The next day, for the first time, Williams Food Company's factory achieved full-line operation.
Twenty newly recruited workers, at their respective stations, began their first day of assembly line operations under Allen's guidance.
However, due to the workers' unfamiliarity, many issues arose.
"Sir, the cutting area can't keep up! The cooking area already has two large empty pots waiting!"
Jones, as the production supervisor, jogged over from the front of the production line, anxiously reporting to Allen.
"Understood."
Allen's brow was furrowed; he had just come from the canning area, where workers, due to their inexperience, had spilled an entire pot of valuable stewed beef.
Throughout the morning, similar reports never stopped.
Each segment of the production process was like a string of casually strung beads, colliding with each other and hindering one another, completely failing to form the smooth "line" Allen had envisioned.
At noon, Catherine handed over the first production report, her expression somewhat serious.
"Sir, these are the statistics for the four hours this morning."
She pointed to the numbers in the ledger.
"We only produced one hundred and ninety-two qualified cans in total. At this rate, our entire day's output probably won't even reach two hundred. This... this is even less efficient than when you were in the basement."
Silence filled the office.
Miller and Jones both hung their heads, not daring to speak.
This result was completely contrary to their expected scenario of "increased efficiency through expanded scale."
"Where is the problem?"
Allen's voice was calm, betraying no emotional fluctuation.
"I believe the problem lies in coordination."
Catherine pointed out incisively.
"Every workstation we have is independent. So the meat cutters just cut like crazy, regardless of whether the cooking section can keep up.
The meat cooks only think about filling their own pots, regardless of whether the canning area can process it.
Everyone is working hard, but their efforts haven't combined into a cohesive force; instead, they've caused a lot of waiting, backlogs, and waste."
"Well said."
Allen nodded approvingly.
Catherine always managed to pinpoint the essence of the problem with the most concise language.
He walked to a blackboard in the center of the office, which he had specifically had installed.
He picked up a piece of chalk and said to the three of them,
"Come over here."
When Miller, Jones, and Catherine gathered in front of the blackboard, Allen drew a straight line on it.
"This line is our production line. It's not made up of twenty independent points, but a single entity. Its speed doesn't depend on the fastest segment, but on the slowest segment."
He looked at his core team and began to elaborate on a brand new concept, one that could subvert the production knowledge of this era.
"Starting this afternoon, we will implement a new working model, which I call 'Beat Production.'"
"Beat?"
"Yes."
Allen drew several equidistant nodes on the straight line.
"I will have someone hang a brass bell in the center of the factory. From now on, every fifteen minutes, Jones, you are responsible for ringing it once."
"The bell is the command. It is the heartbeat of our entire factory."
"When the bell rings for the first time, the raw materials area must send fifty pounds of cleaned beef to the cutting area. When it rings for the second time, the cutting area must finish processing these fifty pounds of beef and send them to the cooking area. When it rings for the third time, the cooking area must send the previous batch of stewed meat to the canning area... and so on."
"No segment is allowed to be early, nor is it allowed to be late.
Your task is no longer to complete your work as quickly as possible, but to complete your work just right, no more, no less, before the bell rings.
The preceding segment is the sole source of instruction for the subsequent segment.
The entire production line will, like a single person, have a unified breath and rhythm. Do you understand?"
Miller and Jones listened, half understanding, but Catherine's eyes lit up.
She immediately grasped the terrifying efficiency inherent in this beat production model!
This was an ultimate control over time, processes, and manpower!
In the afternoon, when the crisp sound of the bell first echoed through the factory, the new production model began with a few stumbles.
Initially, the scene was quite chaotic.
"Damn it, the bell rang, but my meat isn't all cut yet!"
"Quick! Give me that pot of stewed meat, we're going to be late!"
The workers were in a flurry, completely unable to adapt to the feeling of being chased by time.
Allen didn't scold; he was like a strict drill sergeant, constantly running back and forth along the production line, loudly directing and adjusting the workload and personnel at each station.
In the first hour, they only completed thirty cans, an efficiency even lower than in the morning.
But by the second hour, things began to change.
After the initial chaos, the workers slowly started to find that "sense of rhythm."
They were no longer fighting individually, but subconsciously began to pay attention to the progress of their preceding and succeeding segments.
By the third hour, a miracle occurred.
When the bell rang again, all segments, almost simultaneously, perfectly completed their respective task handovers.
Raw materials flowed smoothly along the production line, with no backlog or waiting anywhere.
Catherine, on the sidelines, excitedly recorded the numbers.
In this one hour, they produced one hundred and ten cans!
This number made everyone cheer; they had witnessed a revolution in efficiency firsthand.
By the end of the workday, the factory's total output reached eight hundred and thirty-two cans!
That evening, Allen once again paid all workers their daily wages in advance and additionally gave everyone a twenty-five cent bonus.
The workers' cheers almost lifted the factory roof off.
In the quiet of the night, in the office, Allen and Catherine were conducting their final review.
"Sir, based on this afternoon's output, we can produce over eight thousand cans in a week. We can fulfill Mr. Gable's and the Bowery District's orders in less than a week."
Catherine's tone was filled with excitement.
"However, a new problem has also arisen. Our warehouse will soon be full, and we must open up new sales channels."
Allen highly agreed with Catherine's words; after all, the more shipments, the more money earned.
The factory would also continue to recruit workers; at the current output, it could produce four hundred thousand cans a year, almost enough to satisfy the entire New York market.
"You're right, Catherine."
Allen looked at the small Bowery District on the map and shook his head.
"The pond here can no longer hold our fish. Catherine, our next target is Upper Manhattan."
"Upper Manhattan?"
Catherine's brow furrowed slightly.
"Sir, the situation there is different. The high-end grocery stores near Fifth Avenue and Madison Square, their customers are New York's wealthiest families. They only trust expensive goods shipped from Europe and will likely disdain a local new brand like ours."
"Therefore, we cannot go door-to-door selling as we did in the Bowery District."
"We need to reverse it and make them come to us. We need to create demand, not satisfy demand."
"What do you mean?"
Seeing Catherine still confused, Teacher Allen decided to give her a lesson.
"I'm going to rent the most prominent storefront next to Union Square for one week."
Allen's plan was bold and imaginative.
"We won't sell anything; we'll only do one thing: free tasting."
"Free tasting?"
"Yes," Allen smiled.
"We will invite the best chefs, dressed in the whitest chef uniforms. Using the most beautiful silver tableware and bone china saucers, we will offer our heated canned beef for free to every passing gentleman and lady to taste. We want that enticing aroma to fill the entire square. We want the best taste to speak for itself."
Then he turned his gaze to Miller.
"At the same time, I will need you to arrange for two people, dressed in the sharpest uniforms, to stand guard at the storefront entrance like Buckingham Palace guards. They are not security guards; they are symbols of 'quality.'"
"Sir..."
Catherine was completely captivated by this creative idea.
"You... you are simply a genius at selling goods."
"No, Catherine."
"I am just a canner who happens to know a little bit more than others, that's all."