Why DPU Might Be The Worst University For Your College-Bound Kid (What I Learned After My Son Enrolled)
My phone buzzed from the nightstand at 1:47 a.m., the screen glowing with Jax’s name. I fumbled it open, already awake enough to know something was wrong—he’d moved into DPU’s dorm just three weeks earlier, and he’d never called me that late. “Mom,” he said, voice rough like he’d been crying in the bathroom down the hall, “the RA said my roommate isn’t coming back. They can’t put anyone else here for six more weeks, and I have to pay the extra $800 for a private room I never asked for. I don’t think this was the right call.”
Jax had a 3.2 GPA in high school, loved tinkering with engines, and didn’t get into the state engineering tech program he’d applied to back in January. DPU reached out to him within a week of his rejection, advertising small class sizes, 90% job placement within six months of graduation, and tuition that was just a little cheaper than the state’s private options. We visited on a rainy Saturday in April, the admissions rep shook my hand and told us Jax was a perfect fit, offered him a $2,000 a year merit scholarship if he committed by the end of the month. That was two weeks before the national reply date, but I was so relieved he had an option I didn’t push back.
The first red flag hit when we got the tuition bill. The $2,000 scholarship was actually $1,000 a year, and there was a $1,200 “lab facility fee” that hadn’t been mentioned anywhere on the website or in our meetings. When I called admissions to ask, they said it was a standard fee that all students pay, and the paperwork had been posted to the student portal before we committed. I just hadn’t seen it. I blamed myself for missing it, and brushed it off.
By the second week of classes, Jax was texting me every other day complaining. His required intro engineering class had 122 students, not the 25 maximum the website had advertised. Half the 3D printers in the lab didn’t work, and the professor missed three of the first six classes because he also taught three courses at a community college 45 minutes away and got stuck in traffic. His academic advisor never replied to emails, and when Jax dropped by her office during walk-in hours to ask about switching a general ed class, she told him it was add/drop week, he could figure it out on the portal, and closed her door. He went back to his dorm and sat on his bed for three hours before calling me that night.
I drove up at 7 a.m. the next day, packed up half his stuff, and we met with the dean of student affairs to see what could be done. She smiled and said all first-year students have adjustment issues, that the growing pains would even out after the first semester. When we asked about getting the extra housing fee waived, she said the dorms were over-enrolled by 300 students that year, there was nothing she could do. By the end of the meeting, I knew we’d made a mistake.
A lot of parents I talk to don’t realize that for schools like DPU, which rely on tuition to keep their doors open, admissions is just sales. I fell for the sales pitch because I was scared my kid would miss out on a four-year college experience if he didn’t take the first offer that came his way. When my neighbor asked me for advice last week, her daughter just got an offer from DPU for a nursing program, I told her three specific things I wish I’d done before we signed anything.
First, don’t ever talk only to the student tour guides the admissions office hires. Go on Reddit, search the school’s name and your kid’s major, and ask current students what they really think. I did that after Jax enrolled, and page after page of posts talked about unresponsive professors, hidden fees, and degrees that local employers won’t even look at. Three graduates from DPU’s engineering program responded to my question on LinkedIn, and all three said they’d ended up going back to community college to get certifications that would actually get them hired.
Second, pull up the federal government’s College Scorecard website and check two numbers before you commit: the student loan default rate, and the average salary of graduates 10 years after enrollment. DPU’s default rate is 18%, which is twice the national average. The average salary for graduates of their engineering tech program is $38,000 a year, which is less than what a full-time apprentice electrician makes around here. I never thought to check that before we enrolled. I just took the 90% job placement rate they posted on their website at face value, and that number counts any job a grad gets, even barista work at the local Starbucks.
Third, if a school pushes you to commit far earlier than the national May 1 reply date, walk away. That hard deadline isn’t for your benefit, it’s for theirs. They want you to commit before you get other offers, before you have time to dig into the details. I fell for that, because I thought it meant DPU really wanted Jax, when it just meant they needed his tuition check.
Jax dropped out of DPU three weeks after that 2 a.m. call. We lost $4,200 in tuition and fees that we can’t get back, money we’d saved from his grandpa’s inheritance for college. He’s taking two general ed classes at our local community college this semester, working 20 hours a week at a machine shop downtown that his community college prof connected him to. He says he’s happier than he was at DPU, that he’s actually learning something in his classes, and he plans to transfer to the state school in two years.
I still get emails from DPU’s admissions department every couple of weeks, asking if I know any high school seniors who might be interested in enrolling. It stings, every time I see one in my inbox. It’s not the worst experience we’ve ever had, and Jax is doing okay now, but it’s a hard lesson I wish I didn’t have to pay for. If you’re a parent looking at schools for your kid, it’s a lesson I hope you don’t have to pay for either.
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