The Goal: A Process of Ongoing Improvement (9 page)

Three hours later—after dusting through the drawings I made in the first grade, my model airplanes, an assortment of musical instruments my brother once attempted to play in his quest to become a rock star, my yearbooks, four steamer trunks filled with receipts from my father’s business, old love letters, old snapshots, old newspapers, old you-name-it—the address book is still at large. We give up on the attic. My mother prevails upon me to have some ziti. Then we try the basement.
"Oh, look!’’ says my mother.
"Did you find it?’’ I ask.

"No, but here’s a picture of your Uncle Paul before he was arrested for embezzlement. Did I ever tell you that story?’’
After another hour, we’ve gone through everything, and I’ve had a refresher course in all there is to know about Uncle Paul. Where the hell could it be?
"Well, I don’t know,’’ says my mother. "Unless it could be in your old room.’’
We go upstairs to the room I used to share with Danny. Over in the corner is the old desk where I used to study when I was a kid. I open the top drawer. And, of course, there it is.
"Mom, I need to use your phone.’’

My mother’s phone is located on the landing of the stairs between the floors of the house. It’s the same phone that was installed in 1936 after my father began to make enough money from the store to afford one. I sit down on the steps, a pad of paper on my lap, briefcase at my feet. I pick up the receiver, which is heavy enough to bludgeon a burglar into submission. I dial the number, the first of many.

It’s one o’clock by now. But I’m calling Israel, which happens to be on the other side of the world from us. And vice versa. Which roughly means their days are our nights, our nights are their mornings, and consequently, one in the morning is not such a bad time to call.

Before long, I’ve reached a friend I made at the university, someone who knows what’s become of Jonah. He finds me another number to call. By two o’clock, I’ve got the tablet of paper on my lap covered with numbers I’ve scribbled down, and I’m talking to some people who work with Jonah. I convince one of them to give me the number where I can reach him. By three o’clock, I’ve found him. He’s in London. After several transfers here and there across some office of some company, I’m told that he will call me when he gets in. I don’t really believe that, but I doze by the phone. And forty-five minutes later, it rings.

"Alex?’’
It’s his voice.
"Yes, Jonah,’’ I say.
"I got a message you had called.’’
"Right,’’ I say. "You remember our meeting in O’Hare.’’ "Yes, of course I remember it,’’ he says. "And I presume you have something to tell me now.’’

I freeze for a moment. Then I realize he’s referring to his question, what is the goal?
"Right,’’ I say.
"Well?’’
I hesitate. My answer seems so ludicrously simple I am suddenly afraid that it must be wrong, that he will laugh at me. But I blurt it out.
"The goal of a manufacturing organization is to make money,’’ I say to him. "And everything else we do is a means to achieve the goal.’’
But Jonah doesn’t laugh at me.
"Very good, Alex. Very good,’’ he says quietly.
"Thanks,’’ I tell him. "But, see, the reason I called was to ask you a question that’s kind of related to the discussion we had at O’Hare.’’
"What’s the problem?’’ he asks.
"Well, in order to know if my plant is helping the company make money, I have to have some kind of measurements,’’ I say. "Right?’’
"That’s correct,’’ he says.
"And I know that up in the executive suite at company headquarters, they’ve got measurements like net profit and return on investment and cash flow, which they apply to the overall organization to check on progress toward the goal.’’
"Yes, go on,’’ says Jonah.
"But where I am, down at the plant level, those measurements don’t mean very much. And the measurements I use inside the plant . . . well, I’m not absolutely sure, but I don’t think they’re really telling the whole story,’’ I say.
"Yes, I know exactly what you mean,’’ says Jonah.
"So how can I know whether what’s happening in my plant is truly productive or non-productive?’’ I ask.
For a second, it gets quiet on the other end of the line. Then I hear him say to somebody with him, "Tell him I’ll be in as soon as I’m through with this call.’’
Then he speaks to me.
"Alex, you have hit upon something very important,’’ he says. "I only have time to talk to you for a few minutes, but perhaps I can suggest a few things which might help you. You see, there is more than one way to express the goal. Do you understand? The goal stays the same, but we can state it in different ways, ways which mean the same thing as those two words, ‘making money.’’’
"Okay,’’ I answer, "so I can say the goal is to increase net profit, while simultaneously increasing both ROI and cash flow, and that’s the equivalent of saying the goal is to make money.’’ "Exactly,’’ he says. "One expression is the equivalent of the other. But as you have discovered, those conventional measurements you use to express the goal do not lend themselves very well to the daily operations of the manufacturing organization. In fact, that’s why I developed a different set of measurements.’’ "What kind of measurements are those?’’ I ask. "They’re measurements which express the goal of making money perfectly well, but which also permit you to develop operational rules for running your plant,’’ he says. "There are three of them. Their names are throughput, inventory and operational expense.’’
"Those all sound familiar,’’ I say.
"Yes, but their definitions are not,’’ says Jonah. "In fact, you will probably want to write them down.’’
Pen in hand, I flip ahead to a clean sheet of paper on my tablet and tell him to go ahead.
"Throughput,’’ he says, "is the rate at which the system generates money through
sales.’’
I write it down word for word.
Then I ask, "But what about production? Wouldn’t it be more correct to say—’’
"No,’’ he says. "Through
sales—
not production. If you produce something, but don’t sell it, it’s not throughput. Got it?’’ "Right. I thought maybe because I’m plant manager I could substitute—’’
Jonah cuts me off.
"Alex, let me tell you something,’’ he says. "These definitions, even though they may sound simple, are worded very precisely. And they should be; a measurement not clearly defined is worse than useless. So I suggest you consider them carefully as a group. And remember that if you want to change one of them, you will have to change at least one of the others as well.’’ "Okay,’’ I say warily.
"The next measurement is inventory,’’ he says. "Inventory is all the money that the system has invested in purchasing things which it intends to sell.’’
I write it down, but I’m wondering about it, because it’s very different from the traditional definition of inventory.
"And the last measurement?’’ I ask.
"Operational expense,’’ he says. "Operational expense is all the money the system spends in order to turn inventory into throughput.’’
"Okay,’’ I say as I write. "But what about the labor invested in inventory? You make it sound as though labor is operational expense?’’
"Judge it according to the definitions,’’ he says.
"But the value added to the product by direct labor has to be a part of inventory, doesn’t it?’’
"It might be, but it doesn’t have to be,’’ he says.
"Why do you say that?’’
"Very simply, I decided to define it this way because I believe it’s better not to take the
value
added into account,’’ he says. "It eliminates the confusion over whether a dollar spent is an investment or an expense. That’s why I defined inventory and operational expense the way I just gave you.’’
"Oh,’’ I say. "Okay. But how do I relate these measurements to my plant?’’
"Everything you manage in your plant is covered by those measurements,’’ he says.
"Everything?’’ I say. I don’t quite believe him. "But going back to our original conversation, how do I use these measurements to evaluate productivity?’’
"Well, obviously you have to express the goal in terms of the measurements,’’ he says, adding, "Hold on a second, Alex.’’ Then I hear him tell someone, "I’ll be there in a minute.’’
"So how do I express the goal?’’ I ask, anxious to keep the conversation going.
"Alex, I really have to run. And I know you are smart enough to figure it out on your own; all you have to do is think about it,’’ he says. "Just remember we are always talking about the organization as a whole—not about the manufacturing department, or about one plant, or about one department within the plant. We are not concerned with local optimums.’’
"Local optimums?’’ I repeat.
Jonah sighs. "I’ll have to explain it to you some other time.’’
"But, Jonah, this isn’t enough,’’ I say. "Even if I can define the goal with these measurements, how do I go about deriving operational rules for running my plant?’’
"Give me a phone number where you can be reached,’’ he says.
I give him my office number.
"Okay, Alex, I really do have to go now,’’ he says.
"Right,’’ I say. "Thanks for—’’
I hear the click from far away.
"—talking to me.’’
I sit there on the steps for some time staring at the three definitions. At some point, I close my eyes. When I open them again, I see beams of sunlight below me on the living room rug. I haul myself upstairs to my old room and the bed I had when I was a kid. I sleep the rest of the morning with my torso and limbs painstakingly arranged around the lumps in the mattress.
Five hours later, I wake up feeling like a waffle.

It’s eleven o’clock when I wake up. Startled by what time it is, I fall onto my feet and head for the phone to call Fran, so she can let everyone know I haven’t gone AWOL.

"Mr. Rogo’s office,’’ Fran answers.
"Hi, it’s me,’’ I say.
"Well, hello stranger,’’ she says. "We were just about ready to start checking the hospitals for you. Think you’ll make it in today?’’

"Uh, yeah, I just had something unexpected come up with my mother, kind of an emergency,’’ I say.
"Oh, well, I hope everything’s all right.’’
"Yeah, it’s, ah, taken care of now. More or less. Anything going on that I should know about?’’
"Well...let’s see,’’ she says, checking (I suppose) my message slips. "Two of the testing machines in G-aisle are down, and Bob Donovan wants to know if we can ship without testing.’’
"Tell him absolutely not,’’ I say.
"Okay,’’ says Fran. "And somebody from marketing is calling about a late shipment.’’
My eyes roll over.
"And there was a fist fight last night on second shift . . . Lou still needs to talk to you about some numbers for Bill Peach ...a reporter called this morning asking when the plant was going to close; I told him he’d have to talk to you . . . and a woman from corporate communications called about shooting a video tape here about productivity and robots with Mr. Granby,’’ says Fran.
"With
Granby?’’
"That’s what she said,’’ says Fran.
"What’s the name and number?’’
She reads it to me.
"Okay, thanks. See you later,’’ I tell Fran.

I call the woman at corporate right away. I can hardly believe the chairman of the board is going to come to the plant. There must be some mistake. I mean, by the time Granby’s limo pulls up to the gate, the whole plant might be closed.

But the woman confirms it; they want to shoot Granby here sometime in the middle of next month.
"We need a robot as a suitable background for Mr. Granby’s remarks,’’ says the woman.
"So why did you pick Bearington?’’ I ask her.
"The director saw a slide of one of yours and he likes the color. He thinks Mr. Granby will look good standing in front of it,’’ she says.
"Oh, I see,’’ I tell her. "Have you talked to Bill Peach about this?’’
"No, I didn’t think there was any need for that,’’ she says. "Why? Is there a problem?’’
"You might want to run this past Bill in case he has any other suggestions,’’ I tell her. "But it’s up to you. Just let me know when you have an exact date so I can notify the union and have the area cleaned up.’’
"Fine. I’ll be in touch,’’ she says.
I hang up and sit there on the steps muttering, "So ...he likes the color.’’

"What was that all about on the phone just now?’’ my mother asks. We’re sitting together at the table. She’s obliged me to have something to eat before I leave.
I tell her about Granby coming.

"Well that sounds like a feather in your cap, the head man— what’s his name again?’’ asks my mother.
"Granby.’’
"Here he’s coming all the way to your factory to see you,’’ she says. "It must be an honor.’’
"Yeah, it is in a way,’’ I tell her. "But actually he’s just coming to have his picture taken with one of my robots.’’
My mother’s eyes blink.
"Robots? Like from out-of-space?’’ she asks.
"No, not from outer space. These are industrial robots. They’re not like the ones on television.’’
"Oh.’’ Her eyes blink again. "Do they have faces?’’
"No, not yet. They mostly have arms . . . which do things like welding, stacking materials, spray painting, and so on. They’re run by computer and you can program them to do different jobs,’’ I explain.
Mom nods, still trying to picture what these robots are.
"So why’s this Granby guy want to have his picture taken with a bunch of robots who don’t even have faces?’’ she asks.
"I guess because they’re the latest thing, and he wants to tell everybody in the corporation that we ought to be using more of them so that—’’
I stop and glance away for a second, and see Jonah sitting there smoking his cigar.
"So that what?’’ asks my mother.
"Uh...so that we can increase productivity,’’ I mumble, waving my hand in the air.
And Jonah says, have they really increased productivity at your plant? Sure they have, I say. We had—what?—a thirty-six percent improvement in one area. Jonah puffs his cigar.
"Is something the matter?’’ my mother asks.
"I just remembered something, that’s all.’’
"What? Something bad?’’ she asks.
"No, an earlier conversation I had with the man I talked to last night,’’ I say.
My mother puts her hand on my shoulder.
"Alex, what’s wrong?’’ she’s asking. "Come on, you can tell me. I know something’s wrong. You show up out of the blue on my doorstep, you’re calling people all over the place in the middle of the night. What is it?’’
"See, Mom, the plant isn’t doing so well . . . and, ah... well, we’re not making any money.’’
My mother’s brow darkens.
"Your big plant not making any money?’’ she asks. "But you’re telling me about this fancy guy Granby coming, and these robot things, whatever they are. And you’re not making any money?’’
"That’s what I said, Mom.’’
"Don’t these robot things work?’’
"Mom—’’
"If they don’t work, maybe the store will take them back.’’
"Mom, will you forget about the robots!’’
She shrugs. "I was just trying to help.’’
I reach over and pat her hand.
"Yes, I know you were,’’ I say. "Thanks. Really, thanks for everything. Okay? I’ve got to get going now. I’ve really got a lot of work to do.’’
I stand up and go to get my briefcase. My mother follows. Did I get enough to eat? Would I like a snack to take with me for later in the day? Finally, she takes my sleeve and holds me in one place.
"Listen to me, Al. Maybe you’ve got some problems. I know you do, but this running all over the place, staying up all night isn’t good for you. You’ve got to stop worrying. It’s not going to help you. Look what worrying did to your father,’’ she says. "It killed him.’’
"But, Mom, he was run over by a bus.’’
"So if he hadn’t been so busy worrying he would have looked before he crossed the street.’’
I sigh. "Yeah, well, Mom, you may have a point. But it’s more complicated than you think.’’
"I mean it! No worrying!’’ she says. "And this Granby fellow, if he’s making trouble for you, you let me know. I’ll call him and tell him what a worker you are. And who should know better than a mother? You leave him to me. I’ll straighten him out.’’
I smile. I put my arm around her shoulders.
"I bet you would, Mom.’’
"You know I would.’’