The Goal: a process of Ongoing Improvement

parts in advance and switch loads with the use of a forklift. If it saves us a
couple of hours a day, that means we can do an extra heat of parts over the
course of a week.’’ I look from the furnaces back to Mike. I say, "Mike, I
want you to take tomorrow night off. We’ll get one of the other foremen to
cover for you.’’
"Sounds good to me,’’ he says with a grin. "How come?’’ "Because the day
after tomorrow, I want you on day turn. I’m going to have Bob Donovan put
you together with an I.E. to write up these procedures formally, so we can
start using them round the clock,’’ I tell him. "You keep that mind of yours
working. We need it.’’
Later that morning, Donovan happens by my office. "Hi, there,’’ he says.
"Well, hello,’’ I tell him. "Did you get my note on Haley?’’ "It’s being taken
care of,’’ says Bob.
"Good. And let’s make sure he gets some more money out of this whenever
the wage freeze is lifted,’’ I say.
"Okay,’’ says Bob as a smile spreads across his face. Then he leans against
the doorway.
"Something else?’’ I ask.
"Got good news for you,’’ says Bob.
"How good?’’

---

"Remember when Jonah asked us if all the parts going through heat-treat
really needed it?’’ I tell him I remember.
"I just found out that in three cases, it wasn’t engineering that specified heat-
treat. It was us,’’ says Bob.
"What do you mean?’’
He explains that about five years ago some group of hotshots were trying to
improve the efficiencies of several of the machining centers. To speed up the
processing, the cutting tool "bite’’ was increased. So on each pass, instead of
shaving a chip that was a millimeter thick, the tool took off three millimeters.
But increasing the amount of metal taken off on each pass made the metal
brittle. And this necessitated heat-treating. "The thing is, the machines we
made more efficient happen to be non-bottlenecks,’’ says Bob. "We have
enough capacity on them to slow down and still meet demand. And if we go
back to the slower processing, we don’t need the heat-treat. Which means we
can take about twenty percent of the current load off the furnaces.’’
"Sounds fantastic,’’ I tell him. "What about getting it approved by
engineering?’’
"That’s the beauty of it,’’ says Bob. 
"We
were the ones who initiated the
change five years ago.’’
"So if it was our option to begin with,’’ I say, "we can change it back any
time we want.’’
"Right! We don’t need to get an engineering change order, because we
already have an approved procedure on the books,’’ says Bob.
He leaves shortly with my blessing to implement the change as soon as
possible. I sit there marveling that we’re going to 
reduce
the efficiency of
some operations and make the entire plant more productive. They’d never
believe it on the fifteenth floor.

---

24
It’s a Friday afternoon. Out in the parking lot, the people on first shift are
getting into their cars to go home. There is the usual congestion at the gate.
I’m in my office—minding my own business—when suddenly, from through
the half-open door . . . BAM!
Something ricochets off the ceiling tiles. I jump to my feet, check myself
for wounds and, finding none, search the carpet for the offending missile. It’s
a champagne cork.
There is laughing outside my door. In the next instant, it seems as though
everyone is in my office. There is Stacey, Bob Donovan (who holds the bottle
from which the cork came), Ralph, Fran, a couple of the secretaries, and a
swarm of other people—even Lou joins us. Fran hands me one of the
styrofoam coffee cups she’s dispensing to everyone. Bob fills it from the
bottle.
"What’s this all about?’’ I ask.
"I’ll tell you in the toast I’m going to make as soon as everyone has
something to swallow,’’ says Bob.
More bottles are opened—there is a case of this stuff—and when all the cups
are filled, Bob lifts his own.
"Here’s to a new plant record in shipments of product,’’ he says. "Lou went
through the records for us and discovered that until now the best this place
has ever done in a month was thirtyone orders shipped at value of about two
million dollars. This month we topped that. We shipped fifty-seven customer
orders with a value of . . . well, in round numbers, we’ll call it a cool three
million.’’

---

"Not only did we ship more product,’’ says Stacey, "but, having just
calculated our inventory levels, I am pleased to report that between last
month and now, we’ve had a twelve percent net decline in work-in-process
inventory.’’
"Well, then, let’s drink to making money!’’ I say.
And we do.
"Mmmmm... industrial strength champagne,’’ says Stacey.
"Very distinctive,’’ says Ralph to Bob. "Did you pick this out yourself?’’
"Keep drinking. It gets better,’’ says Donovan.
I’m just about to hazard a second cup when I notice Fran beside me.
"Mr. Rogo?’’
"Yes.’’
"Bill Peach is on the line,’’ says Fran.
I shake my head wondering what the hell it’s going to be this time.
"I’ll take it at your desk, Fran.’’
I go out there and punch the blinking button on my phone and pick it up.
"Yes, Bill, what can I do for you?’’
"I was just talking to Johnny Jons,’’ says Peach.
I automatically grab a pencil and pull over a pad of paper to take down the