By Olivia Sanchez for The Hechinger Report.
Broadcast version by Danielle Smith for Tennessee News Service reporting for The Hechinger Report-Public News Service Collaboration

Most of the guys come straight to the shop each afternoon. After long shifts at supermarkets and home improvement stores, they make their way to southwest Nashville just before 4 p.m., sometimes still in uniform, and pull into a massive parking lot shared by the local community college and the Nashville branch of the Tennessee College of Applied Technology, or TCAT.

Some might rev their engines and do a few laps around the mostly clear lot first, but they all eventually take a right toward the garage.

There, as the sun begins to set on a 70-degree February day, the students in the auto collision repair night class are preparing to spend the next five hours studying.

One is sanding the seal off the bed of his 1989 Ford F-350, preparing to repaint. Another, in his first trimester, is patiently hammering out a banged-up fender, an assignment that may take him weeks. Another, who has strayed in from the welding shop, is trying to distract the guys in the program he graduated from months before.

Some others linger around a metal picnic table in the parking lot, sipping cool sugary drinks and poking fun at each other’s projects. Among them is 26-year-old Cheven Jones, taking a break from working on his 2003 Lexus IS 300.

While almost every sector of higher education is seeing fewer students registering for classes, many trade school programs are booming. Jones and his classmates, seeking certificates and other short-term credentials, not associate degrees, are part of that upswing.

Mechanic and repair trade programs saw an enrollment increase of 11.5 percent from spring 2021 to 2022, according to the National Student Clearinghouse. Enrollment in construction trades courses increased by 19.3 percent, while culinary program enrollment increased 12.7 percent, according to the Clearinghouse. Meanwhile, enrollment at public two-year colleges declined 7.8 percent, and enrollment at public four-year institutions dropped by 3.4 percent, according to the Clearinghouse.

Many young people who are choosing trade school over a traditional four-year degree say that they are doing so because it’s much more affordable and they see a more obvious path to a job.

“These kids are looking for relevance. They want to be able to connect what they’re learning with what happens next,” said Jean Eddy, president of American Student Assistance, a nonprofit dedicated to helping students make informed choices about their educations and careers. (ASA is one of the many funders of The Hechinger Report, which produced this story.) “I think many, many families and certainly the majority of young people today are questioning the return on investment for higher education.”

Eddy said that the increased interest in the trades doesn’t necessarily mean these students won’t later go on to earn a bachelor’s degree, but “simply means that they are excited, and they’re more interested in getting into something where they can feel as though they are applying their skills and their talents to something that they can be good at.”

TCAT is a network of 24 colleges across the state that offers training for 70 occupations. TCAT Nashville offers 16-month to two-year courses including diesel and automotive technology and welding and construction technology, among others. Many of them have waiting lists, said Nathan Garrett, president of the college. To accommodate increased demand, the college has added night classes and is expanding shop space.

In Tennessee, the state’s overall community college enrollment took a hit during the pandemic, despite a 2015 state program that made community college tuition free. Still, at TCAT, many trade programs have continued to grow despite the downward enrollment trend.

TCAT focuses on training students for jobs that are in demand in the region, which appeals to many students in normal times, but Garrett said the pandemic may have underscored the need for workforce relevance.

“When we look at ‘essential workers,’ a lot of those trades never saw a slowdown,” he said. “They still hired, they still have the need.” Automotive trades are always in demand, he added.

Even so, Jones’s pursuit of a degree at TCAT Nashville would perhaps be a surprise to his high school self. “My parents just basically told me, ‘Finish high school and then just work,’ ” Jones said. “I didn’t necessarily know what I wanted to do, and my biggest fear was to go to college, put in all that time and effort and then not use my degree.”

So, at 18, Jones went to work in warehouses, spending long days loading and unloading heavy boxes from tractor-trailers. But he found it unfulfilling, it was terribly difficult on his body, and he wasn’t making enough money. After just a few years, he realized he needed a job that would make him happier, hurt him less and pay him more. Trade school for a career fixing cars, he decided, seemed like the best route.

Nineteen-year-old Robert Nivyayo’s priorities became clear a bit earlier in his education, when he realized he didn’t like high school very much. He said he spent most of his free time watching YouTube videos about fixing up cars before he owned one or was even licensed to drive.

He started saving up the money he earned stocking shelves at a Publix grocery store. And around the time the pandemic hit, he bought a 2005 Mustang off Facebook Marketplace for $800 cash. It didn’t run, so he hired a tow truck to lug it to his parents’ house. He took the engine apart, outfitted it with a new head gasket and put it back together, all while his online high school classes played on his smartphone.

Nivyayo’s parents, who came to the U.S. from Tanzania in 2007, had long urged their children to go to college, he said. When he enrolled at TCAT Nashville to pursue training in auto collision repair, they were pleased: “As long as I’m going to college, that’s all they really care.”

The path made sense for him, because he could earn a credential while doing what he enjoyed, and without spending much time in the traditional classroom. He’s looking forward to the anticipated payoff, when he gets a job in an auto shop.

“I really enjoy just working on the body of the car and learning. Every new day, I just get more motivated,” Nivyayo said.

Austin Monchilov, the night class instructor, said the students are more invested in their projects if they’re working on something of their own. After they pass the initial busted-up fender assignment, they’re free to work on their own cars, he said.

Until he finishes his studies and a job offer manifests, Nivyayo is spending his evenings in the garage, picking Monchilov’s brain and taking painstaking care of every square inch of the Mustang. Even when he’s done with it, when it’s running perfectly and the silver body is pristine, he said he could never sell it. It has meant too much to him to ever give it up.

Inside the building and just a few doors down, Abbey Carlson is in the welding studio, wearing jeans with holes burnt through them and a funny cap to protect her hair. She’s the only woman in the nighttime welding class, and among few women on this side of the TCAT campus. Though welcome to enroll in these courses, women tend to congregate on the other side of the campus, where the cosmetology and aesthetics technology programs are housed.

Carlson, now 24, had initially intended to attend a four-year college, but her plans were derailed by an addiction to alcohol. After dedicating herself to recovery, she decided she wasn’t entirely done with higher education.

“I knew I wanted to do a trade, but I couldn’t figure out which one,” Carlson said. “I’m a woman, I’m young and I’m decent looking, so the world is scary. Especially in fields with men.”

After researching her options, she concluded that welding would be the safest while also offering her the highest eventual earning potential, she said. So far, she’s enjoying her time at TCAT Nashville, and she feels respected and safe.

“I love it so much. I finally have hope for the future,” Carlson said. “Finally, I feel like I’m going to accomplish something in life.”

Still, it’s not easy. Before she reports to the welding shop each afternoon for five-hour stretches of studying, she spends her days waitressing at an upscale Italian restaurant in the city.

At a campus in Shelbyville, about 60 miles south of Nashville, Jesus Pedraza, 18, is making the best of his plan B.

Pedraza thrived in high school and dreamed of studying electrical engineering at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. But when his mother started having medical challenges last year, he decided to stay in Shelbyville with her. His high school was so close to TCAT Shelbyville that the students sometimes walked over to eat breakfast in its cafeteria; the teachers and administrators at the high school encouraged the students to consider applying there after graduation.

After graduating from high school last spring, Pedraza enrolled in TCAT’s electrician training program. The courses equip students to work in residential, commercial or industrial settings; the curriculum is among several at TCAT Shelbyville that are seeing an increase in demand, said Laura Monks, president of the college. To accommodate all the interested people, she said they offer both day and night courses and dual enrollment for students from nearby high schools.

Now, Pedraza studies from 7:45 a.m. to 2 p.m, and then reports to a local Walmart distribution center, where he works from 3 p.m. to midnight each day.

He said he enjoys what he is learning and likes the guys in his class. But he still wonders what things may have been like at a four-year college.

“I would have loved the challenge of being in electrical engineering, you know, having to do all the schoolwork and just the idea of college life,” he said. “Sometimes I sit down, and I think how different it would have been if I was living in Knoxville right now. But at the end of the day, you know, it’s just the way life is. I mean, I wish I was also a millionaire, and I wish I drove two Lamborghinis. But it’s not the way it is.”

Monks said that one of the things that makes TCAT appealing to students is the possibility that, toward the end of their program, they will be able to work in their desired field a few days a week while also getting credit toward their diploma, a system known as a “co-op” across the TCAT system.

For Brayden Johnson, 20, who is in his fifth trimester studying industrial maintenance automation, the co-op program has given him the chance to work as an electrical maintenance technician in a local factory that makes tubes for toothpaste. He’s working the night shift, which comes with a slight pay bump, and is earning about $26 per hour.

He hopes to stay in the job after he finishes at TCAT this spring, he said.

The same co-op opportunity is offered to some students at TCAT Nashville. Garrett said students generally are drawn to the hands-on design of the courses and the general philosophy that “You need to get your hands on the equipment, you need to start building stuff, breaking stuff and then learn how to fix that stuff.”

The opportunity to get real work experience before they graduate is an extra perk. The employer reports back to the student’s instructor so they know where the student is excelling and where they are struggling, and can work on those weaknesses on the days when the student comes to campus, Garrett said.

Cheven Jones began studying auto collision repair in September, and said that he has already made major progress, transforming his lifelong enthusiasm for cars into real, applicable skills.

And it’s showing on his Lexus, he said. So far, he’s fixed a dent in the hood, replaced an entire door and replaced part of the rocker panel (the long strip of metal under the doors).

The game plan, Jones said, is to transform his car by the time he graduates, and have fun while doing it.

“It’s school, and I take it seriously. But you know, you come here, and it just feels more like you’re at a shop hanging out with your homies all day,” Jones said. “It’s a good feeling.”

After he graduates, he hopes to get a job in an auto body shop.

And he says he’ll keep working until someday he can afford a red 1982 Nissan Skyline R31, RS Turbo with bronze wheels — his dream car. Even if he can’t get one in perfect condition, at least he’ll know how to fix it up.

Olivia Sanchez wrote this article for The Hechinger Report.

Support for this reporting was provided by Lumina Foundation.


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By Kyle Smedley for the Ball State Daily News .
Broadcast version by Joe Ulery for Indiana News Service reporting for the Ball State Daily News-Free Press Indiana-Public News Service Collaboration.

No matter the opponent, no matter the location, no matter the time, Keionte Newson kneels and bows his head at the 26-yard line before kickoff of every Ball State University football game. The senior Cardinal linebacker takes a moment to speak to his second cousin Dexter Jones, who died 10 years ago.

While praying, Newson calls on his family members who have died for guidance, looking to Jones and his deceased uncle, Jeremy Grant, specifically as father figures he has never truly had.

Keionte said he has a poor relationship with his true father, Derek, but that's only a piece of the 13-year puzzle he has had to piece together en route to becoming the first in his family to earn a college degree.

Since the age of nine, Keionte's life has been filled with adversity. His mother, Sharmane Grant, was laid off from her job as a caregiver, and Derek left the family for five years.

Keionte had to stop playing youth football so the family could use that money on essentials. Keionte, along with Grant and his siblings, then moved into Section 8 housing. Shortly thereafter, Grant fell into a years-long state of depression.

Keionte lashed out at himself and others, struggling to find an outlet for his pent-up anger.

Despite it all, in Keionte's five years at Ball State - with his family back in Covington, Tennessee - he has thrived more than ever during his 22 years on this Earth.

Now that his time as a Cardinal is over, Keionte said he is finally ready to share his story.

"Regardless if I'm put in the NFL or I get blessed with a great job or something, I just want to change how everybody sees our family," Keionte said.

Financial Insecurity

A conversation between Grant and one of Keionte's aunts still sticks with him more than a decade later. Grant, the household's main provider, had just been fired after working for nearly five years as a caregiver for those with mental illnesses, and she went to the family to discuss their next steps.

"I didn't know what to do," Grant said. "I was doing hair and cleaning doctor's offices ... It wasn't a lot of money, but it would be enough."

Keionte eavesdropped on the conversation and walked into the kitchen. Even as an elementary schooler, he knew money was tight, and he knew playing youth football wasn't free.

Despite his love for the game he had already been playing for five years, Keionte told his mom he would quit football to save the family money. A couple of years later, Keionte's family found a way to get him back involved with football in small, community leagues. He didn't start consistently playing until middle school began.

As soon as he was old enough, Keionte wanted to find work to help bring in money for the family. Grant wouldn't let him, telling Keionte it wasn't his job to provide for the family as a teenager, which drew out even more frustration from Keionte.

While he now realizes his past frustrations may not have been rational, Keionte felt his mother wasn't making the right decisions to put the family in a better financial situation. The arguments escalated enough that Grant asked Keionte to move out, after which he stayed with a friend for about a month before moving in with his newly present father. That didn't last long either, as Keionte cited a lack of effort from Derek as the reason for their still-standing issues.

Keionte moved back in with Grant after less than a year away, remembering how he cried for his mother no matter where he stayed.

"I tried to give her space for a long time, and that probably wasn't the best thing for me to do," Keionte said. "For a long time, I would see her in the morning, and she'd be on the couch, then I'd come back after practice and school, and she'd still be there ... I'd go home and sit in my room and shut myself off because I didn't know how to express my emotions properly. I was angry and mad all the time."

Grant confirmed that she was depressed for years after losing her job, but she didn't know how upset Keionte was when he retreated to his room for hours after school.

"He's always been kind of a loner," Grant said. "... I'm glad he didn't fall into the environment of Section 8 housing."

Grant continued to work odd jobs for years before finally finding consistent employment near the end of Keionte's time in high school. Prior to his senior year, Keionte presented Grant with the idea of transferring from Brighton High School to Blackman High School. He knew if he transferred to Blackman, his mother would have a better chance of finding employment.

She did and was hired as a computer technician in FedEx's supply logistics department, a role she still holds today.

"I never completely gave up," Grant said.

The Search for a Father Figure

For as long as Keionte can remember, he visited his father every weekend. However, Keionte remembered Derek "disappearing" for about five years after his ninth birthday.

He believes Derek spent the majority of that time in Texas, but Keionte said he never cared enough to ask his dad for confirmation. Once Keionte started eighth grade, he said Derek began to "creep" back into his life, attending the occasional middle school football game or messaging Keionte's mother to check on him.


"He would take me to a workout or a trainer, then give me some half-ass advice," Keionte said. "I was like, 'You don't even want to be telling me this right now, and I can feel it.'"

Keionte's relationship with Derek has been up and down since, only improving to the point where the two stayed in the same hotel room after Ball State played Western Illinois in 2021. Keionte remembered having razor bumps on his face and neck that day, and when Derek pointed them out, Keionte blamed his father for never teaching him how to properly shave.

Derek responded by telling Keionte he didn't need to be around to teach "trivial" lessons like that to his son, to which Keionte took major exception. A couple of years of little-to-no contact passed, during which time Keionte immersed himself in his faith for the first time.

He was told by members of his Bible study to let go of the grudge he held against Derek, and Keionte slowly started to build the bond with his father back. That was until April 2, Keionte's 22nd birthday, when the day came and went without a text from Derek.

Keionte messaged his father the next day to ask why he didn't reach out. Keionte said Derek responded that Keionte didn't wish him a happy birthday the year prior, prompting Keionte to scroll through their text messages and find a greeting he sent to Derek on his 50th birthday.

"All those years he missed, he missed happy birthdays, Happy New Year's, Merry Christmas and all that," Keionte said. "When he wasn't there, he wasn't there for real ... I was like, 'I've been trying, trying, trying to give you opportunities, and you just keep burning them.' I said, 'You can come to my games, but you won't be on my ticket list. I won't have tickets for you. I don't want to talk to you after games.'"

Keionte said he isn't interested in rekindling a relationship with his father until Derek shows Keionte that he cares about his personal life rather than just his athletic ventures.

The father figure that Keionte looked to in his adolescence was only 13 years older than him - his second cousin, Dexter Jones. The two spent nearly every moment together.

But in December 2014, Keionte came home from watching a local high school basketball game, and he said his life changed. Jones died from heart failure, found by family lying face down in his front yard.

"Two days before that, [the family] all went to play basketball, and he was running circles around everybody ... He was a ray of sunshine, and when he passed, it tore a hole in my family," Keionte said.

Grant was still unemployed at the time, and her depression only worsened after Jones' death. In the aftermath of losing his cousin, Keionte experienced suicidal thoughts for the first time.

His grades dropped, his focus was sporadic and he didn't enjoy spending time in his own home. When Keionte was home, he released his anger by punching holes in the walls or shouting at family members.

"Where I was growing up - if you were gonna be a man or call yourself a man - people expected men to hold on to their emotions," Keionte said. "I felt lost, and I found that football was the only safe haven I had."

Keionte's male role model after Jones' death became his middle school football coach, Larry Williams. He filled the gap in Grant's struggles to drive Keionte to and from football practice every day due to the 30-minute distance between their home and Brighton Middle School. Outside of football, Williams kept Keionte in check in the classroom both in academics and behavior.

Without Williams, Keionte said he doesn't know if he would have gotten to the point of earning a full-ride scholarship to play Division-I football, and it was during this time that Keionte discovered his love for the number nine.

This is the brotherhood they talk about'

Keionte first wore the number nine during his sophomore and junior seasons at Brighton High School, but he was not able to carry the number over to Blackman High School for his senior season. In his first two seasons with Ball State, Keionte wore the numbers 56 and 25.

He remembered feeling a sense of restoration when he earned the number nine ahead of his third year as a Cardinal, but Keionte felt like he did not live up to the standards of wearing a number that holds such high importance within him. In his two most recent seasons, Keionte said he has proven he deserves the number nine by earning True Cardinal 1 honors and serving as Ball State's team captain for the 2024 season.

"I can't be that guy that's frustrated and flustered and always worried about what's going on; I got to be that happy face and bright light that's in the locker room," Keionte said.

Perhaps no Cardinal took more from Keionte's leadership than redshirt junior wide receiver Qian Magwood, foraying that into a friendship that has lasted nearly a half-decade. Citing Keionte's outgoing personality as one of his most personable traits off the field, Magwood said his best friend was a "beacon of light" for the Cardinals.

"I know a lot of days where he's not having his best days, and he still comes in laughing, acting goofy and messing with somebody," Magwood said. " ... Some days, I come in and I just don't have it, but somehow, some way, with the guys in there, it's impossible to have a bad day."

Keionte and Magwood make a point to talk with each other for a brief moment before each game. Magwood said the meeting could be as simple as a dap up or a conversation revolving around prayer or words of encouragement.

Their vulnerability around each other comes with being roommates for years, staying up until dawn talking about their struggles and even being by each other's side when they receive traumatic news.

Magwood remembers he and Keionte hanging out at another player's apartment during their freshman year when Keionte suddenly left the room to take a phone call. He came back and told the room that one of his friends in Tennessee had been shot dead.

"I remember him hanging the phone up and starting crying. He just fell into my arms," Magwood said. "This was the first moment where I was like, 'This is the brotherhood they talk about.'"

Magwood has had moments where he's the one crying in Keionte's arms. When his grandmother died last year, he remembered Keionte being one of the first people to call and make sure he felt supported in his loss.

Heart on His Sleeve

Keionte has tattoos on both arms - the ink encompassing the struggles he has endured since the age of nine. On his left arm are a dove, a clock with a broken hand, a shattered hourglass, the word "ambition," and the phrase "I came a long way, but I'm not as far as I'm going to be." Before he leaves Ball State, he plans to add the number nine to his sleeve.

"I started from Section 8 housing to a soon-to-be college graduate," Keionte said. "That's leaps and bounds, and people don't live to see that sometimes."


Kyle Smedley wrote this article for the Ball State Daily News.


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Nearly a dozen changes could be made to the Kentucky Community and Technical College system, under Senate Joint Resolution 179, passed by lawmakers earlier this year.

The system's Acting Executive Vice President and Provost Phil Neal said the Board of Regents' recommendations are aimed at improving the process to obtaining two-year college degrees, and expanding options for students.

He said one major change includes collaboration between schools and the state Department of Education, to make it easier to offer dual and transfer credits.

"For example, on the transfer front," said Neal, "one of our recommendations that would be a change is that our eight public universities and our 16 KCTCS colleges, would all have a common course-numbering system for freshmen and sophomore level courses - and that just helps students more seamlessly transfer."

A former chief of staff is suing the system in a whistleblower lawsuit, alleging she faced retaliation for reporting waste and mismanagement.

Last week a Franklin County Circuit Court judge denied a request by the system that the case be dismissed.

A recent audit found a need to improve internal policies and procedures, but found no evidence of fraud or criminal behavior.

Neal said the state's Community and Technical College System has among the most affordable tuition rates in the state, and serves more than 66,000 students.

"We lead the country, number one, in the number of credentials conferred per capita," said Neal. "So the production of people with credentials is right up there at the top. Half of our 16 colleges have been recognized as some of the top performing community colleges in the country."

Americans' views on the importance of a college degree is shifting.

According to a Pew study released earlier this year, only one in four U.S. adults say it's extremely or very important to have a four-year college degree, in order to get a well-paying job in today's economy.

Support for this reporting was provided by Lumina Foundation.




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Recent changes to Florida's education laws have removed information on consent, contraceptives and prenatal development from many health lessons at school.

Parents are concerned the Florida Department of Education's policies may leave some districts without vital instruction.

Stephana Ferrell, director of research and insight for the Florida Freedom to Read Project in Orange County, is worried about what she sees as gaps in her children's education, including access to comprehensive health information.

"It's unfortunate that parents have been opted out of these educational experiences," Ferrell stated. "But it's now time for us all to get informed about what our kids are missing and make the extra effort to ensure that our young citizens are armed with this information."

Advocacy groups, including PEN America and EveryLibrary, cautioned overcompliance with state laws may lead to the removal of books on topics like anatomy, teen pregnancy and sexual assault. In a joint letter, they urged Florida school superintendents and school board attorneys to exercise restraint and preserve the resources for students.

Ferrell described a clash between two views: one believing ignorance protects innocence, and another believing being informed is the best way to understand and avoid risks. She sided with the latter, saying education safeguards the community.

"We really are trying to encourage that information to remain available," Ferrell emphasized. "There are lots of nonfiction, well-written and age-appropriate materials that can be made available in the library, and have been made available in libraries in the past."

Florida school districts have struggled for years to determine which books should remain in libraries under laws signed by Gov. Ron DeSantis. The laws allow parents and others to challenge books deemed "inappropriate," though recent legislative changes limit the number of challenges. This fall, the Department of Education released a list of more than 700 books removed from, or discontinued in, schools statewide.


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