The Goal: a process of Ongoing Improvement

as
a whole
to move faster, to gain more throughput? No way. Each of the other
boys down the line is walking a little bit faster than the kid directly behind
him. Are any of them helping to move the troop faster? Absolutely not.
Herbie is walking at his own slower speed. He is the one who is governing
throughput for the troop as a whole.
In fact, whoever is moving the slowest in the troop is the one who will
govern throughput. And that person may not always be Herbie. Before lunch,

---

Herbie was walking faster. It really wasn’t obvious who was the slowest in
the troop. So the role of Herbie— the greatest limit on throughput—was
actually floating through the troop; it depended upon who was moving the
slowest at a particular time. But overall, Herbie has the least capacity for
walking. His rate ultimately determines the troop’s rate. Which means—
"Hey, look at this, Mr. Rogo,’’ says Herbie.
He’s pointing at a marker made of concrete next to the trail. I take a look.
Well, I’ll be...it’s a milestone! A genuine, honest-to-god milestone! How
many speeches have I heard where somebody talks about these damn things?
And this is the first one I’ve ever come across. This is what it says:
<---5-->
miles
Hmmm. It must mean there are five miles to walk in both directions. So
this must be the mid-point of the hike. Five miles to go.
What time is it?
I check my watch. Gee, it’s 2:30 P.M. already. And we left at 8:30 A.M. So
subtracting the hour we took for lunch, that means we’ve covered five miles
...in five hours?
We aren’t moving at two miles per hour. We are moving at the rate of one
mile per hour. So with five hours to go . . .
It’s going to be DARK by the time we get there.
And Herbie is standing here next to me delaying the throughput of the entire
troop.
"Okay, let’s go! Let’s go!’’ I tell him.

---

"All right! All right!’’ says Herbie, jumping.
What am I going to do?
Rogo, (I’m telling myself in my head), you loser! You can’t even manage a
troop of Boy Scouts! Up front, you’ve got some kid who wants to set a speed
record. and here you are stuck behind Fat Herbie, the slowest kid in the
woods. After an hour, the kid in front—if he’s really moving at three miles
per hour—is going to be two miles ahead. Which means you’re going to have
to run two miles to catch up with him.
If this were my plant, Peach wouldn’t even give me three months. I’d already
be on the street by now. The demand was for us to cover ten miles in five
hours, and we’ve only done half of that. Inventory is racing out of sight. The
carrying costs on that inventory would be rising. We’d be ruining the
company.
But there really isn’t much I can do about Herbie. Maybe I could put him
someplace else in the line, but he’s not going to move any faster. So it
wouldn’t make any difference.
Or would it?
"HEY!’’ I yell forward. "TELL THE KID AT THE FRONT TO STOP
WHERE HE IS!’’
The boys relay the call up to the front of the column.
"EVERYBODY STAY IN LINE UNTIL WE CATCH UP!’’ I yell. "DON’T
LOSE YOUR PLACE IN THE LINE!’’
Fifteen minutes later, the troop is standing in condensed line. I find that Andy
is the one who usurped the role of leader. I remind them all to stay in exactly
the same place they had when we were walking.
"Okay,’’ I say. "Everybody join hands.’’

---

They all look at each other.
"Come on! Just do it!’’ I tell them. "And don’t let go.’’
Then I take Herbie by the hand and, as if I’m dragging a chain, I go up the
trail, snaking past the entire line. Hand in hand, the rest of the troop follows. I
pass Andy and keep walking. And when I’m twice the distance of the line-up,
I stop. What I’ve done is turn the entire troop around so that the boys have
exactly the opposite order they had before.
"Now listen up!’’ I say. "This is the order you’re going to stay in until we
reach where we’re going. Understood? Nobody passes anybody. Everybody
just tries to keep up with the person in front of him. Herbie will lead.’’
Herbie looks shocked and amazed. "Me?’’
Everyone else looks aghast too.
"You want 
him 
to lead?’’ asks Andy.
"But he’s the slowest one!’’ says another kid.
And I say, "The idea of this hike is not to see who can get there the fastest.
The idea is to get there together. We’re not a bunch of individuals out here.
We’re a team. And the team does not arrive in camp until all of us arrive in
camp.’’
So we start off again. And it works. No kidding. Everybody stays together
behind Herbie. I’ve gone to the back of the line so I can keep tabs, and I keep
waiting for the gaps to appear, but they don’t. In the middle of the line I see
someone pause to adjust his pack straps. But as soon as he starts again, we all
walk just a little faster and we’re caught up. Nobody’s out of breath. What a
difference!
Of course, it isn’t long before the fast kids in the back of the line start their
grumbling.

---

"Hey, Herpes!’’ yells one of them. "I’m going to sleep back here. Can’t you
speed it up a little?’’
"He’s doing the best he can,’’ says the kid behind Herbie, "so lay off him!’’
"Mr. Rogo, can’t we put somebody faster up front?’’ asks a kid ahead of me.
"Listen, if you guys want to go faster, then you have to figure out a way to let
Herbie go faster,’’ I tell them.
It gets quiet for a few minutes.
Then one of the kids in the rear says, "Hey, Herbie, what have you got in
your pack?’’
"None of your business!’’ says Herbie.
But I say, "Okay, let’s hold up for a minute.’’
Herbie stops and turns around. I tell him to come to the back of the line and
take off his pack. As he does, I take the pack from him—and nearly drop it.
"Herbie, this thing weighs a ton,’’ I say. "What have you got in here?’’
"Nothing much,’’ says Herbie.
I open it up and reach in. Out comes a six-pack of soda. Next are some cans
of spaghetti. Then come a box of candy bars, a jar of pickles, and two cans of
tuna fish. Beneath a rain coat and rubber boots and a bag of tent stakes, I pull
out a large iron skillet. And off to the side is an army-surplus collapsible steel
shovel.
"Herbie, why did you ever decide to bring all this along?’’ I ask.
He looks abashed. "We’re supposed to be prepared, you know.’’
"Okay, let’s divide this stuff up,’’ I say.

---

"I can carry it!’’ Herbie insists.
"Herbie, look, you’ve done a great job of lugging this stuff so far. But we
have to make you able to move faster,’’ I say. "If we take some of the load
off you, you’ll be able to do a better job at the front of the line.’’
Herbie finally seems to understand. Andy takes the iron skillet, and a few of
the others pick up a couple of the items I’ve pulled out of the pack. I take
most of it and put it into my own pack, because I’m the biggest. Herbie goes
back to the head of the line.
Again we start walking. But this time, Herbie can really move. Relieved of
most of the weight in his pack, it’s as if he’s walking on air. We’re flying
now, doing twice the speed as a troop that we did before. And we still stay
together. Inventory is down. Throughput is up.
Devil’s Gulch is lovely in the late afternoon sun. Down in what appears
to be the gulch, the Rampage River goes creaming past boulders and
outcroppings of rock. Golden rays of sunlight shift through the trees. Birds
are tweeting. And off in the distance is the unmistakable melody of high-
speed automobile traffic.
"Look!’’ shouts Andy as he stands atop the promontory, "There’s a
shopping center out there!’’
"Does it have a Burger King?’’ asks Herbie.
Dave complains, "Hey, this isn’t The Wilderness.’’
"They just don’t make wildernesses the way they used to,’’ I tell him. "Look,
we’ll have to settle for what we’ve got. Let’s make camp.’’
The time is now five o’clock. This means that after relieving Herbie of his
pack, we covered about four miles in two hours. Herbie was the key to
controlling the entire troop.

---

Tents are erected. A spaghetti dinner is prepared by Dave and Evan. Feeling
somewhat guilty because I set up the rules that drove them into their
servitude, I give them a hand with cleaning up afterwards.
Dave and I share the same tent that night. We’re lying inside it, both of us
tired. Dave is quiet for a while. Then he speaks up.
He says, "You know, Dad, I was really proud of you today.’’
"You were? How come?’’
"The way you figured out what was going on and kept everyone together, and
put Herbie in front—we’d probably have been on that trail forever if it hadn’t
been for you,’’ he says. "None of the other guys’ parents took any
responsibility for anything. But you did.’’
"Thanks,’’ I tell him. "Actually, I learned a lot of things today.’’
"You did?’’
"Yeah, stuff that I think is going to help me straighten out the plant,’’ I say.
"Really? Like what?’’
"Are you sure you want to hear about it?’’
"Sure I am,’’ he claims.
We’re awake for some time talking about everything. He hangs in there, even
asks some questions. By the time we’re finished, all we can hear is some
snoring from the other tents, a few crickets... and the squealing tires of some
idiot turning donuts out there on the highway.

---

16
Davey and I get home around 4:30 on Sunday afternoon. Both of us are
tired, but we’re feeling pretty good in spite of the miles. After I pull into the
driveway, Dave hops out to open the garage door. I ease the
Mazda
in and go
around to open the trunk so we can get our packs.
"I wonder where Mom went,’’ says Dave.
I look over and notice that her car is gone.
"She’s probably out shopping or something,’’ I tell Dave. Inside, Dave stows
the camping gear while I go into the bedroom to change clothes. A hot
shower is going to feel absolutely terrific. After I wash off the great outdoors,
I’m thinking, maybe I’ll take everybody out to dinner, get us a good meal as
kind of a celebration of the triumphant return of father and son.
A closet door is open in the bedroom. When I reach to shut it, I see that
most of Julie’s clothes are gone. I stand there for a minute looking at the
empty space. Dave comes up behind me.
"Dad?’’
I turn.
"This was on the kitchen table. I guess Mom left it.’’ He hands me a sealed
envelope.
"Thanks Dave.’’
I wait until he’s gone to open it. Inside is just a short handwritten note. It
says:

---

Al,
I can’t handle always being last in line for you. I need more of you and
it’s clear now that you won’t change. I’m going away for a while. Need to
think things over. Sorry to do this to you. I know you’re busy.
Yours truly, Julie 
P.S. —I left Sharon with your mother. When I’m able to move, I put the
note in my pocket and go find Davey. I tell him I have to go across town to
pick up Sharon, and that he’s to stay here. If his mother calls, he’s to ask her
where she’s calling from and get a number where I can call her back. He
wants to know if something is wrong. I tell him not to worry and promise to
explain when I get back.
I go rocketing to my mother’s house. When she opens the door, she starts
talking about Julie before I can even say hello.
"Alex, do you know your wife did the strangest thing,’’ she says. "I was
making lunch yesterday when the doorbell rang, and when I opened the door
Sharon was standing here on the step with her little suitcase. And your wife
was in the car at the curb there, but she wouldn’t get out and when I went
down to talk to her, she drove away.’’
By now I’m in the door. Sharon runs to greet me from the living room where
she is watching television. I pick her up and she gives me a long hug. My
mother is still talking.
"What on earth could be wrong with her?’’ my mother asks me.
"We’ll talk about it later,’’ I tell her.
"I just don’t understand what—’’
"Later,
okay?’’
Then I look at Sharon. Her face is rigid. Her eyes are frozen big. She’s
terrified.

---

"So... did you have a nice visit with Grandma?’’ I ask her.
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
"What do you say we go home now?’’
She looks down at the floor.
"Don’t you want to go home?’’ I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders.
"Do you like it here with Grandma?’’ my smiling mother asks her.
Sharon starts to cry.
I get Sharon and her suitcase into the car. We start home. After I’ve driven a
couple of blocks, I look over at her. She’s like a little statue sitting there
staring straight ahead with her red eyes focused on the top of the dashboard.
At the next stoplight, I reach over for her and pull her next to me.
She’s very quiet for a while, but then she finally looks up at me and whispers,
"Is Mommy still mad at me?’’
"Mad at you? She isn’t mad at you,’’ I tell her. "Yes she is. She wouldn’t talk
to me.’’
"No, no, no, Sharon,’’ I say. "Your mother isn’t upset with you. You didn’t
do anything wrong.’’
"Then why?’’ she asks.
I say, "Why don’t we wait until we get home. I’ll explain it to both you and
your brother then.’’
I think that explaining the situation to both of the kids at the same time turns

---

out to be easier on me than on them. I’ve always been reasonably adept at
maintaining the outward illusion of control in the midst of chaos. I tell them
Julie has simply gone away for a little while, maybe only a day or so. She’ll
be back. She just has to get over a few things that are upsetting and confusing
her. I give them all the standard reassurances: your mom still loves you; I still
love you; there was nothing that either of you could have done; everything
will work out for the best. For the most part, both of them sit there like little
rocks. Maybe they’re reflecting back what I’m giving them.
We go out and get a pizza for dinner. That normally would be kind of a
fun thing. Tonight, it’s very quiet. Nobody has anything to say. We
mechanically chew and then leave.
When we get back, I make both of the kids do homework for school. I
don’t know if they do it or not. I go to the phone, and after a long debate with
myself, I try to make a couple of calls.
Julie doesn’t have any friends in Bearington. None that I know of. So it
would be useless to try to call the neighbors. They wouldn’t know anything,
and the story about us having problems would spread instantly.
Instead, I try calling Jane, the friend from the last place we lived, the one
whom Julie claimed to have spent the night with last Thursday. There is no
answer at Jane’s.
So then I try Julie’s parents. I get her father on the phone. After some
small talk about the weather and the kids, it’s clear he isn’t going to make
any declarations. I conclude that her parents don’t know what’s going on. But
before I can think of a casual way to end the call and avoid the explanations,
her old man asks me, "So is Julie going to talk to us?’’
"Ah, well, that’s actually why I was calling,’’ I say. "Oh? Nothing is
wrong I hope,’’ he says.
"I’m afraid there is,’’ I say. "She left yesterday while I was on a camping trip
with Dave. I was wondering if you had heard from her.’’

---

Immediately he’s spreading the alarm to Julie’s mother. She gets on the
phone.
"Why did she leave?’’ she asks.
"I don’t know.’’
"Well, I know the daughter we raised, and she wouldn’t just leave without a
very good reason,’’ says Julie’s mother.
"She just left me a note saying she had to get away for awhile.’’