What I Learned From Wireforms

I had my first manufacturing job when I was about 11 or 12 years old.  No, it wasn’t in a Far East sweat shop, nor were any child labor laws broken.  More on that later.

My father and a partner started a company when we were young that developed and sold electronic pianos.  The Novaline Electronic Piano was a pretty cool device; it was designed for professional musicians that wanted portability (it folded up into an elongated suitcase) and sounded very much like a real, live piano through the magic of analog electronics (digital sampling was still in the future).

The company was the very definition of “cottage industry”.  The initial manufacturing sites were the basement and kitchen table of our house, and the garage of Dad’s partner Dave.  We were primarily in charge of the guts – the circuitry and sub-assemblies.  Dave’s family was responsible for cases and final assembly.

Over time, I had a few different tasks in piano manufacturing, but the one I best remember was creating a small thingy made out of about 3” of stiff steel wire.  A wire thingy hung off of the end of each piano key, and when the key was depressed and let go, it moved a small flexible spring between two electrical contacts.

So we needed one wire thingy for every key, and each piano had either 64 or 88 keys.  That was a lot of thingies, and since saying “thingy” was unbecoming of cool manufacturers like us, they were known officially as “wireforms”.

A wireform was a pretty simple thing but had a distinctive shape and had to be bent from wire in two axes.  To give you an idea of my wireform expertise and the role they played in my life, I can still draw a fair representation after 40 years:

I had other siblings that did other piano construction steps (as did Dave’s kids).  But this wasn’t illegal child labor - we were independent contractors.  I was an 11 year old wireform-producing sole proprietorship.  I had to invoice the company for the work I did, and as such I was paid not by the hour, but by the piece.  The company provided the raw materials as well as the machines I used to make wire into wireforms. And by machines, I mean: 

• A small jig made out of wood with a small pair of wire cutters, which cut the wire to the perfect length.
• The bending jig.  This had two functions – one bent the wire into a one-dimensional flat shape in a couple of manual motions.  The form was then removed and put into another area in the jig that bent it properly in the other axis with another hand motion.  This jig was made entirely of cut-up pieces of copper-clad printed circuit board, soldered together.  All credit to Dad.

I had a process. I unspooled some wire, then cut a bunch into the proper length, and then did a kind of insert-bend-remove-insert-bend-remove-repeat process with the jig.  I usually did this for an hour or two at a time; we weren’t making millions of pianos.  But I got good enough at it that I could make about $4/hour based on the piece rate.  That was some serious coin for a kid at that time – equivalent to about $20/hour today.

The money was important to me.  But the financial reward was a fleeting benefit (any cash is fleeting when you’re 11).  The lasting benefit was what I learned beyond the actual procedure.  These are some of the ideals that I retain today from my experience so long ago with the lowly wireform:

• When you have a meaningful reward tied to results, you will figure out how do a better job.  Novaline didn’t pay for badly made wireforms that didn’t meet specifications.  I perfected a technique, carefully rejected incorrect pieces, and adjusted my process to improve quality and yields.  This is the essence of continuous improvement, and I did it without Quality Circles, Six Sigma or any consultants at all.
• When you are part of a team, you can’t leave the others waiting.  We couldn’t make pianos without wireforms.  So I made them even on sunny days when I would have rather been outside playing kickball, or getting injured in the innumerable ways that kids do.  When we needed wireforms, I was making them.  That sense of responsibility to my colleagues has never left me.
• Machines have limitations; humans have to accommodate that.  Our bending jig was not indestructible; on at least one occasion, I broke the thing and production was interrupted while it was repaired.  After that, I adjusted my technique to avoid stressing it in a way that would break it again.  Today, I do my best to take care of tools.  I have an inordinate love of tools, so I have a lot of them to take care of.
• Sometimes outsourcing is smart, but keeping it in the family often has value beyond the initial cost.  I think Novaline probably could have saved a few bucks by contracting this to "Acme Wireforms" or their ilk.  But there were benefits to keeping it in-house; they could monitor and control the supply better and develop their workforce.  I still consider this when making a make-or-buy decision.
• Even when you are making something small, if it contributes to something big, you are making something big.  I didn’t make wireforms; I made pianos.  That was incredibly cool.  Today I’m part of many teams and although I don’t do nearly everything, I always know that what I do is an essential part of what we are producing.  Make sure everyone on your team understands the bigger picture of what their smaller piece contributes to.

Although the Novaline has passed into history, there are still some in existence that carry the wireforms that I created.  The pianos, memories and lessons (and the music!) remain in myself and my family.  Are you giving your children the opportunity to produce, to learn, to take pride in creation?  How about your employees?  I hope so.  Even if you don’t turn your kitchen into a factory, there are other ways in which you can instill the same lessons and responsibility in your charges, yourself and our society.