Here is a guy who never intended to pay back the money:
Is Law School a Losing Game?
Michael Wallerstein knew little about the Thomas Jefferson School of Law, other than that it was in San Diego ... he says, ''but I thought, why not go somewhere I'll enjoy?'' ... in the fourth and bottom tier of U.S. News's rankings.
WHEN Mr. Wallerstein started at Thomas Jefferson, he was in no mood for austerity. He borrowed so much that before the start of his first semester he nearly put a down payment on a $350,000 two-bedroom, two-bath condo, figuring that the investment would earn a profit by the time he graduated.
Instead, Mr. Wallerstein rented a spacious apartment. He also spent a month studying in the South of France and a month in Prague -- all on borrowed money. There were cost-of-living loans, and tuition of about $33,000 a year. Later came a $15,000 loan to cover months of studying for the bar.
Today, his best guess is that he should be sending $2,000 to $3,000 a month in total, to lenders that include Wells Fargo, Citibank and Sallie Mae.
''There are a bunch of others,'' he says. ''I'm not really good at keeping records.''
Mr. Wallerstein and his fiancée moved back East after graduation, and he landed a job at a small firm in Queens. He says he was paid $10 an hour.
MR. WALLERSTEIN, for his part, is not complaining. Once you throw in the intangibles of having a J.D., he says, he is one of law schools' satisfied customers.
''It's a prestige thing,'' he says. ''I'm an attorney. All of my friends see me as a person they look up to. They understand I'm in a lot of debt, but I've done something they feel they could never do and the respect and admiration is important.''
Compared with the life he left four years ago, he has lost ground. That research position in Newark, he figures, would pay him $60,000 a year now, with benefits. Instead, he's vying with a crowd for jobs that pay at rates just a little higher, but that last only a few weeks at a time, with no benefits. And he's a quarter-million dollars in the hole.
Unless, somehow, the debt just goes away. Another of Mr. Wallerstein's techniques for remaining cool in a serious financial pickle: believe that the pickle might somehow disappear.
''Bank bailouts, company bailouts -- I don't know, we're the generation of bailouts,'' he says in a hallway during a break from his Peak Discovery job. ''And like, this debt of mine is just sort of, it's a little illusory. I feel like at some point, I'll negotiate it away, or they won't collect it.''
He gives a slight shrug and a smile as he heads back to work. ''It could be worse,'' he says. ''It's not like they can put me jail.''
Is Law School a Losing Game?
Michael Wallerstein knew little about the Thomas Jefferson School of Law, other than that it was in San Diego ... he says, ''but I thought, why not go somewhere I'll enjoy?'' ... in the fourth and bottom tier of U.S. News's rankings.
WHEN Mr. Wallerstein started at Thomas Jefferson, he was in no mood for austerity. He borrowed so much that before the start of his first semester he nearly put a down payment on a $350,000 two-bedroom, two-bath condo, figuring that the investment would earn a profit by the time he graduated.
Instead, Mr. Wallerstein rented a spacious apartment. He also spent a month studying in the South of France and a month in Prague -- all on borrowed money. There were cost-of-living loans, and tuition of about $33,000 a year. Later came a $15,000 loan to cover months of studying for the bar.
Today, his best guess is that he should be sending $2,000 to $3,000 a month in total, to lenders that include Wells Fargo, Citibank and Sallie Mae.
''There are a bunch of others,'' he says. ''I'm not really good at keeping records.''
Mr. Wallerstein and his fiancée moved back East after graduation, and he landed a job at a small firm in Queens. He says he was paid $10 an hour.
MR. WALLERSTEIN, for his part, is not complaining. Once you throw in the intangibles of having a J.D., he says, he is one of law schools' satisfied customers.
''It's a prestige thing,'' he says. ''I'm an attorney. All of my friends see me as a person they look up to. They understand I'm in a lot of debt, but I've done something they feel they could never do and the respect and admiration is important.''
Compared with the life he left four years ago, he has lost ground. That research position in Newark, he figures, would pay him $60,000 a year now, with benefits. Instead, he's vying with a crowd for jobs that pay at rates just a little higher, but that last only a few weeks at a time, with no benefits. And he's a quarter-million dollars in the hole.
Unless, somehow, the debt just goes away. Another of Mr. Wallerstein's techniques for remaining cool in a serious financial pickle: believe that the pickle might somehow disappear.
''Bank bailouts, company bailouts -- I don't know, we're the generation of bailouts,'' he says in a hallway during a break from his Peak Discovery job. ''And like, this debt of mine is just sort of, it's a little illusory. I feel like at some point, I'll negotiate it away, or they won't collect it.''
He gives a slight shrug and a smile as he heads back to work. ''It could be worse,'' he says. ''It's not like they can put me jail.''