With the International Shingo Prize Conference just a month away, I thought a short post about Shigeo Shingo and the Prize named in his honor would be worthwhile.  At the time of Prize’s founding in 1988, Shingo was nearly an unknown in the U.S.   His first book translated into English (1969, Japanese Management Association) was hard to understand, reading like a 1960’s instruction manual for a Japan-manufactured product.  This was  my introduction to  Set-up reduction and source inspection (or “prevent-type mistake-proofing) techniques.   Shingo’s amazing technical discoveries are credited with making just-in-time possible. Today while Shingo’s original book, the Green Book, is out of print, replaced by a slicker, more readable version, the techniques he first described in English forty years ago, SMED and Poka-Yoke, have become part of our manufacturing lexicon.

But one of Shingo’s most important contributions from the green book is often overlooked or even refuted: The concept of production as a network of process and operation.  In this network, process is visualized as the flow of objects of change on one axis, and agents of change on another axis.  The agents are the operators and machines that add value.  The objects are the various parts that are converted from raw materials to finished goods. For those in healthcare, note that “parts” can be replaced conceptually by “patients’, and “operators” can be replaced by “providers” (e.g. docs, nurses, etc.)  In Shigeo Shingo’s world, production does not refer only to manufacturing, but to any process-operation network.  The concept of waste is the same, in his words, whether you are “making rice cakes or automobiles.”  And where do we find nearly all of this waste?  On the process axis — from the view of the part (or patient.)  When we speak of “process improvement” we are referring to the process axis of Dr. Shingo’s network.

Unfortunately, traditional thinking postulates otherwise, that process does not exist separate from operation, but is in fact, the sum of many operations.  Witness its definition in the latest edition of Meriam-Webster:

pro·cess     noun \ˈprä-ˌses, ˈprō-, -səs\: a series of actions or operations conducing to an end; especially : a continuous operation or treatment especially in manufacture

This conventional definition spills over into cost accounting implying that if all operations for a particular process are improved by say 50%, then there will be a 50% process  improvement.  Consider for example that standard costs are based on roll-ups of operational cost (value-added) plus a large fudge factor based upon average allocation of overhead costs (non-value-added) which, in a circular way, are stated as a multiplier of the value-added time.   This is nonsense.   Operational times are scrutinized and measured often to four decimal places, while process is essentially invisible in this conventional model.  Make versus buy decisions are made by evaluating only a small fraction of total cost.  System Efficiency is viewed as a sum over local efficiencies.  More nonsense.

The English language can be confounding.  Those who prefer Meriam-Webster’s definition of process to Dr. Shingo’s will never gain the benefits of Lean.  How important is Shingo’s Network?   What do you think?  Share a story.

O.L.D.

BTW:  Looking for another kind of Shingo Network?   Come join me and GBMP at the International Shingo Conference in Jacksonville, Florida,  April 30-May 4.   Hope to see you there.

I think there are no new airplane stories left for those of us who take to the not-always-friendly skies, but having been on one of those super delay specials recently and coincidentally not caring especially about being hours late (I had booked a full day of buffer as a hedge against possible travel snafus), I was in a unique position to observe “from a Lean perspective” while the crew and the remainder of passengers on my flight stressed and melted down.   So I hope you’ll indulge this particular recounting of airline mental Muri and Muda.

The airline on which I booked seems not to be pertinent to the particular problems we experienced – I’ve seen them all before on other carriers.  So let’s just say I flew on a major carrier that, like most of its counterparts, has already declared bankruptcy once in the last decade.  Also like a few of its counterparts, this airline emerged from bankruptcy as a result of “restructuring,” a mostly euphemistic term for retrenchment and service reduction maneuvers that please banks but not customers.

My rule of thumb for travel is: Under four hours travel time, drive; otherwise I fly.  In this case, a two-hour flight was preferable to an estimated auto drive time of seven hours.   The first leg of my journey began at 5:00 a.m., a time calculated to both avoid morning commuter traffic and also place me in a favorable position in security with two hours to spare before the flight.   At 8:15 a.m., my odyssey began as we boarded on time for an 8:45 departure.   Then the schedule began to slip.   At 9:00 a.m., the captain announced apologetically that a “minor” mechanical problem was the cause of the delay, but that he had requested a postponement of servicing because “this problem is most likely the result of a faulty sensor.”  This is something air travelers do not like to hear, as it seems more like a hunch than an actual observed cause.  But concerns for safety appeared at this point to be trumped by a larger concern by many passengers that they not miss connecting flights.  It appeared from discussion in the cabin that most passengers were connecting from my flight with once-per-day international flights.

Our pilot explained his course of action:  He supposed the fault was erroneous – he’d seen it before.  He would shutdown and restart the plane’s engines, power and computer system – and then reboot.  “O-o-o,” I thought, “just like my PC”.  I wondered, since he’d “seen it before”, if there was any informative inspection, i.e., were they trying to solve the problem, or were they just side-stepping it?  It seemed that delivery, in this case of passengers, was more important than perfect quality.

The plane’s power and engines shut down and then restarted shortly thereafter.  But still we sat.  I passed the time on my iPod calmly listening in Tony Bennett’s latest duet album (Take a listen! Lady Gaga can sing), but other passengers began to fidget a little as the crew engaged in discussion at the front of the plane.  Missed international connections were looming for many passengers – the kind that were not only a major customer inconvenience, but also would incur additional hotel costs for the airline.  It seemed that the crew was keenly aware of both issues, but powerless to provide a remedy.  So they served cookies and water with stressed assurances that “everything was being done.”  Apparently the re-boot tactic had been unsuccessful.

At 10:00 a.m., silence was broken by the captain’s announcement:  “We’re going to have to ask you to deplane while our maintenance department diagnoses the problem.” (I suspect this action was taken because of recent laws governing maximum tarmac delays.) He went on, “I know many of you have tight connecting flights, but your safety is our primary concern, and there is an indication from our oil sensor that there may be chips in the oil.”  This condition struck me as substantially more critical than the aforementioned faulty sensor.  Time to repair was estimated at two hours.   “Maintenance will be here as soon as possible,” the captain said, which sounded more like a wish than a declaration.   Passengers were requested to make alternate travel arrangements upon deplaning.

Muri levels escalated as agitated passengers jockeyed for positions in several lines set up near to the gate to accommodate re-ticketing. The scene was chaotic as ticket agents struggled to placate travelers.  After standing in one line for thirty minutes, I learned from a fellow traveler that this particular line was only for passengers with Hong Kong connections.  Passengers with connecting flights (more than two-thirds of my flight) were given preference on alternative flights.  Rather than move to the rear of another line, I opted to just sit it out with my iPod.   My original flight (the one we had just deplaned) was not yet officially cancelled, and still under repair.  There was still a chance I might get on that flight.

At 1:30 p.m. there was good news: the plane had been repaired.  I re-boarded along with about three dozen other passengers, all that were left of the originally full flight.  There would be plenty of shoulder room, but I wondered if the flight was now a money-loser.   As I boarded, an agent offered, “The captain is very confident that the problem has been fixed.”  I chuckled at this reassurance; with all of the cascading problems so far that day it almost seemed like bad luck to be optimistic.  Once we were seated, the captain apologized one more time: “I’m happy to report that there is no problem with chips in the engine’s oil, only a malfunctioning sensor.  I apologize for the length of the repair time, as a new seal needed to enclose the sensor could not be immediately located.”  In other words, most of the flight delay was occasioned by searching for a part.   As I heard this, I imagined a poorly organized maintenance parts area with employees digging through boxes.  The whole repair process seemed reactive, non-standard and even unstable.  And we would shortly be taking off in the product of this system – or so I thought.

In fact, and probably fortunately so, we would not be taking off so soon.  After a brief firing of the engines, the aircraft powered down again.  This time a clearly exasperated captain exclaimed, “We are still experiencing a computer fault on start-up.  We’re going to have the maintenance crew restart the system properly this time”  (his exact words.)  I thought,  “What ever happened to ‘do it right the first time?’”  The captain continued. “No one is more frustrated over this delay that I am.  I’m so sorry.  But the good news is the maintenance crew is still here with us, so we should solve this problem very soon.”

About ten minutes later the captain addressed us for one last time.  “This flight has been cancelled.  Will you please return to the terminal for rebooking.”  I shook the captain’s hand as I exited the ill-fated flight, and thanked him for trying.

From that point, my fortunes improved.  The rebooking line for a 3:45 flight was short, and a friendly but weary agent handed me a ten-dollar lunch voucher. “The airline will also be making a restitution offer to you once you are boarded,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.  “I have no idea,” he replied. “I’m just a working stiff.”

I never found out about the restitution offer because I fell asleep once on board.  It had been a pretty long day even for someone not in a hurry.    Ten hours after my original departure time, I reached my destination.

Here are a few reflections:

• As a business traveler, I was not astonished by the multitude of problems encountered on this flight on this day.  But I was struck by the apparent lack of countermeasures and system feedback that could have eliminated every single one of those problems.  W. Edwards Deming’s estimate that “90% of all problems are system problems” seems understated in this case.
• Customer service could be so much better and at a lower cost if airlines adopted Lean methods and philosophy.
• Mostly however, I empathized with the demoralized captain, crew and other airline employees who went to work that day with the desire to provide perfect service to their customers, but were thwarted by a bankrupt system.

Do you have an airplane story to share?

O.L.D.