Archive for the 'History' Category

Dec 27th 2009 Encouraging Creativity and Innovation

In 1945 the Raytheon Company faced a tremendous demand for magnetron tubes to power the new radar system used to detect enemy aircraft. One day when a Raytheon engineer named Percy L. Spencer stepped too close to a magnetron tube, he noticed that the chocolate bar in his pocket had melted.

Other engineers had noticed the same thing, but didn’t give it much thought. Spencer, on the other hand, despite having only a grammar-school education, was intensely curious. He tried placing popcorn kernels in front of the tube—and a few minutes later, for the first time since cave-dwellers tamed fire, human beings cooked food in a new way.

A year earlier, anyone might have laughed at the idea of Raytheon selling ovens driven by magnetrons to restaurants and, eventually, households. “Absurd!” “Ridiculous!” “We’re in the defense business!” The Raytheon organization took a chance and listened to Percy Spencer. He wasn’t just a resident weirdo providing comic relief—on the contrary, Spencer’s input was constantly solicited, and he eventually served as a senior member of Raytheon’s board. In this case, his idea was rewarded with a shift in production, and within two years the company took the first Radarange® to the market.

History books rightly credit Percy Spencer with the invention of the microwave oven, but in fact his story also includes dozens of unsung heroes, starting with members of Raytheon’s management. They’d hired and promoted Spencer despite his lack of education. They didn’t chastise him for playing with his food in the middle of a serious engineering laboratory. They listened to him and built the Radarange—and then they searched within that market for new discontinuities.

Raytheon tried licensing the technology to other companies, such as Tappan Stove. (Its $3,000 refrigerator-sized microwave ovens were sold to customers with gigantic commercial kitchens, such as on ocean liners, that had to heat a lot of food quickly.) Raytheon then purchased its own domestic-appliance distributor, Amana Refrigeration, in 1965. In addition, Raytheon continually encouraged engineers to tinker with the magnetrons. Finally they figured out that an expensive, military-grade magnetron unit was somewhat over-engineered for the task of thawing frozen steaks and popping popcorn. They developed a smaller, cheaper, simpler, safer and more reliable oven for household use. Amana’s first countertop microwave oven, sold for $495 in 1967, represented a serious discontinuity in household kitchen behavior. In taking risks, Raytheon and Amana were uniquely prepared to take advantage of the huge societal discontinuities of the 1960s: urbanization, women entering the workforce and families devoting less time to meal preparation. Again, it seems obvious in retrospect: cheap and ubiquitous ovens, microwaveable food categories representing $75 billion in annual sales based on the premise of quickly thawing and cooking food. But at the time, the discontinuous mindset at Raytheon and Amana gave them long-term dominance in the home microwave oven business. There are plenty of other examples of unconventional thinkers thriving within traditional companies: Art Fry and Spencer Silver invented the Post-it note while working at 3M, and teams at Apple, amazon.com and General Foods invented the iPhone, Kindle and Tang, respectively. On the other side of the coin, there are also plenty of examples of people like A.P. Giannini—mavericks and free spirits who made their fortunes as entrepreneurs because they were not rewarded in traditional organizations. To encourage a discontinuous mindset, companies must have the proper reward structure to make the maverick’s suggestion of new ideas worthwhile.

Even today, many companies claim to encourage creativity and innovation, but their measurement and reward systems rarely support it. Creativity is messy. It leads to mistakes. (In Raytheon’s case, it took nearly 20 years of mistakes and “not-quite-enoughs” before the microwave’s big payout.) However, measuring results, rather than effort—and rewarding certainty, rather than potential—forces out the unconventional thinkers. It promotes those with modest aspirations, those who are slow and plodding. Reward mediocrity and you never exceed the mediocre.

Source: When the Trend Is Not Your Friend | Jim Singer, Jeff Piluso | A.T. Kearney

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Nov 17th 2009 Reframing Your Business Equation

The EOQ formula dates back to the Industrial Revolution and a 1913 article by Ford Whitman Harris, a self-trained engineer at Westinghouse Electric Company, in Factory: The Magazine of Management, a relic of another era. The article showed how to balance the fixed cost of ordering or producing a batch of goods with the cost of carrying the inventory between order periods. Graphically displayed with cost on the vertical axis and “lot size” on the horizontal axis, the elegantly simple solution occurs at the intersection of the upward sloping straight line (for inventory carrying cost) and the downward sloping curved line (which reflects the decreasing “setup” or “one-time ordering” costs spread over the batch size). The formula allowed a manufacturing manager to find the optimal lot size given the input parameters of per-unit carrying cost and per-batch fixed costs.

Today, many practitioners think that the EOQ embodies a way of thinking that’s no longer relevant. In reality, however, the trade-off between inventory carrying cost and setup cost remains. Taichi Ohno, father of the Toyota production system, knew that — as does anyone with a deep understanding of “factory physics.” Ohno’s innovation was to reframe the equation to solve for setup time rather than lot size.

Inspired by American grocery stores where consumers “pulled” products from a shelf that was continuously replenished, Ohno concluded that the optimal lot size was one unit. So, instead of trying to find the lot size that balanced setup cost and inventory carrying cost, Ohno sought to drive down setup cost to a low enough level to justify his ideal of a single unit for the lot size. To achieve his vision, Ohno turned to his industrial engineer, Shigeo Shingo, and challenged him to find a way to reduce a stamping press setup time of 12 hours to less than 10 minutes. Shingo and his team succeeded — and, as they say, the rest is history.

Source: Reframing Your Business Equation by Tim Laseter and M. Eric Johnson | strategy+business, Summer 2009

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Apr 29th 2009 Do you have your client’s best interests at heart?

In 1959, Play of the Week, an icon of civilization on television, was at risk of being canceled. Broadcast on Channel 13, New York’s public television station, the show offered high-quality theater week after week — including works by such writers as Eugene O’Neill, John Steinbeck, and Jean-Paul Sartre, with top talent. But the ratings were low, and sponsors were dropping out.

Ogilvy was looking for a television opportunity for his client Standard Oil Company of New Jersey (then known in the industry as “Jersey,” and later to be renamed Exxon). The company was headed by Monroe (Mike) Rathbone, who had become a friend. They worked well together. Now they had a chance to do a good thing together. Rathbone wanted to sponsor a television program that would reflect “Jersey’s” own high standards and prestige (it was the second-biggest industrial company in the world) and was not about to share the stage with TV spots for yogurts, bras, and denture cleansers. Ogilvy agreed and told the sponsors at Channel 13 he thought he could find a single company to underwrite the whole program — but only the whole program.

People at the agency and at Channel 13 went to work to persuade the few remaining underwriters to swap their spots for another program or simply cancel, so the show could go on. Company after company and agency after agency responded favorably — with one exception. Representatives of the agency Lennen & Newell Inc., which had bought one or two spots for the Lorillard Tobacco Company, balked at the request, arguing that they had made a good buy, their sole responsibility was to their client, and they would hold Channel 13 to its contract.

Ogilvy stepped in, calling a Lennen & Newell executive he knew. He went through the history of the project and made every argument he could think of, including an appeal to public spirit: It was “in the national interest” that Play of the Week should survive. The executive said he could not interfere and hung up. The program appeared to be doomed. Ogilvy sat for a moment, then picked up the phone and got the Lennen & Newell man back on the line.“

Go to your chairman immediately. Tell him that our agency will pay Lennen & Newell all the commission that will accrue [to Ogilvy & Mather] from Play of the Week sponsorship over the next two years. I will wait for your answer.”

Within five minutes, the executive was back. “You’ve got a deal.”

Gone were protestations of representing client interests. Gone were arguments about the value of the spots. Gone was any semblance of honor for the Lennen & Newell agency. But Play of the Week survived, its rescue front-page news in the New York Times. Life magazine said if there were a congressional medal for business, it should go to Standard Oil. The New York Post credited Ogilvy with the decisive role, saying his heroic save would “enshrine him in the hearts of the literate public at which he has often aimed his commercial arrows.” The tone was set at the top.

Source: The House That Ogilvy Built by Kenneth Roman | strategy+business

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Apr 3rd 2007 The Story Behind Kanban

In an article from FredHarriman.com, ex-Toyota Group manager Chihiro Nakao relates his experience with Taiichi Ohno, who originated Toyota’s Lean Production in collaboration with Shigeo Shingo. Here’s the punchline:

As Mr. Taiichi Ohno drove deeper and deeper in the effort to achieve Just in Time ideals among the companies of the Toyota Group, […] the struggle was to keep people from [ordering] too much too soon from their upstream process.

In one incidence remembered by Chihiro Nakao, Mr. Ohno caught someone he knew was about to pull his materials too soon and thundered: “Who are you and where did you come from?! What makes you think you have any right to this material? Show me your kanban!!” [i.e. prove your authority!]

Such incidents demonstrated the need to “show one’s kanban” when procuring material or parts. They needed some way to prove that they had followed all the rules put in place to achieve Just in Time. Since Mr. Ohno’s demand for a “kanban” left a lasting impression, the name for the cards that were issued to limit in-process inventory […] became “kanban.”

Source: Toyota Stays Lean and Green with Kanban… Kan-who? / BNET, April 2nd, 2007

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