He Earns $147,000 a Year and Still Can’t Escape $87,000 in Student Debt — A St. Louis Man’s Story Is More Common Than You Think

Roughly 9 million Americans carrying federal student loan debt earn more than $75,000 per year — yet many of them report the same repayment anxiety as borrowers earning a fraction of that, according to data tracked by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. High income is not a cure. I learned this firsthand last August, standing in a neighbor’s backyard during a block party on Delmar Boulevard in St. Louis, when a mutual acquaintance pulled me aside and said, “You should really talk to Clarence.”

Clarence Womack, 52, is not the kind of person most people associate with financial distress. He has spent 27 years as a licensed insurance claims adjuster, the last decade of which he worked as a senior-level examiner at a regional firm handling complex commercial accounts. He makes good money — by most measures, excellent money. He and his wife, Patricia, have been married 33 years. Their two adult children are out of the house. Patricia recently retired from her position as a school librarian. By every external signal, this was a household that had figured things out.

When I sat down with Clarence Womack three weeks after that block party — at the kitchen table of the Tudor-style home he and Patricia have owned since 1998 — he was careful to ask me not to mention his story to the neighbors. “I don’t talk about this stuff,” he said, pouring two cups of coffee. “My friends think I’m doing great. I look like I’m doing great. But numbers don’t lie.”

Thirty Years Working in Claims — And Still Paying for School

Clarence earned his undergraduate degree from Southern Illinois University in 1995 and spent several years in entry-level adjusting before deciding to go back for a Master of Business Administration. He enrolled in a private graduate program in 2004 and finished in 2006. Total tuition and associated costs came to approximately $98,000. He funded roughly $79,000 of that through federal graduate PLUS loans, expecting that career advancement would make the repayment math manageable.

It did not work out that way. When I asked Clarence to walk me through the numbers, he pulled out a binder — the kind with color-coded tabs — and set it on the table between us. His remaining federal loan balance as of February 2026 was $87,400. After two decades of payments, he had paid approximately $68,000 in combined interest and principal, yet the balance had barely moved from where it started. A job transition in 2011 triggered a deferment period during which interest capitalized, and for several years after that he paid less than the amount accruing each month.

“I kept thinking, just get through this year, just get through this next thing, and then I’ll tackle the loans,” he told me. “That year never came. And then one day you’re 52 and you owe basically what you borrowed in the first place.”

Clarence’s current household income sits at approximately $147,000 annually — his salary plus a modest monthly pension Patricia began drawing when she retired in October 2025. On paper, they are solidly upper-middle-class. In practice, Clarence makes a monthly federal loan payment of $910 under a standard repayment plan, which would feel manageable in isolation. It did not exist in isolation.

When the Insurance Company Showed Them the Door

In June 2023, a severe hailstorm swept through their neighborhood and caused significant damage to the roof and gutters on their home. Clarence filed a claim — the first major claim on the property in 25 years of ownership. The insurer paid out approximately $31,000 after adjustments. Six months later, they received a non-renewal notice. The policy would not be continued past March 2024.

There is a particular irony in a claims adjuster being dropped by his own carrier. Clarence acknowledged it with a short, dry laugh. He has spent his career evaluating exactly this kind of decision from the other side of the desk.

The replacement coverage they eventually secured cost significantly more. Their new annual premium came in at $4,800 — nearly double what they had been paying on a home valued at approximately $380,000 in the current St. Louis market. Going uninsured was not a realistic option, both practically and because their remaining mortgage required active coverage. Clarence absorbed the increase while also managing the loan payment, a small second mortgage from a 2019 kitchen renovation, and Patricia’s transition off a full-time income.

Navigating the System as a “High Earner” Who Doesn’t Feel Rich

Clarence’s income disqualifies him from the lower payment tiers on most federal income-driven repayment structures. Under current IBR, PAYE, and SAVE frameworks, a borrower at his income level typically sees a calculated monthly payment that does not differ meaningfully from standard repayment — or in some cases exceeds it when household size is small and discretionary income thresholds are applied fully.

He told me he spent several months in late 2024 researching Public Service Loan Forgiveness eligibility, only to confirm that his employer — a private insurance firm — does not qualify. “I went down every road I could think of,” he said. “Each one had a wall at the end of it.”

The federal policy environment has added uncertainty. According to American Progress, President Trump’s April 2026 budget request proposed significant cuts to domestic programs, including education-related assistance that could affect forgiveness frameworks. Meanwhile, as Finance & Commerce reported in late 2025, expanded work requirements across assistance programs signal a broader federal shift away from income-based support structures — a shift that Clarence monitors, even though he does not rely on those programs, because it reflects the direction of the policy environment his loans live inside.

After taxes, the loan payment, the elevated insurance premium, his share of Patricia’s health coverage through his employer plan, the second mortgage, and normal household expenses for a home they have owned for nearly three decades, Clarence estimates their monthly disposable income at roughly $1,400. That is not poverty by any definition. But it is also nowhere near what people assume when they hear his salary.

What Clarence Wishes He Had Known Earlier

When I asked Clarence what he would tell someone earlier on a similar path, he was quiet for a moment. He looked out the kitchen window toward the backyard patio they added in 2021, then turned back to the table.

He said he wished he had understood sooner the difference between paying interest and paying down principal, tracked capitalized interest more carefully during the 2011 deferment, and engaged with refinancing decisions before the policy environment became this uncertain. He does not call it regret. He calls it the cost of assuming a good salary would eventually solve the problem automatically.

By early 2026, Clarence and Patricia had settled on a structured plan: redirect $1,500 per month of discretionary income toward aggressive principal reduction on the federal loan, targeting full payoff within four years — ahead of Clarence’s planned retirement at 58. No forgiveness program applies to him. No government assistance is available at his income level. The math is straightforward, if not comfortable.

As I gathered my notebook and prepared to leave, Clarence walked me to the front door and pointed toward the new roof — the one the insurance payout had covered in 2023. It looked solid and unremarkable. “At least that part’s done,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Now I just have to finish undoing the rest of it.”

It was not bitterness. It was something closer to honest accounting — which seemed exactly right for a man who has spent nearly three decades calculating the true cost of things other people would rather not examine too closely.