Why DPU Is A Bad Choice For Most Undergrads: What Every Parent Should Know Before Applying
Last Tuesday I was folding my son Javi’s faded soccer hoodies on the kitchen table when he burst through the front door, backpack slipping off one shoulder, and dropped his unofficial DPU transcript right on top of my pile of clean socks. “I’m dropping out. DPU is garbage,” he said, and leaned against the fridge, too frustrated to even sit down.
Two years ago, Javi graduated high school with a 3.2 GPA, and we were scrambling for options. He missed the cut-off for in-state tuition at our state’s flagship university by 40 points on his ACT, and we couldn’t afford out-of-state tuition or room and board at any private school. Javi’s goal was simple: he wanted a business degree so he could eventually open his own landscaping company, something he’d been doing side work for since he was 16. Then the DPU recruiter called. She called three times a week for two weeks, offered to meet us at our house after dinner, brought branded water bottles and a brochure that promised “flexible classes for working students, 90% job placement within six months of graduation.” It sounded too good to be true, and spoiler: it was.
We took out a $22,000 parent PLUS loan to cover the first two years, Javi picked up 25 hours a week at the local auto shop to cover gas and groceries, and he moved into a cheap apartment 10 minutes from campus. The first red flag hit mid-way through his first semester. Javi stayed up until 2 a.m. one night writing a paper for his intro to business class, emailed it to his professor, and got an automated response saying the professor had left the school three weeks prior, and a new adjunct would be taking over. The new adjunct never posted grades for the first half of the semester, then changed the final paper requirements the night before it was due. By the end of the year, Javi had spent $8,000 on tuition for classes that his advisor later told him wouldn’t count toward his business degree. The advisor had signed off on his class schedule, didn’t bother to check the requirements, and just shrugged when we brought it up: “These things happen, you’ll just have to retake them.”
Tuition went up $300 a semester each year, for a “campus improvement fee” that was supposed to pay for a new rec center. The rec center is still a gutted room with exposed wiring, two years later. When Javi went to the career center to ask for help with an internship last semester, the advisor handed him a printed list of job openings that was dated 2019, and told him to just apply through Indeed. That’s all the career services does, she said.
I’ve talked to a lot of people since Javi told me he wanted to drop out, and I know there are a handful of people who had fine experiences at DPU. But from what I’ve seen talking to other parents and local employers, our story is way more common than the success stories DPU advertises. I made a lot of mistakes when we were looking at colleges, mostly because I was a first-time college parent, stressed out, and just wanted my kid to have a path forward. There are three concrete things I tell other parents now to check before they commit to any school like DPU, and they’re things that would have saved us 18 grand and two years of stress.
First, call three local employers in your kid’s chosen field and ask if they hire graduates from that school. I didn’t do this. When Javi started applying for internships at local small businesses and marketing firms this spring, three different hiring managers told me straight up they don’t consider applications from DPU grads. They’ve hired too many people who graduated from DPU’s business program that couldn’t put together a basic budget or write a clear work email, so they just skip over DPU on resumes now.
Second, count how many full-time professors teach the core classes in your kid’s major. Out of the 12 core classes Javi took for his business degree, 10 were taught by adjuncts who work full-time at other jobs and only teach one or two classes a semester at DPU. None of them held regular office hours, most didn’t answer emails within three days, and when Javi needed a letter of recommendation for an internship, one adjunct told him he didn’t remember Javi’s face, because he taught 130 students that semester. If more than half of the core classes are taught by adjuncts, that’s a bad sign, no matter what the recruiter tells you.
Third, ask to talk to three recent graduates of the program who aren’t hand-picked by the admissions office. If the admissions office won’t give you that contact info, join a local parent or job seeker Facebook group for your area and ask people about their experiences. We just trusted the glossy brochure and the nice recruiter who brought us cookies, and we never thought to ask a random grad what their experience was actually like.
Right now, Javi is wrapping up his withdrawal paperwork, picking up extra shifts at the auto shop, and starting at our local community college this fall. We’re still waiting to hear how many of his DPU credits will transfer, and we’re pretty sure most of them won’t. That $18,000 in loans we took out is still going to be with us for a long time, and that sucks, but what can you do. Javi still wants to open his landscaping company, and the community college’s business program has a partnership with the local small business development center that helps students start their own businesses. It’s half the cost, and all their core classes are taught by full-time professors.
I still see DPU’s ads on Facebook every time I scroll, targeting high school seniors and their parents, promising a fast, flexible path to a good job. I don’t think every person who goes to DPU has a bad time, but for most kids like mine, who are just looking for an affordable way to build a career, it’s not worth the money or the time. I just wish someone had told me that two years ago.
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