My introduction to the world of wood trusses didn’t begin in the air-conditioned comfort of an office. Instead, I started out building trusses, spending my days walking in circles around a C-clamp press. I had taken the job as a summer student, hoping to make money for university. In hindsight, I was even less sure about what I was doing than I thought at the time.
My crew leader—who also served as my trainer, though I use that term loosely—rarely spoke more than a few words a day to me. Most of the time, those words were blunt, direct, and centered around telling me I had @#$#’d up again. I readily admit that if I had continued as a truss builder, my career in the industry would have been short-lived, not so much because of the physical nature of the work, but because, quite frankly, I wasn’t very good at that part of the job.
I didn’t understand—nor did he explain—that connector plates needed to be placed exactly according to the engineering drawings. I also didn’t notice that after he ripped a 4x4 plate from the peak joint and appeared to put it back as I had placed it, he had actually rotated it 90 degrees. Only later, after I had spent time in front of a computer screen, did I learn that connector plates have different strength properties depending on their orientation. Maybe he thought I would know this instinctively or maybe he didn’t think about it at all, but it would have been more productive for everyone if he had said aloud how and why these details matter.
I spent only a couple of months building trusses that summer before I got a tap on the shoulder one night, leading to a role in the design office. There I came to understand the significance of the details. Furthermore, my hands-on experience gave me credibility with the shop team. Frequent visits to the shop to troubleshoot problems or discuss what worked and what didn’t helped me stay mindful of the people responsible for cutting and assembling the trusses I was designing.
In my conversations today with component plant owners and GMs, I’ve noticed that it’s rare for newly hired designers to spend time in the shop. I think this is a huge missed training opportunity. A little time in the shop can teach lessons that stick with a designer throughout their career. Even a few weeks in the shop can make a big difference.
Some lessons that have stuck with me are these:
- Placing the underside plate on a joint when none of the plate projects out can be very challenging—but a simple fix in many cases is tweaking the web cuts.
- Keeping truss webbing consistent from truss to truss, even in a plant with automated jigging, has many benefits.
- Making trusses as symmetrical as possible is always important. For example, you should avoid two similar webs that could mistakenly be placed on either side of the center—if they’re close to identical, make them the same if possible.
- Take a minute to look at the shop drawings that are going to the plant. Can you read the relevant dimensions? Our design software often crowds a lot of text together. If you can’t read it, then the production folks won’t be able to either. Consider adding dimensions, notes, or details to help out the production people.
- Wood has splinters, and truss plates have teeth—they bite. Truss shops are often cold or hot, and rarely as comfortable as an office workstation. A little empathy goes a long way.
As a side note, you also should consider this. If a new-to-the-industry component designer turns their nose up at spending time in the shop, they may not be the best team player for your staff. In our industry, as with many others, egos can be a detriment to achieving a cooperative and productive working environment. If someone already thinks they’re too good for one of the jobs in your operation, then you have to wonder if their attitude will improve over time or not.
Does your company include shop time for new hires? Are there other benefits I’ve overlooked? Drop me a line and share your experiences.