Nicholas Stubblefield, 2019 AIP Mather Policy Intern

Biography

SPS Chapter: Boston College

A career in physics was not my first aspiration, but it has been my longest. Maybe an intense curiosity drove me towards it, or perhaps it was a bias for large, elaborate projects of Faustian proportions. Regardless of the source, physics, from the everyday to the wildly whimsical, has had me hooked since the sweet and tender age of 11. Then late high school brought the pure political frenzy and unadulterated excitement of an election season. I was quickly swept up in a wave of civic engagement among the tumultuous seas of southeastern Idaho politics. Once the tide settled, I had the bug for government, but would I have to choose between these passions as I set off for college? Of course not! I am now a rising senior at Boston College with a double major in physics and political science. I have enjoyed jobs as diverse as giving tours of retired nuclear reactors to conducting research in a topological insulator laboratory, but it is finally my opportunity this summer with AIP’s Mather internship to bring my two interests together in an arena capable of carrying out great public change.

And how is it I get outside of the hustle? Beyond the no doubt riveting assignments and demands of my physics courses, I take great delight in cooking and reading. I am also an avid consumer of film and always have an itch to dance. This summer in D.C. will be a groovy one.

Internship

Host: National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST)

Project

Abstract

Opportunities to pass transformative policies are few and far between. Where reality has a preferred inertia towards the status quo, any chance for impactful change requires a specifically tuned, responsive political climate. John Kingdon’s Multiple Streams Approach seeks to explain the necessary conditions that must exist to open a policy window and incite government action. Kindgdon’s model posits that agenda setting (that is, determining what deserves national attention and legislative work) depends on three largely interdependent variables (or streams): problems, policies, and politics. It is only when these streams converge can policymakers achieve significant disruption to the status quo. This presentation employs the Multiple Streams Approach to the advanced manufacturing policy arena. For the past several decades, the United States has witnessed a decline in its manufacturing productivity and capabilities while countries like Germany and China have successfully coordinated national policies to become global leaders in the sector. By applying Kingdon’s framework, it is the intent of the presentation to explain why little substantive progress has been made relative to this nation’s international competitors and identify the conditions that must be present to pass effective policy.

Final Presentation

Internship Blog

And Here We Go

When I received news of my placement in the AIP Mather Public Policy Internship Program, I anticipated a position on Capitol Hill. The goal of the program is to expose hard science majors to the functions of federal government and engage them in the policy making process. Since the program’s launch in 2009, selected interns have either worked in a congressional member’s office or in a congressional committee. Well, I allowed my expectations to ride every so merrily along the turning wheels of tradition, and, wouldn’t you know it, I found myself receiving an awfully surprising phone call in early May. The caller? None other then SPS director Dr. Brad Conrad, and he had some “exciting” news (an important note: I put exciting in quotation marks not out of sarcasm but rather because I’m quoting its more than frequent use throughout the conversation). Brad began by telling me SPS was trying something entirely different this year. So far, so good. Instead of a legislative placement, he explained I would be working in an agency. My assignment would be in the Office of Advanced Manufacturing at the National Institute of Standards and Technology (or NIST for our convenience). Specifically, my work would be directed by the office’s associate director for policy, Robert Rudnitsky, and the director of communications, Zara Brunner. Putting it all together created enough of a mouthful that necessitated either the use of a flow chart or wild gesticulations steadily decreasing in altitude to explain the position to my friends and family. As our conversation came to a close, Brad signed off with palpable energy and, above all, excitement, “Nicholas, are you excited? I’m excited! You should be excited!” And how couldn’t I be? In the vernacular of some, I am a guinea pig, but if you spice your outlook just right, a different metaphor takes form. I am a pioneer, and NIST is my manifest destiny.

One week into the program, and my excitement has only grown. My first few days at work were spent primarily adjusting to the security demands of a national lab: fingerprinting, badging, and gaining computer access. I also spent time coming to know my mentors and other coworkers with those opportunities best seized over our daily lunches. Any anxieties and fears I had quickly dissipated as my mentor Robert momentarily put aside his lunch and began doing physics on a napkin; truly, the mark of a great meal. I share an office with Competition Chair Lisa Fronczek, and it is her efforts that have contributed most to my easy and enjoyable transition to NIST. At every turn she has eagerly offered her help with not only understanding my professional duties and resources at NIST but also in navigating the vast networking opportunities of DC. As a final note, my placement at NIST provides me the company of SPS NIST research intern Joseph Tibbs during the 80 minute commute, a trek better enjoyed with a friend.

I would be depriving you all if I did not at least mention my incredible cohort. The collection of bright, wonderful, and extraordinarily distinct individuals who are the 2019 interns is what gives this program life. If you have not done so already, I would encourage you to go and read their blogs for the sake of not only acquainting yourself with the characters of my future posts but also to gain access to their own uniquely flavored insights.

Some may say I use this word too much, but first, that’s impossible, and second, I can’t think of anything else that could possibly capture the spirit of this internship: unequivocally groovy.

Blog Post 2: The Electric Boogaloo

Every summer NIST hires close to 200 college students for intern work. Hip, spry, and eager to work, these young folks are almost exclusively placed in research laboratories. My position as a policy intern is more than unique; it marks the first time the Office of Advanced Manufacturing (or OAM for the initialism inclined) has treaded those beguilingly tranquil waters that is hosting an intern, meaning AIP, OAM, and myself are all equally invested in ensuring the success of this flagship. Fortunately, our efforts have borne fruit, and a liberal serving at that. These past two weeks my office has well occupied my time with a variety of assignments, and I’ve noticed a strong underlying theme: access to information. Put succinctly, OAM seeks to facilitate the creation of a sophisticated and superior advanced manufacturing infrastructure in the United States. To do this, the office must connect politicians, bureaucrats, industry leaders, and public interests and coordinate their individual efforts to align with the goal of securing America’s role as a leader in advanced manufacturing and materials. The characters of our nationwide play span across the entire public-private workforce, and their successful contribution to our policies hinges on our ability to provide them accurate and relevant information about the vast network of players. To assist their efforts on information sharing, OAM has enlisted the use of two assets I alone in the office possess: inexperience and sweet, sweet ignorance. You see, my dear readers, there is nothing in this world quite like a 21 year old outsider with no knowledge of what you do to tell you what you’re doing wrong. Every generation has a champion, and I’m finally capitalizing on what makes mine so great.

My fresh eyes have been directed towards the office’s website. The goal is to have a center of information that is accessible, palatable, and understandable for shareholders and the interested public. I play the layman, and my role is to finely comb through the website and identify what doesn’t make sense to your average “peep on the street.” That’s on the public stage. Privately, the office manages a sharepoint account to store information and resources for internal purposes and external sharing with participating organizations. Its current status is “hot mess,” and I’ve been asked to provide recommendations on how to reinstate order so that people may--with minimal confusion--access what they want when they want it. It’s their data, and they should use it when they need it. I suppose you could call me a modern-age J.G. Wentworth.

Aside from these assignments, my mentors also try to expose me to the politics of the job. My long line of Mather ancestors were privy to an environment where briefings and hearings were on a perpetual rotation. The desperate scramble for a lawmaker’s attention results in a Hill brimming with only the most happening of events. The aura of an agency, however, has quite a different flavor. Though without the hustle and bustle of our legislators’ inaction, NIST still sees politics well at work out in Gaithersburg, Maryland. On Tuesday I attended an all day VCAT (Visiting Committee on Advance Technology) meeting. VCAT, a team of esteemed and incredibly successful academic administrators and industry leaders--most of whom are career scientists, meets annually on the NIST campus to hear a series of presentations on the state of the laboratory, the accomplished goals, and the desired progress. VCAT provides feedback and recommendations throughout and submits a written report. FYI intern Samantha Mary Staskiewicz (who was visiting NIST’s campus for this very event) and I sat in on the meeting throughout its entire duration and even had the privilege of briefly mingling with “Father” of the internet Vint Cerf. He complimented my bowtie. That was nice.

I’m not limited to events in Gaithersburg. My mentors see terrific value in sending me on the occasional trip abroad. This Thursday I attended a congressional briefing on metamorphic manufacturing. Now, for all those reading at home, I understand the words “congressional briefing” may conjure a scene of congressmen peering from their perches as experts and bureaucrats report on information they find relevant to crafting smart laws. My oh my, what vivid imaginations you all have. Congressional briefings are presentations given by experts (so far, so good), they typically take place in the Rayburn House Office Building (alright, so a slight step down in venue), and are rarely ever attended by actual members of Congress (and there’s the kicker). The briefing was rather well attended, but I soon realized it was only the free lunch that chummed the water and brought out the congressional interns for a rapid feeding frenzy.

Since the briefing was in the heart of DC, and my office is approximately 80 minutes away by metro, my mentors were so kind as to give me the day to work from home. I took the opportunity to make good on a Department of Energy networking connection Lisa had arranged for me. To the uninitiated, this likely reads as nothing more than a fortunate, professional meeting, but to those who have come to even superficially understand the ambitions of Nicholas D. Stubblefield know it is so much more. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, Heaven’s gates were open unto me, and the elevator ride to the Office of Nuclear Energy provided my glorious ascent. I believe success is more easily achieved through goal making, and my goal is to one day become Secretary of Energy. That’s not what the meeting was about, though. I am planning on writing a senior thesis on a topic related to nuclear energy, and I met with the Office of Nuclear Energy’s technical advisor to answer my questions about the industry, provide resources, and--as a happy bonus--better shape my thesis topic. I was just simply giddy from the time they badged me to the time they took that badge away when I left (I was really hoping for a momento).

The weekend witnessed many delights with my cohort. I could list them out for you as some of my peers have done, but instead I think I’ll hone in on one specific activity: The Magic Gourd. There’s really not much to be said about it. It’s a Chinese restaurant, it’s 350 feet away from our housing, and the quality ranges from mediocre to all the way down to what I ordered. It was not groovy. It was not groovy at all.

And there we have it. Two weeks down, tales to tell, and nothing but pure and unadulterated fun enjoyed (oh, and the Magic Gourd too).

I Can Hear the Bells: Sweet Symphony of Ricky

If you are only now tuning in to my adventures, I beseech you, dear reader, to start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). Unless you are already well acquainted with the cult of my personality, then you are ill equipped to understand the weight of what follows. So please, at the very least, turn back to “Blog Post 2: The Electric Boogaloo.” Read it, ponder it, and seek to comprehend its truth. Only then may you confidently return to what I have prepared.

Some people go to great lengths to accomplish a self-ordained mission. Despite the perseverance and dedication possessed, however, seemingly insurmountable barriers exist preventing its fruitful completion. Yet, every so often, an opportunity presents itself lowering the threshold for success. I had one of those opportunities this week.

The Department of Commerce hosts an annual event called SelectUSA. It is a three day conference meant to showcase the Nation’s resources and thriving commercial ecosystem and encourage investment right here in the US of A. My office attended to represent our ManufacturingUSA program and spread awareness among interested parties. After only two weeks on the job, I was not expected to swim among the big fish to lure in the delicious bass. Promoting the program and answering questions were not my responsibility. Instead, my mentors told me to immerse myself and absorb anything and everything of interest to me and--potentially--the program. I was given free reign over which days I wanted to attend. I chose Monday, the first day of the conference, as my immersion experience. Every thirty minutes there was a new talk (or two, or three), and an exhibition hall opened where all 50 states and Puerto Rico ran ritzy booths designed to first razzle and dazzle the passersby before tempting them into accepting an informational packet.

I chose Wednesday as my “opportunity.” Select USA concludes its double fisted kind of bash with a series of talks and panel discussions given or moderated by cabinet members and other government fat cats (Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross led a panel discussion on workforce development while simultaneously being held in contempt of court over on Capitol Hill--and who says you can’t multitask?). Well, knowing that you are all now sufficiently briefed on my career aspirations (I trust you all did as I asked), you should anticipate what comes next. That’s right, folks; right there, scheduled in the middle of the morning, was Secretary of Energy Ricky Perry. I had work to do.

Figuring out the layout of the building wasn’t hard. Every attendee was provided a map of the conference levels, rooms, and hallways; everything one needs to determine the optimized exit strategies. My only concern was that the hotel provided their elite guests with hidden exits so that they might avoid pushing through the potentially dangerous but undeniably pedestrian rabble. Secretary Perry could finish his remarks and dip out a direction I would not anticipate. As Wednesday approached, I crossed my fingers and hoped it all went according to plan.

Wednesday arrived, I awoke early, appeared on que, and listened to the talks in anticipation of the man of my hour. Quite suddenly Rick Perry was on stage--a full hour earlier than had been scheduled. Apparently the White House temporarily whisked away Secretary Ross for a meeting thereby prompting an unexpected change to the itinerary. No matter. My machinations were not time sensitive. Originally planned for a 15 minute talk, Perry had to extend his remarks an additional 15 minutes to compensate for the MIA Ross. This came as no problem to a career politician with a Texas personality (hint: it’s big). Once his speech ended I made a respectable beeline (it pays not to run frantically in the company of protected government officials) towards his most likely exit route and waited. Not more than a few minutes later, the double doors to the “hush-hush” hallway swung wide and Secretary Perry emerged with his entourage of bodyguards, assistants, and other assorted staff. I went for it.

“Secretary Perry, do you have time for a photo?” I shouted.

“No!” said a security guard curtly as he pushed past.

“Sure, but you gotta do it fast. Walk with us,” replied Perry.

I stepped directly behind the Secretary in the processional. There seemed to be some ilk of important chatter among the Perry Posse, but I suppose my excitement prevented the material from sinking in. Suddenly the group paused, my phone was given to an assistant, our picture was taken, I told him I wanted his job, and then that was that. No conversation, no advice, nothing that could productively contribute to my career and ambitions was exchanged, but I got just what I wanted.

Did you just read 701 words about my only slightly elaborate maneuvers to meet the Secretary of Energy? Boy howdy you did. How’s that for a blog post?

Before I close, I have a few words on the hips and haps of the cohort. Our room (featuring, beyond myself, Joseph, Terry, and Nolan) has hosted a community dinner every Tuesday since the beginning of the program. We put a twist on the tradition this week and had a Mac + Cheese cook off. Sammi, Joseph, and I each submitted a dish, and the others judged. I thoroughly earned my defeat at the benevolent hands of J. Tibbs.

A quick perusal of the other blog posts will inform you of our exploits upon the waters of the Potomac and the high life of Maryland. Thursday was our dinner cruise. Does food taste better on a boat? Not necessarily, but you can’t do anything about it either way because, well...you’re on a boat. Serving on the water allows you to get away with more than your day-to-day landlubber. A salad, for instance, can be two quarters of a head of lettuce and 5 croutons.

Are you going to do anything about it?

No!

Do you know why?

Because you’re on a boat.

I sound critical, but I had a spectacular time upon the Odyssey (yeah, real missed opportunity with the spelling there), and the open dance floor provided the definite highlight.

Saturday we were treated to a night at the National Orchestral Institute and Festival at the University of Maryland thanks to the resources of AIP’s very own Jack Hehn. The theme of the evening’s concert was contemporary American composers. George Gershwin’s Concerto in F with Kevin Cole on the piano closed an already rousing selection of pieces and performances. I used to be a much more steady visitor of the orchestra, and our trip that night reminded me of just how much I miss it. Fancy living, here I come.

Intermission

You’re going to humor me. This isn’t a request. How could it be? I’m here, you’re there. You’re reading now, I’m writing then. These conditions hardly permit a level playing ground for cordial negotiations, so why should I even bother asking? And I’m afraid you’ll do so without the extended courtesy of the direct address “dear reader.”

I struggled selecting a theme for this blog, the latest installment in my episodic escapades within the swamp. My more dedicated viewers have no doubt noted the delay in the premier of blog post 4. You tune in at the usual hour and to what!? A rerun of Sweet Symphony of Ricky? Blog Post 2: Electric Boogaloo on loop? Or Heaven forbid, a “special” announcement from Disney that they’re re-releasing And Here We Go from the vault for a limited time only? Sweet mercy, the audacity! I hear you cry. I wish now I could make up for my baseness, but (for those who haven’t yet put it together) I still haven’t a clue what I’m writing about.

Make no mistake, I do not lack material. The rich reservoir of tales from my fast times at George Dubbsyah High has not run dry. For one, I had the privilege of attending what was called a “cultural and scientific exchange” at the Danish Embassy. To put it more succinctly, I’d call it a celebration of physics. And more specifically, a celebration of Niels Bohr. The event brought together some of the greatest elbows to rub against my own. Dr. Walt Copan, director of NIST (AKA Boss-Boss-Boss); Dr. France A. Córdova, director of the National Science Foundation; and Dr. John C. Mather, physics Nobel laureate and the founder of my internship--hence the title by my name, all took the time to engage with a young man whose excitement sometimes bordered on brashness. I may have had my picture with Ricky Perry, but from these true giants I enjoyed genuine interaction replete with encouragement, advice, and sincere interest. I want Perry’s job, yet it’s their lives I seek to emulate.

Then there was astronomy on the mall: a public event by the Smithsonians for science outreach and stargazing. As members of the Society of Physics Students, the cohort hosted several science demos for the passing public (please see Noura Ibrahim’s blog for exposition). Somehow, someway I landed the “composition of the universe” demonstration. Limited to a setup of nothing more than 4 jars filled with plastic beads, I doubted the pull my station could have especially with Joseph and Amber rolling marbles down spandex right next to me all evening (psh, gravity). Pleasant was my surprise when a family immediately approached me eager to learn what I had to say. That’s all it took. The sight of curiosity beaming from their earnest faces set me into a groove from which there was no return. Suddenly the memories from my stint as a tour guide at a nuclear reactor in the middle of the Idaho desert (yes, come to the gem state where you can both stay in an airbnb modeled after the noble potato and stumble upon a 60+ year old breeder reactor open to the public) flashed back. It was not my own enjoyment in teaching or my flair for theatrics (oh, certainly never that) I had forgotten. Rather, it was the passion and attraction of others. A lot has happened over the past few years to deteriorate the trust between the public and the sciences, so much so that you forget the curiosity and wonder that still exists in every peep on the street today. I did.

People still love science. Children, knowing nothing and asking about everything, bring terrific energy, but so do the adults who have no formal exposure or experience. Eyebrows scrunch, mouths gape, and then the eyes light. It’s more than a reassuring sight, and it dialed me up to a ten all night.

I think my frustration over attempts to contrive a single story arc from the week’s events blocked my writing, but, after reading through my thoughts above, I’m rather content with what I shared. It’s a lighter fare than what I typically serve (at least in volume). Some blogs are better served as a brief collection of the positive with just enough room for cozy rumination. Maybe it’s anticlimactic not to leave you with a culminating profound thought, but a story that opens up with no direction isn’t really designed to go anywhere. I can say at least one thing to connect the pieces together (at least in my own special way): you followed all the way to the end. Thank you for humoring me.

More Than a Double Fisted Kind of Bash

Would you like to know what really floats my goat? Steams my ham? Bedazzles my corduroys? Truthfully, many things check those boxes: nuclear power, well-fitting pants, listing a third thing; but in this week’s installment we’re talking about (and I’m pausing for effect here) conferences. While the office has done well to keep my time occupied with engaging and substantial work, I derive sparse fulfillment at a desk all day. Fortunately, as I explained back in the days of the Electric Boogaloo , a significant component of my job experience involves external exposure. Conferences, hearings, and briefings each provide an integral piece to the larger culture of advanced manufacturing whereas my days at NIST offer only a small (yet savory) slice of the great mechanisms that coordinate our national policies.

My current conference count for the summer totals to three. For those who have consumed my adventures chronologically, you’ll recall the first as SelectUSA. The remaining mavericks who take a devil-may-care approach to my blogs can find a more than thorough elaboration here (at this point, I would have a lot of Verve to go an entire post without referencing that bitter sweet symphony). The Department of Commerce sponsored conference was comprehensive to say the least, but a three day onslaught of MONEY! INVEST! AMERICA! booming in the halls like a Gregorian chant from the deep runs the risk of overstimulating. I took all I could from the DOC’s jamboree of domestic achievement, but a heavy hand tends to dull out the nuance.

One week later I found myself in a far more intimate setting: The 2019 MForesight National Summit. MForesight is a national consortium meant to facilitate input and recommendations to the government from the private manufacturing industry. Based on my experience at SelectUSA, I anticipated glitz and glam revved up to the same outrageous scale. That was silly of me. Instead I was welcomed to a much quainter affair. Where SelectUSA laid siege to three floors of the Washington Hilton to accommodate its hordes of attendees, MForesight entertained a smaller group of 80 or so in a single room. I learned quickly however that the cozy quarters belied just what a powerhouse lineup they had in store: Florida Senator Marco Rubio, Michigan Senator Gary Peters, California Representative Ro Khanna, Undersecretary of Defense Alan Shaffer, Willy Ross’ speech writer Richard McCormack. Whew, somebody call an ambulance, because I just got a case of the vapors.

Looking around the room, I realized I recognized many of the attendees too. Not out of fame and fortune but rather through our encounters at past events. Why over there was Dr. Glenn Daehn from the Congressional briefing. And who’s that sitting next to me? Oh hello, David Vasko from the VCAT. To my surprise, I was suddenly struck by a sense of community; a community unlike any I had experienced before. Around me gathered individuals whose interest, for many, extended beyond professional to personal. Though the work day ended, their personal stake in America’s manufacturing infrastructure did not.

Barely three weeks in, and there I was in the middle of it all. 21 years old, fresh to the fight, and yet seamlessly transitioning to an eager and accepting group. The familiar faces bobbed by interested in hearing my thoughts and genuinely valuing my perspective.

The day ended as all conferences of comparable size do, a reception. The already easy atmosphere recharged with a new dose of alcohol. Attendees mixed, mingeled, and munched amidst a steady stream of tasteful hor dourves. The mood was light and enjoyable, though the air of relaxation that thickly permeated throughout the room could not disguise the professional transactions still taking place. See, that’s just the thing about DC, folks. You can be anywhere doing anything, and yet you’re always networking.

My conference this past Thursday followed the same formula. Though perhaps a few times larger than MForesight, its relative quaintness to SelectUSA allowed a more targeted focus to a single field providing many informative observations so very useful to a young pup. This conference was the 2019 NIIMBL National Meeting. NIIMBL is one of our advanced manufacturing institutes, and it’s the only institute directly sponsored by the Department of Commerce. Engaging talks about the progress, future, and the woes of the biopharmaceutical manufacturing industry (NIIMBL’s focus area) filled the itinerary, and, in keeping with tradition, we concluded with a reception.

For the sake of the uninitiated, these post-event mixers rarely disappoint in their assorted selection of hoity-toity nibbles. The hor dourves are fancy, tasty, and substantive (for some reason, a difficult combination to master). They’re good, but, after a few rodeos, you realize they’re often the same. Still enjoyable, just not surprising...or so I thought until I saw those scallops. Oh, sweet mercy, I could barely contain myself as they cooked the fresh sea critters right in front of me. Sayanora, public swimming pools, I’ve reached the pinnacle of elegance.

I encountered another surprise at the reception, though this one was of a bit more lasting worth. I met a young man only one year older than myself named Edward. I had marked him earlier during the conference as the only attendee close to my own age. However, it wasn’t a particularly positive mark. Ever since the congressional briefing I attended the second week on the job, I had begun the practice of avoiding the throngs of congregating youth at these types of events. Initially at the briefing I was excited to see some young peeps. I quickly joined them in the hopes of exchanging relatable tales and receiving advice. Unfortunately (with the exception of our very own Gia Jadick whose determination and motivation speak for themselves in her blog posts) I came away disappointed with the interactions. Many of those who didn’t leave after scavenging for the provided lunches turned phoneward to indulge in social media. I decided then that sticking with interns was likely to do more harm than good for my professional development. I put Edward in the same hole until our chance encounter waiting in line for the meat and cheese spread (which included fried calamari...or hog bung; you never can tell). We struck up a conversation, and immediately I was glad we did. Graduating only a month ago with a degree in chemical engineering, Edward was the sole representative of a small silicon nanotechnology start-up. Working with only four other employees, Edward’s responsibilities were as diverse as doing bench lab work one day to pleading the company’s case for membership in NIIMBL the next. His experience engaged and fascinated me. I left convinced of the value of working for a start-up straight out of college and a refreshing realization of hypocrisy. I was refusing to do for others what the veterans of manufacturing were doing for me. They recognized the value in listening to a very alternative, outsider (different takes on the words “young and inexperienced”) perspective, and I was not extending my peers the same courtesy.

So here’s the skinny. We are now halfway through this internship, and my time “out in the field” has taught me that everyone in DC is here for a reason. This city is a hub of interests and specialties attempting to centralize and coordinate their efforts. Conferences offer that rare chance to interact with so many of these interests and backgrounds simultaneously. Do not squander those opportunities, because even the group of young interns assuming defensive positions in the corner have something to say. All you have to do is go up and ask.

And you can take that to the bank.

Pomp and Circumstance

Frank L. Vandersloot came from a modest upbringing. His childhood years spent in the largely untouched terrains of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho were graced by neither monetary bounty nor the elegance such riches can afford. No, life for lil’ Franky Vandey played out on the range, the very same where the deer and the antelope play. When the siren song of a college education perked his ears, the young Vandersloot provided the means for his schooling by working as a cleaner at a laundromat. After completing his degrees in business and marketing, Frank took off for the private sector and began his gradual climb up the corporate ladder. The rest is legend. Today the deeds of the once humble rancher are now deified in the history books of the gem state, his accomplishments a testament to the good-ole American way. Frank L. Vandersloot, my enraptured readers, is the richest man in Idaho.

Growing up in Idaho Falls I was reminded annually of Vandersloot’s unfaltering benevolence by the Melaleuca Freedom Celebration. Every year my home state’s wealthy benefactor pledges his resources in crafting the “largest firework show West of the Mississippi” each Fourth of July. Sure, a quick search on the internet for the best and biggest fireworks shows in America provides a series of websites whose lists do not contain even a whisper of Vandersloot’s pyrotechnic spectacular (yep, not even accuweather.com...for shame accuweather.com), but to those residing in Southeastern Idaho it is the grandest display of red-white-and-blue patriotism to be found. In fact, the event inspires countless peripheral firework shows throughout the entire month--primarily hosted in backyards. Independence Day is an unrivaled holiday for the classic Idahoan.

You can imagine my expectations coming out to Washington DC. Vandersloot can certainly throw a lower tier billionaire bash, but this is the nation’s capital we’re talking about, the very seat of global power in a unipolar world. Gosh-by-goll-by-golly, I demanded an experience that would put crimson in the cheeks of the magnetic Mayor Caspor and the determined Detective DeeDee, two of IF’s most valiant champions (the latter having exposed our local pseudo-communist--and high school peer--as the perpetrator in the infamous 2017 inside-job Subway burglary). Fortunately, the stars so aligned to give me just what I wanted.

After a thoroughly American cookout in room 211, the merry troupe of physics majors (along with just more than a few guests) made its way to the steps of the Capitol building. Our connection on the Hill, Gia Jadick, worked the front gate like a charm. A smile, a quick flash of the badge--boom--we were in. Operation “Early Arrival” proceeded perfectly. At 3 in the afternoon, we had our pick of any spot on the Capitol steps. The group laid out its blankets, pulled out the crosswords, and prepared for the long wait. Two hours later, amidst the pouring rain and the blazing lightning, a voice interrupted the ongoing rehearsal of “Locomotion” urging us to evacuate.

‘Twas here the Fellowship disbanded. Most opted to turn back to the dorms, the possibility of returning somewhat ambiguous. I decided to see what additional adventures the national mall might provide and joined Nolan and his visiting lady-friend Brooke. United in cause and in spirit, the three of us ventured out into the clamor. Whilst the talking and the walking, we were quick to notice a face painting stand. Deeming it a worthy stop, we enlisted the volunteers to inscribe symbols that gave true deference to the holiday. Brooke got stars, Nolan requested a NASA rocket, and I settled on the noble bird. Now freshly equipped with patriotism printed boldly across our faces, we continued our trek. After a considerable amount of the before mentioned walking, we caught whiff of a rumor that the gates to the Capitol steps had reopened. We alerted the others and made haste to the entrance. To our delight, many of our original companions from earlier in the day made the return journey to enjoy the concert live and among friends. Undeterred by rain, lightning, or fatigue, we had all finally arrived ready to claim our prize.

I am happy to report DC did not disappoint. The concert adeptly balanced gorgeous visuals (John Stamos) with substantive performances (Carole King). In classic US fashion, the first fireworks were launched to the awesome music of Tchaikovsky’s ode to Russia. Perfectly themed indeed. The fireworks show, which boasted enough firepower to light the sky for 40 minutes, was obscured by smoke in ten. It caused little concern, however. At that point, the fireworks were only a supplement to the already exciting and electric atmosphere. From protests to patriotic fervor, Washington DC had succeeded in crafting an exceptionally unique and entirely American Fourth of July experience.

I know far, far above me (some 4700 feet more specifically), Frank Vandersloot is looking down with approval.

Politics: Pure and Unadulterated

“They’re very sexy politics.” I’m quoting my hometown mayor here, Rebecca Casper (already enjoying her second appearance in this blog series). I was 18, poised to graduate high school, and attending a city council meeting when the elected leader of Idaho Falls, Idaho spoke these fateful words. The moment marked a year’s conclusion of my first immersion in politics, and, after everything I learned, I felt compelled to agree. By that time I had run an unsuccessful campaign for student body president, been appointed to student body representative (a delicious irony), made numerous presentations to my district board, become a fully bona fide roadie of my city council, attended political rallies, and connected with local party leaders. Each experience intensified my appetite and only heightened my ambitions for my next political project. From the salient rat race for the White House to the more casual infighting at the local level, everything simply delighted me. Looking back at it all, I couldn’t deny the sage truth emanating from the mayoral pulpit that day. Against the wisdom of the Idaho Falls municipal government there can be no victory. There aren’t just sexy politics, I realized. Politics ARE sexy.

Blog readers will find none of this off brand. Over seven weeks, every blog has highlighted my nearly boundless enthusiasm for the boons of life in the capital. You watched with your mind’s eye as I frolicked the halls of the Department of Energy, you were there as I went elbow to elbow with the socialites of advanced manufacturing, and you read in rapt attention as I stalked James Richard Perry, Secretary of Energy. Evidence of my love affair with politics abounds everywhere, and we continue the romance with the Capitol Tour.

Given our buckshot distribution across DC and the greater tri-state area (ahem-the Maryland area), the masters from on high assign each intern with giving a tour of his or her workplace to the SPS cohort, and this year the Capitol was our maiden voyage (and, as you’ll see, the sole subject of my blog). During a more conventional year both Mather interns would lead the charge into the sausage factory. Convention, however, is hardly my forte. Gia, and Gia alone, would maneuver the halls of government to guide our plucky posse of peeps. With 15 physics majors in tow, she plunged into the madness.

...Or, at least, that’s how we like to think of it. Scrambling interns, scattering papers, a sprinting Sanders, we conjure up vivid displays of barely contained chaos. Yeas, nays, and maybaes shake the walls with a deafening echo as Congress members whoop and holler to drown out the yelps of opposition. The scene in our minds is loud, hectic, and wild, but the perceived pandemonium instills a measure of peace. I love the idea of a Congress out of order because the frenzy that accompanies it gives the sense that something is happening. ‘Tis a comforting thought to imagine our legislators fervently screaming. The alternative proves all too alarming.

We were greeted by a different flavor of chaos: tourists. Perhaps I reference them a tad distantly, but I believe my 7 plus week tenure in DC entitles me to at least some privileges. The eager sightseers gave life to the Capitol that day, not the senators or representatives. Everywhere we went, the statue hall, the bodiless crypt (tragic), the ye olde’ Supreme Court room in the basement, a steady yet bursting stream of tourists followed. Fortunately, enthusiasm is contagious.

At lunch I noticed another group of people marked distinctly by their purple lanyards. What started out as an initial sighting of 10 quickly turned to 20, then 30, then ditched the 10 digit increments altogether and leapt for the hundreds. As we proceeded to travel throughout the House Office buildings, PLPs (Purple-lanyard Peeps) appeared to populate every corner, crack, and crevice. I wanted to learn more, so, taking a note from Nic’s Declassified DC Survival Guide, I went up and asked. My targets were an elderly couple (the PLPs ranged drastically in age) from--as I recall--a deeper southern state. They revealed their organization as the Christians United for Israel, apparently the largest pro-Israel grassroots organization in the United States, and their total presence on the Hill numbered well into the thousands. The pair was excited and absolutely charmed by my interest in their story, and they quickly delved into the finer details of their purpose and progress. As the couple discussed their own adventures on the Hill, I remembered the message one of my mentor’s left me, “everyone is here for a reason .” Here in the capital, this is where almost all of the action happens. Not the politicians making imaginary sprints to cast vital votes but the people, groups, and organizations fighting for their attention. They have flocked to DC to be heard. That’s the real wonderful, beautiful chaos of politics.

But our story doesn’t end there. If I may exclaim with equal force as the promises that accompany such consumer treasures as the schticky, slapchop, and shamwow; wait, there’s more! Though they represent only a minute fraction of the total population on Capitol Hill in any given day, the politicians do indeed exist as our group can attest after a rare and privileged sighting. Represent Bill Foster of Illinois holds the unique position of being the only PhD physicist in Congress (though the fact one even exists may come as a surprise). The cohort’s more professionally developed connections have a long history with Rep. Foster, and the man himself has entertained more than one rodeo with SPS interns. Well, thanks to the efforts of Gia, we managed to enjoy an entire hour with him. I have never seen our group more engaged. From the moment our discussion began to the time his scheduler had to hurry him to his next event, eyes and ears were fixed on the physicist turned politician. Going around the room, we each had the opportunity to share a few sentences about ourselves (current projects and future aspirations being the favorite topics), and as we did so Representative Foster found a personal way to connect and elaborate on a detail from everyone. The conversation hosted a palette of rich and even exotic flavors. We investigated the technical nuances of the research being done by Terry, Nolan, and Joseph; he opened up about his predictions for AI and the technology’s incoming impact on the economy; and we inquired about the challenges of science policy and the transition from experimentalist to legislator. I think everyone left his office with slightly more than the daily recommended intake of inspiration. My serving, at least, was more than liberal.

And yet, the day still had one more surprise in store.

After the tour’s main events, those interested splintered into smaller groups to see about meeting our personal representatives. Jackie and Joseph made off for an Iowaoan, a large group assembled to attempt a visit with AOC (or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez for those who hold to the aging notion of using names), while Noura, Gia, Megan, and I went as a group to our distinct corners of the country. First up, the great state of Florida. No representative, but we did all receive complimentary orange juice (such sweet, blessed nectar). Fueled on adrenaline and vitamin C, Idaho became our natural next stop. We walked into Representative Mike Simpson’s personal cubby in the Rayburn building to find him sitting right in front of us talking amicably with staff. At first, a wave of light panic rushed through my head. I did not expect him to be there, and I was worried about transitioning into conversation under startling circumstances. Fortunately, Representative Simpson happens to be a politician, a career that thrives off of human interaction. The gang engaged in introductory conversation with Simpson and his staff for about ten minutes until, in a sudden turn of events, my home fry Mike invited the four of us into his personal office. There, gathered ‘round his desk, we continued talking for another 30 minutes (almost exclusively about America’s direction in nuclear energy and Idaho’s own nuclear history). I am extremely grateful for the courtesy my representative extended us.

I came to DC with high expectations, but I didn’t imagine anything quite like this.

Let’s end it there.

My Dear Mathers, Welcome to the Buffet

I’d like to think my blog posts up to this point have been fairly holistic. While every week covers a topic I want to discuss, it seems my wide spread experiences have represented both those privileges unique to the Mather internship and SPS program and the general opportunities afforded by living in Washington DC. However, I can’t help but reflect on my time as a Mather aspiree many moons ago. SPS posts a brief informational blurb about my internship (which can be found by scrolling down this page ), but it hardly quenches a thirst for a day-to-day synopsis. Instead, I looked to the blogs of the ghosts of Mather Intern past for an elaboration on expectations and a rundown on responsibilities. The beautiful irony is that no matter how detailed their accounts or riveting their tales, none of those blogs could prepare me for my own custom adventure. My position now was unknown and uncharted, a completely unanticipated development. I have no idea if my agency placement will bear any influence on future assignments (though I’m inclined to predict the preference will continue to lean towards the legislative branch), but, for the sake of those who may follow me to NIST or possibly some other executive lackey, I figure I really ought to expound on an element I’ve given only cursory attention: what it is I actually do. So, my dear Mather Interns yet to come, this is for you. And remember, this is for posterity, so I will be honest.

To first paint a broad picture, my position can be quickly summarized as ‘support staff.’ I (as you might expertly deduce) support the functions and responsibilities of my mentors, particularly my mentor-mentors, or, as I’ve referenced them before in more endearing fashion, my boss-bosses. They assign me work designed to assist their more officially mandated duties in both internal and external capacities. Now, the great triumph of the support service is its commitment to a focused and shared goal without sacrificing a rich diversity of tasks. Dare I be so bold as to venture a comparison to the irrefutable American cuisine experience?

You’ve decided to spend an evening of luxury at your local Golden Corral. What begins as a narrow line to the register quickly explodes into a great and spacious hall whose tables overflow with a savory bounty that glows in the warm light which showers from above. Hypnotized by the magnitude of modern day serving, you load your plate with an eclectic cast of edible characters. Quickly you scurry to a table and begin your feast.

But it’s not what you expected.

The options, though many, vary dramatically in quality. Some of the food delights the taste buds in a rich symphony of well-crafted flavor while the rest isn’t even worth the price of admission, but still you return for seconds. And round and round the cycle goes until, by either self-restraint (unlikely given your willing decision to patronize the Golden Corral) or the inability to consume anything else, you put down the fork and leave. Did you follow the analogy? Being a support staffer hearkens to the experience of a buffet-er. You’re often assigned a large range of tasks, each one particularly distinct in its composition and flavor, but you find that the quality of these assignments and the qualifications needed to complete them (aka the price to sit at the table) are equally varied. Some work engages a fulfilling level of problem solving, and some work is full of filling an excel sheet. I understand, the buffet is not the perfect comparison. You don’t typically have agency over the assignments you’re given, and (I hope for most cases) you don’t leave work everyday feeling an intense shame and self-loathing. Sometimes I simply can’t resist the chance to explore the lush culture of the All-American eating experience.

So what have I done? Well, I began my time here by reviewing and making recommendations for content on our office’s website (larger elaboration to be enjoyed here ). Confidence does not come naturally when suggesting content and syntax edits as a fresh face to a group of seasoned professionals, but sometimes that’s exactly the point. You can, with no real degree of mental strain, imagine my delight when my recommendations actually made the website . My work took on a greater value when I realized some of my contributions could last long after I left the office, providing a morale boost once I turned to ‘filling an excel sheet.’ I spent the entirety of three and a half work days compiling information on over 300 companies in excel. Repetitive and tedious to say the least, I am glad my labors did not go unappreciated.

For my last few weeks, however, my attention was focused on a project of more creative demands. In classic support staff fashion, my boss-boss (or one thereof) asked me to visualize some data trends on our institutes he had collected (for internal circulation only...because that felt necessary to say). The project went decently beyond the scope of his provided data and demanded I scour our hot-mess of a sharepoint (never did make it around to fixing that...and now I’m just oversaturating this blog with parenthetical interruptions. Heck, by the time the closing parenthesis comes around, you may have completely forgotten how this sentence began. I’m talking of course about the main sentence, not these mini diversions within the interruption) and consult with my coworkers to collect as much information as possible. Don’t call me a Hardy boy, but I actually quite enjoyed sleuthing for data and realizing a larger picture from scattered fragments. Once I had everything I needed, and checked, and double checked, and, yes, triple checked to guarantee accuracy, I set about conspiring whimsical and wonderful ways to make the data come to life--I’m being very liberal with my language here. When it comes to visualizing data, many are satisfied with the most straight forward approach, but out of virtue of the assignment’s genesis, I wanted to give it considerable thought and effort. Well, that considerable thought and effort led me to discover all sorts of hidden gems within the wide-world of excel. It can do some truly groovy stuff. I never considered gaining a competency in excel as a legitimate takeaway, but I gladly stand corrected. After incorporating some of the finer features into my visualization techniques (we’re talkin’ interactive graphs here, Baby!), I crafted a final product that again gained thorough approval.

Making lists, attending staff meetings, and being available for the whims of my mentors provide the remaining filler, and I’ve already discussed at length my conference experience . It is, as my fellow Mather accomplice Gia may call it, a non-comprehensive guide to my responsibilities, and I am far from completing my narrative arc. Everything else will simply have to wait for my final two blog posts: coming to an internet connection near you. I should know. I met the guy who “invented” it .