CHAPTER 4: THE WAR YEARS AT GENERAL ELECTRIC

Coming Home

On April 8, 1942, as twenty-two year old Walter R. Evans carried his bags down through the boarding area of the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad station, his thoughts undoubtedly turned homeward. That he missed family and the “old gang” is evident in the opening paragraph of a letter he had written a week before.

Dear Mother, 

Being away from home for a year is highly touted as a great experience for a boy in teaching him to cope with the responsibilities of life. Admittedly, I have learned quite a few facts, particularly concerning human behavior, but I really don’t feel changed noticeably from last year in St. Louis. And most of the things I have noticed here in Schenectady recall conclusions that you had expressed before. The fundamental one is the same that struck Sammy too: most people are too embroiled in their own welfare to give much consideration to the general rightness of things. You easily make acquaintances among strangers, but genuine friendship requires time to develop. Please don’t think from this that the going has been rough at all, but just getting back among St. Louis friends is going to be a great experience. Now, as the train carried him home, his mind drifted not just to family and friends but also to the biggest event awaiting him—his wedding to Arline Pillisch. The return trip to Schenectady would take him and his new bride through Niagara Falls, a fitting honeymoon stop.

Love, Walter

His homecoming itinerary was tightly packed. Arriving at Union Station at 12:45 p.m. on Thursday, he planned to be "leading the pack down the stretch," as he put it in his letter. That afternoon, he hoped to relive a familiar ritual—biking the two miles from his childhood home on Nashville Avenue to Washington University, where he would visit two beloved engineering professors, Roy Glasgow and Frank Bubb.

That evening, he and his mother were invited to dinner at the Pillisch home, though Walter had asked Arline to tell her mother not to "outdo herself" in preparing the meal. Perhaps after dinner, there would be time to watch home movies with friends—the “old gang” from St. Louis.

Friday would be a whirlwind of wedding preparations: securing the marriage license, renting his tuxedo, picking up Arline’s wedding dress, purchasing train tickets, and meeting with the minister before the rehearsal dinner.

If the weather cooperated, he envisioned spending part of Saturday—his wedding day—taking a quiet drive with his mother in the family’s "jolly old Oldsmobile," revisiting the outskirts of St. Louis. He acknowledged the wear on their tires, given that domestic tire production had been redirected for military use, but the nostalgia of seeing familiar sights was worth a few "precious miles."

One potential stop was the airport, a place tied to his courtship with Arline. Back in 1940, she had flown alongside him in a Piper Cub as he piloted them over their city—the place where they were born, where their parents were born, and where their story had begun.

Their story stretched back to 10th-grade geometry class at Soldan High School. Walter had loved geometry, and Arline had been drawn to his intelligence and wit. Their first and only high school date had been in their senior year, when Walter took her to see The Taming of the Shrew.

Though she had dated others in college, she always had her eye on Walter. Every year, she waited for their one annual date—March 17, Engineer’s Day at Washington University. As long as he took her out that day, she knew she was still his girl.

Walter, ever practical, wasn't one for excessive sentimentality, but he had made at least one grand romantic gesture. The only surviving letter from him to Arline before their wedding was a belated Valentine’s note from 1941, just two months before they were married. In it, he penned:

Will you be my Valentine?
Though the request be late.
I hope this oversight may prove
A lucky stroke of fate.

For if you like to keep a file
Of little things sweet and dear,
Please let this card have its place
To make just one point clear.

That men are prone to forget a date,
A time, a place, or occasion.
That a woman’s heart is hurt thereby
Is a needless situation.

For if she knows, as know you must,
The strength of his affection;
Then in his love you may safely trust
If not in his recollection.

Walter

 P.S. I’ll try to do better.

The note was classic Walter—self-aware, pragmatic, and dryly humorous. But beneath his understated style, the message was clear: his heart belonged to Arline.

Their high school principal, Herbert Stellwagen, would be an honored guest at their wedding. On the same Saturday afternoon that Evans had suggested he and his mom could spend time in the jolly Olds, Stellwagen would compose two letters of well wishes to Walter and Arline.

Dear “Grandson” Walter: I am rejoicing with you and Arline today – on your happy wedding day, -- in the joy of your lives so far, in the beauty of this day, and in all the glory to be in your lives together. How very much you both bring to your marriage; and to your helpfulness to each other; and to the new family which you will build; and, individually and together, to your achievement for yourselves; and to your service so greatly needed from you to society! ….

Dear Arline: While I have already written to day to Walter for both him and you, I cannot refrain from sending this special note to you, to tell you how happy I am in the happiness of you and Walter today; how filled with admiration I am because of all you both bring of richest promise to your marriage that your lives together will be completely right because of the worthiness of the character, the health, the ideals, the ability, the attainment, and the will to serve that reside in each of you; and how sincere are my congratulations and best wishes to you both. …

Schenectady

Their lives together would arrive at their apartment at 117 State Street on the 50th anniversary of a merger on April 15, 1892 of Edison General Electric and Thomson-Houston of Lynn, Massachusetts to create the General Electric Corporation.[1] 

During fair weather or foul Evans would bike the two miles down Union Avenue and past Union College to the GE’s plant.[2] On its 600 acre grounds were 200 buildings, GE’s Schenectady Works was, ramping up from 29,000 pre-war employees to its peak wartime population of 47,000. Evans’ office, for most of the war, was on the 3rd floor of building 22, near the entrance at the intersection of Weaver and Edison.

Edison was named for General Electric’s legendary founder -- Thomas Edison. He had founded the corporation fifty years earlier, and now Schenectady Works was the largest GE plant in the country. One gets a feel for the enormity of its wartime operations in this excerpt from The Empire State at War: World War II, [compiled and written for the New York State War Council by Kurt Drew Hartzell, Ph.D. (State of New York, 1949)].

During World War II, the General Electric Company, whose general offices and largest manufacturing plant are located in Schenectady, was called upon to produce a greater variety of complex war equipment and to solve a greater diversity of difficult technical problems than any other manufacturing concern in the country. …. Twelve years' production was crowded into four. In the aggregate, the company turned out 4 billion dollars of war equipment, ranging from giant turbines for battleships to delicate instruments for airplanes and mass spectrometers for the atomic bomb project.

A large part of the complex war equipment produced by General Electric was made at the Schenectady works - the largest electrical workshop in the world. In these buildings many of the difficult technical problems of the war were handled by the company's research and engineering laboratories. The expansion of these unique activities distinguished Schenectady from other cities in its contribution to ultimate victory …

General Electric’s Advanced Course

Evans’ five years at GE from 1941-46 combined practicing his craft, learning, and teaching. An attraction in 1941 when Evans sought employment there was its famed “Advanced Course”. Washington University in St. Louis had developed something of a tradition for its top engineering graduates to apply for entry to the program. One year earlier, for example, John R. Moore, a 1937 Washington University graduate, had gone to GE and made it into the Advanced Course. In a 2003 interview, Mr. Moore recalled with pride the numbers of Washington University engineering graduates who had. Evans was one of two 1941 graduates to make it into one of two Advanced Course A Classes of 35 engineers, the other being N.A. Schuster. That year’s A-Class had single representatives from better-known Ivy League schools (Yale, Princeton, Brown, University of Pennsylvania) and Technology Institutes (MIT, Caltech, Rensselaer, and Carnegie Tech).

The objectives for teaching and learning in the Advanced Course would have a profound influence on Evans’ life and views of education. The “grand overseer” of the program in 1941 was Alexander Stevenson, Jr. Among other accomplishments, Stevenson prepared the original study and report that led to GE’s decision to manufacture electric refrigerators. In a 1935 paper, Stevenson described the General Electric Advanced Course program and explained the need for its creation:

“Most (engineering graduates) had no mathematical training beyond calculus, and those who had studied differential equations had not learned how to make use of them in the analysis of physical problems. There were coming to the company many excellent, ingenious engineers, but … courses in many colleges were being taught routine rule of thumb methods of design, and there was insufficient emphasis on thinking problems through by the use of fundamental principles.”

The man most responsible for creating the Advance Course in 1922—Robert E Doherty—was a nationally known educator in 1941 and from 1936 until 1950 served as President of the Carnegie Institute of Technology. Evans kept in his Advanced Course notebook a copy of remarks Doherty made to a group of students.

So, I urge you to take the initiative and learn to use your heads. In the first place, dig yourself out of confusion. Insist on understanding! Do away with superficiality! Stop memorizing words and formulas that you don’t understand, merely for a grade.

Don’t go on cultivating a habit that will cripple your mind for the rest of your days – the habit of superficiality, the habit of playing on words that carry no meaning. You know when you understand and when you don’t; when you grasp a point that is clear and clean cut and when, instead, it is blurred and confused.”

With all the emphasis in me I repeat: insist on understanding! Then, under the guidance of the faculty in your regular class programs, but under your own initiative, you will be in a position to go forward more effectively with the acquaintance of a genuine education gauged to the demands of the changing world in which you will live.

The Power of True Understanding

By 1910, William Doherty had come to appreciate the power of deep comprehension thanks to his mentor, Charles Steinmetz—arguably the most brilliant mind ever to work at General Electric. Decades later, at a May 1942 banquet for the Advanced Course, which Evans likely attended, Doherty reflected on his formative encounters with Steinmetz.

He recalled how, as a young engineer, he often sought Steinmetz’s help when he hit a roadblock. Rather than providing a direct solution, Steinmetz would point to a fundamental physics principle that held the answer. Doherty already knew these principles—he could recite them from memory—but he hadn’t yet learned to apply them to real-world problems. The issue wasn’t a lack of knowledge; it was a lack of analytical thinking. He realized he had been searching for formulas where none existed, when what he truly needed was a conceptual framework for problem-solving.

Doherty also spoke about the broader vision behind GE’s Advanced Course: assembling the brightest engineering minds not just to learn, but to form lasting professional networks. He saw immense value in creating an informal community of engineers who could rely on each other. If one of them got stuck, they wouldn’t be alone—they’d know exactly who to turn to for guidance.

Friends and Family

Evans took full advantage of this collaborative environment, forging friendships through late-night study sessions and shared problem-solving. One of his closest friendships in Schenectady was with Gordon Walter, a fellow engineer in both the 1941-42 A-Class and the 1942-43 B-Class. By 1943, they shared an office while working full-time as supervisors for the next wave of A-Class engineers—all while juggling their own final-year coursework in the C-Class.

Walter, a valedictorian from Iowa State, remained in touch with Evans for decades, exchanging Christmas cards and letters. In 2003, at age 100, he reflected on those formative years, writing, “I have such fond memories of your father and the good times we shared.”Walter went on to lead a long and fulfilling life—he lived to be 103, compiled over 10,000 travel slides, remained active in his local church for 65 years, and was an avid golfer.

He also vividly remembered the demanding schedules and harsh winters of Schenectady during World War II. Engineers worked six days a week, often pulling 12-hour shifts, leaving little time for family or even homework. Bicycles were a lifeline in the overcrowded city, often preferred over unreliable buses. Walter and Evans were among those who biked to work year-round, even when temperatures plunged below -20°F. He described winter commutes as an endurance test—bundling up in as many as five layers, thick mittens, scarves, and near-Eskimo headgear. Their legs, less insulated, sometimes needed extra time to thaw once they reached the office.

A Letter from Home

On Saturday, October 3, 1942, Evans may have been hoping for a rare moment of leisure, perhaps tuning in to the third game of the World Series. His beloved St. Louis Cardinals had just secured a 2-0 shutout against the Yankees, putting them ahead in the series. But celebration was the last thing on his mind.

The previous day, he had received a letter from his mother with heartbreaking news: the family’s beloved dog, Tigger, had passed away. That evening, he wrote back to her, grappling with his grief.

He reflected on the unique bond between humans and their dogs—how Tigger had always been full of life, keeping watch over the household. He admitted that people often feel silly for mourning pets so deeply, but that didn’t lessen the pain. Hoping to distract himself, he and Arline went to see Pride of the Yankees, expecting a lighthearted baseball movie. Instead, they found themselves watching the tragic story of Lou Gehrig’s decline. The film’s emotional weight broke through Evans’ usual composure, and he found himself tearing up in the theater. “One good cry lowers your defenses for the next,” he wrote.

Back home, he found comfort in old photographs of Tigger—one of the dog tied in a canoe on the Merrimac River, another of him standing proudly in a creek at the family farm. He enclosed one of his favorite pictures in the letter and imagined Tigger at peace, saying, “If all life’s stories were as simple and fulfilling as Tigger’s, the world would be a better place. We gave him a happy home, and in return, he gave us the pure joy of his unshaken loyalty.”

Friendships and Mentors

In addition to their close friendship with Gordon and Rusty Walter, Walt and Arline Evans also grew close to another couple during their GE years—John and Merriam Moore. Their connection was more than just social; Evans followed Moore’s career path at multiple key points. He first joined Moore at General Electric, then returned with him to Washington University, and later followed him again to North American Aviation. Both men contributed to the field of servomechanism analysis, publishing influential research, and both balanced teaching with hands-on engineering.

When I interviewed Moore in 2003, he spoke with warmth and humor about his time with Evans. One memory stood out—how much fun they had crafting new lyrics to Love Life of an Engineer, a ballad set to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Originally written at the University of South Dakota, the song humorously captured the struggles of engineers. Moore credited Evans with coming up with one particularly witty set of verses:

"His quick response to error was the follow-up to this tale,
But marriage proved too steady-state to match his transient flare.
So boys take heed, let this sad yarn be a warning that runs deep—
Don’t build a power plant where local power’s cheap."

The A-Class Years (1941–1942)

Evans and Walter were selected for one of two parallel A-Class programs in September 1941, a rigorous training initiative that blended classroom instruction with hands-on experience. The program followed an eight-point framework established in 1935 by Alexander Stevenson, Jr., who believed that early-career engineers needed to develop both theoretical knowledge and problem-solving skills.

The A-Class focused on applying core engineering principles—mechanics, thermodynamics, heat transfer, electricity, and magnetism—to real-world problems. Students weren’t just solving textbook equations; they had to sift through raw data, make educated assumptions, and think critically. The overarching goal was to instill a problem-solving mindset that transcended formulas:

1. Recognizing that fundamental      physical laws apply across all disciplines.
2. Learning to think independently      and use these laws to solve problems.
3. Identifying relevant data from a      sea of available information.
4. Strengthening mathematical      reasoning in practical applications.
5. Simplifying complex problems      using sound engineering judgment.
6. Developing the perseverance to      work through difficult problems step by step.
7. Cultivating self-criticism and      the ability to validate one’s own answers.
8. Communicating ideas clearly,      concisely, and persuasively.

The problems assigned to A-Class students weren’t hypothetical exercises but actual challenges faced by GE’s engineering departments. This approach ensured that graduates weren’t just technically proficient—they were ready to tackle real-world design and analysis tasks.

Boredom Breeds Innovation

Like most A-Class engineers, Evans also worked full-time in a test division, but not every assignment was intellectually stimulating. In late 1941, he found himself stuck in a particularly dull calculation test job in Building 258. Frustrated by the lack of challenge, he wrote a five-page critique of the assignment. His letter, written just weeks before the U.S. entered World War II, reflected his broader concerns about national priorities.

"A dissatisfied test engineer—or one who merely endures his three-month assignment—is hardly a strong candidate for any engineering department. At this critical moment, both the country and General Electric need engineers ready to step into responsible positions. Assigning trained engineers to work that could be done just as well by someone without their background is a needless waste."

His frustration was justified—the workload for A-Class students was immense. In a 2003 letter, Gordon Walter recalled that the problem sets often required 20 to 25 hours per week, most of which was spent just trying to grasp the fundamental concepts and translate them into mathematically precise solutions.

For Evans, the A-Class experience planted seeds that would bear fruit throughout his career. The problem-solving approach he honed during those years shaped his groundbreaking work on servomechanisms, culminating in his 1948 and 1950 AIEE papers and his 1954 book, Control System Dynamics. The lessons learned in Schenectady would stay with him for a lifetime, influencing not just his engineering insights but his entire approach to innovation and analysis.

B-Class (1942–1943)

Aside from Evans’ B-Class photograph, little documentation remains from his second year in the program. According to Stevenson’s original framework, those advancing to the B-Class left the testing department and became full-time employees of the Advanced Course. This shift allowed them to take on real engineering assignments lasting three to four months, gaining hands-on experience in different departments while continuing their classroom studies for half a day each week.

Evans received a modest pay raise—moving from 75 to 85 cents an hour—and transitioned into the Advanced Course program office, where he rotated through assignments from 1942 until the spring of 1943. His supervisor was Harold Chestnut, an MIT graduate just two years his senior. Chestnut, who had earned both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in electrical engineering by 1940, was deeply involved in GE’s Aeronautic and Ordnance Systems division. This division worked closely with MIT’s Servo-Mechanism Laboratory, led by Gordon S. Brown, and the Radiation Laboratory, directed by N.B. Nichols, on projects like the gun turret control systems for the B-29 bomber. Given Chestnut’s role, it’s highly likely that Evans was introduced to servomechanism analysis during this period—a subject that would define his career.

C-Class (1943–1944)

By their final year, C-Class students regrouped in the mechanical engineering section, regardless of their intended specialization. Stevenson had designed the curriculum to ensure that even those pursuing electrical engineering spent two-thirds of their time studying mechanical systems. This interdisciplinary approach gave graduates a strong foundation in machine analysis, design, and engineering problem-solving. Homework remained intensive, and problem-solving remained central to their training. By the end of the three-year program, students had not only acquired a deep technical education but also gained valuable experience tackling real-world engineering challenges.

A-Class Supervisor (1943–March 1945)

Alongside their enrollment in the C-Class, both Evans and Walter were appointed full-time supervisors in the Advanced Course. Evans was assigned to oversee an A-Class, while Walter supervised a B-Class. They moved into a shared office, marking the start of a professional partnership that would last for years.

Evans took his supervisory role seriously, meticulously documenting his students’ progress. His personal binders contained everything from introductory remarks for guest lecturers to detailed performance charts tracking quiz and test scores. On the first day of class, he addressed his students with a straightforward message:

"My role as supervisor is to help each of you get the maximum possible benefit from this program. I’m fortunate to build on the experiences of previous classes, but the course itself is always evolving. We make changes every year in an effort to improve. One conviction I hold strongly is that honesty is key—so I encourage open discussion about every aspect of the program."

Beyond exams and coursework, every student was required to propose an independent project idea. Some of their suggestions turned out to be remarkably forward-thinking:

• J.L. Knox –  Television recorder and      playback
• H. Gayek –  Electronic metronome,      thermostatic shower control
• J.A. Massingill –  Run-less silk stockings,      unbreakable thermos bottle
• P.A. Thompson –  Vacuum plumbing system for home      cleaning
• J. Townsend –  Automatic pinsetter for bowling      alleys
• J.J. Zaskalicky –  Atomic power (?) – in 1944!

Other proposals, however, suggested that Evans’ students shared his appreciation for humor:

• J.A. Mossingill – Non-creep-up      shorts
• W. Muirhead – Perpetual motion      machine
• C.L. Reitz – Gun turrets that      rotate a bed upright in the morning
• P.M. Thompson – Automatic baby      tender, so parents could focus on A-Class assignments
• R.W. Hodgers – Disappearing      closet

A Disrupted Program

As Evans and Walter settled into their new supervisory roles, the Selective Service System began reassessing whether to continue granting occupational deferments to engineers working in Schenectady. The war effort was intensifying, and draft boards questioned whether more engineers should be called into military service, despite their work contributing directly to national defense.

Then, on March 25, 1944, General Electric made a stunning decision: all Advanced Course classes were suspended indefinitely. Students scattered—some returning home, others enlisting in the military, and a few remaining at GE in various engineering roles. The program wouldn’t resume for over a year. In the meantime, Evans and Walter attempted to maintain a sense of continuity through correspondence, hoping to keep the spirit of the program alive.

Encouragement in a Letter from His Brother, Sam

On June 6, 1944, the United States and Great Britain, under the leadership of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, launched the greatest naval armada in history, crossing the English Channel to liberate Europe from Nazi control. Evans' brother Sam, a captain in an engineering command, was responsible for laying gasoline pipelines to supply American troops advancing through France toward Germany. Shortly before D-Day, Sam abruptly canceled a trip he and his brother had planned. Due to military security, he never explained why. Afterward, Evans wrote him a letter. In response, on June 16, Sam wrote back, apologizing for the sudden cancellation. He also expressed his joy at the birth of his first son, Richard (Dick) Arthur, on May 31, writing, "It is really nice to just know that you have a son."

Sam then addressed an issue Evans had likely raised in his letter—the relative value of their contributions to the war effort, given that both had received Selective Service deferments for their technical work:

"I received while on the boat the letter that you wrote on that eventful Sunday. Gee, but it was good to read, too. I went over it a couple of times... You shouldn’t feel any lack of pride in your work. It’s essential and contributing to the war effort, so you are doing your part. Up to this point, I have really contributed very little to the success of the war effort. There never was an attack on the West Coast. Of course, it was somewhat reassuring to have the protection there... Now, for the first time, I may and probably will have an opportunity to contribute in a rather direct way to the war effort. When this whole thing is over, I don’t plan to discuss it a great deal with my children, at least not from a personal standpoint. We never did around home (7048) much, and no one could have more respect for a father than I did for Dad. I do believe the subject should be discussed enough to develop an international organization to delay a recurrence of a world war in the immediate future."

Nine months later, in April 1945, Nazi Germany surrendered unconditionally following Hitler’s suicide, abruptly ending the war in Europe. A few months later, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, bringing the war in the Pacific to a close.

Fifty years later, Sam returned with his children and grandchildren to retrace the steps of his company. He estimated that he and his men had laid 350 miles of pipeline. In the French villages they visited, elders welcomed them with smiles and gestures. One family proudly showed them a piece of the pipeline Sam and his men had installed, which they had incorporated into their home as a keepsake. Reflecting on her father’s generation, Sam’s daughter Peggy remarked, “It’s amazing what these men did.”

Aeronautic and Ordnance Division (1944-1945)

In December 1944, during a pause in his training duties, Evans wrote a self-assessment of the A-Class program, listing all lecturers—most of whom were recent graduates of the Advanced Course. Evans himself gave eight lectures, Gordon Walter gave two, Alexander Stephenson gave one, and Simon Ramo spoke once. He was generally satisfied with the program but saw room for improvement, particularly in maintaining its original focus:

"The A-Class achieved distinction by its concentration on a few fundamental principles, thoroughly understood. As the program of topics develops, higher mathematics and technical information are added. Each supervisor, perhaps influenced by subconscious pride, is tempted to push a topic just a little further than before. … It might be well for each supervisor to consciously question each point of his proposed program: Is this topic concerned with the application of fundamental principles to engineering problems?"

In the spring of 1945, Evans may have been assigned to work under Harley Bixler, as remembered by Gordon Walter. If so, this meant that servomechanism design and analysis became Evans' full-time focus. One of his key projects involved designing a remotely controlled gun turret—a classic servomechanism problem. The system compared the direction a gunner aimed his sight with the actual angle of the gun and used motors to drive the error signal to zero.

Walter and Evans shared an office at the time:

"Walt and I spent quite a few evenings together in the otherwise deserted Advanced Course office, preparing material to be sent to our students while managing our day-to-day jobs on B-20 fire control. It’s probable we reviewed some homework, though my recollection is hazy on that point. One thing I do remember... is that during one of those evenings, Walt began reading a paper by a Swiss mathematician on a different way to look at the roots of a polynomial equation. Walt was intrigued by it, spent more time thinking about it, and eventually developed an interest in applying it.

We had been exposed to feedback theory in Advanced Course classes, and Nyquist diagrams were in vogue. Our assignments involved servo systems. For whatever reason, this was the period when Walt caught the bug that led eventually to root locus analysis and the Spirule. He had the insight, determination, and ability to take the initial concept to a higher theoretical and practical level. I just happened to be in the same room when the bug first bit him, but I remember his comment about an interesting analysis."

The Swiss mathematician Walter referred to was Professor Paul Profos, whose 1945 article, A New Method for the Treatment of Regulation Problems, was published in the Sulzer Technical Review.

A-Class Resumption (July 1945)

Throughout the year-long suspension of classes, Evans maintained correspondence with each of his students. On May 5, 1945, anticipating the program’s possible resumption in October, he sent a letter asking about their experiences over the past year and whether they would be interested in returning to General Electric for Section II of the B-Class. He also assigned them a homework problem titled, II B or Not II B. Remarkably, he received multi-page handwritten responses from every student.

In late July, Evans sent a 12-page, single-spaced letter summarizing developments in their lives over the previous year. Among them was a personal milestone—the birth of his first child, Randall Gomer, on November 22, 1944:

"A son is now rapidly demanding more attention in the Evans family. At eight months, he seems more destined to become a fighter than an engineer, as his curiosity takes the form of beating on everything. I’ll be glad when he has my nose figured out."

In this letter, Evans also informed his A-Class students that General Electric had decided to further delay the advanced engineering program. "The next news announcement will be made approximately November 1 unless something significant develops before then," he wrote.

Two weeks later, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The war ended as abruptly as it had begun. A mere month after his initial letter, Evans sent another, enclosing the official announcement that classes would resume on October 1.

September 1945 – September 1946

When the war ended in 1945, General Electric restarted the Advanced Course. Evans apparently became increasingly engaged in the administration of the Advanced Course and may have supervised one section of a C-Class, although scant evidence exists for that supposition. What is clear from the records is that during this final year at General Electric he gave a lot of thought to questions that were relevant to his career path. He joined the Schenectady General Electric Engineers’ Association (SGEEA). He helped develop a survey among engineers at GE for which over one thousand engineers responded to an “attitude” survey and salary survey.

Evans had certainly had to confront engineer attitudes as an A-Class supervisor in 1945. He retained a thick compilation of “class criticisms”. His interest in the subject of company program improvement developed to the point that he joined a committee of five Advanced Course engineers whose goal was “to offer constructive criticism of the Test Program.” [5].

Evans’ continued to collect information and papers on the subject of servomechanisms, including whatever he could find that described equipment GE had built. After finding only one report on the subject, he submitted a suggestion in September 1945:

A trip to the Data Bureau to find Data Folders or Technical Reports on the subject (of servo mechanisms) produced only one report, and that was just because it had been just issued.

The difficulty seems to be that maintaining the wealth of information has been relegated to one man as a part time job. Now that the war is over, can’t more attention be paid to properly indexing the General Electric technical knowledge?

In 1946 he kept notes on topics such as “Matching Men and their Jobs”, “Classification of Engineers,” and “How to determine employee’s true feelings toward company policy.” He attended meetings to discuss “engineering approach to human problems” and “How can we keep the good men with us?” The company clearly saw Evans as among the good men they wished to keep. In April 1946 they sent him on a week-long tour of four General Electric works – River Works, Thomson Laboratory, Bridgeport, and Fort Wayne to learn about opportunities at each and to report back his impressions. He thanked his superiors for giving him “a free hunting license in seeking the best possible assignment.”

In the midst of these activities, Evans prepared a paper for a General Electric competition among engineers at Schenectady, Lynn, and Pitts field. He titled his paper “Let Horsepower do the Horsework”. In it he suggested new applications for the calculating machines that I.B.M. had developed during the war and which were largely relegated to accounting. In Appendix C, he suggests applications in personnel work. Put engineer ratings on punched cards, he suggested, and make comparison of patterns with records of successful engineers who had chosen different career paths.

Going Home

Shortly thereafter, Walter and Arline made a decision that would affect his career path. They decided he should leave General Electric for a position at the Engineering School Washington University in St. Louis as an instructor. John and Miriam Moore had already made the decision to return to St. Louis , based upon the advice of their daughters’ doctors, who attributed her health problems to Schenectady winters. (They would within two years move to yet warmer Southern California where the Evans’ would again follow suit.) 

Many reasons suggest themselves for the Evans’ decision to leave Schenectady. Returning to live among family and friends must surely have been near the top of their list. “You easily make acquaintances among strangers, but genuine friendship requires time to develop,” he had written in 1942 to his mother. That would have been as true now as it had been then.

However, unlike Evans who had written in advance of his 1942 trip, “I really don’t feel noticeably changed from last year in St. Louis,” Evans returning home in 1946 was a changed man. In the five years he had been gone, he had married and had become father to a 20 month-old son. The allies had defeated the axis powers in World War II. President Franklin Roosevelt had died (the day after his third wedding anniversary). The United States had unleashed atomic power on Japan.

More directly relevant to the development of root locus, Evans had passed GE’s Advanced Course, learned of and designed servomechanisms, taught in a classroom, and learned of Profos’s novel graphical analysis ideas. As an instructor at Washington University, he could continue his studies, receive stimulation from new students and former professors.

Perhaps, he must have thought, he could publish a paper inspired by Paul Profos’ ideas of graphing servomechanism behavior in two dimensions. And so, in September 1946, Walter and Arline Evans and their son Randy left 313 Seward Place in Schenectady, boarded the train, and returned to their hometown, St Louis, to be reunited with their parents.