Thermoplastic Fire Helmets
Basketry Sculptures
Coffee Roasters

Thermoplastic fire helmets are lightweight, but that doesn't mean they aren't tough.

Because of their chemical composition, these plastic helmets remain sturdy, even when exposed to temperatures of over 500 degrees fahrenheit.

Developed in the 1970s, the helmets have become standard issue at many fire stations.

There are few situations more dangerous than entering a burning building.

Thermoplastic fire helmets weigh substantially less than other alternatives.

These helmets are one piece of equipment that won't slow down the rescue mission.

Production starts with a special blend of thermoplastic pellets.

A vacuum pulls the pellets into a hopper.

The pellets then flow into an injection-molding machine.

It melts and molds the pellets into the shape of a fire helmet.

A robot retrieves the helmet and transfers it to a cooling station.

A worker then clips off plastic that solidified as it flowed through a channel and into the mold.

This unwanted bit is called sprue.

She wipes off fingerprints and inspects the condition of the helmet shell.

The next worker trims the brim to remove excess plastic that formed when the mold closed.

For this process, he uses a blade with a curved edge.

Next, he applies reflective strips that will allow the firefighter to be seen in the dark.

He drills holes for attaching either goggles or face shields.

And the worker adds a last reflective strip.

He screws a support plate for the i.d. shield to the front of the helmet shell.

He uses plastic screws rather than metal because metal is electrically conductive and would put the firefighter at risk in the event of electrical sparking during a fire.

Another worker now applies labels to the inside of the helmet shell.

The labels indicate that this model of fire helmet is in compliance with the safety requirements.

The worker inserts high-density foam padding in the helmet shell.

The padded cap will cushion the wearer from the force of an impact.

This web of straps will serve as a suspension liner and will also support the helmet on the wearer's head.

Another worker installs a ratchet system for adjusting the fit of the liner to the firefighter's head.

Positioned at the nape of the neck, the firefighter can turn the knob to pull the suspension web tighter.

Attachments on the suspension liner fit into sockets on the helmet to lock it in place.

He fastens the chin strap to the helmet by wrapping the ends around molded struts on both sides of the shell.

The chin strap has a quick-release button in the event that the firefighter has to remove the helmet fast.

Another worker now folds up flame-resistant earflaps.

The flaps are equipped with hooked and looped fastening strips that fit to the helmet.

He sets the earflaps aside while he inserts snaps for goggles into brackets on the helmet.

He screws the snaps snugly to the helmet.

The worker then wraps the fire-and-fog-resistant goggles around the helmet and snaps them to it.

He tucks the maintenance instructions into the helmet, followed by the folded earflaps.

This thermoplastic fire helmet is now complete, but there's still one last bit of official business.

The worker screws the large leather i.d. shield to the support plate.

The shield bears the name of the fire department and a symbol that denotes rank.

This fire helmet is now ready for duty.

It will be one of the first things the firefighter reaches for when he or she gets an emergency call.

Contemporary artists are challenging our perception of basketry.

Focusing on form rather than function, artisans are weaving grasses and other fibers into sculptural art.

These basketry sculptures usually aren't meant to contain anything.

Instead, they're meant to capture and hold our attention.

Is it art, or is it a basket?

A basketry sculpture is both.

It celebrates the tradition of the craft while elevating basketry to an art form.

Materials for a basketry sculpture can include a mix of thing, from natural fibers, to metallic pieces, wire, and beads.

Soaking fibers like palm-tree strands in hot water will soften them and make the fibers flexible enough for weaving, but they won't lose their interesting crinkly texture.

About two hours in, the artist checks the suppleness of the fibers.

They can now be bent without breaking, but they need a bit more softening up.

So she covers the fibers with plastic and leaves them to soak a little longer.

She turns her attention to the sculpture's centerpiece, which will be made of copper.

She draws a design onto the copper's protective plastic liner.

Using metal shears, she cuts out the shape.

The artist peels off the plastic liner that has protected the copper, revealing the glossy, untarnished surface.

She now places the copper above a bag full of small pellets and pounds it using a nylon mallet.

This process gives the copper an aged, hammered texture.

She gives some areas on the other side the same treatment.

The hammering also bowls out the profile of the piece.

Using a marker, the artist draws a line about 1/3 of an inch in from the edge.

She marks dots onto this newly defined border, spacing them evenly apart.

She then punches holes through all the dots, using a lever-operated drill press.

She cuts out the space between the holes, and this process creates separate tabs for each hole.

The artisan now bends back the tabs, following the marked line.

The application of a clear powder coat prevents tarnishing.

After a few hours, the palm strands are now sufficiently softened.

She retrieves the strands from the hot-water soak and sets them aside.

The artist returns to the copper centerpiece and begins to weave, starting with rattan reeds that have also soaked to make them more pliable.

She pulls the reeds through the tabs and intercrosses them so that they fan out in two directions.

She then braids cotton string against the centerpiece.

This creates a neat and sturdy border all the way around.

She clips clothespins to the rattan to hold the braided border in place against the centerpiece.

She then trims the ends of the strings.

Next, the artist weaves rattan reeds parallel to the cotton braid, entwining them with the reeds that extend outward.

She creates one row of these rigid fibers for structure.

She's now ready for the palm strands.

After the soaking, the strands remain soft and pliable for many hours, so she doesn't have to rush the work.

As she continues, she alternates rows of palm and rattan fibers.

The different textures add visual interest to the basketry sculpture.

It will take two months to complete this work.

When the basketry work is done, the artist takes the piece outside and airbrushes them with acrylic paint.

She sometimes relies on a metal template to more evenly define the paint border.

It's the finishing touch to the basketry sculpture, and now it's up to the public to understand the story that the artist has woven.

The earliest tools for roasting coffee beans were pans you would hold over hot coals or an open fire, but, today, coffee roasting is a far more sophisticated process, using large, often fully automated machines with built-in gas burners that heat air to roast the beans.

This coffee roaster is both programmable and manually adjustable by touch panel.

The roast master can tailor the temperature and roasting time to influence flavor, acidity, and other characteristics of coffee.

To shape the roast chamber, workers feed a sheet of stainless steel through a sheet-metal roll.

The roast chamber is the drum in which the beans roast by convection heat.

The next step is to weld the rolled sheet into a cylinder.

Then workers grind and polish the welds until they're flat, smooth, and shiny.

Another worker makes the cooling tray in a similar way, but with a support band welded to the top.

The cooling tray is the drum into which the hot beans drop when they exit the roast chamber.

Stirring arms circulate the beans as a fan draws air through the tray to cool the hot beans.

Certain parts of the roaster are cut from a stainless-steel sheet.

Stainless steel is the ideal material not only because it's stylish, but also because it's durable and corrosion-resistant.

This computer-guided laser cutter is slicing out a safety component called the heat shield, which prevents the roast master from accidentally touching a hot surface.

The heat shield, like many other parts cut from stainless-steel sheets, has to be formed to a very precise shape.

A worker bends angles and curves into the metal with a press brake.

Another component, the trier, lets you draw a sample of beans during roasting.

A craftsman constructs the trier by welding various smaller parts to a piece of stainless-steel tube, then meticulously grinding and polishing the welds until they're smooth.

This high-pressure water-jet cutter also cuts parts from stainless-steel sheets.

This component is one of six flights, which is part of the paddle that lifts and mixes the beans inside the roast chamber so that they roast evenly.

To form the flights to the required shape, a worker curves them one at a time in a press.

Next, the welder places all the paddle components into a specialized fixture, which positions them correctly.

First, he aligns the spokes to the paddle shaft.

Then he welds the parts in place.

He positions the flights, clamps them securely, and welds them on.

The combination of inner and outer flights lifts the beans into the airflow, ensuring the beans roast evenly.

A custom-designed grinding machine hones the flights to produce a small clearance of around 1/10 of an inch between the edge of the paddle and the wall of the roast chamber.

This design ensures the paddle is wide enough to pick up every last coffee bean without touching the wall while rotating.

Once they install the paddle, a worker closes up the roast chamber with a faceplate.

Alignment pins ensure the faceplate is properly positioned.

The paddle shaft protrudes through a bearing in the faceplate.

The assembly team uses a hoist to lift the heavy chamber and position it on top of the coffee roaster's stainless-steel support frame.

They install the heat shield that was cut by the laser cutter and bent to shape in the press brake.

On top, the assembly team mounts the machine's funnel-shaped hopper.

The hopper feeds the unroasted coffee beans to the roast chamber below.

The hopper's lid has a tube, which connects to a vacuum system that draws the coffee beans up through a plastic hose.

On the front of the roasting chamber, an assembler hangs a hinged discharge door that has a viewing window.

He plugs in a sensor that measures the temperature of the beans in the roasting chamber and sends that information to the machine's computer.

More to come after this coffee break.

This coffee-roasting machine has three additional temperature sensors that send data to the computer.

These sensors measure the temperature of the air entering and exiting the roast chamber and the temperature of the clean air exhausting from the machine after the burner incinerates the smoke generated by the roasting process.

Workers continue assembly by installing the cooling tray beneath the discharge door of the roasting chamber.

The cooling tray sits on a support frame, which contains a motor that turns the stirring arms inside the tray.

At the back of the machine, a worker installs the tray's cooling fan and the motor that drives it.

This gauge measures the pressure of the air that mixes with the gas going into the machine's burner.

Next, they install the circulation fan.

The fan is designed to withstand high heat and move air efficiently throughout the coffee roaster.

The bottom end of this stainless-steel tube connects to a vacuum motor.

The top end connects to the tube protruding from the feed hopper's lid.

To fill the roasting chamber, the vacuum motor sucks the raw green coffee beans up into the hopper, which drops the beans into the chamber, where, as they roast, their papery skin, called the chaff, breaks off.

This separating device, known as a cyclone, connects to the circulation fan.

The fan blows hot air returning from the roasting chamber into the cyclone at high velocity.

The air circulates in a downward spiral past the burner at the base of the cyclone, incinerating the smoke.

This also draws the chaff out of the air into a barrel.

Nozzles spray water on the chaff to prevent it from catching fire, which is a common hazard with traditional coffee roasters.

The circulation fan then forces the clean, hot air up and out the top of the cyclone, through this "s"-shaped, insulated air duct, back into the roasting chamber.

A technician in the factory's electrical department assembles the machine's control panel.

Among other components, the circuitry runs control systems and the machine's six electric motors, which operate moving parts, such as the bean-drawing vacuum motor, the circulation fan, the cooling-tray fan, the roasting-chamber paddle, and cooling-tray stirring arms.

Workers then install the control panel in a cabinet on the side of the machine.

They connect all the wires.

They mount the machine's computer adjacent to the control-panel cabinet.

Next, a worker assembles the cooling-tray system.

A motor under the tray drives the stirring arms.

The hot roasted coffee beans sit on top of the stainless-steel screen.

The cooling fan pulls ambient air through the beans, down through the openings of the screen, then out an exhaust pipe to the outdoors.

The stirring arms move the beans around so that they cool quickly and evenly, which prevents the beans from continuing to roast.

The factory runs every finished coffee roaster through multiple test roasts.

After heating the roast chamber to a specific temperature, the operator uses the touch screen to release the beans into the chamber.

The hot air travels from the cyclone to the roast chamber, then through a return pipe back to the cyclone, where it's cleaned and sent back to the chamber.

To know when to manually end the roast cycle, the operator views, smells, and listens to the beans.

That's because coffee beans make crackling noises as they expand and shed their chaff.

The machine can also be set to end the roast cycle automatically when the beans reach their target temperature.

A trapdoor opens to draw in ambient air.

This cooler air pushes smoke in the roasting chamber up to the cyclone for incineration.

The computer can automatically open the roast chamber's discharge door, or the operator can do so manually.

As soon as the roasted coffee beans drop into the cooling tray, the stirring arms and cooling fan automatically start up.

If the beans are perfectly roasted, the machine is ready to be shipped to a coffee-roasting business.


Swords
Pontoons
Grandfather Clocks
Fuses

Swords.

Pontoons.

Grandfather clocks.

And fuses.

For thousands of years, wars were won and lost by the sword.

Swords helped shape history.

Today, modern artisans craft historical replicas of these age-old weapons, and they go to the hilt to make sure the details are just right.

This reproduction of a medieval sword hearkens back to the days of knights in shining armor.

The first step to making a sword is to place a piece of high-carbon steel in a fixture.

Computer-guided blades carve out the basic shape of the sword with all the specifications of the original.

Centuries ago, a blacksmith would have done this painstaking job by hand, but this machine is much faster and creates a much more consistent cut.

After about an hour of carving, a nicely tapered sword blank emerges.

The blank is submerged in hot liquid salt-- a critical step that softens the steel to eliminate stresses created by the carving.

Next, the blade is plunged into cool liquid in a process called quenching.

It immediately hardens the edges of the sword, but the center cools more slowly.

This allows the sword to retain flexibility, giving the blade a springy quality.

Using a belt grinder, sword makers fine-tune the blade's shape and hone its edges.

The blade is now incredibly sharp.

To test its strength, they strike a metal barrel with it.

Incredibly, the sword doesn't chip.

Next, wax is pumped into molds to make historically accurate copies of the hilt parts like the pommel-- which is the counterweight at the end of the hilt-- and the guard that separates the blade from the handle.

These wax copies are used to cast the parts in metal.

Then the cast-metal pieces are smoothed and polished.

They smooth away the rough edges on this sword guard and hone its profile.

Grinding the pommel is a challenge, because it has so many curves and angles.

One mistake, and the pommel could end up lopsided, which means it wouldn't be very effective as a counterweight.

With the blade in a padded vise, the guard slides onto the tang, where it's cushioned with a piece of plastic and a metal pipe.

Then a sledgehammer pounds it into position.

Next, the pommel is hammered into place.

And finally, a small piece of steel called a peen block is slipped on.

Heat from a torch softens the peen so it spreads as it's hammered down.

The epoxy gets a quick stir.

Then it's applied to two wooden grips as well as to the handle of the sword.

Then the grips are clamped into place.

Next, black dye is brushed onto a thin piece of leather.

The other side is coated with glue.

This glue-and-dye-drenched leather is then wrapped around the wooden handle.

It's bound with cord to compress the leather wrap while it dries.

Now it's time to brand the blade with the maker's insignia.

Chemicals etch the mark into the steel .

4 of an inch deep.

And now you have a replica that's true to the medieval original-- a piece of art that takes you back in time at swordpoint.

Coming up, putting together the pieces of a pontoon boat.

Party barge, floating bridge, luxury raft-- just some of the many functions of pontoon boats.

While their basic design hasn't changed much over the years, new materials have made pontoons bigger, sleeker, sturdier, and faster.

And what better way to enjoy an afternoon than on the lake.

In the old days, pontoons floated atop 45-gallon steel drums.

Today, they ride on custom-built floating chambers made of special aluminum alloy.

These floating chambers start off as sheets of aluminum.

This rolling machine forms them into tubes, applying pressure equivalent to the weight of 26 elephants.

A worker slides each cylinder onto a track to stabilize it for welding.

A pacing machine regulates the speed of the welding torch so that it connects the tube's edges evenly, producing a solid, watertight seal.

Meanwhile, this rolling machine shapes aluminum sheets into tapered cylinders called nose cones.

By varying the hydraulic pressure, the operator is able to mold the aluminum into the shape of a large cone.

They use a special aluminum alloy to make the chambers shockproof.

Next step, making this pontoon leakproof.

First, the welder clamps the nose cone seams together to prepare for welding.

Because of its unique shape, the nose cone has to be welded completely by hand.

This type of welding, called tig welding, generates temperatures that can reach 9,000 degrees fahrenheit.

The nose cones will sit at the bow of the boat, in front of the other floating chambers.

The waffled component at the end of each chamber is called the baffle.

It adds extra protection against leaks.

This hydraulic press squeezes the sections together for an extra-snug fit.

Chambers are welded together to form floats.

The number of chambers per float varies depending on the pontoon's length.

These risers will hold the pontoon's floor in place.

Each chamber floats on its own, so even with several punctures, the boat would stay afloat.

A worker shoots compressed air into each chamber to check for leaks.

He coats the welds with a soapy solution, which will bubble up in the case of an air leak.

This demonstration shows that if air can get out through this tiny hole, then water can get in through it.

Workers install aluminum cross members to support all the weight that will be added on top.

A pneumatic torque wrench is used to bolt the cross members into the risers with rustproof nuts.

Next, the boat's floor is constructed from sheets of pressure-treated plywood.

Pop rivets anchor it securely to the cross members.

Workers custom-cut and glue down a marine carpet.

It's made of plastic, so even with a lot of water exposure, it still won't rot.

Now for some fade-resistant decals.

Rollers crimp the boat's aluminum side panels to make them stronger.

Corrugated panels don't warp or wobble as much as flat ones.

Using a pop-rivet gun, a worker fastens the panels onto the railing.

This shaping machine curves the railing in all the right places, bending the malleable metal with varying pressure.

Next, workers bring the assembled pieces to the platform.

Screws and bolts secure everything to the boat's floor, including the furniture.

The pontoon's captain will command the craft using this console.

The buttons for the horn, lights, and music sit at the top of the console for easy access.

Extra touches bring some of the comforts of home to this craft.

Wires and control cables connect the captain's console to this 50-horsepower motor.

It's by no means a high-speed engine, but it gives a pontoon boat all the power it needs for a leisurely spin on the lake.

When we return, clocking in at a factory where time is money.

Invented centuries ago, grandfather clocks run on gravity.

When you wind the clock, weights inside are drawn upwards.

Gravity then pulls the weights down gradually, unwinding the cables and turning the hands of the clock.

The proper term for this type of timepiece is a long-case clock.

the nickname "grandfather clock" came from a popular song from the 1800s.

This long-established company makes its clock cases out of quality hardwoods, such as maple and oak.

To construct frames for the four sides and door, workers fit dowels into holes, then secure the pieces together with screws and glue.

They lay each frame in this curing machine that uses high-frequency radio waves to generate heat, drying the glue in seconds.

Workers connect the four frames with screws and glue.

They'll later attach the doorframe with hinges.

The next step is to assemble a base-- again, with dowels, glue, and screws.

Once the glue is dry, the assembled frame goes into the base.

Now for some embellishment.

Computer-guided routers carve elegant wood moldings that give this particular model a traditional feel.

Today's grandfather clocks come in styles to suit any decor.

Workers carefully sand every single piece of wood in the clock case.

The surface must be flawlessly smooth for it to absorb color evenly.

The moldings are attached with a combination of glue and nails.

These long pieces of wood become curved, fluted moldings.

They adorn the side of the doorframe.

This model also features a pair of stately columns above and below the flutes.

A worker first positions them with glue, then screws them securely into the frame from behind.

The next step is to stain the wood, hand-rubbing it to bring out the grain.

A coat of lacquer protects the wood and gives it a degree of sheen, from matte to glossy, depending on the model.

After installing the glass and door, it's time to install the clock's components.

Workers start with long, metal bars called chime rods, 8 to 12 of them, depending on the model.

Each chime rod produces a certain different musical note when struck.

Next comes a mechanism called the movement.

It contains timekeeping components that trigger the chime hammers to hit the chime rods on the hour, half-hour, or quarter-hour.

This company uses only top-quality, all-brass movements imported from germany.

The chime hammers are also made of brass, but they have plastic tips, so you only hear the musical note, not the sound of metal striking metal.

These brass pulleys hang from cables connected to the movement.

The pulleys will support the clock's three weights.

After connecting the movement to the clock dial, a worker inserts a decorative detail-- a wood panel to frame the dial.

Then she installs the clock's second hand into the center of a miniature dial.

On the main dial, the hour and the minute hands are attached.

Depending on the model, these aluminum hands are painted either black or gold.

A decorative nut secures them.

Finally, the all-important weights and pendulum.

The weights are brass canisters filled with lead.

Each one weighs almost 9 pounds.

The pendulum sways from side to side at an even pace.

This ensures that the clock keeps accurate time.

It also drives the clock to chime on the hour or fraction of the hour.

All you have to do to keep this clock ticking is wind it up about once a week.

Up next, behind the scenes at a fuse factory.

Invented in the 19th century, fuses are designed to blow whenever there's a power overload.

This stops the flow of electricity and prevents a wiring fire.

We may never see fuses in action, but they're constantly working to protect us wherever electrical current flows.

Choosing the right fuse depends on the amount of current.

To make a high-voltage fuse for use in electrical substations, this machine cuts notches into a long, silver strip, which will serve as the fuse's element.

The notches will help control the way the fuse blows.

Bits of soft metal are melted onto the strip.

These will be the points where the fuse blows.

One end of the silver element is welded to the top of a ceramic core...

And the element is wound around it.

Workers slide the element core into the fuse casing and bend back metal tabs.

Then, using a soldering technique called brazing, they seal everything together.

They take a brass washer and wind ignition wire around it.

They're assembling the striker pin-- the device that indicates a blown fuse and shuts down the power.

The striker pin is fitted to the washer, and with the wire protruding, it's placed into a holding device.

Explosive powder is added to each striker pin.

Then the bottom of the pin is plugged with a rubber stopper.

Next, the striker pin is pressed into a brass capsule.

This will contain the mini-explosion that pushes out the pin when the fuse is blown.

This test run shows how it all happens.

The pin's ignition wire is wrapped around an electrical post.

Workers clamp down the pin and position the pendulum that swings to indicate the amount of force with which the pin fires.

A jolt of power detonates the explosive.

This causes the pin to protrude, signifying a blown fuse.

Now, a metal eyelet slides onto the striker pin's ignition wire, and then a wire coil is attached to it, completing the striker pin's ignition system.

A snare pulls the whole assembly into the fuse.

The end of the coil is tied to the fuse's cap.

And an outer cap is press-fitted over the inner one.

Next, the fuse is filled with sand.

This sand will absorb energy from the element when the fuse blows.

Automated rods tap the fuses to compact the sand inside.

Next, an outer cap is lubricated...

And it's pressed onto the other end of the fuse.

This machine spins grooves onto the cap, pinching it tightly to the fuse casing.

A current is run through each one of these fuses, checking the voltage to confirm that they're in good working order.

Sealant is then pumped around the cap's rims to make them completely airtight.

Finally, the safety information is affixed to the fuse.

And some electrical specifications are stamped onto the caps.

Now these fuses are ready to go with the electrical flow and blow at the first sign of trouble.


The sauna is a centuries-old finnish tradition.

99% of finns sit in a sauna at least once a week.

Most homes, apartment buildings, and even offices have one.

Don't live in finland but want to enjoy the benefits of a home sauna?

No sweat.

This outdoor sauna is made of premium canadian red cedar, which is aromatic and resistant to mold.

First, they measure the wood with a hydrometer to ensure the humidity level is below 12%.

If the wood is too moist, it will shrink after assembly, leaving gaps between the planks.

Once they've determined that the wood is stable, they put the planks through a molder.

The machine's seven different toolheads smooth the top and bottom surfaces.

The machine also carves tongue and groove edges that will tightly lock one plank to the next.

The assemblers build the barrel-shaped sauna in sections.

For the bottom, they start with a central plank that has a tongue on both sides.

The tongues and grooves fit together to render the joints watertight.

The assemblers continue adding planks until there are eight on each side of the central one.

They construct the sauna's back wall using the same technique.

Once they've joined together the required number of planks, they lay down a circular template and secure it with clamps.

Then they cut around the template with a router.

To further secure the planks to each other, they drill angled holes through adjacent ones...

And drive in screws.

They also screw in three horizontal reinforcement planks.

Using a pattern as a guide, they cut out a window with the router.

They screw window moldings around the opening.

They apply an adhesive-backed rubber insulation strip along the perimeter.

This will prevent heat and water from leaking out between the walls of the sauna.

They mount the front and back walls onto the bottom section.

They add planks to both sides of the bottom section to gradually build up the curved side walls.

The side walls meet at the top on either side of a central plank that's pre-wired with the sauna's l.e.d. ceiling lights.

Workers strap three galvanized-steel cables around the sides...

And pull them to a specific tension.

These cables further bind the planks to each other.

The structural assembly is now complete.

They begin installing the interior components, starting with a thermometer and hydrometer.

Next, they mount a pivoting cover over the fresh-air-vent holes.

This allows users to block outside air or allow it in.

Then they add an hourglass that counts down 15 minutes-- the recommended time to spend in a sauna.

Next comes the electric stove.

It contains volcanic rocks that absorb and store the heat.

You have the option of pouring water onto the hot rocks to create steam.

After installing benches and a water-absorbent rubber floor, they hang the door.

The glass in both the door and rear window is tinted for privacy.

The sauna reaches a temperature of 185 degrees.

The barrel shape of the sauna optimizes the circulation of the heat and steam.

A wheelchair lift is an elevator designed to carry wheelchair users up and down a multistory building.

It can be installed both inside and outside.

A lift makes a building accessible to anyone for whom stairs are a barrier.

A wheelchair lift can be installed in virtually any building or private home.

All that's needed is sufficient vertical space and compliance with local elevator and building codes.

A hydraulic lift moves the passenger cab on a rail system.

The motor and mechanisms are concealed in an attached metal tower.

The structure of the walls surrounding the lift are made of aluminum, which arrive from the supplier in long pieces.

Workers here at the factory cut them to the required length.

They shape the corners and cut the slots required for assembly.

To make each section of the wall, they join four pieces to construct a frame.

Once the frames for all the wall sections are ready, workers assemble them to make sure the pieces fit together correctly.

They make any necessary adjustments, then take the wall sections apart to insert the panels.

The wall panels are made of aluminum, acrylic, or tempered glass.

Workers first lay down a foam spacer strip to prevent the panel from rattling.

Then they secure the panel to the frame with snap-in aluminum molding.

From here, the wall sections go to the packing department.

Now it's time for the lift's mechanical system.

In between the steel side rails, workers mount three u-shaped supports and a cylinder.

These will hold the hydraulic piston, which expands and retracts to move the passenger cab up and down.

Workers verify the position of the support brackets and secure them in place.

Then they install the piston into the cylinder and onto the three supports.

The piston is locked in place with thick steel brackets.

They install the controller, the wheelchair lift's brain center.

The controller regulates everything, from the passenger cab's movement to the safety sensors and door locks.

Workers install the pump.

It pushes hydraulic fluid into the piston to move the cab.

They take the power cord from both the pump and controller and hook them up to their respective terminals.

Then they connect the hose for the hydraulic fluid.

It runs from pump to the piston via this manifold.

The manifold has a shutoff valve so maintenance technicians can safely disable the wheelchair lift for servicing.

Workers test then connect the landing switches.

The lift installers will use these switches to set the travel distance between stories.

This ensures the passenger cab will stop level with the floor at each landing.

The cab sits on a steel platform called a sling.

A worker now screws the sling's left side to the left skate-- a four-wheel trolley that runs on the lift's left rail.

He does the same with the right side.

The skates connect to this heavy-duty drive chain that turns on a roller at the top of the piston.

For the cab to ascend, the pump pushes hydraulic fluid into the piston.

The piston expands and pushes on the drive chain, moving the skates up the rails.

When you push the "descend" button, a valve opens, allowing hydraulic fluid to exit the piston.

Aided by gravity, the cab gradually descends.

They test the operation panel they'll later install in the cab.

They make sure all the buttons work and move the sling up and down correctly.

Workers also test the safety brakes installed in the skates.

If the drive chain ever loses tension, the brakes automatically block the rails to prevent the cab from falling.

Installers assemble the cab on-site and mount it on the sling that will move it from floor to floor.

A diorama is a 3-d scene that offers a glimpse of another place or time.

It is believed to have been invented by a french theatrical designer in 1822.

Despite modern digital technology, the diorama continues to be a great way to create an illusion.

This is an art exhibit created by one diorama artist.

This particular series depicts an apocalyptic scenario.

The images are powerful and authentic.

It all starts with some background research.

The artist and assistant decide on a chinese-takeout-restaurant scene and take pictures for reference.

Back in the studio, the artist checks the scale of components to be featured in the diorama scene, like a fox.

To make the scene look real, the size of the fox must be in proportion to everything else.

She decides that it will work.

But the toy scooter is too small, so she produces a template that's to scale.

Her assistant then pencils an outline of the template onto a piece of rigid foam to make a version of the scooter that's the correct size.

She carves out the shape using a hot wire.

It melts the foam for a cleaner cut than could be achieved with a knife.

The piece of foam now has scooter-like curves, but it's far too chunky.

She whittles it down using a utility knife.

She sands the foam to refine the carving.

A paint job and a set of wheels complete the transformation.

Next, she copies newspaper pages and shrinks them down to the correct scale.

She cuts the borders and gathers them in a pile.

She brushes thinned latex paint on the pages.

This gives them the yellowed appearance of old newspapers.

She crumples and un-crumples the pages for an effect that also makes them look old.

She cuts out images of many chinese-food takeout cartons.

They've been printed onto paperboard and include crease lines for folding.

Folding a carton is a kind of origami-- the japanese art of folding-- and it's a bit more challenging on such a miniature scale, but practice makes perfect.

She applies glue to the folded flaps and presses them together.

Clamps hold the seams in place until the glue dries.

To create a post-apocalyptic atmosphere, they'll scatter leaves throughout the diorama.

The assistant now selects leaves that have been pressed for about a week and can still be handled without breaking.

She punches out mini leaf shapes with a handy crafting tool and accumulates piles in various colors.

Because it's punched from actual leaves, the miniature foliage looks very authentic.

Next, she works a lump of polymer clay until it's soft and narrow.

She inserts the clay into an extruder and presses it through perforations at the end.

This creates strands of clay that look like tiny lo mein noodles.

She arranges the clay on a tiny paper plate.

She then brushes brown paint onto the noodles to imitate sauce.

She rolls green clay into long strands and chops it up to mimic the look of green onions.

These small touches make a difference.

The creation of the diorama continues after this break.

A diorama is an art form that is all about thinking inside the box.

An artist builds a 3-d scene within a boxy structure.

It has one side open for viewing.

The scene can be true to life or inspired by a place or event, and sometimes, a diorama can change the way we look at the world.

The clay mini meals are now complete, and the artist uses them to create a fake menu sign.

She snaps pictures of each of the chinese-food selections.

The choices include sesame chicken...

Fried and steamed dumplings, and a new york favorite, chicken wings with fries.

Printed onto translucent plastic, the clay imitations look quite mouthwatering.

She brushes thinned white paint onto the photographs to create a cloudy residue...

And adds streaks of thinned brown paint to the menu sign to mimic dust particles.

Now she builds the diorama walls using foam sheets.

She glues mirrored plastic panels to one wall.

The reflections will make this diorama seem more spacious.

She hot-glues a sign to the mirror.

It outlines the correct procedure in a choking emergency.

She tapes the corners with little strips of masking tape.

She then rubs ground-up volcanic ash onto the mirror.

The ash clings to the surface and emulates grease buildup.

It will also make the mirror's reflections hazy.

After careful measuring, she cuts out a door from polystyrene and spray-paints it silver.

She assembles the door to the back wall, but first installs lighting above the doorway and tests it.

With the lights installed, she glues the translucent menu sign to the framework.

Switched on, these backlights illuminate the menu choices.

The artist and her assistant attach the walls of the diorama to a tile-patterned foam floor.

They tape the walls together from the back.

They scatter grass and dirt throughout the scene.

This represents nature taking over after an apocalypse.

An overturned trash can and yellowed newspapers on the floor imply the sudden departure of humans.

They decide the scene needs more grass and dirt, so they distribute more across the floor.

They now place the motorbike into the scene.

Empty takeout containers and a plastic fox in the open doorway add to the illusion of an urban landscape returning to nature.

They add the third wall and the ceiling with its fluorescent lighting.

The scene has been set, and now the artist focuses an 8x10 film camera on it.

This large-format camera will produce a high-resolution image.

She adjusts the lighting and, when satisfied, takes three shots.

This is a carefully crafted scene viewed through the camera's eye.

The team has even built and shot a diorama of their studio.

Ordinary spaces become extraordinary when recreated in a diorama and photographed.

Many scenes, when printed large, appear true to life.


Channel Signs
Wetsuits
Aluminum Aircraft

A channel sign is made of individual letters that are fixed to a building or backdrop.

The letters have internal channels that house either neon or led lights.

At night, the channel letters light up and make a bold statement.

Channel letters are three-dimensional and really stand out from the rest.

The illuminated signs grab people's attention and convert them into potential customers.

Channel letters are made from acrylic.

The factory uses colored vinyl to tint them.

An employee peels the liner from the vinyl, exposing the adhesive backing.

He uses a roller to apply the vinyl to one side of the clear acrylic.

The other side of the acrylic sheet is covered with a paper liner.

A computerized router cuts the letters out on that side.

The font style and size are custom-made for the client.

After the letters are cut out, they remove the paper backing.

The employees use nails to hold the letters in place as they work.

The worker unrolls plastic trim cap and cuts it to fit around the letter.

He lines the letter with trim and hammers in more nails, to keep everything in place.

He makes cuts to the trim to form neat corners.

The trim cap gives the letter a finished look.

It also creates a surface for attaching the back letter enclosure, called the letter can.

He seals the trim around the entire length with high-strength glue.

Once it dries, he removes the nails.

Now, it's ready for the letter can.

To make the sides of the letter can, they feed a wide strip of aluminum into a computerized machine.

It bends the aluminum to match the face of the letter.

It also forms a lip at the bottom, to attach the can to the back wall.

The side of each channel letter is called the return.

It attaches the letter face to the back wall.

The return also creates the channel which holds the lighting and directs the illumination.

These are the dies that cut and shape the aluminum.

Using a computerized machine, it takes the worker a few minutes to create the channel letter return.

It would take four times longer to make the letter return by hand.

Here is a completed channel letter return with the ends welded together.

An employee slides the side structure over the back wall to form the letter can.

He checks the fit, then clinches the back to the return.

This completes the channel letter can.

They run led lights throughout the can.

In recent years, led lights have replaced neon tubes because they are more energy-efficient.

An employee paints the aluminum can to match the vinyl on the letter's acrylic front.

They test the lights.

If they work, the technicians mount the letter can to the sign backdrop.

The installer attaches the translucent acrylic face to the can.

It takes about an hour to make one channel letter and a couple of days to make an entire channel sign.

The final product is sure to be noticed.

The wetsuit was invented in the mid-20th century.

However, it wasn't an immediate hit.

Made of a synthetic rubber called neoprene, the early wetsuits were hard to put on and irritated the skin.

But recent neoprene improvements have made the wetsuit a popular choice for protection against the elements.

When the surf is up, but the water temperature is down, a neoprene wetsuit is a practical swimwear choice.

Even when wet, it keeps the body warm.

Wetsuits fit like a second skin, so many surfers and divers have theirs custom-made.

The tailor measures the client from the neck to the ankles.

The suit allows a small amount of water to seep between it and the skin.

Body heat warms the water, insulating the swimmer.

Using the measurements, a team cuts out cardboard patterns.

Then, a worker uses the patters to cut the neoprene pieces.

They use neoprene because its cellular structure is a good insulator.

The number of pieces in each suit varies, according to the style and size.

Each suit has at least 15 pieces and can have as much as 30.

Fabric for the wetsuits comes in a variety of colors.

Some fabric will be used for accent panels, while others create the structural elements.

The pieces fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.

A worker heats one of the panels with a hot press.

This slightly expands the neoprene.

He places a decal of the company logo on the panel.

He lowers the press again to fuse the logo to the panel.

As the neoprene cools, it shrinks to its original size, making the lettering less likely to crack.

Next, a worker applies waterproof rubberized glue to the edges of the neoprene panels.

This is one of the most important parts of the wetsuit's construction.

Too little glue could affect both the adhesion of the panels and the waterproofing of the seams.

But if he applies too much glue, it could bleed into the colored panels.

He pushes the glued panels together at the seams.

The panels adhere instantly, and the wetsuit comes together quickly.

It takes him about 45 minutes to put a wetsuit together.

He inserts paper in the bottom half of the wetsuit.

This prevents the front of the suit from sticking to the back as he joins the top assembly to the bottom.

He lets the glue dry for a few minutes.

Then, a seamstress turns the suit inside out and stitches the seams.

She uses a curved needle, so it doesn't go all the way through the fabric.

This is called blind stitching.

It doesn't puncture the fabric.

It also creates flat seams.

Using a hot roller, she applies nylon tape to the back of the seams for extra waterproofing.

A nozzle blows hot air to melt the adhesive onto the fabric.

She sews a plastic zipper onto the back of the wetsuit and attaches a hook-and-loop stopper, to prevent unzipping.

Another team member brushes rubberized glue around the zipper.

He presses the edges of a neoprene panel to the glued area, creating a waterproof barrier around the zipper.

He trims the end of the panel.

This custom neoprene wetsuit is complete.

From start to finish, the process takes 5 to 6 hours.

He tests the zipper and closely scrutinizes the workmanship.

After passing an initial inspection, this wetsuit is ready for a fitting.

A good fit is crucial to its performance.

If the wetsuit doesn't fit properly, cold water will pass through it and the suit will fail to keep the surfer warm.

It meets expectations, so she's ready to test the water with this custom neoprene wetsuit.

Airplanes need to be durable, to withstand the wear and tear of frequent flying and the dangers of landing on rugged airstrips.

Most small airplanes are made with aluminum because it's both sturdy and lightweight.

Some aluminum aircraft are twin engines, meaning they have a propeller on each wing.

Single-engine models, like this one, have one propeller, typically on the nose.

This airplane also has a pressurized cabin, so it can reach an altitude of about 30,000 feet.

It also has a deicing system for the wings, tail, and propeller blades, so it can fly safely in cold, wet conditions.

The aluminum is delivered to the factory in long rolls.

They unwind each roll and feed the aluminum through a series of heavy rollers, to press out the curl.

A blade at the end of the machine automatically slices the flat aluminum into smaller pieces.

The thickness of the aluminum varies, depending on the part they're making.

They use a 3-millimeter sheet of aluminum to make the cockpit instrument panel.

A computer-guided mill cuts the profile, drills screw holes for installation, and cuts all the openings for the instrumentation.

The sheet goes from this to this.

A computer-guided router cuts out most of the wing components.

Workers feed it between machine rollers that slowly bend it to a specific angle.

Once the bend is complete, they use templates to check both sides and make sure it meets specifications.

During production, residue from the factory machines contaminate the aluminum pieces, so, once all the parts are created, they are thoroughly cleaned.

The machine washes them in soapy water twice and then rinses them off.

Once the parts are clean, the machine submerges them in an acid bath.

This preps the surface for a coat of protective primer.

Once it's primed, workers clean the surface with solvent.

Then, they lay the part on a sheet of epoxy adhesive and cut along the perimeter, to create an adhesive backing.

Later, they'll activate the adhesive with heat and pressure.

Once all the parts have their custom-cut adhesive, workers assemble them on a bonding fixture.

Metal clamps hold the parts in position.

This assembly is the internal structure of the wing's leading edge.

The long pieces are called stringers.

They're clamped to oval access panels that enable maintenance technicians to get inside the wing.

Next, workers position and clamp the skin of the leading edge on top of the internal wing structure.

They heat the entire assembly in an oven for 2 hours at 275° fahrenheit.

This activates the adhesive and bonds all the assembled parts together.

Meanwhile, another team assembles the aluminum frame of the airplane's fuselage section.

They load the parts onto an assembly fixture and rivet them together.

When we return, they'll apply an aluminum cover to the frame.

The aluminum skin of an airplane consists of numerous panels, so the body is easier to repair.

Technicians simply remove the damaged panel, instead of replacing the entire section.

Workers start by applying an airtight sealant to close any gaps between the skin and the frame.

The fuselage must be sealed, so the cabin can be pressurized.

A pressurized cabin allows passengers to breathe comfortably at higher altitudes.

Once the sealing is complete, they attach the corresponding aluminum skin panel.

It has already been primed for paint.

They apply cleko fasteners, to properly align the panel until it's riveted to the frame.

Then, they select the rivets.

They'll need rivets of various sizes and strengths for the different parts of the plane.

They begin riveting the holes that don't have cleko fasteners in them.

Then, they remove the clekos and rivet those holes as well.

The fuselage is built in six sections.

The front section houses the engine compartment.

All the sections have attachment panels that fit in between the frame and skin of the adjacent part.

Workers rivet the sections together.

Once the back sections are installed, they rivet the completed fuselage to the main spar that connects the wings.

They install the retractable landing gear, the tail-section rudder, and stabilizers.

They also install the moving flaps and ailerons.

Workers weld together steel tubes to create the engine mount.

The mount will be installed in the engine compartment in the front of the fuselage.

This section also houses the nose landing gear.

They prime and paint the steel engine mount, to prevent corrosion.

This plane has a 500-horsepower turbine engine.

Workers bolt it to the engine mount.

Then, they bolt the engine mount to the airplane's engine compartment.

The engine rotates a shaft which spins the propeller.

Meanwhile, all the airplane's electrical wiring is mapped out on an assembly board.

Each wire has a number.

The wires are arranged in a specific configuration.

Then, workers group the wires by their location in the airplane and tie them in a wiring harness.

These wires are for the back of the instrument panel.

The circuit breakers are located on either side of the flight display panel.

With the push of a button, the pilot can customize the information displayed on the center screen.

Technicians thoroughly test all the electronic functions, as well as the autopilot system.

One pilot can operate this plane, but it comes with an extra yoke, to accommodate a copilot.

Workers install the interior and the windows.

Then, mechanics verify the flight control surfaces, the moving parts on the wings and tail that change altitude or direction.

Here, they're checking the ailerons.

A mechanic in the cockpit turns the yoke while another uses a rigging board to measure how the aileron responds.

If the angle's off, he makes an adjustment.

They check the landing gear, to make sure it drops down from the wing and engine compartment.

Then, they mask the windows and apply a second coat of primer, for extra protection against corrosion.

When the primer dries, they paint the plane to the customer's specifications.

Then, they paint the plane's registration number on both sides, as required by law.

The airplane's deicing system heats the propeller blades to melt ice buildup.

It also uses inflatable rubber bladders attached to the wing and tail.

The pilot throws a switch to inflate the bladders and break any ice, ensuring a smooth, safe ride, even in poor weather conditions.


Countertop Laminate
Frozen Treats
Children's Building Blocks
Detergents

Today on "how it's made"...

Laminate...

Frozen treats...

Children's building blocks...

And detergents.

Laminate is a thin, decorative surface layer that's usually glued onto a particleboard base to create a countertop.

Laminate is, by far, the most affordable countertop material on the market.

It comes in an endless choice of colors and patterns, from solids to simulated wood or granite.

They also use laminate for kitchen cabinets, furniture, and laboratory surfaces.

And they manufacture fast-food restaurant seating, among other things, out of a thicker, solid form of the material called compact laminate.

The back of a laminate sheet is made of a type of kraft paper that can be saturated without becoming soggy and tearing.

A treater drenches it with resin containing phenol, a compound derived from benzene.

The resin doesn't just coat the paper.

It absorbs right through.

The paper then enters a drying oven.

The hot air cures the resin in a matter of seconds.

Now they can wind the paper into a roll.

The top of the laminate is called the decorative layer.

It's a sheet of paper in either a printed design or a solid color.

Solid-color papers go through a treater that impregnates them with the more durable melamine resin.

Durability is essential because the decorative layer must withstand wear and tear.

Two big rollers ring out the excess resin.

Then the saturated paper goes through a drying oven.

With the resin now cured, a cutter slices the paper into sheets.

Before resin treatment, the paper was flexible and easy to tear.

Now it's stiff and brittle.

Bend it, and it snaps like a potato chip.

While the rolls of saturated kraft paper get cut into sheets, workers prepare the other style of decorative layers-- those with printed design, such as simulated wood grains and granite.

The treatment process for these papers is quite different than that for the solid-color papers.

Workers start by cutting them into sheets the same length as the kraft-paper sheets.

These papers don't go into a treater to be saturated with resin.

Instead workers stack them, placing an overlay on each one.

An overlay is a transparent sheet of paper that's saturated with melanin resin.

Workers stack the solid-color sheets in the same pile, but those don't need overlays because they've already been resin-saturated.

Now the stack goes to the press room.

There, workers put saturated kraft paper under each decorative layer.

On top of each decorative layer, they lay a textured plate.

This will prevent the finished laminate from sticking together.

Everything now goes into a press.

The intense heat and pressure compress the layers.

The overlays bond to the printed papers, and the saturated kraft paper bonds to each decorative layer, creating laminate sheets.

The textured plates between each set imprint their pattern onto the heat-softened resin, texturing the laminate surface.

The laminates come out of the press fully cured.

On the finishing line, machines trim off any excess paper on the edges and sand the back of the sheets.

This helps the laminate adhere better when glued to particleboard or another type of substrate.

To produce compact laminates, workers compile a thick stack of black saturated kraft papers and sandwich it between two decorative layers.

The press melts and bonds all the sheets into a solid unit.

Alternating colors produce a striped edge.

Compact laminates are so thick, they're entirely self-supporting.

Unlike laminate sheets, they don't need to be applied to a substrate.

On a sweltering summer day, a frozen treat sure hits the spot.

Eating a fruit bar, fudge bar, or ice-cream bar, though, requires a certain strategy.

You have to hold the treat by the stick, lean slightly forward to dodge the drips, then lick like crazy before it melts and lands at your feet.

The outer shell of these cream pops starts with a transparent base made of water, liquid sugar, corn syrup, citric acid, and a stabilizer.

It travels to three separate compartment vats, each of which mixes in a different coloring and flavoring.

This company produces three flavors of cream pops-- strawberry, orange, and blue raspberry.

Each compartment vat pumps its flavor to a machine called the filling hopper.

The hopper injects the liquid into row upon row of half-ounce pop-shaped molds.

This production line has 340 molds in continuous motion.

The molds descend into a tank of brine, water chilled to negative 30 degrees fahrenheit mixed with calcium.

Calcium works like antifreeze, keeping the water liquid despite the below-freezing temperature.

As the molds travel through the ice-cold brine, the liquid freezes from the outside inward, creating a shell that will encase the pops' ice-cream filling.

Once the shell is 1/10 of an inch thick, a machine called a suction evacuator removes the unfrozen liquid and feeds it back to the filling hopper, to be re-injected at the start of the line.

The shells are empty now and ready for filling.

The ice-cream filling is made of various milk products blended with liquid cane sugar, corn syrup, stabilizers, and emulsifiers to puff up the consistency.

The factory pasteurizes the mixture, heating it for 35 seconds at 180 degrees fahrenheit, then freezing it.

It homogenizes the filling, skimming off the milk fat that rises to the surface.

The shells are still floating in brine as they reach the filling station.

The machine shoots in the ice cream, overfilling the shell a bit to create a cap 4/10 of an inch wide.

The ice cream begins to harden in the cold brine.

Once it reaches a semi-frozen state, a machine appropriately called the stick inserter pops a wooden stick in each mold.

Now the molds leave the brine and enter a tank of warm water-- 75 degrees fahrenheit, hot enough to detach the cream pops from the mold without melting them in the process.

From initial injection to final extraction, it's been seven minutes.

The machine dips the cream pops in cold water to produce a protective coating of ice.

This will keep the surface from sticking to the wrapper.

It will also lengthen the product's shelf life.

The machine deposits the cream pops into a continuous stream of paper wrapping.

Heating elements seal the wrapper on top and between pops, then a slicer cuts them apart.

The empty molds go through an automatic wash-and-rinse cycle on their way back to the start of the line.

These molds are for making chocolate-fudge bars.

The production process is the same, except that the shell is fudge-flavored, made from milk solids and chocolate powder.

And instead of ice cream in the center, there's chewy chocolate syrup.

The factory stamps the packaging for all its frozen treats with the production date and other information.

These frozen treats have a one-year shelf life in the freezer, provided you maintain the temperature at an ideal negative 13 degrees fahrenheit.

Few toys are as timeless as interlocking building blocks.

Children can stick them together, pull them apart, and rearrange them endlessly.

From large-sized blocks for babies to intricate kits for older kids, building blocks stimulate creativity and improve manual dexterity.

This company makes plastic building blocks.

Depending on the type of block, it uses either polypropylene, high-density polyethylene, or high-impact polystyrene.

These plastics arrive at the factory in pellets.

Because they're naturally transparent, the first step is to color them.

The pellets go into a mixer along with pigment beads made of powdered pigment and a type of plastic that's compatible with the pellets.

The pigment beads make up just 2% of the weight, but that's enough to color the plastic a deep hue.

The mixer feeds a plastic injection machine.

It heats the pellets to 400 degrees fahrenheit, melting them in a matter of seconds.

The machine then injects the molten plastic into molds.

A system of hoses cools the molds with cold water, instantly hardening the plastic.

When the machine opens, ejectors thrust the blocks to a conveyor belt below.

For these blocks, the entire cycle, from start to finish, takes just 14 seconds.

The length of the cycle varies with the size of the block.

This large school bus, for example, requires more plastic, so injection molding takes 22 seconds.

The wheels for the bus take 20 seconds.

At packaging time, each type of block is loaded into a separate vibrating bowl.

The shaking separates the pieces, enabling them to pass by an optical counter one by one.

This automated counting equipment can tally up to 16 different types of blocks at a time.

It can be programmed to assemble a kit consisting of specific quantities of certain blocks.

Once each kit is counted, it drops into a bucket.

The factory also makes the buckets by plastic injection molding.

And it even incorporates the labeling right into that process.

Here's how it all works.

A robot takes two labels, one for the front of the bucket and one for the back.

It passes a static generator that charges them with static electricity.

Then it loads the two labels into the mold.

The static cling holds them in a flat position while the machine injects the plastic and molds the bucket.

The hot plastic melts the labels on contact, bonding them into the finished bucket.

The result-- labels that can't be peeled off.

The factory produces large blocks from polypropylene or high-density polyethylene, which are flexible plastics.

This makes the blocks easier for young children to use.

Small blocks are made of high-impact polystyrene, a plastic that can be molded with great precision into tight-fitting blocks designed for older children.

Just walk down the aisle of your local supermarket, and you'll see shelf upon shelves of soaps and detergents.

With so many versions of each product to choose from, from extra-strength to antibacterial to lemon-fresh scent, consumers aren't the only ones cleaning up.

The craft of soapmaking began in europe around 700 a.d., but soap remained a luxury item for another thousand years.

That's when a french scientist discovered how to make inexpensive lye using table salt.

People also made soap at home, by boiling wood ashes with animal fats.

By the 1900s, the growing soap industry found ways to make mild and fragranced products.

And in 1916, a german scientist invented the first synthetic detergent.

This company produces mostly industrial-use detergents, liquid and powdered.

It uses salt as filler in the powdered ones.

Fillers add volume, making a product less concentrated.

This will be a powdered detergent for cleaning and degreasing cement floors.

They add colorant, then surfactant, a substance that creates foam, the vehicle for lifting away dirt.

Now they pour in pine oil, a disinfecting agent that also adds fragrance.

Now the cleaning agent--  sodium tripolyphosphate.

It's essential to mix all the ingredients thoroughly.

This ensures the chemicals are evenly distributed throughout the cleaner.

The last ingredient is a chemical called sodium metasilicate.

It boosts the mixture's alkaline level.

This particular cleaner needs high alkalinity to be effective.

The factory packages its powdered cleaners, such as this laundry soap, in large plastic buckets.

Automated equipment weighs, then pours in the appropriate amount, capping the container tightly to prevent leaks.

The filler in liquid cleaning products is water.

To produce liquid hand soap, they first add citric acid.

This creates the mild acidity needed to get the most out of the surfactants.

This soap contains three different types of surfactants.

It's a specific formulation designed by the company chemist to optimize the soap's cleaning power.

To give the soap a pearl luster, the company uses this secret recipe of chemicals.

The factory makes most of its liquid soap from this same base mixture.

The colors and fragrances vary.

For coloring, it uses powdered pigments.

It dissolves them in hot water, then pours them in.

This batch of soap will be pink.

They pour in a rose-scented fragrance...

Then add a preservative to prevent the proliferation of bacteria should the soap be exposed to a substandard environment.

Finally, they adjust the viscosity by adding a powdered thickener.

If liquid soap is runny, it'll leak out of the dispenser.

After 15 minutes of mixing, the soap is ready.

And the lab analyzes a sample, assessing its physical and chemical properties.

When the batch gets the "okay," it proceeds to the packaging machine.

This soap is going into dispenser bags made of plastic film.

The machine first inserts a valve.

It heat-seals the film, forming the bottom of the bag.

Then it injects 27 ounces of soap.

Next, it simultaneously heat-seals the top of the bag and the bottom of the next one.

It cuts them apart, releasing the finished bag to a conveyor belt below.

After checking for leaks, workers insert a spout that controls output from the valve.

This ensures the dispenser will release a measured amount of soap per push.

Elsewhere in the factory, an automated machine called the pressure filler pumps dishwashing liquid into plastic bottles.

An overflow and weight-control device ensures the right fill level.

The next machine applies a twist cap with pull-out spout.

Then it's off to labeling.

Those bags of liquid hand soap went into special boxes that are designed to slip right into the soap dispenser.


Needles & Pins
Architectural Mouldings
Locomotives
Clothespins

Throughout history, sewing needles have kept things from falling apart at the seams.

From primitive times, when needles were made of bone, to today's thin steel versions, sewing needles have played an important role in our lives.

For many years, this simple tool made it possible to clothe an entire family.

Today, when most clothing is factory-made, a sewing kit remains a household essential.

When things start to unravel, a needle and thread offer a quick fix.

Sewing needles begin with thin steel wire.

Machinery uncoils two spools simultaneously and pulls the wires across guide wheels and into narrow passageways to remove kinks and straighten the wires.

And then cutters slice them to the length of two needles.

The wires exit into shaking chutes and fall into bins in neat piles.

Each one will be used to make two needles.

This grinding wheel turns, and, at the same time, an overhead wheel revolves in a different direction, to bear down on the ends of the wires and grind them to a point.

Sparks fly from the friction.

It takes up to six grindings to make the tips sharp enough.

Then the wires head down the line to a series of stamping machines.

The first one flattens each wire at midpoint to form two needle heads.

The next stamping device punch-cuts two eyes, one in each head.

The third machine cuts the wire in two and trims excess material from around the needle heads.

The needles fall into a bin.

In three quick steps, this steel wire has been transformed into two sewing needles.

Next they toughen the metal by first baking the needles in an oven and then quickly bringing down their temperature.

The temperature shock hardens the needles.

They cover the needles with glycerin oil and a polishing powder.

They wrap them in a bundle of plastic and cloth and stitch it up.

They roll a layer of leather around the bundle of needles.

The package then goes into a special rolling mill.

It spins in this machine for two days.

Inside, the needles agitate with the polishing ingredients, and they emerge looking much smoother.

Then it's into a washing machine for a scrub with soap and water.

This removes the polishing residue to prepare them for electroplating.

Electroplating gives the needles an outer skin of corrosion-resistant nickel.

The needles now move forward into a sorting system that ensures the needles are pointing in one direction.

An inspector examines the needles for flaws and sorts out the defective ones.

They dip the eyes of some needles in a gold bath and apply an electrical charge so the gold gravitates to the nickel and adheres.

A little gold around the eyes makes them stand out, so these needles should be easier to thread.

Meanwhile, the production of pins is well underway.

Gas jets melt glass into tiny dollops, which stick on to the tops of the pins as they roll by.

The glass hardens in seconds, going from transparent to opaque.

These glass-headed pins are now ready for hemming and other sewing jobs.

The pins fall between two revolving cylinders.

The space between the cylinders gradually narrows.

This sorts the pins by size as they drop into various bins below.

Now all that's left is the packaging.

The packaging line is entirely automated.

Robots drop sewing needles into grooves in plastic packages, and the packages move forward.

The timing is flawless.

Finally, a transparent cover showcases this product's many selling points.

Exterior moldings can transform an ordinary structure into something grand.

The ancient greeks were the first to demonstrate this, with elaborate carved moldings on temples.

Today there's no need to spend long hours carving moldings.

Fabricated synthetic versions are now available to give a structure instant curb appeal.

Architectural foam moldings trick the eye.

They look like stone or wood, and it's all a carefully crafted illusion to impress the neighbors or passersby.

They start with a big block of foam.

It's expanded polystyrene, or e.p.s. they activate a hot-wire foam cutter.

Controlled by computer software, it melts its way through the thick foam block to make very precise and intricate cuts.

This computerized hot wire is cutting out pieces of architectural trim for windows or doors.

It carves in an economical way to minimize waste.

Its work done, the hot wire rises, leaving a trail of smoke from the burning process.

A worker then pushes out the moldings.

Each piece of architectural trim is 8 feet in length.

The hot wire now carves an elaborate fluted column, one half at a time.

This is a roman-style column.

Once carved in stone, it's now being replicated in foam.

And this old-world look can now be achieved with minimal physical effort.

To make an arch, they use a hot-wire shape instead of a computerized straight wire.

They position it in front of a curved piece of foam.

Rubber drive wheels push the foam through the hot wire.

These wheels have been preset to accurately steer the cut.

The result is an arch that will be a perfect match for the linear trim produced earlier, so they'll fit together seamlessly.

They use a carved foam wedge to emulate the keystone, a piece used in stone arches to lock parts together at midpoint.

A worker now wraps the cut foam moldings in fiberglass mesh.

Pre-infused with glue, the mesh instantly adheres to the foam.

This mesh adds strength to the molding, and it also makes it crack-resistant.

Next, cement flows into a hopper and onto the moldings below.

The moldings are driven through a template with the same contours, to apply the cement evenly on the surface and the sides.

This is no ordinary cement.

It's a pre-engineered mix, fortified with a special resin to create a durable coating for the mesh-covered moldings.

A worker then transfers the moldings to a rack to cure for a minimum of 24 hours before getting another coating of cement, this one with a much finer texture.

It's much trickier to apply cement to an arch-shaped piece of molding, so they take a more hands-on approach.

The employee scoops the cement onto the meshed-foam semicircle.

He then moves the custom-made template over the molding, instead of pushing the molding through it.

It's a better way to evenly distribute the cement on a curved surface.

After carving, meshing, and two layers of cement, this arch is now ready.

For smaller orders, they also apply the cement manually.

There's no need for a machine setup when there are only one or two columns to be coated.

Guided by a track on the side of a table, the worker slowly draws the template down the roman-style column to apply the cement to the foam and make it look like stone.

The second layer gets extra attention.

He rubs the cement into the grooves for complete coverage and then pulls the template across once again, this time lightly skimming the surface to produce a finer texture.

And now these moldings are ready to add detail and definition to a structure.

A locomotive is the powerful vehicle at the front of a train that pulls the cars along the track.

Sometimes there's a second one pushing from behind, as well.

Passenger-train locomotives are smaller and designed primarily for speed.

Freight locomotives pulling railcars are significantly larger and stronger.

Heavy hauls are mammoth freight locomotives designed for north america, where tracks are wider and stronger than in most other parts of the world.

Those smaller yellow locomotives are for the european market.

The larger gray ones to the right are heavy hauls.

Workers weld together massive pieces of steel to construct the locomotive's structural underframe.

At each end, they insert a giant steel pin through a hole in the underframe's floor.

For now, they weld the pins partially to tack them in position.

Next, lifting and maneuvering it with giant trunnions, they flip the underframe so that the protruding side of the pins is facing upward.

Then a crane system transfers the underframe to another area to complete the welding.

The pins require exceptional bonding because they connect the underframe to the wheel frames.

An automated welder circles each pin repeatedly, progressively building up an inch-thick weld.

They make the same size weld on the other side of the pin.

All the welded steel parts are exceptionally thick, rendering the underframe strong enough to pull 500 tons.

Next, they install the air reservoir and pipes for the pneumatic brake system and a 5,300-gallon fuel tank.

Then they assemble the locomotive's six traction motors.

Each one generates 750 horsepower-- 3 times more than a typical car-- giving the locomotive 4,500-horsepower strength.

To build each traction motor, they bolt coils of wound copper into a cylinder called a stator.

Then they lower another cylinder, called an armature, into the stator.

Powered by an alternator, the coils produce an electric field that rotates the armature, turning components which propel the locomotive.

Workers lubricate the wheels then, using a strong press, fit two on each of the vehicle's six axles.

Each wheel is a yard in diameter and weighs about a half a ton.

The axle has a large gear that turns both wheels.

This finished unit is called a wheel-axle-gear assembly-- "w.a.g." for short.

Workers install a w.a.g. onto each of the six traction motors.

The w.a.g.'s gear engages with the traction motor's gear, so when the motor runs, that gear turns, which then rotates the w.a.g. gear, which turns the wheels.

So now there are six w.a.g. and traction motor combinations.

Workers divide them into two groups of three then bolt each trio into a frame called a bogie.

So, now the locomotive has two bogies, each with an air-driven brake system built into it.

Until this point, the bogies have been upside down.

Now a crane flips them right side up to prepare for the final assembly of the locomotive.

They position the two bogies next to the underframe at opposite ends.

Cranes then lift the underframe and slowly lower it onto the bogies.

The pivot pins protruding from beneath the upper frame drop into receiving holes in the bogies.

Next, they lower a giant alternator onto the deck of the underframe.

It powers the traction motors as well as the control systems and other auxiliary equipment.

This 16-cylinder, 4,500-horsepower engine drives the alternator.

Next, the operator's cab-- it's insulated for sound and sits on a shock-absorber system.

Then the various electrical hookups, including these thick cables.

Each one contains more than 1,000 wires, carrying nearly 10,000 amps.

Now a hood goes over the engine and alternator to protect them from the elements.

From here, the locomotive goes to another department for paint and decals.

The finished locomotive is 75 feet long.

Fueled up, it weighs 225 tons and, depending on the terrain, can haul a train up to 6/10 of a mile long.

The first clothespin was invented in the early 1800s by the shakers.

It was a cylindrical piece of wood with a vertical notch cut into the bottom.

In 1853, an american inventor patented a spring-loaded, two-piece lever clothespin.

That's the type still produced today in both plastic and wood.

This czech company makes clothespins out of beech wood.

Beech is ideal because it's hard and durable.

When the logs arrive at the factory, an automated band saw slices each one laterally into 2.8-inch-thick planks.

Wood is naturally damp, so it's critical to dry the planks.

Otherwise, clothespins made from them would repeatedly expand and contract with temperature changes and eventually crack.

First, the planks air-dry outdoors for about 7 months, until their moisture level drops to 20%.

Then the planks go into a kiln for 3 or 4 weeks to bring the moisture level down to between 8% and 10%.

The wood, now stable, workers cut the planks into shorter, more manageable lengths...

Then into 2 1/2" x 2 1/2" blocks.

Next they feed the blocks into a cutting machine.

Its four circular blades simultaneously saw through each block, cutting it into five pieces.

Each piece is 4/10 of an inch thick.

As these thin pieces exit the machine, workers inspect them.

Any pieces with knots or other flaws are removed and sold to a factory that makes mousetraps.

The pieces which pass inspection go into an automated milling machine.

It cuts each piece into four smaller pieces then, in each smaller piece, carves the shape of a clothespin clip on the front and a notch in the back.

So, each thin piece of wood has gone from this...

To this...

To this.

The notch on the back will hold the spring that mates two clips and produces the tension they need to grip.

The next machine saws four lines down each piece, cutting it into five identical clips.

Before...

And after.

All that cutting leaves rough, splintered edges, so workers now load the clips into a sanding barrel.

As the barrel revolves, the clips rub against each other, the abrasion gradually smoothing the rough wood.

Workers also place a piece of wax amid the clips.

As the barrel turns, particles rub off and coat the wood, making it even smoother.

Meanwhile, another automated machine makes the springs out of 5/100"-thick iron wire.

The wire has has a zinc coating on it to prevent rust.

Watch in slow motion how the machine twists the wire seven times to make the coil portion of the spring then bends the ends to make the part that fits into the notch.

With all the parts ready to go, it's assembly time.

Workers load clips and springs into separate chutes of the assembly machine.

As each spring drops down, a mechanical finger pushes the end aside to clear the way for a pair of clips to encase the coil.

Then it releases the end of the spring into the clip notches.

The machine does all this at a rate of 8,000 clothespins per hour.

The finished clothespins drop onto a conveyor belt that transports them to the next machine, which groups them by the dozen.

From there, it's off to the packaging machine, which is preset to assemble a specific retail format.

This is a 36-count package, so they've set the machine to stack three dozen clothespins.

After placing a paper label on top, the machine shrink-wraps the package.

Clothespins may be rather ordinary products, but their reputation is always on the line.


Bumpers
Lighting Gels and Camera Filters
Steam

Today on "how it's made"...

Bumpers...

Lighting gels and camera filters...

Steam-powered models...

And candy canes.

With all the attention we pay to our car's high-tech parts, it's easy to overlook the importance of a vehicle's bumpers.

About 80% of car accidents are front or rear collisions.

The bumper is designed to absorb the force of the impact, minimizing damage in low-speed collisions.

Bumpers can be made of plastic, fiberglass, aluminum, or steel.

This company makes steel bumpers.

They start out as blanks, steel sheets just 8/100 of an inch thick.

These are en route to becoming truck bumpers.

A robot feeds each blank through a series of seven to nine dies, depending on the bumper model.

Each die stamps the blank into a particular shape, using some 2,000 tons of force.

This progressively forms the blank into the final bumper shape.

Both the front and rear bumpers go through the same process, only with different dies.

The bumpers now travel to the next production area, where a worker clamps each one onto a specially designed cart.

At this point, the factory paints certain models.

These bumpers will get chrome plating.

But first they travel through a series of buffing wheels.

The bumper surface must be impeccably smooth because the chrome finish magnifies even the tiniest flaws.

A computer-guided crane stacks the bumpers and maneuvers them through the chrome-plating process.

First it submerges the bumpers in several cleaning tanks to remove any residue left on the surface from previous operations.

The company won't divulge what chemicals it uses to clean the steel because this surface preparation is the secret to first-rate metal plating.

The first plating tank applies a coat of nickel to protect the steel from corrosion.

The next tank applies the chrome layer.

The factory uses the standard electroplating process.

In a water-and-chemical-filled tank, the plating metal particles get a positive charge while a negative charge runs through the bumpers.

This magnetically draws the particles onto the bumpers in an even layer.

After a thorough rinse, the bumpers are inspected.

Workers scrutinize the chrome-mirror finish under high-intensity light.

Meanwhile, this machine pressure injects molten plastic into various molds.

A built-in cooling system hardens the plastic within seconds.

Then out comes the plastic components that attach to the bumpers.

One of those plastic parts is this step pad that covers the top of the rear bumper.

Once the pad's in place, a worker attaches a built-in trailer hitch.

Steel mounting brackets help structurally reinforce the bumper.

The front bumper goes down a different assembly line.

A worker attaches a plastic trim that hangs down just below the bumper.

Its aerodynamic shape helps direct air flow to the engine compartment.

Next, four steel reinforcing brackets that will attach the bumper to the truck's frame.

And, finally, the license-plate holder...

And fog lamps.

Workers tighten all the bolts to a specified tightness.

This ensures that the bumper and its mounting brackets will adequately absorb the force of the collision.

Whenever a new model goes into production, the first few bumpers off the line go through a battery of tests to prove they can withstand stress, vibration, and a certain degree of what engineers call crash energy.

Other types of bumper systems use a combination of springs and energy-absorbing material, such as plastic foam.

With either method, the goal is for the bumper to absorb the impact.

In a low-impact crash, this should ideally confine the damage to the bumper itself, leaving the headlights, the engine, and the driver unscathed.

Up next, some colorful products that set the stage in a whole new light.

Gels and filters can turn a bad scene into a beautiful one.

They're used in theater productions to enhance the mood on stage.

They're also used in film and photography to adjust color temperatures from different light sources.

These lighting gels can make any scene take on a different mood.

They're called gels because they used to be made of gelatin film, but today they are made out of transparent polyester.

The process begins with a mix of solvent, dye, and flame-retardant chemicals.

This produces a colored lacquer.

A worker tests the lacquer's thickness by pouring it into a brass cup with a hole in the bottom.

As the lacquer drains out of the hole, it's timed.

If it flows too quickly, the lacquer is too thin, and if it drains too slowly, it's too thick.

A steady flow means the lacquer mix is the perfect consistency-- about as thick as engine oil.

A sample of every batch undergoes this test because the lacquer's consistency is critical.

If the factory doesn't get it right, it won't bond to the clear polyester.

With the lacquer prepared, workers load the polyester film into the coating machine.

A big roller soaks up lacquer from a tray below and spreads it on the film.

A thin bar on the roller evens the spread and scrapes off the excess.

The lacquer dries in seconds.

Every production run of the same color has to precisely match the last, so inspectors regularly test the lacquer's hue on swatches of clear polyester.

If gel colors are even slightly mismatched, using them together will make for a patchy-looking job.

Differently colored gels create different effects.

This orangey red one will warm up daylight to look more like indoor lighting.

Now, in a test, a gel swatch is held over a flame.

The gel burns but never catches fire-- proving that this batch is ready for the hot lights of a movie set.

Over at another station, they're working on a different sort of color-changer-- a filter that goes on a camera lens.

A special sheet of optical plastic is dipped in hot water and dye.

The hot water opens the plastic's pores, allowing the dye to penetrate.

When the plastic cools, the color will be trapped inside.

The longer the plastic stays in the dye bath, the deeper the color.

Some sheets only get partially dyed.

They'll be turned into filters that affect only half an image's exposure.

Filters made from a range of colors will help the camera's eye do what the human eye does effortlessly-- adjust to different lighting conditions.

The colored sheets are sheathed in thin plastic.

This prevents scratching as they're cut to size.

These camera filters are nearly done.

All that's left is for the ink-jet printer to brand them.

A similar type of printer gives the lighting gels their trademark stamp.

And now it's time to wrap things up.

A cardboard core slides into a machine that winds the finished gel sheets onto it.

Then a pneumatic ram pushes the roll of lighting gel into a plastic bag.

Now these filters and gels are ready to show life in the best light possible.

When we return, making tiny models that are a blast from the past.

When factories build live steam models, they're reconstructing history.

These working steam models take us on a nostalgic journey, and they're fun for hobbyists of all ages.

Add a little water...

Light some fuel for the boiler...

And it's full steam ahead for this mini replica of a 19th-century road locomotive.

Production starts with the boiler.

A hydraulic press repeatedly punches a piece of brass, stretching the brass cap into a cylinder.

It's a process called drawing, and it also strengthens the metal.

A flat piece of brass is transformed into a cylinder in only a few minutes.

Next the ends of the cylinder are trimmed.

Solder paste is brushed onto a brass cap and slotted into a holding device.

Paste goes onto attachments inside the cylindrical boiler.

Then the boiler and cap are press-fitted together.

The cap boilers travel through a furnace, which melts the solder paste, fusing the caps to the cylinder.

Workers polish the brass to give it a nice sheen.

Then they solder copper pipes to the boiler.

These pipes will expel the steam as it powers this little locomotive.

Next up--  trimming the flywheel, which has been precast.

The flywheel will smooth out the engine's firing impulses so that it runs more evenly.

The flywheel is tightly screwed to the crank shaft.

Workers check the sliding action of the piston and its cylinder.

Then they attach the assembly to the engine frame and the crank shaft.

Lubricating the piston assembly enhances its sliding action.

Using compressed air, workers make sure the engine functions and has no leaks.

Once the model passes the test, it gets its front steering mechanism.

This will control the model's front wheels while the back wheels power it forward.

Steam machines are usually rear-wheel drive.

A wire called the drive band transfers the energy from the flywheel to the rear wheel.

The steam model is hooked up to the compressed air tank once again for a final test run.

And it looks like this model is ready for some action.

All it needs is a canopy to provide a little shade.

A ribbed design is punched into a little steel roof.

After it gets a nice paint job, it's attached to the model.

Production on this tiny treasure is now complete.

This model will also take you back in time, but in high style.

It's a luxury touring car.

Workers install the piston cylinder assembly a little lower on this roadster and fire it up.

Each of these mini steam models is a tribute to the original and give us all a glimpse into the colorful history of transportation.

Coming up...

Turning sugar into one of our favorite holiday treats.

In the 17th century, a german choirmaster had some sugar sticks bent into shepherd's crooks as a special treat for his choir.

And that's how the candy cane is believed to have been invented.

But it wasn't until more than a century later that they earned their stripes.

Today candy canes come in all different colors and sizes.

Candymakers start by cooking up a big batch of sugar, water, and corn syrup.

Next, they prepare a mix of starch and flavoring, like peppermint or strawberry.

As they blend together, the flavoring binds to the starch.

The flavoring mix is emptied into the middle of a syrupy slab.

Then the whole thing is fed into a machine that folds the batch repeatedly using shovels and a plunger.

This distributes the flavoring evenly.

Cold water is piped into the shovels and the kneading table to cool the candy-cane mix so it takes on the stiffer consistency that's necessary for the next step.

Now it's over to the automated pullers.

These pullers stretch the mixture around a metal post.

This action aerates the candy, turning it white.

This batch will make 3,200 candy canes, but there's still a lot more work to be done.

The candy is rolled into a fat log, while heaters warm it until its pliable enough to shape.

Next, strips of red-colored candy are rolled out.

A worker stretches and folds it to widen the strip.

Two of the red strips are arranged on either side of the white candy.

It weighs 100 pounds, so it takes two workers to transfer it to the next machine.

It's called a batch roller, and its cylinders roll the candy thinner and thinner, dramatically reducing the log's diameter until it reaches candy-cane dimensions.

A torch moves across the candy to keep it pliable.

Then the sugary batch travels between wheels that slim it down even more.

The rope of candy moves forward in a wave-like fashion.

This gives it some slack so it doesn't stretch as it moves through the next set of wheels.

The candy rope moves through two angled belts that twist it, and a chain of knives cut the twisted rope to candy-cane size.

This production has been perfectly choreographed.

One misstep, and the job would hit a snarl.

Here, a roll of cellophane unwinds, and a device wraps it around the candy sticks.

A blast of hot air shrinks the cellophane on the ends of the canes.

Now it's time for these candy sticks to get their signature crooks.

This machine, called a crooker deck, bends the ends.

An overhead bracket brush gently secures the canes because though they're pliable enough to bend, they're still fragile.

There's a camera inside this robotic arm, which allows it to spot the candy canes on the conveyer belt and pick them up two at a time.

It places them in cardboard packages by the dozen.

It takes about half an hour to make a box of candy canes.

And they're sure to come to a very sticky end in even less time.