There are certain summers that stick with you—not because everything went smoothly, but because life had a way of handing you exactly the lessons you needed. My internship in the state of Washington, the summer of 1980, was one of those.

Back then, I was a junior at Iowa State, trying to line up all the things I thought would guarantee a good job after graduation: solid grades, some campus involvement, and most importantly, that golden ticket on any engineering résumé—an internship in your field. So I spent the spring sending out application after application, collecting a thick stack of rejection letters in return. It became routine enough that some days I’d find myself laughing at how efficiently companies could say “No thanks.” My dorm room wall was full of “flush letters” and I treated it like it was a badge of honor.

Then came Weyerhaeuser

A buddy of mine in mechanical engineering told me something about Weyerhaeuser that sounded too good to be true: if you call the company and show a genuine interest, you magically move up the queue when they need a replacement. I figured, hey, what do I have to lose? So I picked up the phone, told them I’d love to come out West, and that was that. A week or two later, someone dropped out and I was in. By April of 1980, I was set for the adventure. My new home for the summer was to be Tacoma, Washington.

May 18th

Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18th—violently, historically, catastrophically. It began with a magnitude 5.1 earthquake that triggered a massive landslide and lateral blast. The eruption killed 57 people and was the deadliest and most expensive volcanic eruption in U.S. history. It destroyed landscapes, collapsed the northern summit, and sent an ash plume more than 80,000 feet high. And where was I supposed to be working? Right in that region. The day after the eruption, someone asked me, half jokingly, “Do you still have a job?” That was enough for me to call Weyerhaeuser, who assured me everything was still on. So off I went.

Flying into Seattle that first time is a sight I’ll never forget. Everything looked gray, muted, dusty. Forests were flattened like matchsticks scattered across the land. Steam and smoke still hung in the air in places. Even the sky felt tired. It was surreal, almost like landing on another planet.

The summer quickly found its rhythm

At first, I lived with my boss for a couple of months—not exactly standard for internships today, but back then I made do. He would get married in August so I rented a room from him and we drove to and from work together. He was an older gentleman so nights were quiet but I remember him being a decent cook. Later, I moved into a dorm at the University of Puget Sound (UPS), and that was a whole different experience. Picture dozens of college kids living together far from home, working hard by day and fully embracing “college fun” by night. Let’s just say the weekends were lively, and the beer was… plentiful.

Weyerhaeuser itself was a great company to work for. Everyone treated us interns like professionals, not just students tagging along. We were each given a project, and mine was a full-blown design assignment. Three months of design engineering taught me one thing very clearly: I did not want to be a design engineer. That realization alone was worth the entire trip—it helped steer me toward project engineering at 3M, where I eventually built my career.

I worked in a new building that had been recently built with some amenities, like an indoor pickleball court and a weight room. Someone who had played for the Wisconsin Badgers in the Rose Bowl in the 1960s thought I would be a worthy opponent on the court. (Now that I have that in print he sounds old. OK. Probably 40 years old to my 22). He introduced me to pickleball long before it became the nationwide craze it is today. I was hooked instantly. I also made full use of the weight room—back then I was about six feet tall, 220 pounds, and in some of the best shape of my life.

Then came softball. Someone needed a sub for the company team one night, and since I loved baseball, I said yes and had a blast. First game I hit two home runs and played shortstop. I did well enough that they wanted me full-time. The only problem was that I didn’t have a car. No matter—they simply loaned me one. Just handed over the keys to an older VW Bug. It made me feel like a 5 star recruit that was receiving money under the table. That summer, I played a ton of softball. I also met a cute girl going to Stanford University on a tennis scholarship in Palo Alto. She lived in Tacoma with her parents during the break and was also interning at Weyerhaeuser. We hung out together after work, she came and watched my games, we played tennis together, and I was invited to her house a time or two for supper and to meet her parents. Nothing serious but it was nice to have her friendship.

There were adventures, too. A group of us hiked up Mount Hood, climbing past the snow line. I borrowed most of the gear—probably not the smartest decision—but it was unforgettable. We camped out in tents on the snow, navigated icy streams, and felt like mountaineers even though most of us were glorified amateurs. One event stands out above the others. During the ascent, I had stepped into a stream that had iced over and my shoes and socks were soaking wet. One of the more experienced hikers said that when you go to sleep, take all of your wet items and put them in the bottom of your sleeping bag. They will be "toasty warm" in the morning. I drifted off thinking how great that was going to feel. I woke up to two frozen boomerangs for socks that I had to literally beat against a tree to soften them up so I could wear them on the trip down.

And we explored. The Puget Sound. Seattle. A soccer match that electrified the whole stadium. A ferry ride to Vancouver. The Space Needle. Every weekend seemed to bring something new. I also remember meeting up with a former resident of New Lisbon that now lived in Seattle.

There were personal moments woven in as well. I had recently gone through a breakup with Sue Ann, and like most 22-year-olds nursing a bruised heart, I found myself frequently calling a high school classmate back home to talk it through. When I returned to Wisconsin, we spent that first week together and that softened the landing from such an intense summer. And of course there was my mom that I had always leaned upon. She was wise in the ways of life. During those phone calls, we did come to an agreement to buy a new Mazda RX-7 when I got home. She would pay the money up front and drive it for one year while I finished college. When I got a job I would take ownership of the car and pay her back. That was a fun car.

Work had its own type of fun. Computers were just starting to enter the workplace, and Weyerhaeuser had a simple video game called Weather War that hooked all of us. The players controlled weather phenomena to attack your opponent’s building. It was primitive by today’s standards, but back then it felt cutting-edge.

The weather in Washington surprised me. Most mornings brought a light mist or drizzle, like the state was wiping the sleep out of its eyes. Then by afternoon the skies would clear, revealing the mountains standing proud in the distance. It was beautiful—peaceful even. A perfect opposite to the chaos Mount St. Helens had unleashed weeks earlier.

Back to School

Three months went by fast. When it was done, I headed home briefly and then right back to Iowa State for my senior year—older, wiser, and clearer about what I wanted out of my career and my life. And as life will have it, Sue Ann and I got back together again for my last year at Iowa State. Before leaving for Iowa, I remember seeing her at a mall in LaCrosse where she worked. We picked up right where we had left off and continued to see each other my last year at school. She was at my college graduation with my mom and Francis McCormack. However that day will be left for another separate post.

That summer gave me confidence. It taught me independence. And it proved something important: sometimes the best opportunities aren’t the ones that fall into your lap. Sometimes they’re the ones you politely call about, follow up on, and say, “Yes, I’m still interested,” even when a volcano erupts.

Looking back, my internship in Washington was more than just a line on a résumé. It was a turning point, a rite of passage, and a season of growth wrapped inside an adventure. It showed me the world is bigger than the Midwest—and that I was ready to explore it.