CLEMSON, S.C. — At the giant public university here, officials are bracing for likely state budget cuts. They hope fundraising can help make up any gap, so students won't feel the brunt.

At the community college and at the small Christian college just outside town, commuting students are working extra hours to cover the surging cost of gas.

The national economic downturn is certainly felt in college towns like this one, home to very different institutions within a few miles of each other and situated in a region still smarting from thousands of textile job losses.

As for job prospects for new graduates, the news is mixed. Last fall, a survey by the National Association of Colleges and Employers predicted campus hiring would be up 16 percent for the Class of 2008. An updated survey last week revises that figure downward but still predicts an increase of about 8 percent over the class of 2007.

For colleges themselves, an economic slump can be good for business, reminding people of the value of more education and pushing them to get it.

Colleges plan for the long haul, so many can take advantage of the effects of an economic slump, like lower construction costs and — if the current credit crunch passes — lower costs to borrow money.

In short, the economy on campus is a complicated story, best told from the point of view of some people in the midst of the forces at work.

PAYING MORE FOR GAS

On a break between classes, Hannah Bolt tries to get some work done in a campus coffee shop at Southern Wesleyan University, a small Christian college in the town of Central, a few minutes from Clemson.

She comes to campus four days a week, and often works the other three at a department store. She is studying to become a special-education teacher. Dad was a commercial fisherman and is battling health problems. Mom is a seamstress in the struggling textile industry.

"Some weeks she'll work three days and they'll say, 'We don't have anything for you to do the rest of the week, take a four-day weekend,' " Bolt said.

Like most students here and an estimated 57 percent nationwide, Bolt has a job. She's also a commuter, as are the approximately 4 in 5 American college students who don't live on campus. That's why to college students, the price of gasoline is an education issue. It used to cost Bolt $20 to fill up her Volkswagen once a week for the 26-mile trip from her home to campus. Now it's $37 to $40.

Given her family's financial pinch, you might wonder what Bolt is doing at a private college like Wesleyan.

But financially, the hit isn't too bad. Wesleyan tuition and fees run about $17,000 per year, but about 90 percent of students get aid. With a state scholarship and $7,000 from Wesleyan, Bolt has only had to borrow $3,000 — and that should be paid off by a state teacher training program.

Chad Peters, the admissions director, acknowledges that private colleges like Wesleyan — with an endowment of just $3 million — can't always compete with state schools on price. But Wesleyan is holding its own. It's looking to enroll 300 freshmen next fall, the biggest increase in years.

Bolt says she sees few signs that her fellow students have felt the latest economic downturn personally. But she does see signs of it at the department store where she works.

"A lot people use credit cards," she said. "When I first started, there were a lot of checks. Now it's more often when they give you a debit card, you know they're going to choose credit."

FEWER POOR STUDENTS

At Clemson University, campus consumerism is running full throttle. The Chili's restaurant in the student union does a brisk lunch business. More students than ever have their own cars. Just off campus are new condominium developments, built for rich alumni returning for football weekends but getting snapped up by students, too.

Marvin Carmichael has worked in financial aid since 1973, and now heads the office. Times have changed.

As a student here, Carmichael worked his way through school mowing lawns and tending bar. Going out to a nice dinner was something to celebrate graduation, not the end of the week.

Clemson does have its share of struggling students. Of about 12,500 undergraduates, about 1,950 receive federal Pell Grants, meaning they likely come from families earning under about $40,000. One student came to Carmichael complaining about a $35 late fee, saying that was his food for a week.

But Carmichael, and many students here, say they think most students are relatively sheltered economically. He's glad for them but does worry about two of the reasons that may explain why.

The first is that the student spending splurge is paid for with borrowed money — particularly from private lenders. Nationally, the College Board reports that nonfederal loans account for 24 percent of total student aid, surging from 6 percent just a decade ago.

Carmichael is frustrated by new regulations designed to ensure students have a range of loan choices but which prevent administrators like him from negotiating good deals for students and protecting them from bad ones. Just as easy credit has gotten a wave of homeowners in over their heads, Carmichael worries students will be the next group to take a hit.

The second reason Clemson students appear flush is that many are well off to begin with. Like a number of states, South Carolina has shifted how it spends money on public higher education in recent years.

For the most part, it used to hand money directly to universities. Now, much of the money comes through merit-based scholarship programs, which give students who meet certain academic criteria thousands of dollars to spend on in-state schools.

The upside is such programs cut college costs for thousands of families and raise expectations that a college degree is within reach. They've also improved the academic profile of universities like Clemson by encouraging bright students to stay in-state.

But the downside is that a lot of state money gets spent on students who don't necessarily need it to attend college.

Altogether, 5,700 Clemson students get state merit-based scholarships, totaling $30 million per year.

State need-based aid amounts to about $2 million.

The state is focusing on academic excellence," Carmichael said. But "we are not particularly attractive to high-need students, unless they are high-achievers, because the resources do not exist."