The Maintenance Worker Who Saved Us $2 Million (And Why We Almost Didn’t Listen)
“Ya know, if ya did internal manifold it would fit.”
The words came up over the din of the shop floor—barely audible above the noise of injection presses, hydraulic systems, and the general chaos of a production facility running full tilt.
Dave, our maintenance guy who handled rigging and tool maintenance, had been watching me struggle with a pool system project for weeks. I was trying to stack multiple molds on one platen, and I kept running into the same problem: the external water lines were taking up too much real estate. No matter how I arranged things, I couldn’t make it work on a single press.
I was resigned to the inevitable conclusion: we’d need two injection presses. A 300-ton machine and a 1000-ton machine to carry the molds. The product cost would have to absorb the burden of running on two presses instead of one. Not ideal, but sometimes that’s just how it is.
Except Dave saw something I didn’t see.
Internal manifolds. Water routing built into the mold structure instead of external hoses snaking across the platen. It was so obvious once he said it that I felt foolish for not thinking of it myself.
That single suggestion—seven words spoken over the noise of the shop floor—saved our customer $2 million in product costs over the life of that program.
But the real impact was bigger than one project. From that point forward, every mold we built incorporated internal manifolds. Faster setups. Cleaner maintenance. Less work replacing hoses and fixing leaks. Easier handling on the shop floor. And substantial savings for every customer who didn’t have to run two presses to produce their product.
All because a maintenance worker felt safe enough to speak up, and I was present enough to hear him.
Why Dave Almost Didn’t Say Anything
Let me give you context about the company culture at that time.
This was a place with aggressive leadership. Most people were always afraid to speak. Ideas got shot down. Suggestions were dismissed. The message was clear: engineers make decisions, everyone else executes them.
Dave had probably seen dozens of problems he could have solved with a simple suggestion. But why bother? Nobody was listening anyway.
What made this moment different?
I’d spent my first several months at that company doing something most engineers don’t do: I worked alongside the people on the floor.
I came in with my own dirty, scarred, well-worn work boots—not the clean boots of someone who only visits the shop for meetings. I did rounds with mold repair. I worked on the production line. I spent time at the injection presses pulling parts. I worked alongside millwrights on all their shifts, coming in at all hours to listen and learn.
I wasn’t trying to inspect their work or catch them doing something wrong. I was an equal who required help and was learning.
That’s what made Dave feel safe enough to speak up over the noise. Not because I was a good listener in theory, but because I’d demonstrated through months of action that I valued what people on the floor had to say.
His seven-word suggestion saved $2 million because I’d invested months in creating the relationship where he felt comfortable saying those seven words.
The Pattern I Kept Seeing
Once I started really listening to the people who work with tools and products every day, I couldn’t stop seeing the pattern. The solutions to most of my engineering problems weren’t in textbooks or analysis software. They were in the minds of setup technicians, maintenance workers, and operators who’d been solving these problems practically for decades.
Let me tell you about Ron.
The Setup Guy Who Was Sick of Wasting 24 Hours
Ron had been working on tools for 30 years. I was down at the press one day while they were pulling a tool, trying to understand how long insert changes actually took.
“Six hours,” Ron told me, watching his crew disassemble the mold. “Six hours to pull the tool apart just to change the inserts. Press sits empty for a full shift. Then we put it back together and run again.”
He looked at me with the expression of someone who’d been living with a stupid problem for too long.
“No tool should have to be taken apart to remove an insert,” he said. “Makes no sense. Always front load.”
It sounds simple, doesn’t it? Front-load inserts so you can change them in the press instead of pulling the entire tool.
But here’s what made Ron’s insight valuable: he understood the real cost of the current design. Not just the six hours of disassembly work, but the full shift of lost production. The schedule disruptions. The other jobs that got pushed. The compounding effect of downtime rippling through the entire facility.
As an engineer, I’d been thinking about insert changes as a maintenance task. Ron understood them as a capacity killer.
We implemented front-load insert systems. Some of these were massive—200-pound inserts being guided in the press by leader bars that you dropped the insert onto, then drew into the cavity block with fasteners located outside the molding area. We designed part ejection systems so pins could cross over from insert to insert.
Not every application could be done in-press. We had some plastic bins with drop-down sides where the entire side of a 4-foot bin was a slide that had to be changed as an insert. Those were too complex and too large. But for the majority of our tools, Ron’s “always front load” principle became the standard.
The time savings were substantial. But more importantly, Ron felt heard. He’d been living with a problem for 30 years, and when someone finally listened, he had the solution ready.
The Bin of Broken Horn Pins
Dave—yes, the same internal manifold Dave—caught me one day in the maintenance shop.
He pointed to a bin on the workbench. Actually, it was more like a two-foot-square bin spilling over with broken horn pins.
“WTF,” he said, with the frustration of someone who’d been dealing with the same failure over and over. “Do you know how much damage this causes?”
I didn’t. So I asked.
“Why are they breaking? How do you do the repair? What’s the problem?”
The answer was simpler than I expected, and more expensive than I’d imagined.
Operators had to reach into the press to remove parts. If there was no lock on the horn pin, it could easily get bumped out of position. When that happened—when a loose horn pin was in the wrong place and the press closed—the damage was catastrophic.
The mold gets damaged. The gibs get damaged. You have to pull the tool to replace the pin because standard horn pin designs load from the back. At least one full shift lost, often more if you don’t have spare parts on hand. Sometimes you’d have four pins break in one incident.
And while that tool is out of commission being disassembled and reassembled, what happens to the other tools on the schedule? Everything gets pushed. One broken horn pin creates a cascade of delays.
“Why don’t we use locks?” Dave asked. “Why are these things loaded from the back? Why not front load?”
Front-load horn pins with locks. Another simple change that came directly from the person who had to deal with the failures.
The impact wasn’t just operational. When we implemented front-loaded horn pins with locks across our tools, the operators’ spirits improved. When there was an honest mistake—because mistakes happen—it was much easier to overcome. Everyone simply felt better and was more productive.
But here’s what really mattered: Dave felt listened to. And when Dave felt listened to, the entire maintenance department took credit for the improvement. Suddenly they were being heard. They started offering more suggestions. They became invested in the success of new tools because they’d contributed to making those tools better.
That cultural shift—from “nobody listens” to “we’re part of the solution”—was worth more than the downtime savings, as valuable as those were.
The Bolts That Weren’t Quite Right
I learned about Unbrako bolts from Mike, a tool maker at a different shop.
We had ejection cylinders that were poorly mounted—bad design that created torsional impact on the cylinder. The bolts securing those cylinders were doing all the work and constantly suffering from flexural fatigue. They kept failing.
Redesigning the entire ejection system wasn’t economically feasible. We needed a solution that would work with the existing poor design.
“Use Unbrako bolts,” Mike told me. “They’re held to higher manufacturing tolerances, built to the higher end of tensile strength. More expensive, but stronger, harder, and more consistent than cheaper socket head cap screws.”
Then he gave me the caveat that showed his depth of practical knowledge:
“But don’t go too hard. If they do fail, I need to be able to drill into them to get an easy-out in.
I need bolts that are strong enough to serve our purpose but not so hard I can’t remove them
if we continue to have problems.’
This wasn’t a Chris solution. This was Mike’s knowledge, accumulated from years of working on tools, understanding the balance between strength and serviceability.
We implemented his recommendation. The failures stopped. The downtime ended.
And Mike knew his input had made a difference because I showed him. I used photos of his work to establish our best practices. His advice went into documentation. The checklists reflected solutions to problems he’d identified.
The relationship we built became something special. He loved providing support when he knew it was going to good use. He started bringing me more ideas, more observations, more solutions.
I could barely keep up with the documentation because I had other aspects of my job to look after. But that’s exactly why I’m so focused now on simple-to-implement lessons learned systems. Look how much Mike taught me. Look how much Dave taught me. Look how much Ron taught me.
That knowledge needs to be captured, organized, and applied systematically so it doesn’t get lost when these people retire or move on.
Why Engineers Almost Never Listen
I need to be honest about something uncomfortable: I was an operator once.
During school, I worked on tools and on the production line. And over and over again, I heard the same story from the people around me: “No one listens.”
They knew their jobs. They knew the product. They saw problems and had solutions. But nobody asked them, and when they volunteered suggestions, those suggestions got dismissed or ignored.
Then I came out of school as an engineer, and I realized where the solutions were for most problems. They weren’t in my textbook knowledge or my engineering degree. They were in the minds of the people doing the work every single day.
So why don’t engineers listen?
In my opinion, it’s ego.
We all have this identity we have to live up to. We’ve invested so much in study. How can someone who hasn’t put in the academic time we have know more than us?
But the truth is that we can never have all the information. The product installer, the maintenance technician, the autonomous maintenance specialist—they’re not just seeing different things. They’re seeing things from a different perspective that engineers aren’t even capable of seeing because we’re in a different position.
It’s about perspective shift.
The operator at the press sees how parts actually eject, which ones stick, which designs cause problems, which features make their job harder. That’s knowledge you can’t get from mold flow analysis.
The setup technician knows which tools are nightmares to change over and which ones run smoothly. They know which design features waste time and which ones make their job easier. That’s knowledge you can’t get from CAD models.
The maintenance worker knows which components fail regularly, which designs are serviceable and which ones require complete disassembly for minor repairs. They know which “improvements” engineers made that actually made maintenance harder. That’s knowledge you can’t get from design reviews.
We all have something to contribute. The challenge is taking the time to develop the relationships where people understand and feel that they can be heard and that they matter.
Not all the information is valuable—that’s true. But the pearls that come out can be career-changing. They can make your business dramatically more successful.
At the very least, having a team that feels like they matter, that they can contribute, and that they’re listened to—that spirit is the cultural change that all companies need. That’s the hard work. But it’s worth it.
How to Actually Do This
Breaking down the stigma between engineers and floor workers isn’t complicated, but it does require time and authenticity.
Here’s what worked for me:
**Spend natural time around the people doing the work.** Not inspection visits. Not audits. Not formal meetings. Just be present. Hang out in the shop a little longer than necessary. Watch how work actually gets done.
**Ask questions of random people.** Most people love to share their knowledge. They want to help. They’re just used to nobody asking. Be careful not to put them in uncomfortable positions, but be genuinely curious about what they know.
**If you uncover a lack of knowledge, learn together.** I always go back and provide feedback on what I learned so we both learn together. This builds relationships instead of exposing gaps.
**When you see a situation where you can help, lend a hand.** Don’t stand around watching with your hands in your pockets. Pick up garbage when you see it. Help move things. Be useful.
**Most importantly: find ways to show through action that someone’s help has made a difference.** This is the real value. There are always lots of words, but when you can implement someone’s suggestion and show them the impact, that’s when relationships transform.
I’m not much of a “go for coffee” social person. I just try to spend natural time around people and remain open. It’s a terribly slow process, but the payback is phenomenal.
When Dave suggested internal manifolds, it worked because we had a relationship. When Ron explained the real cost of pulling tools for insert changes, I understood because I’d spent time at the presses watching changeovers. When Mike taught me about Unbrako bolts, I trusted his judgment because I’d seen his work and respected his expertise.
None of that happens from an office or a conference room. It happens on the shop floor, over time, through consistent presence and genuine respect.
The Real Impact of Secondary Stakeholders
Engineers call them “secondary stakeholders”—as if they’re somehow less important than the “primary stakeholders” in design reviews and project meetings.
But here’s what I’ve learned over 35 years: secondary stakeholders are where the real gold is.
They’re the ones who see your designs in action every single day. They’re the ones who deal with the consequences of your decisions—good and bad. They’re the ones who know what actually works versus what looks good in CAD.
That internal manifold suggestion saved $2 million on one program and improved every tool we built after that. It came from a maintenance worker, not an engineering analysis.
The front-load insert principle eliminated 24-hour downtimes and turned into standard practice across all our tools. It came from a setup technician with 30 years of experience, not from a design review.
The front-load horn pins with locks prevented catastrophic mold damage and transformed the maintenance department’s engagement with engineering. It came from the guy who had to fix the broken pins, not from a failure analysis.
The Unbrako bolt solution stopped chronic failures without expensive redesign. It came from a tool maker who understood the balance between strength and serviceability, not from a fastener specification.
Every single one of these improvements—these transformative changes that made our tools better, our operations more efficient, and our costs lower—came from people who work with tools and products every day.
The knowledge was always there. It was always available. The only question was whether anyone was listening.
What This Means for Your Projects
If you’re an engineer, project manager, or manufacturing leader, ask yourself these questions:
**When was the last time you spent unstructured time on your shop floor?** Not for an inspection. Not for a crisis. Just being present, watching how work actually gets done, being available for conversations.
**When was the last time you asked an operator, setup person, or maintenance worker for their input on a design decision before the design was finalized?** Not after the tool is built and problems emerge. Before, when their knowledge could influence the design.
**How many improvement ideas in your facility came from engineers versus from the people doing the work?** If everything flows one direction—from engineering to the floor—you’re missing half the intelligence in your organization.
**Do the people who work with your products and tools feel safe speaking up?** Or is the culture such that they’ve learned to keep their mouths shut because nobody listens anyway?
**What’s your Dave’s internal manifold moment?** What $2 million solution is sitting in someone’s head right now, waiting for someone to ask or listen?
I’ve managed launches at GM and Stellantis. I’ve built hundreds of injection molds. I’ve troubleshot countless manufacturing problems. And the pattern I see everywhere is the same:
The knowledge you need to succeed already exists in your organization. It’s in the minds of people who work with tools and products every day. The question is whether you’re humble enough to seek it out and patient enough to build the relationships where people feel comfortable sharing it.
Front-Loading the Human Intelligence
I talk a lot about front-loading the design process—capturing lessons learned, implementing best practices, doing proper design reviews before cutting steel.
But here’s what I’ve learned: you can’t front-load lessons learned if you’re not capturing the lessons in the first place. And you can’t capture the lessons if you’re not listening to the people who have them.
This is why I’m building lessons learned systems that are simple to implement and easy to use. Voice-to-text through your phone that dumps automatically to a database. Notifications that pop up when a particular event triggers, pulling from the lessons learned database for relevant information.
But the technology is secondary. The primary challenge is creating the culture where people share what they know, where engineers listen to operators, where maintenance workers feel comfortable making suggestions, where setup technicians’ 30 years of experience gets valued as much as an engineering degree.
That’s the real front-loading. Building the relationships and the culture where knowledge flows freely in all directions, not just top-down from engineering.
When I achieved vertical launches—molds that worked perfectly from day one, programs that went into full production immediately without firefighting—it wasn’t because I was smarter than other engineers.
It was because I listened to Dave, Ron, Mike, and dozens of others like them.
It was because I spent time on the floor with my worn work boots and my willingness to learn.
It was because I understood that “secondary stakeholders” is a ridiculous term for the people who actually know how things work.
The Seven Words That Changed Everything
“Ya know, if ya did internal manifold it would fit.”
Seven words. Spoken over the noise of a production floor. By a maintenance worker who almost didn’t say anything because most people in his position had learned that nobody listens.
Those seven words saved $2 million and changed how we built every tool after that.
But they weren’t magic words. They were the result of months of relationship-building, consistent presence, genuine respect, and demonstrated willingness to listen and act on what I heard.
The next breakthrough in your manufacturing operation probably won’t come from a consultant, a new software system, or an engineering analysis. It will come from someone who works with your products every day, who sees problems you don’t see, who has solutions you haven’t thought of.
The question is whether they feel safe enough to speak up, and whether you’re present enough to hear them when they do.
Your Dave is out there right now. He’s watching you struggle with a problem he knows how to solve.
Are you listening?
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*Does your engineering team regularly engage with operators, setup technicians, and maintenance workers during the design phase? Launchpad Project Management helps manufacturers build systematic processes for capturing and implementing knowledge from secondary stakeholders—the people who know how things actually work. [Let’s talk about unlocking the intelligence that already exists in your organization.](contact page link)*