When the dismissal bell rings in this south Mississippi town, teacher Angela Echols trades in the vibrant purple-and-gold school colors of Hattiesburg High School for a plain McDonald's uniform.

By the time her shift ends, it’s almost midnight.

She comes home, checks if her kids need help with homework and takes advantage of the few hours of sleep she has before reporting to school.

Echols will repeat this routine three more times during the week.

The mom of three made a career change in 2014 and is five years into her new profession as a special education teacher. Before deductions, a licensed teacher with Echols’ years of experience in Mississippi will make around $36,000.

The Hattiesburg School District tops the state’s minimum pay with a $2,000 salary supplement, making Echols' gross salary slightly higher.

It’s also below the median wage in Mississippi where residents take home some of the lowest pay in the country.

Working as a manager at the fast food chain to make ends meet puts Echols among the almost one in five public school teachers estimated to hold a second job.

“When you are a parent, you do what you have to take care of your children,” she said.

Four years after lawmakers approved a $2,500 pay raise for teachers, Mississippi continues to trail the nation when it comes to average teacher pay.

More:Still playing catch up: 5 ways Mississippi teacher pay lags most other states

More:Analysis: Teachers in West Virginia and Oklahoma are fed up. Are educators in Mississippi?

Despite low-cost-of-living in the Magnolia state — a dollar here goes further than other regions in the country — educators across the state are taking on second, and even, third jobs to get by.

They are driving buses, teaching yoga and spin classes, waiting tables and even renting out rooms in their homes.

They are working second jobs whether they are married, single with primary custody or single with no family to provide for. They are teachers in the state’s most affluent counties and in one of the poorest regions of the country.

More than a dozen teachers reached out to the Clarion Ledger to share their stories of working part-time jobs.

Hattiesburg teacher Phyllis Nobles says she remembers the day her stepson informed her he wasn't going to school because his teachers had joined the ranks of thousands of educators statewide protesting against low teacher pay.

Thirty five years after those walkouts occurred how much teachers are paid is still a white-hot issue.

Nobles was a young stay-at-home mom when teachers demonstrated in 1985. As she approached her 30s, she pivoted toward teaching.

Now a grandmother, she has a side job cleaning houses to earn extra cash, lives with roommates to save money and spent part of her Thanksgiving break scouting for job openings at local restaurants.

"Teachers should be sitting in a Starbucks enjoying pumpkin spice lattes (during the holidays) not drumming up work," she said lightly.

The loss of leisure time brings another worry.

"Could I be a better teacher if I didn't have to worry about paying my bills?" Nobles asked.

Kyle Crockett is now in his fourth year of teaching in Madison County. For the first three, he earned a small stipend as a soccer assistant.

Now, the English teacher works 10 to 15 hours a week at Lemuria Books in Jackson.

He graduated in 2014 and this is his first year without roommates. His shifts at the independent bookstore help him pay rent and invest in a private retirement plan.

The 26-year-old says the bookstore's hours — it closes by 7 p.m. on weekdays — helps him avoid burnout.

“It’s sort of a perfect storm,” he said.

In Sumrall, Candy Lonzo often squeezes in 30 minutes on a popular distance learning program providing one-on-one English lessons to Chinese students before heading to her job as a teacher at a nearby middle school.

The 36-year-old self-described “brick and mortar” teacher has taught for 14 years; she’s held a part-time job for 13 of those years.

“Working that second job you bust your behind hoping eventually you’ll get ahead,” Lonzo said.

In the past year, she’s spent more than 500 hours tutoring children in Shanghai and Beijing. The English teacher says the daily reward of her students and the fun “chasing rabbits” during classroom discussions are one of the reasons she hasn’t left the profession.

But passion won't put a dent in student loan payments, take care of the monthly mortgage or costly health issues.

Echols believes pay is one of the factors why younger generations are shying away from the classroom.

“Something has to be done, or it’s going to be scary here in the near future,” she said.

Laura Laporte, who teaches in Horn Lake, shares Echols' concerns. LaPorte worked in marketing for 13 years. Laid off at the onset of the Great Recession, she enrolled in an alternate route program and became a teacher.

The pay at her current job is nearly half of what she took home in her former career; LaPorte does ACT prep to bring in extra income.

Educators protested in six states last year against grievances ranging from low pay and underfunded classrooms to changes to health insurance.

LaPorte noted that a law passed by the Mississippi Legislature makes it illegal for teachers to strike.

"They have us under a barrel," she said. "We teach and we accept what we make or we don't teach. A lot of that is why so many teachers leave the profession now or retire early.

"It seems like you would want to compensate this profession more to ensure a better future."

There are indications lawmakers could take action on teacher pay this session. Gov. Phil Bryant, Lt. Gov. Tate Reeves and House Speaker Philip Gunn have expressed support for teacher pay raises.

And there’s precedent for such proposals being successfully pushed through both chambers to the governor’s desk during an election year.

Tymara Dunlap works in DeSoto County, which borders Tennessee.

Making the three-hour drive to Jackson to advocate for better pay isn’t a possibility for Dunlap, but she wants lawmakers to know the smiles and enthusiasm teachers bring to the classroom often mask the sacrifices educators make to stay there.

For years, church members helped Dunlap with child care while she worked evening shifts at the YMCA.

Her daughter’s now in college, and Dunlap is still pulling the same shift.

Once a teacher’s assistant, a position that often pays less than what’s considered a living wage, Dunlap now holds a master’s degree qualifying her for the upper range of teacher pay in the state.

It’s that commitment she wants lawmakers to consider when they weigh the feasibility of boosting teacher pay against competing budget priorities.

“We don’t get into this for the money,” Dunlap said, “but we want to feel appreciated.”