Alkaline Batteries
Wheelchairs
Flutes
Cowboy Boots

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

Alkaline batteries.

Wheelchairs.

Flutes.

And cowboy boots.

A battery produces an electric current when its positive end, called the cathode, and its negative end, called the anode, connect via a conductive pathway in the battery-operated device.

This pathway conducts electricity when three components-- two electrodes and an electrolyte-- interact.

These alkaline batteries are the rechargeable type.

They last for years, depending on how you use them.

The factory begins production by cutting nickel-plated steel into oval pieces, then gradually shaping each piece into a tube, called a console.

The console houses some important chemical ingredients-- graphite, which conducts electricity...

Silver catalyst, which reduces chemical-pressure buildup...

Manganese dioxide, the main ingredient in the cathode...

Barium sulfate, which binds the cathode ingredients, zinc, the main ingredient in the anode, a gelling agent to keep the zinc particles suspended, and finally, potassium hydroxide, which interacts with electrodes to produce electricity.

This 25-head press shapes the cathode's powdered chemicals into hollow pellets.

The press churns out 25,000 pellets an hour.

A machine called a console press then inserts three pellets into each console-- three because these pellets are so fragile that three smaller ones are easier to manipulate than one big pellet would be.

Here's the insertion in slow motion.

The next machine makes a ridge on one end of the console to help seal it.

Plastic holders, called pucks, hold the consoles still as nozzles apply a sealant to the top, which is the negative end of the console.

Next, they cut a roll of paper into small strips.

These strips are called separators.

They have microscopic holes that permit the flow of ions, electrically-charged molecules, between the cathode and the anode.

A hot-melt glue machine deposits a small amount of glue into the separator, now rolled, and seals the positive end of the paper tube.

The glue cools and hardens over the next minute and a half, as the consoles move along a conveyor.

The next machine injects an electrolyte-- a potassium hydroxide solution.

It takes nine minutes to soak through the separator liner into the cathode pellets.

Nozzles then inject about .

15 ounces of zinc gel into the anode cavity.

Only about 2/3 of the gel weight is actually zinc.

The other 1/3 is this company's closely guarded trade secret.

It's what makes these batteries rechargeable.

The zinc gives the gel its silver-gray color.

A welding machine fuses 1 1/2-inch nails onto the cap of the battery.

This is where the current collects before it's discharged.

The machine ejects the cap when finished, and another machine inserts it into the negative end of the battery.

This cap includes a safety feature crucial to rechargeable batteries-- it can resist high pressure.

But if heat or power surges cause excessive pressure, a tiny vent prevents the battery from exploding.

The machine folds over the console lip to enclose the contents.

A rotating, three-head crimping machine then makes a ridge in the finished battery to reduce the chance of leakage.

An electrical testing machine contacts each battery for 200 milliseconds to ensure it has at least 1.5 volts.

These batteries will be ready to use right away.

No need to charge them first.

The labeling machine uses light sensors to time the labeling of each battery casing.

The plastic label lists technical information and adds additional insulation.

Then three seconds in an oven at 388 degrees fahrenheit shrinks the labels to a tight fit.

Spain's king phillip ii was the first disabled person to get around on wheels.

He ruled from a rolling chair with foot rests in the 1500s.

Today's wheelchairs are widely available, but at a price of a few hundred to several thousand dollars, depending on the features.

This wood, leather, and steel chair is a world war ii antique.

A modern wheelchair literally runs circles around it.

With more than 150 possible design options, today's wheelchair fits the user and the user's lifestyle.

The wheel rim is aluminum.

The spokes-- steel.

It's much like a bicycle, except for these-- six steel brackets that later fasten to a hand rim for propulsion.

Tires are either pneumatic, with an inner-tube of air, or rigid--  just one solid piece of rubber.

A machine stretches the tire to fit the wheel rim.

Workers install 12 washers, called spacers, along the hand-rim.

Six of these 1/2-inch spacers can be removed later to adjust the chair's overall width, if necessary.

The spacers on the hand-rim align with the brackets on the wheel.

Workers join them with industrial-strength, 1 1/2-inch steel screws.

Replacing a wheel and hand-rim like this costs more than $100.

You buy replacement parts much like you do car parts-- through specialized dealerships.

Bearings make the wheels roll with ease.

Installing them is a delicate operation.

Workers use special custom tooling to insert the bearings with extreme precision.

The tires are rigid and have no treads because they're designed for smooth indoor surfaces.

An aluminum cross-frame is what enables the chair to fold.

They assemble it with six or seven screws per side, depending on the depth needed for the seat, which they'll install later on.

The front part of the wheelchair is called the front frame.

Workers lubricate the parts so they'll be easier to install.

This also enables the wheelchair to fold with ease.

They install the rear frame of the wheelchair then make sure the cross-frame folds correctly.

Workers test the height-adjustment lever for the armrest.

Then they install a removable aluminum footrest, setting it to the desired length.

It has a heel loop to prevent the user's foot from slipping off.

The chair has a foldable sling seat.

It's made of nylon and attaches to the frame with six screws on both sides.

You can adjust the armrest height from 8 to 11 inches and the tension in the backrest with 3 velcro straps.

The backrest is made of nylon and comes in nine different heights.

Workers insert the wheel axle into the frame, adjusting it to fit with the optional features of the chair, such as a particular style of armrest.

The axle has a quick release so you can remove the wheel in seconds.

This plastic-and-aluminum hand lever is a parking brake.

It keeps the chair still when transferring to a bed or toilet.

This motorized chair has an electrical controller.

The user commands it with a joystick.

The chair runs on two 12-volt batteries that power up in eight hours from a household socket.

Workers squeeze the inner tube into the rear wheel rim.

The air valve slips through and the front and back parts attach with screws.

Now the rear wheel can go onto the motor.

They attach the seat and the joystick box, which has on/off and speed-control switches.

The battery-pack provides 85 amps an hour.

That's enough power for 16 hours or 25 miles.

The batteries connect to the charger and controller to power up the wheelchair.

A steel bumper and plastic rear hood, called a shroud, protect the back of the wheelchair from the elements and against minor collisions.

This motorized model can glide at a leisurely pace or zoom around at a top speed of just over 7 miles per hour.

The transverse flute has been an orchestral instrument since the 1700s.

You play it in a horizontal position, blowing across an oval hole in the mouthpiece.

The air hits a sharp edge inside, producing sound.

You turn that sound into notes by pressing the keys that open and close the flute's holes.

they begin production by inserting a solid steel bar into a sterling silver tube.

Then, using a press, they lengthen it and taper it, reducing the diameter to just under 3/4 of an inch.

This tube is part of what's called a head joint, one of three sections that make up the flute.

The other sections are the center joint and the foot joint.

Next, on another machine, they insert a second tube for the center joint.

This device drills small holes to mark the position of each tone hole, the raised rim around each of the flute's holes.

Now they insert titanium washers, called spiders, in the holes to help position the tone holes.

They place a tone hole around each spider, securing it temporarily with copper wire.

Once they solder the tone hole, they'll remove the spider.

They solder little posts onto three strips of metal, called ribs.

The ribs and posts will later hold the flute's keys in place.

Next they use what's called a profile cutter to shave the tone holes by minute amounts, to perfect the flute's sound.

Now, using a wax injector and rubber molds, they create wax duplicates of the 120 different parts that make up the flute's 20 keys.

Now they build what's called a tree.

Using tweezers and a heated pen, they fuse the wax duplicates to a wax trunk that's 6 1/2 to 10 inches tall, depending on the type of flute.

Then they place the tree in a perforated steel flask covered in masking tape.

They pour in 1/4 gallon of plaster, which hardens around the tree.

Then they remove the tape and heat the flask.

The wax melts through the holes, leaving plaster cavities in the shape of the key parts.

The keys are made from tiny particles of silver or gold.

These ones have a reddish hue because of their high copper content.

The craftsmen pour a carefully measured amount into the casting machine's upper chamber.

The machine heats the metal for 12 minutes.

The plaster flask goes into the casting machine's lower chamber.

They release molten metal into the cavities.

Once the metal cools, they shatter the plaster under cold water, exposing a tree of silver key parts.

Using a pneumatic cutter, craftsmen snip off the key parts.

They have a dull finish because the silver isn't yet polished.

Now they solder the key parts together and polish each finished key with a soft rotating brush.

They also solder on a riser, which attaches the mouthpiece's lip plate to the head joint tube.

They cut away excess metal from the opening of the lip plate.

Then they use a lathe to cut out a hole in the head joint tube.

A template ensures they position the hole correctly.

Once again, they use copper wire to hold the parts together until soldering.

They solder the lip plate assembly to the head joint tube, using a gas-and-oxygen torch.

Next, they mount the keys using tiny wires called straight springs.

The spring helps open and close each key over the corresponding tone hole.

They test each key's seal, called the pad, for air leaks.

A thin strip of plastic slides out if it's improperly sealed.

The pad is made up of a plastic washer and a felt cushion, surrounded by a synthetic wrapper as thin as tissue paper.

A pad lasts for about five years and is very expensive to replace-- about $75.

It's just one of up to 100 components in a flute, depending on the model.

This company's flutes come in silver, gold, and platinum.

They range in price from $8,000 to $43,000.

Once all the keys are in place, a quick wipe to remove any pesky fingerprints.

An engraver inscribes the serial number and company logo.

After 120 hours of painstaking work, the flute is ready for its musical debut.

cowboy boots have been kicking around since the 1800s.

You can wear them on the ranch or just as a country-style fashion statement.

Most cowboy boots are made of cowhide and sell for about $200.

For something more exotic, though, how about a pair made of ostrich skin for a mere $500?

Production starts with a machine called the clicker that works like a cookie cutter, slicing leather into various sizes of soles from standard to extra wide.

The clicker also cuts the other boot parts, such as the shaft, the section above the ankle.

This programmable, automated stitching machine decorates the shaft with embroidery.

The machine works on a dozen boots at a time, using up to 15 different thread colors.

Workers steam the shaft to soften up the leather.

Synthetics just don't mold to the foot the way animal hides do, so this company uses only the real thing-- python skin, walrus skin, bison skin, even ostrich skin.

Cow- and pig-skin boots make up the bulk of production, though, because they're the most affordable.

Workers perforate the shaft, then layer a different-colored leather underneath to create a design.

This company produces 20 basic patterns, but clients can also order custom designs.

They line the shaft with pig skin because it breathes better than a synthetic lining.

Workers stitch together the shaft sections, including the underlays, from the inside out.

Piping covers the seams.

A roller turns the whole thing right side out, flattening the piping for a more comfortable fit.

The next machine glues a cotton strip to the leather insole.

They'll later attach this strip to the foot section of the boot.

Next, they temporarily attach the sole to a plastic mold, called a boot last.

This makes the sole rigid while they attach other parts of the boot.

They glue a hard, synthetic cup to the heel section to give it the desired shape.

Then they apply a fibrous cotton form between the layers that will shape the toe area.

Now they attach the sole to the shaft.

Using a laser as a centering guide, they stretch the toe section over the boot last, bringing the two largest pieces of the boot together.

They stitch on a leather strip to attach the sections.

This strip, called a welt, is a traditional part of boot-making.

It's what makes the boot very durable.

They attach a steel shank for arch support...

Then apply a mixture of granulated cork and hot glue.

This layer will make the boot conform to the contours of the wearer's foot.

They attach the sole to the shaft with industrial-strength glue.

The fact that it's glued as well as stitched means you can simply rip it out and replace a worn sole.

This feature greatly extends the life of the boot.

A cutting machine trims off the excess leather.

Then they stitch the sole to the welt.

They stitch using interlacing threads.

This binds the pieces even more strongly.

The final layer of the sole can be either leather or rubber.

It all depends on who will be wearing the boots and where.

A rancher in sunny texas may prefer leather.

But in the cold and snow, you're better off with rubber.

Now for the heel...

They load a driving machine with nails.

The pattern varies according to the type of heel.

This company produces eight heel styles.

A laser guide ensures they nail the heel to the boot perfectly centered.

With a brush, they coat both the heel and the edge of the sole in black or mahogany dye.

Finally, they brand the manufacturer's name in gold foil.

Some boots have pull holes at the top for getting your boots on fast, to make it to the rodeo on time.


Automatic Transmissions
Silver Miniatures
Hot Air Balloon Baskets
Darts

Today on how it's made...

Automatic transmissions...

Silver miniatures...

Hot-air-balloon baskets...

And darts.

Your car's all-important transmission is a system of gears and levers that transfers power from the engine to the wheels.

With a manual transmission, you have to shift the gears yourself, but with an automatic transmission, the car's computer determines when it's time to shift and sends an electronic signal to activate or deactivate the appropriate gear.

The transmission allows the engine to operate in its most efficient range, or powerband.

It's assembled inside an aluminum housing called the transmission case.

At the heart of the transmission are three sets of planetary gears, so named because there are smaller gears rotating around a larger central gear.

The first gearset is called the final drive.

It harmonizes the engine speed and driving speed.

The final drive is attached to the differential, a component that lets the wheels move at different speeds so the car can turn.

Workers install the steel parts connected to the shift lever, which puts the car into drive, reverse, or park.

First, the manual detent lever.

Then, the forward clutch support.

The piece protruding from it is called the park paw.

The actuator rod connects the detent lever to the park paw.

It locks a gear that immobilizes the car when you shift into park.

Now for the transmission's five clutches.

Depending on what the transmission needs to do, clutches either let gearsets rotate or lock them in place.

This clutch is called the forward clutch.

By moving the input gearset and the reaction gearset, it enables the car to go forward when you shift into drive.

Two clutches installed as one unit go in next.

The coast clutch allows the car to coast in low gear and to brake progressively in higher gears when you take your foot off the gas.

The second clutch is called the direct clutch.

It locks the two gearsets so there's no reduction in speed.

Next, the reverse clutch.

It moves the reaction gearset so the car can back up.

A clutch is made up of layers of metal and friction material, such as resin-impregnated paper.

The transmission's second clutch uses both the input and reaction gearsets to switch the transmission into second, third, and fourth gears.

With all the gearsets and clutches now in place, workers can connect the transmission to the rest of the car's electronics.

These cables are known as the harness.

Next come the drive chain and two sprockets.

This hookup is the critical link between the transmission's gearsets and its torque converter.

The torque converter is the component that transfers power from the engine to the transmission.

The sprockets in the final drive convert the engine speed to the appropriate transmission gear.

The car's computer directs this hydraulic control system to change gears as needed.

The computer triggers an electronic switch called a solenoid to open a specific control valve.

This applies hydraulic pressure, which engages the clutch around the relevant planetary gears.

When the hydraulic pressure is released, it disengages the clutch and locks the gears.

Now the final connection for the shifting mechanism, linking this manual valve to the detent lever.

The shift lever moves the detent lever, which makes the valve direct hydraulic pressure accordingly.

This steel bar, called the output shaft, directs transmission power from the final drive at one end of the transmission to the driver's side front wheel at the other end.

Next, workers install springs and servos, part of the hydraulic control system that helps engage and disengage the clutches smoothly.

This tube assembly goes in next.

The control valves route hydraulic fluid through these tubes to the different clutches.

Now the torque converter.

It spins a shaft that turns the sprockets and drive chain that we saw earlier.

A steel bar called a stub shaft is the final link, sending transmission power from the final drive and differential to the front wheel on the passenger side.

Up next, making silver masterpieces on a miniature scale.

Collecting and displaying miniatures isn't just child's play.

It's become a serious hobby for grown-ups, who even buy fine silver in miniature.

Avid collectors spare no expense because, after all, it's the little details that make the difference.

In the world of miniatures, there's no need to downsize one's expectations.

Here, you can find all the little luxuries.

This silverware is no cheap reproduction.

It's a tiny version of the real thing.

To make it, silversmiths use tools and techniques that have been handed down over generations.

This is a workbench from the 18th century.

Today, they use one that's nearly identical.

To make a miniature mug, workers begin by dividing its measurements by 12 so that the finished product will have the same proportions as the original.

Next, a strip of silver is rolled out to about 0.02 of an inch thick.

Then, small, round disks are punched out.

A blast from a torch softens them so they'll be easier to work with.

A dunking in acid eats away any impurities and leaves a frosty finish.

One of these disks is set on a lathe.

As it spins, a series of tools begin to give the thimble-sized mug its shape.

Any mistake is a big one when you're working in such tiny dimensions, so the silversmiths have to work with great care.

During the machining process, the frosty finish left by the acid is removed.

The mug is buffed to add luster to its finish.

And now it's time to make the mug's base.

It's tapered to make a perfect fit.

Small fragments of silver solder are placed between the two pieces.

Then, the parts are heated to almost 1,500 degrees to fuse them together.

Next, leftover silver pieces are cut up, and the scraps go into a crucible.

A pinch of borax is added.

This mineral will prevent unwanted oxides from forming as the scraps are melted down.

Silver is far too precious, so workers don't want to waste even a single scrap.

The molten silver is poured into a plaster mold.

Then the mold is plunged into cold water.

The temperature change causes the plaster to explode, exposing three tiny silver handles.

One of the handles is soldered onto the little silver mug.

And now all the pieces of the miniature are in place.

Next, the miniatures are placed in a bucket of steel shot and soapy water.

The friction cleans and polishes them.

The soapy water is strained out, and the gleaming miniatures are revealed.

Each silver miniature has to meet the same purity standards as full-sized silver pieces.

In this factory in britain, the regulations have been around for 700 years.

The maker's mark, called the hallmark, is the stamp of authenticity.

Hallmarking a miniature can be a bit awkward, and some articles are just too tiny to mark.

When it comes to replicating silverware, it seems no job is too small, and there are plenty of shining examples in the world of miniatures.

When we return, behind the scenes at a hot-air-balloon factory.

Did you know that some hot-air-balloon baskets are more than 20 feet long and can carry more than 30 people?

This pioneering form of human flight was invented in france in the late 1700s, and ever since then, passengers have been taking to the skies for an unforgettable ride and an awesome view.

It all starts with a little high-tech basket weaving.

First, the frame is constructed.

Workers cut pieces of stainless-steel tubing.

They manually round the corner pieces, then weld all the parts together.

A sheet of plywood is cut for the floor.

Then holes are drilled into it for stainless-steel support cables.

These cables will reinforce the floor against the passengers' weight.

After marking off the area that the basket walls will occupy, workers run the cables under the floor, which is lying upside down, leaving extra cable on both ends to come up the sides of the basket.

Then they notch a groove that is the width of the cables and runners.

Runners are length of ash wood that protect the base of the basket and give it rigidity.

After bolting the runners down, workers use a branding iron to burn the company logo into the floor.

A spray coat of lacquer will prevent moisture from rotting the wood.

Larger baskets need diagonal reinforcement cables for extra support.

The basket walls are made of cane-- the stiff stems of a tropical asian plant.

The cane soaks overnight in a water tank.

By morning, it's supple, and the weavers can begin their craft.

They start by installing uprights, attaching each one to the frame at the top and bottom with a thin piece of cane.

Then they feed the support cables from the floor up through the frame.

The uprights are 18 inches apart along the sides and 4 inches apart around the corners.

The weavers fill the gaps with thinner uprights every two inches.

The uprights are tied to the frame and floor with rope.

Once they're installed, it's time to build the basket walls from the bottom up by interlacing horizontal canes.

A pair of weavers can finish a small basket in a day.

Large baskets can require a 4-person team and take up to three weeks to complete.

Weavers use two techniques-- randing, going in and out with one cane, and waling, weaving three canes at once.

Waling makes a more solid basket but one that's significantly heavier, because it uses triple the amount of cane.

Some models have stainless-steel steps woven into the basket.

These give passengers a better foothold when climbing in.

The weaving ends just below the top of the frame.

Weavers finish off the job by splitting the remainder of each upright down the center with a utility knife, then flattening and wrapping what's left around the frame.

The weavers integrate rope handles at the top of the basket so passengers have something to hold on to during the ride.

They also put handles at the bottom for carrying the basket.

Now they pad the frame with foam, cutting holes to let the support cables through.

The foam provides both comfort and safety, cushioning passengers from the hard metal during a bumpy ride.

After taping the foam pieces together to prevent shifting, workers slip on a leather cover and lace it closed.

Finally, with a few bangs of the hammer, workers expose the short tubing to which the load frame will connect.

The load frame carries the burners high above the basket.

A heating coil surrounds each burner.

To make this piece, workers first wrap a stainless-steel tube around a form, then rivet on a reinforcement band.

The basket carries lightweight fuel tanks containing cold liquid propane.

The propane flows upward into the coil.

When the pilot fires up a burner, the flame heats the coil, transforming the propane flowing inside from liquid to gas.

The gas feeds the flame, which heats the air inside the balloon.

Hot air is lighter than cool air, so the balloon literally rises to the occasion.

Up next, the art of the dart.

The game of darts dates back to the middle ages, when english soldiers looking for fun began pitching arrows at the bottom of an empty barrel.

When winter came, the soldiers moved their game indoors, but they couldn't throw big arrows around inside, so they used shortened versions, and the game was on.

Today's darts are finely crafted little missiles.

Production begins with the flight shaft, the piece that the dart's wings are attached to.

Workers load aluminum rods three yards long into a machine that has several cutting implements.

This army of tools works on the aluminum rod from all angles...

Shaping it into dozens of shafts.

Threads are cut into the shaft's exterior, and one of its ends is hollowed out so it can be screwed onto the dart barrel later.

A cross saw cuts slots into the other end for attaching the wings.

Oil flushes away the shavings.

It also keeps the tooling cool, so it stays sharp enough to cut through metal.

The completed shafts fall into a bin to await further assembly.

Next, brass rods are loaded into a similar machine.

Its tooling carves the brass rod into barrels-- the main part of the dart that you grip.

One end of the barrel is threaded and tapered so the shaft can be screwed onto it.

This tapering also makes the dart aerodynamic.

Next, tools with angled grooves cut ridges on the outside of the barrel to make the dart easier to grip.

The process is called knurling.

Another tool then cuts the brass barrel to the correct length.

Some dart barrels are made from tungsten, which is quite dense, so the barrels can be slimmer.

Slimmer darts can give you an advantage in tight scoring situations.

That's why pros often prefer tungsten darts and have them custom made, even choosing their own knurling grip.

These are knurling wheels-- another way to etch the grip pattern into the dart barrels.

Knurling wheels come in an assortment of patterns, all designed to help you keep a firm hold until the dart takes flight.

Now it's time for the darts to get their sharp points.

A hydraulic press forces steel tips into the hollowed ends of the dart barrels.

With the point now snugly in the barrel, the dart is ready for its wings.

Dart wings are made from polyester film, which first winds through printing rollers.

Some print jobs involve just one basic color while others layer many colors to build up a design.

In the world of darts, the wings are known as flights.

A machine cuts out the flight shapes, and they accumulate in big piles.

Flights are made in various shapes.

This is just one of them.

Workers fold the cutouts together to make a flight.

They check each one for symmetry, because an out-of-proportion flight could wreck a player's game.

Now it's time to screw the shaft to the barrel of the dart.

The polyester flight slides into cross slots on the end of the shaft.

And now this set of darts is ready to take aim.

It takes less than a minute to make a dart...

But less than a second for this flying missile to find its mark.


Filigree glass is a highly advanced form of glassmaking.

The artists first produce threads of colored glass, then weave these threads together in intricate patterns, encasing them within clear crystal.

Then they use complex glassmaking techniques to shape these patterned rods into breathtaking works of art.

The filigree glass technique was invented in the 1500s by master glassmakers in murano, italy.

Their then-secret process incorporated ancient methods from mesopotamia, the birthplace of glassmaking some 2,000 years earlier.

It all begins with a blend of mostly silica sand, soda ash, and lime.

They heat the mix to almost 2,400 degrees fahrenheit, melting it over several hours into lead-free liquid crystal.

With a steel rod called a punty, the glassmakers roll some molten crystal on a metal table as it cools and solidifies-- a shaping technique known as marvering.

Then they use the post they've shaped to pick up a piece of densely colored glass called a color bar.

They melt the color on the end of the crystal post.

At the same time, they heat another color bar into molten a state.

Then they perform a process called overlaying.

They push the molten colored glass over the other color bar, then marver until the colored glass symmetrically encases it.

They encase the color in clear crystal and reheat some more, then prepare a new bit of clear crystal on another punty.

They use it to grab the free end of the color overlay.

The glassmakers pull, stretching the crystal like taffy into what's known as overlaid cane, a thin rod of crystal with a thread rod of colored glass inside.

It takes tremendous expertise to stretch the rapidly cooling glass to a consistent diameter without twisting or breaking it in the process.

They snip the long cane into manageable lengths.

Next, they cut the colored rods into the size required...

Lay out the rods in a precise configuration, heat, then roll them onto a precisely sized piece of molten clear crystal.

Now they repeat the pulling process, but this time, to create the internal pattern they want, they twist both punties.

They use an electric drill to ensure steady, uniform revolutions.

The rod this creates is called a complex cane.

After it cools and stabilizes overnight, they cut it into the lengths they need to create the filigree glass piece.

The colors and pattern inside a complex cane are determined by the choice and layout of the overlaid cane rods rolled onto the molten crystal.

The filigree pattern is now determined by the way in which they lay out the complex cane rods.

After fusing the laid-out rods, they wrap them around a collar of hot crystal at the end of a blow pipe.

While rolling the piece on a glass blowing bench, they use a scissor-like tool called jacks to close off the end.

They snip off the excess with shears.

Then, they roll the hot glass on a wet wood block to smooth and round the bubble.

They blow in some air to produce the shape of a pear, stick a punty to the bottom of the pear, then use cold tweezers to shock the hot glass into breaking along the separation line and transfer off the blow pipe.

Now they take some hot crystal from the furnace and roll it in fine, granulated colored glass.

They reheat to melt the color into the crystal...

Then attach a bit of glass to the top of the pear to form it into a stem.

They smooth the cutoff edge with a small torch.

They take another bit of molten colored crystal to shape a leaf.

This crimping tool imprints the veins.

Every filigree piece these canadian master glassmakers create is signed by way of a piece of cane bearing their initials.

They fuse it to the piece in a discreet location.

Now the finishing touches-- reheating, then some shape-tweaking with tools and wet newspaper.

With the artist's work done, it's time to enjoy the spectacular fruits of their labor.

Flake foods for aquarium fish were invented in the middle of the last century, and what a difference this invention has made.

Before they came along, pet fish were fed live food from rivers and streams-- a food source that wasn't always accessible.

The invention of flake and other dried foods made life in a fish tank a whole lot easier.

Just a few sprinkles and dinner is served.

It's not much like the live water fleas or bloodworms the fish would feed on in their natural environment, but it contains the nutrients and vitamins they need.

These dried tidbits can be supersized to appeal to larger fish that prefer to chow down on something more substantial.

Each formulation consists of up to 40 different ingredients.

The main components are fish meal...

Wheat flour...

Soy and paprika oils.

They also add food colorant because fish are drawn to certain colors.

They follow a precise recipe and measure the ingredients carefully.

They blend the smaller components together first.

They include lecithin-- a blending and thickening agent also found in foods humans consume-- and calcium for bone strength.

The main ingredients-- the fish meal, flours, and oils-- are piped from silos into big tanks and mixed with hot water.

They add the smaller premix and blend everything together to produce a thick slurry.

They spray the slurry onto the surface of a series of rolling heated drums.

As it flows over these drums, the slurry cooks and dries into a thin film that's like a paper sheet.

As the sheet rolls off, a long rotating blade chops it up to produce big flakes.

They're pretty chunky at this point and will need to be broken up into bite-sized versions.

Next, they fall down a chute and into a plastic bag.

A worker transfers them by the bagful to the next conveyer.

The various colors represent the different formulations.

The green are veggie flakes, while the red are protein-based.

They all head into a spiraling device known as the tumbler.

It spins to toss the flakes around.

This mixes then breaks them into smaller flakes.

After several minutes in the tumbler, the flakes fall onto a series of screens to grade them by size-- small, medium, and large.

They land in separate bins, now mixed and sorted by size.

Meanwhile, the production of fish-food sticks is underway.

Machinery presses a food mash through the small holes of an extruder plate to create spaghetti-like strings.

As the strings exit, rotating knives cut them into sticks.

The sticks dry and solidify.

A worker routinely examines them for size and form.

The next worker wheels a hopper full of flakes above a chute and removes the trap door.

The mix falls down one floor onto the packaging line.

At the same time, a column of empty cans heads toward the flakes.

The fish food flakes fall through special openings that funnel them into the cans.

Machinery cuts out aluminum foil caps and slaps them on the tops of the containers.

Hot circular irons then seal the caps to the cans.

This conveyor belt is also a computerized scale which keeps track of the amount of product in the cans.

Then, devices spin by to twist plastic lids onto the threaded rims of the cans.

As the cans pass by on a carousel, applicators press glue-backed product labels onto them.

And these fish food flakes are done.

In its various formulations, dried fish food offers a range of feeding options.

Some contain additives that enhance the growth and color of the fish.

Others are geared to a fish's specific tastes, because even pet fish can be discriminating diners.

A motor home is a fully equipped house on wheels.

The class "a" types are shaped like a bus, the largest models more than 40 feet long and spacious enough to sleep up to six people.

When parked, the exterior room walls slide outward, expanding the width by more than a yard.

Motor homes have driver and passenger seats at the front, and in the back, the essentials of a small house-- kitchen, bedroom, living room, bathroom.

The factory buys a ready-made standard-length steel chassis from an automotive supplier with motor and other components already installed.

They then lengthen the chassis by cutting each side and welding on an extension piece.

They also extend the pre-installed exhaust system and electrical wiring.

Then, they weld on steel plates to reinforce the splices in the chassis.

Next, they lower the steel basement frame, which has compartments for the water supply, waste collection, and storage.

Before installing the frame, they attach three pairs of sliding hydraulic cylinders called rams.

Each pair operates a slideout room at the push of a button.

After bolting the frame to the chassis, they spray each welded joint with an anti-rust coating.

Then, they test the rams to make sure they slide in and out properly.

They lower the preassembled steel cab structure onto the basement frame and weld it to the chassis.

The motor home's front end is made of fiberglass with a bumper and headlights built in.

Workers connect the headlights to the electrical system, then attach the front end to the cab structure.

Then, they install the hood and make any necessary adjustments.

Next, they load up the compartments in the basement structure, starting with the freshwater tank made of durable white plastic.

Water runs from this tank through flexible plastic water lines to the sinks, shower, and toilets.

Next, the drainage line for sewer waste.

It runs to a plastic tank that's gray to differentiate it from the water tank.

Now they run a line of heavy-duty adhesive along the steel grid of the basement structure and set down the motor home's floor.

The floor construction is like a sandwich-- aluminum on the bottom, plywood on top, with a high-density hard foam in the middle to muffle noise and absorb road vibration.

After securing the glued floor with screws, they staple carpet underpadding onto the plywood...

Except in the kitchen and bathroom areas, where they lay down vinyl or ceramic tile flooring and cut holes in it for heat registers and drains.

Then they install carpet over the underpadding.

The pieces are precut to the motor home's layout-- large pieces for the main areas, small ones for closets and the cab.

Now, workers hook up what they've built so far to a chain mechanism that tows down an assembly line.

First, overhead lifts lower the motor home's three slideout rooms-- dinette, living room, bedroom-- onto their respective rams.

Workers bolt the rooms to the rams, then test them.

Next, workers install the bathroom cabinetry, plumbing, and wiring.

Then the motor home gets its three remaining walls.

They're fiberglass on the outside, decorative paneling on the inside, with foam and an aluminum structural frame in between.

The back wall has a luggage compartment accessible from the outside of the vehicle.

Like the headlights on the front end, the vehicle's taillights are integrated.

The roof structure is the same as the walls.

It has electrical wiring built in and cut-outs for ceiling lights and air-conditioning vents.

The inner structural frames of the roof and walls interlock.

A line of screws running the length of the roof secures the connection.

A generous application of sealant, then on goes the roof cap with built-in clearance lights to finish off the front end.

At this point, the outside of the motor home is almost complete.

However, there's still much interior work to come.

Everything on the inside is designed to maximize living space and storage space.

And even though the motor home has just one bedroom, pullout beds in other areas add additional sleep space.

One of the last jobs remaining on the outside is to install the door.

It fits perfectly because they constructed it using the piece they cut out of the side wall to make the door opening.

Next, some decorative detailing on the vehicle body, including an adhesive vinyl decal bearing the model name.

On the inside, workers are busy applying the finishing touches.

They hang cabinet doors...

Install under-cabinet lighting...

And hook up the kitchen appliances.

The stove is a special compact size manufactured specifically for recreational vehicles.

Customers buying motor homes have a choice of window coverings.

This order calls for double-duty roller shades-- one setting filters daylight, the other blacks it out.

The installer uses a gauge to adjust the blinds to the correct drawing tension.

Then, she installs decorative valances to hide the edges and pull cords.

In the cab, workers bolt the base of the driver and passenger seats to the basement frame.

Then, they bolt a seat-belt receiver to each seat base.

The seats, upholstered in high-end synthetic leather, attach into their respective bases.

Workers install the dinette, which sits in one of the slideout rooms.

The bench seats have a storage area underneath, and the seats and table convert into an extra bed.

At the rear of the motor home is the bedroom, which is the second slideout room.

The bed has storage space underneath for blankets and pillows.

Regulations designate certain seats safe to sit in while the vehicle is moving.

Those seats are equipped with safety belts.

The couch in the living room, the third slideout room, has a few hidden features-- an air mattress which inflates and deflates at the push of a button for an extra bed, and a drawer underneath for storing pillows and blankets.

The bathroom has a toilet...

Sink...

Shower stall...

And lots of cabinet space.

Back on the outside, workers install a rear-view camera on each side wall.

When the driver activates the right turn signal, the right side camera automatically turns on.

The left turn signal, the left camera.

The cameras transmit the image to a dashboard monitor.

Every motor home this factory produces undergoes extensive water-infiltration testing.

Hundreds of sprayers shoot several straight minutes of simulated heavy rainfall from all angles, including underneath-- with the slideout rooms both extended and retracted.

Inspectors check everywhere, even inside cabinets.

If they find any leaks, they seal them and run the water test again.

And finally, one last mechanical verification of the slideout rooms, now that they bear the additional weight of the furnishings.

This expansion feature is the secret to the motor home's spacious feel, as it increases the floor-space width by nearly five feet.

The slideouts operate only while the motor home is parked.

With smart design and ingenious use of limited space, a motor home lets you hit the road without leaving the comforts of home behind.


Grinding Wheels
Compost
Window Blinds
Milk

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

Grinding wheels...

.compost...

Window blinds...

And milk.

A grinding wheel is a tool used to grind down, polish, or cut materials such as metal or glass.

Like a sander, it uses abrasive grains to wear away the surface in minute particles.

Grinding actually sharpens the wheel by breaking apart the grains and creating new sharp points.

A grinding wheel is made from several chemical and mineral ingredients.

The formula varies according to what the wheel will be intended to grind, polish, or cut.

For metalwork, they use abrasives that are aluminum-oxide based.

For cutting cement, stone, and other nonmetal objects, they use abrasives that are silicon-carbide based.

Even within those two categories, the formulas will differ.

A wheel designed for hard steel will be different than a wheel designed for softer metals.

Computer-programmed scales automatically weigh out the various ingredients, including additives such as iron oxide-- for wheels that cut or grind iron-- and the mineral cryolite, which lubricates the abrasives.

Powdered and liquid resins bond all the ingredients together.

The powdered resin and additives are the first ingredients to go into the mixer.

After about a minute, the abrasives and liquid resin go in.

Another five minutes of churning, and the mixture is the consistency of damp beach sand.

They screen out any globs or chunks so that the mix has a smooth and even texture.

A device called a shuttle spreads the mixture into a wheel-shaped mold.

The diameter and depth of the mold cavity corresponds to the dimensions of the specific grinding-wheel model.

At the base of the mold is a reinforcement disc made of fiberglass.

Next, a galvanized-steel ring goes in the center of each wheel.

Its four small anchors grip the mixture.

This ring is designed to protect the shaft that spins the grinding wheel.

A hydraulic press now compacts the material, applying up to 5,000 pounds of pressure per square inch.

That's the weight of about 30 cars.

Every single grinding wheel coming off the line is weighed to ensure it meets design specifications.

Next, the wheels go into an oven whose temperature rises gradually from 70 to 390 degrees fahrenheit over a period of 24 hours.

This cures the resin, bonding all the ingredients together.

When the grinding wheels come out, they're hard as a rock.

The last step of the production process is labeling.

The automated machinery moves the wheels from station to station using suction.

It applies eight drops of hot glue around the center, then slaps on the first label.

The label bears the manufacturer's logo and lists the grinding wheel's dimensions, its intended use, and the maximum spin speed.

The equipment then flips each wheel and glues a second label onto the other side.

This label lists the safety information.

The diameter of a grinding wheel can range from 2 inches to more than 20 inches.

It can be just .

04 of an inch thin or up to 1/2 an inch thick.

The smallest wheels are designed for things like auto-body work while the largest ones can cut through railway tracks and thick-metal construction beams.

Many gardeners are relying on nature to nurture their gardens.

They're choosing compost-based soil mixes over chemically fertilized mixes.

Compost is decomposed organic matter.

Not only is it environmentally friendly, it's chock-full of nutrients and useful micro-organisms.

Composting is the ecological alternative to burning or burying organic waste.

It all starts at this composting factory with manure from farms, biodegradable solid waste from paper mills, and grass clippings and leaves from local governments.

Some materials arrive in bulk, others in plastic garbage bags.

Workers carefully inspect the leaves and grass clippings, removing any nonbiodegradable objects that got into the bags-- things like pieces of plastic, rubber, or metal, shards of glass, or even stones.

After combining all the waste ingredients, they add bulking materials such wood chips and bark.

Then they stack the mixture in outdoor piles to decompose.

The mix's makeup is by no means random.

It's scientifically designed to create an ideal environment for live micro-organisms.

Billions of bacteria and fungi grow and reproduce, feeding on the nitrogen and carbon that are naturally present in the organic matter.

They slowly and gradually transform the waste into compost, which, when ready, will look like rich, black earth.

All this microbiological activity heats the waste piles to a steaming 150 degrees fahrenheit, even in the dead of winter.

The factory turns the piles monthly to aerate them.

This stimulates decay and ensures it occurs evenly throughout the pile.

The active-breakdown phase takes 6 to 10 months.

A curing phase follows-- an additional six to eight months, at the end of which the compost stabilizes.

Because the outdoor piles are exposed to precipitation, high concentrations of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium leech into the runoff water.

Drainage ditches collect and carry this water to holding ponds.

From there it goes through a treatment system consisting mainly of aeration and settling ponds.

As we see in this demonstration, they aerate the water and add certain chemical compounds.

The pollutants bond and settle at the surface to be skimmed off.

The treated water has to meet strict government regulations before it's released to the environment.

Back to the compost now.

Once the curing phase is over, the compost goes through a screening process which removes any lumps or foreign objects such as pebbles or partially decomposed wood chips.

The finished compost comes out silky-smooth.

Before the compost is sent to market, it undergoes strict quality-control testing.

The factory's laboratory conducts detailed chemical analysis to ensure the compost is at precisely the right level of maturity and that it contains the correct balance of nutrients and stabilized organic matter.

Then, a series of growth-chamber tests.

To ensure the product performs well, the lab germinates seeds and grows test plants in compost-based mixes.

Once the quality-control department gives the green light, the compost can be shipped out either in bulk or packaged bags.

Compost is sold as is or added to soil mixes.

It improves the soil structure and actively retains moisture and fertilizers.

Compost is a chemical-free way to nourish plants and stimulate their defense systems.

This gives them extra strength to grow fast and stay healthy.

Today's window blinds come in many styles-- roller shades, roll-up shades, pleated shades, and horizontal blinds, to name just a few.

The advantage of horizontals is that you can leave the blind drawn and simply tilt the slats to let in tons of light, a bit of light, or no light at all.

Most manufacturers make their wood horizontal blinds from basswood.

It's a hardwood, so it's durable.

It's lightweight, so the blind doesn't end up weighing a ton, and it absorbs wood stain evenly.

First they feed the rough wood through a planer.

They cut it down to 2 inches--  the width of the slats.

Then, following a laser guideline, they trim off any excess and square the piece, using a straight-line ripsaw.

Now the piece goes through a machine that's specifically designed to cut thin slats of wood.

Its sharp steel blades slice right through, creating up to 15 slats, each .

2 of an inch thick.

Here's the piece of basswood before slicing and after.

The slats now pass under an oscillating sander to prep them for staining.

After cutting them to the width of the window, workers spray wood stain on both sides of each slat, then a coat of sealer to lock in the color.

Once the sealer dries, they sand the slats manually to prepare them for a final protective coat of lacquer.

Next, using a die, they punch two slots in each slat 6 inches from each end.

These are for the color-coordinated cords that will operate the blind.

Now for the assembly.

They hang ladder-shaped cords called ladder tapes from the blind's headrail, then slide one slat onto each rung.

Then they thread the blind cord through the slots in the slats, hooking it up to the control mechanism hidden in the headrail.

A cord dangles down the front for raising and lowering the blind.

They also mount a wand, or cord, for tilting the slats.

The excess ladder tape is tucked into a bottom rail.

To make aluminum blinds, they start with long strips of preformed steel.

These will be the blind's headrail and bottom rail.

Workers cut them to the required length, which is the width of the window.

They make holes in the headrail for the cord lock-- the device that locks the blind to the desired height-- and the tilter, the mechanism that angles the slats.

Now they install those components.

The cord lock snaps right into the hole-- no hardware required.

That's known as a pressure fit.

They pressure-fit the tilter, as well.

Next come the tape rolls, through which they run the ladder tapes.

They cut the appropriate length and color of blind cord, then thread it through the cord lock.

The tilter turns a rod, which turns the tape roll, which tilts the ladder tapes, angling the slats.

And speaking of slats, they're cut from rolls of 1-inch-wide aluminum.

Workers simply feed a roll into the forming machine.

Then the rest of the process is automated.

First the machine gives the flat metal a semicircular curve.

Then it punches cord holes and then, as you can see on the far left of the screen, cuts it into slats.

But that's not all-- this same machine also assembles the blind, sliding a slat onto each rung of the ladder tapes.

All that's left to do by hand is thread the blind cord and install the bottom rail.

From this point on, it's just window dressing.

Getting milk out of a cow has sure come a long way since the days of sitting on a stool and doing it by hand.

Today's cutting-edge dairy farms are fully automated.

Sophisticated equipment feeds the cows, cleans up their manure, milks them, and even checks the quality of the milk.

Historians aren't sure when humans first began drinking animal milk.

They believe that people in ancient babylon, egypt, and india raised dairy cattle as early as 4000 b.c. for centuries, the family cow was the main source of milk.

But as cities became more populated, keeping your own personal cow became rather impractical, so farmers living outside city limits began to establish dairy businesses.

The key to good milk output is a good diet.

Every day, a dairy cow chows down up to 100 pounds of feed-- a mix of hay, grass, and grains, supplemented with minerals and proteins such as soy.

On a hot day, she can drink the equivalent of a bathtub full of water.

Cows produce milk only during the lactation period that follows the birth of a calf.

Starting at 15 to 17 months of age, they're inseminated yearly for about six years.

The newborn calf suckles for a couple of days, then goes to a separate area to be raised.

But the mother continues to lactate for another 10 to 12 months, producing about 12 gallons of milk per day.

This is the milk that's collected for human consumption.

The barn floor is automatically cleaned around the clock to prevent the cows from walking in their manure, which would spread disease and infection.

Animal welfare is at the core of this state-of-the-art dairy farm.

A happy and stress-free cow produces better milk, so these cows aren't confined to stalls.

They walk around freely inside or outside, eating and drinking as they please.

They scratch themselves against this motion-triggered brush.

It improves their blood circulation and cleans their hides.

Each cow wears an identification tag.

It emits a low frequency-- a different one for each animal.

This enables the computerized milking system to collect data on each cow's milking habits and monitor the quality of her milk.

No traditional twice-a-day milking here-- the cows decide when they feel like being milked.

Just like the pressure in our bladders tells us when it's time to go to the bathroom, when the cows find the pressure in their udders uncomfortable, they just mosey on down to the milking stall.

The stall is designed not to force the cow into an uncomfortable or motionless position.

It sets up in such a way that she's not separated from the herd.

Scientific research shows that separation induces stress.

As it prepares to clean her udder with disinfectant and water, the robotic milking system reads the i.d. tag and records that this cow is number 328, coming in for a milking at 4:41 in the afternoon.

Next, a laser pinpoints the exact location and position of the four teats.

It feeds that information to the computer, which then guides the robot to attach the teat cups one by one.

Once the robot detects the presence of milk, extraction begins, each suction cup simulating the sucking action of a nursing calf.

A sophisticated machine analyzes the milk.

If the quality is not up to par or if the machine detects signs the cow has an infection, milk with elevated temperature, or minute traces of blood, the system automatically rejects the batch and red-flags the problem cow.

As the udder-cleaning brushes get disinfected, the robot tracks the output of each teat separately.

That way, no teat is undermilked or overmilked, which can lead to health problems.

Once the suction cups come off, the robot disinfects each teat.

As bessie goes on her way feeling mighty relieved, the robot disinfects the teat cups for the next cow.

The milk that passes inspection collects in a jar, then gets transferred to a giant refrigerated reservoir.

They wash out that jar between cows.

To keep the milk fresh, they store it at 37 degrees fahrenheit-- about the temperature of your refrigerator.


Goalie Pads
Lapel Pins
Cardboard Boxes
Crystal Wine Glasses

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

Goalie pads...

Lapel pins...

Cardboard boxes...

And crystal wineglasses.

In 1896, george merritt of the canadian hockey team winnipeg victorias was the first-ever hockey goaltender to wear pads to protect his legs.

He and those who followed him used pads from another sport-- cricket.

Wider pads specifically for ice hockey didn't come about until the 1920s.

This company spends $40,000 a year on research and development of goalie pads.

It redesigns its pads every two years to upgrade to the latest materials and construction.

Each goalie pad has 100 components.

The factory uses hundreds of metal dies to cut parts to make pads in 15 sizes.

Workers position the appropriate dies on the material.

A hydraulic machine applies roughly the weight of four elephants-- forcing the dies through up to four layers at once.

Here, it's a synthetic, water-repellent material called p.u. leather.

The machine also cuts various types of foam for structure, protection, and comfort.

And it creates holes, called eyelets, for laces or buttons.

Here, the machine cuts soft, low-density foam, which acts as a shock absorber against the force of the puck.

Workers sew the pads using industrial-strength nylon stitching.

To protect the p.u. leather, they sew on a layer of foam that's an eighth of an inch thick, and zippers on openings that will be packed with shredded foam for a snug fit.

They use a half-inch-thick layer of spongy foam to line the player's knee and calf areas for flexibility and comfort.

The stitching is purely decorative.

The factory often embroiders the player's name on the goalie pads to identify the gear if it's lost.

This automated embroidery machine has 12 computer-guided heads.

They use up to 40 different thread colors.

Every year, this factory produces up to 3,500 pairs of goalie pads.

The players wear an array of corporate logos on their pads.

It's all part of the commercial nature of the game and the industry.

Now they sew on a zippered pocket, which, when filled with foam, will protect the calf area.

They use water-resistant fabric to cover the back of the player's leg and line the area with low-density foam to absorb the puck's impact.

Then they attach flaps, called knee raisers, to protect the knee area.

Good thing, given that pucks will slam the goalie at a speed of up to 100 miles per hour.

Next, they sew the front and back parts of the pads together.

Then they hot-glue a sandwich of harder foam for structural support, soft foam for shock absorbency, and an even softer foam for comfort.

This padding forms the guts of the pad.

Using crimpers, workers fasten the pads together temporarily.

Then they use a 7-inch-long needle with a diamond-shaped tip to sew the layers together.

The worker threads the layers, uniting them into one piece.

This process is called lasting.

Workers now pack the outside of the goalie pad with more rigid foam for structure and softer foam for comfort.

They use clamps to fasten the boot area together temporarily, while inserting shredded foam-- shredded because it's easier to squeeze in.

Then, using a specialized sewing machine, they sew the outermost shell of the pad.

This is considered the toughest part of the assembly, since it joins layers as thick as an inch.

They use pliers to hold the pieces tightly together during the 45 minutes or so that it takes to sew just one pad.

After trimming the excess from the ends, workers cover them with a strip of p.u. leather-- a process called capping.

They attach the strip using 13 overlapping stitches-- a durability feature that gives the goalie pads long life.

Next, they insert a removable knee guard, which can be adjusted or replaced later on.

Using a rivet machine, they attach a leather strap to an adjustable nylon buckle.

It's an important component.

This is what fastens the pads to the leg.

And at a price of nearly $1,600 a pair, you, too, can stop those speeding pucks with confidence.

Lapel pins let you proudly show off where you've been or where you stand, from an event you've attended or your political beliefs to your professional affiliation or your favorite sports team.

Lapel pins cost pennies to produce, but some are collectors items worth thousands of dollars.

They may be tiny, but they're out there in huge numbers.

This one company churns out about 5 million lapel pins a year.

It all starts with the sketch of the pin design and from that, the master-- a negative made of magnesium, a type of metal.

They'll make copies of this master to create a production mold.

But first, using what's called a coping saw, they cut out the front and back pieces of the master.

Using a dispenser about the size of a sewing needle, they glue the pieces together with epoxy.

It takes five minutes to dry.

Then they cast enough copies of the master to fill up a rubber disk.

After tracing the outlines, a worker uses a surgical knife to meticulously carve out the cavities.

He softens the rubber with paint thinner, to enable precision cuts.

Then he places a copy of the master in each cavity.

Another disk goes on top, then it's into a machine called a vulcanizer for one hour.

This machine uses heat and pressure to cure the rubber, making it as hard as a car tire.

It also melds the rubber around each master copy, embedding the detail.

This will be the production mold for producing this pin design.

Now, using a surgical knife again for precision, they carve out sprues-- channels that, during the casting process, will direct the flow of molten metal to the cavities.

They also make smaller curved channels, called runners, to filter out any air or dirt particles.

It's crucial to position the sprues and runners correctly because this mold produces an entire line of a particular pin.

Mess up, and they'd have to remake the mold from scratch.

Next, they insert a half-inch-long brass tack, called a post, into each cavity.

It'll later fasten to a clasp, attaching the pin to clothing.

The post goes in now, rather than later, so that it will fuse to the back of the lapel pin during casting.

Now, to close the mold, they align the buttons on one half with the depressions in the other half.

The mold then goes into what's called a spin casting machine.

Using a cast-iron ladle that can withstand the fiery temperature, they pour in molten metal-- either pewter, zinc, or a tin alloy.

As the machine spins, centrifugal force propels the metal into every nook and cranny of the cavities.

After a minute of spinning--  400 rotations-- the mold comes out.

The metal takes about five minutes to cool and harden.

The factory re-melts the excess metal for the next batch.

Next, a brass clasp, called a clutch, goes onto the post.

Now the lapel pins go for an hour-long wash in soap and water and abrasive stones.

The stones smooth out any rough edges.

The pins go into the electroplating tank for a surface coating of metal.

How many coats and the types of metal vary with the design.

An electric current draws the metal particles onto the pins, plating them thoroughly.

These pins first get copper plating, then nickel plating, then gold plating.

Now it's time to paint the lapel pins.

Workers follow a numerical guide, like a paint-by-numbers kit.

They paint each pin individually, using minute quantities of epoxy paint.

They control the paint syringe with a foot pedal.

Once the paint dries, a machine called a pad printer gathers up the ink and stamps on the tiny details, the ones too small to paint by hand.

Pierce the post through fabric, secure it with the clutch, and this lapel pin is now ready to wear.

Like many inventions, the cardboard box was born by sheer accident.

In the 1870s, an american printer by the name of robert gair stumbled upon the idea.

By mistake, he cut a paper seed bag he was creasing with a metal ruler.

Gair concluded he could create a sturdier container with paperboard.

Cardboard boxes come in a wide variety of sizes, shapes, and colors.

But most share three basic structural components-- one wavysheet of paper, called a flute, sandwiched between two flat sheets, called liners.

Together they form what's called a corrugated board.

Production starts with a massive roll of partially recycled paper.

The width of the paper varies, depending on the size of the boxes they're making.

The roll feeds a machine called a corrugator.

The machine presses the paper between two ridged rollers and blasts it with hot steam.

This shapes the waves of the flute.

Another roller applies glue to one side of the flute.

The glue's main ingredients are water and starch, which won't contaminate fresh produce the boxes may later contain.

Next, the machine adheres one liner sheet...

And then the other.

The waves create an air cushion between the flute and the liners, strengthening the board.

For added strength, some boxes have a double lining-- two flutes and three liners.

The flutes may also vary in thickness for more or less cushioning.

The factory uses partially recycled paper for the flutes because it's more malleable than non-recycled paper.

A razor-thin circular saw trims each side.

The corrugator machine then cuts the board up to nine times, depending on the size of the box they're producing.

The corrugator's final function is to separate the boards into layers, using flexible aluminum tongs called fingers.

Workers do a quality-control check before sending the boards off for printing.

The next machine stacks the boards into piles of between 25 and 80, depending on their thickness.

This machine also feeds one board at a time to the upcoming equipment.

It does this at lightning speed-- at a rate of up to 8,000 boards per hour.

First, a trimmer perforates the boards to create flaps and handles.

Rubber sponges cushion the blades so that they cut only the parts they're supposed to.

During the trimming, a press condenses the boxes' overlapping panels to level out their thickness.

Workers usually cut the sponges by hand to make sure they fit snugly around the blades.

The trimmer runs at a speed of 5 miles an hour, processing up to 90 boxes per minute.

Workers send the cutoffs back to the paper mill to be recycled as many as six times over.

A folding machine now bends them along score lines the corrugator made earlier.

It then applies cold glue to the sections that'll join together to form the box, hot glue if the cardboard is wax-coated.

The next machine folds over the glued sections.

They aren't visible once the box is finished.

Another machine stacks the boxes in piles.

A separator arm moves the bundles to trays, called skids, for shipping.

The printing of the boxes began in the factory's ink kitchen.

A computer-guided dispenser squirts out different shades of ink, following a precise recipe to create a particular color, one of 5,000 in the palette.

One pail holds about 45 pounds of printing ink-- enough for 2,000 boxes, depending on the coverage needed.

The factory uses water-based ink because it dries instantly.

The printing press applies the ink to the boards, one color group at a time, through four consecutive stations.

This factory uses a flexographic printing system, a process that can print drawings and illustrations.

Some companies use a lithographic press, which can also print photographs.

Back on the trimming line, more complicated types of box flaps and handles require what's called a flatbed trimmer.

It holds the boards in place with suction while making intricate perforations.

After removing the trimmed bits, workers give the boxes one last quality check.

Then they stack them and send them off to the warehouse.

The main ingredient in glass is silica sand.

When you heat it along with other chemicals, it turns into a syrupy liquid that you can then mold or blow into a particular shape.

Add lead oxide and you've got lead crystal.

It's much softer than regular glass, making it easier to decorate with intricate cut designs, to enhance its brilliance.

craftsmen start with silica sand, which is a very pure type of sand.

Then they add nickel oxide to help the silica sand melt, lead oxide, potassium carbonate, potassium nitrate, and antimony, to give the finished crystal its smoothness, heft, and sparkle.

They compress the mix into pellets.

They heat the pellets for 18 hours, creating a mass of molten glass that they can call the melt.

To that, they add cullet-- the term for excess, broken, or rejected crystal.

Cullet smoothes out the melt.

A blower now uses a hollow blowing iron made of tempered stainless steel to collect some of the melt.

He constantly rotates the iron so the melt clings together in what's called a gather.

The blower rolls the gather on a heat-resistant table.

This sparks a flame because the table is coated with beeswax to prevent the molten crystal from sticking.

The blower exhales a slow, steady breath of air to create the base of the piece, called the ball.

After letting it cool for 90 seconds, he dips the ball back in the furnace to coat it with another layer of molten crystal.

This fortifies the ball.

Now he begins shaping the ball, using various wooden tools.

This one's called a block.

He uses another tool, a divider, to create grooves so the ball will fit into a mold.

The blower soaks the wooden tools in water so they won't burn.

He now inserts the ball into a steel mold, one of 150 this company uses for its collection.

The craftsmen coat the inside of the mold beforehand with a paste of cork dust, linseed oil, and charcoal dust.

This prevents the ball from sticking, which would cause flaws in the crystal.

The blower releases the ball, now called the bowl, using a foot pedal.

After cooling the bowl for one minute, another craftsman, called a stemmer, adds another gather to create the stem of the wineglass.

He clips the gather with heat-resistant scissors.

He uses a wooden divider to shape the stem area and a metal divider to stretch the gather into the shape of the stem.

The stemmer must be highly skilled.

There's no mold or pattern to follow.

He relies entirely on eyesight, intuition, and patience.

He cools the stem with layers of wet newspaper.

They absorb heat well and don't leave marks or flaws.

Next, another craftsman adds more gather to create the foot of the glass.

He uses a wooden tool, called a pitch, to flatten the foot.

He also shapes the foot by hand with wet newspaper.

This metal template ensures it's generally the right dimensions.

Everything is handmade, so each piece may differ slightly.

This company makes 20 models of glasses, including different styles for red, white, port, and ice wines.

The piece then goes into a kiln at 840 degrees fahrenheit.

At the end of the day, they switch off the kiln to let the glasses gradually cool overnight to room temperature.

The next day, a craftsman uses an acetylene torch to cut the glass and remove the cap.

They use an old record turntable to spin the glass around and make the cut.

For precision, they smooth and bevel the rim with a diamond-coated steel grinder.

Another craftsman, called a cutter, marks out a grid with a waterproof pen.

He uses another type of turntable to steady his hand as he draws.

It's not an exact pattern, just a general guideline to create the design of the piece.

This design's called the titanic.

It's based on a light fixture from the ocean liner.

Water cools, lubricates, and cleans the area during cutting.

There are two types of cutting-- wedge and flat.

Wedge cutting creates the deep, intricate cuts.

Flat cutting creates smoother, less-angled cuts.

Here, they use the wedge method, which can only be done with diamond-tipped wheels.

Here, the cutter creates a diamond-shaped grid, called a karo cut.

Finally, the cutter creates a star-shaped cut spanning the entire foot of the glass.

Once the decorations are complete, an inspector does a detailed quality check, before etching the company logo.


Dinnerware
Air Brake Tanks
Frosted Cereal
Fossils

Restaurant dinnerware brings a lot to the table.

It's known for rugged good looks, it holds up to heavy use and repeated cleaning in commercial dishwashers, and its design reflects the restaurant's theme and adds presentation value to the food.

Most people appreciate the effort that goes into a fine meal, but they may not give much thought to what it takes to make the actual plate the food is served up on.

Making ceramic dinnerware that's restaurant-quality is an intensive process-- one that starts with a master die made of gypsum.

This worker then makes a production version of the master.

To do this, he pours gypsum into a wire-mesh frame above the master.

There's tubing attached to the mesh frame, and he pumps air through it.

This causes the water in the gypsum to bubble out and evaporate.

It dries and solidifies into a mirror image of the master-- in this case, a platter shape.

The tubing inside this production die will be used again later to gently blow off the platter when formed, releasing it from the die.

Another worker adds the ceramic ingredients to water.

They including a plasticizer, silica sand, different clays, and minerals like alumina.

Once the clay mix has been thoroughly blended, they drain it onto a vibrating sieve to screen out large mineral chunks and impurities.

The clay-based liquid flows through the screen into a holding tank.

They pump it through this filter press.

It compresses fabric-covered plastic plates to squeeze out moisture, turning the clay liquid into putty-like slabs.

With this consistency, it can now be shaped.

A worker breaks up the slabs and feeds the pieces to a pug mill.

The mill shapes the clay into a long cylinder, and, in the process, it sucks out air so dinnerware made from it will be less prone to cracking.

He slices the clay cylinder into small wads, using a wire cutter.

Each of these clay wads will be shaped into one plate.

They place each wad onto molds on a revolving platform.

The mold spins up to a metal tool, which presses the clay into the shape of the plate mold below.

The tool also forms the back so the plate will sit evenly on a table.

A nozzle lubricates the metal tool between pressings.

A cutter at the side trims the rims of the plates as they're formed.

Unlike the platter die, these molds don't have tubing inside to blow off the plates.

Instead, the heat from the dryer separates them from the molds.

Once out of the molds, the plates spin on pedestals past a sponge to smooth the edges.

To make coffee mugs, the pug mill presses out a narrower cylinder, and a knife at the exit point slices it into precise wads.

The wads fall into coffee-mug molds, and a tool spins the clay up against the walls of the molds to shape it into mugs.

A blade at the top trims the excess from the lip of the mug.

They pass under a long sponge to smooth the rims.

And now for the handles.

They make them in two-part molds and dry them under an infrared light.

The handles must have precisely the same moisture content as the mugs-- around 16%.

A worker dips the ends of each handle in a clay-and-glue mixture and presses it to the mug.

The mugs go into a dryer, and the moisture content drops to 4%.

Next, they douse the mugs with glaze inside and out and bake them in a super-hot kiln.

This will make the mugs chip-resistant and will strengthen the bond between the handle and the mug.

They paint the dinnerware by hand, using a ceramic stain.

The stain will enable it to hold up to repeated rigorous cleanings in restaurant dishwashers.

For a different look, they apply decals to some dinnerware.

This artwork has been produced using the same hard-wearing ceramic stain.

The plates then head into the oven, and the heat fuses the decorative touches to them.

From a liquid clay mix to tableware you can dine out on.

The process has taken about 24 hours.

It should serve you well.

Air-brake tanks are part of powerful brake systems on tractor trailers and buses.

When the driver depresses the brake pedal, the tank releases the compressed air to activate the brakes so the big wheels slow down and stop turning.

The energy used to stop a big rig comes from air.

It's compressed and stored in the brake tanks so there's always a ready supply.

They make air-brake tanks from industrial-grade steel that's about as thick as a typical magazine.

A press forces the steel around a dome form and shears the edges to produce the tank's end caps.

It also punches a hole in each cap for a fitting.

The cap's dome shape is critical.

It will allow it to withstand the air pressure inside the tank.

The tank caps now ride a conveyor under sprayers that wash away residual oil from the pressing process.

More steel sheeting feeds into another press.

It's twice as thick as the steel used to make the end caps.

This press is punching and forming brackets for attaching the air tank to the trailer undercarriage, so these connecting parts have to be extra-strong.

It takes six punches to shape the flat sheet of steel into the curved brackets.

Here's an example of the six formative stages.

Machinery now flattens and cuts bigger sheets of steel for the tank body.

Mechanized clamps grip the sheet along the edges and position it under another punch press.

It perforates the steel where fittings are to be installed.

It also stamps the company name and other manufacturing information onto it.

They feed the sheet to a roller that curls it into the cylindrical tank shell.

The rolling is precise, and the dimensions of the cylinder don't need any adjusting.

The worker clamps it into a fixture.

A carriage moves a welding torch overhead to join the ends and create an airtight seal.

A worker inspects the weld.

The next worker welds fittings onto the holes punched into the tank shell earlier.

Two of the fittings are for attaching valves that control the flow of compressed air.

The third fitting will be used to connect a line for draining water formed during air compression.

He reinforces the fittings with large collars that help the connections withstand any bumps on the road.

He places the brackets and end caps in an automatic welder and activates it.

It fuses the bracket to the cap-- one for each of the air tank's end caps.

With both bracketed end caps now installed on the cylindrical shell, it's time to seal this air tank.

The tank turns on a welding lathe as automated welders bond them to the shell.

The air-tank structure is now basically complete.

It's time to put it to the test.

After plugging the open fittings, they pump highly compressed air into the tank-- more than it would usually handle.

If it can take all the pressure, it's deemed structurally sound.

They bring the pressure down a bit and check for leaks.

Bubbles in the water around it would indicate air is seeping out, but in this case, there are only a few ripples from the action of placing it in the water.

After a cleaning, the airtight tank heads into a powder-coating station.

Sprayers apply the powdered resin coating to the tanks.

The particles are positively charged, and the tanks are negatively charged for an instant attraction.

The black powder clings to the tanks as they now travel through a gas-fired oven.

The heat melts and bonds the coating to the surface of the air-brake tanks, forming a tough skin that's rust-resistant.

After the tanks cool, a worker inserts a long, thin paint gun through one of the fittings to spray a rustproof coating on the inside.

He then inserts plugs into all the fittings to protect the threads from damage until they're ready to make all the necessary connections.

It's taken about five hours to produce these air-brake tanks, and it's now time to put on the brakes.

Frosted cereal originated in america in the 1950s, and today, you'll find versions of it on breakfast tables around the world.

It's one of the first things some people reach for in the morning.

The sugary coating complements the flavor of the grains.

It's one way to awaken the taste buds.

This particular blend of frosted cereal is a combination of wheat flakes, corn flakes, and granola clusters.

Half the flakes are frosted, and half aren't.

There's honey, rolled oats, and rice in the granola.

The mix of the ingredients means there are still a few surprises in the frosted-cereal box.

To make the corn flakes, they start with corn grits.

They measure out a specific amount and release it into an industrial version of a pressure cooker.

The operator locks the lid, and the system pipes water and flavorings directly into the cooker.

It rotates for an even distribution of heat and an even cooking of the grains.

After about three hours, the kernels have absorbed moisture and softened.

As the corn flows out of the cooker, a screw-conveyor system moves it towards a dryer.

They cook a measured amount of whole-wheat kernels in water and flavorings.

They only need an hour in the rotating pressure cooker.

Like the corn, the whole wheat absorbs a significant amount of water during cooking.

The kernels are about 30% moisture when they exit the cooker.

They now merge with the corn en route to the dryer.

The drying time will bring the moisture content down to about 19%, making the kernels the right consistency to be transformed into flakes.

The grains now flow into a mill.

The mill has two big, heavy rollers, similar to the kind used to pave roads.

The kernels fall between these rollers.

The rollers exert tons of pressure to flatten each individual kernel into a flake.

In the process, the wheat flakes turn whiter and the corn turn more yellow.

At this point, the flakes are still quite soft and not really tasty.

A trip through a long toaster oven will give it that crispy cereal consistency.

It's a high-temperature toasting and reduces the moisture content to 3%.

Here, you can see the flakes before toasting...

And after.

The toasting not only makes the corn and wheat flakes crispy-- it also enhances the color and flavor.

A ride on a conveyor cools them down.

Along the way, they split into two different streams.

One stream of the mixed flakes travel towards the sugar-coating station.

The other heads into a flavoring drum.

The drum revolves to gently toss the cereal as a sprayer applies a granola kind of flavoring.

The other stream of wheat and corn flakes enters the sugar-coating drum.

A sprayer disperses a sugar-and-water mixture as the drum tosses the flakes.

Then they travel through a dryer, and this cures the frosting to the flakes.

The frosted and the flavored flakes flow onto the same conveyor.

It bounces the flakes around to blend them together.

To boost the nutrition content, they add honey-flavored granola.

The granola clusters flow onto a conveyor.

They'll merge with the frosted and flavored flakes.

The feeder pipe showers granola onto the flakes.

This frosted cereal is now ready for store shelves.

Machinery dispenses specific amounts into a plastic sleeve, and a mechanism heat-seals and severs it at both ends.

Mechanical arms then pick up boxes, open them, and deposit them on a conveyor.

Push rods shove the bags of cereal into the boxes.

The "best before" date and other information have been printed on the outside of the boxes.

Nozzles apply glue to the ends, and the boxes brush by a side barrier that closes them.

Producing and packaging this frosted-cereal blend has taken about five hours, and if the breakfast crowd is hungry, it won't last long.

Its time on the table could be short and sweet.

A fossil is a remnant of prehistoric life embedded in rock-- either the actual remains of an animal or plant or an impression left by decayed remains.

Most fossils are hundreds of millions of years old and remind us that humans have been around for a small part of the earth's existence.

Fossils are made by nature but collected and preserved by man for display in museums, as well as in private collections.

One of the world's richest fossil deposits is located in the southwestern part of the state of wyoming.

50 million years ago, the area was a freshwater lake.

With climate changes, it gradually dried out, leaving wildlife and flora buried under layers of sediment.

Over time, that sediment hardened into sheets of rock containing fossils of those former life forms.

To find fossils in what were the shallower edges of the prehistoric lake, they drive thin blades about 4/10 of an inch deep to loosen and separate sheets of rock.

In this part of the deposit, the fossil is often split between two layers of rock, which is why they call this particular dig area "the split-fish quarry".

They repeat the process, excavating several layers.

They typically find fossils of smaller herring-type fish, plants, and insects.

They carefully separate the large rock sheets into smaller pieces so that it's easier to transport their haul from the quarry to the workshop.

This sedimentary rock is oil shale-- a substitute for conventional crude oil.

Scratch the surface, and it smells, and it'll burn.

However, there's not enough actual oil in this deposit to make extraction viable.

In the company's second quarry, they blow away surface debris to make it easier to spot fossils.

Recovery is more difficult here because this part of the deposit was the deep center of the prehistoric lake.

Wildlife was buried under far more sediment.

It takes a highly trained eye and the low angle of morning sunlight to see the slight shadow which a fossil's ridges cast on the ground.

After outlining their find, they use a saw with a diamond blade to cut around it.

They've removed the surrounding rock to be able to slide their thin blades underneath...

Then gently extract their treasure.

This is a tricky procedure.

One wrong move, and the fossil shatters.

In the workshop, under five-times magnification and using a variety of sharpened tools, they carefully scrape away the surface until the dark color of the fossil shows through.

To fully reveal a fossil this size takes 30 to 40 hours of tedious and meticulous work.

As for the rock sheets from the split quarry, they saw the fossils apart, neatly framing each one within a rectangle.

Layers flake off more easily from split-quarry rock than from the harder rock of the other quarry.

Once a fossil is completely exposed, they seal and protect the surface with a light coat of spray-on acrylic.

When exposing a fossil, it's critical to keep sharpening the tools on a diamond file, and, for visibility, to repeatedly clean the work surface with an eraser or brush.

How many layers of rock have to be scratched off varies.

A fossil can be sitting right on the surface or be buried a fraction of an inch or so beneath it.

This freshwater stingray, a rare find, is about as intricate as a fossil gets.

This fellow took more than a month to prepare.

The detail of this large palm-leaf fossil is astounding.

You can actually see insect bites.

And as this leaf fossilized on the prehistoric lake bed, so did the fish swimming around it, producing an incredible stone snapshot of life 50 million years ago.