Pressed Glass
Pickup Truck Caps
Alpaca Yarn
Utility Knives

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

Pressed glass originated in 19th century america and england, and it revolutionized glassware.

It offered the look of crystal on a budget, adding elegance to a humble meal.

It became known as "poor man's crystal".

Today, this affordable glass still has class.

Pressed glass or cut crystal...

Invented in the 18th century, pressed glass can still impress company and keep them guessing.

Pressed-glass ingredients include lime, sodium nitrate, soda ash, silica sand, mineral or chemical colorants, and leftover or rejected glass from the factory.

They melt the ingredients in a furnace heated at over 2,900 degrees fahrenheit.

A worker twirls a rod with a ceramic bowl on the end into it, and the hot liquid glass clings to it.

Then it's ready for transfer to the iron mold.

When the mold is partly full, a worker snips the liquid glass with scissors to cut the flow.

He places a ring with pegs on the rim to align the mold with a plunger.

He lowers the plunger and applies physical pressure to a lever to squeeze the glass into every crevice.

This transforms the glass blob into a berry bowl with elaborate impressions on the outside.

As it cools, the bowl hardens just enough to be extracted, but it's still quite soft.

Careful to not distort the shape, he transfers the bowl to two bricks.

A hose below the bricks pumps air to cool the glass further.

Over a period of four hours, the team makes 250 berry bowls.

Some of the bowls will be flattened to turn them into dessert plates, while others will be worked into the shape of candy baskets.

Once the glass has firmed up enough, the bowls take a couple of trips through the glazer, first upside down, and then right side up.

A gas flame melts the outer layer of the glass to make it shine both inside and out.

He clamps the bowl onto the end of a rod called a snap, and places into a second smaller furnace briefly.

This softens the glass to prepare it for another transformation.

Still clamped on the rod, a worker spins the bowl.

With a stick of wood, he applies pressure to the upper part to flatten and flare it out.

He then draws the piece between two pipes to bend the sides upward.

The pressed-glass berry bowl has now become a candy basket, but baskets need handles, so it's back to the furnace to gather more glass.

He collects a little less this time.

He moves the molten glass around on a metal table to roll it longer.

He inserts it in a mold that gives the glass a rib pattern.

He heats the glass in the furnace one more time.

Soft and sticky, the glass handle adheres to the basket.

He pulls the handle longer as he twirls the basket, and then attaches the other end of the handle to it.

The handle is a bit saggy, so before it cools, he improves the shape using an iron roller.

As he works the glass, he pulls the handle up and makes it more well-rounded.

Unclamped from the gathering rod now, he smoothes the outer surface of the handle and tweaks its shape until satisfied.

Using a torch, he melts the glass a bit where the handle meets the basket to improve the adhesion.

And now it's over to the oven.

Here, the pressed glass is heated and then cooled to room temperature over a period of three and a half hours.

This gradual heating and cooling is critical.

It releases stress in the pressed glass to make it less likely to shatter.

For generations, molds have been used to mass produce pressed-glass pieces that can look like expensive crystal.

With all that practice, they have this down to a fine art.

Some works are reproductions of vintage pieces, others are new patterns.

The appeal is timeless.

Pickup trucks are ideal for transporting tools and materials, but often these items have to be covered and locked away to protect them from the elements and theft.

That's why many pickup owners install caps, hard top covers typically made of fiberglass or aluminum with optional built-in storage.

This truck cap is made of durable fiberglass and is designed to fit every full-sized pickup on the market.

A truck cap has to be both practical and attractive, so it first takes shape on a car designer's sketch pad.

Engineers use computer software to translate the design sketches into technical drawings for producing several molds, one for each of the various parts of the truck cap.

The first step is to wax the mold's surface, so that the truck cap part will extra easily.

The mold is made of colored fiber glass to contrast the white materials they'll apply to it.

The first of those materials is gel coat, a polyester resin that produces a smooth and shiny finish on fiberglass.

They spray on a half millimeter thick coat.

The beauty of gel coat is that a nick or crack can be easily repaired with a bit of grinding and filling.

So the truck cap's surface can always be restored to an impeccable state.

The gel coat cures in about 45 minutes, at which point they begin shooting chopped up fiberglass that's impregnated with resin.

They compress this new layer with rollers to about five millimeters thick.

Roughly two hours later, the resin has hardened and it's time to use special extraction jacks to remove the now solid roof from the mold.

They repeat this same molding process for all the other parts.

Because this particular truck cap model has double doors on both the back and side, there are 10 different parts to mold.

A robotic circular saw trims each molded part.

This is the truck cap's air deflector.

The saw blade has diamond particles affixed to its edge, enabling it to cut the fiberglass without shredding it.

By the time the robot finishes trimming, the part meets exact specifications and has neat, smooth edges.

With all the parts ready now, it's time to assemble the truck cap.

First, they unite the roof and the universal fit base.

Both slide into an aluminum trim.

Workers clamp them in position from the inside.

Next, as required by motor vehicle regulations, they install brake lights at the top of the rear doors.

Then, on the right-side rear door, they mount a chrome-plated door handle.

The plating has been treated with an anti-corrosion coating.

For the sake of convenience, the door handle lock is designed to work with the truck's ignition key so the driver doesn't have to carry around a separate key for the cap.

The doors mount with sturdy hinges is made of stainless steel, which is rust resistant.

Next, using a template to get the positioning just right, they glue the company and model name logos to the right rear door.

For aesthetics, these plastic logos are chrome plated to match the door handle.

After mounting the doors, they install gas struts on each door to provide resistance to control the door swing.

Workers also install a pair of three-foot-long l.e.d. lights.

They're on a magnetic switch, turning them on and off when the doors open and close.

Once it's fully assembled, it undergoes a thorough inspection.

A truck cap weighs about 660 pounds, so you need a mechanical lift to mount it on a pickup.

It affixes with four tie-down levers that hook under the rails, running down the interior sides of the truck so there's no chance of the cap lifting off.

Before shipping out to the customer, every truck cap goes through a water test, subjected to a torrent for three minutes straight to make sure no water leaks inside.

Truck caps can be ordered with a pull-out cargo bed, shelving, storage bins, and other features, transforming an ordinary pickup truck into a workshop on wheels.

What's warm, soft, water repellent, and, as an added bonus, hypoallergenic?

Something made of alpaca yarn.

Similar to sheep's wool, it's smoother due to the scale structure of the individual fibers.

And it doesn't contain lanolin, a natural wax in sheep's wool to which some people are allergic.

Alpacas come in 22 different colors, ranging from pure white through various shades of beiges, browns, and grays, to pure black.

Breeders shear their alpacas and sell the fleece or send it to mills for processing into yarn.

White fleece is in greatest demand, and it can be dyed any number of colors.

Before sending out the fleece, the breeders pull off hay, leaves, and other stuck-on vegetation.

When the fleece arrives at the mill, it undergoes repeated washes with natural soaps until it's pristine.

After the fleece air dries, a conveyer belt feeds it into the picker.

The machine's tooth drum pulls apart the clumps, a process called "opening the fibers".

The drum then shoots those fibers into a compartment called the picker closet.

Once all the fleece has been opened, they turn off the machine and spray the fluffy fibers thoroughly with a blend of conditioners.

These conditioners are left to absorb overnight to reduce static electricity the next step generates.

The fiber separator combs the fibers with a series of fine tooth rollers.

This simultaneously straightens the fibers and separates them by grade.

The first set of rollers removes any remaining bits of vegetation, while the second set removes coarse fibers so that only very fine fibers exit the machine.

The next step is to divide these fine fibers into bundles of equal weight.

The set weight varies according to the grade of fiber that the next machine, the carder, will be processing.

A fine fiber requires heavier bundles.

The conveyer belt feeding the carder is marked in sections.

They place one bundle in each section.

This steady, even input ensures that the machine produces a consistent output.

Inside the carder, a series of combs spreads the fibers over a drum, aligning them parallel to each other.

This produces a thin, flat layer of fine fiber called web.

Web can be stacked in several layers to make batting, the stuffing material in quilts and duvets.

Batting can be further processed into felt.

Web can also be processed into roving, a long thick stream of fiber which crafts people hand spin into yarn, or which high-speed machines here at the mill spin into store-bought yarn.

The roving deck on the carder compresses the web into a stream while rotating it to hold the aligned fibers in a snake like shape.

To make what's known as woolen yarn, the roving goes directly to the spinner.

However, to make what's called semi-worsted yarn, this machine, called a draw frame, must first combine two or more rovings into a consistent stream called a sliver.

The thinner the yarn, the more often the rovings pass through the draw frame.

Finally, several slivers simultaneously enter the spinner, which twists each one separately through a combination of pressure and speed.

The next machine, called the plyer, then forms the yarn by twisting multiple singles together in the opposite direction.

Twisting two singles, for example, makes a two-ply yarn.

The mill produces different weights of yarn from lace to bulky, by varying the volume of fiber per ply, as well as the spinning speed.

They mount the spools of finished yarn on the skein winder.

A skein is a bundle of yarn that's first wound then twisted.

They set the machine to wind a specific length of yarn.

When it stops, they tie the skein on two ends and remove it.

Then they dye the yarn or leave it its natural color.

Some mills dye their fleece after washing, prior to processing it into yarn.

The final step is to hand-twist the skein.

They also wind yarn into balls and cones.

Warm and water repellent, this silky, smooth alpaca yarn is all set to be knit or woven into a cozy woolen.

The utility knife is known by many other names-- carpet knife, box cutter, sheet-rock knife, and craft knife are just a few.

All those names reflect the many uses for this retractable knife and its incredible versatility.

It comes in handy every time.

In 70 years, the design of this retractable utility knife hasn't really changed much.

Why mess with a concept that works?

A hollow case with an interlocking nose for the blade, held together by a single screw.

It can be easily unscrewed to access spare blades inside.

To make the blades, carbon steel uncoils into a die press.

A roller takes up the slack as the steel inches forward for each forming.

The press scores the steel to rough out the shape of the blades, punches notches for attaching them to the handle, and stamps product information onto them.

At this point, the steel is just a little stiffer than tin foil.

A trip through a 25-foot-long furnace toughens it up.

Exposed to scorching heat and then quenched by water, the steel hardens significantly.

After the brand name has been printed on the steel, the ribbon of blades rides through a grinding station with different stone-grinding wheels.

They sharpen the steel edge.

The steel now passes under an induction coil that radiates heat to further harden the cutting edge.

A machine called the breaker snaps the steel along the score lines.

It spits out the unwanted triangular bits between the blades for recycling.

The blades flow out of the breaker and into a steel channel.

A pusher moves them down the channel into a tray.

This system snaps and packs 250 blades a minute.

They insert one blade from every production run into this tester.

The tester moves the blade back and forth repeatedly to slice through thick stacks of paper strips.

This gives them a measure of the blade's sharpness and durability.

The transformation from blunt metal to razor sharp blade is complete, and the utility knife blades are ready for the gripping part-- the zinc case.

They cast the back and front of the case in a die.

The parts then bounce around in a vibratory bowl along with pyramid-shaped ceramic rocks.

The friction smoothes the rough edges.

After about a half hour in the vibratory bowl, the casing parts are blemish free.

They head into the next station.

Here, workers collect them and examine them for defects as they hang them on moving racks.

The racks will take the utility knife parts through a wash station to get rid of a dusting of zinc and ceramic residue.

It's kind of a power wash for the knife case parts.

They ride by a high-pressure sprayer for a thorough cleaning.

After that, they take a trip through a dryer to prepare them for a powder coat finish.

Once the powder coat is baked on, it will protect the zinc utility knife from corrosion.

The powder coat gives the utility knives a finish that's tougher than conventional paint.

Heading into the unload station now, a blast from an air gun knocks the parts off the rack.

Thanks to the tough finish, they land without a scratch.

The utility-knife parts are ready for assembly, and the worker uses a special fixture for that.

She places the bottom half of the knife in a recess in the fixture.

Handling the blunt side of the blades, she inserts three of them into the case's storage compartment.

She also tucks the tab of an information card into it.

Next, she installs the retractable mechanism for the utility knife blades.

She places the other half of the case on the assembly and then actuates an auto-screw gun to close the knife.

They assemble over 40,000 utility knives per day at this factory.

Now, that's cutting edge.


Deep Cycle Batteries
Tins
Optical Lenses

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

Deep-cycle batteries...

Tins...

And optical lenses.

A deep-cycle battery is what you find in such vehicles as trains, boats, r.v.s, and forklift trucks.

Whereas a car battery provides a quick surge of current to start the engine, a deep-cycle battery provides a steady amount of current over a long period of time.

Deep-cycle batteries range from 2 to 48 volts.

Their power is generated by cells, a group of lead plates coated in lead oxide and acid.

This casting machine produces lead grids that will become the plates in the power cells.

The machine pours molten lead into grid-shaped molds.

Water circulating through the mold hardens the metal in just five seconds.

The machine casts two types of grids-- negatives and positives.

The next machine coats the grids with a chemical paste that contains lead oxide and acid.

The positives get one paste formulation.

The negatives, a different one.

The grids are now called plates.

Workers stack them in cases, alternating positive and negative, then drop them in tanks of sulfuric acid to charge.

The lead oxide and acid in the paste store the power.

After charging for 24 to 72 hours, depending on the model, the plates go into a machine that washes them three times to remove acid residue, which, if left, would corrode the metal.

The charging process blackens the plates, which are now called dry-charge plates.

A machine wraps each positive in glass-strand matting, an insulation material similar to fiberglass, then in a plastic envelope.

These coverings protect the plates from short circuits.

Workers stack the plates again-- positive, negative, positive, negative.

This time, though, each stack contains a specific number-- from 5 to 33 plates, depending on the battery model.

Each stack will become one cell.

A cell provides 2 volts of electricity.

Each plate has a tab.

A robotic machine cleans the tabs with a wire brush and a chemical solution called flux.

Then it dips the tabs in molten tin.

This tin coating will improve the bond when they solder the tabs together.

The robot wipes the tabs on a flux-imbued sponge to clean their surface once again...

Then drops the cells into a mold containing molten lead.

This solders the tabs together, bonding the plates within each cell.

The process casts two lead posts on the cell's positive side and two on its negative side.

These posts will connect the cells and build the required voltage.

Next, each cell goes into a polypropylene casing called a jar.

They test each cell to make sure it functions.

This also shows if the cell is positioned correctly in the jar so that the positive and negative signs on the cell cover will be on the corresponding posts.

They heat-seal the cover and seal the protruding posts with lead.

To test the seals, they pump air into the cell, then brush soapy water over the cover.

Any bubbles indicate a gap to be resealed.

In another part of the factory, workers manually mold various small components from molten lead.

Among those parts-- the connectors that link one cell to another.

Workers weld them to the posts.

These are 8-volt batteries, so for each one, they connect four cells inside a polyethylene case.

Now that assembly is complete, the case cover goes on.

These rubber grommets keep water from seeping inside and shorting the battery.

Now they fill the inside with sulfuric acid, which functions as an electrolyte, the medium that helps the lead in the plates conduct electricity.

The tin can was invented back in the 1800s to preserve and protect.

We still rely on this trusty container to keep a range of perishables fresh-- everything from food to blood plasma to military supplies.

And after all these years of use, the tin can still has an airtight reputation.

It's time to lift the lid on this traditional container and get the inside story from the factory.

To make a tin, they take a strip of tin steel and weld it to join the ends.

The resulting cylindrical shape is the body of the tin, and it's about to be hermetically sealed.

The rotating tools on this machine stretch out the edges of the cylinder, forming a flange.

They top off the tins at this station, where a spinning head presses the cylinder into these lids.

It simultaneously rolls the flanged edges together to make an airtight seal.

This container is for classified military use, but over on another production line, they're making a more standard tin-- the kind you would put coffee in-- so this assembly is more mechanized.

In a fraction of a second, an automated welder rounds and joins metal to create the body of a tin.

The tins travel forward and upward on a magnetic conveyor system.

They're going to the other side of the plant, where they'll get tops and bottoms.

This kind of tin has a reusable slipcover lid and gets some decorative work.

Like a big cookie cutter, a punch press cuts out designs that have been preprinted on metal.

At the same time, it pushes the cut design onto a die to form the lid shape.

A magnetic conveyor pulls them forward and flips the lids to stack them for packing.

Elsewhere in the plant, they're making cans to go with some other lids.

A lineup of circular blades slices through tin sheets.

The cut pieces accumulate in stacks.

They load the flat pieces of tin into a cylinder, where they're curled into tubes.

As they exit, robotic arms make seams in the rolled tins, and a press applies force to lock them.

This lock seam is an alternative to the welded one we saw earlier.

Now, another magnetic conveyor pulls the tin tubes forward, and they go for a spin while rollers flange the edges so that the bottoms can be attached.

Then a punch cutter makes the bottoms, making sure to recycle the scraps.

The can bottoms spin out of the punch cutter before landing on the next magnetized conveyor.

They get a squirt of liquid rubber, which will harden into a gasket to prevent leaks in the can.

A folding machine now locks the bottoms to the tubes as they spin.

More than 12,000 cans per hour can be made on this high-speed line...

From a blank piece of steel to a very useful container.

Whatever their contents, these tins are destined for a full life-- that is, until someone decides to empty them.

It's time to turn our camera's eye on the camera's eye.

Optical lenses are really several lenses combined into a single unit.

Together, they re-create an image by bending light rays, so they converge into a common point called the focal point.

These television lenses start with a very precise design.

A diamond blade slices up a block of specially selected optical glass, while coolant prevents the blade from burning it.

The slices then go under a diamond drill, which cuts several puck-sized disks from one glass slice.

The operator is careful to keep waste to a minimum.

Optical glass costs up to $1,000 for 2.2 pounds.

During the drilling, the optical glass sits on a thinner piece of glass covered with wax.

As the wax is melted, the disks are easily pulled away.

Next, a device spins one of the disks, while a wheel overhead sculpts it into a lens.

The operator checks each lens for chips, and this one looks smooth.

This tarlike substance is called pitch.

The edges of the lens have been built up with tape to contain the pitch.

They completely coat the underside of the lens with it.

Several pitch-covered lenses are now in a metal shell.

A worker picks up a hot aluminum dome called a blocking body.

He presses it onto the pitch-covered lenses, and the pitch melts onto it.

Dousing it with water causes the pitch to harden, sealing the lenses to the blocking body.

The blocking body is now upside down and acting as a holding device as it oscillates on a spinning grinding shell.

The grinding makes the surface of the lenses uniform and smooth.

They place a polisher on the lenses.

It's lubricated with a very fine abrasive.

For about an hour, the polisher oscillates while the block spins.

Polishing makes the lenses smooth and transparent.

It also gives them an even more curved profile.

The lenses have been removed from the block, and it's time to cut the diameter down to size.

Using a microscope, a technician centers a lens between two brass chucks.

A diamond blade at the back cuts the lens as a technician monitors it.

He's making sure the diameter and axis of the lens have a common center.

Next, they group some lenses on round racks called planets.

Their universe is a vacuum chamber.

The technician closes the door, and the planets continue their orbit.

Inside this vacuum, an electron beam evaporates coating materials.

The vapor rises to give the lenses a protective coat.

A computer monitors the rate of evaporation and the coating.

But there's much more to come.

Up next, this process really gets visual as all the pieces of a camera lens come together.

The optical lens is the ultimate image maker.

Along with cameras, you'll find them in projectors, microscopes, laser scanners, and x-ray equipment.

They give us a closeup view of so many things.

It seems only appropriate that we take a closeup look at the optical lens itself.

The lenses have just spent three hours getting a protective finish.

It's time to wipe any residue and make sure they're perfect.

This particular lens is concave.

She covers it to protect it while she cleans and inspects the lens with the opposite profile--  convex.

Then the convex lens goes to another technician, who places it in a holding device.

He looks into a microscope and adjusts the position of the lens until it's optically centered.

He uses wax to keep the lens from shifting in the holding device.

They give the lens another cleaning.

Each one must be absolutely spotless before they proceed to the next step.

Otherwise, dust particles could become trapped within the optical system and affect image quality.

Now that the surface of the convex lens is immaculate, she dabs optical cement onto the center of it.

She gives the other concave lens a little more scrutiny before she cements it onto the convex lens.

She applies pressure to spread the cement between the two lenses.

Cementing them together means they'll be less likely to shift around in the lens barrel.

She checks for dust one more time.

Then it's under the microscope for an optical alignment of this double lens.

Because the cement isn't yet dry, he can push the top lens around and adjust its position.

Next, they prep the barrel that will hold the lenses.

A technician traces out lettering using a stylus attached to a sharp tool that engraves information onto the lens barrel.

It prints technical details that will tell the photographer just what the lens will do-- things like focal length, the f-number, and the size of the aperture opening.

These reference points allow the user to pull a picture into focus at the desired magnification.

Now they double-check the design for this complex optical system and begin to pull all the pieces together.

This singlet, or single lens, goes into the metal barrel first.

Other lenses with various curvatures and dimensions follow.

She places metal spacers between the lenses to separate them.

Proper spacing will prevent aberrations in the image, such as blurring.

Between installations, she covers the barrel with a piece of lint-free plastic because eliminating dust continues to be a necessity.

One fleck could ruin this entire assembly.

Using tweezers, she coaxes the last lens into the barrel.

She installs a retaining ring to hold the stack of lenses down.

Then she locks it into place.

There's one final inspection.

She examines the assembled optical lens from all angles.

It takes a total of six weeks to make one of these optical lenses, and in the end, it's picture-perfect.


Precast Concrete Walls
3D Printers
Telescopic Cranes
Kerosene Lamp Burners

Precast concrete walls are made in a controlled plant environment, where weather can't interfere with the curing process.

They're cast with insulation before they arrive at the construction site.

All that's needed is a crane to do the heavy lifting.

Precast concrete walls have a tough exterior that holds up to all kinds of weather, but making these structural wall panels is an inside job.

By manufacturing them indoors, they can better prepare them for the outdoors.

Production starts with a mix of crushed rock and sand.

This collection is limestone-based.

The mineral mix can be altered for different strengths and finishes.

A conveyor delivers the collection of minerals to a huge mixer.

They inject cement, water, and additives to improve the flow of the concrete, accelerate the cure, and give it a brownish hue.

Beaters whip the ingredients into a thick, gritty mix.

They cast some of the concrete into cylindrical shapes for testing.

After a one-day cure, they crush the cylinders with a ram.

The amount of force it takes to crush the cylinders is a measure of the concrete batch's strength.

Before they cast the wall, a crew arranges giant foam letters to make an imprint in the mold.

They position the letters in the center of the casting form and secure them with silicone.

A release agent is sprayed onto the casting form and letters.

High-strength steel cables are strung throughout the form.

With a hydraulic device, they pull each cable to a specific tension.

Then, they bend a rebar rod into a loop.

The rebar loops are linked, creating long cages.

They place one cage at the top of the form and one at the bottom.

Then, the team inserts a sheet of welded wire mesh.

It's been cut to fit the size of the form.

They're now ready to pour concrete.

A truck dispenses the concrete directly into the form.

The concrete flows around the steel reinforcement.

The steel will keep the wall strong when the concrete expands and contracts as the weather changes.

The team spreads the concrete and levels it with a tool called a screed.

This first layer of the wall panel is essentially one side of a sandwich.

It will be the exterior part of the wall.

At the center of the sandwich is this rigid foam insulation.

It's studded with protrusions to secure to the concrete.

More steel-reinforced concrete completes the wall sandwich.

This final layer will face the inside of the building...

So the crew takes extra care to ensure that there are no pits or crevices.

After about 12 hours, the wall is solid enough to be handled.

They take it outdoors, where a worker sandblasts a small section of the exterior side.

This removes the surface cement to expose the aggregate, creating a decorative band next to the embossed lettering.

After a three-day cure, the precast concrete wall is ready for the construction site.

A crew guides it onto footings.

They align its design to the one on the next wall.

When the two walls match up perfectly, they bolt it down.

The concrete continues to cure over time, so these precast walls will stand strong for many years.

Would you like to print a toy, a circuit board, or a replica of a famous work of art?

Thanks to the development of the 3d printer, what used to be the stuff of science fiction is now a reality.

These objects were produced by 3d printers, proof that, for printing technology, the world is no longer flat.

To make 3d printers, this company actually uses 3d printers.

A technician starts by loading a reel of plastic filament into a printer.

The printer melts the plastic into a thick goo.

The 3d printer layers the plastic, following a pattern from a digital file.

This particular part is the extruder body.

In real time, it takes about an hour to print the extruder.

Even complex patterns, like this octopus, can be made with a 3d printer.

40 different components of this 3d printer are produced using 3d printers.

At this facility, 135 printers run nonstop, producing gears, brackets, and mechanism housings.

This technology is truly self-replicating.

Now, a worker drills a hole in the extruder body.

It serves as a conduit for the plastic filament during printing.

He bolts a gear to the extruder body.

He screws the motor to the extruder body and installs a second, smaller gear on the drive shaft.

A part called the hot end is installed next.

It contains a heater for melting the plastic filament.

The worker attaches the hot end to a 3d-printed plastic mount and extruder.

This completes the 3d printer tool head.

Another worker feeds glass to rubber rollers.

The rollers gently apply adhesive-backed polyester film to the glass.

The glass will serve as the printer bed, and the film will protect it from scratches during use.

To build the printer's aluminum frame, the worker secures the joints with 3d-printed plastic parts.

He installs two rods horizontally.

They'll serve as rails for the printer tool head to move across.

He clips the tool head to the rails.

Then, he loops a rubber belt around the motor on the side of the frame and links it to the tool head.

The belt will drive the tool head along the carriage.

He confirms the tension is good and that the tool head moves freely.

Next, he attaches the print bed and its sliding support structure to the base of the frame.

He connects a cord to the power supply and links it to the tool head.

It will power both the motor and the hot end.

He clips the glass to the print bed and tightens the clips with screws.

He connects the print bed to the electronics and confirms that it slides freely.

In the testing department, a technician pushes the end of a plastic filament reel into a drilled channel in the tool head.

He snaps a retainer around the feed point.

Now, he is ready to activate the 3d printer.

He prints a test pattern to confirm that the printer bed is level and the tool head prints consistently.

For two-tone printing, they use two filament reels that feed into a double extruder tool head.

The tool head layers the plastic, one color at a time.

This process takes about an hour, but that's not too long when you consider that it's printing a 3d object.

Talk about generating solid results.

Tower cranes can be found at most large construction sites, but they're usually secured in a concrete slab that can take days to set up.

If you need a crane for some quick maintenance work, a truck-mounted telescopic crane might be a better solution.

Telescopic cranes can support loads of up to 6 tons and lift objects over 30 feet in the air.

The steel cable or wire rope winds and unwinds on a hydraulic winch.

The crane operator can extend or retract the boom extensions and adjust the angle of the main boom.

Stowing the crane in the travel position takes just a few minutes.

Assembly begins when a carbon steel sheet is loaded into a cnc laser cutter.

A high-energy light beam cuts through the steel plate to make several parts of the crane assembly.

A computer program maximizes the number of pieces cut out of a single sheet of steel.

A welder places parts on a position fixture.

Then, a cnc weld robot bonds the side plates to the winch mounting plate and base plate.

The welded crane mast goes to the machining center.

A machinist positions it on the horizontal mill jig.

The cnc mill drills holes around the base plate with a carbide drill bit and sprays coolant to prevent the piece from overheating.

Then, the machine levels the surface under the base plate with an end mill to fit it to the crane mast bearing.

Another worker bends tubes with a hydraulic press brake.

He makes boom segments by forming high-strength carbon steel plates into open c shapes.

Grounded electrostatic paint racks carry the parts into the painting department.

A worker applies a coating of anti-rust, low-friction electrostatic paint.

The paint eases the movement of the crane parts.

As the boom extensions come out of the paint shop, the painted mast is ready to go to the assembly department.

A worker positions the mast on the base bearing assembly.

He attaches the mast to the bearing with high-strength steel bolts and uses a pneumatic torque wrench to tighten the bolts.

These bolts bear most of the load of the crane.

A worker positions the winch on the mount plate and tightens the bolts.

He rotates the mast to check its movement on the base bearing.

He inserts a bushing and fits it with an arbor.

He applies lubricant inside the bushing before he brings in the main cylinder.

The worker positions the cylinder between the side plates and pins it to the mast.

The pin allows the cylinder to move vertically when elevating the boom.

Hydraulic actuators are now installed inside the mast.

The actuators direct oil flow to the cylinders and motors, controlling the movement of the crane.

A worker installs the boom extensions into the main boom.

He pushes them all the way in before assembling the main boom to the crane base.

The main boom fits right between the mast side plates.

Workers insert a pin to connect the mast to the main boom.

They gently tap it in place with a soft mallet and bolt it on with a pneumatic wrench.

A worker threads the wire rope along the boom and around the top pulley, then pulls the cable down and runs it through the snatch block.

He closes a safety pin on the snatch block and pins the eye of the cable under the top pulley.

Another worker activates the winch motor to roll the cable in.

The main cylinder elevates the crane into operating position.

The extension cylinder extends the boom, and stabilizers support the back of the truck for safe operation of the crane.

In a world lit by incandescent, fluorescent, halogen, and l.e.d.s, there are some people who still like their lighting the old-fashioned way.

Nothing quite matches the warm glow of a kerosene lamp.

Kerosene lamps date back centuries.

They're fueled by kerosene, with a wick as the light source.

To light the lamp, you remove the glass chimney, light the wick, then turn a key attached to the burner to raise or lower the wick.

The height of the wick adjusts the height of the flame.

This burner's components are made of brass.

Many of them are stamped by a press.

The press rams the lubricated brass sheet against the die, forming the metal to the required shape.

The component passes through a second stamping press, this time receiving five successive strikes.

This component is the midsection of the burner's gallery, the ornate support fixture that holds the glass chimney over the flame.

After the component passes through the first two presses, workers mount it on a third press.

This one punches ventilation holes around the perimeter, allowing air to feed the flame.

Workers mount the gallery's bottom section onto another punch press.

It cuts an intricate design along the perimeter.

This machine cuts out the bottom so the part can fit around the burner mechanism.

The next machine carves threads into it.

The threads enable the gallery to screw onto the burner mechanism.

Now it's time to assemble the gallery sections.

It has grips to hold the bottom of the chimney.

Next, they fasten the bottom section to the middle section.

This method of joining parts by compressing one against the other is known as a press fit.

They also stamp the brass adjustment key that raises and lowers the wick.

The die stamps the manufacturer's name and cuts teeth along the perimeter, making the key easier to grip.

To build the burner mechanism, they solder a notch plate, called a shutter, to a component they refer to as the candle.

It's called the candle because the wick will run through it.

They attach the adjustment key to a pair of gears...

And solder that to the shutter.

They turn the key to make sure the gears rotate freely.

They place a base into an assembly tool and insert the candle containing the adjustment key assembly.

Then, they solder on a wick guide.

They check the gears again to make sure they rotate freely.

The burner mechanism is finished.

Now, they dip it into a chemical degreaser to remove any lubricant or soldering residue.

Next, they submerge it in a vat of acids to brighten the brass.

Then, they rinse it in water three times.

Now, they assemble all of the burner parts.

They insert a cotton wick into the guide at the bottom of the mechanism and turn the key to feed it up through the burner.

They screw on the gallery and complete the burner by inserting a disk that will help shape the flame.

To install the burner in a lamp, the insert the wick into the font and screw the burner to the font's threaded collar.

The glass chimney is the finishing touch.

To fill the lamp with fuel, remove the chimney, unscrew the burner, pour kerosene into the font, then screw the burner back on.

This lamp is now ready to light.


Magnets
Cooked Ham
Silver Teapots
Crash Test Dummies

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

Magnets...

Cooked ham.

Silver-plated teapots.

And crash-test dummies.

You can't see or feel the force causing this globe to levitate, but it's not magic, it's magnetic.

An essential part of our daily lives, magnets are used for a lot more than just sticking stuff to the fridge.

They help run motors and generators and are also found in computers, televisions, and microphones.

Magnets occur in nature.

But only two centuries ago, scientists figured out how to make them using metal and electricity.

Production at the magnet foundry begins with a creation of a mold.

A tray containing four magnet shapes is loaded into a machine that fills it with sand.

A worker removes the pattern and smoothes the surface dimpled by the machine's lid.

Then it's back inside.

This time the machine pumps in gases that chemically alter the sand, hardening it in a matter of seconds.

The sand slab is now a durable mold.

And these molds are made in a wide variety of shapes and sizes.

Now it's time to mix together the ingredients for the magnets themselves.

They include copper, cobalt, sulfur, nickel, pure iron, aluminum, and titanium.

All of these metals are loaded into an electrical induction furnace.

It generates a pulsating electromagnetic field that heats the metal to almost 3,000 degrees fahrenheit, melting everything into a molten soup.

The metal is poured into the molds.

Because the gases that harden the sand are highly flammable, the molds burst into flames.

Still ablaze, they slide to another part of the foundry where workers knock them to the floor and bust them open with sledgehammers.

This lets the air in, cooling the molds and allowing the gases to burn off.

All of the pieces are shoveled into a bin, and workers separate the metal from the sand chunks using what else?

A magnet.

But these metal pieces aren't yet magnetized themselves.

That will come later.

A set of rings designed for use in electric motors is threaded onto a copper pipe.

The ring-covered pipe is placed in a tube.

Then, silica sand is packed in to hold the rings in position.

Both ends of the tube are sealed with concrete.

Then, it's into an electrical furnace.

It heats the tube until it's red-hot.

This superheating primes the rings inside to accept an electromagnetic field which will be delivered by this metal rod.

The rod slides down the center of the copper pipe and is clamped into place.

Water keeps the pipe from melting as a low-voltage, high-current charge is delivered to the rings inside.

Workers break open the seal.

The process has left the rings mildly magnetized.

Any rough edges are smoothed away.

At this point, the magnets are pretty useless.

But this machine empowers them with a strong electromagnetic charge.

The establishment of that weak magnetic field earlier ensures that the magnetization is now properly oriented.

Now, that's some serious magnetic muscle.

The wide array of magnets manufactured today are critical to our daily lives because their invisible power helps keep so many things running.

Up next-- turning raw pork into a succulent smoked ham.

Ham comes from the hind leg of a pig.

You can buy it raw and cook it yourself, or you can buy it already cured and smoked.

You can buy your ham boneless or with the bone still intact.

Bone-in ham has more natural flavor.

The process starts with raw hams fresh from the slaughterhouse.

The factory's automated sorting system weighs each one, then knocks it into the appropriate vat.

By grouping hams of similar size together, the factory can better control the quality of the curing and cooking processes.

Each vat empties into a tumbler which spins the hams for about five minutes.

This loosens the skins so that workers can quickly remove them.

They use an automatic trimming machine to skin the back portion, called the butt.

In keeping with traditional style, the machine leaves just a small amount of skin on the thin part of the leg, called the shank.

Now the circular wizard knife does its magic, removing all but a thin layer of fat.

Finally, the base of the shank, called the hock, is chopped off.

Now a curing solution is prepared, made of water, sugar, salt, and a few secret ingredients.

This mixture gives the ham its trademark flavor and pink color.

Without it, the meat would end up looking and tasting like a pork roast.

Pipes feed the curing solution to an injection machine armed with 138 needles.

As the hams pass below, they're thoroughly and evenly injected with solution.

And all that piercing tenderizes the meat.

Next, workers load a machine called the stuffing horn, which fires each ham into a heat-resistant cotton net.

Workers seal each one with an aluminum clip, then cut off the excess netting.

Cooking hams on trays would flatten the underside.

But hanging them by nets keeps them nice and round.

The cooking racks are transferred to a food-processing oven, the industrial equivalent of a traditional smokehouse.

Hickory wood chips go into the oven smoker.

Then a worker starts her up.

For the next 12 hours, the hams slow cook at temperatures ranging between 150 and 180 degrees fahrenheit.

This tenderizes the meat and gives the smoke ample time to seep in.

After cooking, the hams get a cold ten-minute shower.

This rinses away the drippings that fall from the higher hams onto the lower ones.

Then it's on to the chill area, where over the next 36 hours, the hams cool to around 30 degrees fahrenheit.

Next, the nets come off and packaging begins.

The factory sells hams whole, or, using a band saw, slices them into halves or smaller sizes such as single-portion ham steaks.

Workers bag the ham in plastic, then position a soft, plastic pad over the bone to prevent any sharp edges from ripping through the airtight seal.

Each bag is positioned for sealing.

Then, an automated vacuum chamber descends over each bag, sucking out the air and sealing the plastic.

A robotic arm transfers the hams to a conveyor belt leading to a hot-water bath.

Just five seconds in hot water is enough to shrink the plastic tightly around the ham.

This airtight seal will keep the ham fresh in your refrigerator for three months, and up to nine months in your freezer.

Coming up-- the artistry behind some of the world's finest teapots.

The mayans started using pots like these 2,600 years ago, probably for hot chocolate.

They've evolved since then.

And today, aficionados consider them essential for that perfect cup of tea.

Silver-plated teapots come in many different styles, and making them requires the talent and skill of an old-world master.

A century-old hand-circling machine cuts a perfect circle out of a brass sheet that's 6/100 of an inch thick.

Then the disk heads to the press.

After lubricating the press surface with vegetable oil, the disk is positioned and covered with a polyurethane stopper.

As the press applies its three tons of pressure, the die moves upward, shaping the disk from underneath.

The stopper, meanwhile, provides a counterpressure to keep the die from breaking the brass as it thins and stretches.

They call this the draft shape.

It then goes into another die that produces the final shape of the teapot's base.

Next, they solder on the teapot rim, which was made the same way.

A craftsman then hammers the metal to remove any imperfections left by the pressings and punches in the maker's mark.

Spinning is another technique used to form metal teapot parts.

Here, a craftsman shapes a copper teapot mounted on a lathe.

The metal is decorated using a technique called hand chasing.

With a paper stencil, he applies the design in white powder.

He pencil traces the pattern, then hammers in the design with a variety of tools.

This intricate process requires the talented hands of an expert artisan.

For the teapot spout, workers press brass plates into left- and right-side dies.

A quarter-ton press produces the final spout shape.

Soldering paste is brushed onto the halves.

They're wired together, then fired to 600 degrees fahrenheit.

The spout gets an acid bath to remove all of the impurities left behind from the soldering process.

Workers polish the teapot with three progressively finer grades of pumice, which is crushed volcanic rock.

One final buffing ensures the surface is perfectly smooth.

With diamond-tipped hand tools, engravers can etch anything onto the teapot from custom designs to company logos.

Workers now screw on the lid, wire up the teapot, and immerse it in cleaning chemicals followed by a silver-plating bath.

Just before shipping, they attach hardware and perform a final cleaning.

Finally, the teapots are wrapped in acid-free cellulose to prevent the silver from tarnishing.

It takes a highly skilled team of craftspeople to create these unique teapot designs in styles ranging from elizabethan to ultra modern, beautiful and functional.

When we return-- bringing crash-test dummies to life.

Crash-test dummies may look human, but they're actually high-tech guinea pigs for a wide range of impact tests.

So, how do they make dummies whose form and structure mimic the human body?

You're about to find out.

Crash-test dummies are designed to take some serious hits.

Automakers use the data they provide to build safer cars, vans, and trucks.

A dummy's anatomy is pretty simple.

Beneath its vinyl skin, there's a metal skeleton made of steel and aluminum bones.

Those bones contain load cells, electronic devices that measure crash force.

Production of the load cells begins with a machine that shapes steel bars using a solid carbide end mill.

Lubricant cools the intense heat and washes away the metal particles.

Using a precision tool called the dial indicator, workers verify the load cell's dimensions to within 2/1,000 of an inch.

Next comes the strain gauge-- the component within the load cell that measured crash force.

The hair-width wires that connect the strain gauges are so delicate that soldering them requires a microscope.

The vertebra in the dummy's neck also contains a load cell.

The strain gage soldered inside it measures not just lateral and vertical forces, but also twist, or torsional force.

The completed bones and corresponding load cells are laid out, but they can't be connected until the dummy's rib cage is complete.

To make the rib cage, steel bands are bonded to a flexible damping material.

This material was originally designed to deaden sound in nuclear submarines.

It allows the dummy's rib cage to compress just like the real thing.

A technician bolts the entire rib assembly to the spinal column and covers it with a plastic chest plate called a bib.

The long bones and load-cell forms are inserted into aluminum molds.

Workers then bolt the molds shut and pour in liquid vinyl.

The molds bake at around 350 degrees fahrenheit for 10 to 20 minutes.

When they come out, workers cut away any flash-- the excess vinyl that oozes out during the baking process.

Then, a technician inspects the components to ensure an accurate fit.

This is no ordinary vinyl.

It's specially designed to resemble human flesh in consistency and density.

This gives researchers realistic crash data.

Now, it's time to install the bones into their respective vinyl compartments, starting with this tibia or shin bone.

Zippers allow the engineers to easily remove the components after performing a crash test.

A technician bolts all the dummy's joints in place and ensures they have a human-like range of motion.

Using a neck-compression tool, a technician lines up a load sensor with the neck vertebrae and fashions the completed neck assembly to the dummy's head.

Next, the upper body is completed.

The thorax is bolted onto the pelvis, the head and neck assembly onto the thorax.

Then, the vinyl jacket is fitted over the chest.

Finally, the technician bolts on the limbs.

Crash-test dummies range in size from newborns all the way up to 225-pound adults so that auto manufacturers can be sure their seat belts and air bags protect everyone equally well.

It took a full 12 weeks to make this dummy, and now he's ready for a life of hard knocks to make traveling safer for all of us.


Steel Wool
Ranges
Carved Candles
Slot Machines

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

Steel wool...

Ranges...

Carved candles...

And slot machines.

With so many rough edges, steel wool is very abrasive.

That's what makes it so useful for heavy-duty cleaning and other chores.

Mechanics were the first to use steel shavings for cleaning and polishing parts.

By the early part of the 20th century, equipment was invented to mass produce the stuff.

Then steel wool became a household name.

There are thousands of metal threads in each steel-wool pad.

Manufacturers start with a coiled steel rod that unwinds through metal guides into a 16-foot-long die machine.

As the rods travel through six progressively smaller dies, it gets narrower and more uniformly shaped.

Spools wind up the rod after it passes through each die to prevent any snarls in production.

The progression through the dies reworks the steel's basic structure, doubling its tensile strength.

When it reaches the end of the die machine, the steel rod has been narrowed by a little more than half.

The slimmer, stronger wire will be easier to process.

To check its tensile strength, a technician places a wire sample in a testing device.

Clamps pull from both directions.

It takes over half a ton of force to snap it, an indication that it's tough enough to be machined.

So, it's over to the steel-wool cutting machine, which spans 50 feet.

Here, the wire travels over a series of drums, while 29 blades shave it.

Each blade produces shavings thinner than a human hair.

Streams of the shavings exit the machine and join the river of steel threads flowing through the factory.

Each of these steel threads has been cut in a pyramid configuration, making it razor-sharp.

The shaved steel winds onto large rolls.

Workers align several of these rolls onto racks, then secure them in place.

The ends of each roll are bunched together...

And threaded through a series of bobbins.

Finally, the ends are fed into a needle-punch machine.

Here, hundreds of fish-hook shaped needles weave the steel threads together.

This very basic crochet job produces a long mat of wool that's of suitable density for woodworking.

To make household cleaning pads, workers bulk up the steel wool even more.

They insert layers of needle mat into the streams of steel fibers.

This gives the pads extra strength for big scouring jobs.

This multilayered stream then heads over to the needle-punch machine to be woven together.

Once the steel wool goes onto a final roll, it's ready to be turned into pads for cleaning, sanding, or polishing.

Next, see what's cooking with today's high-end ranges.

The range is where the action is in the kitchen.

It's where we whip together meals-- baked, broiled, roasted or sautéed.

High-end ranges like this one are hot, and not just in the obvious way.

They're an upmarket trend that make home cooks feel like the chef of their very own restaurant.

The construction of one of these double-oven ranges starts with a big sheet of galvanized steel.

A machine flips it and feeds it to a press.

The press folds the sheet twice to make the oven walls, closing it around the framework.

The oven bottom is placed into position, and automated welders fuse everything together.

The back section goes on next.

Those holes are for the oven's fan.

The oven shell gets a porcelain finish on the inside, and then the heating element goes in.

Fans are fitted into those precut holes.

More heating elements run along their perimeters.

The oven is then wrapped with synthetic insulation to keep it from scorching nearby cabinetry.

Side panels cover the insulation and help support the oven's structure.

This piece of steel will reinforce the range bottom.

Several feet are attached.

The front ones have wheels so the range can be moved without tearing up the floor.

Workers cushion it with packing foam, flip it, and hoist the oven onto it, next to a smaller second oven that's part of this double-oven range.

Next, a technician hooks up the microprocessor board that controls everything from the oven's fans to their timers.

And all of that wiring needs to be double-checked.

On this range, the burners are fueled by gas.

This electrical board will sense gas-flow problems.

Workers assemble the igniter boxes that will spark the burner's flames...

Then mount them on the cooktop.

After installing the gas valves on the framework...

They slide connectors onto some gas lines and attach them to the valves.

On this upscale cooktop, there are two gas lines for every knob-- one for a low flame, and the other for a high flame.

With the installation of the burners and the porcelain drip pan...

The cooktop is now ready to be lowered onto the oven.

This is where the knobs fit.

It's called a bullnose, and it's a bit of a showpiece.

So, workers grind and polish it to give it a gleaming finish with no sharp edges.

For handling purposes, the bullnose is protected with plastic.

This machine punches and bends the edges of panels so they can be attached to the sides of the range.

At another station, the oven doors get a good buffing so they'll match the shiny bullnose.

With the side panels and doors attached, all that's left are a few more finishing touches, and the final product is ready to be fired up.

Coming up, an art form where every second counts.

Carving candles is an old german craft still practiced by artisans.

It involves layering different-colored wax...

Then carving designs to expose those luminous colors.

It's hard to beat the radiant beauty of a carved candle.

Carved candles are known for their swirls and curls, a look so elaborate that lighting one is an occasion in itself.

The process starts with vats of hot wax in various colors.

The candlemaker stirs them to circulate the specially formulated dyes.

She dips a star-shaped wax core into clear wax and then yellow.

The clear wax dilutes whatever color wax follows it.

The layers are hardened in cool water.

She repeats this process between 30 and 35 times, building up different-colored layers on the candle core.

As the dipping continues, the candle becomes warmer and softer, which will allow it to be carved.

The quick water dips only cool the outer layers.

Partway into the dipping, the candlemaker deepens the candle's grooves.

And she resumes dipping, she has to keep a close watch on the candle's temperature.

If it absorbs too much heat, it will be too soft to carve.

But if it's too cool, the wax can splinter.

Achieving the right consistency is crucial.

It's almost time to get carving.

But first, the candlemaker squeezes the drippings together....

And slices them off.

They're too attractive to waste, so she quickly shapes them into a mushroom candle.

She pokes a hole in the center for the wick, and, within moments, the candle is complete.

With the big candle at the perfect temperature, the clock is ticking.

It has to be carved in just 15 minutes, or it will be too hard to work with.

The candlemaker slivers the bottom and curls the pieces back.

She dunks the row of curls into water to harden them a bit so they don't sag.

On the second row, she curls each row in the opposite direction to the one before.

She carves a total of four rows, with the last curls fixed upright.

Using the square-edged gouging tool, she cuts a windmill design into the upper section of the candle.

Then she shapes the wax cutout into a base for the windmill.

Tulips and other designs decorate the top of the candle.

She must work with a quick but steady hand.

It takes at least a year of training to learn to carve with such confidence.

This one is a neat trick.

She jiggles the straight-bladed knife to cut the fluted edge of a hummingbird wing.

One last character, and this carving job is complete.

Now she presses a cookie-cutter-like device around the wick.

This forms a well that will allow the wax to burn down the center instead of dripping down the sides, which would ruin the carving.

She spins the candle in a hot pan to melt the bottom so that it's level.

And while it's still hot, she attaches the company sticker.

Finally, an acrylic glaze seals the candle's decorations and protects the finish.

Once lit, the light from the clear core shines through the design for a real glowing beauty.

When we return, a gambler's dream come true-- peeking inside a slot machine.

A san francisco car mechanic invented the first slot machine in 1895.

Its heavy cast-iron cabinet housed three spinning reels.

Each one had 20 playing-card symbols and an image of philadelphia's famous liberty bell.

If you were lucky enough to line up three bells in a row, you won the big jackpot-- 50 cents.

Today's slot machines have come a long way.

They've got computers for brains and endless themes and configurations all packaged in a light-weight sheet-metal cabinet.

Workers first assemble what's called the bulkhead, the upper part of the cabinet that contains all the game-playing components, such as the audio amplifier...

The circuit boards...

The speakers...

And what's known as the meter, the electromagnetical counter that keeps track of the coins and credit going in and out of the machine.

At the base of the cabinet, the machine gets a serial number, as required by law.

Workers install the machine's bill acceptor, then the ticket printer.

When there's a win, it spits out a voucher that the players can redeem for cash, or insert in any machine's bill-collector slot.

Next comes the arm mechanism players pull to spin the reels, then the upper door that frames the reels and the lower door that frames the button panel.

Slot machines have several illuminated buttons for different types of bets.

Workers plug a tiny l.e.d. behind each button, then wire up the panel.

A plastic insert labels each button.

Once the panel is assembled, it's installed in the lower door.

Workers now turn their attention to the metal panel that accommodates the spinning reels.

On the back, they install two circuit boards-- one to operate the machine's digital scoreboard, the other to illuminate the reels.

Then they cover the panel with special glass.

It's been treated with a chemical that conducts electricity.

Should a cheater try to rig the reels using an electronic gadget, this glass will ground the charge.

A decorative window goes over the anti-tampering glass.

Then workers place the whole unit into the upper door.

In the lower door, they install a touch-screen video monitor to display the payout information.

Casino technicians also use it to configure the machine.

Then workers install panels with slots for receiving tickets and for inserting either money or debit cards.

And now for the slot machine's most famous feature-- the reels.

After a machine tests the spinning motion and lights, a worker attaches a plastic strip with printed symbols-- 18 to 22 symbols per reel.

The reels easily snap into a waiting electrical connection.

Next comes what's called the top box.

Workers mount it onto the bulkhead, then install fluorescent bulbs.

These will light up the eye-catching artwork on the glass front of the box.

Nearing completion, the slot machine is finally ready to receive its brain-- an internal computer with its operating system on a programmable microchip.

The software that runs the game is installed on a memory card.

It randomly determines the course of play within defined parameters.

Essentially, it's preprogrammed to pay out a certain amount at random intervals over a given period of time.

But less money, of course, than the machine takes in overall.

Before embarking on its spinning spree, each slot machine undergoes extensive quality-control testing.

Casinos demand that these one-armed bandits are durable and reliable because slots generate more than two-thirds of casino revenues.


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

Endoscopes...

Megaphones...

And uranium.

An endoscope is a tube with optical glass fibers and lenses inside attached to a video camera.

Doctors feed the endoscope through the patient's mouth or other opening or insert it through a tiny incision then watch what the camera captures on a video monitor.

An endoscope lets the surgeon see inside the patient during an examination or surgical procedure.

Its light-transmitting optical fibers work like a flashlight inside the body.

The optical fiber manufacturer suspends glass rods from the top of a tall oven, which heats them to a melting temperature of 1,652 degrees fahrenheit.

Each rod drips downward in the form of a thin strand.

A guide wheel turns this glass fiber in a horizontal direction.

The fiber then winds on to a drum, whose rotation speed stretches it to a specific hair-thin diameter.

A worker combines several single fiber spools on to a large winding wheel to make a bundle containing thousands of fibers.

To make the cable that connects a light source in the operating room to the endoscope, a worker inserts an optical fiber bundle into a silicon cable sheathing.

This one has nearly 9,000 fibers.

She screws a stainless steel fastener, called a ferrule on to each threaded end of the sheathing.

After saturating the ferrules and optical fibers inside with glue and curing the adhesive with heat, the worker trims off excess fibers and hands off the cable to the next station, where a work polishes both ends.

Polishing finalizes the dimensions and enables light to shine through.

This quality control test, one of several, ensures the fibers can withstand a prescribed amount of pressure without cracking.

The optical fiber manufacturer also supplies fiber spools to the endoscope manufacturer for the light transmission system inside the endoscope.

Workers cut the bundle of optical fibers to the length required for the endoscope model they're making.

Endoscopes vary in length and diameter, depending on the part of the body they're designed for.

After verifying that the diameter of the bundle is correct, they tie the optical fibers with string to hold them together during insertion.

Then workers insert the fiber bundle between the inner and outer stainless steel sheathes that make up the main body of the endoscope, pushing the fibers down the length of the inner sheath.

They attach a stainless steel adaptor.

This will connect the light cable from the operating room light source to the endoscope, transferring light to the optical fibers inside the endoscope.

A worker inspects those fibers under magnification for black spots.

Black spots indicate broken fibers, which would interrupt the transmission of light.

An endoscope transmits an image much like a telescope does.

Optical lenses send reflected light, which produces the image, from inside the patient all the way up to your eye peering through the top.

The lenses in the endoscope are glass rods.

After cleaning them with chemical solution, workers line them up in a fixture with brass spacers of various lengths in between.

Depending on the length of the endoscope, there are five to seven lenses.

The spacers create specific distances between them.

Once workers have assembled the image transmission system, they gently slide it off the fixture into the inner sheath of the endoscope.

Then, they screw on an ocular cap to hold it all in place.

A worker cleans the cap's glass top, then attaches an eyepiece.

This gives the surgeon the option of either looking directly into the endoscope or looking at an operating room video monitor which receives the image via a small camera attached to the eyepiece.

This demonstration shows how it all comes together in the operating room.

After securing the endoscope in a holding fixture, the surgeon attaches the light cable coming from the nearby light source.

The light travels down and out the endoscope, illuminating the area that surgeon's working on.

The lenses reflect the image to the top of the endoscope, where a camera transmits it to a video monitor that's mounted in front of the surgeon.

In the beginning, megaphones were simply cone-shaped devices that focused sound forward so it went further and could be heard more clearly.

In the 20th century microphones, an amplifier and a speaker were added to the cone, and that really ramped up the volume.

With a megaphone, there's no need to shout.

Just speak, and you will be heard.

This waterproof version is designed for coaching, law enforcement, and military uses.

Production starts with a panel of four digital circuit boards that have little gold pads on them.

An assembler places a stencil over the panel and aligns the stencil holes with the gold pads.

He then squeegee's solder paste down the stencil, and it flows on to the exposed gold pads.

This is before and after the solder past application.

Robotic arms install electrical components on the solder-coated pads, creating circuitry.

Various reels unwind to deliver these little parts.

The robotic arms suction them off liners and transfer them to precise locations on the boards.

The parts will run the megaphone's sirens, horns, and microphones.

A technician clamps one of the completed circuit boards in a tester.

Spring-loaded pins underneath make electrical contacts with the components and probe their performance.

The system runs a full test of the circuitry.

At the next station, an assembler attaches a part known as the front can to the end of a flared speaker cone.

He then turns his attention to the speaker.

The assembler inserts screws in the base.

He threads wires from the speaker through a hole in the cone and through the front can.

The assembler then places the speaker in the cone, and he screws it in place.

He attaches a connector to the protruding speaker wires.

The worker places a mesh metal screen over a hole in the rear can.

The assembler taps a nut driver with a hammer to force the mesh into the hole, and this shapes the mesh into a microphone cover.

He removes the newly-formed mic cover and fits it to the mic, manually crimping it around the sides for a snug fit.

He now tucks the microphone into a tube that has a sliding inner sleeve.

The assembler inserts the tube into the microphone hole in the rear can.

He slides the inside tube down to push the microphone in the hole.

He secures the knob for turning the megaphone on and for adjusting the volume.

The assembler installs a mini-circuit board that's linked to the siren and horn button.

These small spring pins will mate to a battery to power the megaphone's circuitry.

He tucks the pins into molded protrusions inside the rear can and waterproofs them with rubber o-rings.

This megaphone subassembly is now ready for the main circuit board.

The assembler threads wires for this switch trigger, microphone, siren, and horn through holes in the board.

He then screws the board to the rear housing.

He fits a silicon o-ring around the rim of the rear can to seal it.

The assembler then joins the rear can with all the working parts to the front can and cone assembly.

He connects the speaker wires to the circuit board.

This megaphone is now ready for a sound test.

The technician connects it to a temporary battery and powers it up.

Check, one, two.

One, two.

Check, testing, testing.

One, two, test.

More sensitive testing is needed.

He encloses the megaphone in an insulated chamber to shut out background noises.

A computer runs the megaphone at different frequencies and analyzes its performance.

Once the megaphone passes these tests, they install handles.

And now it's ready for anything you have to say.

Uranium is a metallic element that was discovered by a german chemist in 1789.

The significance of this discovery wasn't understood for a century and a half.

In 1938, scientists figured out that uranium atoms could be split to produce energy.

The size of a fireplace log, this nuclear fuel bundle generates a lot more heat.

It's packed with enough uranium to power 100 homes for a year.

To obtain the uranium, the tunnel 1,640 feet underground at this site in northern saskatchewan.

This mine is the largest source of high-grade uranium in the world.

The uranium ore lies beneath a bed of water-saturated sandstone.

To reach it, they use drill bits studded with tungsten carbide buttons.

Like knuckles on a fist, the button bits punch into the rock face.

These first holes are for pipes that will pull heat out of the ground and freeze it around the ore.

The miner operates the equipment by remote control.

It transfers a new piece of pipe to the end of the drill roughly every five feet to penetrate 426 feet into the sandstone bed.

It takes up to eight days to install just one length of pipe, and there are 200 of them.

Workers configure the pipes so they surround the ore deposit.

These freeze pipes will stabilize the ground, and they'll also turn high-pressure ground water to ice, so it won't interfere with the actual mining.

A freeze plant above ground chills calcium chloride brine to minus-22 degrees fahrenheit and sends it through the freeze pipes.

The brine absorbs heat as it freezes the ground and loops back to be chilled again.

Above the uranium deposits, workers now gear up to mine the ore.

They'll use this bit to chew into the ore body in order to make an initial small-diameter hole known as a pilot hole.

The pilot hole maps out the drill route to ore, and it creates an entry point for larger mining equipment.

From a raised position, the bit bores vertically into the rock to drill the pilot hole and reach a specific level below the ore body.

They're now ready for the reamer bit.

The reamer has numerous button-encrusted wheel tentacles.

As this animation shows, the drill pulls the reamer up the pilot hole, widening it.

And the broken ore falls into what's known as an extraction chamber.

Here, a tram operated by remote control scoops up the rock.

This remote control system keeps miners a safe distance away from falling rock hazards.

It also minimizes their exposure to the radioactive uranium in the ore.

As another precaution, workers continuously ventilate the mine, introducing fresh air every 20 minutes.

Steered by the operator's joystick, the tram delivers the ore to a scanner.

By measuring the amount of radioactivity in the ore, the scanner determines the uranium content is about 15%.

In much of the ore, the uranium content is even greater-- on average, around 18%, and that's considered to be very high-grade.

The train now empties the ore into a chute.

Cameras follow the rocks' journey to the next station.

Then from a control room, an operator manipulates a hydraulic hammer to smash the ore to bits.

The broken ore then migrates to a mill that grinds it into a fine sand.

They add water, and it becomes slurry, which they then pump to the surface.

Trucks then transport the uranium ore slurry to a mill nearly 50 miles away.

They pull into a special off-loading facility.

The support for a vacuum system aligns with the tote that encases the slurry tank.

Once in position, a vacuum pipe drops into the tank and suctions up the slurry.

Cameras provide a live feed of the unloading progress to a control room almost 23 feet away.

After a wash and a radiation check, the truck leaves.

Stay tuned for the transformation of uranium into nuclear fuel.

Just one fuel bundle of uranium contains the same amount of energy as just over 71,000 gallons of oil.

But uranium can't simply be chipped away from the rock it resides in.

It must be chemically separated and processed to make it into usable fuel for a nuclear reactor.

Acid dissolves the uranium, but not the rest of the rock.

It settles to the bottom of these tanks.

The uranium-acid solution flows forward, leaving the unwanted minerals behind.

Using a series of chemical reactions, they further purify the uranium.

They then roast it at 1,562 degrees fahrenheit.

This concentrates it into a jet-black powder.

The uranium powder flows into 55-gallon steel drums.

A worker taps the lip of the drum to remove residual powder.

He then puts the lid on and activates a press that secures it tightly to the drum.

As an extra precaution, he seals it with a steel ring.

He labels it to indicate the drum's contents, weight, and radioactivity.

Workers stack the drums in a warehouse to await shipment to the next processing plant.

There, the uranium goes from black to yellow as they convert it to uranium trioxide, an interim chemical form in the processing chain.

They ship the uranium trioxide in specially designed inverted cones.

Upon arrival at the next facility, a valve opens at the bottom and the powder flows into conveyor tubes that take it into the plant.

Inside, workers dissolve the uranium trioxide powder in acid.

A worker takes a sample to test the density and the chemistry and confirms that both are acceptable.

They then add a chemical to turn the dissolved uranium back into a solid.

After more processing, the uranium trioxide becomes uranium dioxide, the chemical form required for nuclear fuel.

Spinning the uranium dioxide mixes the different sized particles to make it a more homogenous blend.

The chemical processing has also caused the uranium to change color again.

It is now a fine black powder.

Using several tons of pressure, tools shape the uranium dioxide into pellets.

A revolving wheel with protrusions guides the pellets into a channel conveyor.

The conveyor takes the pellets into a furnace.

Over 24 hours, the heat removes pores in the pellets.

The pellets shrink, increasing the density of the uranium.

The particles fuse together and harden into a ceramic.

Here's a pellet before and after baking.

A robot arm now loads the pellets on to a tray and levels them.

A conveyor moves the tray forward.

Ahead, another robot places zirconium fuel tubes on a rack.

Zirconium is a metal that's highly resistant to both heat and corrosion, but neutrons will pass freely through it during the fission reaction.

The rack of tubes meet up with a tray of incoming pellets.

A robotic loader pushes the stack of 30 pellets into the tube.

Another robot delivers the rods one at a time to an automated welder that caps the ends.

The next robot retrieves the completed uranium fuel rods and transfers it to an assembly fixture.

It arranges a total of 37 rods in an upright position within the fixture.

After the rods have been welded and the bundle capped at both ends, a robot transfers it to a scale.

This weigh-in confirms that there is the correct amount of uranium in the bundle.

Prior to burn up in a reactor, the amount of radioactivity emitted by nuclear fuel bundles is very low, and they're safe to handle as workers prepare them for shipping.

They're now on their way to the power plant, where they'll be sure to generate a reaction.


Alligator Bags
Lockers
Bench Planes
Deployable Flight Recorders

Alligator bags enjoyed their first wave of popularity at the end of the 19th century.

The material was chosen for its exotic look, rich texture, high pliability, and durability.

Since then, many legendary designer handbags have been made with alligator skin.

For some women, a handbag is more than a practical accessory.

It's also a way to express their personal style.

Depending on the bag's size, shape, and desired look, many exotic animal skins can be used-- alligator, lizard, python, or ostrich.

This red skin is from the nile alligator.

The cutter maintains the pattern in place with a weight.

He cuts out the shape of the bag, leaving a border, called a turning-in, all along the pattern.

The skiving machine delicately shaves the back of the alligator skin to make it thin and pliable.

A polishing jack creates a sheen.

A plating machine applies heat and pressure to remove creases and make the skin shiny.

Now it is placed on a hot plate for a few seconds to raise the skin and create what is called french bombay.

They brush rubber cement on the back of the skin and apply it to a thin piece of leather called a pliver.

This will keep the bombay from flattening over time.

Then he cuts off the excess skin, creating a turning-in.

This heavy paper and foam will go inside the bag's cover to give it structure and a cushiony feel.

He removes the center part of the paper to help the cover fold easily.

He uses a bone folder to fold the turning-in over the paper...

Then carefully hammers it in place.

Now he's making the sides, called gussets, and the bottom of the bag.

He applies thin muslin and rubs it in place under a protective paper.

Both gussets are sewn to the bag's bottom using a very fine needle.

The stitches must be as discreet as possible.

The bag's lining is made of soft lamb leather called cabretta.

The top half contains a magnetic circle which serves to close the bag.

The brand's nameplate is also attached to the lining.

The nameplate sits inside the bag so it will only be visible when the bag is open.

The pocketbook maker delicately glues the lining to the bottom of the bag.

He folds the leather over with the bone folder and uses the hammer to make the juncture as thin as possible.

Since the covers are glued in place, there are no stitches visible on the front and back of the bag, giving it a more luxurious look.

Now he scratches the border to remove the sheen, which will help the glue adhere to the leather.

He applies the back and front cover to the lining of the bag, making sure all the covers line up perfectly.

This step is only performed by experienced pocketbook makers, as it is crucial to the final look of the bag.

Anything less than perfect would look like a cheap imitation.

Custom-colored paints will fill in any gaps and cover any variation in the leather.

They finish by polishing the bag, using a small amount of shoe polish and a buffing cloth.

They must use very little polish to avoid buildup in the grain of the leather.

This also removes any dirt or cement.

It takes about seven hours to make an alligator bag.

All the time, effort, and materials result in a stylish fashion accessory that's made to last for years.

Lockers are a familiar sight in high-school corridors, gym changing rooms, and many workplaces, and in the world of professional sports, lockers are the backdrop to many a post-game interview.

The latest trend is buying lockers for kids' bedrooms as cool and practical storage furniture.

While they vary in size and design, all lockers have ventilation holes.

These help air circulate, which prevents odors.

Lockers are made of a hard type of steel that's just flexible enough for presses to bend to the required shape.

The steel sheets are 1/10 of an inch thick.

Workers feed one at a time through a cutting tool called a square shear.

It slices from one end of the sheet to the other, cutting pieces with the required width.

Each door piece goes into a 100-ton punch press, which stamps out the ventilation holes.

The next press punches screw and rivet holes around the edges and a hole for the cup that houses the locker's closure.

The first bending press simultaneously folds over the top and bottom edges, forming flanges.

This bend sets the finished height of the door.

The next bend sets the finished widthof the door.

The press folds the side edges over twice, forming a box-shaped rim.

Next, workers position a steel reinforcement panel against the hinge side of the door.

They affix one side of the panel using a welding machine that fuses 12 spots simultaneously.

Then they weld the other side manually.

Now they mount the door in an alignment fixture hinge-side up and clamp a piano hinge to the edge.

They fuse the hinge to the door by welding it to the top row of screw holes.

Meanwhile, they bend pieces of steel to form the locker's top, bottom, back, and sides.

Now they weld those parts together.

Then they weld the hasp, the steel loop through which you hook a padlock to lock the locker.

The hasp goes on the edge of the body and protrudes through a slot in the closure cup in the door.

Next, the locker's interior shelf.

They set four rivets onto a positioning fixture-- two in the center, two on the edge-- then position the shelf on top, aligning the shelf's four holes with the four rivets.

They position a single hook over each edge rivet and weld it on.

Then they take a double hook and position it over the two center rivets...

Then weld that on.

Then they weld the shelf into the locker body.

All the parts now head into the factory's paint shop.

The powder paint they use for this model contains electrically charged silver particles-- a natural disinfectant that kills any bacteria, viruses, and fungi on the locker's surface.

Once coated, the parts go into an oven for a half-hour to bake the paint.

Then final assembly begins.

First, workers mount the closure cup and the door hole with a screw and a retaining washer.

Next, they install magnet catches to hold the door closed...

And apply an adhesive sticker indicating this locker has an antimicrobial paint coating.

Then they attach the door to the body by driving rivets through the lower row of holes on the piano hinge.

They make sure the door moves smoothly and that the hasp aligns with the slot in the cup.

The factory makes lockers of various sizes, shapes, and configurations.

Some models even have built-in combination locks.

Since roman times, woodworking planes have been part of the carpenter's tool kit.

And despite the invention of power tools for wood surfacing, many still prefer the hands-on approach of this simple tool.

Using it is a skill that can take a piece of timber from rough to refined.

If wood needs shaping, it's time to reach for the bench plane.

On the push stroke, it shaves down bumps and high spots on wood to make the surface level and true.

Production begins with bench-plane patterns.

They place several in a box and pour fine sand, mixed with a bonding chemical, over them.

The bonding chemical solidifies the sand.

They poke holes to vent gases later on.

And with the patterns removed, it's clear that the bonding chemical has worked its magic.

The patterns have left a definite impression in the hardened sand.

They apply glue to one half of the mold so it adheres to the half with the impressions in it.

They then glue two square-shaped spouts around holes in the sand mold.

Next, they fire up the foundry furnace and melt iron into a white-hot liquid.

Workers then carefully pour the molten metal down the square spouts and into the sand molds.

Gases are released through the holes poked in the sand earlier, while weights keep the lids from lifting from the pressure.

After a two-hour cooldown, they break the molds and pick out the cast-iron parts.

The planes have a knobby protuberance, formed as metal flowed into the mold.

They slice that off.

And after strengthening the cast iron's physical properties, they mill the bottom of the bench plane to make it reasonably flat.

They also expose a slit formed during molding.

They now lock the bench plane in position to allow the spiked teeth of a cutting wheel to carve into the molded slit.

It enlarges the slit to form the mouth of the bench plane, the opening through which the plane's blade will protrude.

Some precision work is needed, so a tapered and serrated tool is forced through the mouth.

This opens it up a little more to give it the exact dimensions required.

Coolant now flows to prevent overheating, as a grinding wheel machines the base of each bench plane until it's completely flat.

They now try to slip a very thin steel strip between a level bar and the base of the bench plane.

Failure confirms it's perfectly flat.

Next, a cutting tool evens a sloped pad molded onto the front of the bench plane.

This pad, called the frog, will hold the sliding wedge that sets the angle of the plane blade.

Production now focuses on the blade.

They heat a steel rod in a furnace until it's white-hot and malleable.

They then place it under a mechanized hammer which pounds it until it's flat.

They turn the flattened steel sideways, and the pulsating hammer squares the edges.

Then another tool stamps the company's insignia onto one end of the blade.

The steel rod has been flattened, squared, and stamped.

It's then cut to the desired shape and dimensions and given a beveled cutting edge.

The next part is called a lever cap, and it will be used to clamp the blade to the bench-plane frog.

They sand it smooth to improve its look and function.

They then buff each part of the bench plane against a cloth wheel to a mirror-like finish.

It's now time to fit the bench-plane frog into the pad machined especially for it.

They secure it with screws.

The cutting blade, by now reinforced by a part called the cap iron, fits flush to the frog.

They top off the assembly with a lever cap and clamp it all together with a spring system.

They fit a knob made of tropical wood on a threaded rod on the front of the bench plane.

The knob and the back handle will allow the user to firmly grip the bench plane and push it forward.

And with the blade now protruding from the base on an angle, it's ready to level any piece of wood, leaving only shavings in its wake.

A flight data recorder, or a black box, records every detail of an aircraft's operations, from engine speed to cabin pressure.

After a crash, investigators extract the data to determine what went wrong.

Black boxes are actually bright orange so they'll stand out amid the wreckage.

These black boxes are the deployable type, meaning they separate from the aircraft upon impact.

This makes them easier for search-and-rescue crews to recover.

To make the outer shell that houses the components, they use a two-part mold, first waxing it to ease extraction later on.

Then they brush on an orange-tinted gel coat, a liquid that, after four hours, hardens into a durable, waterproof finish.

Over the hardened gel coat, they apply pieces of fiberglass cloth, saturating them with orange-tinted resin.

They apply extra pieces in the corners for reinforcement.

They continue until they've built up three layers of fiberglass.

The rectangular box on this mold half-casts a cavity in the shell that will house the device's key components.

They embed aluminum plates within the fiberglass to reinforce the area where screws will attach the cavity cover.

A computer-guided milling machine contours a piece of foam that will fit the empty space inside the shell.

This foam absorbs the force of impact so the flight data recorder can survive a crash.

They coat one side of the foam core with resin paste, then lay it into the mold.

They fill voids with a temporary retaining block to prevent the foam core from collapsing inward during the vacuum process that comes next.

They wrap the mold in felt to protect the surface, put it in a plastic bag, attach a hose, then start the suction.

Over four hours, the vacuum slowly extracts the air, drawing the fiberglass tightly against the foam core without any wrinkles or puckers.

It takes another four hours for the resin to completely cure.

Then they remove the mold from the vacuum bag, coat the other side of the foam core with resin paste, and embed steel reinforcements.

Besides absorbing the force of impact, the foam core makes the flight data recorder buoyant should the aircraft go down in a body of water.

The device contains two antennas, the first of which gets pasted into a designated spot in the foam core.

One antenna transmits a distress signal, the other a homing signal to help search-and-rescue crews locate the downed aircraft.

Now they mate the two parts of the mold, carefully sliding the antenna that protrudes from one half through and out an opening in the other half.

They bolt the mold closed and leave the paste to air-cure overnight.

The next day, they unbolt the mold and extract the shell, the two halves of which are now bonded with the first antenna inside.

Now they can install the other components, such as this memory module containing the circuit boards that record the flight data and cockpit audio.

All the components, prior to installation, undergo extensive testing to ensure they operate properly when subjected to vibration and extreme temperatures.

The memory module goes into a fireproof box, along with the transmitter that sends out the locating signal via the antennas, the second of which they now install into the component cavity at the top of the box.

Then they install the battery that powers the transmitter for 150 hours.

They connect the battery to the transmitter in the fireproof box...

Connect the transmitter to the antennas, then screw the cover to the aluminum plates embedded around the cavity's perimeter.

The finished device undergoes a series of performance tests.

This one, in a special echo-free chamber, verifies the signal the transmitter sends out via the antennas.

The chamber's receiving antenna is connected to a computer that analyzes the signal's frequency and transmission pattern-- critical factors in recovering the box that provides vital clues for crash investigators.