The Aftermath

by Samuel C. Florman

Gordon Chan had delivered his message; but he could not resist adding a postscript.

  "A fourth stage of development, almost as enigmatic as a fourth dimension in time and space, will be the decisions on what technologies not to pursue. For example, in our tiny homeland, do we need an aviation industry? Will we want to resume the exploration of space? No, certainly not for a very, very long time. Yet, can we bring ourselves to abandon any scientific or technological quest that piques our interest? As I said, we are engineers."

  The Planning Subcommittee, steering away from these philosophical depths, decided merely that there should be no stinting on research and development leading toward the future. Accordingly, they proposed that one hundred and fifty engineers and scientists, plus fifty assistants, be assigned to plan the second and third stages of development.

  Pieter Kemm of the Richards Bay Minerals Company and Kelvin Marshall of Sasol Limited, both of whom had previously reported to the Governing Council, were to round up any surviving members of their companies and establish two centers of engineering excellence based upon their past achievements. Engineers from the Queen of Africa seminar were to organize themselves into working research groups based upon their special disciplines. These groups were to recommend specific research projects and gain endorsement, first, from the appropriate engineering society, and second, from the Joint Planning Subcommittee. Final approval and settlement of disputes was to rest with Wilson Hardy, as president of the umbrella society. As a diplomat of ever-increasing tact, Hardy was expected to pull off this feat with a minimum of commotion.

  The subcommittee further resolved that all engineers assigned to current activities—construction, mining, brickmaking, etc.— would be expected to make themselves available to the R and D community for technical consultation where needed. And all were expected to do their share of teaching as well. It would be tricky maintaining the delicate balance between present needs and future goals. But to engineers who had been involved in research and development, and who had seen one generation of technology yield to another so rapidly in recent years, this atmosphere of tension, trade-offs, and optimizing choices would be familiar.

  Finally, the subcommittee adopted a resolution proclaiming that the laboratories were to receive "every consideration" in the rationing of services and supplies. Tom Swift, who was named as one of the five directors of this enterprise, explained to Wil Hardy that this meant the R and D group would have to fight like tigers to get anything at all.

  "That's okay," he said softly to his friend, with a wicked grin. "That's what we're used to."

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF WILSON HARDY, JR.

  What a week that was! As the Joint Planning Subcommittee reached the afternoon of its seventh working day, Alf asked for a tally of the workforce allocations made to date. I ran the totals, and they showed that of the estimated 14,000 able-bodied workers, 12,900 had been assigned to specific tasks, leaving a balance of 1100.

  At this point, Ichiro Nagasaka, whom I had come to like a lot, rose to address the meeting: "I've been thinking" he said, "and I conclude that we ought to have an iron and steel industry of at least a thousand individuals." He bowed politely toward Alf, but smiled broadly at the same time. "It appears from the figures just reported that this will be possible."

  "Of course," he continued, "I am not just thinking about getting iron out of the earth and using it to make steel. The idea is also to make things—first the hand tools we need so badly, and then machines, probably steam engines. And before we can start to make useful machines, we will have to make machines to make machines. There is much to be done and not a minute to lose. Can we meet tomorrow to discuss my ideas, and perhaps to endorse them?"

  "Well, let's wait just a minute, Ichiro," Alf said, holding one hand forward like a policeman directing traffic. "I know that it looks as if there might be a thousand people available for your grand scheme, and I'd certainly like to hear more about how you would plan to use them. But I think we've reached a point where we have to stop for a breath and see where we are. We've been hard at work for a week, more or less with the bit in our teeth, and I think that it's time for us to review our ideas with the Coordinating Committee that established us. They, in turn, will want to review them with the Governing Council and the Ulundi Indaba. I'd also like to let all of our Engineering Village people see what we've been up to. And I'm sure that our Ulundi friends will want to bring some of their folk into the loop as well."

  I could see that my father's faith in Alf Richards as a leader— and as a politician—had not been misplaced.

  "Let's sum up what we've done," he continued, "and for this purpose assume that you have your thousand people as requested. We'll distribute a recap of our proposed labor allocations and ask for some feedback. I suggest that we allow five days for this process. In the meantime, work should proceed as if our recommendations have been approved. We can't afford to miss a day of activity, and I'm sure that such changes as are suggested will be at the margins— a few extra workers on this project, a few less on that."

  Alf pretty much quelled further talk at that point, and the subcommittee gave me the assignment of preparing a summary schedule for distribution. So I recruited my Focus Group friends to help make duplicates—by hand, of course, in this post-Xerox world. Or this pre-Xerox world, as Tom Swift preferred to say.

  "This is boring as hell," Herb complained as we wrote feverishly in tight script (to save paper and to meet an impossible deadline). "Is this what old-time monks and scribes felt like?"

  "Only partly," Roxy put in. "They were celibate, remember." This got us to laugh and loosen up a bit, and we bent to our task with renewed energy.

  That evening, I posted copies of the annotated list on the several bulletin boards that served for the dissemination of news throughout Engineering Village. At the same time, copies were sent by Pony Express to Ulundi and beyond. The list is, of course, part of the official subcommittee minutes; but since it is such a key part of the story, I reproduce it here as part of my personal record:

  January 26, 2010

  Preliminary Allocation of Personnel Resources—A Report of the Joint Planning Subcommittee of the Coordinating Committee—Submitted for Review

  Agriculture and animal husbandry.

  Number of people assigned to this activity 7,000.

  Fishing 50.

  Preservation of fish: drying and salting 25.

  "The Scavengers": collecting tools and scrap metal 100.

  Construction: shelter, water supply and

  sanitation; roads, shops and factories. 2000.

  Architects and engineers, surveyors and helpers 100.

  Artisans to work on the manufacture of pencils

  and pens 10.

  Lumber and wood products:

  harvesting, hand-hewing, and making charcoal;

  set up sawmills in conjunction with construction

  trades; provide wood pulp for the manufacture of

  paper and as a raw material for

  future chemical industry 300.

  Special task force for cultivation and use of bamboo 50.

  Manufacture of brick 200.

  Manufacture of clay tile products,

  including pipe, roof, and floor tiles,

  and containers for cooking and storage 100.

  Special task force for development of

  fire brick and other refractory

  materials for use in furnaces 25.

  Manufacture of cement 50.

  Manufacture of glass 100.

  Quarrying of limestone 100.

  Quarrying of granite 100.

  Mining; first priority, coal and iron 700.

  Explosives 30.

  Metallurgists, geologists, and mining

  engineers directing and assisting mining operations 50.

  Iron and steel industry: starting with blacksmiths

  and primitive smelting facilities, evolving into

  the basic agent for industrialization,

&nb
sp; including development of machine tools

  and first steam engines 1,000.

  Courier service, including Pony Express,

  for transmission of information 100.

  Transporters of materials: the Teamsters 100.

  Building of wagons and other vehicles 200.

  Professionals and workers skilled in

  crafts of pioneer days, acting as consultants 50.

  Manufacture of yarns, textiles, and clothing,

  done in "cottage industry" settings 200.

  Mechanics to build and repair spinning

  wheels and looms 25.

  Planners for textile industry of the future 25.

  Other cottage industry manufactures:

  shoes, leather and fur garments, hats, candles,

  and soap 50.

  Food service for work sites and

  population centers where eating in a

  home setting is not feasible 200.

  Schoolteachers 240.

  Full-time government officials 200.

  Police 100.

  Medical 120.

  Research and Development 200.

  Unassigned 100.

  Total of Estimated Able-Bodied Working Population (Approximately Half the Total Population) ----14,000

  —————

  "Jeezuzz, Wilson!" John Hertzler flapped his arms in exasperation as he paced back and forth in front of my father. "This Planning Subcommittee of yours has come up with the stupidest idea since the Soviet Union's last Five-Year Plan." Remember, Dr. Hertzler is the computer genius who was invited to represent the Silicon Valley and Seattle-based sponsors of our floating seminar. He was the first speaker when the Coordinating Committee, together with the Joint Planning Subcommittee, convened to hear reaction to the proposed allocation of personnel.

  "If history has taught us anything at all," the tirade continued, "it's that industrial planning cannot be centralized. A bunch of big shots sitting up on Mount Olympus selecting a hundred people for this job, two hundred for that—that's a guaranteed recipe for failure. We've got to free up creative energies, provide incentives, bring out the entrepreneurial genius of our people. Get with the program, Wilson! This is the twenty-first century!"

  "Just a minute, John," my father said, speaking softly, although I could tell he was irked. He had spoken to me in just that way a million times.

  "I remember the Soviet Union, probably better than you do, because my firm actually worked there. I recall those construction jobs sitting idle because some crucial valve hadn't come—the factory wasn't making valves that month—or because some bureaucratic plant manager was dumb or uncaring or too well connected politically and couldn't be held accountable. You don't have to tell me about the benefits of the free market—efficiency rewarded by profit, incompetence punished by loss, and all that stuff. But you can't just wave a magic wand and say let's apply the free enterprise system here. We're in crisis mode. We're trying to survive and rebuild in the wilderness. Also, we don't have money and we don't have markets. Our only practical choice is to organize from the top." And then, quickly, before Hertzler could respond: "Besides, there were times when the Russians used central planning to very good effect. How do you think they made their atomic bombs, except by dictating exactly who should have what priority in ordering materials and who should work where—a hundred people for this job, two hundred for that?"

  Then it was General Allen White speaking, again before Hertzler could get a word in. "It's not just the Russians, Will. On behalf of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, let me say a word in favor of centralized planning. Some whiz kid in a garage can create a computer, but that's not how you establish a system of interstate highways. We couldn't have built all of America the way you built Silicon Valley."

  Good for you guys, I thought to myself. It's ridiculous to sit here on a barren beach and pontificate about laissez-faire capitalism. The history of technology shows us how important government planning is in the scheme of things—the Egyptians with their irrigation works, the Romans with their roads and aqueducts, the French with their bridges and canals. Sure, individual initiative is important; but you can't start building a civilization—pretty much from scratch—without state bureaucrats.

  It may be true that the Industrial Revolution in Britain was driven by entrepreneurs—Mr. Watt with his steam engine, for example, and a number of families that developed ever better ways of making iron. But at the same time, the crown played a vital role, especially in armories and shipyards, where government employees made important technical advances. You can't even argue that computers are a product of pure capitalism. When, during the 1960s, crucial work was done interfacing computers with humans, who do you think financed the work at the Stanford Research Institute? The Department of Defense, of course. And everyone knows that the Internet had its origins in military communication systems adapted for educational institutions. I felt like making a speech myself, but stifled the impulse.

  Hertzler retreated somewhat from his extreme position, but not completely. "In my experience, administrators and bureaucrats are the problem and inevitably direct us away from the solution that will satisfy anybody but themselves. They become tyrants..."

  My father held up his hand and continued in a conciliatory tone, partly to keep the peace and partly because he recognized the validity of Hertzler's concerns. "You certainly have a point, John," he said, "and I'll tell you what we're going to do. In every enterprise we establish, each individual will be encouraged to use his or her initiative. We can't have anarchy; but we can have a 'suggestion box' philosophy, trying to take advantage of each worker's resourcefulness and each middle manager's ingenuity. For incentive, I think that mere recognition will serve us well. We'll try praise and possibly different types of awards—'the idea of the month' sort of thing. Money, as I said, we simply don't have. We'll sit down with you and think about how to bring tangible compensation into play as soon as possible. But we can't let this divert us while we're trying to get started."

  "Okay, okay," Hertzler growled. "But what are you going to do about modifying those allocations of personnel? You know, for sure, that you're going to have too many miners and too few brick-makers, or vice versa. The scheme is so damned arbitrary."

  I could see that Alf Richards, who had so far controlled his irritation by pouring himself two cups of coffee, was about ready to explode. But my father held him off with a wave and a wink, and continued.

  "Look, we've given that a lot of thought, John, and I've discussed the problem at length with Alf here and some of his associates on the Planning Subcommittee. I hope you'll approve of what we're thinking. We're going to look at the situation as a problem in systems engineering."

  "Well, I don't know," said Hertzler, quieter now, and thoughtful. "Sometimes I think that systems stuff is a lot of gobbledygook."

  "It certainly isn't my specialty," my father said, "but Harry Robbins, who is one of the top people in the field, is a member of the subcommittee, and he has assured Alf and me that the approach will be very helpful."

  —————

  It's been almost a year since this conversation took place, and during that time I've had ample opportunity to see Robbins and his colleagues at work, applying the principles of systems engineering to the problems of resource allocation within the Ulundi Circle. I can't say that I understand everything they're up to, by a long shot. And sometimes I think that there isn't that much to understand; that, in spite of their abstruse lingo, they're just using old-fashioned common sense.

  What we start with is a large and complex system. And within this, a change in one part, or subsystem, is likely to affect many other subsystems. The goal, to quote Dr. Robbins, is "to achieve an optimum balance of all system elements." Well, sure. It's like when you're designing an airplane and you want to make the fuselage larger to carry more payload, you have to reconsider the engines, the fuel tanks, the landing gear, and so forth. Then each of these changes affects the aerodyn
amic characteristics of the craft, and you have to adjust each part again and again seeking an optimum overall design. In the good old days—pre-Event, that is—you could put all of these variables into a computer program and see the effect of each contemplated change by pushing a button. In our particular and peculiar case, not only don't we have operative computers, but I dare say that our variables are more challenging than any single industrial problem, even designing a jet plane.

  Since we have a limited number of able-bodied workers, adding workers to one activity means subtracting them from another. So, an essential part of the Planning Subcommittee's work is to adjust the worker allocations. In order to make such decisions, the evaluator must be given frequent reports from the leaders of each enterprise, setting forth needs, accomplishments, and projections for the future.

  But allocation of personnel is only one aspect of the problem. The webs of interrelationship are endlessly complex. For example, iron tools are needed for farming, mining, lumbering, and construction; iron nails are needed for buildings and other wooden products; iron axles and wheel rims are needed for wagons. So, given limited capacity, how many of each product should the blacksmiths make? The smiths need smelted iron, tools, and fuel for fires; the smelters need ore and charcoal or coal; these materials must be transported, which requires wagons and decent roads—and so forth, in a bewildering interplay of causes and effects. It is the essence of systems engineering to bring order out of such apparent chaos.

  Kind of takes my breath away...

  A key tool in this discipline is the flow chart, a graphic depiction of the overall system, in which geometric figures—circles, squares, triangles, etc.—are drawn to represent various subsystems and arrows represent their interactions. Such charts—and I've seen more than my share during the past year—help point out the interrelationships of processes within the main system. If a sawmill is one of our subsystems, then it's important that the millpond (built by the construction organization) be ready before the completion of the waterwheel (made by carpenters) and the metal saw (coming from the blacksmith shop). All must be in place before the lumber (gathered by the logging crews) comes to be cut into boards and beams. Transport must be available when it's time to move the materials.