Normally, when we think about people who have mentored us, we tend to think about a professional setting. That's where my mind went first when I started thinking about this topic. But as I reflected on it more, I realized my first mentors were my family members and the adults around me long before I ever started at JPL. My parents, grandparents, aunt and uncle, neighbors, teachers, and many others all helped shape the way I approached problems and looked at the world. 

About three months after I started at JPL, I met Don Moore. He took me under his wing and taught me a tremendous amount about mechanical design, load lines, simple analysis, and flexures. Don was one of the finest mechanical engineers I ever worked with, and probably the most accomplished flexure designer at JPL.

I owe so very much to Don for all that he taught me.  It was his mentorship that inspired me to do this.  I can’t repay him, but I can pay it forward to the next generation. 

Don was always pretty busy during the day and he often was not to be found at his desk during normal business hours.  After around five o'clock, however, you could usually find him in his office. Whenever I stopped by looking for advice, he'd grin, stand up, and say, "Hey, let's go out to the back porch."  The back porch was essentially a cement landing, kind of like a loading dock. I have no idea what its intended purpose was, but it was certainly put to good use.  Once there, he'd light a cigarette—sometimes two—while we discussed engineering. 

Early on, these sessions consisted of me mostly asking him a bunch of questions and absorbing everything I could. As my experience progressed, they started to become a little more interactive, and I think Don really appreciated that. As the years went by, I found less and less need to seek Don’s advice and guidance, but sometimes I’d just go say hi and spend a little time with him on the back porch.  

Unfortunately, Don's smoking habit gave him lung cancer and took him away much sooner than any of us would have liked. Not only was Don my mentor, he was a friend. He eventually became somewhat of a surrogate father to me. There aren't many days that go by that I don't think about him, if only for a moment. 

Looking back, I realize Don wasn't just teaching me engineering. He was teaching me how to mentor. Years later, when younger engineers started showing up at my office with questions, I found myself doing many of the same things he had done for me. 

Don was my first mentor at JPL, and he's still the one who leaps to mind whenever I'm asked about mentors. But he certainly wasn't the last. Over the years I was fortunate to learn from many others, each with their own strengths, experiences, and perspective. Some of those mentoring relationships were brief, while others lasted for years. A few grew into close friendships; others remained occasional conversations in the hallway or over a drawing. Every one of them taught me something, and I wouldn't be where I am today without what they shared. 

As I gained more experience, my mentoring relationships changed.  They went from being mostly one-way streets to genuine conversations. While I still had much to learn, I started to realize that I also had something to contribute.  I also discovered that, while I was not an expert like my mentors, I still had a lot to teach to less experienced engineers.  At first, it was mostly sharing observations and explaining how I would approach a problem.  Later those interactions became more formal and more frequent.  

When I left JPL, I was actively mentoring nearly two dozen younger engineers. Not only did I find that personally rewarding, but I also got a lot out of it, much more than I expected. It's one thing to practice something, but when you start to teach it, that's when you really start to realize what you know and what you don't know. Occasionally, one of my mentees would ask a question that forced me to reexamine something I thought I understood completely. Sometimes I refined my thinking. Occasionally I even changed my mind. Teaching has a way of exposing the weak spots in your own understanding.

My mentees also introduced me to ideas and technologies I hadn't encountered. Just because you've spent decades in engineering doesn't mean you know everything—especially outside your own specialty. Mentoring turned out to be a two-way street, and I learned far more from those relationships than I ever expected.  When I think about it now, that's one of the few things that I truly miss about JPL. My current work is every bit as interesting as what I did at JPL, but one thing is different. I don't have nearly as many opportunities to mentor younger engineers. I think that's one of the reasons I started this website. If I can't have those conversations in the hallway or on the back porch anymore, maybe I can have them here. I like the idea that these conversations are being written down instead of quietly fading away. If even a handful of engineers stumble across them and become a little better because of something they read, then the effort will have been worthwhile. Other than having my name on a handful of technical papers, reports, and design documents, I don't have much of a tangible legacy at JPL. I’d like to think that my real legacy will be the people I helped along the way.  Hopefully some of the knowledge I accumulated—and the wisdom that was handed down to me—will continue to be passed along, just as my mentors passed it to me. If these stories help even a handful of engineers become a little better at what they do, then I'll feel like I've left something truly worthwhile behind. 

I think that's one of the reasons I started this website. If I can't have those conversations in the hallway or on the back porch anymore, maybe I can have them here. I hope these conversations live on long after I'm gone, and that even a handful of engineers become a little better because of something they read. 

Takeaways

• Great mentors teach far more than technical skills.

• Seek mentors early and often.

• Teaching others is one of the fastest ways to deepen your own understanding.

• Your greatest professional legacy may be the people you help, not the hardware you build.

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Before you go, here are a few more conversations you might enjoy. 

Mr. Flexure

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