(listed in reverse chronological order)

As I approach infinity in this, my final message, I wanted to close by summarizing what has gone on this past year in the CSS, and how my thoughts in past messages reflected these things. So, looking back (and forward), I am in a sort of asymptotic mood.

The truth is, the CSS President doesn’t have such a noticeable influence on the course of events, especially if one considers that the term of presidency lasts one short year. For instance, some things that came to fruition this year actually started last year. Likewise, some things we’ve set in motion this year will not have an impact until next year. In any case, it is the strength of the Executive Committee (the President-Elect and Secretary-Administrator working with all the Vice Presidents for Financial, Membership, Conference, Technical, and Publication Activities) and the Board of Governors (elected by you, the members) that really determine the course of affairs in the CSS. Something that did set us all in motion toward a common goal was the five-year plan we constructed late in 1998 (copies available on request). Indeed, this plan motivated several of my thoughts this year.

In my fist President’s Message (in the February issue of the Magazine) I spoke about challenges that lie ahead of us in terms of education and letting the world know what we are about as control engineers. Many education initiatives have taken place in the last year; for example, see the special section in the October issue of the Magazine. We began a special task force effort to revitalize chapter activities worldwide, taking direct aim at refocusing attention on the field. With regard to our image, we have taken serious steps toward updating our web appearance with new efforts on several activity-based web pages. The strides we have made in electronic submission, review, and publishing (thanks to efforts by our Transactions Editors and Conference Editorial Board) have actually put us at the forefront along these lines; of course, nothing is more important with respect to image, dissemination, and education than our intellectual property.

In my April message I continued on a similar thought in discussing the "arrogance" of our profession. Although we’d all like to think that we practice modesty, it seems that our academic upbringing has taught us to strive toward "making a difference" in the field, toward contributing in some non-trivial way for which we will be remembered. Of course, this affects our image to the public, but this year the CSS has made several changes in the way our technical activities programs are run. New initiatives include ideas to facilitate small, local technical events; regrouping of our technical committees; and web and Internet ideas that will facilitate interfacing with the public on technical matters. This last item exhibits that we, as a society, are all in this together toward advancing the field.

In June I was particularly occupied with thoughts on volunteering. Interesting challenges, creative outlets, and a sense of obligation are what I believe drives most of us to devote so much of our time to CSS activities. One of the things we have managed to get done this year is allocating money to help support travel of volunteers to CSS meetings where the volunteer activity takes place. Every indication is that volunteerism is alive and strong as we head into the new millenium.

In the dog days of summer (August) my thoughts were on taking a break. This is natural since one of the things Presidents must do is to travel to IEEE meetings and conferences, all on behalf of the CSS. This year I was fortunate to travel to the European Control Conference in Karlsruhe, Germany, to address the attendees and discuss our globalization efforts. Globalization is one of the main focal points of this year, as we have initiated a special task force effort to better our global outreach to members worldwide. In September I was the guest of the local IEEE section in Reykjavik, Iceland, and gave a presentation to nearly 100 attentive engineers at the University of Iceland.

In my most recent message (October issue) my thoughts were on decision-making, particularly with respect to career paths students choose. This is a tough issue to address as a society, but one many of us are attentive to. One thing we are doing is to attempt to infiltrate the ranks at the secondary school level (and even younger than that) to educate teachers about what we represent. To do this, we are exploring ways of bringing teachers at that level to some of our conference activities, and to gather members who are not only interested in hearing views on these matters, but who have good ideas to bring to the table themselves.

It’s interesting how all these thoughts throughout the year seem to merge somehow. And, it’s quite obvious that my messages were inspired in part by some of these daunting tasks that lie ahead of us as a society. So it is, then, that I find myself on the flat part of the asymptotic approach, heading toward the end of my more significant volunteer service with the CSS. In a way, I guess I’m looking infinity square in the eye. But what’s beyond infinity for me?

I’ve always felt that as engineers and scientists, we more or less take infinity for granted. I suppose that little people with less-clogged minds don’t take the concept so lightly, so I asked my buddy James (my son who just had his ninth birthday) what was beyond infinity. Of course, I didn’t let on that I was thinking of the end of my year as president as reaching infinity, although he seemed to know it when he said, "But infinity is as far as you can go." He thought about it for a moment more and spread his hands in a vertical fashion to explain, "Nothing is down here," motioning with his lower hand, "and infinity is up here. There’s nothing below nothing, and there’s nothing above infinity." I wasn’t ready for that answer, because I’m not ready for "nothing" to be what I look forward to for next year. "But there’s room above your hand," I said. This stumped him for a minute, and made him rethink his answer. Not to be outdone with my challenge, he added, "Well, I guess beyond infinity is infinity."

That’s it! There is something else, another infinity, to go after. I feel better with this thought.

Our Magazine Editor, Tariq Samad, extended an invitation to me to write an occasional article in future issues, and I may do so. I suppose that because my sons are growing older (and all the more wiser than I), and because I will be drifting toward less-active service within the CSS, my thoughts will be evolving differently. Whatever happens, alas, this represents my last PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE and therefore my last editorial article. I have thoroughly enjoyed my year as President, and I sincerely hope my thoughts over the last seven years have made a difference in yours.

I don’t wish to explore answers to these questions here (in truth, I don’t want to face the answers). Instead, I would rather explore the philosophy of the impacting decision process itself, at the root of the career path. You see, in my mind, decision-making ultimately becomes a tracking problem once the reference trajectory is chosen; so, it seems to me that control engineers can certainly assist in choosing that reference trajectory, don’t you think?

Students certainly make many important decisions when in school, and one of their most important decisions is, of course, the choice of career. But this notion is also context sensitive, so I often like to step outside my control engineering context for such philosophical questions, and their solutions. And turn to my sons for answers.

The other day my wife was having a serious conversation with James, my 8-year-old son. She was making a point to James that one day he would likely be choosing who he would marry, and that the decision he will make then will possibly be the most important one he will make in his life. His response to this remark was one of those Jamesian statements of 8-year-old philosophy that really made me think. "Actually, I think maybe that is the second biggest decision people make," he said. What could possibly be coming next? "I think the biggest decision we make," James continued, "is whether we believe in God, or just do our own thing."

This comment, in this context, struck me as intriguing (especially coming from an 8-year-old), and I absolutely don’t intend to explore ontological arguments in this PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE. But in the context of decisions that affect the rest of our lives, it occurred to me that somewhere along the way we make a decision (perhaps subconsciously) to believe in what we do in the field of control engineering. Enough so, in fact, to devote our careers to it. Once that decision is made, a sort of rule base begins to form, from which decisions propagate (this, I suppose, is what James may have had in mind). And, a reference trajectory is established.

So, how is it, then, that "career trends" are established, and how can we (those who have committed to careers in control engineering) make "believers" out of students and young professionals at periods in their lives when they are most impressionable? Or, maybe I should be asking if we really wish to do so?

I suppose it goes without saying, but as a professor who teaches control engineering, I believe in this field enough to encourage others to consider it as a career. I must admit, however, that as President of one of the world’s foremost societies of control engineers (please, SICE and EUCA members rally around me here), it is disheartening to contemplate declining interest in career choices in control engineering. And, at times it can be frustrating (and seemingly unfair) as a professor to inherit the burden of responsibility for these phenomena. At the same time, I realize that as the educators who expose students to control engineering (usually for the first time), we academicians must absorb our share of this burden, and I know that we are not doing the best that we could along these lines.

But consider, if you will, the following concept. All control engineers (professors, those in research laboratories, and those working in industry) should be sharing this burden of promoting our field. I’m not talking necessarily about "selling" our field. After all, most of us would probably agree that it sells itself. More importantly, I’m talking about an overriding positive promotion of all that is done in the control systems field, an attitude about control engineering that exudes the beliefs we have in our career decisions.

We could all do a better job of presenting our field, in a unified fashion (bear with me on this point for a moment). For example, consider the often-sited "gap" between control theory and control engineering practice. On more than one occasion I’ve heard expositions from control engineers in industry that universities do not teach "useful" control systems engineering, that engineers typically learn most of what they need (in terms of control) when they come onto the job. Conversely, I’ve heard control theorists (including fresh graduates who venture out into industry) speak in frustration about the lack of "real control" practiced out in the "real world."

To all such comments, I say "Enough!" We could all benefit greatly by unifying our attitudes toward our field, and by realizing each of our roles in educating others about, as well as promoting, our field. I believe that positive attitudes, and demonstration of what it is we do (to public sectors who are not-so-tuned-in to what control is about, including impressionable students) go a long way toward instilling beliefs in young minds.

So what can we do? Beyond avoiding negative focus, such as comes with the sparring on the theory/practice gap I spoke of above, we could certainly work to narrow that gap; that’s a subject for a future message. As for effectively promoting the field, admittedly it would be tough to convince an aspiring young engineering student, who is dead set on pursuing topics in (for example) wireless communications, that control engineering is the right career choice (perhaps not impossible, though!). But this shouldn’t deter us from promoting (and educating about) control systems relative to such an industry. Identifying components of signal processing, computer engineering, and many other fields through applications is a great context within which to promote our field. We may even be able to attract an occasional convert along the way.

The CSS will be facing many big decisions over the next couple years into the new millenium. Immediate issues facing us have to do with (i) serious efforts toward globalization of the CSS, (ii) new financial models to guide our operations, coming down from the IEEE, and (iii) a myriad of options regarding electronic submission, electronic review, and electronic publishing. Of course, the CSS Executive Committee and Board of Governors, as representatives of you, the CSS membership, will be confronting these decisions head on.

But whereas such critical issues, and the decisions they will demand, will certainly impact the future of the CSS, I hope I have presented a case that there may be an even bigger issue facing all of us (especially in terms of how we can all make an impact) for the long term: Helping to solidify the place of control engineering at the forefront of the engineering and scientific community. Whether you decide to believe in our field to the extent of promoting it in your everyday modes of operation, or whether you decide to do your own thing (to use James’ words), I hope you will give these notions some thought. And maybe take some action.

How extensive should a "career break" be? While I’m not sure of the answer to that, I always felt industries and research laboratories that encourage (or even require) their employees to take breaks in their careers (separate from vacation or holiday) are on the right track. This is typically done with actual sabbaticals (fairly rare in industry, I fear), with technical training breaks, or through extended visits away from home on special assignment. Whatever the mechanism, and however extensive the time is, taking the occasional break in one’s career can be a healthy thing to do. There’s no question that refreshing one’s self with a change in scenery, a change in routine, and even a change in lifestyle is absolutely a positive thing.

Another aspect of a "break" to consider, which does not involve such visible changes as we normally think of them, is that of adding interesting professional service items to our plate. I like to think that taking on volunteer tasks in addition to ordinary duties offers a bit of a break. Clearly, helping to run a conference, helping as editor/associate editor on one of our publications, or holding a volunteer office is, in itself, a break. On the other hand, after many years of service, it is no doubt true that a break is needed. This is, in fact, where I stand now.

Still, I suppose, we usually think of a career break as more of a bifurcation, even if it is only for a summer. Before I go much further with this thought, I feel compelled to confess something. I realize that as a professor I have it pretty good in this regard, particularly as compared to my colleagues in industry or government laboratory positions; after all, I don’t teach in the summer. Then why is it that when my sons take a break from school in the summertime, I begin to feel sorry for myself?

To explore an answer to this question, as usual, I sought answers from someone whose mind is not as cluttered as my own. Last night, on the evening of the first day of my sons’ summer break, I asked each of them if they thought it was fair that I didn’t get a break from work, while they did from school. First I asked B.J., my 12-year old wise guy. Thinking that he was clearing things up for me, he pointed out, "You see, during the year you teach, and in the summer you do research." I thought, Okay, that’s close to the truth, but tell me something I don’t know. He continued, "And you do research so you can bring us more money." There’s something I didn’t know. No wonder I feel the way I do; I thought I did research for other reasons. Maybe I need a break.

Then I ventured into the bedroom of my philosopher son, James, who is eight years old. When I asked him if he thought it was fair that I had to continue to go to work each day while he took his summer break from school, his wisdom was quite simple, and yet profound. He thought carefully for a moment, and responded, "But you choose to be a Professor. I didn’t choose to go to school" (I promise you, he honestly likes school). Of course he is absolutely right, and I believe he may have hit on the reason I feel cheated this time of year. If I really wanted to, I guess, I could just take a summer break, too. Maybe it’s the fact that I choose not to take a break that has me feeling the way I do. When all I could do was to stare (rather fatherly) at James after this remark, he must’ve felt he should add something more. "It’s not fair," he said, and then rolled over in his bed. I left the room without asking him exactly what it was he felt wasn’t fair (the fact that he had to go to school, or that I had to go to work); I didn’t really want to know.

I suppose the choices we make can certainly have an impact on the perceived value of a break. Also, I believe it is true that when a break is forced upon us, we sometimes do not know how to handle it. A perfect example of this happened to me a few weeks ago. We have all experienced those times of "forced breaks" when the e-mail server goes down. At the risk of getting sidetracked into a lengthy philosophical discussion, I want to say that, in my mind, e-mail has become an evil animal. E-mail can be such an annoyance, and yet I fear that we view it as an essential tool; I think we depend on it too much.

When the e-mail server crashed a few weeks back, my first reaction was panic. Then, when my colleague appeared at my door, peering in silently with coffee cup in hand, we both realized that we’d better take a break and go discuss the situation. It was a welcome break. The next 30 minutes was interesting; doors were open and people were wandering the hallways. We all sort of liked the feeling. But two hours later, with (still) no e-mail, things started to get tense (no, we weren’t down in the coffee room all that time). How does one act when your lifeline is cut? Several people started to get grumpy. When the e-mail finally returned, I think I heard a collective sigh of relief from around the building; I was, in fact, reminded of a phrase from a popular song out of my past that had something to do with "The day the music died."

As I now look back on the day the e-mail died, I believe a similar thing happens at the end of a summer break for my sons. They begin to get a little restless. Things just don’t seem like they did in the beginning of the summer. Prospects seem to dim slowly. At that point I think it is time for a break from the break. Thus, today I suggested to my sons that in a few weeks they will be ready to go back to school, ready to surrender their summer break, ready to resume their paths to greater things. I won’t tell you about the nasty looks I received.

So, I find myself a bit more relaxed as I head into my summer, convinced now that I have only myself to blame for needing or wanting a break. And, as I look ahead to the time when I am no longer in a major volunteer position for the CSS, I suspect I will look back very fondly on these times. It has been an enjoyable break.

Nonetheless, I think I’ll be taking a break.

Keeping in mind that the path to CSS President involves many volunteer positions along the way, a question that comes to my mind is "What does it take to be CSS President?" Does it take a particularly special person to be an IEEE society president? Clearly the answer to that question is no because I am one of the most ordinary people you’ll ever meet. Does it take a dedicated individual? Yes, but I am certainly no more dedicated that many other tremendous CSS volunteers I have worked with over the years. Does it take a certain level of recognition from the technical community? Well, certainly that is true; after all, no one becomes a CSS vice-president (or president) unless they are first elected by the CSS membership to be on the Board of Governors. But there are many highly successful technical people who do not rise to positions within the CSS…nor want to do so.

Ah ha. Is that the key? Does one have to want to be CSS president? In my experience, I would guess that most (if not all) past CSS presidents never sat around daydreaming about rising to that position. Some, in fact, may have even searched for ways to avoid the inevitable invitation to serve, once it became apparent that they were headed to the office of presidency. So, if people do not seek out the office of the presidency, how do they get there? In many cases, I believe it is merely the end of the road, the end of a (sometimes) long stint of service; indeed, sometimes it just happens.

It’s not hard to come up with a list of several successful activities and organizations that would not exist were it not for the spirit of volunteerism. Being a member of an organization or community (yes, even a technical society) carries with it a responsibility as well as a sense of belonging. That responsibility entails the giving of one’s time and energy for the advancement of the organization. But conveying the spirit of volunteerism is not always easy.

On several occasions I have attempted to explain the CSS presidency to my sons. My 12-year son, B.J., understands fine, I think. But James, my eight-year old, still has problems with the concept. A few minutes ago I was wishing him "good night" in his bed when he asked, "Are you President of anything at your work?" When I answered "No" to this, he looked a little disappointed, but then cheerfully asked, "Are you Vice-President of anything at your work?" I shook my head negatively, probably looking rather puzzled at his line of questioning, and he shrugged. "I was just wondering," he said. When I then tried to explain again that I was President of the IEEE Control System Society, which had many members around the world, he was quiet for a moment, and sighed. "That’s sort of good, I guess." Then he brightened up again, patted my head, and (rather condescendingly) announced, "Well, at least you are a professor and bring us lots of money." I am afraid that my son’s priorities, while pragmatic, do not align with the volunteer spirit of the IEEE CSS. But the conversation got me thinking.

Obviously CSS volunteers are not drawn by prospects of fame and fortune to positions of editorship, task force leaders, technical committee chairs, or vice-presidency (because there is little fame and certainly no fortune to be had). So, I find it difficult to answer when someone asks me, "What’s in it for me," or, "Why would anyone want to devote so much time to that sort of thing?" My best answer to these (valid) questions is three-fold. First, I think there are many interesting challenges in CSS volunteerism and activities (it can be fun, believe it or not, if not merely different than the ordinary professional life grind). Second, I see the various volunteer roles as a real "creative outlet" (six years of the Magazine editorship was a blast). Finally, I honestly feel that there’s some sort of obligation associated with being a member of the biggest and greatest organization in our field.

Positions of office do not appeal to everyone, and I certainly understand this. But CSS volunteerism runs very deep into the everyday professional lives of all of us, far from high-profile jobs (such as conference general chairs or Board of Governors members). It begins as a conscientious reviewer (journal and conference alike). It begins as a contributor to our conferences, serving as session chairs, session organizers, local arrangement helpers, and regular attendees. It begins as an active participant (maybe even an instigator) of local CSS chapter activities, and motivating young people to jump on board. It begins as a member of a working group or technical committee, sharing new ideas, and participating … for the fun of it. These are all very worthwhile activities that make up our obligation as members of a professional society. There is, indeed, something for everyone. But sitting around waiting for someone to ask for your help isn’t what volunteering is about.

Being CSS President does have its rewards (despite the awful requirement of attending IEEE meetings surrounded by beautiful golf courses). Although James would measure the value of volunteer activities in terms of revenue generated (by the way, I plan to work on this with him), I’d like to suggest that volunteering is part of what we are in the CSS membership. And I can truthfully say that while being CSS President is "sort of good" (to quote my favorite eight-year old), being a part of this volunteer-run organization is fantastic. Whether it is for the challenge of it, or for prospects of creative outlet, or simply from a sense of responsibility, I sincerely hope we can keep that volunteer spirit alive into the next century.

In my fist President’s Message (in the February issue of the Magazine) I spoke about challenges that lie ahead of us in terms of education and letting the world know what we are about as control engineers. Since then I have found myself doing a lot of introspective thinking. I have wondered whether or not there is much truth to the claims I’ve heard, from time to time, about certain attitudes prevailing amongst control engineers, particularly academicians. Could it be that many of us wear a "cloak of superiority" around non-controllists? Could it be true that some of us actually wear this cloak around each other?

We’d all like to think that we practice modesty. We even sometimes defame ourselves in day-to-day conversation (but only within earshot of friends). Nonetheless, we are raised in an academic environment to strive toward "making a difference" in the field, toward contributing in some non-trivial way for which we will be remembered. As I think about this, however, and how I would order it to be (if I could), I would like to suggest something: as a Society of engineers in a common field, maybe we should all be happy just to be a part of significant events, in some way, as they happen. Whether this happens to an individual, to a small research group, or to an entire Society, I can’t help but think that a healthy attitude would be to feel that our entire field contributed in a significant way to the scientific world. But this isn’t how we are raised, is it?

All of this brings to mind something that happened the other evening. After working on a jigsaw puzzle with James, my eight-year-old son, I had a profound revelation. I must confess that James is not the most modest child I know, nor is he shy about his abilities or accomplishments. This night, as usual, he was quite opposed to going off to bed; but while I was bidding him a peaceful night in the dark of his room, he expressed his real disdain for retiring that night. "Please don’t finish the puzzle without me," he pleaded. It was easy for me to promise that my wife and I wouldn’t finish it without him that night, because there was a considerable amount of work remaining. I asked him why he was so concerned about us finishing the puzzle; after reflecting for a moment, he explained. "I don’t care if I get to put the last piece of the puzzle in," James said, "but I just want to be there when it happens."

What a reasonable request, I thought. We all want to feel like we’re part of something bigger, something significant. My father used to tell me that today’s generation has a drastically different outlook than his own about God, self and country. I feel there’s truth in that, particularly considering characteristics of my father’s generation (in and around World War II), where even true heroes didn’t view themselves as such. Rather, the typical sentiment was to cherish the feeling of being part of a greater, common good.

James may be on to something here. To me, wishing to first be a part of collective success may actually be the secret to forming our picture of success as a control engineering community.

How can we feel like we are a part of something significant within the Control Systems Society? There are many avenues. In this last year of the 1900s, several initiatives and projects coming out of the CSS are worth noting. These range from collections of seminal papers, to summaries of significant "success stories," to a "coffee table" book on control. And it occurred to me that all of these are splendid examples of efforts as a community to put forth a united front and to exhibit achievements of our field.

This trend toward collective efforts in our field is evident in many "day-to-day" workings throughout the Society. The CSS Technical Activities Board (consisting of the various Technical Committees) has seen a resurgence of activity recently, and I look for many good things to happen there in the coming year, particularly with respect to control education, web-based resources, and technical working group participation. Even more can be said for Membership Activities, under the leadership of Mike Masten, Dan Repperger and Bozenna Pasik-Duncan over the last several years; service to our members worldwide has increased tremendously. Lots of people are working hard to make the CSS a comfortable home for all control engineers, in the U.S. and abroad. If you would like to know more about these and other activities coming out of the CSS, or (especially) if you would like to be a part of it, contact any one of the volunteers listed on the CSS page at the back of each issue of the Magazine.

I once heard that the two most common elements on earth are oxygen and mediocrity. While we cannot escape either, we certainly try to avoid the latter. But consider this: one person’s mediocrity is another person’s trophy. I believe that even mediocrity within our Society has achieved quite a high plane.

So I ask what is it exactly that drives us? Is it a pure passion for science? Is it an inherent need for making a significant contribution to the field? Could it possibly be a desire to be part of a dynamic field that impacts science and technology in a real way?

Let’s face reality. There’s room for some arrogance, and it’s going to happen even if every control engineer actually reads these ramblings; in fact, I think a little arrogance is healthy. But let’s not lose sight of what’s really important, particularly with respect to how we appear to others in the scientific world. We can’t always put in the last piece of every puzzle; but wouldn’t it be great if each of us could always feel like we were there when it happened?

If it weren’t for uncertainty, the business of feedback would be merely something about which to write esoteric papers (and who would do that?). We all learned this simple fact long ago, but occasionally it pays to remind ourselves of this piece of wisdom. Indeed, the uncertainty confronting me in becoming your President, particularly in these times of diminishing respect for anything presidential, is where my anxieties originate, and I suppose I have a real need for feedback myself. But as with any good control design, the better the uncertainty can be characterized, the more effective our design will be.

One of the largest facets of uncertainty we must confront as a Society is the vast area of electronic publishing. My generation has taught that we never say "never" when it comes to technology. While I cannot imagine doing away entirely with printed media, I cannot bring myself to think that it isn’t possible. I mean, I use the Web as much as the next person; I watch the market, trade stocks, purchase airline tickets, and check out saxophone and clarinet prices in France (for my son, B.J.) over the Web. So why can’t I accept the fact that someday the Transactions and Magazine may only be available on my computer screen?

Another major source of uncertainty that we face is the effectiveness of initiatives for publicizing what we do. We are control engineers, but how are we supposed to present ourselves to the general public? Everything I’m hearing these days tells me that we must behave differently than we have been as of late. For example, why is it that the public’s perception of how things are "controlled" in "visible" complex systems is done with software and computers as the major factors? Is this our fault? How can we better educate our numerous publics on what we do, and what our value is in the grand scheme of engineering?

What it comes down to, then, is a matter of educating our publics and ourselves. Educating ourselves on the possible resources and advantages of what the value of electronic publishing has to offer, for example, will eliminate some of the anxieties we are feeling now. Or, educating the public on what we do in control will go a long way toward putting us back on the frontier of science and technology. Sounds easy, eh? I don’t think so; in fact, the sheer magnitude of the task scares me. It is the process of learning that scares me the most, I think; allow me to explain.

One recent beautiful autumn morning, my family and I were in the car on our way to breakfast when a squirrel dashed across the road ahead of us. It was far enough ahead of the car that I didn’t have to slow down much or change my course in order to avoid hitting it. But it prompted my 8-year-old son, James, to offer some comments on the education process. "I wouldn’t want to have to dodge cars," James remarked. "Why not?" I asked; while I knew he was referring to the squirrel, I just had to know what he was thinking, because I learned years ago that the wisdom form my sons’ musings is normally quite worth capturing. James thought for a minute about how to answer me, and then responded, "Because I wouldn’t want to have to go through learning how to do it."

The rationale behind this thought hit me immediately, and inspired this, my first PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE. Sometimes the most painful part of becoming good at something is the process of learning how to do it. If we are to really take the leap into electronic publishing, if we are to make important strides toward educating the public on what we do, we must be willing to educate ourselves on what is at stake, and what it will take to make an impact.

Pursuing this further, I asked James whether he’d rather be a rabbit. "Yes," he said, perhaps predictably, "Then I could just sit by the side of the road eating carrots, watching the squirrels learning how to miss the cars."

So, should we be rabbits or squirrels as we face these challenging issues in the final year of the 1900s? Will we sit by the side of the road and continue to watch others learn how to dodge cars? When will the CSS be ready to jump "feet first" into the electronic publishing arena? When will the CSS be fully prepared to present itself to the public in such a way that control technology will become as recognizable as the common tree squirrel? In a way, these two frontiers mesh together toward an overall goal of placing the control systems field back in the driver’s seat of science and technology. My hope is that the CSS will be there to steer the course.

These are issues that I am hopeful we can attack in 1999, as we make our way toward "00." Sure, it seems a bit daunting, and I think James characterizes it well; but, let’s not sit by the side of the road. Let’s be willing to dodge some cars. Let’s go for it!