2026-06-18 02:00:02
The rapid evolution of the global engineering landscape requires continuous education. For one week in April, the IEEE community focuses on its educational frameworks. IEEE Education Week, which just concluded its fifth year, provided a comprehensive overview of the resources available to professionals and students.
From 11 to 19 April, the organization supplied a variety of live and virtual events, online resources, and promotions that champion the cycle of lifelong learning.
IEEE President Mary Ellen Randall kicked off the week with the keynote: “Inspiring Tomorrow’s Innovators: How IEEE Educational Resources Can Open Pathways Into STEM.” The event served as a central point for programs that run throughout the year.
“Education Week allows different units to share resources with members and the public, covering everything from preuniversity programs to advanced professional training,” says Jamie Moesch, managing director of IEEE Educational Activities.
The event relied on the cooperation of 120 IEEE partners. Involved organizational units included the IEEE Communications Society, the IEEE Education Society, and chapters and sections from around the world, including in Brazil, Colombia, and India. They produced 114 events, 23 resources, and 11 special offers.
“These collaborations help members remain current in a changing technological environment,” says Timothy Kurzweg, vice president of IEEE Educational Activities. “The goal is to provide accessible tools that assist members in both their own professional development and their efforts to mentor new engineers.”
“The week allows different units to share resources with members and the public, covering everything from preuniversity programs to advanced professional training.” —Jamie Moesch, managing director of IEEE Educational Activities
The participation metrics reflect a broad geographic interest. The IEEE Education Week website recorded more than 4,770 visitors, with primary engagement coming from India, Nigeria, and the United States. Nearly 240 digital badges were issued to people who completed educational quizzes.
To encourage participation, organizers enlisted 72 volunteer ambassadors to promote the week’s activities across their local networks and share key resources on social media.
Here are a few of the virtual events held during Education Week—most of which are available on demand:
The Education Week website highlights resources and offers shared by IEEE organizational units, including:
Individuals who were unable to attend the live sessions can find the archived content on the IEEE Education Week website.
The website also accepts donations for education-related funds managed by the IEEE Foundation.
Updates and technical resources continue to be shared through the #EducationAtIEEE hashtag on social media channels.
Planning for IEEE Education Week 2027, scheduled for 3 to 11 April, is underway.
2026-06-18 00:13:01
This article is crossposted from IEEE Spectrum’s careers newsletter. Sign up now to get insider tips, expert advice, and practical strategies, written in partnership with tech career development company Parsity and delivered to your inbox for free!
I’ve sat on both sides of the interview table several times over the past decade. You might be surprised to hear that I’ve often been just as nervous interviewing candidates as I was when being interviewed!
Nearly all the interview advice out there is about the candidate’s side, but understanding the other side can also help you prepare. Let me show you what I’ve seen firsthand, and what I’d bet is happening at the company you just interviewed with.
If you recently got rejected after an interview, this might explain what actually happened.
One caveat, because I’ve been on the receiving end of this: A couple of my recent interviews were run entirely by AI. These were screening rounds, but a growing share of job seekers now report being interviewed by a bot somewhere in the process. Everything below assumes you reached a person.
You might assume companies train people to run interviews. Many don’t.
In practice, your interviewers may be much less prepared than it seems. Their prep might look like this: “Here’s a rubric from three years ago, figure it out.” Or: “Let’s grab a conference room between meetings and decide what to ask.”
The questions are often whatever the interviewer personally studied when they were job hunting. These days, they may be generated with an LLM the morning of.
Then the panel negotiates. One person wants to quiz candidates on data structures and algorithms for a role in which they design websites. Another insists system design is essential for a junior level position. People default to what was done to them and assume it’s normal because it was normal to them.
What’s normal to the spider is chaos to the fly.
After an interview, some processes I was part of had one simple scale to score candidates: yes, no, strong yes, strong no.
The result is predictable. Like the candidate? Strong yes. They rubbed you the wrong way but answered everything correctly? Somehow a soft yes at best.
Structured scoring with defined criteria measurably reduces this. The research backs it, and the rare times I saw it used well, it changed my own assessments. Yet many teams I worked on never used this approach.
Even with a strong scoring system, bias and office politics can change the outcome.
For instance, I once interviewed someone I was strongly against hiring. It was clear they didn’t know what they were doing, and they’d be running critical infrastructure. I gave a strong no with objective reasons, scoring notes, specific examples from the technical round.
Leadership pulled me into a meeting right after and asked why. I walked them through my notes.
What I didn’t know: Several of them already knew the candidate personally. They liked them. They wanted them hired. I said the decision was theirs, my assessment hadn’t changed, and wished them luck.
I’ve also watched a strong resume short-circuit an entire loop. The team saw a top-tier company name, skipped the standard technical rounds, lobbed a few softballs, and basically welcomed the candidate in.
But once this engineer got started, it turned out to be a poor fit. And it wasn’t the candidate’s fault. They were set up for failure, because nobody checked whether this person could do this job at this company.
In both cases, it didn’t work out.
You could read all this and decide the system is broken or rigged.
The broken part is fair. The rigged part isn’t. People who are genuinely good at interviewing pass more often. It’s messy, but it’s not a lottery.
You can’t fight bias, politics, or a sloppy process. That’s like being mad at the weather. You can only play the two cards you’re dealt: your technical ability and your behavioral presence.
Most candidates obsess over the technical side and forget the behavioral rounds exist. But product managers, designers, and cross-functional leads—people with zero technical background—will judge you entirely on whether you can tell a clear story and seem like someone worth working with. If you’re unlikeable in the room, you’ve roughly halved your odds at every stage.
So here’s the unglamorous advice that actually works: put yourself on camera.
Talk through a project you led, a mistake you made, a hard problem you solved. Record it. Watch it back. Cringe. Do it again.
Think out loud, under pressure, with another human watching.
If you keep failing interviews, the fix isn’t always more technical prep. It’s getting better at being in a room with other people who are potentially more nervous, less prepared, and more biased than you ever imagined.
The process is broken. You can still win.
—Brian
A new initiative from the U.S. National Science Foundation plans to distribute $1.5 billion of funding over 10 years to independent research organizations, which it calls “X-Labs.” The program is meant to support work being done outside of academic institutions, starting with two areas: scientific instruments for sensing and imaging, and interconnects and integrated photonics for quantum systems.
We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again: AI is changing the engineering profession. So how can you stay in demand as the field’s tools evolve? A senior engineering manager at Walmart Global Tech offers seven quick tips.
For even more expert tips, check out the new career advice collection from The Institute. These articles feature guidance written by working engineers, meant to help those in all stages of their careers stay at the forefront of their profession. Discover tips for technical presentations, dive into a specific career path like cybersecurity consulting, and more.
2026-06-17 23:04:23
Musicians are accustomed to getting paid each time their creative work is used. Across vinyl/CD sales, streams, radio, cover versions, and those numerous niches like karaoke, there are agreements in place about what “use” means. Underlying this is a simple economic principle: The more something is used, the more money it makes.
Generative AI has complicated the definition of use. On the one hand, you could argue that the use of a piece of musical training data happens just once, at the point of training. On the other hand, creators would be right to complain that the creative essence of their work lives on in the structure of the model, used every time the model produces an output.
Now, companies like Sureel and SoundVerse are working to re-create the essential economic principle that motivates creativity in an era of AI. Such initiatives aim to turn the generative AI industry from one guilty of “the biggest act of copyright theft in history” into one that coexists harmoniously with hardworking artists.
Sureel, a startup Warner Music Group just acquired, has partnered with the Swedish copyright agency STIM to explore the potential for music creators to get paid when their music is used to train generative AI tools. Sureel’s software labels online media, such as a music file, with instructions determined by the owner. The instructions specify whether an AI company may use the media freely in training, limit its influence in any given training set, or avoid it altogether. The software then tracks how the AI company uses the media in training and sets licensing fees accordingly.
Meanwhile, the founders of the AI music company SoundVerse “[reject] one-time royalty buyouts as insufficient and [advocate] for ongoing participation of artists in the AI lifecycle,” they wrote in a 2025 white paper. They argue that each time a generative AI system produces an output, certain pieces of training data play a greater role than others. If the system outputs music resembling jazz, the jazz in the training set has arguably contributed more than, say, the folk music. You can therefore differentially reward each piece of training data for each output.
Sureel’s Co-President Benji Rogers told me, “Attribution isn’t about re-creating the old economics. It’s about measuring, for the first time, the thing the old economics only approximated.”
Such influence attribution needs to do more than superficially measure how similar a training data point is to the AI output. The challenge is to attribute causality, or a relationship between the training data and the trained AI, Sureel CEO Tamay Aykut says.
Even if the AI industry achieved that, however, it might encourage people to create music designed to maximize training-data royalties. While all creative markets lead to new incentives (music streaming, for example, has driven songs to have shorter intros), the industry could do without another economic structure that is easily gamed, in which someone’s reverse-engineered pastiche diverts royalties away from original works of creative expression.
Inferring the influence of a particular piece of music on a generated piece of music, if a well-defined problem at all, may involve more advanced information theoretic principles, or modelling the actual historical role and impact of individual works. Aykut proposes that in carefully designed attribution systems, more unusual and unpolished musical works could even have more inherent value than radio standards.
Simon Gozzi, Head of Business Development at STIM, says the company is in the process of seeing how Sureel’s attribution reports could underlie licensing agreements between musicians and AI companies. Could generative AI attribution strategies not only sustain the economic logic that “popularity pays,” but also motivate musical experimentation and diversity? It’s a compelling concept when public sentiment rightly fears generative AI’s threat to cultural vibrancy, pushing power towards tech companies, deskilling creative workers, shrinking revenue in the creative sector, and filling the internet with slop. “Attribution is one of the few credible tools we have,” Rogers says.
There’s a window of opportunity to debate and establish approaches to paying for AI training data that serve a vibrant and sustainable creative sector.
The technical problem of training data attribution is both complex and ill-defined. Just as a simplistic attribution strategy based on measuring similarity might motivate people to reverse-engineer the canonical works of a genre to capture royalties, a more complex attribution strategy based on some information theory of originality might be easily gamed or fail to reward human cultural production.
For creative workers, there’s good reason to fear that even with the best intentions, AI attribution will only compound the baroque and opaque arms races that they are already weary of navigating. Some voices within the music AI sector are also skeptical. Drew Silverstein, president of SourceAudio, says, “Attribution would seem to be the obvious answer, but it’s flawed in AI, so we have to look at other models.” He advocates simple negotiated agreements with an agreed or annually recurring price at the point of training.
Meanwhile, the copyright lawsuits that have dominated the generative AI revolution are beginning to give way to an increasing number of privately negotiated agreements, such as those between Universal, Warner, and major AI companies to work together on training models with copyright consent. Although little is certain, these agreements may have considerable influence over the industry norms that arise.
Right now, there’s a window of opportunity to debate and establish approaches that pay for AI training data while also sustaining a vibrant creative sector. Sophisticated engineering solutions will have a role to play, but they need to take into account the cultural complexity of the challenge, and enable fairness and transparency through good design.
It remains to be seen whether monolithic generative models such as Suno actually have as much credibility as first touted. In many creative applications of AI, there’s a renewed focus on smaller customized models that are tailored for specific human creative expressive needs such as IRCAM’s RAVE model or Jen’s Style Filters. Meanwhile, more mainstream “end user” creative applications may be shifting towards a focus on fan engagement. OpenAI’s sudden dropping of Sora, despite being in negotiations with Disney and Suno’s recent emphasis on building fan engagement experiences that draw directly on the work of artists, following its deal with Universal, both point to teething troubles in the creative AI sector.
A move to smaller, more targeted models and applications would give more room for creator alliances. For example, collectives of musicians might band together to provide the training data for a smaller custom model, for which revenue splits might be egalitarian or based on other principles of fairness.
The same may possibly be true of hybrid model architectures and structured training regimes where different data sources are used at different points in the training process, as well as retrieval augmented generation, which mixes context-specific information with training data to improve results. An approach that produces worse results but enables fairer or more transparent paths of attribution may be more successful if it brings creators on board with more lucrative royalty flows and even clear credits.
Also, no matter how sophisticated an attribution algorithm is, it will always be grounded in human decisions, ranging from the wise and the fair to the arbitrary and corrupt. Ask a music industry insider to explain how the percentage split between recording and songwriting royalties is determined, and you’re in for a long answer. At best, the machinery of training data attribution will enable open and informed discussion about what makes our creative and cultural sectors fair and vibrant. At worst, it will conceal already opaque private agreements in complex black boxes.
This is where national policies are vital. Attribution must be “multi-layered and auditable, open to expert and regulatory scrutiny,” Rogers says. Crafting such policies will take expertise from computer science, musicology, law, and economics. AI-competitive governments will be able to boost their cultural and creative sectors by supporting institutions that fulfil this purpose.
Even the most neoliberal economies look beyond markets to sustain cultural expression, whether through public arts funding or measures like local music quotas for radio. As the economic impact of generative AI in the creative sector takes form, taxation, redistribution, and active support of cultural infrastructures may still be the most effective way to support positive social outcomes. Taxing big AI and redistributing that revenue back to the creative workers that contributed to the industry’s wealth is, after all, another “AI attribution strategy.”
2026-06-17 20:19:27
On April 19, 2026, the Honor Lightning humanoid robot ran a half-marathon in 50 minutes and 26 seconds, beating the human world record by 7 minutes and the best robot time from 2025 by almost two hours.
How did they do it? Is there some magical technology or technique that unlocked this performance? How did they beat the significantly better-known Unitree (who reportedly had to supply an ice backpack to try and complete the race without overheating)? My doctoral thesis involved building and controlling hopping and running robots, and since then I’ve tried to design and build efficient commercial legged robots, giving me a decent idea of the constraints involved. In this article, we take a look at the fundamental underlying constraints to try and answer these questions.
Running consists of alternating phases of a leg pushing against the ground (“stance phase”) and the body flying through the air (“aerial phase”). In the aerial phase, the body falls due to gravity, losing vertical momentum. The leg in stance phase pushes against the ground to redirect the vertical momentum upward, while the other leg swings forward to reposition for the next foothold.
Electric motors use energy to produce torque- the higher the torque, the more energy lost as heat. Adding a geartrain after the motor amplifies its torque and reduces its speed. A large reduction helps with torque production, but since the rotor of the motor itself has to spin faster, it becomes very sluggish at accelerating its output. This is obviously bad for the swing phase described above. These competing effects mean that for a particular motor, there is usually a sweet spot for the gear ratio:
The power consumed by a robot leg is minimized at an optimal gear ratio (30:1 in this example).Avik De/Datawrapper
While the Lightning’s motor specifications are not published, the hip and knee motors roughly have a 110-150mm outer diameter. For an approximate set of motor parameters, I looked to the ILM115x25 motor due to its relevant size and detailed specifications.
We can use a simple physics model to estimate the power consumption for running at 7 m/s (the Lightning’s average half marathon speed) as gear ratio varies:
The light blue curve shows how to pick the optimal gearing (45:1). The dark blue curve shows how much heat will be produced in the knee motor, ~150W for the optimal gearing.Avik De/Datawrapper
We see that the drivetrain is not magical: with a gear ratio chosen for this task (we’ll return to this below), the approximate robot power consumption would be a very reasonable 400W.
However, the dissipated knee power ( typically the main thermal limiting factor) is ~150W. This is almost an unavoidable consequence — running at human speeds with a humanoid-sized robot will inevitably generate this amount of heat! Over a prolonged period, keeping the motor from overheating would be a challenge, but the Lightning has a trick up its sleeve:
According to Honor, the liquid - cooling pipes penetrate deep into the motors like capillaries. The high - power liquid pump has a heat - exchange flow rate of more than 4 liters per minute. Each of the four drive motors in the lower limbs is equipped with an independent liquid - cooling circuit.
Liquid cooling is not new, but it’s definitely not a commodity. It has shown up in research periodically, and on the commercial side Apptronik tried it for a few of their prototypes but (to my knowledge) does not use it on their main Apollo platform. Basic air convection-based cooling would not continuously be able to extract 150W out of the knee motor, and so the cooling technology is a key enabler of this type of performance.
Why did Honor’s competitors, including more established and widely-shipped humanoids such as from Unitree or Agibot, not compete as well?
We can use the same model to generate an equivalent energetics plot for walking at 1.5 m/s, a much more modest but potentially more common activity for a commercial humanoid robot:
The solid and dashed light blue lines show a running-optimized design, while green lines show a walking-optimized design. The optimal ratio for walking is much lower (30:1 vs 45:1). However, the power dissipated in the knee motor while running (dark blue) is much higher at 30:1 vs 45:1—the price to pay for running with a walking-optimized design.Avik De/Datawrapper
The plot adds a new green curve for the walking power, and the optimal gearing is significantly different!
Let’s say you design your robot to excel at the normal walking task and choose the green design with 30:1 gearing. The knee motor power to run a half marathon is over 300W (red arrow), more than 2x what we had with the running-optimized design. It wouldn’t be so surprising to need ice packs!
Conversely, visually following the green curve shows that the running-optimized robot wastes more power for walking. Using larger motors sized for running increases the weight of the robot and wastes power when it is standing or walking. The larger motors also pose practical issues like bumping into objects while operating in homes or factories.
Honor’s half marathon performance was an impressive engineering effort and result. It didn’t need any magical leaps in technology, but the deployment of the capillary motor cooling solution is a notable advance without which this running pace would have been unsustainable. The cooling, weight optimization, and robustness advances may well be useful for more practical purposes like carrying heavy payloads down the line.
The Honor Lighting robot [right] has much larger motors driving its legs than the Unitree H1 robot [left], making it a more efficient runner but a less efficient walker.Left: Wei Zhiyang/Zhejiang Daily Press Group/VCG/Getty Images; Right: VCG/Getty Images
However, the Lightning is not as well-suited to other tasks as a robot designed for greater versatility. Engineering is always characterized by tradeoffs, and making the correct ones separates good products from great ones. With consistently improving AI language models, this very human skill is becoming the most valuable one an engineer can have.
The news coverage seemed to overly focus on the fact that the human half-marathon record had been broken by a robot. Machines and humans have very different capabilities and constraints, so why should we ever have expected the half marathon time for a robot and human to be related? As in Deep Blue’s 1997 defeat of Garry Kasparov in chess, where it couldn’t physically move the pieces, the Honor robot’s capabilities are much narrower than a human running elbow-to-elbow with other runners while visually navigating the course without GPS. Comparing the robot runner to a human runner is just an apples-to-oranges comparison, and only risks diminishing Honor’s engineering achievement on one hand, and human athletic achievement on the other.
2026-06-16 02:00:01
Nearly 750 million people face hunger today, according to the U.N. World Food Program. And by 2050, global demand for food is expected to increase by 50 percent from 2010 levels, the World Resources Institute says.
A smart agriculture special-issue report recently released by the IEEE Smart Agri-Food Initiative says meeting the demand will require technology to expand food production. The report highlights research, case studies, and new ways of applying technology to inform farmers, engineers, and policymakers.
Leading the initiative is IEEE Fellow John Verboncoeur, chair of the smart-food program and professor of electrical and computer engineering at Michigan State University, in East Lansing.
“Food security is becoming a systems-engineering problem,” Verboncoeur says. “We’re no longer talking only about tractors and irrigation. We’re talking about sensing, communications, computation, automation, and sustainability all working together.”
Although not formally trained as an agriculture scientist, Verboncoeur’s first involvement with smart agriculture was as an undergraduate at University of Florida in 1985-86, where he helped develop an SmartAg aeroponics system for NASA for the International Space Station. It used mist to spray the plants’ roots and lightweight pneumatic structures to hold the vegetation in place.
He has also chaired the executive committee of Michigan State’s SmartAg Initiative since it launched in 2017. He chaired the program’s leading interdisciplinary efforts to apply engineering and digital technologies to farming and food systems.
Verboncoeur connects the shift of using engineering as a force multiplier for farming to lessons learned from the IEEE Smart Village program, which supports projects and organizations bringing electricity and educational and employment opportunities to remote communities. Agriculture, he argues, requires the same systems-level mindset.
“The challenge isn’t just inventing technology,” he says. “It’s making systems practical, affordable, and deployable.”
A central theme across the Smart Agri-Food Systems report is the convergence of automation, data analytics, and sustainability.
One paper, “Smart Agriculture, Precision Agriculture, Digital Twins in Agriculture: Similarities and Differences,” addresses the confusion regarding how researchers and practitioners define and apply the technologies to farming.
The paper was written by Dilan Onat Alakuş, a research assistant in the software engineering department at Kırklareli University, in Türkiye, and Ibrahim Türkoğlu, a software engineering professor at Fırat University, in Elazığ, Türkiye.
Unclear terminology can lead to inefficient investment and poor adoption of the technologies, the two authors say. They note that agricultural methods based on traditional practices and intuition lack a thorough analysis of their environmental and economic impacts.
They describe how three technologies can benefit farmers:
• Smart agriculture systems integrate sensors, artificial intelligence, robotics, and analytics to improve efficiency and sustainability at scale.
• Precision agriculture focuses on location-specific decisions. Farmers use GPS-guided equipment to map fields, deploy drones to monitor crop health, and install field sensors that track soil moisture and nutrient levels in targeted zones. The tools allow farmers to apply water, fertilizer, and pesticides only where needed—which can reduce waste and lessen environmental impact.
• Digital twins create virtual replicas of an agricultural area. The resulting models simulate the farmstead, crops, and irrigation systems, allowing growers to test scenarios and predict outcomes before implementing changes.
The authors emphasize that the categories overlap in practice. A digital twin might draw data from precision agriculture systems and feed recommendations into smart agriculture platforms.
Clearer distinctions help farmers select appropriate tools and avoid unnecessary complexity and costs, they say.
“This study contributed to conscious agricultural practices by differentiating agricultural technologies,” they wrote, adding that clearer definitions can increase productivity.
The report shifts from theory to application in a paper describing bustani, which means my garden in Arabic. The Bustanica project in Saudi Arabia is an automated hydroponic vertical farming system developed by researchers at the Prince Mohammad Bin Fahd University, in Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia. The “Bustani: A Microcontroller-Based Automated Hydroponic Vertical Farming Solution” paper was written by Hussah Alotaibi, a computer engineer at Saudi Aramco, the country’s national oil company; Abul Bashar, Widad Karsou, and Shehvar Khan, researchers in the university’s computer engineering and computer science department; and Salahudean Tohmeh from the university’s robotics laboratory.
The Bustanica system combines hydroponics with aeroponics, in which plant roots hang in the air and receive nutrients through a misting system. Together, the approaches allow crops to grow in compact indoor environments, using far less water than traditional methods.
The method integrates IoT sensors that continuously monitor water chemistry and reservoir conditions.
The system grows crops in controlled indoor environments. A closed-loop design recirculates water to reduce waste. Sensors measure pH levels, nutrient concentration, and water levels. An Arduino Mega processes the sensor data. A NodeMCU ESP8266—a low-cost, open-source IoT platform—handles Wi-Fi communication and cloud connectivity.
The system sends the data through Google’s Firebase cloud platform, which acts as a real-time bridge between sensors and control systems.
A mobile app lets users monitor and control the system remotely. It displays real-time data on lighting, nutrient levels, and water pump activity. When conditions move outside optimal ranges, automated dosing pumps adjust the levels as needed.
Engineering can’t solve all the world’s problems. But it absolutely has a role to play in helping the world feed itself.” —John Verboncoeur, chair of the IEEE Smart Agri-Food initiative
The system operates as a feedback loop, collecting data, transmitting it to the cloud, analyzing the conditions, and automatically triggering adjustments.
LEDs simulate sunlight. Ultrasonic sensors measure water levels. Electrical conductivity sensors track nutrient concentration. During testing, the system maintained stable environmental conditions and adjusted dosing dynamically as readings changed.
The authors describe the outcome as “a fully functional and automated vertical sustainable farm that creates desirable growing conditions, along with an Android application that provides real-time monitoring and notifications.”
Beyond automation, bustani reflects a broader shift toward merging agriculture with consumer technology and smart-home systems. Future plans include integrating the Amazon Alexa virtual assistant and machine learning tools for plant disease detection and growth analysis.
The “Toward an Efficient Tomato Harvesting Robot” paper addresses autonomous harvesting, a long-standing challenge in agricultural robotics. Tomatoes in the field vary widely in size, shape, and ripeness, and they can bruise during handling. The paper was written by IEEE Senior Member Hyoung Il Son—a professor of biosystems engineering and robotics at Chonnam National University in Gwangju, South Korea—and his graduate students Jongpyo Jun, Jeongin Kim, and Jaehwi Seol.
The paper describes how robotics is increasingly being used to target crops once considered too delicate or variable for automation.
The researcher combined 3D machine vision, robotic arms, suction-based grippers, and rotating cutting tools to build a harvesting machine capable of operating in unstructured outdoor environments. The system aims to reduce reliance on manual labor while improving harvesting efficiency and consistency.
Verboncoeur says the developments highlighted in the papers reflect a broad transformation in how engineers view the agricultural industry.
“Agriculture used to be seen primarily as managing the challenges of planting, watering, and fertilizing plants, and using machines to make the process less labor-intensive,” he says. “Now it’s also a data problem, a communications problem, an energy problem, and a resilience problem.”
Another featured paper, “Sustainable and Smart Agriculture: A Holistic Approach,” examines how technology can address environmental and demographic pressures. The paper was written by Surender Singh and Sannihit , researchers at the computer science and engineering and the civil engineering departments at Chandigarh University, in Mohali, India.
Farmers must increase food production while reducing environmental damage from depleting water resources, overapplication of fertilizer, deforestation, and greenhouse gas emissions, the authors say. They describe smart farming as “a revolution in food production” that can allow farmers to generate higher yields from existing resources through connected technologies and data systems.
The authors highlighted the issue of rapid urbanization. By 2050, they report, nearly 70 percent of the global population will live in cities, increasing pressure on food supply chains and distribution systems.
Wireless sensor networks will play a central role in the transformation, the researchers say. The networks use small, connected devices to monitor soil moisture, temperature, humidity, light intensity, and crop conditions. The system transmits the data to cloud platforms, where machine learning models analyze trends and recommend actions.
The authors emphasize that decision support, not automation alone, drives the greatest value of crop harvest. Farmers can integrate the information into crop management strategies to improve productivity while reducing their environmental impact.
They also note increasing collaboration between industry leaders such as Caterpillar, CNH, John Deere, and Kubota and technology companies including Bosch, Google, Intel, and Microsoft. Challenges remain, however, in communication reliability, sensor cost, and scalable data infrastructure, the authors say.
The implications of the tech advances that make farming more efficient extend beyond agriculture. Many of the same technologies—remote sensing, wireless sensor networks, AI analytics, and cloud platforms—support transportation, energy, and industrial systems.
The convergence explains IEEE’s growing involvement. Modern agriculture now combines electronics, communications, computing, and control systems.
Agriculture requires that integration, Verboncoeur says: “The challenge isn’t just inventing technology. It’s making systems practical, affordable, and deployable.”
The special issue marks an early stage for the IEEE Smart Agri-Food initiative, which plans to develop standards; create structured ways for farmers, researchers, governments, and agribusinesses to work together; and devise deployment strategies for smart systems.
Future research is likely to focus on interoperability between platforms, data sharing, and scalable deployment models. Digital twins are expected to play a larger role as computing power and sensor density increase. Simulating agricultural systems before applying changes in the field will become commonplace, experts predict.
Adoption depends on more than technical capability, though. The central tension moving forward lies between innovation and practicality.
“Farmers face challenges in adopting such technology due to cost, electricity availability, communication infrastructure, and vulnerability of connected devices,” Singh and Sannihit wrote.
Smart agriculture offers improved efficiency, in addition to reducing the inputs of water, fertilizer, and time that would otherwise be spent on tasks machines can handle autonomously. But the benefits matter only if systems function reliably across diverse environments—from industrial farms to small, family-run operations in food-insecure regions.
For IEEE, agriculture now sits within core engineering domains. The stakes extend beyond technology itself, Verboncoeur says.
He adds that: “Food insecurity affects stability, health, education, and economic development. Engineering can’t solve all the world’s problems, but it absolutely has a role to play in helping the world feed itself.”
2026-06-15 21:00:01
A half century ago, a scrappy crew at the University of Massachusetts Amherst erected a wind turbine on Orchard Hill, the highest point on campus. It was a frugal production, cobbled together from the rear axle of a Ford truck, a donated generator and microcontroller, a steam pipe, and various handcrafted steel and fiberglass parts, including its 4.5-meter blades.
The team of UMass engineering grad students, faculty advisors, and one precocious undergrad built it to prove that wind energy could keep rural homes toasty in New England’s frigid winters, as a way of trimming U.S. oil dependence—a national imperative in the aftermath of the 1973–1974 energy crisis. To illustrate the point, they also assembled a modular home there on Orchard Hill, and outfitted it with heaters that would be powered by the turbine.
In 1975 and 1976, a crew from the University of Massachusetts Amherst designed and constructed the 25-kilowatt wind turbine that kick-started the U.S. wind industry. Sandy Butterfield
It worked—too well. “We had to open up the doors in the dead of winter. It was just too damn hot,” recalls Michael Edds, who designed the turbine’s electrical system and served as the project’s first resident engineer. Fittingly, they dubbed the turbine the “Wind Furnace.”
The turbine maxed out at 25 kilowatts—puny compared to modern machines that generate up to 26 megawatts, but more than most energy experts expected from wind technology in November 1976. Back then, wind power still conjured up images of quaint Dutch mills and creaky prairie water pumpers. Crafty engineers would soon show that wind power could be so much more. And it all began with the brilliant, commanding, and often polarizing UMass professor leading the Wind Furnace project: William Heronemus.
A retired U.S. Navy captain, Heronemus had joined the UMass faculty in 1967. He’d earned Bronze Stars for valor in World War II, designed and built nuclear submarines, and liaised with the British Royal Navy on the Polaris missile. UMass had recruited Heronemus to do ocean engineering, but the energy crisis and his growing misgivings about nuclear power shifted his attention to renewable energy.
Heronemus, photographed circa 1973, publicly advocated for the buildout of wind turbines, both onshore and off, at immense scale. Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
By 1972, Heronemus was advancing detailed designs to deploy wind turbines at immense scale. That year, at the Marine Technology Society’s annual gathering in Washington, D.C., he presented schemes for building thousands of them across the Great Plains as well as a vast grid of massive floating turbines transecting New England’s continental shelf. Wind power, he contended, could generate nearly a fifth of U.S. electricity needs by the year 2000. Never mind that the technology for such an enormous buildout had yet to be commercialized. Espousing grand schemes made Heronemus a quixotic figure.
He also vigorously attacked the commercialization of nuclear power, creating enemies within electric utilities and U.S. government agencies that saw nuclear technology as the future. They didn’t appreciate his claims that a cleaner energy future via wind was ready to be tapped, and that the push for nuclear power and its radiological risks was unnecessary. As author and energy analyst Peter Asmus put it in his 2000 book, Reaping the Wind: “William Heronemus was a dangerous man suggesting an audacious departure from the status quo.”
The UMass Amherst wind turbine generated most of the energy to heat a modular home through the cold, windy winters on Orchard Hill. Solar thermal panels provided some heat during windless periods. Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
What happened on Orchard Hill in 1976 marked Heronemus’s turn from provocateur to changemaker. The success of the experimental turbine set off waves of technological and industrial developments that forever changed the energy landscape. Within a few years, the students he trained and the entrepreneurs he inspired were building the world’s first modern wind farms and leading the Great California Wind Rush—the market that turned wind craft into an industry that’s still growing fast half a century later.
Globally, annual wind generation more than tripled between 2015 and 2025, according to data from Ember Energy, a think tank based in London. It will best nuclear’s global output by the end of this year, Ember predicts. And it all started with Heronemus, says Robert Thresher, longtime former director of wind research at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL) in Golden, Colo. (a U.S. Department of Energy lab rebranded late last year as the National Laboratory of the Rockies). “In my mind he was the father of the people that went out and really made the industry what it is today,” he says.
I got to know Captain Heronemus posthumously, interviewing his contemporaries and sifting through boxes delivered to the UMass Amherst archival research center’s 25th-floor reading room. During three visits there since 2023, I have discovered clues to his life, thinking, and research process amid the writings where he pitched his big ideas to the world. His papers include proposals to governments, utilities, and deep-pocketed philanthropists and investors, including Jane Fonda and Goldman-Sachs. Papers reveal the internationalism and commitment to service that took Heronemus on renewable-energy consulting trips to Pakistan, Cuba, Côte d’Ivoire, and beyond. Records show meetings with corporate powerhouses like Boeing and Grumman Aerospace and calls on politicians, including the senator and presidential hopeful Ted Kennedy. Postcards from former students exude gratitude.
Heronemus sits with a mock-up of a multirotor turbine in his cramped office in Marston Hall, UMass Amherst’s main engineering building. Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
I learned that Heronemus turned his attention from ocean engineering to energy a few years after arriving at UMass, when he saw the growing string of nuclear power plants going up along the Connecticut River, which flows past Amherst en route to Long Island Sound. The U.S. government had picked nuclear power as an antidote to the 1970s oil crises, and Northeast utilities had jumped in big. But Heronemus and other UMass engineers worried that the riverside reactors’ waste heat would threaten the river’s ecosystem and bounty.
The advent of cooling towers to blow off heat into the air addressed the thermal pollution concern but created another: water depletion. (Nuclear plants consume about 60 million gallons of water per day, per reactor, on average.) And Heronemus perceived other nuclear power liabilities, stemming from his experience with nuclear propulsion on Navy ships. As a design engineer and head of construction and repair for a shipyard, he valued the military’s zero-accident standard for reactors but also knew the high cost of adhering to it. He argued that building expanded versions of the Navy’s pressurized water reactors to power cities and factories couldn’t be both safe and economical.
In 1971, Heronemus designed an offshore turbine with three rotors, but the first big multirotor prototype wouldn’t be built for another four decades. Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
He predicted—accurately, as it turned out—that costs would rise sharply as the nuclear industry addressed safety and environmental concerns. “Each plant costs more than its predecessor. The shipyards involved with nuclear reactors came to that conclusion years ago,” he wrote in a 1973 research proposal. He also argued that the risks inherent in nuclear reactors and their radioactive waste were unnecessary given Earth’s abundant solar and wind energy resources. He broadcast those views wherever and whenever he could: before congressional committees, at U.S. Atomic Energy Commission hearings, at academic conferences, in media interviews, and even at Rotary Club luncheons.
At a 1973 licensing hearing for the proposed 820-MW Shoreham Nuclear Power Plant on Long Island, N.Y., for example, Heronemus called affordable nuclear energy a “myth.” He detailed, in its stead, a floating wind power system that could be moored off Long Island and sized to deliver more than four times as much electricity as the Shoreham plant. Each of the 640 floating platforms would carry six rotors and crank out up to 12 MW, some of which would power electrolyzers to generate hydrogen. The hydrogen would be fed to power plants or fuel cells to produce electricity when the wind wasn’t blowing. This seemingly futuristic idea drew on his Navy experience with water-splitting electrolyzers, which supplied the oxygen that enabled subs to remain submerged for months at a time, and NASA’s use of hydrogen fuel cells to power the Apollo missions.
More than five decades later, his vision for offshore wind power is big business. Floating platforms are now widely accepted as the future of offshore wind, as necessity pushes the industry to build in deeper waters. Testing began on the first floating electrolysis platforms in 2023, and multirotor turbine prototypes are in development in China, Norway and Scotland.
Photos in the UMass archives invariably capture Heronemus in jacket and tie, usually standing bolt straight. That commanding affect, plus his World War II veteran pedigree, Cold War engineering credentials, and his informed, pugnacious attacks made him a hard target for his adversaries in the nuclear establishment. He certainly wasn’t your typical antinuclear activist.
Wielding his Cold War engineering credentials and often dressed in a suit and tie, Heronemus fought hard against nuclear energy, arguing that wind was a far safer and cost-competitive resource.Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
But brutal candor in public settings probably won him as many enemies as friends. Consider his presentation at the IEEE Power and Energy Society’s 1974 winter meeting, where Heronemus suggested scrapping the utilities’ then nuclear-focused research arm, the Electric Power Research Institute. That stance no doubt created discomfort for the engineers in attendance who were involved in EPRI projects, or who aspired to be.
It’s hard to say whether Heronemus’s campaign slowed nuclear development. The industry was already struggling with cost overruns when, in 1979, a reactor at Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania partially melted down and slammed the brakes on further expansion.
What is certain is that Heronemus spurred investment in wind power. When he started talking up wind in the early ’70s, even fellow travelers in the fledgling renewable energy movement were writing it off. As future White House science advisor John Holdren opined in a 1971 Sierra Club book: “There are few places in the world where the wind is strong enough and steady enough to make harnessing it for the large-scale production of power at all interesting.”
Heronemus dreamed up networks of wind turbines over and along highways after driving down the Garden State Parkway to a conference in Cape May, New Jersey. Ellen Heronemus
Heronemus countered the naysayers by quickly forging expert consensus around wind power’s immense potential, playing a key role as the sole wind expert on a 1972 federal panel on renewable energy. That joint National Science Foundation–NASA panel concluded that, in fact, wind could meet up to 19 percent of projected U.S. power demand by the year 2000.
Congress listened, sort of. After most Persian Gulf states restricted oil shipments to the United States in 1973, congressional appropriators dedicated US $1.8 million to wind-power research and development for 1974—up from zero—and by 1976 it had bumped that to $22 million. (For comparison, Congress gave nuclear power $714 million in 1976.)
Heronemus’s vision for a massive highway wind-power scheme was inspired in part by the wind-power advocate Percy Thomas, who in the 1940s and 1950s “talked a lot about how fresh New Jersey winds are,” he told the New York Times in 1974. “I got to thinking about what Thomas had said and how wind energy could be captured there.” Ellen Heronemus
The bulk of the funding for wind power flowed to big aerospace firms and to NASA, financing an ultimately fruitless attempt to leap straight to megawatt-scale wind turbines. UMass struggled to grab a slice of the leftovers to pursue Heronemus’s offshore wind system. Professors and students who worked with Heronemus told me they felt they’d been blackballed as payback for his activism and antagonism.
UMass finally caught a funding break when Heronemus dialed back his ambitions and proposed the 25-kW unit for Orchard Hill. A $130,000 federal grant landed in early 1975, and $150,000 more the following year. It was a “trivial” sum, according to team member Sandy Butterfield, who would later become chief engineer for wind-turbine testing at NREL. “They gave us just enough to fail,” says Butterfield.
A crane erects the “Wind Furnace” in November 1976. Sandy Butterfield
But the project triumphed, resulting in Wind Furnace 1, or WF-1 (pronounced “woof one”). The young engineers behind it credit their success to the confidence, sense of mission, and structure that Heronemus gave them. The self-described “hippies” called Heronemus “the Captain” out of both affection and respect.
As team member Edds puts it: “What showed in his demeanor and his actions was discipline, and it sort of rubbed off on us. We didn’t always dress like the Captain, but we knew we had to be disciplined, to be prepared, and just do the job.”
Team WF-1 got a quick start, thanks to earlier, privately financed work by a couple of doctoral students, including Forrest “Woody” Stoddard. Stoddard had been designing helicopter rotors for the U.S. Air Force when Heronemus invited him to come work on wind power in 1972. Stoddard set about adapting helicopter-rotor theory to the closely related wind rotors, and his aerodynamics modeling proved essential to the engineering of the entire machine.
Woody Stoddard [far right, in hat] designed the fiberglass blades with Ted Van Dusen. The team assembled the blades in a campus shop, and when it was time to squeegee epoxy from the blades, it was all hands on deck. Robert S. Cox Special Collections and University Archives Research Center/UMass Amherst Libraries
As WF-1’s de facto chief designer, Stoddard likely supported the team’s early choice to mimic a helicopter’s ability to “pitch” its blades. To fly forward, a helicopter continuously adjusts the lift created by each blade, turning the airfoil on its long axis to reduce lift as it swings past the front of the aircraft. Doing so tilts the nose down and moves the vehicle forward. In WF-1’s case, blades pitched to regulate torque, helping get the rotor spinning in low winds and then easing off to protect the machine in dangerously high winds.
Repurposing a truck axle to mechanically couple WF-1’s rotor and generator was one of several design elements borrowed from engineers at McGill University in Montreal. Production of WF-1’s fiberglass blades got started at UMass in 1974 under the direction of doctoral student Ted Van Dusen. A competitive rower, he had a side hustle making ultralight composite boats—a trade that had stalled his doctoral work at MIT but was an accelerant for WF-1.
The federal funds in 1975 allowed Heronemus to really spin up the project and recruit a squad of students to engineer the balance of WF-1’s components. They made good use of the UMass engineering machine shop and received guidance from faculty, including mechanical engineering professors Duane Cromack and Jon McGowan. But it was the dozen or so students who really cranked out the parts.
Most were master’s students, like Butterfield, who designed the blade-pitching mechanics. Edds, the team’s only electrical engineer, had come to UMass to learn ocean engineering, only to be diverted into handling WF-1’s generator. Louis Manfredi, another ocean engineering student, teamed up with master’s student Jim Sexton on the nacelle housing the generator and drivetrain. Fred Antoon adapted the truck axle. Brian Kuhn did drawings.
WF-1 contained a mechanism that pitched its blades to regulate torque in response to wind speed, a feature that became an industry standard.Sandy Butterfield
An 18-year-old freshman, Dan Handman, came aboard and soon made himself indispensable. When he approached Heronemus to introduce himself, Heronemus handed him three months’ worth of anemometer readings punched into recording paper, and told him to turn it into 15-minute averages. Figuring there had to be a more efficient method for analyzing wind speeds, Handman asked around and found a wind-averaging machine from an earlier student project. A month or so later, he’d installed it in a cabinet near Heronemus’s office and wired it to an anemometer on Orchard Hill.
Handman’s primary role on WF-1 was setting up its computerized control system, which tracked wind speed and sent commands to Butterfield’s pitch mechanism. The controls also tracked the generator’s speed and adjusted the current to its rotor windings, in accordance with calculations by Edds. Tweaking the current ensured that power demand from the electric heaters installed in the home below didn’t stop the rotor in weak winds.
Sandy Butterfield, part of the 1970s “UMass Mafia” team that built WF-1, became a wind-power entrepreneur and a top engineer at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory in Golden, Colo. Sandy Butterfield
The finished WF-1 really cranked up the heat, some of which was stored by heating water in tanks in the modular house’s basement, to be circulated through baseboards in windless periods. It turned out WF-1 was unusually efficient at capturing wind energy because its rotor could change speed with the wind, keeping the blades close to an aerodynamic optimum.
This varying rotor speed meant that the frequency of the electric power WF-1 produced also varied. Turbines linked to power lines must strive for the opposite—a steady output that synchronizes with the grid’s frequency—primarily 50 or 60 hertz. But it suited the home’s low-tech heating scheme just fine. (Electronic converters let today’s turbines have it all by ingesting a variable wave and outputting a new wave that’s synced to the grid.)
In 1977, with WF-1’s success in hand, Heronemus projected that 3 million homes like the one on Orchard Hill could soon slash U.S. heating oil demand by 90 million barrels a year. That never happened, but an industry was born, starting with a Burlington, Mass. startup called US Windpower—the first “credible” U.S. turbine manufacturer, according to Thresher, who is now an emeritus researcher at the National Laboratory of the Rockies.
Belgian-made WindMaster turbines erected at Altamont Pass signaled the internationalism of the California wind rush. UMass team member Woody Stoddard conducted engineering analyses of many early designs deployed there.Bettman/Getty Images
Boston-area entrepreneurs Russell Wolfe and Stanley Charren launched US Windpower with Stoddard and Van Dusen after visiting Heronemus in 1974 and liking what they heard. They adapted WF-1’s design to make it suitable for grid-connected operation, building and breaking prototypes before erecting the world’s first grid-connected wind farm in 1980—20 turbines on a mountain in New Hampshire. California’s water authority placed an order for 100 MW of wind power, and in 1981 US Windpower began installing hundreds of turbines in Altamont Pass, east of San Francisco.
As more firms jumped to California, drawn by state government incentives, WF-1’s creators and the next cohort of UMass grads assumed important roles in the nascent market. Seven joined Energy Sciences, a startup cofounded by Butterfield. More joined U.S. Windpower. Stoddard left that company to start a consulting firm and ended up advising some of Denmark’s modern wind pioneers, which rapidly expanded thanks to the California market. Those early Danish firms made relatively simple, sturdy machines that subsequently scaled up and dominated globally for several decades — until China embraced wind power.
The California wind power boom peaked in 1986, after which energy prices collapsed and incentives faded. Most manufacturers were bankrupted by equipment failures and financial challenges, making the 1990s a tough time for wind power’s pioneers. Many UMass wind engineers, like Butterfield, joined Thresher’s operation at NREL, culling everything they could from the California experience.
“An entire generation of U.S. wind engineers got their graduate training, at least in part, using the Wind Furnace.”—Harold Wallace
There, Heronemus’s protégés became known as the “UMass Mafia.” Thresher says it attests to the crew’s impact: “There were others. But that UMass Mafia were really leaders in the field. I think that’s the heritage we got from Bill Heronemus. Those people were so impactful and the education they got [with Heronemus] was the key.” What Heronemus began at the university became the UMass Wind Energy Center, which has awarded over 300 graduate degrees.
WF-1 now rests in the Smithsonian Institution’s collections in Washington, D.C. It earned its place there, as Smithsonian’s only modern wind turbine, because it represents wind energy’s revival, according to Harold Wallace, Smithsonian’s curator for electricity collections. “An entire generation of U.S. wind engineers got their graduate training, at least in part, using the Wind Furnace,” he says.
Heronemus didn’t get to witness the production of the massive offshore machines that he foresaw. He lost his long fight with cancer in November 2002, at the age of 82, even as former students and family members were racing to patent his multirotor and floating turbine designs.
Had he lived longer, the Captain would almost certainly have railed against current U.S. energy policy. The U.S. government has never backed wind power as generously as he’d hoped. Wind supplied 10 percent of U.S. generation last year—that’s half the share in Europe—with offshore turbines providing only a tiny sliver. Federal support for wind power has been in a stop-go cycle since Ronald Reagan’s administration, and it’s hit a low again under President Donald Trump, who has vowed to stop wind power cold. As Trump boasted to oil executives in January: “We have not approved one windmill since I’ve been in office, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
Under Trump, stop-work orders have disrupted offshore projects from Massachusetts to Virginia, contributing to a nearly $600 million loss in 2025 for GE Vernova’s wind business. GE Vernova is the only major wind turbine manufacturer remaining in the United States, and it too can be traced back to Heronemus via a US Windpower patent.
In stark contrast, European and Asian countries have been going big on offshore wind and are now developing floating wind farms to push into deeper waters. China might be the one to finally conjure up Heronemus’s favored wind design: floating platforms bearing massive multirotor machines. In 2024, Zhongshan-based turbine maker Ming Yang Smart Energy Group deployed a two-rotor offshore prototype. The company says its next iteration will generate a whopping 50 MW—a twin-headed beast that would be the world’s most powerful wind machine.
That will be a bittersweet moment for the U.S. wind industry and Captain William Heronemus’s UMass Mafia, for whom such massive machines are a dream come true. Joanne Carroll, a retired member of the UMass Mafia, says she remembers the very moment, her freshman year, when Heronemus’s dream became hers. While he was lecturing in Introduction to Engineering about the hidden costs of coal-fired power, Heronemus walked to the window and said: “‘But out there there’s wind, and you can harvest that energy,’” Carroll recalled. “And I remember thinking: That’s what I want to do with my life.”
The author would like to give special thanks to UMass professor emeritus James Manwell for his assistance with this story.