Metal fabricators need, well, fabricators

The tragedy in Ethiopia and the debate over the Boeing 737 MAX 8 got me thinking more about society’s odd relationship with automation, efficiency, and expertise, both at work and in our lives in general.

As the news reports have repeatedly stated, air travel is safer than ever, and much of it is thanks to automation. Humans and machines both make mistakes, but statistically, human error is more common. Of course, in life-or-death situations, machine error is a lot scarier. It’s science and technology gone awry, a story older than Frankenstein’s monster.

All the same, automation has allowed less experienced pilots to take to the air faster than ever, particularly in countries with severe pilot shortages and insufficient training infrastructure. That doesn’t sit well with most of us. Pilots shouldn’t be just technicians; they should know how to fly a plane.

The laments I’ve heard and read from pilot unions, industry consultants, and training institutions strike a familiar tone. The world doesn’t need more technicians or “system operators.” The world needs trained people who know how to fly, and who know how to manage (and turn off) the automation when that automation fails.

I’m sure that sounds uncomfortably familiar to anyone running a metal fabrication operation. Fabricators and other manufacturers employ fewer people and yet produce more than ever. At the same time, automation has allowed even rookie operators to become productive team members quickly.

Automation keeps a shop running, but what if it breaks? Could a programmer manually lay out a punch nest to ensure maximum sheet stability, the best material utilization, and easy part organization for those denesting the parts after punching? Could an operator adjust the focus on a CO₂ laser cutting head? Could a plasma table operator follow the careful procedure for bevel cutting? Could a press brake operator move over to an old machine in a pinch? Would he know the difference between a bend allowance and bend deduction? Would he know how air bending on a press brake really works? Could a welder operate an older wire welding power source without the simplified setup?

Oddly, I’ve heard about plenty of instances in which operators resist the automation and tweak machine programs or nest layouts. This could work for or against overall efficiency, depending on the situation. Operators who tweak a program often find a better way to cut or bend the metal. But is their effort worth the time it takes to tweak? That depends.

Regardless, the desire to analyze a setup, and to know the fundamentals of what’s really going on between a fabrication tool and a workpiece, probably shouldn’t be taken for granted. It’s curiosity waiting to be harnessed—but perhaps outside the flow of production. A curious, engaged operator is certainly better than an operator who’s bored, disengaged, noncommittal, and clueless.

Pilots today are encouraged to turn off the automation on occasion, take the controls, and fly, particularly in nice weather. It’s probably not a bad idea for fabricators to do the same. A decade ago I visited a highly automated shop in Japan. Most operators worked with automation, but they also spent a little time in an area of the plant that looked like a museum—a place with manual press brakes, saws, drill presses, old welding power sources, and other old-school equipment.

Planes have benefited from automation, and so have fabricators. But like the airlines, metal fabrication plants don’t need more system operators. They need, well, real fabricators. The best among them know how to take the wheel and fly.