ASTER

The name may not ring a bell to many people in Singapore. And no, it's got nothing to do with the leading provider of chemical and energy solutions in Singapore and Southeast Asia by the same name.

Right after my last post, I was informed by my former manager that someone from ST Engineering, a deputy president of International & PSS/SG BizDigital Systems, asking for my contact. Soon after, someone by the name Leo contacted me. He introduced himself as a deputy general manager of ASTER, a subsidiary of ST Engineering specializing in Maintenance, Repair, and Overhaul (MRO) services for the Singapore Armed Forces.

Leo claimed that he and his team had read my books on PCB Reverse Engineering, and would like to invite me to tour their remanufacturing facility. That piqued my curiosity and I readily accepted the invitation.

We fixed a date in early April. I was given a VIP reception upon arrival and the heads of each section in turn introduced their workplace and process flow, accompanied by the DGM himself and a few support staff. It was quite an eye-opening experience to be given free access to their electronics lab, mechanical workshop, engine bay, and the various test setups. There were similarity in some of their work practices that I could identify with my former work centre, but the majority of what I observed were new to me.

I was deeply impressed by what I saw.

At the end of the tour, we adjorned to a cozy meeting room where refreshments awaited. The DGM asked for my opinion on their setup, and whether there are room for improvements in terms of the processes and practices. In all honesty, I was humbled by the thought that someone of my status, a secluded self-published author, was given such recognition and honor at an institutional-scaled setting.

We had a good time of discussion and the engineers present eagerly asked questions to tap on my experience in reverse engineering and obsolescence solution. I reckoned this first meeting would not be the last, as the DGM generously offered his team and facilities at my service for a possible future collaboration.

I took note of his kind offer and promised to get back to him and his lead engineer, once I am able to provide a viable solution to their black box issue in PCB reverse engineering. In the meantime, there will be a lot of catching up on my part to get up to speed on the subject of remanufacturing.

Ps: As I made my way out, one of the security guards, a retired civil servant, came and shook my hand. He recognized me as the author of an eschatological book he read, and expressed his appreciation for the insights gained from my theological work. Now, that really surprised me and make my day!

The System Whisperer

The term came from my colleagues, not from me.

I never thought of myself as anything special. I was just an engineer who paid attention, who cared about the work, who refused to give up when problems seemed insurmountable. But somewhere along the way, people started noticing.

Not because I had any magical powers. Not because I could commune with machines through some mystical connection. Simply because I had learned, over years of patient work, to listen. To observe. To understand what the equipment was telling me, even when it spoke in subtle signals and obscure error codes.

Every system has a language. Most people only hear the silence when it works and the noise when it breaks. The whisperer learns to hear the conversation in between.

The systems I've worked with over the years—the RADCOM, the Factrons, the Teradynes, the WesTest, the countless boards and units and assemblies—they all have stories to tell. My job was simply to hear them.

And sometimes, to whisper back.

 

The Language of the Machines

In the course my thirty years career in Electronics, both in the air force and ST Electronics, I have worked on several automated test equipment. Each of these machines has its own language to learn and master, some in high-level descriptive form much like English, some in minimalist cryptic syntax, and some using a mix of graphical and text combinations.

My first two years in ST Electronics were spent assisting two engineers to develop test programs on the RADCOM. That's what I was headhunted to do. But I was expected to work on the Factron S700 series testers, just like the rest of the engineers in the department. This was also my expectation when I decided to join the company—to pick up new skillsets and continue my learning journey in Electronics.

Text-based machines soon gave way to graphical-based platforms as the work center sought to upgrade its capabilities and attrack young engineers who were more comfortable working in the Windows environment. Enter the Spectrum 8800 series ATEs. To protect existing assets and continue our support for the armed forces, we did quite a fair bit of test program migration and test fixture adaptation from the old machines to the new. Tedious but necessary.

When our sister subsidiary, ST Aerospace, landed on a big F-16 project to develop test program on their newly acquired WesTest 2000/DATS station, several of us senior engineers were lobed in to train on the tester and help develop the test program sets. 

The language of the machines is vast. I've learned only a small part of it. But that small part has been enough—more than enough—to sustain a career, to solve impossible problems, to find meaning and satisfaction in the work.

And the best part? I'm still learning.

 

Headhunted

As the run-out date drew near, emotions ran high among the pioneer technicians. We had been through everything together—the setup, the training, the pressure, the pride. Now we faced a future that was suddenly open, uncertain, full of possibility.

Discussions buzzed in the cafeteria, the workshop, the moments between tasks. Plans and options. What we wanted to do when we finally regained our civilian status. Some opted to recontract with the Air Force. They had risen to senior ranks, earned comfortable salaries, built lives within the service. Another six years meant stability, familiarity, and job security.

Others considered doing something completely different. Anything but engineering. Sales had appeal—more interaction with people, and less time hunched over circuit boards. Insurance promised commissions, flexibility, a clean break from the technical world. A few adventurous ones intended to start their own businesses. Small shops, trading companies, ventures that would let them be their own bosses.

And me?

I decided to stick with electronics. It wasn't a difficult decision. It wasn't really a decision at all—more of a recognition, an acceptance of something that had always been true. Electronics runs in my blood. Still does. I couldn't think of doing anything else.

My transition from the air force to ST Electronics, a homegrown defense industry, felt like divine appointment. It started with a late night phone call out of the blue, two months before my contract expired. The timing couldn't be more perfect.

It was later that I learned the RSAF had purchased two RADCOM systems. One, as I knew well, was in our squadron, used for daily operations. The other had been acquired by ST Electronics, for a different purpose: future local support.

ST Electronics had the contract. They had the equipment. They had engineers eager to do the work. But they lacked something essential: hands-on experience with the RADCOM. Real experience, the kind you can only get by operating the system day after day, troubleshooting real faults, learning its quirks and capabilities.

They needed someone with that expertise, and I was the man of their choice.

 

The Zen of Work

Before I move on to the next phase of my life's journey, I want to dwell a little on the work philosophy I developed during those Air Force years.

Not the technical skills—those I've already described. Not the equipment or the procedures or the test programs. Something deeper. Something that would prove more valuable than any technical certification.

The mindset.

The way of approaching work that transforms pressure into purpose, chaos into clarity, mundane tasks into meditation.

The Zen of the workbench.

If we approach work as just a means for livelihood—a necessary evil, something to be endured until we can go home and live our real lives—then every task becomes a burden. The backlog feels oppressive. The duties feel pointless. The pressure feels personal. We feel miserable. We perform poorly. We confirm our own worst expectations.

But if we keep our heads cool and level, something shifts. The same tasks, the same pressure, the same demands—they don't disappear. But our relationship to them changes.

We can always find a silver lining in the midst of chaotic work situations and personal conflicts. Not by pretending the chaos isn't there, but by recognizing that chaos is just information. It's telling us something about priorities, about resources, about what truly matters.

This wasn't wisdom I was born with. It was something I learned—from Ron. 

Mr. Ronald Paul Dykeman

Ron's coffee mug

Ron was, quite simply, one of the most experienced and meticulous engineers you could ever find. He had been with Grumman for decades. He had worked on the E-2C since its early days. He knew the RADCOM the way a master craftsman knows his tools—intimately, completely, with a depth of understanding that came from years of hands-on work.

But experience alone doesn't make a great teacher. Ron had something more: patience. The willingness to explain something five different ways until it clicked. The ability to stand back and let you make mistakes, then guide you through understanding why they were mistakes. The quiet confidence that came from knowing he didn't need to prove anything.

He didn't give answers. He gave directions. He taught us to think like diagnosticians, not just button-pushers. He taught us to understand the systems, not just operate the equipment. It was the best education I ever received.

Ron taught me about radar and communications and automated testing. But he also taught me something else: that the best teachers are also human beings, with humor and warmth and the ability to laugh at themselves.

I carried both lessons forward. 

E-2C Ahoy!

Pioneers of the E-2C Squadron, after 25 years

Upon completing BMT, I was posted to the Airforce Engineering Training Institute—AETI, as everyone called it. After the physical exhaustion of BMT, the mental engagement of AETI was a relief, a return to familiar territory. By the end of the year, my academic performance had been noted. I was earmarked for something special: the E-2C program.

Initially, I was being considered for its radar team. Through rotational posting around different squadrons during my OJT, I distinguished myself as someone apt in building test circuits and operating test equipment. Then someone from the E-2C's ATE team pulled out. I became the replacement choice.

It was May 1986. I had been in the Air Force for nearly two and a half years. I had learned radar theory, built a test fixture, and studied a sophisticated ATE system. Now I was about to embark on the next step.

Together with my teammates, I was flown to the United States for a six-month training stint. Our destination: the Grumman Aerospace facilities, where the E-2C Hawkeye was designed and built. Our purpose: to learn two of the most advanced ATEs Grumman had ever created—the CAT-3D and the RADCOM.

Six months passed in a blur of learning and discovery. When I returned to Singapore, I was not the same technician who had left. I had seen the cutting edge. I had touched it, studied it, made it part of myself. I understood automated test equipment at a level few others did. 

The year was 1987. It was one of the best times of my career life.

 

The Promise of Electronics

Like any Singaporean male, I had to render obligatory national service to my country. Two years of my life, given to the military, required by law. But unlike most, I wasn't serving two years and returning to civilian life. I had signed on as a regular. The Air Force was now my employer, my future, my path forward.

Basic military training, or BMT, is where every new recruit undergoes a three-month stint of intensive, tactical training in military craft. For the conscripts or NSmen, it would be their full experience of military life before being posted to units where they would serve out their time.

For us regulars, the ones who had signed on for a career, our BMT was compressed. Still physically demanding—the runs, the marches, the obstacle courses, the drills—but shortened, so that more time could be devoted to what we were actually here for: technical training. 

And through it all, I kept my eyes on the horizon. Beyond BMT lay the real work. The work I had signed up for. The work that would build on everything I had learned at the polytechnic. The work that would, if I was lucky, fulfill the promise I had made to myself and my family.

But destiny, I was about to learn, has a way of taking unexpected turns. Looking back, I marvel at the path that had brought me here. The promise of electronics had fulfilled itself in ways I never could have imagined.

And it was just the beginning.

 

A Memoir in the Works

It's been almost three years since I wrote "PCB Diagnostics", the last of my engineering books. After diverting to writing sci-fi and other genre of faith-related books, I felt it's time to retrace my life's journey from a high school electronic hobbyist to a full-fledge engineer. 

Few engineers write their own memoirs and I can understand why. Writing is hard, Writing about your engineering knowledge (and expertise) is harder. But writing about your own life's journey on this aspect? Believe me, it's much, much harder.

So what prompted me to write my own biography? Well, age is catching up on me and my health isn't as good as it's used to be. So before I pass off the scene, I thought, "Heck, why not tell the story of my life and how I arrive at where I am now?" I'm sure readers of my engineering books would love to know the intricate details of those personal anecdotes which I mentioned in passing in several of my works.

Here is the book cover concept and back blurb:

As most readers are aware, I have the habit of creating the book cover and blurb to give me a handle before I start out to write the content. It helps me focus on my task better——in this case, my life story.

This work is of a different nature, though. It will have a mixed of engineering and emotional stuff weaved into a personal narrative. Readers who enjoyed my engaging style of writing will most certainly not want to miss out on this opportunity to know, really know the author behind the books they found helpful in learning the black art of PCB-RE.

So keep a look out for the progress. And leave a comment if you are a fan of my books. I would love to hear from you and be inspired to write more, if health permits.

Stay well and safe, my friends!

Diagnosing PCB Failures

One of the questions I often get asked during my tenure as a test and repair engineer in my former company was: what's the most difficult thing about PCB repair. My reply: intermittent faults and erratic failures. I'm sure those in the PCB repair industry would readily agree with me on this. And it's not getting any easier anytime, given the increasing complexity of today's PCBs in terms of their designs and functionalities.

That's one reason I embarked on writing PCB Diagnostics, a book that attempts to address not only this thorny challenge faced by the PCB repair community, but to promote a greater awareness on the available tools and techniques to help them get the job done. For readers who want to know what is discussed in this book, here's the table of content:

Beyond the basics, I've included some rather esoteric approaches and methodologies, along with real-world examples and interesting case studies, to give readers a taste of how repairs are carried out using benchtop equipment and testers that they only heard or dreamed of, but have never gotten the chance to work on.

Some of the processes are laid out in detailed steps while others are covered only in enough depth, either due to the nature of the technique that is self-explanatory, or the scope of work involved which would overrun the book length. This is especially true of automated testing which I would love to devote specific coverage on a book series basis (see Conceptual for an idea of what I mean).

It's still too early to say how well PCB Diagnostics will be received by the repair community, but I hope that those who have bought it would leave their reviews on Amazon so I know if it has served the intended purpose when I started out to write it. Thanks!

A Blast from the Past

How time flies! It's been 35 years since my first overseas training at Grumman Aerospace Corporation (GAC) in Long Island, New York. I was part of the pioneer team responsible for bay repair of the now decommissioned E-2C early-warning surveillance aircraft. During the six month stint there, I was introduced to the concept of automated test equipment (ATE), learning how to operate and maintain two sophisticated test equipment designed by GAC (now Northrop-Grumman) to service the avionics of four E-2Cs purchased by the RSAF.

Posting for photo shoot with the CAT-IIID with the ATE team's instructors, Kevin Campbell (left) and Frank Lockwood, Jr. Wonder if they're still around...

And here is the coveted certificate:

Well, I didn't display it at my work desk in my previous company of 25 years, and now that I'm into full-time writing, it is locked away in a cabinet along with the rest of my other ATE certifications. I had dreamed of putting my knowledge on these machine marvels into four volumes, but now it seems that will only remain a dream and I will take all that I've learned to my grave...

WesTest-2000 DATS

Some time in the end of 2003, my department clinched a project to develop 18 test program sets (TPS) for the F-16 avionics. The test platform was a relatively unknown (to me) tester from WesTest Engineering Corporation, based in Utah, US.

A number of our senior engineers were selected to attend a training on the test system and by early 2004, we were already designing test fixtures and developing test programs using the WT-2000's TDE under Windows as well as running LASAR simulations with Sun's Ultra 5 workstation installed with Solaris 8. It was both challenging and exciting, and sometimes excruciating given the tight development schedule and little help available, since we were the only ones working on this new test system in Singapore!

Below is the book cover concept for the fourth and final volume:

If you've not taken a look on the previous volumes concept artwork, go to past posts and get a feel. Better yet, give me your support and comments as to whether I should proceed to write, or else these will just remain as still-born ideas.

Teradyne Spectrum 8852

Ten years into the company, the Factron testers began to show their age, and as more young engineers joined the team, we felt it's time to upgrade to new ATEs with graphical capabilities and development environment. Enter the Spectrum 8800 series testers from Teradyne.

Our center acquired two of these machines: an 8851 which is an in-circuit model, and an 8852, a combinational model which has an M910 digital test subsystem configured for functional testing, and uses the LASAR simulator to generate good test patterns and fault dictionary for diagnostics.

Below is the book cover concept for volume three of the new book series on automatic test equipment:

Any of my readers ever worked on this platform?

Factron S700 Testers

Right after my three-year stint with the RADCOM WSTS in the air force, I joined Singapore Technologies Electronics' ATE Centre and was introduced to a different kind of testers: the Factron S700 series, namely, the 720 (functional), 730 (in-circuit) and 750 (combinational). I also learned to use third-party test development resources such as the CADAT simulator and the CATS-10000 hardware modeler, to compliment the 720 in functional board testing and debugging.

Just for the fun of it, here's the book cover concept for the second volume of the series on automatic test equipment:

I still haven't made up my mind to write though. Unless readers can persuade me otherwise. Well, as they say, great things always start with a dream...

New Series of Books?

I am still deliberating and hesitating whether to kick start a new series of books that detailed my experience and knowledge in automatic test equipment (ATE). I have been trained in various kinds of ATEs in the 30 years of my engineering careers, from my time with the air force to working in a home-grown defense industry.

Of the many test equipment that I've worked on, there were four that really stood out which I wanted to write about: the RADCOM WSTS (AN/USM-467), Schlumberger's Factron S700-series, the Teradyne Spectrum 885x and the WesTest DATS/2000. These are interesting ATEs that served their era in the electronic testing industry and each has its unique strength and technology to learn from.

To give you an idea, I have created the cover page for the RADCOM WSTS out of inspiration as the first in the series to write (if I decide to write, that is):

I know there are many ex-US Navy technicians as well as those from countries with the E2C aircrafts who had worked on this amazing piece of test equipment. They would probably be delighted to get a copy of this book (if it is published) and relive the good times and memories they had as they read the technical biography of a familiar old friend.

The question is: will there be enough interests to warrant my time and commitment to write it?