At home here in Houston, I walk down the long hallway and as I turn the corner — I flip the panel of switches one by one (as each click brings me back to my industrial days from another time). In that instant, there’s a reflection of a lifelong journey — and as the lights come to life, so do I.
Since I was 16 years old, I’ve never not been pursuit of some big goal. I could spend days talking about what I was chasing and why, but without including all the people who helped shape those pursuits and define their successes, you’d never know the whole story. Everything I have ever achieved came from the welcoming of input from others.
The best idea wins — and I don’t care where it comes from. Same goes for the truth.
How you respond to criticism can be life-altering — and I would know (many times over). How you adjust to mistakes and what’s not working — same principle: To look at the situation objectively (especially your role within it). And knowing the tools available to you can make all the difference in the world.
The following series of snippets dovetail into problem solving in any domain — and how thinking outside the box can open your eyes to the simplest of solutions. As I alluded to in Part III of “When the Machine Has Taken the Soul from the Man”: I’ve got an idea that could change the dynamic of debate across America, but . . .
It’s locked up from those who hurry ahead
My idea is simple . . .
Cutting through illusions and lies that poison possibility, is not.
This site is out to circumvent that problem by illustrating innocuous patterns of behaviors and experiences that everyone can relate to (thereby building a baseline of understanding for how to approach problems that plague our society).
Sometimes we do things with the best of reasons behind ’em — with rock-solid experience shaping our approach. But problems can arise when we get too comfortable relying on our experience — then make assumptions that don’t account for other factors. That can happen to anybody, but if you wanna accomplish your goal — keep the door open for when things don’t go as planned.
And be willing to wonder:
Is this working? Will it ever work?
By simply asking that question, you can change the trajectory of your efforts (even with minor adjustments in your approach).
When I came up with the idea for this CD storage wheel back in the day — I was so locked into my vision that I didn’t stop to reconsider my route.
There was another way, but I couldn’t see it — yet.
Workin’ all day in my daddy’s garage
Drivin’ all night chasing some mirage . . .
You have no idea!
I learned early on in life that what you want gets in the way of what you see.
To look at the situation objectively (especially your role within it).
I made a major mistake below, and in the wrong hands — it’s over: A ton of work amounting to a big block of wood, waste of money, and a vision shot to hell. A solid block was not too bright, but not only did I come up with a way around the problem I created . . .
It was a blessing in disguise.
Is this working? Will it ever work?
I was right on the money with my CAD/CAM approach — I just had the wrong CNC machine. You’d think something that could cut through solid steel that thick would buzz right through that block.
Not so fast!
Government work — gotta love it! I’ve been immeasurably fortunate in having people take an interest in helping me out over the years — owners, managers, teachers, technicians, engineers, machinists, NAPA paint experts: The list goes on and on from a lifetime of exploration and discovery. I’ve always had a knack for finding just right the person at just the right time . . .
Giving me access to buildings, equipment, tools, sharing ideas, CAD assistance, and whatever else I needed.
First job out of Purdue, I was a Process Engineer for Hendrickson Stamping — where they bought a waterjet to replace some of the work being done on the Turret Press/Plasma Cutter just like the one below.
That is what gave me the idea for how to cut the wheel.
Manufacturing engineers much smarter and more experienced than me, thought it would work too. To be fair, that was just a casual observation on their part (so this was my screwup and mine alone). I only mention that others made the same mistake, because it shows the pitfalls of assuming something even when it seems clear.
Just because everybody thinks something will work — doesn’t mean it will.
The waterjet buzzed through the particle board sample like butter. It was just a trial run on the design (which I altered for structural-integrity reasons — so the test was incredibly beneficial). I set out to maximize the number of CDs that could fit into a circle that size. That sounds great on paper, but once the sample was cut — it was clear that this thing would never hold up with weight over time.
So I significantly reduced the single slots and dropped doubles from 5 to 4. More surface area — more structural integrity. Besides, it looks better with less anyway.
The goal of “most CDs I could get” was just a concept, but in the face of new information that says, “That’s not a good idea!” — adjust accordingly.
I swear, the stuff I’ve gotten away with on my government work.
And get this, I no longer even worked at Hendrickson — and they still let me use the waterjet tech to cut the test block. I find that absolutely incredible — the open spirit of so many that merged with mine. Without all of those people, I would not have these successes to share. Small or large, they played an important role — and it’s always more fun and enlightening that way.
Bouncing between South Carolina, Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan to build this thing — I did something I never would have done without such logistical constraints: I gambled and glued up the block before I was able to get the 5″ sample tested.
It failed — miserably!
I was totally screwed — until it hit me . . .
By reassessing the situation . . .
I solved the problem — and then some! A solid block was stupid in the first place — a decision driven by my vast experience in building solid furniture. That made perfect sense in that domain, but I was in new territory and didn’t adjust. Now I was about to: By going old-school to reset the situation — and new-school to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I didn’t want a gap when sliding the CD into the slot, but I was so dead set on that from the start that I never even asked:
Is a solid slot “really” necessary? And was the excess weight worth it?
Once I was willing to consider such questions — inside of 60 seconds, I came up with the idea for how to fix my misstep. Hendrickson had me back for some short-term consulting work, and as I was driving away — it dawned on me that I could cut the block in half and pin the panels back together again.
Using the CNC machine that fit the bill:
This is one of my favorite things about problem solving — how the exploration of a secondary pursuit can end up being the solution to your primary one. In prehistoric times when CDs dominated the day — it was worth a shot to see if I could sell a wall-mounted version as functional art. There was a high-end furniture store nearby that sold a $600 ice bucket, so I figured that was a pretty good place to start.
Producing a product was an afterthought — but exploring those possibilities planted the seed to solve my problem.
While looking into the possibility of an acrylic plastic model, I found that CNC router shop. But the max depth they could cut was 1-1/2″ — which meant I needed to cut the block in half and plane the panels.
The only problem now was that I needed a really big chainsaw. 😉
We will cut the [wheel] down the middle!
A friend of mine’s dad had a machine shop and was happy to build the mounting mechanism below. Surrounding yourself with people who have abilities beyond yours is one of the best parts of pursuing goals.
And to me — that mechanism is artwork itself.
While visiting his shop — I noticed he had an old two-man saw hanging out on the wall as decoration. Since I couldn’t find a chainsaw big enough to buzz the block all the way through, we went old-school with his saw that saved the day.
Now I had another problem:
How to plane the panels. Back then, finding a company that could plane 36″ was not so simple as today (it took me 5 minutes to find one at $140/hr).
Enter the Working Man’s MacGyver . . .
My dad came up with a brilliant idea for this aluminum-guide mechanism where I would use a regular router to plane the panels. Now this guy, talk about ideas — his ingenuity is off the charts. I’ve never seen anyone who could do more things in more areas — and accomplish them all with the same top-notch skill.
Most people probably won’t care about all this process stuff, and that’s fine — but that jig was another work of art in my book. Don’t you love it when there’s welding in the background in movies? There’s nothing that emits activity like the light given off from that glow.
There should be an Oscar for scene-stealing moments.
All was well — almost!
There was a perfect spot for the panels to be put out of the way at my grandmother’s — and for all my experience, I made a rookie mistake. I put them between a dresser and a wall where they were just as snug as can be.
Dumb move!
I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be back for a couple of months — and I was horrified when I returned to find that they had warped a bit. It wasn’t a lot, but in something like this, there’s no margin for error. While I was upset at myself for what I had done, I knew it was a solvable problem given that the warping wasn’t severe:
But the straightening would have to be done very, very carefully and with a great deal of patience.
We straightened ’em out . . .
But even the slightest curvature would cause a problem, so once again — MacGyver to the rescue. This clamping mechanism he rigged up is another work of art. For how I see the world, these things are as beautiful as the end result:
Just as the machinist’s swivel mount on the back is as elegant as what it’s holding up on the front.
In light of how well it worked out — I’m glad I screwed up in placing those panels against the wall. The joy of obstacles jamming you into a fix (in more than ways than one) — is heavenly in my way of life. I thought of everything in this design that day at Hendrickson — except for how to easily get the spacers out once the panels were glued up.
Dad’s idea to put those screws in them was beauty in simplicity at its best.
Moment of truth . . .
When I set out to solve an inventory-control problem at CTR in 1996, I was just in-between jobs and doing some IT stuff for my dad (who was the manager of the cryogenic trailers department). I had no intention of moving out of the manufacturing/process engineering world — it was just a part-time job and a great opportunity. Got to spend some time with my parents in South Carolina, do some cool stuff to help him out at work, and pick up a few extra bucks.
Little did I know that my efforts would set the stage for a career I could not have imagined.
And he gave to me a gift I know
I never can repay . . .
It took 4 states and 2 years from the time I came up with the idea — and I had many unforgettable experiences along the way. One of my favorites is when I was working at the woodshop and an art teacher took an interest in what I was doing. She just happened to be talking about symmetry at the time, and for obvious reasons — my work was perfect for an impromptu presentation to her students. I happily accepted her invitation.
In my Q&A, this kid raised his hand and expressed a concern about the possibility of it being top-heavy. Considering that a great deal of thought went into the design that hinged on that very question:
That — is amazing!
He even framed his question in the context of kids playing around it and “what if it tips over?” For an 8th grader to be so astute in his observations was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. I enthusiastically told him what a great question it was, and explained how I factored for that concern.
I had it covered — but what if I hadn’t? Would my woodworking background and CAD/CAM experience trump that kid’s question? After all, he’s just an 8th grader. In this context, I doubt anyone would have that attitude — and yet that’s exactly what goes on every single day: Dismissing valid questions because of what you perceive.
Full Circle
The “full circle” theme originated from the table top you see below — which my dad built in high school. It hadn’t been used in ages and he had the fantastic idea to have it cut into the CD pattern for a wall ornament. I needed something for a test run on the CNC router anyway, so it worked out perfectly:
Even when it didn’t . . .
It broke out in the center:
But that was a blessing in disguise, because my mom had the lovely idea to use it for displaying knickknacks depending on the season. Speaking of breakage — somebody foolishly stepped on the panel and it broke on a seam.
That would be me! Glued it back together and all was well.
Another emerging theme: No waste!
I gave the particle board sample to my grandmother, but where the wall ornament was a wonderful idea for Dad’s walnut table — it wasn’t the right fit for the waterjet test piece. At the time, it seemed like a good idea — but fortunately, Grandmother had a MUCH better one:
To have some smoked glass cut to turn it into a coffee table.
Ingenious!
And that is at the heart of what writings are all about: Welcoming what another set of eyes can see. The beauty and brilliance in true collaboration is not about agreeing or getting along (it’s about respecting what we all bring to the table and leveraging that knowledge & experience to the fullest).
Everything I advocate boils down to Saint Jerome’s journey:
Good, better, best. Never let it rest. ‘Til your good is better and your better is best.
The wall-mounted version brought on a whole a new set of challenges. In other words, fun! To have any chance of selling this thing in a high-end market of functional art — I needed a paintjob you could see your reflection in. A friend of mine in Michigan suggested an automotive paint process — and that’s how I ended up at NAPA.
Where I met the guy in blue below — an expert who’d worked with NASCAR doing paintjobs, so this guy’s top-shelf. He was intrigued by what I was up to, so he volunteered to help me out.
I’ve always been lucky that way.
When I explained the problem about trying to paint inside the slots without spraying an excessive coat on the face, he told me that it wouldn’t be a problem. I disagreed — but I gave him a shot to show me. He was wrong. In taking a belt sander to the face for another try — I figured it out, and the answer was right in front of me all along.
A template of the face itself — allowing us to cover the inside first, take the template off, and you’re set to finish off the face.
Problem solved!
Though that’s skipping over all the trial and error that came before that trip to NAPA.
By the time I got everything ironed out, my career in IT was taking off — and that was far more fulfilling than trying to sell these things (not to mention all the worked involved). I accomplished what I set out to do by creating a viable product with the wall-mounted wheel (and with more time I would have made improvements with lighter materials).
I wanted to protect my product, but I think more anything else — I thought it would be cool to have a patent.
And naturally, I enjoyed the process of obtaining it.
When I was driving away from Hendrickson that day and had my flux-capacitor moment, this is exactly what I had in mind — but I never imagined an isometric cutaway so cool. Since it was a design patent, this drawing was not submitted — this type of drawing would be needed for a utility patent (for how something works).
It’s rare that parents play such an integral role throughout your entire life — where your ongoing journey is so directly connected to theirs along with their involvement in your pursuits.
That would be a big deal if you only had one that way. I’ve got two!
One of my favorite things about crisscrossing the country for a few years before landing in Houston — is how my mom was always running ops out of CENTCOM as my co-pilot — providing intel on hotels down the road, and what apartment might be best at the end of it:
Which I write a bit about on Runnin’ Down a Dream.
While she hasn’t been involved on this project, she’s had her hand in most others that involved editing and design work. The bottom line is — whatever I’m up to, if she touches it — it’s invariably better! Sometimes it comes in the form of a flat-out change — and other times it’s a collaborative process where we shape the result together (and have fun every step of the way). Same goes for the friends who’ve helped shape this site (in both writing and function).
Whether I accomplish anything on my aims or not:
You can’t put a price on the joy of exchanging ideas and being elevated by everybody bringing their best. I’ve always been lucky that way — with a long line of immeasurable influences illuminating my path.
It seems like only yesterday
I didn’t have a clue
I stood alone not knowin’ where to turn
Now suddenly I look around
Everything looks new . . .They call it understanding
A willingness to grow
I’m finally understanding
There’s so much I could know
On that note . . .
After writing about the waterjet — I was curious about what the max depth might be (and how it varies depending on other factors). That is at the heart of what this is all about: The willingness to wonder, reconsider, and reflect. What if it wasn’t the thickness but the type of wood and/or that it was block of boards instead of one piece? What if the inexperience of the tech played a role? What if there wasn’t enough abrasive in the mix?
What do I know?
I know I don’t wanna say anything that’s not true — which I why I called the company below when I saw on their site that they can cut through 5 inches. I told ’em my test block was deflecting and cracking by about half that, and I was wondering what the disconnect was.
Perhaps what was true 28 years ago — is no longer true?
I don’t know what happened and I probably never will, but I love adding this element into the story — as it ties into what I’m ultimately out to say: That even with the most innocent of beliefs — you can carry convictions that simply aren’t true. If you come across my writings outside this site — you’ll find I have a lot to say about that, but most importantly — a rock-solid idea for what we can do about it.
