Three college lifestyles: Commuter, campus, community

• The job prospects for new graduates is mixed. Survey results indicated last fall that campus hiring would be up 16 percent for the Class of 2008; revised figures have lowered that to 8 percent.

Three very different colleges within a few miles of each other in Clemson, S.C., offer a glimpse into the changes students are facing as the economic downturn hits campuses.

At the giant public university in Clemson, officials are bracing for likely state budget cuts.

They hope fundraising can help make up any gap, so that students won't feel the brunt.

At the community college and at the small Christian college just outside town, commuting students are having to work extra hours to cover the rising cost of gas.

The economy on campus is a complicated story, best told from the point of view of some people in the midst of the forces at work.

Off-campus

On a break between classes, Hannah Bolt tries to get some work done in a campus coffee shop at Southern Wesleyan University, a small Christian college in the town of Central, a few minutes from Clemson.

Every minute is precious. She comes to campus four days a week and often works the other three at a department store. Her parents have pushed her to pick a steady career, so she is studying to become a special-education teacher. Dad was a commercial fisherman and is battling health problems. Mom is a seamstress in the struggling textile industry.

There's no such thing as a typical student, here or anywhere else. But like an estimated 57 percent students nationwide, Bolt has a job. She's also a commuter, as are the approximately 4 in 5 American college students who don't live on campus.

That's why to college students, the price of gasoline is an education issue. It used to cost Bolt $20 to fill up her Volkswagen Beetle once a week for the 26-mile trip from her home in Westminster to campus. Now it's $37 to $40.

Given her family's financial pinch, you might wonder what Bolt is doing at a private college like Wesleyan.

But financially, the hit isn't too bad. Wesleyan tuition and fees run about $17,000 per year, but about 90 percent of students get aid. With a state scholarship and $7,000 from Wesleyan, Bolt has had to borrow only $3,000 -- and that should be paid off by a state teacher training program.

Chad Peters, the admissions director, acknowledges private colleges like Wesleyan -- with an endowment of just $3 million -- can't always compete head-to-head with state schools on price.

But Wesleyan is holding its own. It's looking to enroll 300 freshmen next fall, the biggest number in years.

Walking around campus, Bolt says she sees few signs that her fellow students have felt the latest economic downturn personally. But she does see signs of it at the department store where she works.

"A lot people use credit cards," she says. "When I first started, there were a lot of checks. Now it's more often when they give you a debit card, you know they're going to choose credit."

Campus cocoon

At Clemson University, campus consumerism is running full throttle.

The Chili's restaurant in the student union does a brisk weekday lunch business. Ridership on the campus bus is up with gas prices, but overall more students than ever have their own cars.

Just off campus are new condominium developments, built for rich alumni returning for football weekends but getting snapped up by students, too.

Marvin Carmichael has worked in financial aid since 1973 and now heads the office. Times have changed.

As a student here, Carmichael worked his way through school mowing lawns and tending bar. Going out to a nice dinner was something to celebrate graduation, not the end of the week.

Clemson does have its share of struggling students. Of about 12,500 undergraduates, about 1,950 receive federal Pell Grants, meaning they likely come from families earning less than about $40,000 a year. One student came to Carmichael complaining about a $35 late fee, saying that was his food for a week.

But Carmichael, and many students here, say they think most students are relatively sheltered economically. He's glad for them, but he does worry about two of the reasons that may explain why.

The first is that the student spending splurge is paid with borrowed money -- particularly from private lenders, as opposed to the government. Nationally, the College Board reports nonfederal loans account for 24 percent of total student aid, surging from 6 percent just a decade ago.

Here at Clemson, the change is even more alarming. Just five years ago, about 700 students had private loans, totaling $4.2 million, Carmichael says. Last year there were nearly 2,400 who had borrowed a collective $17.5 million.

"Those figures are going to go up," Carmichael says. "It's scary." Some are borrowing money out of genuine need to cover rising tuition. But many, he worries, are simply doing it to maintain their campus lifestyle.

Carmichael is frustrated by new regulations designed to ensure students have a range of loan choices but which prevent administrators like him from negotiating good deals for students and protecting them from bad ones. Just as easy credit has gotten a wave of homeowners in over their heads, Carmichael worries students will be the next group to take a hit.

Small college first

A few miles down Route 76, Tiandra Best, 19, is heading to class at Tri-County Technical College. Next year, she hopes to be up the road at Clemson, where she attended summer science programs and has dreamed of being a student since she was a kid.

"We've been struggling and struggling and struggling for many years," Best said of herself and her mother, who raised her alone. "I know if I go to Clemson and come out I'll be able to support both of us."

At the moment, there isn't quite room for her. Merit-aid programs like the LIFE scholarships are helping fuel demand for slots, and Clemson is determined not to expand its student body. This year, a record 15,104 students have applied for admission. For the first time, it's likely fewer than half will get in.

Best, though, is one of about 250 who just missed direct admission for this fall but have another shot through a bridge program at Tri-County Technical College. They'll spend the year in classes here but build up connections at Clemson, and if all goes well, transfer in as sophomores.

It's not a bad deal. Full-time tuition for a year here runs about $2,800. At Clemson it's $10,370.

For a range of reasons, from the increased competition for slots in four-year colleges to their surging costs, a growing number of students are starting their four-year degrees at community colleges. Nationally, about half of 1999-2000 baccalaureate recipients spent time at a community college. If the economy gets really tight, those numbers could go up further.

Places like Tri-County, which are still trying to retrain a steady stream of older workers, could be asked to do even more of higher education's heavy lifting. The average student age here is now around 25 and falling as more and more students come straight from high school.

Asked if she's noticed the pinch, Best says at the grocery store where she works, "the prices have gone up." This summer, she'll be working two jobs, as will her mother, and she'll still need to take out a loan.

"Hopefully when I come out of college I'll be making enough so it won't be a burden," she said. "I'll take a loan out for me and my mom so it doesn't have to be a burden, so she won't have to stress."

"I just have a lot of determination," she said. "I just know where I want to be. I've planned out every single goal."