experience was very different from many other students. I discovered one day in speech class that I was the only student in the class paying my own tuition; everyone else had student loans. I have never regretted my decision. I love Alaska, and my choice to attend a school that I could pay for myself was probably the best decision I ever made.

Long after completing my undergraduate and graduate degrees, I briefly considered earning an advanced degree in educational administration. I took several classes in UAA’s then-new Educational Leadership program. When I enrolled for my third class, I had calculated that I would need about $900 to cover the cost of the class, but when I submitted my registration, the total came to more than $1,300. When I asked about the discrepancy, I was told that for Educational Leadership classes, there was an additional “program fee” that was 50 percent of the tuition, added to the tuition.

My jaw dropped open, and I requested a meeting with the Dean of the School of Education. “That’s the cost of running the program,” he shrugged, unconcerned in the face of my outrage. I paid the fees for one course, and I asked my classmates about it. None of them even knew about the fee; once again, I was the only student in the class who was paying her own tuition. That was the last class I took in that program.

Many of the students from Colony High School and other high schools in the district who graduated last May enrolled at UAA this fall. According to the UAA Office of Student Financial Assistance, an Alaska resident attending UAA fulltime and living on campus should budget just more than $20,000 for a year’s expenses. That same student, working 40 hours per week at a minimum wage job can expect to earn just under $10,000 during the school year, not quite half of what they would need — and for many students, a 40-hour work week plus full-time school is not possible. What are their options? Student or other loans, or part-time attendance, so they can work more and pay for the classes they can afford.

I don’t mean to sound anti-UAA. I graduated from UAA, and I believe it to be a good university that serves its students and community well with a wide variety of top-notch programs. I used it as an example, though, because it’s essentially the lowest-cost post-secondary options for our students. I love the opportunity I have as a high school librarian to see our seniors working hard looking for the right college for them and then applying; I often provide application and essay-writing assistance to students as they seek admission, scholarships, and other forms of aid. I hate to think of the crushing debt that many of them will incur as they pursue their educations.

In “The Myth of the Four-Year College Degree,” an article for Time written last year, Victor Luckerson cites the US Department of Education statistic that not even half of students entering college each year will graduate in four years. Luckerson also points out that many students must delay graduation because they have to take time off to earn additional money to pay for their classes.

In December 2013, The Institute for College Access and Success reported that students who graduated college in 2012 did so with an average debt of more than $29,000, and that Alaska ranked 11th highest among the states for debt, with an average debt-per-student of $28,782 (although we ranked 46th in our percentage of students with debt, at just 49 percent).

It seems to me that something has gone radically wrong with our world if our students can no longer support themselves through school. I wish I had an answer for students and parents as they face this next step for their students finishing high school; sadly, I don’t. I can recommend Zac Bissonette’s 2010 book, “Debt-Free U: How I Paid for an Outstanding College Education Without Loans, Scholarships, or Mooching Off My Parents.” Bissonnette makes some interesting arguments and provides some excellent advice for reducing or eliminating college debt for students.

One thing I have most definitely learned in nearly 21 years of teaching: the vast majority of our seniors are bright, hard-working, and well-prepared for the challenges they face, and I have no trouble feeling confident in their ability to navigate the path to their future, doubtless showing all of us answers to questions we didn’t even know we had.

Prudence Plunkett has been helping Valley students find good books and get into college since 1993