Knocking Bolts

By Christer Idhammar

Knocking Bolts is Christer Idhammar's journey through a successful career that began as an 18-year-old merchant mariner in Sweden and took him around the world as a Reliability and Maintenance Management consultant.

He has been instrumental in improving the reliability and maintenance field. He implemented sustainable maintenance centers in developing countries including Tanzania and India, trained and consulted on maintenance management for numerous industries, and even worked with the Panama Canal Commission.

Journey with the man, known by some as a guru and others as the “Godfather of Maintenance” through the places and experiences that helped shape his philosophy and IDCON INC’s 15 beliefs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christer Idhammar
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780988383081

Christer Idhammar

Christer Idhammar is a world-renowned expert within Reliability and Maintenance. His career began in the Swedish merchant marine where he started developing fundamentals of his Results Oriented Reliability and Maintenance Management concept. During the last 40 years this concept has evolved during his time as mechanic crafts person, engineer, manager, consult, educator and philosopher, reliability guru and company leader. As a consultant he started the Idhammar group of companies in 1972 and his own company in USA 1985 -IDCON INC in Raleigh North Carolina, USA.He is the author of thousands of articles, In recognition for his international contribution in the field of Reliability and Maintenance, he received the coveted EUROMAINTENANCE Incentive award during the biannual EUROMAINTENANCE 2002 conference in Helsinki in June 2002. In 2008 he received the Salvetti Foundation Best Presentation all categories award among 158 international presenters during Euromaintenance 2008 in Brussels Belgium and in 2013 he received best presentation award at the Reliability2.0 conference in Las Vegas NV, USA from Reliability Web.His memoir “Knocking Bolts” details his journey’s throughout the world and how those experiences directly tie to Reliability and Maintenance.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Coffee with the Sheikh

It was a cold winter day in 1969, and I had been waiting several hours before MT Sea Sapphire, a 67,000-ton tanker, emerged from the fog. The Sea Sapphire docked in Finland to unload crude oil and then travel on the light to Das Island in the Persian Gulf with three Norwegian maintenance contractors and me, a Swedish Reliability and Maintenance Management consultant, aboard with the ship’s crew. After eight years at sea as a motorman, second and first engineer, and chief engineer, I had just finished my engineering degree and started my first job with a Norwegian consulting company implementing Reliability and Maintenance systems for ships.

I changed careers because I was married, had a young son, and wanted to be home more with my little family. Yet here I was, boarding another ship. My first job on land was setting up a Reliability and Maintenance system on a ship. I was looking forward to working in an office, but the client wanted me present on board for the best results. Then, as it may be for most young people who have spent some time at sea, I quickly forgot the calling for another ship that got in my veins. For me it is still there, 50 years later. Whenever I see a ship en route, I still feel that pull, wondering which watch is on—the twelve to four, the four to eight or the eight to twelve, and what the destination might be.

Working as a maintenance consultant on the Sea Sapphire meant I wouldn’t be stuck in the hot and loud confines of the engine room as I had been as an 18-year-old apprentice. I was assigned the super cargo cabin on the upper deck behind the bridge, dining with the captain, first officer and chief engineer at night with my only business below being an observer. A couple of times per day, I collected information about the equipment for the system I was setting up and then spent many hours working in the privacy of my single-bed cabin. It felt roomy and luxurious after the many years of sharing double-bunk cabins with small, round portholes bobbing just above the surface. Now I had a view. For the first time on a ship, I could enjoy the sea breeze, admire the ocean and occasionally watch the land we passed—the white cliffs of Dover, the dramatic rocks of Gibraltar. And, I was glad that it wasn’t me who had to try to create a balancing act down below as we hit bad weather in the Bay of Biscay (as usual).

But, it was by no means a vacation. I had a lot of work to do in order to make sure the maintenance system was set up and functioning correctly. Much of the documentation from the manufacturers was missing, so I ended up spending quite a lot of time in the engine room studying, aiming to understand things, and then heading back up to my cabin to set up the maintenance procedure for the equipment and components.

Most of it was Preventive Maintenance, and I took a lot of pictures (we used Polaroid cameras back then) to make sure nothing was missed. While the crews on these ships were very great and capable craftspeople, ever since the Merchant Marines introduced a new scheduling system in the mid-1960s—rotating work with leave every two months to three months—it became hard to keep track of which maintenance work was to be done and by whom. Prior to this, the crews signed on for much longer tours, which required fewer hand changes regarding responsibilities. Adding to the issue was the fact that it was hard to find competent crews. Few had graduated as marine technicians or marine engineers, so they had to take people with experience and move them up, which meant that multiple skill sets could come into play. This triggered a need for a comprehensive maintenance system, one that was well documented and could be picked up by anybody as well as cross-referenced with a log.

Laptops did not yet exist, so I spent many nights burning the midnight oil documenting the whole system by hand on index cards, covering inspection regularity, oil testing, filter changing, and when to do piston overhauls. Later, all these cards would be typed up by a secretary, organized and bound into a book that was easy to manage for the crew, and I’d deliver it to the shipping company as my final report.

Just south of the Cape Verde Islands we had a blackout. That ever-present vibration you feel on a ship changed, and I heard the main turbine slow down, then the lights went out—a main switchgear had failed. The switchgear had been hot for a while, but the electrician had said not to worry. We had used a candlestick to measure how fast it would melt when placed on the hottest parts, an old-school and, up until then, dependable trick. According to this test, all was good. It may sound a bit dangerous, but most of the ships at that time had DC (direct current), not AC (alternating current), which came later. We had electricians who spit on their fingers and with a quick touch checked whether there was power or not. I told them that there was safer test equipment to use, like an infrared gun with a laser beam that showed where you measured the temperature, but at that time it was considered too expensive.

Today, an infrared camera would be used to monitor the condition of the switchgear, and the blackout would likely have been prevented. In 1969, very few could financially justify an IR camera on board a ship. Nowadays, they cost about $10,000, and you can even get an attachment for your cell phone that does a decent job for about $250. The equivalent cost of such high-tech equipment in 1969 was about $450,000.

While the repair crew worked on the overheated switchgear, some of the crew fished for sharks. A hook on a steel wire was baited with meat while the steward threw frozen blood in the water. In seconds, several big beasts appeared, and one crew member reeled in an 80 pounder. It was a truly magnificent animal, its skin like fine sandpaper, wriggling violently, snapping at us with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. When you get a fish like that, you stay away. Still somewhat conflicted about the idea of fishing instead of my former responsibility of carrying out the repairs, I just watched, relieved when the switchgear was fixed and we could set full speed ahead again.

We didn’t make it very far until we ran into another delay. This time it was worse—personal injury. The first mate fell while inspecting one of the oil cargo tanks, hurting his back so badly that we had to make a stop in Cape Town and get him to a hospital. We arrived at midnight and anchored so far out that we could only see the distant lights of Cape Town and their reflections in the ocean. Finally, we continued the journey, rounding the Cape of Good Hope onto the final stretch for Das Island.

After finishing my work, I said goodbye to the many new friends I had made on the Sea Sapphire and set ashore in a lifeboat with three Norwegian independent contractors. My long trip home, via five countries, began at the very small airport on Das Island.

The pilot stood by the 30-year-old Douglas DC-2 that would take us to the first layover in Manama City, Bahrain—smoking a cigarette. Used to strict smoking regulations on board the tanker, we were somewhat concerned with the smoking pilot, especially since they were fueling. We reluctantly boarded the DC-2 by climbing up the steep ladder at the rear end of the aircraft.

Luckily, we took off without issues on the short flight and landed safely in Bahrain. We were taken to a mediocre hotel to wait until we could get a flight via Damascus to Beirut, to Istanbul to Vienna, then to Copenhagen to Stockholm. (It took time to travel this far in the 1960s.) None of the hotel staff spoke English, so we were left in the dark about how long we would stay and had to guess what we were eating. After some reasoning, we agreed on a principle I always used after that: if it looks and smells good—just eat it. When working in the international arena you cannot be a picky eater.

By the third day, we were getting restless, and two of the Norwegian contractors and myself decided to find a taxi to take us around Bahrain for some sightseeing. The third contractor, Torleif, killed time with a bottle of vodka and preferred to stay at the hotel.

The taxi driver drove around and showed us some old mosques and other landmarks. At that time, Bahrain was not as developed as it is today, and we got a true glimpse of the old Arabic world. After a while, the taxi driver, who spoke some English, asked if we wanted to meet the Sheikh. We thought it was a joke, but he was sincere. Once a week, he explained, anybody could visit with him and have coffee, and today was such a day.

We pulled up to a whitewashed official building with a pillared passage that offered shade leading up to it. We joined a crowd of about 50 people and waited until Sheikh Isa bin Salman Al Khalifa had entered the building. Nobody was allowed into a room before him. At this time, Bahrain was still under British rule, and Sheikh Isa, as was his nickname, was a Sunni Muslim who would witness its independence just two years later.

Once everything was set up, we were shown into a hall and seated along the walls. The Sheikh sat at the short end in a throne-like chair. It was dead silent. All you could hear was the slight sound of people sitting down on chairs.

Except for us, all of the men in the room were dressed in white robes and head garments. I can’t remember how the two Norwegians dressed that day, but I wore a white short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. Needless to say, we stood out as the only Westerners.

After a moment’s silence, the tradition began. The man sitting closest to the right of the Sheikh stood up and said something, and then the Sheikh nodded and said something back. And that’s how it continued as one after another the men got up to address him. Some people went up to him with envelopes, I don’t know if they were dues or gifts, and others just said things we obviously didn’t understand.

Since we were the last ones allowed inside, we were at the end of the hall. I stood as the very last person, and my Norwegian friends nervously asked to me for advice. What should they say?

Say, ʻYour Highness, I am from Norway and visiting while waiting for a flight home,’ I whispered back.

During the many weeks together on the ship, we had developed a witty jargon, joked and laughed, and they thought I was pulling their leg. So, when it became their turn, they mumbled something even I couldn’t understand, bowed, and sat down. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake and stated loud and clear:

Your Highness, my name is Christer Idhammar, I am honored to be here. I completed an assignment on a ship and am on my way to my homeland, Sweden.

The Sheikh smiled and said, You are welcome in my country.

Then it was time for coffee, which was served in small cups to six men at a time. It was a mixture of several different types of coffee, one that was very bitter, another that was very sweet, and lastly, green coffee, which is unroasted beans and very popular in the Arabic countries. In between each group of six, a man swung a brass cane which let out smoke, probably some type of frankincense. It was very ceremonious, and I truly felt honored to be there.

Once the coffee was finished, the meeting was over. While the others began heading outside, an adjutant told us the Sheikh wanted to have a word with us. I shook hands with him, and we exchanged some pleasantries; it felt both surreal and completely normal, as a conversation between any two men meeting for the first time.

In the taxi to the hotel, the Norwegians talked about how embarrassed they were, not having said anything legible. I was lost in thought. As I watched the Arabic cityscape swoosh by outside the taxi window, I contemplated how I had now experienced a real royal welcome. Meeting with a person of the Sheikh’s prominence and having been allowed to speak to him as a young consultant from Sweden seemed like a big deal. First of all, we were foreigners. Secondly, we were not Muslims. Mostly, we were just plain working people, but this ruler had a custom that allowed anyone, I assume, regardless of socioeconomic or international status, to interact with him. In 1969, an Arabic country was even more alien for Westerners than now. The visit with the Sheikh showed me that at the end of the day, we are all just people. And, if you grab on to opportunities, expected or unexpected, they will teach you something and/or pay off in one way or another. In my case, it was capturing an opportunity. As long as you are curious, perhaps a little brave, and respectful of other people, their culture and social codes, there’s an opportunity, a crossroads and a possible point of understanding. If you are open to it, doors will open for you.

Back at the hotel, we shook life back into Torleif, who was passed out on the sofa after finishing off the entire bottle of vodka. Groggily, he asked where we had been. When we told him that we had coffee with His Highness Sheik Isa bin Salman Al Khalifa, he stared at us for quite a while then said, Yeah right! and fell back to sleep. To this day, I think he still doesn’t believe us.

⚙ Basic Principles ⚙

Nothing runs without maintenance. It’s a bold statement, but it is true. Maintenance is much bigger than people realize, and its importance is often overlooked. When you fly over New York City at night watching all those million lights below, think about how much maintenance is needed there—8.5 million people. Every dishwasher, air-conditioning unit, stoplight, subway train, escalator in a department store, espresso machine, pizza oven and icemaker, not to forget a huge water and sewage system, needs to be reliable, meaning maintenance is important. It’s endless. So are the opportunities for a person who chooses to make maintenance their career and passion.

I have worked in Operations and Maintenance of huge diesel engines, diesel generators, turbines, boilers and all kinds of equipment on board ships and in process industries in 52 countries and for 59 years as a craftsperson and engineer, but mainly as a consultant focusing on Reliability and Maintenance Management.

For nearly six decades, my world has been process industries— cars, chemicals, food and beverage, iron ore, oil and gas, power, steel, paper, pulp and sawmills, but also university campuses and airports. The list goes on, but basically, reliability is important everywhere, and a breakdown of equipment results in risk of environmental damage, personal injury, loss of quality and volume in throughput, or high costs for maintenance.

It has been an amazing career, crossing paths with many, many fascinating people and traveling to both wonderful and frightening places. I have seen different eras. Styles of maintenance have come and gone, equipment has evolved and in some cases become more complex and higher capacity over the years. Plants and products have changed, but there is one thing that remains—maintenance will always be needed.

While we are now experiencing an era not driven by maintaining, but by replacing, those new iPhones, iPads and other technologies still need to be made. And in those plants, someone needs to make sure the equipment is running. It may be true that we have increased manufacturing capacity and that we halved the personnel in the heavy industry, but that’s not true of maintenance.

Equipment reliability is important. What would happen if traffic lights were not reliable and showed green in all directions? Would you dare to take a flight if you did not trust that the plane was reliable and safe to fly? What about if you could not trust that your car would start and run reliably for a long trip? Today, all this equipment is very reliable because of design, good maintenance and analytical problem solving with constant feedback leading to even better design. It was not that long ago (the 1970s) when car exhaust systems had to be replaced every 2–3 years and spark plugs had to be changed frequently. You would not take a trip from New York to Chicago without spare belts, spark plugs and good tools in the trunk.

In all this time, nearly 60 years in my case, much has changed in our world, but the processes that comprise the holistic Reliability and Maintenance Management system have not. The only thing that keeps evolving is technology, and I mean that in terms of the tools us maintenance people use to manage and carry out our work—computer systems, mass data collection and Predictive Maintenance instruments, for example.

No matter how expensive or cutting edge your new technology is, successful and quality maintenance management is 10% technology and 90% about people. Someone still has to turn the machines on, as well as monitor and repair them. Of this I have firsthand experience, because my brother Börje and I were instrumental in developing the first Computerized Maintenance Management System (CMMS) in the early 1970s. The Idhammar System, an updated version, of course, is still in use today. While the CMMS has made maintenance management much easier and more efficient, like so many technological solutions and improvements, it still requires humans to manage and execute maintenance work.

I’d like to take it one step further and add that not only does successful and quality maintenance management require people, it requires the right people, doing the right things. I learned that early as a young apprentice on big ships, where we often worked in confined spaces with few spare parts, sometimes in raging storms and often under tight deadlines. There was no option but to perform and have each other’s backs. On land it is different. It’s less of a matter of life and death, and all too many times I see various maintenance roles poised for the wrong things. It’s a huge waste of time and money, as it can cause personal injuries, environmental damages, slowdowns in production schedules and even unnecessary stops and expensive maintenance. In order to get the right people to do the right things, you need good leadership. This has followed like a red thread onward into my consulting in the world of chemical plants, oil and gas refineries, steel factories, iron ore mines, paper mills, pulp mills, sawmills—well, you name it, and I have probably been in that type of facility.

Over the years I’ve developed many analyses, theories and approaches to successful management, including maintenance management. Some are rooted in the management teachings of Dr. W. Edwards Deming, Jim Thompson and Eliyahu M. Goldratt. If we break it down simply, I’d say the four cornerstones of maintenance management are as follows:

1. Strong, long-term, consistent, engaged and visible leadership that understands and interacts with all levels of an organization and leads to continuously improve quality volume output.

2. Competent people executing tasks in well-defined processes.

3. Maintenance and operations working in an equal partnership

4. Continuous improvement of the essential Reliability and Maintenance Management processes: Preventive Maintenance and work management including Planning and Scheduling and Root Cause Problem Elimination.

Clearly, these are all extremely important concepts, but there is no coincidence that strong leadership is number one.

To become a successful maintenance leader, it really helps to have a hands-on understanding of the importance of these processes. As I was told as a young motorman on my first ship, A sailor does not pray for good winds, he learns how to sail. And just like we did on ships, learning the ropes from scratch and confronting every problem immediately is always best. On board a ship, you have no one to call for help, so the crew had to find ways of fixing any problem that might occur. As a useful consultant, it’s not enough to just roll up to a client with a suit and briefcase (and in my case, a foreign accent). The basic knowledge and understanding of repair and maintenance will always override academic achievement, though being accomplished in both is obviously preferred. A weak leader will have weak results. A strong captain needs to be able to manage the ship and command the crew, delegate well, involve and inform his crew and earn respect as well as moving forward, or he risks mutiny.

My approach that great leadership is a combination of authority and credibility is what has lent me success in my five decades in a leading Reliability and Maintenance role. With credibility comes trusted authority; it’s not the other way around. You do not need be the expert of all the equipment your organization maintains, but since you aren’t the one working

40 hours on the floor, your ability to listen, to be humble and show empathy

Reviews for Knocking Bolts

[LINDA · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As a Maintenance planner I find this book to be inspiring.
I am excited to be part of a new maintenance team and will definitely be using the principles in Knocking Bolts as guidelines.