Answer all questions completely
Cite all resources used and use in-text citations
Assignment 3: Developing a Missile: The Power of Autonomy and Learning
Read the case study titled “Developing a Missile: The Power of Autonomy and Learning.” before starting this assignment. (reading material copied below with cite info)
Write a five to six (5-6) page paper in which you:
1. Formulate a one (1) paragraph vision statement for the team project as project leader for the Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile program.
2. Analyze key actions that Terry Little took to foster higher levels of performance, and recommend, in retrospect, a new course of action for a comprehensive organizational change as if you were in his position.
3. Describe the fallacies, consistencies, and inconsistencies that emerged from Terry Little’s leadership tactics, geared toward inspiring the team to greater heights. Construct an argument for how you would have acted differently than Terry Little and support the position.
4. Recommend at least three (3) strategies to the Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile program management team with a view to improving its operational performance. Provide three (3) specific examples to support the response.
Your assignment must follow these formatting requirements:
· Be typed, double spaced, using Times New Roman font (size 12), with one-inch margins on all sides; citations and references must follow APA or school-specific format. Check with your professor for any additional instructions.
· Include a cover page containing the title of the assignment, the student’s name, the professor’s name, the course title, and the date. The cover page and the reference page are not included in the required assignment page length.
Laufer, A. (2012). Mastering the leadership role in project management: Practices that deliver remarkable results, 1st Edition. [Strayer University Bookshelf]. Retrieved from https://strayer.vitalsource.com/#/books/9781323079362/
Developing a Missile: The Power of Autonomy and Learning
Doing Business More Like Business Air Force Program Manager Terry Little’s reputation as an innovative program manager preceded him when he was drafted to turn around a program that appeared to be on its way to swift cancellation. The Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile (JASSM) program had been launched in April 1995 and only nine months later was already in big trouble. “In late December 1995, I got a call to come in and talk to one of my bosses at the Eglin Air Force Base. At the time, I was program manager for the Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) missile. As soon as I got there, I was informed that I was being switched off JDAM to run the JASSM program, and I wasn’t happy about it at all. I had started the JDAM program, and I was quite content there. I asked about the person who I would be replacing, and the answer was simply, ‘He wasn’t up to the task.’ “I knew that at JASSM, I would have to start over and would probably have to cope with a more difficult environment. The original program manager of JASSM was put in place at the start and given two major mandates. The first was not to repeat any of the mistakes of the past, meaning the TSSAM program. The Tri-Service Standoff Attack Missile (TSSAM) had been cancelled after six years and several billion dollars in cost overruns. It was considered an unmitigated disaster, and all subsequent missile programs had to establish early on that they were not going to repeat the same mistakes made by TSSAM. “The second mandate was to get started quickly. Unless the program established quickly that it was serious about getting on contract, it was unlikely that money would be made available through the next fiscal year. Still reeling from the TSSAM debacle, the attitude down at the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) was: Show that your program is serious, and show it fast—or don’t expect to be around long. “The immediate objective was to award contracts to two competitors that would spend the next two years developing a system under the watchful eye of the government. At the end of the two-year evaluation process, one contractor would be awarded production of the missile. My predecessor and his team had worked on the contract since April, but they couldn’t find a way to make the source selection quickly. Too many things still needed to be done, and it looked as though it was going to take the government team another year. That was unacceptable to senior management, especially at OSD. “When I was brought on, we still needed to get the formal requirements approved by OSD, focus the contractors on making a serious proposal, field their proposals, and do the evaluation. Five companies were interested in competing for the two contracts: Hughes, Texas Instruments, Raytheon, Lockheed Martin, and McDonell Douglas. “’You just go down there and do your thing,’ I was told as I left my boss’s office. Nothing more than that in the way of concrete detail. The rest was up to me, I guess. During the few days left until I actually joined JASSM, I started collecting some information about the status of the program. It became apparent that the JASSM team did not grasp the extent of the dissatisfaction with their achievements. As in other times throughout my career, I realized that my first challenge would be to change the way in which the team perceived reality. “Most of my peers in program management think that the most important aspects of our jobs are making decisions, conducting reviews, and controlling performance. In contrast, my priorities are to develop collaborative relations, foster alliances, and give the people who work for me a sense of confidence in themselves. “I stumbled into an understanding of this when I got involved in program management many years ago. At first, I gravitated toward an analytical approach because of my background in operations research. I was brought up in the Robert McNamara school of management, where everything is quantifiable—if we can’t build a model of something, then it doesn’t exist. “It didn’t take me long to figure out that this idea was bankrupt. Programs move ahead because of the activities of people, but none of the models I was using measured that critical ingredient for success. I could do the fanciest calculations in the world, but did they have anything to do with determining whether the project was going to be successful? Not at all. I had some difficulty convincing the people with whom I worked that it was not the right approach because they, like me, had been brought up to believe that a sharp analytic mind can arrive at a solution for any problem. “Experience was my greatest teacher. I had managed to deliver several major projects successfully by implementing practices that were designed to fit the world as I saw it and that often differed from the accepted practices. It had been a bit easier to implement these practices in my previous projects because of the classified nature of the projects. “However, my most recent project, JDAM, had been completely different. It was a high-profile Defense Acquisition Pilot Project, which was part of a wide reform movement in the defense establishment. This pilot program was given a clear mandate: Do business more like business. In order to do business differently, I assembled a group of people who were change agents. The main qualities required were the ability to think differently and the energy and zest to do something different. I sent the whole team for a two-week training session and for industry visits to Boeing Commercial Aviation, Motorola, Apple Computers, and Florida Power and Light, primarily to reinforce the fact that acquisition reform was not just a buzzword. It meant throwing out their old paradigms and embracing a new one.” Six Is Not Seven At JASSM, Terry intended to apply the same principle that business would no longer be done as usual: “I called a meeting the first day back after New Year’s with the 20 people who were working on JASSM. They were in a state of disbelief after learning that their boss had been fired over the Christmas holidays. He had worked with them on this program from the beginning and was well liked. Out of the blue, I showed up and told them, ‘We are going to get this program on contract within six months. If we don’t do it in six months, there is no program.’” Brian Rutledge, the JASSM financial manager, was already familiar with Terry’s no-nonsense approach when he took over JASSM, as they had worked together on a previous project. He recalls that same day from the perspective of the project members: “I knew some of his antics, so I was half expecting something dramatic on his first day. He didn’t let me down. It was January 3, and a lot of people were still on Christmas and New Year’s leave, but Terry scheduled a mandatory meeting and required that everyone show up. He came into the room where we had assembled and, before even introducing himself, said, ‘We’re going to be on contract by July, and anybody who’s not on board with that might as well look for another job.’ He scared a lot of people. Some people weren’t sure they would still be in the JASSM program office by the end of the month. He had a reputation, perhaps unfairly, of not hesitating to fire people when he thought it necessary.” Terry’s objective was to empower the team, as a group, to rise to the challenge, impossible as it may have seemed at the time: “After some initial cries of resistance—’there’s no way, you really don’t get it’—they realized that I was counting on them. I told them, ‘We have to figure out how to work together to make this happen. First you need to put aside all of your paradigms and start with one basic assumption: that it’s going to be done in six months. My job, as the leader here, is to facilitate things, to do whatever’s necessary to make the bureaucracy move out of our way, so that it parts like the Red Sea parted for Moses—that’s my job. But here you are giving up, and you haven’t even started.’ That silenced them, literally stopped them in their tracks.” Lynda Rutledge, the project’s systems engineer (and Brian’s wife after the first two years of the project), describes those early days when she had only known Terry for about a month: “We had done a draft of the Single Acquisition Management Plan (SAMP) in the fall of 1995. The SAMP is the document that lays out how a program will be managed. It’s a project plan, basically, and it seems as though everybody in the OSD needs to sign off on it. Terry read what we had written before he arrived and deemed it ‘a piece of junk.’ I remember him closing his office door and disappearing for about five days to rewrite it. This impressed me more than anything else about him. I’d never seen, or even heard of, a program manager writing his own SAMP. Normally, they farm it out to their leads who have no idea how their piece will be integrated into the whole. “Terry wanted to present a concise, unified plan. I think that he rewrote 90 percent of our original draft and cut it down by more than half. But when the document came back from the OSD, it had grown bigger than he’d wanted. Terry didn’t want a lot of detail. He didn’t believe that you need to, or for that matter even can, spell out every detail about a program at its start. He pushed back on OSD, but ultimately decided to give in. In a case like this, you can’t do anything more than push and push against the system, and in the end it’s going to be a Pyrrhic victory at best if it distracts you from the main task at hand—getting on contract. He was not going to fall on his sword over a handful of paper. One thing about Terry Little is that he knows when to pick his battles. “As I later learned, in his previous project, JDAM, where Terry had the luxury of selecting his own team and sufficient time to ensure that everyone on board understood and embraced the principles of the reform, he had served only as the project integrator, while the plan was actually prepared by the team. This time around, Terry had to adapt his approach to the new conditions under which JASSM was forced to operate: a shortage of time and a team unfamiliar with the reform. Still, Terry didn’t shut anyone out and in fact sought input from people, occasionally popping out of his office and showing up at peoples’ desks, like mine, to ask questions. “When I joined JASSM, which was before Terry’s arrival, the project had already formed working groups for each critical project area. Meetings in my area were conducted with the purpose of reaching some consensus on the models, measuring weapon effectiveness to be used by the five companies competing for the contract award. In the first meeting for my area, I was surprised to find close to a hundred people in the room. My notion about successful working groups was that they should be small, so I told the contractors that from now on, I intended to limit the number of people who could attend the meetings. “Now you have to understand that up until that time, the companies had managed to get what they wanted from the original project manager by whining. Every time they complained, he tried to appease them, even at the expense of the other team members. So when the contractors went back to the program director and complained about me, he said that he was shocked by my behavior. I can’t tell you what a big relief it was after starting to work with Terry that I could finally make decisions without having to worry anymore about being overruled every time one of the companies complained. A lot of bosses talk the talk about letting you take risks, but when something goes wrong, they punish you. Not Terry; he’s not afraid to fail, and that’s why he takes chances.” Indeed, Terry’s management philosophy is based on autonomy and trust: “When it comes to making decisions on the technical aspects of a program, I seldom intervene or get involved in the details. Sometimes people let me know what was decided, and other times, they don’t. There are program decisions being made every day without my prior approval. When someone is new and I haven’t taken the full measure of them yet, I will ask him or her to let me know what’s going on, what they’ve decided—but after I am comfortable with their judgment, I believe in giving them the freedom they need to do their job. People who want to work for me are the kind of people who are not afraid to be accountable for results. I think that the key to getting the most out of people, whether they are on the government side or the contractor side, is to have a high expectation for results.” Regarding commitment and trust, Brian Rutledge explains: “Terry expects you to defend your position. If you can’t defend it, he’ll tear you apart. In the first project we worked on together, I replaced a major who was just fired by Terry. The reason he got fired was because he couldn’t figure out Terry’s personality. Terry had challenged him on his cost estimate—Why did you do this? Why did you do that? After several rounds of this, my predecessor finally said, ‘I give up, what number do you want?’ But that’s not what Terry wanted to hear. You don’t ever say to Terry, ‘What do you want?’ So after three months, I had to go in and defend my estimates to him. We went head to head and he challenged me on every little thing, but I stood my ground. From then on, when I brought something to him, he trusted me, and that trust grew. About a year later, I got promoted.” Mutual accountability and a sense of project ownership are essential to Terry: “Earlier in my career, I had a conversation with a colleague who had a tremendous impact on how I manage and why I place so much importance on establishing goals for the project and ensuring that each member fully embraces them. Late one night, we were driving together and got involved in a car accident. Neither of us was hurt, but the car was wrecked and we had to call for help. As we were waiting on the side of the road for the police to come, I was joking with him about all the things that he was insisting I do in his area. He was in charge of security on the program, but he could have been any functional type person. ‘You are going to bankrupt the program,’ I said. ‘We are going to have all the security we could possibly need, but there won’t be a program anymore.’ ‘That would suit me just fine,’ he told me, and he was serious. ‘The rest of the program is not my job; it’s not what I get measured against. Security is my job.’ “Looking back on this, I remember it being such a shock to me that he would say, in effect, ‘I really don’t care about the program. That’s your job. I only care about my own sandbox.’ His comment led me to start questioning some of the people with whom I worked. I had assumed that everyone I was working with looked at things from the perspective of what was good for the program overall, that they wanted the whole program to be successful, and that their own special area was secondary. “What I found out was that he was not unique—virtually none of the people who worked with me had the same goal that I did. Their expectation was that I, as the project leader, would integrate all of these different narrow vertical goals. It was my job alone to care about what was good for the program as a whole. That was an enlightening experience for me, and it’s why I believe that it is so critical to make absolutely sure everyone has a clear understanding of what we are trying to do and feels ownership for the goals of the entire project.” Jackie Leitzel, the contracting officer for the U.S. Air Force, recalls: “Before Terry arrived, we were just spinning our wheels, so I understood what he was saying about the problem of people having different goals. Before he came, Logistics might be saying one thing while Testing was saying another, and I would have to go to the program director to ask which version we were going with—and even then I still didn’t get a clear-cut answer. At one of the first meetings after Terry came on board, he showed us several charts about teaming and shared goals. Terry got us focused fast with the same goal to get on contract in six months. Suddenly we knew what we were aiming for.” Not only did Terry get everyone to agree on the same goal, he encouraged their input on how best to reach it: “I held weekly meetings with representatives from each of the five companies competing for the contract in order to give them an update on where we stood, what had changed since the last time we spoke, where we were having problems in the program office, where the requirements stood, and what approvals we still needed to get from my upper management. After these group meetings, I would meet with each of the five contractors separately—not to tell them something, but to listen to what they had to say. When they were with the four other competitors, they were all guarded and careful about what they disclosed. Nobody wanted to give away their competitive edge or reveal any weaknesses. They started out reserved in the one-on-one meetings, but as they saw that I wasn’t just doing this for my health or because it was polite, they began to approach these meetings much more seriously. “From my point of view, I was trying to learn—as opposed to just trying to squeeze information out of them. I would ask, ‘Give me some feedback. Tell me specifically about this requirement. Does the path we’re headed down seem right to you? Is there a requirement—or two or three or four—which you think is not going to be consistent with us getting a low-cost system? What I want to know is: Are we spinning our wheels in some area that we don’t really understand, and what are the implications?’ “For example, we suggested a requirement to put this weapon on a number of different kinds of airplanes. A couple of the companies said, ‘We’ve looked at that, and we can do that, but it’s going to take a really long time to go through all of the engineering details. If we could just start off putting it on one or two planes and get this thing built and fielded, and then modify it if we need to, we would be much better off in terms of overall cost, overall schedule, and overall performance.’ “By and large, the government frowned upon doing things that way at this stage of a program. Its view was that once you decide on your requirements, then you call in the contractor and say, ‘Here is exactly what we are going to do, we’ve got it all figured out, and now it is up to you to go and respond.’ But I didn’t believe that was the way to get the most bang for the buck. I wanted the five companies who were going to bid to be involved in the process of refining the requirements. Because they were the ones who had to respond to whatever innovations we pitched, it didn’t seem to me to be in their best interest—or ours—to say, ‘Okay, this is what we’re going to do, and you companies are going to learn how to adjust.’ I thought that the best way to improve our chances of getting a quality product was to allow for some give-and-take at this stage, when our vision for the missile was still in flux. “The fact of the matter is that most requirements are just made up by someone. Typically, a requirement starts off as somebody’s opinion or view of what would be good, but what often happens is that everybody then begins to march as if it’s a law of nature that you’ve got to meet this requirement. The prevailing assumption is that however much time and however much money it takes, it doesn’t matter because the requirement is the requirement. Once a requirement is established and everyone has signed on to it, the requirement becomes an expectation, which is extremely difficult to change. As such, it is much easier and much better to carefully think about requirements before they are formulated, rather than after they appear to be cast in stone. “One of the major reasons for schedule slippages and cost overruns is uncontrolled growth in requirements. So I allow, and even encourage, flexibility regarding requirements, but only up to a certain point. Once I am convinced that we have taken the necessary steps to formulate requirements that meet the needs of the customers and which are fully understood by them, I have found it useful—and this doesn’t come easy to me—to create a very bureaucratic process for changing requirements. Basically, I say there will be no changes in requirements until the customers understand the cost and schedule implications of the change and explicitly agree to those implications. It is quite amazing to see how a process that simply establishes accountability for requirements growth promotes better discipline and yields a more realistic schedule and budget.” Throughout the entire process, Terry stressed to his team that part of a technical requirement has to be cost: “Cost is a technical issue, and to treat it as something different is crazy. Imagine a car manufacturer telling its engineers, ‘Go and design the next generation whatever-kind-of-car,’ then after it is designed ask, ‘Okay, now can we sell it? Is there a market for something that costs this much?’ It’s a question of establishing the affordable price for a system and then trading off either performance or schedule to meet that price as long as the Key Performance Parameters are met. The trick is to define performance in a way that permits the team to meet the requirements of the system within the constraints of affordability. “Our aim was to demonstrate that we could produce this missile for low cost. What I did was make cost an intrinsic part of the technical requirements for designing the missile. You have to do that to make sure the engineers understand that the success or failure of their activity depends on what the ultimate cost is. The thing about engineers is that they generally do not accept ownership of cost and schedule. They accept ownership of performance, but cost and schedule are somebody else’s problem. “We ran into this problem with ‘radar cross section,’ which is a critical performance parameter that has to do with how visible the cruise missile is on radar. Ideally, you would want it to be totally invisible. You can spend infinite amounts of money on this, so you have to decide what you are willing to accept and can still afford. The way I saw it, the question was: How much better should we go? We had engineers who were very eager to go four or five orders of magnitude better on this parameter. Then there were the cost people saying, ‘We don’t need to be any better than the predecessor program. We don’t want to reach for something and spend a lot of money and then not make it. Let’s stay on ground that we know will not collapse beneath us.’ Ultimately, what I decided was somewhere in between the engineers and the cost people. The engineers whined that I wasn’t being ambitious or aggressive enough, while the bean counters whined about the risk. Nobody was really happy. In the end, it turned out to be a good match of cost and performance.” As the financial manager, Brian knew that the program could not move forward without the approval of the Cost Analysis Improvement Group (CAIG): “They’re the cops of the cost world, and they are there to challenge your assumptions. The head cop at the CAIG was the one who had to sign off on the program, and he was known for grilling people hard about how they put together their cost estimates. What I did was invite one of his deputies to work directly with my cost team. I had him interfacing with all of our engineers and anybody we were working with to help build the cost estimates. My hope was that by making him a member of our team, rather than an adversary with whom we had to struggle to get the program going, he would feel accountable for the product. “To invite him in was a risk because I couldn’t control what he was going to see, but I had worked on other programs before JASSM, and I knew that the worst thing you could have happen was for someone on the CAIG to say, ‘I don’t understand all your data or where your numbers are coming from.’ Even though he was doing an independent estimate in parallel, he knew that our data was good because we shared all of it with him. He, in turn, went to his boss and said, ‘They have credible numbers.’” Brian knew that getting the job done required the ability to adapt to the situation, even if it sometimes meant a willingness to deviate from the norm: “Our plan called for completing the source selection in three weeks. Three weeks to review the proposals and choose the two companies who would compete for the next two years. Three weeks, and then breathe. “I had one person helping me to crunch numbers. When I recruited him, he wasn’t in high demand. In fact, a lot of people around Eglin Air Force Base thought he was off the wall—and he was. He was definitely high maintenance, but he was intelligent and had a passion for what he did. If you ask me, those two things can overcome just about anything. “All he needed was a little direction, so I kept him focused on which way to go. He loved the intensity, and we worked insane hours during those three weeks. The only thing that slowed us down was his chain smoking. We’d be the only ones in the building at 11:00 at night and he’d be smoking like a fiend. Each time he lit up, he had to leave the office and go outside the building. Finally, I said, ‘You’re not leaving! Open the window and smoke. I’ll take the heat for it.’ The person who managed the building complained, ‘We’re going to throw you out of here if you keep this up.’ Fortunately, the source selection was done before he could mobilize the bureaucracy against us. “Other people would never have considered recruiting this guy for their team, but I knew he would get the job done. The room reeked of cigarettes, but we got the job done. I suspect that he never enjoyed himself as much as he did those three weeks during source selection. You have to get the right people for the right job at the right time.” As Lynda Rutledge discovered, sometimes keeping the right people in the right job at the right time is a hard call to make: “Terry gives women more latitude than he does men, and I took him to task for it once, much to his chagrin, I think. A woman in a leadership position on our team was vanishing for long periods without any explanation. One day Terry asked me, because he knew I had the most contact with her, if I thought her absence was having a negative effect on the program. I told him that I thought it was. “Then he asked me what I would do. So I told him, ‘I’d get rid of her.’ I said it wasn’t worth sacrificing the morale of the rest of the team to keep her on. The program was a roller coaster ride as it was, and it was bad for morale when someone whom you relied on to make decisions was disappearing for long stretches and holding people back. ‘But technically she’s good,’ he said. ‘When she’s here,’ I pointed out. “’Well, I just like to give women more latitude,’ he explained. That’s when I told him, ‘You’re a male chauvinist.’ I could tell he was mortified. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘You treat women differently than men,’ I said. He still wasn’t getting it. “’We don’t want to be treated differently,’ I said. ‘What kind of example does that set for junior people when they see somebody senior behaving that way? Is that the example you want to set for future leaders? It’s unacceptable. It’s just not worth the technical benefit she brings to the program.’ He listened to me, but he didn’t get rid of her, and the problem didn’t go away either, as he continued to compensate for her absences.” When it came to devising the process for selecting the two contractors, though, Lynda and Terry were in complete harmony about the need to change the usual way of doing source selection and the need to cut down the enormous amount of information requested by the government team. Considering that the selection was to be equally based on their past performances and their current proposals, Lynda describes the need for less paper and more personal interaction: “Many people in the government don’t want to talk to contractors prior to source selection. They think we should write an all-encompassing Request for Proposal, hand it over to contractors, get an all-encompassing document back, and then go read the thing in our hole and say, ‘We pick you.’ “Personally, I think it’s absurd to choose a contractor without talking to them and finding out who they are, what their strengths are, and how you’re going to team with them. Let’s face it, a contract is like a marriage, and to do that sight unseen, I mean, I just think that a decision worth billions of dollars should not rely on a piece of paper. Terry fought to have the companies do oral presentations instead of simply turning in a written proposal. When all was said and done, we had managed to cut a 1,000-page proposal down to what could be adequately addressed in a four-hour oral presentation.” Although they did get their oral presentations, Lynda tells how the process was not without its problems: “Upper management worried about our ability to evaluate live performances, and the companies argued that scheduling the presentations on different days meant that some of them would have more time to prepare than others. In the end, the compromise was to have them all turn in videotaped presentations at the same time. Unfortunately, that defeated the whole purpose of doing an oral presentation because we missed out on the dialogue. “Nobody was more anxious about the oral presentations than the companies who were doing them. They worried that their engineers weren’t going to be effective presenters or go off on a tangent and never get back to the point. They got nervous after the dry runs, which were face-to-face with government evaluators. There was plenty of dialogue then. We raised hands, asked questions, and cut in. We had the ability to say to our counterparts on the contractor side, ‘Hey, I don’t get what you’re saying. I’ve never heard this before. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ And then they would respond back, ‘Well, the reason we are doing it this way is…’ That was invaluable, and that’s what you really need to do in order to evaluate and understand somebody’s proposal. “When we got the final presentation tapes, some of the contractors had hired professional actors to narrate. In other cases, the companies’ engineers, bless their hearts, gave acting a shot. I wasn’t the only person who considered the videotaped presentations a waste of time. The companies all submitted written slides to accompany their presentations, and most of us who were doing the evaluations turned off the tapes and did our evaluations based on the slides.” Terry had his way of making sure everyone stayed on message. Brian Rutledge recalls a small gesture that took on far greater meaning than he ever thought it would: “After Terry said that we were going to be on contract in six months, he directed someone to make a viewgraph stating this goal: Be on contract by July 1, 1996. That was it. He wanted it pinned up in everybody’s cubicle. At first, I thought, ‘Oh man, this is goofy. I know what we’re doing. I don’t need to have a reminder on the wall.’ When I talked to other people working in the program office, I just rolled my eyes. ‘What’s this guy thinking?’ I said. ‘It’s like we’re in kindergarten.’ “But after a few months, I had to admit that there was something to it. I saw it there every day when I walked up to my desk. I eventually found myself stopping to think, ‘What am I doing to get to that point, and what can I cut out of my work that’s preventing me from getting there? How am I getting distracted from the goal?’” An unexpected admission by Terry revealed the essence of his philosophy: “The truth is that I pulled the number six out of my hat. I would have been happy to be on contract at the end of seven months or even eight months, but I would never have told the team that. “What I wanted to do was set a goal that would challenge these folks to look at things in an entirely new way. I didn’t want a schedule that they felt they could achieve just by working on weekends or figuring out a handful of inventive ways to do things. I wanted something so outrageous that it would cause them, first, to essentially give up, but then—once they figured out that giving up wasn’t an option—to step back and examine all their assumptions, all their beliefs, all the things that were in their heads as a result of their experiences and what they had been told in the past, and to ask themselves with a clean slate: ‘What do I really need to do to achieve this goal?’ “As they ran into hard times, they wanted to negotiate. There were a lot of people saying, ‘Hey, we’ve figured out ways to work faster, but does it really have to be six months, or can it be seven?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘because the difference between six months and seven months is that seven months isn’t the goal.’ “The result was that problems didn’t remain unsolved for long. People no longer scratched their heads and asked one another, ‘How should we make the right decision?’ Now, there was a level of commitment that meant any problem had to be attacked with a sledgehammer. The team addressed all problems, no matter whose area it was in. They wouldn’t let any given problem cause the rest of the team to fail. When a problem was detected, everybody marshaled their energies together to try to figure out quickly, ‘How do we move forward? How do we either solve the problem or get around it?’ “Even after they got to the point where it became fairly certain that they were going to meet the six-month deadline, they were so imbued with energy and passion for achieving the goal that instead of saying, ‘Okay, now let’s coast,’ they kept working on it every day to figure out, ‘What is it that we’ve got in front of us to do, and is there a quicker way to accomplish it? How can we cut another day, another two days, another three days?’ “We kept a chart to measure our progress. But, it wasn’t a chart to mark off this event, that event, and so on. Forget about chronology; it was a chart that graphed how much we had accomplished and how much we had left to do. Some days we put our progress at 70 percent, and the next week, having run into some kind of unanticipated problem, our mark would go back down to 60 percent. People would look at that and say, ‘Oh no, we’ve got to step it up!’ “What we achieved was something even better than six months. At the end of the day, we completed the source selection in less than five months. People were proud of themselves, and with good cause. When we talked about it afterwards, what the team discovered was that they hadn’t known how capable they could be if they just quit thinking about things in the way they had always thought about them. They achieved what they did as a result of passion, commitment, and focus, as opposed to being smart, making good decisions, following the rules, and making sure that they didn’t make any mistakes.” We Would Shoot Granny for a Dollar Jackie Leitzel describes the Program Definition and Risk Reduction phase of the JASSM, which started in June 1996 at the end of the six-month source selection process: “The two defense contractors finally chosen to compete in the Program Definition and Risk Reduction phase were Lockheed Martin Integrated Systems and McDonnell Douglas Aerospace. Each of the companies was awarded contracts totaling $237.4 million and will go head-to-head over the next two years to win the final contract. At the end of this phase, the Department of Defense will award one of the contractors approximately $3 billion for the development, testing, and production of at least 2,400 JASSMs.” Brian Rutledge explains the process further: “What was unique about JASSM was that we let the companies decide what they were going to do during the two years. Every six months, the government conducted a two-day review of the design of each company, brought the best experts, and provided candid feedback. However, we didn’t present to them a Statement of Work and say you have to do A, B, C, D, and E. Because they were at different stages of maturity, we gave them the opportunity to tailor what it was they were going to do over the next two years. At the end of the two years, we would judge them on that and pick the one we believed was best able to carry us on through the rest of the program. We let the competition give us the assurance that we were going to get good value for the money. “When we down-selected from five companies to two, I switched from being the financial lead in the government program office to being program manager on a helper team for McDonnell Douglas. The role of a helper team was to assist your company in winning the contract at the end of the two years. When we began, six government people were assigned to each of the helper teams. We all came from the JASSM program office at Eglin Air Force Base. Winning was the goal. Forget about the old goal of getting on contract in six months. We had a new goal. “I stayed in that position for the duration of the competition, and about halfway into it, McDonnell Douglas merged with Boeing. Our program office was then absorbed into the Boeing organization, and I started splitting my time between Eglin in Florida and the company’s main facility in St. Louis. Soon after we moved into our offices in St. Louis, Terry asked the vice president at McDonnell Douglas/Boeing in charge of JASSM whether he wanted to reconsider having government helpers. ‘Oh no, I want to continue this,’ he said, ‘these people are integral in helping us make decisions.’ And we were. He often asked for my advice on how we should present this or that problem to the government team back home. When I was with the government team, my job was to show why my company earned an “A” grade on the evaluation criteria. At this point, you could say I might as well have been wearing a company uniform. Winning was everything. Naturally, I couldn’t do anything illegal, but all else was fair game. I’ll say this, it was the best job I ever had working for the government in terms of having a clear direction.” Terry describes his role in the competition: “I picked the helpers. Their job was to support their respective company—not to look after the government’s interest, not to make sure the company didn’t do something stupid, not to bring home secrets to me—just to help that company win, period. And the reason that was in the government’s interest was because at the end of the two years, we wanted to face a difficult decision when we selected the winning company. “The government’s role should be to ensure the success of the project, and the way to do that is not to oversee or second-guess the contractor—the way to do that is by helping the contractor. Help the contractor to do things that the contractor can’t do or that the government can do better. The helper teams set the stage for what I wanted the government’s role to be two years later when we got down to one contractor. When we finally got down to the one company that was going to do the job, I wanted to have already established a working relationship in which we were open, straight, candid, and—most of all—trusting of one another. I clearly understood that you can’t do that by just saying it is so. It just doesn’t work that way. “Now, there were a lot of people above me who were against this. Their view was, ‘The guy who loses will protest or create a legal problem for us because he will argue that you gave him weak people or that his competitive position got inadvertently disclosed by these government people.’ But the companies had the capabilities to get rid of any government person they chose at any time for any reason. In other words, the companies were the ones deciding what ‘help’ was and whether or not they were getting it. If they had thought that they needed someone else with a different talent or expertise, I would have done whatever I could to get it for them.” Larry Lawson, the project manager for Lockheed Martin Corporation, reflects on the need to stop doing “business as usual:” “Before acquisition reform, the government said to its contractors, ‘Follow these military standards and everything will be okay.’ From a contractor’s point of view, that was a comfortable place to be. Contractors understood the ‘old way’ of business, where we knew what the government wanted. There was more time, less risk, and more money. “Then came along Terry Little, who was quick to say, ‘We don’t have the time, we don’t have the funds, and we don’t have the answers. We want a missile in half the time for half the price. This is what’s important to us. We have three key performance parameters: system effectiveness, range, and carrier operability. These things are not tradable; everything else is. You will have the freedom to put together your approach that meets our three key performance parameters, and along with that, we will ask for a long-term, bumper-to-bumper warranty to back up the quality of your approach. The objective is a dramatic reduction in acquisition time and funds. You either understand that or you are out of the game.’ “Terry took a very aggressive approach on standards and detailed specifications. He told me, ‘Larry, throw all the military standards out. You don’t have to follow them. I don’t want you to reference a single military standard.’ This was an extreme approach intended to force change—the type of change that was required if we were going to make unprecedented inroads in cutting the time required to field weapons. Suddenly we found ourselves in an environment where our customer was saying, ‘If you want to win, you can’t do things the old way. Here’s the way it is now. We did the last down-select 50 percent on past performance. Now the rules are different. Affordability is going to be foremost. The contractor who can provide the best price—and is somebody that we can work with—is going to win.’ “That was a wake-up call to me. I remember realizing that we were going down the wrong road. We were moving ahead with a performance-oriented agenda. We had to change what we were doing and drive everything toward affordability, and we did. One of our engineers was quoted a few months later as saying, ‘We would shoot granny for a dollar.’ “Of course, change is seldom comfortable. We were in a purely experimental space, which is a disconcerting place to be at times. We moved forward with the vision to create a significantly different model for the missile design, system test, subcontracting, and production, but change was slower to happen in some areas. As a contractor, it is sometimes frustrating when you are going down an acquisition reform path only to find out that it isn’t possible. Looking to place blame for the cost and schedule impacts could have split our team, but we took our lumps and moved on. “We were not known as a cruise missile producer, so most of our team wasn’t burdened with preconceptions of how to proceed. Using the customer’s overarching vision, we opened our eyes to all possible methods, which allowed us to synthesize the design that stands today. The folks that couldn’t get the vision moved on. Those who remained understood the Air Force vision, and we shaped our own. “We recognized that we had to dramatically reduce cost while still keeping the performance bar high. A fully integrated systems design approach to meet performance at the defined cost targets was our only hope of obtaining a reliable and affordable solution. For instance, it was understood that cruise missiles were built in sections and then integrated in final assembly. That approach wasn’t affordable and didn’t contribute in any way to performance. We decided on a uni-body approach, which would reduce material cost and assembly labor, and we were not going to build the missile fuselage out of metal. We said, ‘We’re going to build it out of composites, and we’re going to use boating industry processes.’ “Acquisition reform forced us to take a whole new look at the way we did things. We outsourced work any time we realized that we could do something more affordably with suppliers. I won’t deny that there were conflicts within the organization, but we were able to convince people that this was what it took to win—taking a risk and not surrendering to political pressure. “For example, we normally would have built the composites at our legendary Skunk Works facility in Palmdale, California. Now, because affordability meant everything, we went with a supplier instead. It would have been lower risk and superior quality to do it at Palmdale, but it was going to cost us more money. “We found a company outside of Boston that had been in the business of making baseball bats and golf club shafts. They had never built a military product, but they knew how to weave carbon fiber and were open-minded, and we were committed to making them successful. So we took this small company from being a baseball bat provider to being a cruise missile supplier, and it was a remarkable transformation. “The first prototype they built took a long time, and the end product didn’t measure up. When they built the second one, they had learned what things they didn’t have to do or be concerned about, and so the second prototype was a better product that took about half as long to build. By the time they started work on the sixth one, they knew exactly where they had to be concerned with the strength of this thing as they were putting it together and they knew exactly where they could reduce their cost. “I have to give the credit to the folks at Palmdale. In spite of the fact that they were going to lose the work, they found the Boston company for us. They also helped find a supplier for our missile wings. One of the fellows at Palmdale knew about a company that built surfboards. He said, ‘Hey, look, I think this wing is the same kind of thing that they do with surf boards.’ We went down to their factory in a disadvantaged section of Los Angeles and bought the equipment for them. Now they make cruise missile wings using surfboard technology. “From my perspective, even though we at Lockheed Martin faced the challenge of not having a platform to start with, we were in a better position of being responsive to the government’s objectives. Success was realized by creative, highly motivated people who were not locked into accepted solutions or preconceptions defined by military standards.” In that same competitive spirit, Terry visited one of the contractors’ suppliers and asked him, “What is the prime making you do or causing you to do that you think is worthless or not value-added enough to offset the cost?” As he tells it: “A representative from the prime was present, and so there was a little bit of nervousness on the part of the supplier. I told the representative from the prime to go get a cup of coffee. I ended up with about three pages full of stuff that the supplier said was causing him headaches. “As I was writing all this down, he asked, ‘What are you going to do with that?’ And I said, ‘Not to worry.’ I made it clear to him that I was going to protect him, and I think he accepted this. Legally, I couldn’t do a thing, and he knew that, but I knew that he wouldn’t have told me any of this stuff about the prime if he hadn’t believed me. How did I gain his trust? “Well, for one thing, I was there. A government program manager does not normally go to visit the suppliers of a prime contractor. The fact that I was there and willing to spend a whole day looking at his facility, meeting his people, and talking to them about the program and how important their contributions were—that was a big deal to him. A lot of these people never see any government people, except for inspectors, so when I showed up at their facility, they understood that it was because I wanted to know about what they were doing. “Typically, the government says, ‘Our contract is with the prime, and we don’t have a contract with these suppliers.’ Maybe that’s true, theoretically, but think about this in terms of common sense. A large part of the success of the program depends on what the suppliers to my contractor are doing. Am I just going to close my eyes to that? We have two big companies putting together a cruise missile, and there are all kinds of smaller companies that provide the engine, the warhead, the fuses, and so on. I believe it’s important to communicate with everybody involved in the outcome of a program. “I understand that I can’t go to these suppliers and start making demands, do this, do that, because I don’t have an official means, an actual legal relationship with them. But for me to just say, ‘Well, that’s not my problem,’ or ‘I’m not very interested in any of them’—to me that seems insane. Yes, it is true that we can’t be in there undermining the relationship between the prime and the suppliers, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t, as the government program manager, go to them and say, ‘Tell me what I can do to help you do your job better.’ “I gave the three pages to the prime without any explanation other than, ‘This is what he told me.’ A week later, this guy from the prime came back to me and explained how they’d addressed everything on the list except for one thing, and he gave me a detailed and satisfactory explanation as to why the one thing was still important to do. That was fine. I had no problem with that.” On the need to be aggressive in cutting costs, Brian tells us: “At this stage of the game, the affordability of the missile was rated higher than its technical capability. This was no secret. At the end of the two years, the government would select a contractor who promised technical competency at a good price. In everything the companies were doing in this phase, they had to work to convince the government that they had gotten the price of this missile down. “As one of the Boeing helpers, I told them where I thought they should be in terms of a production price at the end to win the contract. They had the resources to be very aggressive in pricing the missile. Historically, they’d been the cruise missile contractors, and I think they did not take the stance of being aggressive enough on their pricing, and I tried to get them to change. I kept arguing, ‘That’s not good enough to keep out the other guy, who is very hungry and wants to get into the cruise missile business. We need to find some other ways to get this price down lower than he is willing to go.’ I could not convince them that they had to be more aggressive in their production pricing, and this was something that frustrated me throughout the process. In the end, the DOD chose Lockheed Martin Corporation.” Terry recalls: “When it came to choosing which company would be awarded the contract, we would have liked for it to have been a difficult decision. However, it was not a difficult choice. One company was clearly the stronger of the two. The one that lost didn’t do a bad job. They had good engineers, they used disciplined processes, but when they got feedback from the government, instead of listening to us and looking at what they were doing, they argued—’But you just don’t understand.’ It was as though they had their plan and nothing was going to cause them to deviate from that. “The other company listened to our feedback, and after their reviews would go back and decide, ‘What is it that we need to change? Where is it that we need to put more emphasis? Where is it that we need to get rid of people? Where is it that we need to spend more money?’ Every time they got feedback, they saw it as an opportunity to adapt. There was no doubt that by the time we got to the last review, everybody knew who was going to win. “The company that lost also had another big problem. Eventually they overcame it, but by then it was too late. Their suppliers complained that the prime was unwilling to give them the money to build prototypes. Somebody should have asked, ‘How do we convince ourselves that we know how to build this in an affordable way?’ You do prototyping up front and then see if something works like you think it will. Sometimes it will, most of the time it won’t, but then you learn from that. The company that won was not afraid to learn from its mistakes, and prototyping was an essential part of their strategy. “Prototyping is a wonderful way of learning, yet we don’t do enough of it because we would like to believe that if we simply get enough smart people together, we can run through the numbers, put them in the model, do the simulation, and it will all come out just like it is supposed to. But guess what? In the real world, it rarely happens the way we predict with our models. The reason people want it to be that way is because prototyping is not cheap—it is not cheap in terms of the money or the time required to do it. It is messy and sometimes you are embarrassed with the results, but eventually you reach your goal. In the long run, it saves you money.” We’re Married Now Lockheed’s Larry Lawson discusses the change in the way his team had to interact with the government team after winning the contract: “Soon after we won the contract to be the sole source provider on JASSM, Terry and I realized that the majority of his people needed to become helpers—not just the handful who worked with us during the rolling down-select. Their job up to this point had been to measure us and to critique us so that they could do a source selection. For the program to continue moving ahead, his people could not be in the critique mode any longer. We had to all play as a team now, all responsible for the success of the program. “The first thing I did was bring several of the government folks into our facility. I invited them to all of our meetings, and I also made Terry’s deputy my number two person. He moved his office into our facility and sat across the hall from me. “Whenever Terry or I felt like his people were reverting to their traditional role of overseeing the contractor, we met with the key individuals involved to talk about it. Invariably, this led to an offsite with the whole team. At our first offsite after the contract award, Terry got up to speak and said, ‘Let me be clear, we’re married now. We must work together—so don’t come to me with a bunch of domestic squabbles. Divorce would be devastating.’ “Our offsites were crucial in maintaining the focus and reinforcing the message that we were all working together as a team. And they were invaluable in other ways. People got to know one another and realized that they weren’t slimy contractors or inconsiderate government employees. These were real people with real commitments to what they were working on. Were they all motivated to make this program successful? Almost universally, the answer was yes. “After months of working seven-day weeks, our first missile launch after the contract award failed. Our first launch! This worried me because up until that point, some of our innovative designs were unproven other than through extensive subsystem testing and detailed modeling. Everything before flight testing is substantiating data and simulation. The competitive phase didn’t allow either team to fly. “A tremendous effort had gone into that first shot, and the team was shaken. At that moment, we all questioned ourselves, ‘Are we up to it or not?’ We were all determined to get it fixed, and we turned the failure into a challenge to correct the problem by the next scheduled shot date. We would not break the schedule. “It was the defining moment for the program. The status quo response would have been, ‘We need six months to figure this out.’ Terry could have said, ‘I don’t trust you, and I want to have an independent technical review. Oh, by the way, I want a report every day.’ But that’s not what he said. Terry did the right thing. He did not roll in on us. He did not send his people in to stand over our shoulders and say, ‘You really messed up here. We don’t trust you.’ Instead, he asked me if I wanted some help. I asked him to send down three or four people from his test organization who had expertise in specific areas. He sent them down, and they went to work. “It turned out that there was nothing inherently wrong with the system. The problem was associated with some test-related analog circuitry requested by the safety team. But the failure focused the team on challenging all requirements and on testing every detail prior to flight. We redesigned the circuit, and six weeks later shot a missile and it flew beautifully. That was no doubt one of the most pleasing moments in my career. “Teams are defined by how they react in adversity—and how their leaders react. Terry’s reaction, I think, was absolutely right. He decided, ‘I’m going to let you solve this problem.’ His decision demonstrated trust, and it set the tenor for how we moved forward as a program. The lessons learned by this team about how to respond to adversity enabled us to solve bigger challenges and keep the remainder of the test program on track.” And stay on track it did. Jackie Leitzel sums up the success of the U.S. government-Lockheed Martin JASSM team: “Although the estimated unit cost of JASSM when the program was launched in 1995 was $800,000, the contract was awarded to Lockheed Martin in 1998 for a cost of $400,000 per unit. In June 2002, the team received the DoD’s highest acquisition honor, the David Packard Excellence in Acquisition Award, which was presented by C. Pete Aldridge, the Undersecretary of Defense for Acquisition, Technology, and Logistics, in recognition of their exemplary innovations in the defense acquisition process.”
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Assignment 3: Developing a Missile: The Power of Autonomy and Learning was first posted on June 28, 2019 at 11:10 am.
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