The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement, Third Revised Edition
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the right thing."
By the time I get both kids to school and myself to work, it's
past nine o'clock. As I walk in, Fran waves a message slip at me. I
grab it and read it. It's from Hilton Smyth, marked "urgent" and double underlined.
I call him.
"Well, it's about time," says Hilton. "I tried to reach you an hour ago."
I roll my eyes. "What's the problem, Hilton?"
"Your people are sitting on a hundred sub-assemblies I
need," says Smyth.
"Hilton, we're not sitting on anything," I say.
He raises his voice. "Then why aren't they here? I've got a
customer order we can't ship because your people dropped the
ball!"
"Just give me the particulars, and I'll have somebody look
into it," I tell him.
He gives some reference numbers and I write them down.
"Okay, I'll have somebody get back to you."
"You'd better do more than that, pal," says Hilton. "You'd
better make sure we get those sub-assemblies by the end of the
day—and I mean all 100 pieces, not 87, not 99, but all of them.
Because I'm not going to have my people do two setups for final
assembly on account of your lateness."
"Look, we'll do our best," I tell him, "but I'm not going to make promises."
"Oh? Well, let's just put it this way," he says. "If we don't get 100 sub-assemblies from you today, I'm talking to Peach. And
from what I hear you're in enough trouble with him already."
"Listen, pal, my status with Bill Peach is none of your damn business," I tell him. "What makes you think you can threaten
me?"
The pause is so long I think he's going to hang up on me.
Then he says, "Maybe you ought to read your mail."
"What do you mean by that?"
I can hear him smiling.
"Just get me the sub-assemblies by the end of the day," he
says sweetly. "Bye-bye."
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I hang up.
"Weird," I mumble.
I talk to Fran. She calls Bob Donovan for me and then noti-
fies the staff that there will be a meeting at ten o'clock. Donovan
comes in and I ask him to have an expediter see what's holding
up the job for Smyth's plant. Almost gritting my teeth as I say it, I
tell him to make sure the sub-assemblies go out today. After he's
gone, I try to forget about the call, but I can't. Finally, I go ask
Fran if anything has come in recently that mentions Hilton
Smyth. She thinks for a minute, then reaches for a folder.
"This memo just came in on Friday," she says. "It looks like Mr. Smyth got a promotion."
I take the memo she hands me. It's from Bill Peach. It's an
announcement that he's named Smyth to the newly-created posi-
tion of division productivity manager. The appointment is effec-
tive at the end of this week. The job description says that all plant
managers will now report on a dotted line to Smyth, who will
"give special attention to manufacturing-productivity improve-
ment with emphasis on cost reduction."
And I start to sing, "Oh, what a beautiful morning. . . !"
Whatever enthusiasm I expected from the staff with regard
to my education over the weekend . . . well, I don't get it.
Maybe I thought all I had to do was walk in and open my mouth
to reveal my discoveries, and they'd all be instantly converted by
the obvious Tightness. But it doesn't work that way. We—Lou,
Bob, Stacey, and Ralph Nakamura, who runs data processing for
the plant—are in the conference room. I'm standing in front next
to an easel which holds a big pad of paper, sheet after sheet of
which is covered with little diagrams I've drawn during my expla-
nations. I've invested a couple of hours in making those explana-
tions. But now it's almost time for lunch, and they're all just sit-
ting there unimpressed.
Looking down the table at the faces looking back at me, I can
see they don't know what to make of what I've told them. Okay, I
think I see a faint glimmer of understanding in Stacey's eyes. Bob
Donovan is on the fence; he seems to have intuitively grasped
some of it. Ralph is not sure what it is I'm really saying. And Lou
is frowning at me. One sympathizer, one undecided, one bewil-
dered, and one skeptic.
"Okay, what's the problem?" I ask.
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They glance at each other .
"Come on," I say. "This is like I just proved two and two
equals four and you don't believe me." I look straight at Lou.
"What's the problem you're having?"
Lou sits back and shakes his head. "I don't know, Al. It's just
that . . . well, you said how you figured this out by watching a
bunch of kids on a hike in the woods."
"So what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. But how do you know these things are really go-
ing on out there in the plant?"
I flip back a few sheets on the easel until I find the one with
the names of Jonah's two phenomena written on it.
"Look at this: do we have statistical fluctuations in our opera-
tions?" I ask, pointing to the words.
"Yes, we do," he says.
"And do we have dependent events in our plant?" I ask.
"Yes," he says again.
"Then what I've told you has to be right," I say.
"Now hold on a minute," says Bob. "Robots don't have statistical fluctuations. They always work at the same pace. That's one
of the reasons we bought the damn things—consistency. And I
thought the main reason you went to see this Jonah guy was to
find out what to do about the robots."
"It's okay to say that fluctuations in cycle time for a robot
would be almost flat while it was working," I tell him. "But we're not dealing just with a robotic operation. Our other operations
do have both phenomena. And, remember, the goal isn't to make
the robots productive; it's to make the whole system productive.
Isn't that right, Lou?"
"Well, Bob may have a point. We've got a lot of automated
equipment out there, and the process times ought to be fairly
consistent," says Lou.
Stacey turns to him. "But what he's saying—"
Just then the conference room door opens. Fred, one of our
expeditors, puts his head into the room and looks at Bob Dono-
van.
"May I see you for a second?" he asks Bob. "It's about the job for Hilton Smyth."
Bob stands up to leave the room, but I tell Fred to come in.
Like it or not, I have to be interested in what's happening on this
"crisis" for Hilton Smyth. Fred explains that the job has to go
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through two more departments before the sub-assemblies are
complete and ready for shipment.
"Can we get them out today?" I ask.
"It's going to be close, but we can try," says Fred. "The truck shuttle leaves at five o'clock."
The shuttle is a private trucking serv
ice that all the plants in
the division use to move parts back and forth.
"Five o'clock is the last run of the day that we can use to
reach Smyth's plant," says Bob. "If we don't make that trip, the next shuttle won't be until tomorrow afternoon."
"What has to be done?" I ask.
"Peter Schnell's department has to do some fabricating.
Then the pieces have to be welded," says Fred. "We're going to
set up one of the robots to do the welds."
"Ah, yes, the robots," I say. "You think we can do it?"
"According to the quotas, Pete's people are supposed to give
us the parts for twenty-five units every hour," says Fred. "And I know the robot is capable of welding twenty-five units of this subassembly per hour."
Bob asks about moving the pieces to the robot. In a normal
situation, the pieces finished by Pete's people probably would be
moved to the robot only once a day, or maybe not until the entire
batch was finished. We can't wait that long. The robot has to
begin its work as soon as possible.
"I'll make arrangements to have a materials handler stop at
Pete's department every hour on the hour," says Fred.
"Okay," says Bob. "How soon can Pete start?"
Fred says, "Pete can start on the job at noon, so we've got five
hours."
"You know that Pete's people quit at four," says Bob.
"Yeah, I told you it's going to be close," says Fred. "But all we can do is try. That's what you want, isn't it?"
This gives me an idea. I talk to the staff. "You people don't
really know what to make of what I told you this morning. But if
what I've told you is correct, then we should be able to see the
effects occurring out there on the floor. Am I right?"
The heads nod.
"And if we know that Jonah is correct, we'd be pretty stupid
to continue running the plant the same way as before—right? So
I'm going to let you see for yourselves what's happening. You say
Pete's going to start on this at noon?"
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now. They went at eleven-thirty. So they'll start at twelve. And the
robot will be set up by one o'clock, when the materials handler
will make the first transfer."
I take some paper and a pencil and start sketching a simple
schedule.
"The output has to be one hundred pieces by five o'clock—
no less than that. Hilton says he won't accept a partial shipment.
So if we can't do the whole job, then I don't want us to ship
anything," I say. "Now Pete's people are supposed to produce at
the rate of twenty-five pieces per hour. But that doesn't mean
they'll always have twenty-five at the end of every hour. Some-
times they'll be a few pieces short, sometimes they'll be a few
ahead."
I look around; everyone is with me.
"So we've got statistical fluctuations going on," I say. "But we're planning that from noon until four o'clock, Pete's department should have averaged an output of one hundred pieces.
The robot, on the other hand, is supposed to be more precise in
its output. It will be set up to work at the rate of twenty-five pieces
per hour—no more, no less. We also have dependent events, be-
cause the robot cannot begin its welding until the materials han-
dler has delivered the pieces from Pete's department."
"The robot can't start until one o'clock," I say, "but by five o'clock when the truck is ready to leave, we want to be loading
the last piece into the back. So, expressed in a diagram, this is
what is supposed to happen . . ."
I show them the finished schedule, which looks like this:
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"Okay, I want Pete to keep a log of exactly how many parts
are actually completed by his department hour by hour," I say .
"And I want Fred to keep the same type of log for the robot . And remember: no cheating. We need the real numbers. Okay?"
"Sure, no problem," says Fred.
"By the way, do you actually think we'll be able to ship one
hundred pieces today?" I ask.
"I guess it's up to Pete," says Bob. "If he says he can do it, I don't see why not."
"Tell you what," I say to Bob. "I'll bet you ten bucks we don't ship today."
"You serious?" asks Bob.
"Sure I am."
"Okay, you're on," says Bob. "Ten bucks."
While everyone else is at lunch, I call Hilton Smyth. Hilton is
at lunch as well, but I leave a message for him. I tell his secretary
the sub-assemblies will definitely arrive at his plant tomorrow, but
that's the best we can do—unless Hilton wants to pay for a special
shipment tonight. (Knowing his concern for holding down costs,
I'm sure Hilton won't want to shell out anything extra.)
After that call, I sit back and try to think about my marriage
and what to do. Obviously, there has been no news from Julie.
I'm mad as hell that she took off—I'm also very worried about
her. But what can I do? I can't cruise the streets looking for her.
She could be anywhere; I just have to be patient. Eventually I
should hear from her. Or her lawyer. Meanwhile, there are two
kids who have to be taken care of. Well, for all practical purposes,
we'd better make that three kids.
Fran comes into my office with another message slip. She
says, "One of the other secretaries just gave me this as I got back
from lunch. While you were on the phone, you got a call from
David Rogo. Is that your son?"
"Yes, what's the problem?"
"It says, he's worried he won't be able to get into the house
after school," she says. "Is your wife gone?"
"Yeah, she's out of town for a few days," I tell her. "Fran, you've got a couple of kids. How do you manage to hold a job
and take care of them?"
She laughs. "Well, 'tain't easy. On the other hand, I don't
work the long hours you do. If I were you, I'd get some help until
she gets back."
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When she leaves, I pick up the phone again.
"Hello, Mom? It's Alex."
"Have you heard from Julie yet?" she asks.
"No, I haven't," I say. "Listen, Mom, would you mind stay-
ing with me and the kids until Julie gets back?"
At two o'clock I slip out to pick up my mother and take her
to the house before the kids get home from school. When I arrive
at her house, she's at the door with two suitcases and four card-
board boxes filled with half of her kitchen.
"Mom, we've already got pots and pans at my house," I tell
her.
"They're just not the same as mine," she says.
So we load the trunk. I take her and her pots and pans over
to the house and unload. She waits for the kids to come home
from school, and I race back to the plant.
Around four o'clock, at the end of first shift, I go down to
Bob Donovan's office to find out what the story is on Smyth's
<
br /> shipment. He's waiting for me.
"Well, well, well. Good afternoon!" says Bob as I open the
door and walk in. "How nice of you to drop by!"
"What are you so happy about?" I ask him.
"I'm always happy when people who owe me money drop
by," says Bob.
"Oh, is that right?" I ask him. "What makes you think any-
body owes you money?"
Bob holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers. "Come on!
Don't tell me you forgot about the bet we made! Ten bucks, re-
member? I just talked to Pete and his people are indeed going to
finish the hundred units of parts. So the robot should have no
problem finishing that shipment for Smyth's plant."
"Yeah? Well, if that's true I won't mind losing," I tell him.
"So you concede defeat?"
"No way. Not until those sub-assemblies get on the five
o'clock truck," I tell him.
"Suit yourself," says Bob.
"Let's go see what's really going on out there," I say.
We take a walk out on the floor to Pete's office. Before we get
there, we pass the robot, who's brightening the area with its weld
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flashes. Coming the other way are two guys. Just as they pass the
welding area, they stop and give a little cheer.
"We beat the robot! We beat the robot!" they say.
"Must be from Pete's department," says Bob.
We smile as we pass them. They didn't really beat anything,
of course, but what the hell. They look happy. Bob and I con-
tinue on to Pete's office, which is a little steel-sided shack among
the machines.
"Hello there," says Pete as we walk in. "We got that rush job done for you today."
"Good, Pete. But do you have that log sheet you were sup-
posed to keep," I ask him.
"Yes, I do," says Pete. "Now where did I put it?"
He sorts through the papers on his desk, talking as he hunts
for it.
"You should have seen my people this afternoon. I mean,
they really moved. I went around and told them how important
this shipment is, and they really put themselves into it. You know
how things usually slow down a little at the end of a shift. But
today they hustled. They were proud when they walked out of
here today."
"Yeah, we noticed," says Bob.
He puts the log sheet down on top of a table in front of us.