I had spent three years learning how to become an engineer. Now it was time to find out whether I could actually be one.
By the end of my junior year at Iowa State, I could solve differential equations, analyze stress loads, and survive engineering exams. But I had no idea what a mechanical engineer’s typical workday looked like. Every job I’d held involved just physical labor, and I knew that a diploma alone wouldn’t open many doors. Employers wanted experience, and I needed to find some. That search would take me nearly 2,000 miles west to Tacoma, Washington, for a summer that would shape far more than my résumé.
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 - I had a cumulative GPA of 3.51 and held an Engineering-In-Training Certification after passing the 6-hour Fundamentals of Engineering Exam, the precursor to becoming a professional engineer. CHECK
- Campus involvement outside the classroom - I was a member of two Honorary Engineering Fraternities: Tau Beta Pi for All Engineering disciplines and Pi Tau Sigma for Mechanical Engineering. CHECK. And most importantly, that golden ticket on any engineering résumé—
- An internship in your field. I had a solid work history but nothing in the Engineering field. I had started working at age 14 as a paperboy, then added busboy, laborer in an ice-making plant and refrigeration plant, supervisor on a detasseling crew, and KP duty at an air force base. I was even an employee of the Railroad for one glorious summer as a 17-year-old making almost $5/hr. Minimum wage back then was a little more than $2/hr. My father had told a white lie about my age. Apparently, in those days, the railroad was willing to overlook a missing birthday if you were willing to swing a spike maul.
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.
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.
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.
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, 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 substitute for the company team one evening, and since I’d never met a baseball diamond I didn’t like, I volunteered. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of the summer. In my very first game, I hit two home runs while playing shortstop. Apparently, that was enough to earn a permanent roster spot.
There was only one small problem—I didn’t own a car. No problem, they said. They simply tossed me the keys to an older Volkswagen Beetle and told me to use it for the season. I couldn’t believe it. One day I was just the summer intern; the next I felt like a prized free-agent signing with a company car as part of the deal. Looking back, it probably wasn’t quite that glamorous, but to a 22-year-old college student, it sure felt that way.
I played a lot of softball that summer and loved every minute of it. Along the way, I also became friends with a young woman from Tacoma who was home for the summer from Stanford University, where she was attending on a tennis scholarship. She was interning at Weyerhaeuser as well, and we spent time together after work, played tennis, and she occasionally came to watch our softball games. I even had dinner with her family a couple of times. It never turned into a romance, but it was one of those easy, genuine friendships that made an already unforgettable summer even better
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 who moved to Seattle.
There were quieter, more personal moments woven throughout that summer as well. I had recently gone through a painful breakup with Sue Ann, and like most 22-year-olds trying to make sense of a bruised heart, I spent more than a few evenings on the phone with a close high school classmate back home. Those conversations became a lifeline, helping me sort through the disappointment while reminding me there was still a life waiting for me after the internship. When I finally returned to Wisconsin, we spent that first week together, and her friendship made the transition home much easier after such an intense and unforgettable summer.
As always, my mom was one of the people I leaned on the most. She had a remarkable ability to listen without judgment and offer just enough wisdom to help me see life from a different perspective. During one of our phone conversations, we came up with what seemed like the perfect plan. OK, to me at least. We'd buy a brand-new Mazda RX-7. She would pay for it up front and enjoy driving it for my senior year while I finished college. Once I graduated and landed my first full-time job, the car would become mine, and I'd repay her over time. It was a generous arrangement, and when I finally got behind the wheel, that sleek little sports car felt like more than just transportation—it was a symbol that another exciting chapter of life was waiting just around the corner.
...Looking back, I sometimes wonder if the whole deal was her idea from the beginning. For a year, my mom got to drive one of the sportiest cars in town while I was away at school. In a small Wisconsin community where most people drove practical family sedans or pickup trucks, a bright Mazda RX-7 stood out. She looked right at home behind the wheel, and I have no doubt a few neighbors wondered what she was up to. By the time I finally took ownership, she had already enjoyed being the coolest mom in town—and I inherited one very well-loved sports 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 actual 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.
Three months went by faster than I ever imagined. When the internship came to an end, I headed home for a short visit before returning to Iowa State for my senior year. I came back with more than just professional experience—I returned older, wiser, more confident, and with a much clearer vision for my future. Somewhere along the way, I had also begun mending a broken heart. As life often reminds us, relationships don't always follow a straight path. Before leaving for Iowa, I stopped to see Sue Ann at the mall in La Crosse, where she was working. It didn't take long before we were talking and laughing as if the months apart had never happened. We picked up where we had left off and continued seeing each other throughout my senior year. She even stood beside my mom at my college graduation—a day filled with pride, hope, and emotions that deserve a chapter all their own.
Looking back, that summer in Washington became one of the defining seasons of my life. It reinforced the value of persistence, rewarded the courage to pursue an opportunity, and gave me confidence in my ability to succeed beyond the classroom. I returned to Iowa State with a clear purpose, knowing exactly the kind of engineer—and the kind of person—I wanted to become. All that remained was one final year of college before stepping into the next chapter of life, a journey that had begun years earlier in the small town of New Lisbon.