By Nick Fouriezos for Open Campus via The Daily Yonder.
Broadcast version by Nadia Ramlagan for West Virginia News Service Service for the Public News Service/Daily Yonder Collaboration

A black-and-white film plays beside Mountaineer sports pennants at "The New Place," the area's last remaining bar, now two decades old. It's 8 p.m. on a weekday, and it's just me and two other souls.

"I love West Virginia University," one says, "but they wrecked the city of Montgomery."

In 2017, WVU relocated West Virginia Tech from its home of 120 years, citing low enrollment - around half its peak of about 3,000 students - and high costs while moving from Montgomery to Beckley, a bigger city an hour up the valley.

The decision risks making the former college town of Montgomery into a ghost town. More than five years later, it still inspires emotional reactions from residents, even in a state and region well familiar with resource extraction.

Life without the local college is a reality that more rural areas are having to contend with (even if the closure of a public university is still exceedingly rare). Since 2016, more than 90 public or private nonprofit colleges have closed or been marked for closure, according to Higher Ed Dive's tracker.

"In West Virginia, we're robbing from the poor towns and putting wealth into richer towns," Montgomery Mayor Greg Ingram says.

In the Appalachian state, it's clear that the state's flagship university isn't the sole culprit for the challenges facing Montgomery and the surrounding region.

On the surface, the valley has all the trappings of a prime tourist destination: a sparkling river, a gorgeous waterfall, and hills of houses that paint the white West Virginia snow in pastel pinks, blues, yellows. However, the drive down Highway 60 is a drive that deceives.

That sparkling river? It's the Kanawha River, the toxic recipient of two centuries of coal mining (and, in 2015, a train's worth of spilled crude oil that literally set it on fire). And those pastel houses? Many sit empty, ravaged by the same factors (drugs, poverty, aging) that contribute to West Virginia being one of the nation's leading states for population loss.

Montgomery and its neighbors will have to grapple with those obstacles as they try to transition to rebuild its economy around tourism, although "that's nowhere near the same size as what our college was," Ingram, the mayor, reflects.

West Virginia Tech, and its once top-10 engineer program, had been one of the area's proudest assets - the rare case that imported new people and ideas, rather than exporting them out for others to enjoy.

But then WVU bought the campus in 1995. Ever since, residents here feel, the flagship university has worked to move it out, before finally getting approval to do so in 2015.

"WVU swings a big political club in West Virginia," Ingram says, singling out Gordon Gee, its president, who has also been known for aggressive expansion at other flagships, including Ohio State University and the University of Colorado-Boulder.

Rural communities and their universities are facing special difficulties as pandemic aid dwindles, and enrollment remains down. It's feeding distrust of larger state universities, many of which have grown larger by acquiring rural outposts that end up being the first cut once leaner times hit.

"They just wanted it out of here: It's all political," Ingram says, lamenting the loss of the Kroger, the car dealership, more than 100 well-paid university professionals, and, of course, the students who rented hundreds of rooms throughout the region.

"People should just come and look at the desolation they left. It would be a good education for the whole country, really: Don't move a college."

I went to Montgomery, and saw the aftermath of WVU's decision, which I will explore in more depth in a future issue. In this newsletter though, I want to reflect on the frustrations rural communities feel toward state flagships - "the big university," as many say, and not just in West Virginia, but across these divided states of America.

"This was the lifeblood of this town: It's what the area is known for," Ingram says. "Morgantown is known for WVU - well, pull WVU out of there, and see what Morgantown is left with."

'A Tyranny of Distance'

The frustrations bubbling up in West Virginia are playing out across the country.

Lori Gilcrist, an education advocate in western North Carolina, has no problem with university students coming to rural areas and giving their time and effort.

However, she sees some university efforts to recruit rural students as uninformed by local realities - and programs that promise to "help," such as efforts to boost FAFSA completion, are often gone as quick as the grant cycle.

Often, researchers come in but aren't there to fix problems at the local level. Instead, they want to get enough of a rural sample size to suggest a national or statewide fix that doesn't account for variations in rurality.

As a result, many rural residents feel like big universities like UNC-Chapel Hill only nod to their needs while offering overly prescriptive solutions - an approach that creates and exacerbates long-simmering tensions.

That's particularly evident in North Carolina, where gaps exist between the state's rural areas and its Research Triangle, home to Chapel Hill and Duke University, among others.

The attitude is "I'm from Raleigh, and I'm here to help you," as Misti Silver, a program chair at local Mayland Community College, put it. As far as asking what they needed? The concept makes both Silver and Gilcrist chuckle. "Oh, absolutely not." "Lord no!"

Gilcrist is a white woman who was born in Mississippi, grew up in Alabama, and has lived in Appalachian North Carolina the last two decades.

Yet when she finds herself attending UNC rural-focused events in the Research Triangle, she often finds herself sitting in the back with rural Black folks from the eastern part of North Carolina. "There's no other people from the west there and I have more in common with those women," Gilcrist says.

During one such event at UNC-Chapel Hill, a rural resident noted that the less rural central and southern parts of the state already had access to NC Rural services, while the rural east and rural west did not.

When folks asked why, a staffer said those areas didn't have the money to pay for those UNC-affiliated programs in the unserved parts of the state, as Gilcrist says: "The problem is, we don't have the money to afford this because the funding streams systematically underfund rural programs like ours."

That feeling is also acute in Wyoming, where the flagship university in Laramie can be as much as an eight-hour drive from some rural communities.

"We face a tyranny of distance: I have never been in a rural environment that is so disconnected," says Scott Thomas, dean of the College of Education, as he takes a Zoom meeting with me from his parked car.

Thomas is well aware that such distances can foster distrust, especially if a flagship swoops in purporting to have all the answers. "There is a great deal of suspicion of higher education learning: We're like the Berkeley of Wyoming," he says.

That's why Thomas, a sociologist at heart, has focused on a new model for rural personalization while crafting an asynchronous, mostly online Master Educator Competency Program to start addressing some of the state's overall teacher retention challenges.

"We don't say 'This is your curriculum.' We say, "What do you need in your place?" he says, a process that led the university to realize that educators were less interested in hot-button issues, like civic education, and more curious about how to really create more student-centered environments at their schools.

The competency program, currently being piloted in seven districts, will also allow communities to shape a portion of the curriculum to fit their specific circumstances and needs. "We're listening a lot more, and making it accessible to everyone in the state, rather than expecting them to traverse to some site distant from where they are."

In the end, he hopes that level of community outreach, engagement, and ongoing input will become a model for professional development that can be adopted elsewhere.

"It's bringing the University of Wyoming to Wyoming. And that's different from, 'Hi, we're here from the university, and we're here to help.'"

Nick Fouriezos wrote this article for The Daily Yonder.


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A new Gallup and Lumina Foundation poll unveils a concerning reality: Hoosiers may lack clarity about the true cost of higher education.

The survey reveals merely 23% of U.S. adults without college degrees could estimate the annual net cost of a bachelor's degree from a public college within $5,000 of the actual expense. The repercussions of the financial fog can be overwhelming for students.

Gabriela Espinoza, a 27-year-old nursing student at IUPUI in Indianapolis, said looming debt from school casts a shadow over her future.

"I'm trying to figure out what my debt is going to look like and how long it's going to take me to pay off," Espinoza explained. "I'm luckily in a position right now where I live at home with mom, and she's been helping me out. You know, eventually, I'd like to think about moving out and moving on my own."

Among those polled, 75% believe a bachelor's degree is "extremely" or "very" valuable. However, cost is a major deterrent for many who wish to get a degree. Experts say higher education leaders need to bring clarity to the true cost of college to reduce confusion and provide a pathway for the millions of Americans who have considered college but have not yet enrolled.

For those participating in the poll, 31% have considered stopping coursework within the last three months due to the cost of attending college.

Parker Madison, another nursing student at IUPUI, said the expense is a major concern.

"If you get your college education, you still may be making the same amount as someone without a degree," Madison pointed out. "I feel like sometimes the college education's not even worth it."

More than half, about 56%, of unenrolled adults said cost is a very important reason they are not pursuing a post-high school education. Debt is also a factor for students who stopped out of college, with 35% of students saying loans prevented them from returning to finishing their degree.


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Educators and public school advocates are pushing back on a measure which would consolidate state-funded services that have been an important part of schools in rural Iowa for generations. Some state lawmakers said the funding could be used more efficiently.

Area Education Agencies have been the go-to place for educators in rural Iowa when they need state services at the local level, in all 99 Iowa counties. House Bill 2612 would consolidate the agencies, outsource some of their services and give the state oversight of them.

Mike Owen, deputy director of the group Common Good Iowa, said the agencies have been critical resources for generations.

"The Area Education Agencies have been a very valuable regional system that helps school districts, large and small, with various services that they can't really do on their own," Owen explained. "From special education to media services, to professional development of teachers."

Gov. Kim Reynolds, who signed the measure, said it will provide a more efficient way to spend the state's education dollars. It is scheduled to take effect July 1.

The battle over public school funding has been playing out on a variety of fronts in Iowa, which enjoys a reputation for some of the best-quality public education in the nation. The state recently enacted a private school voucher program, paid for with state dollars.

Owen sees consolidating the Area Education Agencies and outsourcing some of the services they provide as another step in the wrong direction for Iowa's K-12 classrooms.

"It's total disrespect to locally elected decision-makers for schools," Owen contended. "One more example of how education, unfortunately, is being used to pit people against one another, when it is really a unifying value for Iowans."

There are nine Area Education Agencies in Iowa. The State Department of Education will assume oversight of all of them.


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The solar eclipse has sparked more interest in science and technology, especially among young people.

But the saying, 'You can't be what you don't see,' is a reality for youth of color considering a Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math career.

A 2024 Black Girls and STEM Report indicates this demographic aspires to become astronauts, engineers and more -- but a lack of Black representation can dampen their enthusiasm.

Crystal Morton is the founder and director of the Girls STEM Institute, which offers courses for girls ages 7 to 18.
She said the emphasis is on relevant cultural content and careers for girls who might not otherwise have access to these experiences.

"That might be doing a session on the science of Black hair," said Morton, "looking at different products to understand the science behind how that product is made, and what's in that product or how it may be impacting them. So, we make our own products. You can be able to look at a label and say, 'Hey, I should be able to pronounce what I'm putting on my skin, or in my hair.'"

She said the students quickly get the connections.

The National Center for Science and Engineering Statistics says about one-third of STEM workers are women. But Black workers make up only 18% of the 35 million people employed in STEM fields.

Morton said the Institute's Saturday programs are in partnership with the Indiana University, Indianapolis School of Education. And in the summer, volunteers engage with students about careers in aviation and medicine.

As a former math teacher, Morton said she believes early exposure to this information is key, and said kids begin showing their curiosity as early as third grade.

"Understanding how things happen with technology, that they all need to have different mathematical levels of understanding," said Morton. "They need to have computational thinking skills, because that's the way this world is moving. And I believe that they do have it -- if you just sit back and watch them play, you see the problem solving happen."

A report on Indiana's STEM education priorities shows the number of undergraduate degrees is up since 2015, but the number of STEM-related degrees awarded hasn't moved much.

Hispanic and Black students earn between 3% and 5% of those STEM degrees. They make up 6% and 9% of the state's population, respectively.

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