Caterpillars Tale

“You are telling me that I got it wrong.”

“No, not that you got it wrong, it’s just that you didn’t get it right?”

“You lost me. I didn’t get it wrong, but I didn’t get it right. Where does that leave me then. Which way is the needle tending to point if you don’t mind saying.”

It is difficult at times talking to someone who has made up their mind about something, and you are attempting to change it. I’ve attempted to use logic, coercion, diplomacy, everything but outright force to get him to see that you can’t always do things the way he thinks they should be done. 

The concept of there being differing ways of doing things is a foreign concept to him. I know it comes from a lifetime of having been expected to adhere to specific rules, but rules are nothing more than expectations subject to change, depending on the input and outcome of any given problem. 

I could say it is not rocket science, but sometimes it is. Most of the time however, it is not. It is simply looking for a more efficient way of doing something without it affecting a broader range of issues, that for the most part are not considered. Take for example the demands of building a home, any structure really. They demand a definitive reliance on material quality and installation procedures that will insure, to the best of everyone’s ability, the structure or whatever lives up to structural expectations, not necessarily the expectations of some of the individuals involved.

Take architects for example. They have to build a concept. Create a physical version of an imagined concept. Not an easy task. It involves a knowledge of materials, as well as appealing to the aesthetics and needs of the one financing the project. The outcome can be a rewarding one, and most often is, to a degree. But there are times when the vision collides with reality, by which I mean the ability of the materials and workman's skill to conform to the vision. That is true with most endeavors, but more evident when dealing with the practical aspects of constructing a structure, appliance, vehicle, anything really.

It is the compatibility concept in projects that I have found to be the most difficult to traverse. Certain beliefs are difficult if not impossible to alter, as they are imbedded in the philosophy, and the very essence of the visionary. 

Bertrand Hummel is just such a person. He strictly adheres to the principles he has absorbed over several decades of accomplishment and failure, as far as success is concerned. Once success is achieved, if only in the eyes of the beholder, changing even one element of the process becomes a battle.

I am and have been concerned with the connectedness of all the elements of design and there ability to either enhance the value of a project or detract from it. That does not mean that elements are left out or not considered, simply to make adhering to expectations easier. 

Integrating systems is simply a matter of knowing what the parameters of materials are, and the ability of those that are expected to utilize the material to produce a desired outcome. How the different elements, both tactile and philosophical, mesh, in complementing one another in advancing the completion of any project.

I attempted to explain this concept to Bert, but he relies on his experience to decide which elements are necessary to consider when accomplishing aspects of the project he is responsible for. He is more than willing to disregard any element that does not fit his criteria of necessity.

I attempted to explain the concept of integrated systems to him by using an example of a system I came across in Nicaragua. A two-story building, its purpose unknown, un-necessary as far as the example is concerned, is being constructed on a main street in the small town of Santa Terresa. We arrive as the first story is being completed.

Forms made of one by ten-inch boards have been placed around the top of the walls progress, achieved so far. The sections of forms are approximately three feet high and about twelve feet long. As we watch a flat bed truck arrives with a load of bagged cement. It parks in front of the building. Another truck arrives with aggregate and proceeds to dump it in the street. A third truck arrives with a load of sand and dumps it next to the pile of washed rock.

We watch as a hose is pulled from an adjoining building. As if the swallows had returned to Capistrano, fifty laborers appear like mist. They begin to mix sand, gravel, and cement, adding water to produce a slumped mixture, with the aid of shovels and hoes. This circus of activity is taking place in the street, preventing any other activity from taking place.

Several men appear with five-gallon buckets, and others with shovels place the contents from the concrete pile into the buckets. The buckets are then hoisted on their shoulders and carried to the scaffolding, where they are relayed to other men at various levels until they reach their destination, the forms. The buckets are dumped into the forms. A man puddles the mixture in the form with the blunt end of a hoe and the process continues in automated fashion for several hours until the form is filled and the materials in the street have been rendered non-existent. Then everyone disappears as though the wind blew them away, allowing the sun once again to shine on the now stained street.

Ben, an associate has observed the process for the past few hours says nonchalantly, “why don’t they just get a concrete truck? Make things so much faster, easier.”

Juan Castro, a friend, looks at Ben, says nothing at first but I can tell he’s agitated. He has a tendency to paw at the ground like a irate bull when frustrated. Finally he overcomes his reluctance and says, “What would happen to the fifty people who are putting up the building? What would they do? Where would they go?”

It was the one aspect of the story, an ingredient of the project, Ben failed to appreciate. 

I told this story to Bert. He listened politely as he always does, preferring to mull over the cons before you get to the pros. He then says to my surprise, “I see his point. Both points really. Juan, he seems to understand the culture and process necessary to keep the system down there productive, and people employed.”

I couldn’t believe it. Bert never agrees with any of the examples I attempt to introduce him to, attempting to possibly widen his concept of production and the elements involved in integrating systems. Feeling finally like the cat that swallowed the canary, I can only smile, not so broadly as I might appear to be rubbing it in.

Then Burt says, “take us years to get anything done that way here. And where could I get fifty guys who know which end of a shovel is for what? Most people today wouldn’t know a hoe from a fishing rod.  Think we’d best stick to what we know best. God made progress for a reason.”

I could appreciate his logic, although I felt he missed the entire point of the story. I however got to know what a cat who just ate the proverbial canary feels like, if even for only a few minutes.

I guess it’s like an old mentor of mine used to say, “change is imperceptibly slow, unless you are a caterpillar.”