College costs can be daunting. These families found ways to pay
By Angie C. Marek and Nisha Ramachandran
Haven't been able to squirrel away one dime for college? You're not alone. In the stories that follow, you'll see how students and parents have tried the usual (scholarships, loans, and work-study jobs) and the not so usual (bartering, getting an employee discount, even prepaying years in advance) to crack that tuition bill.
Highest bid Most weekends Debra Butler, 48, heads out to estate sales and auctions in her hometown of Vancouver, Wash., on the prowl for pottery, cast-iron figurines, and other knickknacks to sell on eBay. She first turned to eBay years ago in search of vintage kitchenware. But with college tuition bills for her high-school-age son looming, Butler made the switch from buyer to seller in 2001 hoping to raise extra cash. "All proceeds from this auction will go towards my son's college education fund," she notes on each eBay invoice. During the week, Butler works as a machine operator at a semiconductor factory, while her husband is employed at a packaging factory. But like many middle-income families, the Butlers find money is tight. And they found it nearly impossible to come up with the $10,000 the federal government estimated they should be able to pay annually for Dustin's education.
Tuition and fees at Washington State University in Pullman, Wash., where Dustin, now 20 and a junior, studies business and management information systems, come to $5,628 a year. And there was only one way the Butlers could swing that, the rent on Dustin's off-campus apartment, textbooks, and other ex- penses: loans. So the $400 to $500 a month that Butler earns on eBay helps whittle down the $33,000 that she and her husband have borrowed under a government-backed loan program. Dustin, too, has student loans and works part time during the summer.
"It sounds overwhelming," she says. "But you have to take it month by month and break it down."
The early bird When Dee Calhoun-Rush began paying college tuition for her three sons, they were just 4, 6, and 9 years old. Yep, that's right. Calhoun-Rush, then a human resources coordinator for the Florida Board of Regents in Tallahassee making $33,000 a year, started sending $128 each month to the Florida Prepaid College Plan in 1988. In total, she paid roughly $4,500 for four years' tuition for her oldest son, Calvin, and $5,000 and $6,000 for sons Konata and Dakarai, respectively. It was a smart move for the divorcee: Four years of tuition at Florida A&M University, where Calvin, 25, is an alumnus and Konata, 22, and Dakarai, 20, are students, today clocks in at $11,156. "I sweated and worked my way through college, and I wanted to give my sons a better way," says Calhoun-Rush, 53, now a program administrator for the Florida Legislature who is remarried.
But life, of course, has its own set of twists and turns. In 1997, Calvin, a high school valedictorian, nabbed a free ride to A&M. The prepaid money became Calvin's safety net: "If his grades dipped and he lost the scholarship, I could still pay for his college education," says Calhoun-Rush. But Calvin opted to pursue a six-year pharmacy degree, tapping the prepaid pot to pay his last two years of tuition. Still, the account had $2,500 to spare--which the plan refunded. Dakarai, a junior, was awarded an athletic scholarship, and his prepaid reserve pays for summer courses and, eventually, graduate school. Konata, a senior majoring in elementary education, however, is using his tuition money.
