Lost in Seattle With Mete Mario

Me, Lynn Barnett, and Mete Kök
at the 1998 NSF ATE Conference in Washington, DC

The drizzle came down on the rental. Mete drove and Alberto sat beside him looking at his
watch. I was in the back seat.

"Six o'clock," Alberto said.

"I know it."

Mete's face was set. His jaw was tight but his hands were loose on the wheel. We had been driving through the neighborhoods for some time. There was no map. I had said I knew the way from the hotel but I did not know it. The houses were small with well kept yards. The streets all looked the same in the drizzle.

We had meetings for three days. Microsoft and the American Association of Community Colleges had set up a program called Working Connections. The three of us were community college faculty. Our colleges were part of the program. 1998 was a good time. The internet was taking off. Everyone was building websites. Microsoft was fighting Netscape for the browser war and spending big. Y2K was coming and everyone needed help. Windows NT was everywhere. Microsoft was winning and they knew it. You could feel the energy. The campus in Redmond was new buildings and green lawns. Long meeting days but they treated us like royalty. Community college faculty getting the executive treatment. Everything was first class. They fed us well - I fondly remember the swizzle sticks for our coffee. and of course - the chair massages. The presentations were sharp. Everyone wore business casual. One guy wore a kilt. No ties. The hotel was downtown Seattle. Marble floors and doormen. The beds were comfy. Views spectacular. We bussed back and forth to Redmond. Now, we were lost in the neighborhoods where people lived.

"Turn left," I said.

"You know?"

"No."

He turned his head but his eyes never left the road. He did not look worried. The street curved back. Alberto watched his watch. The drizzle was steady now.

"We need to ask," I said.

Mete was already stopping. He knew what to do. An old man came out with his dog. He had no umbrella. Nobody uses them in Seattle. The drizzle was on his head and shoulders. The dog was wet. Mete rolled down the window.

"The airport?"

The man came closer. He looked at us through the drizzle. Water was on his face.

"Sea-Tac?"

"Yes."

"End of the street. Turn right. Five blocks to Aurora. Go south. You'll see the signs for the interstate."

"Thank you."

Mete's face changed. Now he knew. His shoulders relaxed. He drove like he knew. We found Aurora. Then the signs. Then the highway. The drizzle kept coming. Mete's hands were steady on the wheel. His eyes were focused and calm. He moved between the cars and did not use the brakes much. The wipers went back and forth. He never rushed and he was efficient. There was no question we would make it. You could see it in his face.

Alberto looked at his watch at the airport exit. Mete did not look at anything but the road. He knew the time without looking.

Mete pulled to the curb at departures. Smooth. Perfect. Alberto took his bag and got out. The drizzle hit him. He ran for the doors.

We watched him go inside.

I climbed into the front seat.

"Will he make it?"

Mete looked at me. His face was calm. It had been calm the whole time.

"He will."

(He did)

I looked at Mete. He had driven like Mario Andretti. The racing driver. Fast and smooth and never rattled.

"Mario," I said.

"What?"

"Mete Mario."

He smiled a little. It was good.

What I Tell Students About AI and Their Careers

Yesterday I wrote about my experience meeting with first year engineering students at Wentworth Institute of Technology. Here’s a bit more on what was discussed. 

AI always comes up. Whenever I talk to students - AI - it's something we are all concerned about. We worry about career security, whether we will be replaced by a bot, how fast it is moving. I have my own opinions on this from both a career perspective and a classroom perspective. Here's my take.

 

AI is now standard equipment. You'll use AI to draft reports, run design iterations, and analyze data. These tools are already normal day to day for many engineers. I like to compare AI to CAD. In the 1980s, senior engineers worried that CAD would eliminate drafting jobs. It did. But it created more engineering jobs because projects got cheaper and faster. Engineers who learned AutoCAD (arguably the first CAD program to gain widespread adoption is the 1980s) early had an advantage over those who clung to drafting tables. The same pattern applies now.

 

Computers can't make decisions that matter. AI suggests solutions based on parameters you provide. You decide which parameters count. You recognize when outputs look correct but fail in reality. You know when code conflicts with physics. You take responsibility when designs fail. Software doesn't do that.

 

Hands-on work resists automation. Site inspections, equipment troubleshooting, and field verification require presence. Civil, mechanical, and construction engineering involve messy reality. Sensors lie. Materials behave unpredictably. You verify assumptions with your hands and eyes.

 

Communication grows more valuable. Clients need translation between technical reality and business needs. Regulators need convincing. Teams need coordination. AI generates text; you read people and adjust strategy accordingly.

 

Choose your specialization carefully. Deep technical knowledge in stable domains (structural analysis, thermodynamics, electromagnetics) pairs well with computational tools. You provide expertise; computers handle calculations. Broad systems thinking also works. You connect disciplines; software optimizes within constraints you define.

 

Skills that will protect your career with reference to AI:

·       Learning new tools quickly

·       Critical evaluation of automated outputs

·       Client and stakeholder management

·       Hands-on troubleshooting

·       Ethical decision making

·       Cross-disciplinary thinking

 

Many engineering faculty disagree on this topic. Now for the fun stuff. Some professors ban AI tools in their courses. They have concerns about academic integrity and skill development. I understand the concerns and have the same ones, but this stuff is not going away. Employers today expect engineers to use AI tools day one, so I've shifted (and continue to shift) my courses to incorporate AI into assignments and labs. Students need practice evaluating AI outputs and knowing when to trust them. Learning these skills in school sure beats learning them under deadline pressure at a first job.

 

Advice to students. Use AI tools in your coursework when allowed. Learn their limitations through experience. Discover where they fail. If a professor bans AI, respect that rule. But seek out courses that teach you to work with these tools effectively.

Your generation will work alongside AI throughout your careers. Good engineers get better with better tools.

Some Things First Year Engineering Students Need to Know

I met with a class of first year engineering students in Professor Javdekar's (excellent) class at Wentworth Institute of Technology this morning. Civil, electrical, mechanical, computer, and biomedical engineering students filled the room. They asked some great questions about education and careers. Here's a short summary of some of what we discussed.

Your coursework builds foundations that last. Math teaches you to model change. Physics shows you how systems behave under stress. Biology teaches you systems. Chemistry explains material properties. These aren't obstacles to graduation. They're part of the vocabulary you'll use to describe and solve real problems. 

Hands-on matters more than grades suggest. You learn to troubleshoot when experiments fail. You discover that theory doesn't always match reality. You practice translating observations into conclusions. These skills transfer directly to fieldwork. Real projects fail in unexpected ways. Your ability to diagnose and adapt comes from that hands-on experience.

Problem sets teach decision making. You learn which equations apply to which situations. You estimate before calculating. You check if answers make physical sense. Engineering isn't about memorizing formulas. It's about judgment under constraints. Every problem set builds that muscle.

Group projects prepare you for collaboration. You coordinate schedules. You divide work among people with different strengths. You resolve conflicts over approach. These frustrations are excellent training not just for your careers but for life. Real projects involve coordinating dozens of people with competing priorities.

Skills that compound over time:

• Technical fundamentals from your core courses
• Hands-on troubleshooting from labs
• Communication from presentations and reports
• Systems thinking from design projects
• Time management from balancing coursework

You're not just collecting credits. You're building capabilities. The math feels abstract now. The lab reports feel tedious. They're teaching you to understand and document decisions that matter.

The engineers who thrive know what to build, not just how to build it. Your education is teaching you both.

Building Systems, Teaching Students: Why Academic Leaders Need Both

I spent twenty years as a community college administrator, directing an NSF center of excellence from 1998 to 2018. We partnered with industry leaders to bring emerging technologies - fiber optics, wireless communications, network security, advanced data systems - to community colleges nationwide. We trained hundreds of faculty, helped establish cutting-edge programs at hundreds of colleges across the country, and built frameworks that are still shaping technical education today.

That work was essential. We accomplished things that couldn't have been done from inside a single classroom.

Then I returned to teaching students full-time.

That work was equally essential. And it revealed a truth every educational leader needs to understand.

The Power of National-Level Work

At the NSF center, we operated at a scale that created real change. We worked directly with telecommunications companies, security firms, and system integrators - networking, fiber optic manufacturers, cybersecurity leaders. They showed us what was coming: 5G deployment, fiber expansion, evolving threat landscapes, mobile infrastructure. We translated that into curriculum frameworks, faculty development workshops, and equipment standards.

We helped hundreds of colleges launch programs that didn't previously exist. Networking programs. Cybersecurity tracks. Fiber optic technology courses. We connected campuses with industry partnerships. We created pathways that led directly to employment.

Faculty attended our workshops supported by institutional budgets and professional development funding. They returned to their campuses with new skills, current knowledge, and industry-aligned curriculum. The impact rippled across the country.

This work mattered enormously. You cannot build that infrastructure from a single classroom.

What Only the Classroom Can Teach

But you also cannot build effective educational systems without understanding what happens in that classroom.

Students face different questions than faculty do. Many work full-time while taking 15 credits. They raise children. They choose between an associate degree that gets them earning quickly and transfer preparation that might open more doors later. They often make these choices in their first semester, before they fully understand what the careers involve.

I met the student who can configure a router beautifully but struggles with signal processing mathematics. She needs to decide: get her network technician AS degree now, or push through two more years for university engineering transfer? The framework we built doesn't answer that question.

I worked with the student who could transfer to computer engineering but needs income immediately. His Cisco certification could start him at $80K. He also needs to pay rent next month. The equipment standards don't address that reality.

I encountered the student who didn't know network administration existed as a career path. We'd helped build hundreds of these programs nationwide. But this student - sitting in my classroom - had never heard of this field until his advisor suggested this intro course.

The Questions That Shape Policy

The student who emails at 11pm asking whether he needs Calculus for networking if he's just pursuing Cisco certifications.

The single parent who misses lab occasionally because childcare fell through.

The returning adult who asks whether a two-year security degree will limit her options if she wants to advance later.

These aren't edge cases. These are community college students. They often work 30-40 hours weekly. They wonder whether they belong in STEM at all. They need someone who can answer not just "what's the curriculum" but "how does this fit my actual life?"

You cannot design programs for these students solely from administrative offices, no matter how well-intentioned or industry-informed those designs may be.

Why Leaders Need Both Perspectives

The NSF center work gave me systems thinking. National reach. Industry connections. The ability to see patterns across hundreds of institutions. Understanding of how emerging technologies should flow into curricula. That perspective is invaluable.

The classroom work gave me something equally invaluable: understanding what students actually need from those systems.

Both matter. Both are necessary.

But here's what I learned: educational leaders who stay disconnected from classrooms make decisions based on incomplete information. They design beautiful systems that don't account for the 11pm email. They create pathways without understanding how students actually choose between them. They implement policies that assume students have the resources, time, and knowledge that faculty in professional development workshops have.

When I returned to teaching, my perspective shifted immediately. I stopped thinking exclusively about cutting-edge protocols and started asking why students struggle to afford textbooks. I stopped only designing pathways based on industry needs and started helping individuals figure out which pathway fits their actual circumstances. I started understanding the difference between "this program exists" and "this student knows this program exists and understands whether it's right for them."

The Call to Action

Educational administrators and leaders need both perspectives. The broad institutional view and the individual student view. The systems design and the human implementation.

Attending conferences matters. Presenting at professional meetings has value. Working with industry partners creates essential connections.

But teaching an introductory course to students who work full-time, whose last math course was in high school, who will lose financial aid if they don't pass—that's equally essential leadership work.

Do this and you make better decisions at every level. Your policy discussions become grounded in reality. Your program designs account for actual student lives. Your resource allocation reflects what students truly need, not just what looks impressive in a grant application.

The administrative work I did was valuable - genuinely valuable. We changed technical education across the country. But I would have made better decisions during those twenty years if I had remained connected to the classroom throughout.

Other administrators might benefit from the same reminder.

A Practical Proposal

Educational leaders should teach at least one course every two years. Not as a guest lecturer. Not as an administrator observing. As the instructor of record, responsible for student outcomes, answering the emails, navigating the same systems students navigate.

NSF center work taught me how to build systems at scale. Teaching students taught me whether those systems actually work for the people they're meant to serve.

Both lessons are essential. Neither is optional for effective educational leadership.

When You Can't Give Your Best

Yesterday, out of nowhere, an opportunity landed in my inbox. Right away, I could already see exactly how I'd approach it, the effort, the care I'd take, the final product. It's the kind of work that I love, the kind that makes me forget to check the clock.

But here's the hard truth: I can't do it. Not right now. Not at the level I'm used to producing at.

I slept on it last night. This morning I was up early, reviewing everything - my current workload, family commitments, life in general. Calendars don't lie. I could squeeze this new work in, sure. I could add it to the pile and give it whatever scraps of energy remain at the end of the day.

But.... I don't want to disappoint myself - or anyone else - by delivering something mediocre when I know what I'm capable of creating.

It breaks my heart to say no. In the past, I've often said yes. I'd figure it out somehow, sleep less, push harder, make it work. But I'm older now, and I'm trying to slow down at least a little bit. I'm learning that not every opportunity needs to be seized, that rest isn't laziness, and that protecting my energy is just as important as proving myself.

This opportunity might not come around again. But saying yes would mean showing up as a shadow of myself, rushing through something that deserves my full attention, compromising on standards I've spent years building.

So for now, I decline. I send the email with a heavy heart. And I remind myself that sometimes the most professional thing you can do is recognize your limits and be honest about them.

Building Quantum Networks on Existing Fiber Infrastructure

Image AI Generated

I’ve written here about quantum networks and communications. These systems that connect quantum computers and devices using quantum entanglement hold enormous promise for secure communication and distributed computing. But getting them to work over real-world distances has proven challenging.

The problem comes down to wavelengths. Most quantum systems today use visible or ultraviolet light to create entanglement between atoms. But here's the catch: when you try to send these signals through fiber optic cables over long distances, they degrade rapidly. The sweet spot for fiber optics is the "telecom band" - wavelengths ranging from about 1,260 to 1,675 nanometers or nm (infrared light), with the most efficient transmission around 1,310 nm and 1,550 nm. At these wavelengths, signals can travel hundreds of kilometers with minimal loss.

Converting quantum signals from visible light to telecom wavelengths sounds like an easy fix, but it's not. The conversion process reduces efficiency and introduces errors that corrupt the delicate quantum states you're trying to preserve.

Researchers led by Prof. Jacob P. Covey at the University of Illinois have identified a solution described here: A new scalable approach to realize a quantum communication network based on ytterbium-171 atoms The solution uses ytterbium-171 atoms that naturally emit light at 1,389 nanometers—already in the telecom band. No conversion needed. It's like building a device that speaks the right language from the start.

Ytterbium-171 was chosen strategically. This isotope is already used in ultra-precise atomic clocks because it has an extremely stable internal state. The researchers realized they could exploit this stability for quantum networking while taking advantage of its telecom-compatible light emission.

What makes this work particularly significant is the team's approach to scaling. Instead of just connecting one atom at a time, they created an array of multiple ytterbium-171 atoms held in place by focused laser beams (called optical tweezers). They then aligned this array with standard fiber optic cables - similar to how you might plug multiple ethernet cables into a router. This parallelization means multiple quantum connections can be established simultaneously, like having multiple lanes on a highway instead of a single narrow road. The team demonstrated that all channels maintained high-quality entanglement with virtually no interference between neighboring connections - a critical requirement for practical networks.

The researchers used something called "time-bin encoding" to package their quantum information. Rather than encoding data in properties like light polarization (which can get scrambled in fiber), they encode it in the precise timing of when photons arrive. Think of it as Morse code at the quantum level - the message is in the timing pattern rather than the brightness or color.

One innovation that makes this practical is their "mid-circuit networking protocol." In quantum computing, one of the biggest challenges is that quantum states are fragile—they degrade quickly. This protocol allows the system to establish network connections while keeping other quantum data intact, like being able to download files on your computer without closing all your other programs.

The team demonstrated their system can:

·       Create high-quality entanglement between atoms and photons consistently across all channels

·       Maintain quantum connections after sending photons through 40 meters of fiber optic cable

·       Achieve entanglement fidelity approaching 99% with planned improvements

·       Operate multiple channels simultaneously without crosstalk

The researchers are already designing a second-generation system that will use optical cavities (essentially mirrors that bounce photons back and forth) to dramatically improve collection efficiency. This could increase networking rates by orders of magnitude.

The long-term vision is creating networks where quantum processors at different locations can share entanglement - enabling distributed quantum computing, synchronized arrays of atomic clocks for precision sensing, and fundamentally secure communication channels.

This work shows that quantum networks can be built using existing fiber optic infrastructure while maintaining the high fidelities needed for practical quantum applications. By combining telecom-compatible atoms with scalable parallel architecture, the team has created a roadmap for the quantum networks of the future.

My Friend Doug

Me, Cedric, Doug - around 1982

Two weeks ago, we talked. Really talked - about work, about old times, about nothing important that felt like everything. His voice was weaker than before, but it was still him. Still Doug, the guy I'd known for forty-five years, whose expertise in yeast and fungi identification had earned him recognition nationally as a mycologist.

Each visit since showed me less of my friend. First, the conversations grew shorter, his words more labored. Then came the days he mostly slept, stirring only when I gave his hand a shake. Last week, even that response faded.

His breathing changed completely. What was once steady became urgent, desperate. Each breath sounded like a struggle I couldn't help him win. He thrashed against sheets, against pain, against something I couldn't see or understand.

Was he dreaming? Was some part of him still in there, wrestling with memories from four and a half decades of friendship? Maybe he felt the strength that once earned him multiple degree black belts in judo, or remembering those early Pan-Mass Challenge rides we tackled together every summer - pushing each other through the hills, sharing water and encouragement, pedaling together for cancer research, raising money to beat the very disease that finally took him. Or maybe he was laughing at one of countless crazy memories - so many things that still make me smile.

I sat beside this man who changed my life in 1980. I'd just finished a one-year internship in clinical laboratory science, trying to figure out my next steps, when I interviewed for a position in the clinical microbiology lab. Competition was fierce, he was on the interview team and hired me. He saw something in me I hadn't yet seen in myself. Three of us became inseparable - Doug, Cedric, and me. But by 1982, my mind started to drift. Hospital work wasn't for me; I wasn't a good fit. When I decided to leave and a new direction, and Cedric headed off to Hawaii, Doug stayed behind. As he put it then, "Someone has to stick around and save lives."

It was difficult when I left the lab. In some ways, I was giving up, admitting I did not like the work. Back in 2012 I wrote about my decision to leave here.  Some were upset with my decision. But Doug - Doug encouraged me always. He understood that sometimes the best thing you can do is recognize when a path isn't right for you, even when others see it as failure.

And he did stay, saving lives for decades through his work, his dedication to understanding the microscopic world that could heal or harm. Doug was amazing at fungi identification - a skill that required incredible technique. Growing the fungi, using sticky tape to collect the flowering head, staining it, then identifying it under the microscope. I sucked at that. Doug was incredible at it. Over the years, he rose to become laboratory director, leading with the same precision and expertise he brought to every slide he examined. Through all these years, no matter where life took us, we remained in touch. If I needed anything - anything at all - he was always there. That steady presence, that unwavering friendship, became a bedrock I could always count on.

Five years ago, he had his bladder removed - the first major battle against cancer. Every three months after that, the trip to Dana-Farber in Boston for stent exchanges. He hung in there with that same determination he brought to everything - the judo mat, the Pan-Mass Challenge, his meticulous lab work, his life. He fought the good fight until the very end. 

The last word I heard him say was "pizza" a few days ago, when a dietician came in and asked what he wanted for dinner. She asked if he wanted fish - he hated fish. Even then, even barely able to speak, he managed to tell her he wanted pizza. That was so Doug, holding onto his preferences, his personality, his fight, right until the end.

Yesterday morning, things slipped away. His wife, his son, his dog, family - all left behind, trying to navigate a world that suddenly feels a lot smaller without him. The cruelest part is losing a rock-solid constant, a person who dedicated his life to saving others, who gave people a start and then a push, and who spent forty-five years being a true friend.

Rest up buddy.