Let's see Z.D.

In today's complex defense industries, penny-ante mistakes often escalate into million-dollar fiascos. A $1,000,000 Jupiter missile, for exam ple, exploded because of one faulty soldering connection that cost no more than 500. To catch the human mistakes that account for as much as two-thirds of the failures in defense products, the Pentagon estimates that contractors employ 200,000 inspectors --but the average inspector misses 15% of the mistakes. Now the defense industry is busily promoting a new fail-safe system that reaches past the inspector and goes back to the man on the line, emphasizing prevention instead of cure. This uniquely simple system is part common sense, part snow job, and wholly successful. More than 200 major U.S. companies have adopted it, and last week it was introduced in defense plants by Lockheed Aircraft and RCA.

Feeling Wanted. Though the system goes by several names, it is commonly known as "Zero Defects," or Z.D. The idea, as expressed in Z.D. posters sprouting in defense plants everywhere, is simply "Do It Right the First Time." That is more easily said than done, of course. But managers have found to their astonishment that it can indeed be done if workers 1) are informed that absolutely no errors will be condoned, 2) are made to understand that every little bolt tightening and wire soldering job is important, and 3) are given recognition for quality work. Litton Industries credits the system with having cut defects one-third in seven months. By spreading the system back to its own suppliers, General Dynamics has reduced rejects of components from 7 1/2% to 1/2%. Douglas Aircraft reports savings of $32 million; Martin Marietta has trimmed defects from 1.5% to .6%. Says Martin President William B. Bergen: "As a rule, any effort designed as a management tool is suspect. But Z.D. really works."

Naturally, the plan must be deftly merchandised to the work force. Last week Astronaut Gus Grissom pinned a Z.D. award pin on the workshirt of a Martin janitor, James Meyers, in recognition of his "100% performance" in brooming up around the Titan assembly pad, where dirt could cause disaster. To get across the idea that workers dare not even comb their hair in Sperry Gyroscope's clean rooms, the company has created "an outer space mystique": flashing red lights outside, shadowless lighting inside, and whooshing air ducts that brush off everyone before entering. Says the company's director of reliability, Frank McGinnis: "The main principle of Z.D. is to make the worker feel important." In addition to praise, plaques, publicity--and an occasional dinner with a vice president--the plan encourages workers to find and eliminate causes of trouble. Employees at General Electric pointed out no fewer than 4,500 potential problem areas, and the company accepted 3,900 of their suggestions. Sample: an assembler spied a metal staple inside a delicate engine bearing, suggested that G.E. shift from stapling to heat sealing its protective plastic covers on the engines.

Perfect Missile. A stern word from a boss started the whole Z.D. idea three years ago. At Martin Marietta's plant in Orlando, Fla., a quality control engineer named Philip Crosby had succeeded in cutting defects on Pershing missiles to half the acceptable level--but his boss complained that that was still too high. Incensed at first, Crosby soon began to agree: "If management tolerates a low standard, people work to that standard. Well, why not a no-defects job?" He persuaded workers in his department to sign no-defects pledges, soon surprised the Army by delivering a Pershing missile two weeks ahead of schedule with no detectable defects among its 25,000 parts.

Still a bigger payoff could lie ahead.

U.S. industry spends $35 billion a year on quality control--almost all of it to detect and correct mistakes after they occur. If Z.D. can continue to motivate people to better craftsmanship, it could save much of that.

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