I began my career at GTE Lenkurt in June 1974, stepping into the world of American corporate culture with little understanding of its nuances. Barely a month after I started, the company had its annual shutdown – a two-to-three-week period when all employees were required to take their vacation. As a new hire without accrued time off, I was one of the few still coming to work, along with other trainees and those who hadn’t accumulated enough leave. It was during this quiet period that I began to grasp the character of my new workplace.
GTE Lenkurt was a traditional telecommunications company, deeply rooted in analogue communications infrastructure. It was not a hub of innovation (by today’s standards) but rather a steady, established firm focused on microwave equipment – hardware that interfaced with FM radio and frequency-modulated infrastructure. While the technology was not cutting-edge, it provided me with a solid foundation in electronics manufacturing. I gained firsthand experience in designing and producing electronic products tailored for corporate communication.
As part of a first-year rotation program, I was exposed to various aspects of the company’s technology and production processes. This broad overview helped me understand the telecommunications industry at a time when digital technology was still emerging. Digital was the future, and everyone wanted to work in it. My professor had warned me against specialising in filter design, believing it was becoming obsolete. He was right – analogue systems were gradually being replaced, and the shift toward digital would define the next three decades of technological evolution.
One of the most impactful rotations was factory support. Sounds mundane, but I enjoyed it. Unlike design work, where projects could remain unfinished for months, factory support required immediate problem-solving. The impact was very tangible, and I found it gratifying. If an issue wasn’t resolved, production halted. Production delays then delayed shipment, which meant delayed revenues.
During this time, I witnessed a pivotal moment in computing: The introduction of the first widely used 8-bit microprocessor. This marked a significant transition from analog to digital, leading to the development of personal computers and minicomputers. In telecommunications, it meant faster, more efficient systems that consumed less power. The industry was evolving rapidly, and I was eager to be part of that transformation.
The social dynamics at GTE Lenkurt were, at times, perplexing. Even though I was told that I was the first woman engineer GTE Lenkurt had hired, I met two other women, who said they were engineers in the company. Linda, a chemical engineer, worked on thick film hybrid layouts – a specialised niche that kept her somewhat separate from the main engineering teams. The other woman engineer stood out in a different way, with her dramatic makeup, fake eyelashes, high heels, and short skirts. She was Korean. There were whispers about her relationship with a manager in another group. The gossip was constant, and while I found it amusing, I also saw it as a distraction from the work at hand.
After completing my rotations, I was assigned to a group led by Bob Tracy, widely regarded as the company’s most brilliant mind. His team worked on digital interfaces with analogue systems – an area at the forefront of telecommunications at the time. Bob was exceptionally intelligent but painfully shy, which made our work relationship challenging.
After a year of what I believed was strong performance, I received my first review. Bob gave me an average raise. I had never been average in my academic life, so why now? There was no explanation, no discussion of areas for improvement – just a number on a piece of paper. I wondered how I could become a top performer in an environment where feedback was so minimal.
Looking back, I see many signals I missed that indicated I was considered a promising engineer at GTE Lenkurt. Typically, engineers who were going to a competitor were asked to pack and leave immediately. When I announced my departure, however, the vice president of engineering took an unusual interest in me, asking why I was leaving.
GTE Lenkurt had been a great starting point, a soft landing in the American corporate world. But the culture did not prioritise intellectual rigour or forward-thinking. When I left for Bell Northern Research, I knew I was stepping into a more dynamic environment, one that would be better for my technical growth.
By 1978, Bell Northern Research (BNR) had become one of the most sought-after workplaces in Silicon Valley. Though their Palo Alto office was barely two years old, they had quickly established themselves as a hub for ambitious engineers. At GTE Lenkurt, BNR was frequently mentioned as the place to be. I watched a steady stream of our best engineers leave. They were drawn by the promise of working on cutting-edge technology.
Unlike legacy companies that were slow to adapt, BNR had strategically positioned itself in Palo Alto to tap into Silicon Valley’s growing talent pool. They were willing to pay for top engineers and, more importantly, offered an environment that encouraged innovation.
When I started exploring the possibility of leaving Lenkurt, Rick Faletti, a senior staff engineer at Lenkurt, had already moved to BNR, and he offered to be my reference. His endorsement carried weight; he later became a VP at Northern Telecom, the parent company that funded BNR. His willingness to recommend me was another significant validation of my work.
The interview process at BNR is a blur in my memory, but my first day stands out vividly. As I sat in the lobby, Al Boleda, who had been a senior engineer at GTE and would later become my boss, made a special appearance just to meet and greet me. It was a small gesture, but significant.
BNR had a different approach to hierarchy. Titles were minimal; we were all simply members of the scientific staff. My initial assignment placed me under Wayne, who introduced me to Sam Wood, my supervisor on BNR’s most ambitious project: the office communication system (OCS). The goal was to develop a next-generation PBX (private branch exchange) to compete with digital products from Mitel and ROLM. The system architecture was complex, involving a backplane with multiple cards – CPU memory, peripheral cards, line cards, and trunk cards.
Sam Wood was uniquely valuable to BNR. He had an intricate knowledge of how AT&T’s central offices interfaced with customers’ phones or data modems. Much of these interface designs were undocumented – perhaps intentionally. AT&T did not want other companies making phones and connecting them to their central office. I was hired to design the line and trunk interface cards for the new OCS system under Sam’s supervision.
BNR’s work environment was a stark contrast to Lenkurt’s. The culture encouraged intellectual exploration, and the atmosphere was dynamic. Engineers were constantly experimenting with new ideas, both for work and personal projects. Unlike the rigid office politics and gossip at Lenkurt, BNR fostered a hacker mentality – rules were seen as suggestions, and barriers were challenges to overcome.
Lunchtime bridge became a ritual. I regularly played with Inez, the only other female electrical engineer at the company, along with Jim Locke, a well-known hacker. One day, Jim casually said, “I know your salaries now.” When we asked how, he smirked and said, “I hacked into the BNR Unix payroll system.” He was only mildly reprimanded – they didn’t allow him to touch Unix computers in the company. BNR was very employee-friendly. This was the essence of BNR. The excitement around new technology was palpable, and many of my colleagues spent their spare time building projects in their garages.
Excerpted with permission from Breaking the Rules: The Road to IPO, Bridge Tables and Beyond, Vinita Gupta, Westland.
