I decided to write about a topic that has for a long time been troubling for me.   Consequently, this is about one of those issues everybody in academia talks about but does nothing to solve: the high cost of a college education.

The news is full of stories and commentaries on college students incurring $50,000 or more of indebtedness a year. It isn’t unusual for students to graduate owing $300,000 plus. From my experience, veterinary medicine students encounter this same situation, but they also have four additional years of education beyond their undergraduate studies to pay for.

Whatever happened to plain old penny-pinching? Most vet students drive a late model car, SUV or pickup. Some vacation on their student loans, even overseas. (However, some of these trips are cultural exchange programs that really add to a student’s educational experience.)

Many students borrow every penny for their education. I don’t have a problem with financing some education, but I believe that many students display a lack of financial discipline.

Institutions of higher education have a similar modus operandi. Like bloated, fat cows they comfortably chew their cud and emit gas that often is philosophically out of touch with reality—and they operate with layers and layers of inefficient bureaucracy.

In contrast to this, my former team leader at the Ohio State University Large Animal Field Service, where I worked in Marysville, made business decisions based on our cash flow, just like businesses in the real world.

My faculty colleagues or I took fourth-year veterinary students on farm visits to care for livestock as we taught the students large-animal veterinary diagnostic and treatment skills.

One of our office clerical staff maintained the inventory and ordered our drug supplies. A receptionist answered phones. And a couple of technicians supported the work of my colleagues or me.

Our department operated much like a private veterinary practice, except that we conformed to university rules. Outside of our department, however, the University didn’t operate according to life in the real world. It operated on budgets, appropriations, allocations and gifts, but when a researcher or department received a grant, the University skimmed 47% or more of the funds off the top before the researcher saw a penny. Some of this overhead was justified. The university provided laboratory space, paid the researcher’s salary, offered technical support, ensured humane animal handling, and supplied farmland for testing hypotheses. Still, taking 47% off the top is a striking example of academic bureaucracy. Each supply order had to be approved by three people in different parts of the veterinary school, supposedly to reduce the risk of embezzlement. That process became especially frustrating when our team faced life-or-death situations and needed an emergency medication quickly. Everything moved at a painfully slow pace, though our clinic administrator was often able to cut through the red tape.

When my wife Dr. Judy and I were in private practice together, each of our veterinarians had a credit card and authorization to purchase needed items up to a certain limit. More expensive items required Dr. Judy’s or my approval (with me quietly asking Judy if it was OK).  At OSU we had one credit card for six of us. It was kept in the safe and could be obtained only when the team member listed what they planned to buy, along with an estimation of the cost.

I have my own solution to the high cost of education: Start a chain of Wal-Mart State Universities (WMSU).

Currently, universities lack sufficient competition. Other than some political pressure they aren’t motivated to develop cost-effective methods to educate students. The legislature should license Wal-Mart to develop academic programs next door to our current universities. A little competition would go a long way to snap universities out of their malaise.

You can bet that WMSU would stay focused on its marketing game plan. I can visualize it now: WMSU would develop “out of the box” programs. Students would no longer be blocked out of courses, making them unable to graduate in four years. (This is one of the reasons that there are many fifth-year seniors at The OSU—the bane of parents who are footing at least a portion of the bill.

Professors should be receiving performance evaluations that are a true measure of their effectiveness as teachers. Currently, professors report their activities in a dossier to the department chairperson. The dossier must include details such as teaching philosophy, research, and academic activities. The dossier is a convenient method for teachers to justify themselves. Short of committing a public sexual affair with another individual as recently occurred at OSU or a major felony, it is nearly impossible for them to get fired.

With Wal-Mart to compete against, university programs would quickly become “student friendly” while improving the quality of education.

WMSU could issue stocks and answer directly to the stockholders. Students would automatically receive a stock share, giving them a vote. Wal-Mart could incorporate school supplies, lab training and educational services directly into a one-price marketing plan for all of the students.

And WMSU would quell student demonstrations and riots, because the cops would be called and charges pressed just as Wal-Mart does when customers become unruly in their stores.