The Idea Factory

by Pepper White

  One advantage of having a meeting with your recitation instructor every week is that it forces you to do something. The meeting was sort of like the progress reports we prepared for the research sponsors in the Sloan Lab. So I was up past midnight the night before, trying to figure out how to build my fire engine ladder.

  "I'll cut the wood into three strips of equal width, and then glue two of the three into an L-shaped beam. That should be fairly strong, it's easy to make and cheap," I said. My classmates and I had started calling materials cheap or expensive, as if the assigned "costs" had real meaning.

  Already little design details started popping up. How many cross braces/rungs should I put in my ladder? How wide should it be? How will I extend it? It was time to be arbitrary. Start with five cross braces and see whether that's enough. If not, put more in. I began to write more and more notes to myself. "Just build the thing, get it working and tested," I kept telling myself. So I spent Friday night with epoxy and wood, and a piece of stainless steel 1 inch thick to hold the wood together while the epoxy hardened.

  November 6

  My L-beams came out really well. The epoxy hardened; I would never have believed wood could be that stiff. Expecting a mob at eight, I arrived at Tiny's shop, but most people slept in and I found an available drill press on which to drill the holes for my copper rods. I put five rungs in two feet, and again I was amazed at the stiff, light results.

  It took all morning to drill the twenty holes, and by the time I finished the place was hopping. Everyone had backpacks filled with wood strips and welding rod; for most of them it was the first day of construction. Some built frames, some built drive systems for their 2-watt motors, others machined wheels from masonite on the lathes.

  By 1:00 my beams and welding rod began to look like a ladder and somebody said, "That's the best track I've seen yet."

  I said, "Thanks, but it's not a track, it's a ladder."

  He said, "Oh. Well, it's nicely built, whatever it is."

  2:00 P.M., and I had my string interlaced among the rungs of my ladder so that it extended fully when I pulled on one end. It worked! But when I put a weight on it it hardly extended at all.

  "Resolve weight support problem," I wrote in my lab notebook-and what a problem it was. If I aimed the ladder at the scale, there would be a constant angle between the end of the ladder and the terrain below, but the height of the ladder end would vary as it would climb the hill. I was sure I didn't want to design a wheel assembly that would contract as it climbed the hill. Time for a bike ride.

  November 7

  9:20 P.M. In the middle of my mechanical drawing assignment, I couldn't keep my eyes off the ladder. I kept thinking, How am I going to support that weight? The ladder looks great, but it will never work as is. There's got to be a way to support the weight.

  And then it came. The light bulb appeared over my head and I took some rubber bands out of my desk drawer. Why not shoot the ladder out with rubber bands, then winch a weight up the "track"?

  12:40 A.M., and I was still tossing and turning in bed with the ideas of different ways to shoot the ladder out and haul up the weight: obsession was beginning. The word obtained new meaning. The letters dripped as at the beginning of a Bette Davis movie and I realized that two seventy had me.

  November 8

  "Now this is a good piece of engineering," Tom Bligh said as he examined my ladder. "You know I don't see how some of the people who take this course can do the slipshod work they do and live with themselves. For an engineer, there should be no other way to do things than with high quality."

  "Well, I've got the advantage of having effectively worked as a lab technician for almost two years, and I've seen how to set things up and build them right," I said. I tried to be modest, but I realized that all I had to do was to keep up the good work and I'd have my second A.

  "Yes, well you've still got a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it," he said and I agreed. "Let's try shooting this out with the constant force spring."

  He wound up the ladder and put one stage on top of the other with the spring fully stretched. "You stand over there across from me," he said. "Watch your eyes." I was about five feet from him when he let go. The upper stage flew right into my arms. "I think it's got enough pop to go up the hill; what do you think?" he asked.

  "I think I'm in business but have a lot of business to attend to," I said.

  "Just get it working as quickly as you can," he said.

  November 9

  Tasks: legs, nonreturn mechanism, cart to pull weight up track, pulley, drive system for motor, frame. Details, details, details, enough to drive you crazy. Forget electronics for now: it's only worth 500 grams. But I have to work on other problem sets, too, and I have to maintain some semblance of progress with my thesis work on the rapid compression machine. Aargh. So this is why MIT is the best engineering school in the United States, which means in the world.

  9:00 P.M. "Ari, it's becoming an obsession to me. I can't do anything else or think of anything else. There's so much to do, and I have to keep things rolling, and I'm running out of time."

  "Yes, it's like co ca heen," he answered.

  "Like what?"

  "Co ca heen, you know, you breathe it in," and he took a big breath through his nose, "and the more you breathe in the more you want."

  "That's it exactly," I said as I went back to look at my machine.

  November 10

  Time to review the budget: constant force spring, $500; wood strips, $1,750; masonite sheet, $1,000; motor, $1,000; welding rod, $350 ... $4,600 total. Almost $8,000 left. Time to plan for the next day. Organized procrastination is useful because deciding what you're going to do in a machine shop usually takes longer than doing it.

  I've got to design that frame. It's easy, but I can't overcome the inertia keeping me from that subproblem. If I can build the frame by tomorrow night, though, I'll be in good shape.

  November 11

  Veteran's Day and did I go to the teach-in on nuclear war? Nooooo00 ... as John Belushi would have said. I worked on my two seventy project.

  4:00 P.M. I waited for my falafel in front of the Great Dome. A bearded man, thirty-seven, walked down the steps toward Boston. He wore blue jeans and leather and wood from his knee down. A Vietnam veteran, he made time for peace.

  9:00 P.M. "Do you realize what destruction there would be?" Ari said vehemently. "It would set you back at least 100 years. Essentially you are living on the work of all the generations before you. There must not be a nuclear war."

  I was a little surprised because I thought Ari, the staunchest anti-Soviet hawk I knew, would assure me that the weapons were necessary to keep the bear in its cage. "And what's more," he said, "there was nobody there, no students, nobody. Don't you people care at all about this? It could be the end of the world and there'd be no one there."

  "But I have my two seventy project to worry about," I said. "I'll be there next year."

  "Next year it will be something else."

  November 12

  Contestants arrived at the machine shop with machinelike-looking devices. Fewer and fewer carried backpacks with wood strips in them, and more and more carried boxes with partially completed devices. I was still at the backpack stage.

  3:00 P.M. Professor Bligh was out, so I spoke with Professor Griffith. He parked his bicycle next to Heywood's, Weare's, and Wilson's. Like them, he consulted to the energy industry. Like them, he bicycled to work because he valued efficiency. He said, "The point is, you could spend two hours on this project, make a catapult, and put a weight up on the scale, or you could spend two years on it, and put the effort of the space program into it. We're trying to teach you to make decisions based on limited time and resources. That's what the real world is like all the time."

  7:00 P.M. Freak-out time. I wondered how many nervous breakdowns this course had produced. I was slipping on my personal schedule and goals. I had to build that frame, but it involved so many details I didn't k
now where to start.

  I talked to Ari. "Calm down," he said. "You've done good work so far. Just keep it up and don't let the pressure overwhelm you."

  "You're right. But tonight I'm so wound up I can't think. I've got to go skating." So I went to the rink. There were about a hundred skaters there and the ice was really chopped up-only fifteen minutes after the Zamboni had cleaned it off. The Zamboni looked more comprehensible to me. I wanted to take it apart and see how every little piece of it worked.

  There were many skaters there, starting and stopping abruptly. Skating is like grinding one's molars together for MIT students, and ice hockey is the most popular intramural sport. After fifty hard laps, I went to Senior House for my good night's sleep of the week.

  November 13

  Raining. Thank goodness for that, or I'd have probably blown the whole day cycling to avoid working on my project. I went upstairs in Building 3 to where the practice track had been set up. There was one other guy in the room. He had a machine with big masonite wheels and wooden hubs and was trying to make his grappling hook catch the backboard and winch his truck up to the scale.

  I had to build the frame. That meant: figure out heights of wooden pieces to cut and cut them. Then make a list of tasks. 1. Cut two 3-5/s-inch pieces. 2. Cut two 5-'/2-inch pieces. 3. Cut two pieces 73/16 inches long. 4. Epoxy pieces together. 5. Cut welding rods. 6. Cut notches for clearance. The only way to keep your sanity in this kind of thing is to make lists and then check things off.

  The student machine shop was open all day and there was no unemployment in the basement of Building 3. Every lathe, every bandsaw, every milling machine, every drill was in constant use. Wartime. Innovations researched, developed, manufactured in minutes, hours. Only 120 hours left. No time to procrastinate. Two seventy is the organic chemistry lab of engineering. Organic lab gives premeds operating room pressure; two-seventy gives engineers production line pressure. People began to ask one another, "Does it work?" Each time I heard the question my commitment to make it work was heightened.

  9:30 P.M. I sat in the men's room (3-126) and felt the whole building vibrate from the whirr of the machines in the basement. On each trip up and down the stairs from the workshop in the basement to the testing ground on the fourth floor, the display of the best machines from the year before caught my eye. They were in the case across from Mikic's office; the best machines from my year would be there in January. I became less tired.

  11:00 P.M. A moment when all machines were off. I missed the noise. Someone turned on the bandsaw.

  November 14

  To do: Read Sunday comics in library after lunch. Drill holes in extension to catch it as it flies apart. Glue base together. So much to do. So many piddly details to attend to.

  8:50 P.M. I needed familial support so I called home.

  "I have some sad news for you, Pepper," my mother said. "Your dog just died."

  Why does it have to happen all at once? Why didn't I wait until after the contest to call so I wouldn't have to worry about this? After I hung up, I kicked a plastic cookie tray and it shattered.

  Ari ran over to my office and found me sobbing. "You have to get back in control. The professors here don't care what happened to you; they just care about what you produce. Now go and wash yourself and go back to work. You must finish the job you've started." He said it as if I were one of his soldiers who was shellshocked. He was firm, and I appreciated it.

  12:30 A.M. The frame was complete. I was one day behind schedule, but at least I could sleep.

  November 15

  A.M. go to class; P.M., work on electronics.

  "How do I use this wire-wrap tool?" I asked Cindy.

  "It's easy," she said as she used the tool to fix two wires around pins on my chip. "There. You try now."

  It was easy. Another mystery of technology had vaporized for me. Cindy finished wiring her circuit, and another undergraduate woman asked me for help.

  "It's easy," I said, and I showed her how to attach the wire. She was beautiful, and I reminded myself that when I was a freshman she was in sixth grade-don't even think of asking her out on a date.

  6:30 P.M. After rewiring it three times, my circuit finally worked. If nothing else, I would win the 500-gram bonus weight.

  November 16

  My mechanical drawing test was intuitive and short, but unfortunately I didn't receive page two and would have to finish the test later in Bligh's office. Just when I was beginning to think I was smart. I'd completed the frame, the electronics, the ladder. All that remained was to build the drive system. So what if that would be the hardest part? I was running out of money. I couldn't afford the "cost" of the ready-made rods that the store sold, so I'd have to turn down a cheaper square bar on the lathe. That would take only three hours. Not only was I inventor, researcher, production line worker, and cost accountant; I was a micromicroeconomist trading time-i.e., labor (i.e., my sleep)-for capital, i.e., readymade goods.

  Four hours later I finished machining the shaft.

  November 17

  7:00 A.M. Thirty-six hours left until the first trials. I went to the Sloan Lab early so I could recruit Nick to help me set up the lab's lathe to machine the masonite for my drive wheel.

  9:55 A.M. Go to pick up calculator and books for rest of mechanical drawing test. I said to myself, "Just pretend you're at West Point and you always have a test every day."

  10:45 A.M. Back to get more help from Nick.

  12:10 P.M. Nick went to lunch.

  1:20 P.M. Thirty hours left. I can't blow everything because of a nonfunctioning drive system. The machine looks too good to miss the finals. I've got to finish it. To do: 1. Solder wires to motor leads. 2. Turn down motor shaft. 3. Build drive system. 4. Make bearings for drive system. 5. Build drive system. I wrote it twice for emphasis.

  I knew I'd need every hour. I was so nervous I couldn't solder the wires, so I cheated a little bit and Mary calmly, quickly soldered them for me.

  8:00 P.M. I jokingly asked Nigel Adams, the teaching assistant, "Are you going to keep the two-seventy machine shop open all night?" I half-wanted him to say no so I could get some sleep, half-wanted him to say yes so I could fight to the wire.

  "Yes.'

  11:00 P.M. Fifteen people in the machine shop, not to mention ten in Tiny's shop and ten upstairs testing at the track; somebody brought in a boom box to keep us going through the gang-allnighter. People sang along at the top of their lungs. You could just hear them over the whirr of the machines.

  2:00 A.M. Both shafts done. Time to turn down the drive wheel to make it fit in the bearing.

  3:30 A.M. Press fit drive wheel onto shaft. Make quick decision on drill sizes.

  4:00 A.M. The wheel was on the shaft. If you make it to 4:00 A.M., the back of the night is broken. I met Eddy, the janitor who'd kept me from hurting myself the year before. "No time to talk, Eddy, I'll catch up with you later," I said.

  6:30 A.M. My wheel's axle moved easily in the bearing I'd made by drilling a hole in a piece of black Teflon. There was hope. Time to clean up so nobody would know the thirty-five of us were there all night. What would the institute's insurance company say?

  8:00 A.M. Doughnut and yogurt for breakfast.

  8:15 A.M. Nap time.

  November 18

  My digital alarm clock said 12:50 and my test was at noon. Aieeee! Get into clothes in a second and run across campus. At my lab I couldn't read the clock. It looked like 11:30, but sort of like 12:30 and I couldn't tell the difference on three hours' sleep. "Calm down," I said to myself. "Call the time."

  "At the tone the time will be 11:32 and 20 seconds."

  1:30 P.M. Chet could be rough around the edges at times, but deep down inside he was a good guy. I asked Chet for help with the drive system.

  This was one of the times his helpfulness showed through. "Just put it together like this and glue it with 5-minute epoxy," he said, and the two of us finished construction before 2:00.

  3:00 P.M. I m
et Cindy Brooks at Lobdell. She had a tray with five sandwiches and she sat at my table.

  "I was hoping you'd sit here," I said.

  "Uh. Oh, gee, I just sit wherever." She was embarrassed. Next time don't come on so strong, I thought.

  "Why so many sandwiches?" I asked.

  "This is my food for the next thirty hours," she answered. "My preliminary round is tomorrow."

  "Well, good luck. See you later," I said.

  4:00 P.M. Drive system operational!

  5:00 P.M. Testing on the track. The ladders didn't deploy the way they should. Go downstairs and put stops in. I kept threading the string wrong, and the sections jammed against each other. But it had potential. The string wound around the winch shaft just like on a real winch.

  7:00 P.M. Trials, round one. Professor Blanco, another recitation instructor, said, "We just want to see something that has a good chance of working on Monday." More hope.

  My first round. The ladder went out but as it extended it fell under its own weight. I went downstairs to make supports to catch it.

  8:00 P.M. Make supports. How do I do it? I don't have time. I'm sick of making all these stupid decisions. Where are the drill bits? How long do I make the rods? Aieee! Aargh! I had to leave the shop, hit the wall, and stand against it and try not to burst into tears. The stupid thing almost works. If I don't make it to the finals all the time I've spent is wasted. Then ... Calm down. All you have to do is drill a couple of holes and put some welding rod in. That'll do for tonight.

  I did and it did. The ladder didn't make it to the scale but it went far enough to keep me in the arena of hope.

  11:00 P.M. I walked down the stairs and encountered a youngish looking sophomore.

  "Sniff, sniff."

  "How's it going?" I asked, putting on my "tutor" hat.

  "It doesn't work," and the sniffs became sobs.

  "When's your trial?"