morethanenoughtruth

After what turned out to be a wild ride at American Hospital Supply, Ford Aerospace offered itself as the next best thing.  Ford had snagged the Divad (Divisional Air Defense) program contract and was the talk of the west coast.  I showed up, resume in hand, and signed on as a tool designer.  Remembering how much fun it was coming up with jigs and fixtures for Texas Instruments, it seemed like a fit.

A big Indian man (feathers, not dots) named Russ Arnold led the tool design group under Charles Underhill, Ford’s manufacturing czar.  Since the product design for Divad wasn’t yet out of the oven, we gathered every day and were told to demonstrate our facility for laying lead on vellum.  After a ridiculous week of burning taxpayer’s money, Mr. Underhill shepherded our entire group, twenty or more, into a conference room.  We glanced at each other, wondering if we were to be laid off en masse.  But that was not to be.  Out of Mr. Underhill’s own mouth thundered the announcement: “You are all, every one, to attend a two-week introduction to computer-aided-design at the Lockheed training facility.  No, this is not discretionary.  You must attend.  If you do not wish to be part of this opportunity, please gather your belongings and progress to HR where you will undertake your exit interview.

From my front row seat I couldn’t see how many guys departed forthwith, but there was a considerable stir as most of the old guys, and some of the younger ones as well, stomped out, muttering as they went.  I didn’t turn around and stare.  If it had been me taking that coward’s way out, I wouldn’t have appreciated eye-witnesses.  When the room settled down and all eyes again faced front, we heard about how drafting on a board was about to be no more.  All of technical graphics would soon be accomplished with a keyboard and viewed on a computer screen.  Anyone who was serious about our kind of work would have to accept this new turn of events.  We learned about when and where to attend, how to get to Lockheed, and were encouraged to think positive.

Lockheed was a nasty drive away from Irvine, with crazy traffic, and I had to leave home a good bit earlier than normal, but it was doable.  The thing was beginning to become an adventure, and that could be fun.  I got through security with not much ado.  They knew we were coming and let us through sporting shiny new badges.  Eventually we re-discovered each other as a group inside the training facility.  The teachers didn’t waste a lot of time telling us what they were going to do.  They just did it.  Each of us got a fat folder that looked like it might help.  It was a strange place with lots of cubbies, low lights, and everything was painted black.  Screens were big, bigger than I had ever seen.  Everybody got a cubby, and began to work through the manual of instruction.  Several teachers moved about the group answering questions and making sure we were progressing.

The work we were learning was called Computer Aided Design and Manufacturing, shortened to Cadam.  It was a mainframe system, so everything we did was stored somewhere far away, and we had to be sure we saved our work before we signed off or it was lost forever.  The keyboard was just like any qwerty board, but every setup was equipped with a wand for touching the screen.  It was freaky to interact directly with a screen, but what did I know having never used a computer?  The wand was a bit heavy and attached to a cable that protruded from its end.  The contraption was weighty, and to this very day, my right shoulder reminds me about how weighty, especially when it rains.

The instructors were savvy about their subject and patient with our inadequacies.  Only one guy seemed to take joy from his position as holder of superior knowledge.  I put up with him for several days before I finally lost it.  He tutored, armed at all times with a telescoping metal pointer.  In a small cubby such aggressive hardware seemed superfluous when an index finger was literally on hand.  He often got carried away with his tutelage and used the stick to emphasize points and assure attention, often turning to me to shake his pointer in my face.  One morning he began to rattle his stick too close to my nose.  I stood it as long as I could.  Then I grabbed it and bent it.  “Get that thing out of my face,” I hissed, teeth bared.  His face and eyes said aghast.  I figured that bit of self-expression had cost me my job, but some things aren’t negotiable.  He cleared his throat, set aside his weapon, and the lesson resumed.  That guy’s pointer was seen no more, and my fellow students swore me a debt of gratitude.  Sometimes you just have to stick up for yourself.

Our two-week class was soon over.  Russ Arnold called me into his office.  I figured this was me getting my walking papers for insubordination.  It turns out the Lockheed Training Manager had called to ask why the only woman Ford had sent wasn’t slated for the advanced session since she had ended up being the best of the group.  I felt a grin creep right across my face.  Russ’s eyes twinkled.  “You’re signed up for the advanced session—two more weeks.”  I was out of there, packing my briefcase and high-tailing it for Lockheed.

 Back from our Cadam training, we tool designers were hot to trot.  We were told to keep busy drawing whatever we could find to draw.  (More money to burn.) The advanced class had taught us how to construct various projections, and popping out isographic renderings was my favorite way to kill time while we waited for the Divad design to sort itself out.  Weeks turned to months.  Rumors passed over the wall from Product Design;  there were problems.  One day we heard that at the Final Design Review something went wrong.  The target-seeking-missile from the Divad equipped armored personnel carrier ignored the designated target and blew up the fan in the general’s port-a-potty.  It was a disaster.  Some people, loyal to Ford, stayed.  I can’t imagine why.  The rest of us were down the road looking for what came next. 

Henry was indeed good with automobiles, but something had gotten lost in the translation to military aerospace.  I have sweet memories of that year spent learning Cadam and reminding myself that good things can happen in spite of the bad.  It was indeed a good thing that the general wasn’t in the can when it blew.  It’s a good thing to know when to cut bait and run, and Johnson & Johnson was right up the freeway—hiring.  It was a time to be stuck on Band-Aids.