If state Sen. Chuck Wiger needs fuel for his crusade to keep teenagers in school, he can summon distant memories of the glamour of the Big Top.
Cleaning up after the elephants, erecting and striking the tents no matter the weather and riding the semitrailer truck to Barnum & Bailey's next stop — that was his life when he dropped out of North High in North St. Paul and ran away to join the circus.
His experiences gave him a soft spot for the "nontraditional" student's path. It is the unspoken back story behind his single-minded focus on raising the state's compulsory attendance age to halt Minnesota's drift toward graduation-rate mediocrity.
"I dropped out because I was bored; I wanted some adventure," said Wiger, a DFLer from Maplewood, who pushed through an increase in the compulsory school attendance age from 16 to 17 this year. "I don't suggest it. It can be very risky."
Minnesota's dropout rate has consumed many state leaders as the overall four-year high school graduation rate is at 77.6 percent, Minneapolis is at 50 percent and the statewide rate for African-American and American Indian students ranges from 45 to 51 percent. Wiger long has argued that Minnesota's 16-year-old compulsory attendance age — when a student can drop out with parents' permission — is part of the problem. He sought to push it up to 18, as President Obama has urged states to do.
"Three out of four is not acceptable," said Wiger of the state graduation average, once a Minnesota bragging point. Even though another 13 percent of students are listed as "continuing" their studies past four years, state officials regard the four-year number as cause for alarm.
This year, as chairman of the Senate's education finance division, Wiger succeeded in sending a "tough love" message to families and students everywhere: Don't do what I did.
Road warrior
Wiger is a modest and soft-spoken lawyer who has served in the Senate since 1997. He brought a quiet passion for education that he nurtured as a member and chair of the North St. Paul-Maplewood-Oakdale School Board. He comes off as a cheerful and eager-to-please local pol who knows everyone in his district — not as an intrepid road warrior of the '60s.