This article is excerpted from Every American an Innovator: How Innovation Became a Way of Life, by Matthew Wisnioski (The MIT Press, 2025). Imagine a point-to-point transportation service in which two parties communicate at a distance. A passenger in need of a ride contacts the service via phone. A complex algorithm based on time, distance, and volume informs both passenger and driver of the journey’s cost before it begins. This novel business plan promises efficient service and lower costs. It has the potential to disrupt an overregulated taxi monopoly in cities across the country. Its enhanced transparency may even reduce racial discrimination by preestablishing pickups regardless of race. aspect_ratio Every American an Innovator: How Innovation Became a Way of Life, by Matthew Wisnioski (The MIT Press, 2025).The MIT Press Carnegie Mellon University. The dial-a-ride service was designed to resurrect a defunct cab company that had once served Pittsburgh’s African American neighborhoods. National Science Foundation, the CED was envisioned as an innovation “hatchery,” intended to challenge the norms of research science and higher education, foster risk-taking, birth campus startups focused on market-based technological solutions to social problems, and remake American science to serve national needs. Are innovators born or made? During the Cold War, the model for training scientists and engineers in the United States was one of manpower in service to a linear model of innovation: Scientists pursued “basic” discovery in universities and federal laboratories; engineer–scientists conducted “applied” research elsewhere on campus; engineers developed those ideas in giant teams for companies such as Lockheed and Boeing; and research managers oversaw the whole process. This model dictated national science policy, elevated the scientist as a national hero in pursuit of truth beyond politics, and pumped hundreds of millions of dollars into higher education. In practice, the lines between basic and applied research were blurred, but the perceived hierarchy was integral to the NSF and the university research culture that it helped to foster. RELATED: Innovation Magazine and the Birth of a Buzzword The question was, how? And would the universities be willing to remake themselves to support innovation? The NSF experiments with innovation At the Utah Innovation Center, engineering students John DeJong and Douglas Kihm worked on a programmable electronics breadboard.Special Collections, J. Willard Marriott Library, The University of Utah In 1972, NSF director H. Guyford Stever established the Office of Experimental R&D Incentives to “incentivize” innovation for national needs by supporting research on “how the government [could] most effectively accelerate the transfer of new technology into productive enterprise.” Stever stressed the experimental nature of the program because many in the NSF and the scientific community resisted the idea of goal-directed research. Innovation, with its connotations of profit and social change, was even more suspect. To lead the initiative, Stever appointed C.B. Smith, a research manager at United Aircraft Corp., who in turn brought in engineers with industrial experience, including Robert Colton, an automotive engineer. Colton led the university Innovation Center experiment that gave rise to Carnegie Mellon’s CED. The NSF chose four universities that captured a range of approaches to innovation incubation. MIT targeted undergrads through formal coursework and an innovation “co-op” that assisted in turning ideas into products. The University of Oregon evaluated the ideas of garage inventors from across the country. The University of Utah emphasized an ecosystem of biotech and computer graphics startups coming out of its research labs. And Carnegie Mellon established a nonprofit corporation to support graduate student ventures, including the dial-a-ride service. Grad student Fritz Faulhaber holds one of the radio-coupled taxi meters that Carnegie Mellon students installed in Pittsburgh cabs in the 1970s.Ralph Guggenheim;Jerome McCavitt/Carnegie-Mellon Alumni News Carnegie Mellon got one of the first university incubators Carnegie Mellon had all the components that experts believed were necessary for innovation: strong engineering, a world-class business school, novel approaches to urban planning with a focus on community needs, and a tradition of industrial design and the practical arts. CMU leaders claimed that the school was smaller, younger, more interdisciplinary, and more agile than MIT. Dwight Baumann. Baumann exemplified a new kind of educator-entrepreneur. The son of North Dakota farmers, he had graduated from North Dakota State University, then headed to MIT for a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering, where he discovered a love of teaching. He also garnered a reputation as an unusually creative engineer with an interest in solving problems that addressed human needs. In the 1950s and 1960s, first as a student and then as an MIT professor, Baumann helped develop one of the first computer-aided-design programs, as well as computer interfaces for the blind and the nation’s first dial-a-ride paratransit system. Dwight Baumann, director of Carnegie Mellon’s Center for Entrepreneurial Development, believed that a modern university should provide entrepreneurial education. Carnegie Mellon University Archives The CED’s mission was to support entrepreneurs in the earliest stages of the innovation process when they needed space and seed funding. It created an environment for students to make a “sequence of nonfatal mistakes,” so they could fail and develop self-confidence for navigating the risks and uncertainties of entrepreneurial life. It targeted graduate students who already had advanced scientific and engineering training and a viable idea for a business. Carnegie Mellon’s dial-a-ride service replicated the Peoples Cab Co., which had provided taxi service to Black communities in Pittsburgh. Charles “Teenie” Harris/Carnegie Museum of Art/Getty Images A few CED students did create successful startups. The breakout hit was Compuguard, founded by electrical engineering Ph.D. students Romesh Wadhwani and Krishnahadi Pribad, who hailed from India and Indonesia, respectively. The pair spent 18 months developing a security bracelet that used wireless signals to protect vulnerable people in dangerous work environments. But after failing to convert their prototype into a working design, they pivoted to a security- and energy-monitoring system for schools, prisons, and warehouses. Wadhwani Foundation supports innovation and entrepreneurship education worldwide, particularly in emerging economies. Wharton School and elsewhere. In 1983, Baumann’s onetime partner Jack Thorne took the lead of the new Enterprise Corp., which aimed to help Pittsburgh’s entrepreneurs raise venture capital. Baumann was kicked out of his garage to make room for the initiative. Was the NSF’s experiment in innovation a success? As the university Innovation Center experiment wrapped up in the late 1970s, the NSF patted itself on the back in a series of reports, conferences, and articles. “The ultimate effect of the Innovation Centers,” it stated, would be “the regrowth of invention, innovation, and entrepreneurship in the American economic system.” The NSF claimed that the experiment produced dozens of new ventures with US $20 million in gross revenue, employed nearly 800 people, and yielded $4 million in tax revenue. Yet, by 1979, license returns from intellectual property had generated only $100,000. “Today, the legacies of the NSF experiment are visible on nearly every college campus.” Critics included Senator William Proxmire of Wisconsin, who pointed to the banana peelers, video games, and sports equipment pursued in the centers to lambast them as “wasteful federal spending” of “questionable benefit to the American taxpayer.” And so the impacts of the NSF’s Innovation Center experiment weren’t immediately obvious. Many faculty and administrators of that era were still apt to view such programs as frivolous, nonacademic, or not worth the investment.

Eight years is a long time in the world of patents. When we last published what we then called the Patent Power Scorecard, in 2017, it was a different technological and social landscape—Google had just filed a patent application on the transformer architecture, a momentous advance that spawned the generative AI revolution. China was just beginning to produce quality, affordable electric vehicles at scale. And the COVID pandemic wasn’t on anyone’s dance card. Eight years is also a long time in the world of magazines, where we regularly play around with formats for articles and infographics. We now have more readers online than we do in print, so our art team is leveraging advances in interactive design software to make complex datasets grokkable at a glance, whether you’re on your phone or flipping through the pages of the magazine. The scorecard’s return in this issue follows the return last month of The Data, which ran as our back page for several years; it’s curated by a different editor every month and edited by Editorial Director for Content Development Glenn Zorpette. As we set out to recast the scorecard for this decade, we sought to strike the right balance between comprehensiveness and clarity, especially on a mobile-phone screen. As our Digital Product Designer Erik Vrielink, Assistant Editor Gwendolyn Rak, and Community Manager Kohava Mendelsohn explained to me, they wanted something that would be eye-catching while avoiding information overload. The solution they arrived at—a dynamic sunburst visualization—lets readers grasp the essential takeaways at glance in print, while the digital version, allows readers to dive as deep as they want into the data. Working with sci-tech-focused data-mining company 1790 Analytics, which we partnered with on the original Patent Power Scorecard, the team prioritized three key metrics or characteristics: patent Pipeline Power (which goes beyond mere quantity to assess quality and impact), number of patents, and the country where companies are based. This last characteristic has become increasingly significant as geopolitical tensions reshape the global technology landscape. As 1790 Analytics cofounders Anthony Breitzman and Patrick Thomas note, the next few years could be particularly interesting as organizations adjust their patenting strategies in response to changing market access. Some trends leap out immediately. In consumer electronics, Apple dominates Pipeline Power despite having a patent portfolio one-third the size of Samsung’s—a testament to the Cupertino company’s focus on high-impact innovations. The aerospace sector has seen dramatic consolidation, with RTX (formerly Raytheon Technologies) now encompassing multiple subsidiaries that appear separately on our scorecard. And in the university rankings, Harvard has seized the top spot from traditional tech powerhouses like MIT and Stanford, driven by patents that are more often cited as prior art in other recent patents. And then there are the subtle shifts that become apparent only when you dig deeper into the data. The rise of SEL (Semiconductor Energy Laboratory) over TSMC (Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co.) in semiconductor design, despite having far fewer patents, suggests again that true innovation isn’t just about filing patents—it’s about creating technologies that others build upon. Looking ahead, the real test will be how these patent portfolios translate into actual products and services. Patents are promises of innovation; the scorecard helps us see what companies are making those promises and the R&D investments to realize them. As we enter an era when technological leadership increasingly determines economic and strategic power, understanding these patterns is more crucial than ever.

Eight years is a long time in the world of patents. When we last published what we then called the Patent Power Scorecard, in 2017, it was a different technological and social landscape—Google had just filed a patent application on the transformer architecture, a momentous advance that spawned the generative AI revolution. China was just beginning to produce quality, affordable electric vehicles at scale. And the COVID pandemic wasn’t on anyone’s dance card. Eight years is also a long time in the world of magazines, where we regularly play around with formats for articles and infographics. We now have more readers online than we do in print, so our art team is leveraging advances in interactive design software to make complex datasets grokkable at a glance, whether you’re on your phone or flipping through the pages of the magazine. The scorecard’s return in this issue follows the return last month of The Data, which ran as our back page for several years; it’s curated by a different editor every month and edited by Editorial Director for Content Development Glenn Zorpette. As we set out to recast the scorecard for this decade, we sought to strike the right balance between comprehensiveness and clarity, especially on a mobile-phone screen. As our Digital Product Designer Erik Vrielink, Assistant Editor Gwendolyn Rak, and Community Manager Kohava Mendelsohn explained to me, they wanted something that would be eye-catching while avoiding information overload. The solution they arrived at—a dynamic sunburst visualization—lets readers grasp the essential takeaways at glance in print, while the digital version, allows readers to dive as deep as they want into the data. Working with sci-tech-focused data-mining company 1790 Analytics, which we partnered with on the original Patent Power Scorecard, the team prioritized three key metrics or characteristics: patent Pipeline Power (which goes beyond mere quantity to assess quality and impact), number of patents, and the country where companies are based. This last characteristic has become increasingly significant as geopolitical tensions reshape the global technology landscape. As 1790 Analytics cofounders Anthony Breitzman and Patrick Thomas note, the next few years could be particularly interesting as organizations adjust their patenting strategies in response to changing market access. Some trends leap out immediately. In consumer electronics, Apple dominates Pipeline Power despite having a patent portfolio one-third the size of Samsung’s—a testament to the Cupertino company’s focus on high-impact innovations. The aerospace sector has seen dramatic consolidation, with RTX (formerly Raytheon Technologies) now encompassing multiple subsidiaries that appear separately on our scorecard. And in the university rankings, Harvard has seized the top spot from traditional tech powerhouses like MIT and Stanford, driven by patents that are more often cited as prior art in other recent patents. And then there are the subtle shifts that become apparent only when you dig deeper into the data. The rise of SEL (Semiconductor Energy Laboratory) over TSMC (Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co.) in semiconductor design, despite having far fewer patents, suggests again that true innovation isn’t just about filing patents—it’s about creating technologies that others build upon. Looking ahead, the real test will be how these patent portfolios translate into actual products and services. Patents are promises of innovation; the scorecard helps us see what companies are making those promises and the R&D investments to realize them. As we enter an era when technological leadership increasingly determines economic and strategic power, understanding these patterns is more crucial than ever.

Sojourner sent back photos of the Martian surface during the summer of 1997. I was not alone. The servers at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab slowed to a crawl when they got more than 47 million hits (a record number!) from people attempting to download those early images of the Red Planet. To be fair, it was the late 1990s, the Internet was still young, and most people were using dial-up modems. By the end of the 83-day mission, Sojourner had sent back 550 photos and performed more than 15 chemical analyses of Martian rocks and soil. Sojourner, of course, remains on Mars. Pictured here is Marie Curie, its twin. Functionally identical, either one of the rovers could have made the voyage to Mars, but one of them was bound to become the famous face of the mission, while the other was destined to be left behind in obscurity. Did I write this piece because I feel a little bad for Marie Curie? Maybe. But it also gave me a chance to revisit this pioneering Mars mission, which established that robots could effectively explore the surface of planets and captivate the public imagination. Sojourner’s sojourn on Mars On 4 July 1997, the Mars Pathfinder parachuted through the Martian atmosphere and bounced about 15 times on glorified airbags before finally coming to a rest. The lander, renamed the Carl Sagan Memorial Station, carried precious cargo stowed inside. The next day, after the airbags retracted, the solar-powered Sojourner eased its way down the ramp, the first human-made vehicle to roll around on the surface of another planet. (It wasn’t the first extraterrestrial body, though. The Soviet Lunokhod rovers conducted two successful missions on the moon in 1970 and 1973. The Soviets had also landed a rover on Mars back in 1971, but communication was lost before the PROP-M ever deployed.) This giant sandbox at JPL provided Marie Curie with an approximation of Martian terrain. Mike Nelson/AFP/Getty Images Sojourner was equipped with three low-resolution cameras (two on the front for black-and-white images and a color camera on the rear), a laser hazard–avoidance system, an alpha-proton X-ray spectrometer, experiments for testing wheel abrasion and material adherence, and several accelerometers. The robot also demonstrated the value of the six-wheeled “rocker-bogie” suspension system that became NASA’s go-to design for all later Mars rovers. Sojourner never roamed more than about 12 meters from the lander due to the limited range of its radio. Pathfinder had landed in Ares Vallis, an assumed ancient floodplain chosen because of the wide variety of rocks present. Scientists hoped to confirm the past existence of water on the surface of Mars. Sojourner did discover rounded pebbles that suggested running water, and later missions confirmed it. A highlight of Sojourner’s 83-day mission on Mars was its encounter with a rock nicknamed Barnacle Bill [to the rover’s left]. JPL/NASA Sojourner rolled forward 36 centimeters and encountered a rock, dubbed Barnacle Bill due to its rough surface. The rover spent about 10 hours analyzing the rock, using its spectrometer to determine the elemental composition. Over the next few weeks, while the lander collected atmospheric information and took photos, the rover studied rocks in detail and tested the Martian soil. Marie Curie’s sojourn…in a JPL sandbox Meanwhile back on Earth, engineers at JPL used Marie Curie to mimic Sojourner’s movements in a Mars-like setting. During the original design and testing of the rovers, the team had set up giant sandboxes, each holding thousands of kilograms of playground sand, in the Space Flight Operations Facility at JPL. They exhaustively practiced the remote operation of Sojourner, including an 11-minute delay in communications between Mars and Earth. (The actual delay can vary from 7 to 20 minutes.) Even after Sojourner landed, Marie Curie continued to help them strategize. Initially, Sojourner was remotely operated from Earth, which was tricky given the lengthy communication delay. Mike Nelson/AFP/Getty Images Sojourner was maneuvered by an Earth-based operator wearing 3D goggles and using a funky input device called a Spaceball 2003. Images pieced together from both the lander and the rover guided the operator. It was like a very, very slow video game—the rover sometimes moved only a few centimeters a day. NASA then turned on Sojourner’s hazard-avoidance system, which allowed the rover some autonomy to explore its world. A human would suggest a path for that day’s exploration, and then the rover had to autonomously avoid any obstacles in its way, such as a big rock, a cliff, or a steep slope. Sojourner to operate for a week. But the little rover that could kept chugging along for 83 Martian days before NASA finally lost contact, on 7 October 1997. The lander had conked out on 27 September. In all, the mission collected 1.2 gigabytes of data (which at the time was a lot) and sent back 10,000 images of the planet’s surface. Marie Curie with the hopes of sending it on another mission to Mars. For a while, it was slated to be part of the Mars 2001 set of missions, but that didn’t happen. In 2015, JPL transferred the rover to the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. When NASA Embraced Faster, Better, Cheaper The Pathfinder mission was the second one in NASA administrator Daniel S. Goldin’s Discovery Program, which embodied his “faster, better, cheaper” philosophy of making NASA more nimble and efficient. (The first Discovery mission was to the asteroid Eros.) In the financial climate of the early 1990s, the space agency couldn’t risk a billion-dollar loss if a major mission failed. Goldin opted for smaller projects; the Pathfinder mission’s overall budget, including flight and operations, was capped at US $300 million. RELATED: How NASA Built Its Mars Rovers In his 2014 book Curiosity: An Inside Look at the Mars Rover Mission and the People Who Made It Happen (Prometheus), science writer Rod Pyle interviews Rob Manning, chief engineer for the Pathfinder mission and subsequent Mars rovers. Manning recalled that one of the best things about the mission was its relatively minimal requirements. The team was responsible for landing on Mars, delivering the rover, and transmitting images—technically challenging, to be sure, but beyond that the team had no constraints. Sojourner was succeeded by the rovers Spirit, Opportunity, and Curiosity. Shown here are four mission spares, including Marie Curie [foreground]. JPL-Caltech/NASA Sojourner’s electronics warm enough to operate were leftover spares from the Galileo mission to Jupiter, so they were “free.” Pathfinder mission successful but it captured the hearts of Americans and reinvigorated an interest in exploring Mars. In the process, it set the foundation for the future missions that allowed the rovers Spirit, Opportunity, and Curiosity (which, incredibly, is still operating nearly 13 years after it landed) to explore even more of the Red Planet. How the rovers Sojourner and Marie Curie got their names To name its first Mars rovers, NASA launched a student contest in March 1994, with the specific guidance of choosing a “heroine.” Entry essays were judged on their quality and creativity, the appropriateness of the name for a rover, and the student’s knowledge of the woman to be honored as well as the mission’s goals. Students from all over the world entered. Sojourner Truth, while 18-year-old Deepti Rohatgi of Rockville, Md., came in second for hers on Marie Curie. Truth was a Black woman born into slavery at the end of the 18th century. She escaped with her infant daughter and two years later won freedom for her son through legal action. She became a vocal advocate for civil rights, women’s rights, and alcohol temperance. Curie was a Polish-French physicist and chemist famous for her studies of radioactivity, a term she coined. She was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, as well as the first person to win a second Nobel. Nancy Grace Roman, the space agency’s first chief of astronomy. In May 2020, NASA announced it would name the Wide Field Infrared Survey Telescope after Roman; the space telescope is set to launch as early as October 2026, although the Trump administration has repeatedly said it wants to cancel the project. A Trillion Rogue Planets and Not One Sun to Shine on Them its naming policy in December 2022 after allegations came to light that James Webb, for whom the James Webb Space Telescope is named, had fired LGBTQ+ employees at NASA and, before that, the State Department. A NASA investigation couldn’t substantiate the allegations, and so the telescope retained Webb’s name. But the bar is now much higher for NASA projects to memorialize anyone, deserving or otherwise. (The agency did allow the hopping lunar robot IM-2 Micro Nova Hopper, built by Intuitive Machines, to be named for computer-software pioneer Grace Hopper.) Marie Curie and Sojourner will remain part of a rarefied clique. Sojourner, inducted into the Robot Hall of Fame in 2003, will always be the celebrity of the pair. And Marie Curie will always remain on the sidelines. But think about it this way: Marie Curie is now on exhibit at one of the most popular museums in the world, where millions of visitors can see the rover up close. That’s not too shabby a legacy either. 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 June 2025 print issue. References Curator Matthew Shindell of the National Air and Space Museum first suggested I feature Marie Curie. I found additional information from the museum’s collections website, an article by David Kindy in Smithsonian magazine, and the book After Sputnik: 50 Years of the Space Age (Smithsonian Books/HarperCollins, 2007) by Smithsonian curator Martin Collins. NASA has numerous resources documenting the Mars Pathfinder mission, such as the mission website, fact sheet, and many lovely photos (including some of Barnacle Bill and a composite of Marie Curie during a prelaunch test). Curiosity: An Inside Look at the Mars Rover Mission and the People Who Made It Happen (Prometheus, 2014) by Rod Pyle and Roving Mars: Spirit, Opportunity, and the Exploration of the Red Planet (Hyperion, 2005) by planetary scientist Steve Squyres are both about later Mars missions and their rovers, but they include foundational information about Sojourner.

In the late 1970s, a time when 8-bit processors were state of the art and CMOS was the underdog of semiconductor technology, engineers at AT&T’s Bell Labs took a bold leap into the future. They made a high-stakes bet to outpace IBM, Intel, and other competitors in chip performance by combining cutting-edge 3.5-micron CMOS fabrication with a novel 32-bit processor architecture. Although their creation—the Bellmac-32 microprocessor—never achieved the commercial fame of earlier ones such as Intel’s 4004 (released in 1971), its influence has proven far more enduring. Virtually every chip in smartphones, laptops, and tablets today relies on the complementary metal-oxide semiconductor principles that the Bellmac-32 pioneered. As the 1980s approached, AT&T was grappling with transformation. For decades, the telecom giant—nicknamed “Ma Bell”—had dominated American voice communications, with its Western Electric subsidiary manufacturing nearly every telephone found in U.S. homes and offices. The U.S. federal government was pressing for antitrust-driven divestiture, but AT&T was granted an opening to expand into computing. With computing firms already entrenched in the market, AT&T couldn’t afford to play catch-up; its strategy was to leap ahead, and the Bellmac-32 was its springboard. The Bellmac-32 chip series has now been honored with an IEEE Milestone. Dedication ceremonies are slated to be held this year at the Nokia Bell Labs’ campus in Murray Hill, N.J., and at the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, Calif. A chip like no other Rather than emulate the industry standard of 8-bit chips, AT&T executives challenged their Bell Labs engineers to deliver something revolutionary: the first commercially viable microprocessor capable of moving 32 bits in one clock cycle. It would require not just a new chip but also an entirely novel architecture—one that could handle telecommunications switching and serve as the backbone for future computing systems. “We weren’t just building a faster chip,” says Michael Condry, who led the architecture team at Bell Labs’ Holmdel facility in New Jersey. “We were trying to design something that could carry both voice and computation into the future.” This configuration of the Bellmac-32 microprocessor had an integrated memory management unit optimized for Unix-like operating systems.AT&T Archives and History Center At the time, CMOS technology was seen as a promising—but risky—alternative to the NMOS and PMOS designs then in use. NMOS chips, which relied solely on N-type transistors, were fast but power-hungry. PMOS chips, which depend on the movement of positively-charged holes, were too slow. CMOS, with its hybrid design, offered the potential for both speed and energy savings. The benefits were so compelling that the industry soon saw that the need for double the number of transistors (NMOS and PMOS for each gate) was worth the tradeoff. As transistor sizes shrank along with the rapid advancement of semiconductor technology described by Moore’s Law, the cost of doubling up the transistor density soon became manageable and eventually became negligible. But when Bell Labs took its high-stakes gamble, large-scale CMOS fabrication was still unproven and looked to be comparatively costly. That didn’t deter Bell Labs. By tapping expertise from its campuses in Holmdel and Murray Hill as well as in Naperville, Ill., the company assembled a dream team of semiconductor engineers. The team included Condry; Sung-Mo “Steve” Kang, a rising star in chip design; Victor Huang, another microprocessor chip designer, and dozens of AT&T Bell Labs employees. They set out in 1978 to master a new CMOS process and create a 32-bit microprocessor from scratch. Designing the architecture The architecture group led by Condry, an IEEE Life Fellow who would later become Intel’s CTO, focused on building a system that would natively support the Unix operating system and the C programming language. Both were in their infancy but destined for dominance. To cope with the era’s memory limitations—kilobytes were precious—they introduced a complex instruction set that required fewer steps to carry out and could be executed in a single clock cycle. The engineers also built the chip to support the VersaModule Eurocard (VME) parallel bus, enabling distributed computing so several nodes could handle data processing in parallel. Making the chip VME-enabled also allowed it to be used for real-time control. The group wrote its own version of Unix, with real-time capabilities to ensure that the new chip design was compatible with industrial automation and similar applications. The Bell Labs engineers also invented domino logic, which ramped up processing speed by reducing delays in complex logic gates. Additional testing and verification techniques were developed and introduced via the Bellmac-32 Module, a sophisticated multi-chipset verification and testing project led by Huang that allowed the complex chip fabrication to have zero or near-zero errors. This was the first of its kind in VLSI testing. The Bell Labs engineers’ systematic plan for double- and triple-checking their colleagues’ work ultimately made the total design of the multiple chipset family work together seamlessly as a complete microcomputer system. Then came the hardest part: actually building the chip. Floor maps and colored pencils “The technology for layout, testing, and high-yield fabrication just wasn’t there,” recalls Kang, an IEEE Life Fellow who later became president of the Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology (KAIST) in Daejeon, South Korea. With no CAD tools available for full-chip verification, Kang says, the team resorted to printing oversize Calcomp plots. The schematics showed how the transistors, circuit lines, and interconnects should be arranged inside the chip to provide the desired outputs. The team assembled them on the floor with adhesive tape to create a massive square map more than 6 meters on a side. Kang and his colleagues traced every circuit by hand with colored pencils, searching for breaks, overlaps, or mishandled interconnects. Getting it made Once the physical design was locked in, the team faced another obstacle: manufacturing. The chips were fabricated at a Western Electric facility in Allentown, Pa., but Kang recalls that the yield rates (the percentage of chips on a silicon wafer that meet performance and quality standards) were dismal. To address that, Kang and his colleagues drove from New Jersey to the plant each day, rolled up their sleeves, and did whatever it took, including sweeping floors and calibrating test equipment, to build camaraderie and instill confidence that the most complicated product the plant workers had ever attempted to produce could indeed be made there. “We weren’t just building a faster chip. We were trying to design something that could carry both voice and computation into the future.” —Michael Condry, Bellmac-32 architecture team lead “The team-building worked out well,” Kang says. “After several months, Western Electric was able to produce more than the required number of good chips.” The first version of the Bellmac-32, which was ready by 1980, fell short of expectations. Instead of hitting a 4-megahertz performance target, it ran at just 2 MHz. The engineers discovered that the state-of-the-art Takeda Riken testing equipment they were using was flawed, with transmission-line effects between the probe and the test head leading to inaccurate measurements, so they worked with a Takeda Riken team to develop correction tables that rectified the measurement errors. The second generation of Bellmac chips had clock speeds that exceeded 6.2 MHz, sometimes reaching 9. That was blazing fast for its time. The 16-bit Intel 8008 processor inside IBM’s original PC released in 1981 ran at 4.77 MHz. Why Bellmac-32 didn’t go mainstream Despite its technical promise, the Bellmac-32 did not find wide commercial use. According to Condry, AT&T’s pivot toward acquiring equipment manufacturer NCR, which it began eyeing in the late 1980s, meant the company chose to back a different line of chips. But by then, the Bellmac-32’s legacy was already growing. “Before Bellmac-32, NMOS was dominant,” Condry says. “But CMOS changed the market because it was shown to be a more effective implementation in the fab.” In time, that realization reshaped the semiconductor landscape. CMOS would become the foundation for modern microprocessors, powering the digital revolution in desktops, smartphones, and more. The audacity of Bell Labs’ bet—to take an untested fabrication process and leapfrog an entire generation of chip architecture—stands as a landmark moment in technological history. As Kang puts it: “We were on the frontier of what was possible. We didn’t just follow the path—we made a new one.” Huang, an IEEE Life Fellow who later became deputy director of the Institute of Microelectronics, Singapore, adds: “This included not only chip architecture and design, but also large-scale chip verification—with CAD but without today’s digital simulation tools or even breadboarding [which is the standard method for checking whether a circuit design for an electronic system that uses chips works before making permanent connections by soldering the circuit elements together].” Condry, Kang, and Huang look back fondly on that period and express their admiration for the many AT&T employees whose skill and dedication made the Bellmac-32 chip series possible. Administered by the IEEE History Center and supported by donors, the Milestone program recognizes outstanding technical developments around the world. The IEEE North Jersey Section sponsored the nomination.