ROCKVILLE, Md. -- "Many of the colleges you read about measure success by who they exclude," says Charlene Nunley. "We define our success by who we include."

Ms. Nunley is the president of Montgomery College in suburban Washington, not one of those elite universities that boasts how many kids they reject, but one of America's 1,200 community colleges committed to expanding opportunities for all citizens.

These two-year schools offer low-income minorities and immigrants a shot at higher education, are feeder schools for some kids who aren't quite ready academically or financially for a four-year college, and play an indispensable role in training and vocational assistance for many older workers who've lost their jobs. Wall Street Journal reporters David Wessel and Bob Davis, in a book several years ago, chronicled the critical role these community colleges play in the modern economy, calling them the "unheralded aid stations" of the working and middle class.

But these aid stations are facing tough times; budget squeezes, especially in state governments, are forcing cutbacks, programs are being dropped and fees are being raised; hundreds of thousands are losing this educational opportunity.

You wouldn't have sensed this listening to President Bush this week, when he addressed the annual meeting of community colleges in Minneapolis -- which also happens to be in a battleground state this fall. "The community college system is a cornerstone of good economic policy," the president declared, claiming these schools are "accessible" and "affordable." He boasted of his efforts to provide Pell Grants to lower-income students for higher education and to launch a program to help community colleges forge partnerships with businesses.

Like much of Mr. Bush's compassionate conservative rhetoric, the record falls short. The real value of Pell Grants in this administration has declined; the level he proposes this year is $1,000 less than candidate Bush promised in the last campaign. And the administration proposes cuts in the work-force investment training grants to individuals and the vocational education grants to institutions, two programs vital to many community colleges. After the initial launch, the administration forgot the community college-business partnership plan, offering no specific proposal.

The real crunch is with state aid, which comprises close to half of community college support. Budgets have been squeezed, tax cuts remain sacrosanct and politicians promise to increase secondary and elementary educational funding. In that mix higher education is getting clobbered.

The result: The 108 community colleges in California have had to eliminate over 8,000 courses and deny about 90,000 prospective students. These schools got 10% less money than they are supposed to receive under state law; fees this year rose by more than 60%. In Florida, some 35,000 students were turned away, and state support is less than it was five years ago. A similar pattern exists in other states.

In Maryland, says Ms. Nunley, who recently served on a state commission studying higher-education needs, the cutbacks have Maryland's community colleges "on the brink of a capacity crisis." This year Montgomery College has about 22,000 credit students at its three campuses. (One is our 22-year-old disabled son.) Over half the students are non-white and many are immigrants. President Nunley, with pride, calls such schools "the Ellis Island of higher education."

But enrollment actually is down a little from last year, and an estimated 1,400 qualified students couldn't attend. They are, President Nunley says, for the most part "those who have no family history of college . . . who don't know how the system works." These cutbacks were aggravated by the state failing to meet its financial commitments to community colleges; Maryland is supposed to supply one-third of the funding, but at Montgomery it's only about 20%.

The costs are not just social. More than half the nurses in Maryland are trained at community colleges. Montgomery has a major automotive-repair department; many automotive repair manuals, Ms. Nunley notes, now require a grade 14-level reading ability. As these offerings are trimmed back, opportunities will be lost: "If we can't meet those needs, it will be a loss for the economy," she observes.

Maryland is not a battleground state and many of these workers, at least initially, aren't likely to be Bush voters. But between campaign and fund-raising treks, the president might take a 30-minute drive out to Montgomery College and see the effect that current fiscal policies are having on what he calls the cornerstone of a good economic policy.

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A week ago Mary McGrory, the most graceful columnist of this generation, passed away. Until well past her 84th birthday she actively and passionately reported. Many was the congressional hearing where Mary -- who spent a career with younger journalists carrying her bags or fetching documents for her -- would perplexedly ask what's going on; you'd patiently explain. Then the next morning would appear a McGrory column full of insights and meaning that never occurred to her gofers.

She loved underdogs, which made it hard to go to the Washington Post after her beloved Washington Star folded in 1981. (The Wall Street Journal tried to hire her; that would have been even tougher.) She especially cared about children. While I was covering the 1984 New Hampshire primary with my two-and-a half-year-old, he fell and badly cut himself. When we returned from the emergency room, Mary was leaving the Wayfarer Hotel to cover some important candidate's speech. She immediately changed plans, insisting we go out to the duck pond to get his mind off this trauma. We did for several hours.

She would savage -- with exquisite eloquence -- thugs, bullies or uncaring politicians. Mary McGrory loved to afflict the comfortable as well as comfort the afflicted. Nobody did it as well.