2026-08-02 21:00:01
A German engineer wanted a cheaper cigarette. The popular crooner Bing Crosby wanted a vacation. Satisfying both desires inadvertently led to the invention of the laugh track. Along the way there were Nazis, spoils of war, and more than one accidental encounter. Tying together this quirky history is the Magnetophon.
The Magnetophon was a high-fidelity reel-to-reel magnetic tape recorder. The hit of the Berlin Radio Show when it debuted in 1935, it was developed by the German electronics manufacturer AEG. The magnetic tape was produced by I.G. Farben (now known as BASF).
German inventor Fritz Pfleumer came up with the idea of recording sound on magnetized paper tape coated with metal.ullstein bild/Getty Images
The tale of that tape runs through German inventor Fritz Pfleumer. In the early 1920s, Pfleumer was working on industrial paper products in Dresden. At the time, fancy cigarettes had gold leaf to decorate the tip. Cheaper manufacturers achieved a similar effect using colored paper, but the dye could stain smokers’ lips, and no one wanted that. Pfleumer devised a less expensive process using powdered bronze to simulate the gold band.
Pfleumer didn’t work in the recording industry, but he was familiar with the technology of electromechanical recording, which was done on metal wire—a 1898 invention of the Danish engineer Valdemar Poulsen. Pfleumer thought he could do something similar with paper by replacing his powdered bronze with a magnetized material. He patented his “sounding paper” in 1928 and also invented an audio tape recorder to go with it. The sound quality wasn’t great, and the paper tore easily, but it was the start of a promising idea. Two points in its favor: The paper could be sliced, allowing edits, and it could be erased and re-recorded over.
Pfleumer knew he needed to partner with a larger company to commercialize his idea, and so he signed a contract with AEG in 1932. Hermann Bücher, chairman of the AEG board of directors, took a personal interest in the project, helping shepherd it to completion. Although AEG originally planned on developing both a recorder and the tape, it didn’t take long for Bücher to reach out to his friend Wilhelm Gaus, managing director at I.G. Farben. AEG developed the hardware, while I.G. Farben worked on the tape.
The two teams dubbed their product the Magnetophon, or magnetic phonograph, and planned on launching it at the 1934 Berlin Radio Show to compete directly with machines that recorded on steel tape or wire. But the product wasn’t quite ready. Two days before the show, they canceled the debut.
A year later, the bugs had been worked out. The Magnetophon’s introduction at the 1935 show was a resounding success. AEG fielded inquiries for many variations on the recorder, including one that combined the recorder with a telephone, a player for prerecorded music, and a special version to add artificial reverberation for recording open-air concerts. Over the next three years, AEG developed several iterations, resulting in the Magnetophon K4 in 1938, its first commercially successful tape recorder.
The K4 eliminated the hiss and distortion that magnetic recordings previously suffered from by incorporating AC bias, which added a high-frequency signal, typically around 40 to 150 kilohertz, to the recording. Inaudible to the human ear, the signal reduced distortion, especially when recording quieter passages. The fidelity of the Magnetophon was such that radio listeners couldn’t distinguish between live broadcasts and prerecorded performances.
This is where the Nazis come in. Adolf Hitler and his propaganda minister, Joseph Goebbels, understood the power of radio. The Magnetophon became a powerful tool for both political messaging and military strategy. Because the device could record and play back sound at the same quality as a live radio broadcast, it allowed Hitler’s recorded speeches to be aired from one radio station while the dictator was in another part of the country. This made it more difficult for the Allies to pinpoint his location.
Meanwhile, World War II disrupted the exchange of technical information and prevented Americans from learning about the Magnetophon until after the war. At least, that’s the shorthand version of this history I kept running across during my preliminary research for this column.
During World War II, U.S. Army Signal Corps engineer Jack Mullin [top] came across the Magnetophon. After the war, he got approval [bottom] to ship two of the disassembled machines and reels of magnetic tape back to the U.S.Top: Pavek Museum; Bottom: Richard L. Hess/The Mullin Family Collection/Archive of Recorded Sound/Stanford University
But then I read Friedrich K. Engel’s account in the book Magnetic Recording: The First 100 Years, which provides a wealth of detail about the Magnetophon. Among other things, Engel notes that the AEG affiliate in Schenectady, N.Y., received a Magnetophon in November 1937, well before the United States entered the war, and AEG engineers demonstrated it for their colleagues at nearby General Electric. The GE engineers dismissed the technology out of hand, though, and so Americans had to wait until after the war for the Magnetophon to be reintroduced.
We have electrical engineer John T. “Jack” Mullin to thank for that reintroduction. Mullin served in the U.S. Army Signal Corps, stationed in the United Kingdom and Paris during the war, and he liked listening to the radio. He realized that “live” orchestral broadcasts coming from Germany in the middle of the night, when no musicians would have actually been in the studio, lacked the telltale hiss and crackle of prerecorded music. Clearly, German engineers had recording technology far superior to the Americans’.
Sent to Germany at the war’s end, Mullin eventually came across that technology at a radio station, and in 1945 when he returned home to California, he shipped two disassembled Magnetophons, a case of tape, schematic drawings, and the determination to change the U.S. recording industry.
Enter Bing Crosby. In the 1940s, Crosby was perhaps the most popular performer on the radio. But he was tired of performing two weekly shows three hours apart (one for each coast). He wanted to prerecord his performances and take a break. He sent in his lawyers to talk to executives at NBC, which aired his program. The audio recording technology at the time used vinyl or shellac transcription discs, but radio listeners could hear the pops and hisses and knew it wasn’t live. NBC refused Crosby’s request, and so Crosby took a year off from radio and then signed with the upstart network ABC, which was willing to let him record his shows for later airing.
Radio producer Murdo MacKenzie [right] arranged for Jack Mullin [left] to demonstrate the Magnetophon to Bing Crosby in 1946.Pavek Museum
Serendipitously, Mullin had begun demoing the Magnetophon in California. In October 1946, Crosby’s technical producer, Murdo MacKenzie, heard about the demonstrations and arranged one for Crosby at the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios in Hollywood. Crosby was delighted and promptly invested US $50,000 (about $800,000 today) in Ampex, the company working with Mullin to engineer an American version of the Magnetophon. Mullin became Crosby’s chief engineer. 3M developed the magnetic tape.
In 1947, Crosby became the first major radio star in the United States to prerecord performances. Much of the success was due to the recording equipment, but Mullin was also an excellent editor. Crosby and his team would record multiple takes, and Mullin would deftly splice together the best to create a seamless performance.
After seeing a demo of the Magnetophon, Bing Crosby invested $50,000 in Ampex, which developed a U.S. version of the tape recorder. Cinematic/Alamy
One day a guest told a joke that was uproariously funny, but a little too spicy for radio. Even though the joke couldn’t be aired, the audience’s laughter was worth keeping. Soon, the producers created a whole catalog of different laugh tracks. If a joke didn’t land, it didn’t matter. The editor could just add a laugh in postproduction, from polite titters to hearty guffaws.
According to Crosby’s daughter Mary, Bing didn’t have a problem with this type of editing. The live audience was immaterial as long as the jokes were funny. But according to Mullin’s daughter, Eve Mullin Collier, the manipulation didn’t sit well with her father. He disliked the inauthenticity of the moment, of editing joy.
The history of technology is filled with such episodes of unintended consequences. Mullin admired the Magnetophon precisely because it could faithfully record a performance, an event, a moment in time. He worked tirelessly to refine the machine for the benefit of radio audiences everywhere. And so I understand why its appropriation for capturing canned reactions and manipulating reality must have rankled. He championed the technology, but ultimately it moved beyond his control.
Part of a continuing series looking at historical artifacts that embrace the boundless potential of technology.
An abridged version of this article appears in the August 2026 print issue as “Birth of the Laugh Track.”
Luis Felipe Eguiarte Souza, curator at the Pavek Museum of Electronic Communication, in St. Louis Park, Minn., first told me about the Magnetophon and its link to the laugh track. The machine pictured at top is on display at the Pavek, and is one of the two that Jack Mullin brought back from Germany and then rebuilt.
For significantly more technical detail on the development of the Magnetophon, magnetic tape, and its reinvention in America, check out Chapter 5, “The Introduction of the Magnetophon,” by Friedrich K. Engel, and Chapter 6, “Building on the Magnetophon,” by Beverley R. Gooch, in Magnetic Recording: The First 100 Years (IEEE Press, 1998).
Radiolab interviewed Mary Crosby and Eve Mullin Collier as part of the show “Mixtape: Jack and Bing,” which includes many archival recordings as it tells the story of the development of the laugh track.
There is a 2006 documentary on Jack Mullin titled Sound Man: WWII to MP3, but I was unable to view it.
2026-08-01 20:00:01
When I started at Spectrum 25 years ago, a senior editor suggested that I find a “rabbi,” by which he meant someone who could mentor me in how EEs approach problems and evaluate potential solutions.
I didn’t find one right away. Then in 2005 we decided to do a special report, focusing on the challenges of enterprise software development. I suggested we invite IEEE Life Senior Member Robert N. Charette, a self-described risk ecologist, prolific book author, and leading authority on risk management and software engineering, to explore in our pages the myriad reasons software projects fail. His seminal article “Why Software Fails” is still read in university engineering classes today.
IEEE Life Senior Member Robert N. Charette is one of IEEE Spectrum’s most prolific authors.Robert N. Charette
It was, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I had found my rabbi, one who shared my love of writing. We settled into a rhythm that would last more than 20 years, talking on Friday mornings about a range of topics including the growing ubiquity of software in our lives.
So when I became Spectrum’s website editor in 2007, he was the first contributor I tapped to start a regular blog (remember those?). The Risk Factor was born and over the course of more than 10 years and 1,750 posts, Bob chronicled hundreds of software debacles, culminating in “Lessons From a Decade of IT Failures,” which won a Jesse H. Neal Award for Best Infographics in 2016. Ironically, yet predictably, those infographics were created in a software package that is no longer supported and thus are lost to the bits of time.
“I like the expression on the fish just before it’s going to be swallowed by the heron.”Robert N. Charette
Bob, however, was not a one-trick pony. In between his full-time job running his two management consultancies and raising a future biochemist and a future civil engineer, his daughters Maura and Megan, he also wrote many deeply reported and insightful articles. These include last year’s “The Doctor Will See Your Electronic Health Record Now,” the eye-opening 12-part series and e-book The EV Transition Explained, and my personal favorite “Automated to Death,” about the deadly consequences of the automation paradox as manifested by the cyberphysical systems that pilot planes, trains, and automobiles.
“The young bald eagle I photographed in September 2024 had bands that I could read which identified it as a female born in May 2024, near Lexington Park, St. Mary’s County, Maryland, about 65 miles away from where I live.”Robert N. Charette
His main goal all along has been to make software visible, as he told me one Friday in July. “Software is all around us, but we don’t recognize it at all,” he said. “I really wanted my stories to help people better understand complex software systems. You can’t see software, you can’t touch it, you can’t taste it. You may feel the consequences of software failure, but you never see the reason itself.”
When he told me that he was hanging up his hat as a contributing editor to focus on nature photography and to write a handful of fictional trilogies, including one entitled “The STEM Murders” featuring an engineer-turned-detective and his rabbi, I asked him which of his Spectrum articles had the biggest impact.
“The hummingbird I caught with the yellow of a road curb behind it.”Robert N. Charette
He singled out the 2013 feature “The STEM Crisis Is a Myth.” “Spectrum gave me a platform to question the assumption that we needed more STEM graduates. Until then, people didn’t really realize how much of the STEM crisis was a mythology that was perpetuated by employers and the academic community and was foisted on the IEEE community,” he said.
Charette made a career of questioning assumptions. The best way to mitigate risk, he told me as our Friday chat drew to a close, is to be careful making assumptions in the first place. “My main risk maxim is assumptions made are risks accepted.”
2026-07-31 02:00:03
Given a rising number of publishing misconduct allegations, IEEE in 2022 created the Publishing Ethics Team as a centralized department to assist in handling claims. The group also works to increase the organization’s visibility in the broader publishing ethics area and helps IEEE volunteers write new policies.
Here are some highlights of the team’s activities last year.
IEEE conducted a pilot program in 2024 to integrate tools from the International Association of Scientific, Technical, and Medical Publishers (STM) Integrity Hub into the peer-review workflow of IEEE Access. The multidisciplinary, fully gold-open-access journal publishes research results across all IEEE fields of interest.
STM created the hub so scholarly publishers could access a suite of integrated, commercial, third-party research integrity tools as well as those developed by STM Solutions. The tools help the publishing group avoid printing problematic content upon manuscript receipt, rather than reacting postpublication.
The new features include the Clear Skies Papermill Alarm, which helps identify potentially fraudulent manuscripts at submission. Another is an integration with the PubPeer database, which allows users to check whether references in a manuscript have received previous PubPeer comments or have been retracted—both of which can indicate quality or integrity issues. The duplicate submissions detector can determine whether the same manuscript has been submitted to multiple journals by different publishers, often a sign of academic “paper mill” activity.
Following the success of the pilot, IEEE began working last year to expand the services to all its periodicals. It is anticipated that all IEEE periodicals will be included in the Integrity Hub screening by the end of this year.
The team participated in industry-wide initiatives with STM. It also renewed membership in groups including the Committee on Publication Ethics, and the team continued its work sponsoring and presenting at conferences.
At a panel presentation during the Council of Science Editors annual meeting last year, Amanda Sulicz, manager of IEEE Research Integrity, participated in the Research Integrity Investigation panel session. She also presented at the Standardization of Publishing Integrity Norms and Corrective Actions poster session during the Society for Scholarly Publishing’s annual meeting, held 28 to 30 May 2025.
Luigi Longobardi, the IEEE Publishing Ethics and Conduct director, gave a presentation at the Communication and Collaboration With Institutions session during STM Innovation and Integrity Days, which took place 9 and 10 December.
IEEE was a sponsor of the National Conference on Research Integrity, held 20 to 22 May 2025, and the International Congress on Peer Review and Scientific Publication, held 3 to 5 September.
The team is responsible for tracking ethics-related complaints for all IEEE publications, including articles published in periodicals and conference proceedings. When complaints regarding an article’s integrity are received, either via email at [email protected] or the anonymous ethics reporting line, the team works with IEEE volunteers to open a case, investigate the complaint, and resolve the matter.
Last year 591 cases were opened, a 56 percent increase over 2024. Of the 591 reports, 317 were closed and 274 are still under investigation. Of the complaints, 88 percent were research-related, including issues with plagiarism, AI-generated text, and falsification of—or unauthorized use of—data. The other 12 percent involved alleged misconduct by editors, reviewers, and conference organizers.
The complexity of the reported cases has expanded. An increasing number of the complaints deal with more than one article or complicated situations such as editorial misconduct or peer-review manipulation.
For the second consecutive year, the team participated in the joint IEEE Publication Services and Products Board/IEEE Conferences Committee’s ad hoc committee on conference publication quality. The committee is tasked with analyzing and reviewing problematic conference papers and enhancing quality screening of articles prior to publication to detect integrity issues such as plagiarism and tortured phrases. The committee also updates educational modules on organizing and managing conferences.
As part of the review process, the committee focused on conference articles that contained tortured phrases, which are nonstandard English expressions that are imprecise or erroneous and give the impression of technical jargon.
Many of the articles reviewed by the ad hoc committee were identified by the Problematic Paper Screener, a free online tool that uses application programming interfaces to screen papers published online for potentially problematic content, such as tortured phrases, machine-generated content (SCIgen or Mathgen, for example), or references to retracted content.
The ad hoc committee was responsible for reviewing and recommending the retraction of more than 1,700 problematic conference articles last year.
From the cases the team reviewed, IEEE learned valuable information to help update its publishing policies and best practices.
Here are examples of two anonymized cases reported to the team last year.
Updated Policies
Occasionally, a misconduct case is so complicated that it requires an update to the PSPB Operations Manual.
In this particular case, Coauthor 1 reported to the Publishing Ethics Team that the work was reused in an IEEE publication without proper credit. The new work also listed two coauthors not part of the original document. Coauthor 1 also reported the case to their university’s research integrity officer (RIO) for additional investigation.
Initially, adjudicating the case proved challenging because under the PSPB policies at the time, the issue would have been classified as a multiple publication, which typically results only in a warning for the authors of the new work.
With the assistance of the RIO, it was determined that the methodological and theoretical portions of the paper were previously derived in the university’s lab; therefore, the contributions of the two new authors were not substantial enough to warrant authorship.
After deliberations by the IEEE Publishing Conduct Committee and eventually the IEEE Document Working Group, which is responsible for updates to the Operations Manual, IEEE PSPB Policy 8.2.4 was updated to clarify policies regarding the adjudication process for reuse of material and the proper crediting of coauthors when material has been reused.
Faked Reviewers
Using the screening tools and data available to IEEE periodical editors, an editor in chief was alerted to suspicious reviewer activity. Specifically, two of the reviewers assigned to an article submitted the exact same review text. The editor contacted the handling editor to inform them of the irregularities and also contacted the two reviewers, asking them to verify that they were, in fact, the ones who submitted the reviewer report. Out of an abundance of caution, a new editor was assigned to the article, and new reviewers were selected while the investigation continued.
The investigation concluded that the original handling editor created and submitted both reviews in question. Following the recommendations provided to the PSPB vice president by the periodical’s Society and Publishing Conduct Committee, the handling editor was banned from publishing with IEEE and serving in an editorial capacity.
2026-07-30 22:00:03
If you’re wondering what dark matter is, you’re not alone. Astronomers don’t know. But they’ve determined that this invisible material must be far more abundant than the stars and nebulas that they can see. They’ve surmised as much from observing the gravitational effects of all this perplexing dark stuff, launching a decades-long campaign to understand its nature.
I recently learned that it is possible to sense the presence of dark matter using a small radio telescope such as the Discovery Dish covered in these pages last year. The trick is to know what observations to collect and how to analyze them. I’ll sketch that out below, but first let me describe the homemade radio telescope I put together for this project.
It’s a pyramidal-horn antenna, not unlike the horn antenna first used in 1951 to detect the 1,420.4-megahertz radio emissions from interstellar clouds of neutral hydrogen in space. These emissions hold the key to confirming the presence of dark matter because such clouds can be found all over the galaxy, and their motions reflect what’s happening in different parts of the Milky Way.
I used an online calculator to help me design my antenna, adopting dimensions I knew I could achieve using a US $25 10-by-2-foot roll of roof flashing and an emptied one-gallon paint-thinner can. (Next time, I’ll just buy an empty F-style can.)
The horn antenna is made from tape, an empty paint-thinner can, and a roll of metal roof flashing [bottom row]. Signals are picked up with a low-noise amplifier [top middle] and passed to a software-defined radio receiver [top left].James Provost
Construction of the antenna itself was similar to that of the slightly smaller horn antenna I described in these pages in 2019. I made my new antenna bigger, though, because I needed better angular resolution, allowing me to scan smaller regions of the sky.
To pick up the emissions from interstellar hydrogen, I used Nooelec’s $45 SAWBird+ H1, a device that combines two low-noise amplifiers with a standing-acoustic-wave filter centered on 1,420 MHz, in combination with a RTL-SDR V4 dongle. So it’s not too hard to put together the hardware needed to measure signals from hydrogen clouds. But how do you pull the signature of dark matter out of those signals?
The answer is that you use such measurements to gauge the speed at which clouds located at different distances from the center of the Milky Way are moving in their orbits.
You just have to show that the speed at which material orbits the center of the galaxy doesn’t fall off with distance.
You might think that these clouds circle around the galactic center in the same way that planets orbit the sun or satellites orbit the Earth, with objects close in orbiting faster than those farther out. Mercury, for example, zips around the sun at 47.4 kilometers per second, whereas Neptune lumbers along at a leisurely 5.4 km/s.
The Milky Way contains a central bulge of stars surrounding a supermassive black hole. So at first blush, the mass of the galaxy appears to be concentrated near its center. If that were the case, stars and clouds of other material would orbit more slowly as their distance from the center increases. If, however, there were enormous amounts of invisible matter present throughout the galaxy, you wouldn’t expect orbital velocities to diminish in this way.
So to detect dark matter, you just have to show that the speed at which material orbits the center of the galaxy doesn’t fall off with distance. And radio observations are the easiest way to do that, because you can gauge speeds by measuring how much the signal from hydrogen clouds is shifted by the Doppler effect.
By pointing your radio telescope at different parts of the sky, you pick up emissions from clouds located at various distances from the galactic center. The frequency offset of these emissions from 1,420 MHz reflects the speed of approach or recession of those clouds relative to Earth.
You need measurements from the plane of the galaxy, at galactic longitudes between 0 and 90 degrees (a galactic longitude of 0 degrees points directly toward the center of the galaxy and 180 degrees directly away from it). Applying some high school trigonometry lets you convert these figures into orbital speeds around the galactic center, a technique known as the tangent-point method.
In any group of clouds, the one with the highest velocity as seen from Earth will be the one lying closest to a tangent point along its orbit around the galaxy. This allows its distance from the galactic center to be determined through trigonometry [top]. The bottom graph shows the astronomical community’s measurements for velocities around the galactic center [in black], with the author’s results plotted in filled and open red circles.James Provost
Experiments aiming my horn antenna at an Inmarsat geostationary satellite revealed that the angular resolution of my little radio telescope is about 20 degrees. So with the help of the planetarium program Stellarium, I pointed my antenna in the plane of the galaxy at galactic longitudes of about 15, 30, 45, 60, 75, and 90 degrees, spacing things out in an effort to make each set of measurements largely independent.
I used the SDR# software with a plug-in called IF Average to read the raw measurements coming in from the antenna. This plug-in stacks up data received over a few minutes, allowing a weak signal to build up and produce a clean radio spectrum that shows the 1,420-MHz line. In reality, it looks more like a bump, or even a set of bumps due to Doppler shifted emissions from multiple clouds, located at different distances from the galactic center. Fortunately, you only have to care about the cloud that’s receding the fastest—the one with the largest redshift, in astronomer-speak.
I used Microsoft Excel to analyze the shapes of radio spectra I gathered, modeling them as the sums of individual bell-shaped contributions from different clouds. That allowed me to estimate the largest redshift for each galactic longitude I probed. Then, again using Excel, I applied formulas that transformed those six redshift values into six pairs of orbital velocities and distances from the galactic center.
The plot of my results matched reasonably well with a recent paper, “The Inner Rotation Curve of the Milky Way,” in Publications of the Astronomical Society of Japan. Two innermost points did show anomalously low orbital velocities. Another shot at curve fitting in Excel brought these results closer to expectations, but they were still somewhat off.
In any case, the orbital velocities I estimated did not diminish with distance from the galactic center—quite the opposite. Something out there is putting its stamp on how the Milky Way turns. And that basic observation is what allows me to say that, with the help of some roof flashing and a paint-thinner can, I’ve been able to detect dark matter from my backyard.
2026-07-30 21:00:01
In February 2024, a young man lay somewhere on the frozen shore of James Bay, Canada, surrounded by snow and darkness, succumbing to hypothermia. When he failed to get home on time, his frantic mother sent a Facebook message to Elizabeth Kataquapit, then chief of the indigenous community Fort Albany First Nation in northeastern Ontario. Kataquapit used Facebook to alert the community’s search-and-rescue squad, who jumped onto their snowmobiles and drove into the night. Before dawn, they returned with the dazed man, who told rescuers he’d given up until wolves nudged his hypothermic body. “The wolves told him to wake up,” Kataquapit says. “I really believe they saved his life.”
A fiber-optic network also played a key role.
Not long before the young man’s mishap, the indigenous-owned Western James Bay Telecom Network (WJBTN) had built its own fiber-to-the-home network in this remote Cree community, some 975 kilometers north of Toronto. Before the network, the rescue squad relied on a few handheld radios to pass information along. This time, a Facebook message to the full list of volunteers triggered the search.
An aerial view shows the remote community of Fort Albany in northern Ontario.Gavin John
Building Canada’s first fully Indigenous-owned-and-operated fiber-optic network was an uphill battle for Brian Nakogee, WJBTN’s finance officer, who had to secure capital from agencies less familiar with the challenges of remote northern life. For the people of Fort Albany First Nation, accessing many vital supplies and services means traveling about 500 km to the regional city of Timmins. By land, the trip is possible for only a few weeks each winter, when the swampy tundra freezes hard enough to construct a temporary road. “The southern way of doing things is very different than how we here in remote areas piece things together,” says Nakogee.
Telecommunications giants long saw little profit in serving the subarctic coast of James Bay. But even as satellite internet started to become available in remote communities, WJBTN staff saw the value in building and owning its own hard-wired internet service instead of relying on outside companies. Today, the nonprofit operates one of the fastest networks in Canada, while keeping both infrastructure ownership and revenue within the First Nations communities it serves.
WJBTN is part of a broader movement among Indigenous and remote communities seeking more control over their telecommunications infrastructure. In the United States, 30 tribes now operate fiber-to-the-home networks, many launched during COVID. Canada has since created a dedicated Indigenous broadband funding stream. And as more communities pursue the expertise and funding to build their own networks, WJBTN’s experience offers a blueprint for what locally owned connectivity can look like in some of the hardest places to serve.
While many towns in North America were connecting to optical fiber in the early 2000s, the subarctic communities were left out.
The residents of Fort Albany saw the earliest sign of improvement in 2008. That’s when their locally owned power company, Five Nations Energy Inc. (FNEI), strung fiber-optic cable on the utility poles that were delivering electricity from the dusty railway town of Moosonee, 135 km away across the peat bogs. On the shore of the Moose River, Moosonee is the last stop for Ontario’s telecommunications providers. Its only link to the province’s highways is a 5-hour train ride that shuttles passengers, freight, and vehicles through the Boreal forest.
Elizabeth Kataquapit [top], former chief of Fort Albany First Nation, says high-speed internet has transformed her community. Search & Rescue volunteers now coordinate emergency responses through a Facebook group [bottom]. Gavin John
Soon after, regional Cree leaders formed WJBTN to provide high-speed telecommunications in Moosonee and the three Indigenous communities to the north. WJBTN would lease the fiber-optic backbone from the power company, with just 1 gigabit per second of total capacity for the entire population of about 6,000 people.
But the new fiber backbone did not mean fast internet for residents. One of WJBTN’s first commercial clients was a telecom company called Xittel, which used microwave links and local access points to beam wireless internet to homes across each town. It wasn’t what subscribers were hoping for. This system frustrated users with delays, glitches, and strict data caps. Kataquapit calls it a “turtle.”
Everybody complained about the wireless. Xittel advertised a 10 megabit-per-second connection, but speed tests consistently showed 3 Mb/s for both uploads and downloads. And customers paid dearly if they ever exceeded their data limit. “You were billed close to CA $7 per megabit,” Nakogee recalls.
WJBTN’s dream had always been to connect everyone’s home to fiber optic and make it affordable. Without a technical team, roads, or any major funding, the company just had to figure out how.
When Nakogee joined WJBTN in 2014, the telecom company was still in its infancy. It was “a department huddled in the corner, trying to latch onto the services of FNEI,” he says.
Nakogee was asked to prepare a proposal to deliver 40 Mb/s fiber connections to each of the roughly 1,000 homes and businesses spread across 300 km of the James Bay coast. Back then, WJBTN operated on revenue from its early commercial and institutional customers—including Xittel, local government offices, hospitals, air navigation facilities, and family service centers that were connected to the first few strands of fiber. To make a residential fiber network possible, WJBTN first had to build both revenue and trust within the communities it hoped to serve; it had to convince people that the small new organization would follow through on its plan.
WJBTN finance officer Brian Nakogee played a key role in financing and planning the community-owned fiber network. Gavin John
Nakogee especially needed support from Moosonee and Attawapiskat, the communities at the start and the end of the line. “They’re the bread that holds this sandwich together,” he says. Through years of diplomacy, the budget grew enough to support a business proposal for a fiber-to-the-home network. Together with engineer Dirk MacLeod, in 2015 Nakogee began hashing out the details of a bare-bones version of the system. The plan required both upgrading the network’s long-distance fiber backbone—known in telecom as the backhaul—while also building the local infrastructure that would connect individual homes to the internet.
Andrew MacLeod, WJBTN’s field project manager, reviews a map of the fiber network.Gavin John
The first step was upgrading the network’s backhaul using newer “coherent optics” technology, which can transmit much larger amounts of data over long distances, explains Dirk’s brother, Andrew MacLeod, another network engineer, who joined as a consultant. Using equipment from telecom supplier Infinera, the new backhaul would deliver 100 Gb/s to distribution points in each town, with redundancy in case a fiber line failed.
Next came the challenge of connecting individual homes. Rather than extend a direct line from the central office for every customer, the engineers designed the network around a telecom architecture called GPON (Gigabit Passive Optical Network), which reduced the fiber needed to connect each customer to the network. Fiber from the backbone would run to networking equipment at each town’s electrical substation, where passive optical splitters would distribute the connection among many households without requiring powered equipment at every junction. In remote communities where maintenance and repair are difficult, reducing the amount of active infrastructure was a necessity.
The total estimated cost was CA $4.7 million, or CA $4,700 per household. By comparison, the Fiber Broadband Association estimates that urban fiber-to-home construction in the United States costs the equivalent of about CA $1,400 to CA $1,800 per household—a stark contrast in expense.
Fort Albany resident Thomas Scott says high-speed internet has improved his work as a mental health counselor. Gavin John
A radio broadcast in 2018 heralded the good news: The fiber-to-home construction project was a go. Fort Albany mental health counselor Thomas Scott says he “couldn’t wait.” People seeking guidance for addiction or grief typically called him on landlines, and it was hard to help them over the phone without seeing their faces. Businesses, too, rejoiced—including the Kataquapit family store, which relied on the phone system for transactions.
Winning approval for the project was one thing; building it across hundreds of kilometers of remote subarctic terrain was another.
Dirk MacLeod started with a schematic documenting the GPS position of every house, pole, and length of cable that would ultimately form the network. When WJBTN hired Montreal-based Fonex Data Systems to upgrade the backhaul, the detailed plan made it easy for contractor Tasso Varvarikos to design the deployment. Still, tuning the optical system to operate reliably across transmission lines stretching hundreds of kilometers required extra care. “Once you go up north, there’s no fiber store,” he says,
To minimize surprises in the field, Varvarikos traveled to telecom supplier Infinera’s laboratory in Stockholm, where he and other engineers assembled and tested the network before shipping it to the installation site. The Stockholm lab gave the team access to testing tools and technical specialists who helped configure the system before deployment in the remote fly-in communities. Using Infinera’s simulation software, Varvarikos says he and his colleagues “kicked the crap out of it in the lab” until the network performed reliably.
The Western James Bay Telecom Network connects remote communities along the western shore of James Bay in northern Ontario.Chris Philpot
Finally, in the spring of 2019, it was time to pack up and head to the sites. First, more than two pallets’ worth of Infinera equipment were squeezed onto two charter aircraft in Timmins. Bush pilots, unfazed by the stringent logistics, made sure that one box reached Moosonee; the other one, Attawapiskat. Varvarikos says they packed extra fiber-optic transceivers, patch cables, tools, and “the kitchen sink and then an extra sink just in case.” By May, the team was ready to install the new backhaul—a months-long process that necessarily preceded household connections. Once the equipment was in place, the engineers tested the network to make sure the systems in each community could communicate reliably and that data moved correctly across the backbone.
During the switchover to the new system, the MacLeod brothers worked from substations in different communities along the coast while Varvarikos coordinated from Fort Albany. Communicating over a spotty phone line, they started moving connections from the old network to the upgraded backhaul, carefully reconnecting cables and verifying that traffic still flowed correctly between communities. Within days, the anchor customers—including hospitals, schools, and air-navigation systems—were hardwired to a 100-Gb/s backbone.
However, households were still relying on the slow legacy network. WJBTN’s next step was flying huge reels of fiber-optic cable into the remote communities at enormous cost. Nakogee recalls cutting predetermined lengths of cable, then repackaging it onto spools to load onto cargo aircraft. The backbone was finally in place; now WJBTN had to bring fiber to every home.
Then, in a turn of events that rocked the communities, lead engineer Dirk MacLeod had a heart attack and died in July 2019. “My chest was ripped open,” Nakogee says. The grieving company shut down for the summer.
WJBTN had intended to spend three summers training local crews from each community’s power company to maintain and manage the network. After MacLeod’s death, one line worker quietly took it upon himself to finish extending fiber to distribution points in Fort Albany. The team made a plan to begin connecting homes the following spring.
Utility poles carry power and fiber-optic lines through Fort Albany First Nation.Gavin John
Then COVID hit. Fearful and with limited medical facilities, the communities closed themselves off. Nobody was allowed in.
“COVID really screwed things up,” says Andrew MacLeod. People were screaming for better internet, he recalls, but they wouldn’t let outsiders in. So instead of training local crews and building each town’s network simultaneously as planned, WJBTN made a tantalizing offer: The first community to allow MacLeod in would have its fiber-to-the-home network completed first. Fort Albany jumped on it.
Peyton Reuben, a recent computer systems graduate in Fort Albany, was seeking a new job when his cousin mentioned that there was a “fiber guy” in town. Reuben’s coursework covered coding and how routers and ISPs communicate—a distant relative to Andrew MacLeod’s hands-on infrastructure work.
WJBTN network coordinator Peyton Reuben looks up at the overhead fiber network in Fort Albany [top]. A splice enclosure joins fiber-optic cables at a distribution point [bottom]. Gavin John
“They were looking for helpers to splice fiber,” says Reuben, something he knew nothing about. Nonetheless, he started work the day he met MacLeod and got a crash course in building an aerial fiber network, running cables from utility poles into neighborhood connection boxes that ultimately served individual homes. The fun part was reaching every pole in every neighborhood in a town crisscrossed by tributaries of the Albany River. “We didn’t have a bucket truck, so we had to climb up the poles,” says Reuben. “It was quite the experience, going through thick brush and thigh-deep water.”
The hard part was splicing the fiber—fusing together hair-thin glass strands that connected homes to the larger network. Inside each connection box, distribution fibers had to be joined to cables leading to individual houses, one strand at a time—around 150 in each box. Reuben’s first attempt “looked like a plate of spaghetti,” says MacLeod. More splicing waited back at the substation, where optical splitters connected neighborhood lines to the town’s central GPON equipment. “It took me four times as long as Andrew to complete a splice tray back then,” says Reuben.
A worker installs a new fiber-optic line for the Western James Bay Telecom Network.Gavin John
Slowly but surely, every building in Fort Albany saw a strand of fiber drop from overhead and come through a box drilled into the wall, ready to connect to a router. By springtime, aerial cables linked every house—and future building sites—to the substation. Reuben calls it “a spider web that goes everywhere across town.”
Without much fanfare, on a night in April 2022, WJBTN flipped the switch in Fort Albany. The next morning, Kataquapit woke up to a different world. With 250 Mb/s download and 30 Mb/s upload speeds, she found herself just a click away from her children in faraway cities.
MacLeod and Reuben continued working up the coast, splicing cables and adding connection boxes. As COVID eased, they hired more local help, and the power company lent a hand with bucket trucks. “We were working 12 hours a day, 7 days a week,” says MacLeod. “Guys were sitting in the heat, in bucket trucks, learning on the fly how to do splicing.” By late 2022, the network reached every home.
Fiber-optic cables and networking equipment inside the Fort Albany substation distribute internet service throughout the community [top, middle]. Large spools of fiber-optic cable were flown in to connect homes [bottom]. Gavin John
Around that time, Starlink’s satellite internet service was becoming widely available. Many of WJBTN’s potential clients asked why they shouldn’t just purchase that instead of a fiber-optic connection that involved drilling into their homes. But speed tests comparing Xittel, Starlink, and the new WJBTN connections showed a major difference in latency: In applications like video calls, Xittel and Starlink’s round-trip signal delays became painfully obvious. Unlike satellite systems, fiber networks don’t need to send signals hundreds of kilometers into orbit and back. That gave WJBTN a significant performance advantage.
MacLeod recalls a conversation with one line worker who wanted to turn to Starlink. “We told him our latency is so much better,” MacLeod says, explaining that ISPs measure performance by both bandwidth and latency. From Attawapiskat, a data packet traveling over WJBTN’s fiber network reached Toronto in 20 milliseconds. Comparable satellite connections took closer to 60 milliseconds. And Xittel’s latency was much worse, at several hundred milliseconds. (Since then, WJBTN has reduced latency further, to about 12 milliseconds.)
The team’s success has bolstered other Indigenous broadband companies. WJBTN representatives have shared their experiences at Indigenous Connectivity Summits since 2017, and how-to workshops have sprung up across Canada (and the United States). And Canada has since created a dedicated broadband funding stream for Indigenous communities. Within Fonex Data Systems, the company hired to do the backbone work, the WJBTN implementation is now considered the model for a successful installation in a remote location.
Nakogee says ownership remains the key advantage. Unlike earlier telecom providers that leased infrastructure or delivered service wirelessly, WJBTN owns the backbone fiber, the right-of-way, and the poles carrying the network. That makes it far harder for outside telecom companies to displace the service. “That’s our secret weapon,” he says.
Fundamentally, it’s about sovereignty. By controlling the infrastructure that carries internet traffic, the communities can govern and maintain the network according to their own priorities rather than the financial goals of distant providers.
Shortly after the fiber network was installed, Elizabeth Kataquapit became chief of Fort Albany First Nation. During her term as chief, she kicked the community’s digital era into full gear, encouraging individuals who couldn’t attend community meetings in person to join over Zoom.
Counselor Scott now conducts grief and addiction sessions both in person and via video calls and can connect immediately in a crisis even if he’s away. And as a search-and-rescue volunteer, he responded to the Facebook message when the young man got lost in a winter snowstorm on James Bay. “If we were a half hour later, the person would have [been] gone,” says Scott.
Broadband has also changed everyday life in quieter ways. Residents run small businesses from their homes. Telehealth links patients to specialists in southern cities. More people are working remotely and taking classes online. “Quality of life is so much better,” Reuben says.
But the network has also brought to these northern communities the more isolating side of fast internet. Community members stream more movies and play more video games, and they meet face-to-face less frequently. Standing beside an enormous canoe in his front yard, Scott explains that while he’s grateful for Fort Albany’s new connection to the outside world, he’s equally intent on preserving close connections within the community. Today, he says, as he starts loading fishing nets into the canoe, “I’m taking the kids out after school to harvest whitefish.”
This article appears in the August 2026 print issue as “Wiring the North.”
2026-07-29 22:55:45
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Scroll through LinkedIn right now and you may find the same advice repeated by well-meaning people: “In a market this rough, just be grateful anyone will hire you. Take the offer.”
I could not disagree more.
Negotiating your offer is not ungrateful, and it isn’t greedy. Done well, it’s good for you and good for the company hiring you. I misunderstood this early in my career, and it cost me.
When I got my first job in tech, I didn’t know negotiation was even on the table. The recruiter asked what salary I wanted, and I gave a number below the bottom of their range. They came back with the lowest number in their band—still more than I had asked for—and I was thrilled. I had no idea I’d left money on a table I couldn’t see.
Then I started teaching at a Bay Area coding bootcamp in the evenings. A coworker mentioned what he made and it was nearly double my salary for roughly the same work. My jaw dropped.
During that time, I began interviewing and got an offer. I handed in my resignation and my manager countered with an offer for nearly 30K more. That money had been there the whole time. At that moment, I realized my salary was a business decision, not a measure of my worth.
Years later, I became an engineering manager and saw the salary discussion from a different angle: A position would open. Many interviews later, we’d find someone we wanted, and HR would hand me a salary range to make an offer. I was encouraged to make an initial offer near the bottom to leave room for, you guessed it, negotiations.
Most applicants didn’t negotiate.
The first offer is rarely the ceiling. It’s usually the floor. Companies extend a reasonable number and quietly hope you say yes.
Negotiating isn’t only about a bigger paycheck. (But who doesn’t want that?)
Let’s say you’re on the job market, maybe recently laid off, and a low offer comes in. You take it out of relief. Then you start, you like the team, and you quietly resent the number. Now you’re stuck with it, and you’ll probably leave that role inside a year or whenever the market improves.
Nobody wins there. You’re back on the market starting over, and the company loses someone good and pays more to replace you, when a fair number up front would have cost far less.
Paying you fairly is cheaper than starting over.
People overcomplicate this. Once I have an offer, I say some version of this:
“Thank you so much for the offer, and I’m genuinely excited to join the team. I’m hoping we can come in around [10 to 20 percent higher than the original number]. Is there any wiggle room here?”
Then I stop talking and let them respond.
Why 10 to 20 percent and not double? The number you ask for is itself a signal. Ask for something wildly out of range and you’ve told them you never learned what the role pays, or that your expectations are miles from reality. That’s what makes a company walk away. A calibrated request reads as someone who knows their worth and did their homework.
You’ve probably heard a horror story about someone who asked for more and had the offer yanked. Any company that would pull an offer over a reasonable question about pay is telling you exactly how they’ll treat you once you’re inside.
If the salary can’t move, it isn’t the only lever. I’ve negotiated more remote days, a later start to drop my kids off, and a sign-on bonus when the base was locked. Most people negotiate none of these perks.
Negotiating can feel like something you can only do from a position of power. But if you’re in the final stages of an offer, you already have it. They want to hire you. They’ve spent weeks finding you. Now they’re hoping you say yes.
That’s true even if you were recently laid off. Even if it’s your first job. Even if the number already looks higher than you expected.
The game is being played whether or not you join in. Sit it out, and you’re not just leaving money on the table. You may be quietly shortening your own stay at a job you could have been happy in. So ask.
—Brian
If you’ve been on the job market for a software engineering role recently, you’ve probably encountered—or used—AI tools in the hiring process. From application filters to live interview assistants, both applicants and employers are trying to use generative AI to their advantage. Can real, human skills still shine through in this new reality?
Sarah Downs, a Ph.D. student in electrical engineering at Texas A&M University, has long been interested in robotics and dreamed of working with NASA. This year, she achieved that dream, collaborating with NASA and the U.S. Air Force on an algorithm that enables satellites to insert an antenna into the correct spot.
Women make up only about 28 percent of the global STEM workforce, in part because of limited access to educational resources for preuniversity students—especially in areas like rural India. An IEEE initiative, the Women in Science, Engineering (WiSE) project launched to help expand opportunities and hands-on learning for young women.