Air Filters Billiard Cues Ice Sculptures Suits
Today on "how it's made"... Air filters... Billiard cues... Ice sculptures... And suits. Pollutants in the air can make it tough for you to breathe and function. But pollutants can also affect your car's performance. It's the reason an air filter is standard equipment on internal combustion engines. The filter keeps dirt and particles out of the engine so it runs smoothly and gives good mileage. Trapping dust and grime is a dirty job, and it takes its toll. Air filters get clogged and have to be replaced regularly. So we need a steady supply. To make an air filter, an automated spool unwinds thick paper and feeds it between two rollers. Bumps on the rollers press indentations into the paper. The short, vertical ones are spacers to help air flow through the filter. The long, horizontal lines are the pre-fold creases. The rollers fold the paper along those lines as they push it out the other side. An automated counter keeps track of the folds, because each filter needs to have approximately 75 pleats. Now a conveyor belt moves the paper to a circular blade. A steel bar holds the paper pack down while the blade slides on a motorized rail, slicing the paper at the correct number of folds. The paper pack rolls down the conveyor belt, heading to the next station. In the meantime, a robotic arm sprays liquid wax onto the aluminum molds that will be used to shape the tops and bottoms of the filters. The carousel turns, positioning another set for spraying. The wax will ensure that nothing sticks to the molds during the next steps. Now chrome-plated steel screens fall into a positioning tray. A robot picks them up with magnets two at a time. It places them on the bottom mold for the filter. A platen, or plate, bearing two top molds flips forward on the carousel. The carousel turns, and remember the paper packs? A worker places one in each of those two top molds. Now a robot dispenses a liquid polyurethane mixture around the screen in the bottom mold. Then the automated platen flips back so that the top molds with the paper packs face down. An air cylinder pushes a platen holding the bottom molds up to meet the top ones, and heat triggers this chemical reaction. The polyurethane swells and covers the screen and the paper pack, forming a solid, flexible plastic layer. A robot with grippers peels the new air filter out of the mold and sets it on a cooling rack. Because of the wax sprayed onto the molds, the robots don't have to work hard to pull the air filters out. Like well-greased cookie sheets, nothing gets stuck to the bottom. After they're cool, the rack tips up, and the air filters tumble down a slide to a worker who collects each one. With a band saw, she trims the excess polyurethane, or flash, from the rim. Now all that's left is the packaging. On another assembly line, a robot prepares to make a radial seal type of filter. It sprays the no-stick wax onto the brims of molds that look like inverted top hats. A small wheel turns and delivers the molds to a larger assembly wheel. Another robot picks up plastic caps and places them inside the molds. Then a pneumatic pusher raises the caps, and nozzles dispense a hot glue bead onto their edges. Another pneumatic pusher tool forces round packs of pleated paper out of cylindrical holders and into the molds. The big wheel keeps on turning, positioning the molds to receive more packs, or tubes, of filter paper. The wheel pushes the paper-filled molds onto a conveyor belt. And down the line, a robot pumps a polyurethane mix into the bottom mold for the filter. A worker presses the paper-filled top mold onto it. Heat triggers the chemical reaction that expands the polyurethane, encasing the bottom of the filter paper and forming a gasket that will fit snugly near an engine intake. The radial air filter is now completely assembled, and it's taken just 20 minutes. The filters are ready to work under the hood of today's automobiles. The game of billiards has been popular for several hundred years, dating back as early as the 15th century. Then players used a mace to strike the ball. When the mace's large head made it tough to shoot along the rail, players started using its slimmer tail end. This led to the invention of the cue stick so players didn't have to worry about switching back and forth. Pick a cue, but be selective, because choosing a stick that feels right for you pays off when you're behind the eight ball. To make the butt, or bottom section, of a cue, they start with a block of expensive bird's-eye maple. The wood spins on a lathe. A doughnut-shaped blade moves on rails and cuts around the circumference, turning the block into a cylinder. As it cuts, the shavings are vacuumed away. Now a square-tipped steel cutter carves into one end of the wood. It makes a groove that will be used to attach the butt's forearm to its lower part. He slides a black plastic ring around the rim and glues it down. It's decorative, but it will also give the cue some stability. Next, he brushes glue on top of it to attach another ring, this one made of a nickel/silver alloy. He screws the forearm into the lower part of the butt. Glue oozes out of the joint as the screws tighten. The forearm is now bonded to the lower part of the cue, making one butt piece. Then they employ a vertical cnc lathe. Computerized cutters move up on rails, precisely tapering each butt piece to the desired diameter. After that, another computerized tool called a cnc inlay cutter chisels geometric designs into the cue's forearm. The same type of cutter carves matching designs from ebony wood. A worker removes the ebony cutouts and inspects them. He handles them cautiously because the thin strips of wood are fragile and break easily. With a stick, he slathers a thick epoxy mixture into the cue stick's carved-out design. The ingredients of this high-strength glue are a trade secret. Next, he presses one of the ebony cutouts into the glue-filled cavity. He fits a synthetic ivory cutout inside of the ebony one, pressing it down into the glue with big tweezers. He continues to build the design with another piece of ebony. These intricate inlays give the cue some attitude. A cue stick's good looks can affect a player's mind-set and give him or her a competitive edge. This glue may look a bit messy now, but when it dries, the ample amounts will keep the inlay tight, preventing air and moisture from getting in and doing damage. He inserts little pieces of synthetic stone as a final touch... And then presses all the pieces down with a wood dowel. Next, a computerized drill bores a hole in the exact center of the joint section. A second drilling makes a thread inside the hole. He screws a steel joint pin dappled with glue into the thread created by the drill, twisting it tightly with a special tool. When the joint is fully entrenched, he unscrews the tool. And now the butt can be screwed to the shaft for the game and then taken apart for transport. An automated paint gun sprays clear varnish onto the cue sticks. A motorized stamping machine inks the logo onto the cue's butt piece. And a worker applies glue as the cue stick turns on a lathe. This is in preparation for the wrap. Then the turning cue pulls linen thread from a spool, wrapping itself with the lower section with glue on it. This linen wrap will make the cue easier to grip and will absorb moisture. They roll the cue stick up against a high-speed cloth buffing wheel to give it a shine. Now these cue sticks are ready for some serious competition in the pool hall. Ice sculptures can make quite an impression at a party or social engagement. Before they melt, their beauty can be seen and admired. Mass production of ice sculptures is now possible with new machines and tools. And the market for ice sculptures is expanding. It's a curtain of ice, and it's in demand for big events. They string beads of ice on plastic-coated aircraft cable. As it melts, it creates a waterfall effect. It's guaranteed to make an impression. But just how do they get this ice to be crystal clear? They start by tucking a plastic liner into a big tank. They pipe filtered water into it. Then a worker places a measuring bar with a dipstick across the tank. The dipstick is set at 10 inches. That's how thick the block of ice needs to be. He clamps electric submersible pumps on each end of the tank and positions them underwater at a 45-degree angle. These pumps are key. They keep the water moving, forcing bubbles and impurities to the top while clear water below freezes. He shuts the lid to allow the water to freeze. 24 hours into it, he'll remove one of the pumps. Three days later, he probes the ice under the watery surface with a pick. It needs to be level, so he checks the entire ice surface with a measuring bar. Next, he siphons off the excess water with a wet vacuum. He'll take off a couple of buckets full. Then he attaches a lifting bar to brackets on each end of the tank and lifts the 300-pound ice block with a chain hoist. Now he peels away the plastic liner and inspects. The ice has to be absolutely perfect-- no clouds, cracks, or impurities. Because water expands when it freezes, the block is a bit too thick, so they slice off the excess ice with an electric band saw, trimming it back to the desired 10-inch mark. The steel blade cuts cleanly and evenly. He slides the extra pieces of ice into a heated pit, where they'll melt and be recycled back into the system. Before the ice is carved, they put the design on paper. The artist is sketching a liquor luge-- two vodka bottles made of ice, through which drinks will flow. Now its time to cut the ice. The block turns on a special lathe. Then they propel an electric router across the spinning block. The sharp edges of the router cut into the ice. A guide wheel above the router follows a plastic outline of a bottle so it cuts precisely to the design. All this is done in the freezer. The temperature in here is just over 17 degrees fahrenheit. Now the vodka bottle is starting to take shape. It takes about four minutes for this machine to carve it. This task couldn't be performed as quickly or precisely by hand. After the carving, the worker brushes off the ice shavings. Then its time for the blowtorch. It melts the frost so the ice looks like glass, through which you can clearly see the label and plastic tubing that have been frozen inside. Now we have the finished vodka luge, which will be used to serve drinks at parties. The barman pours the drinks through a funnel at the top, and the drink chills all the way down to the martini glass. If a fish fountain is more your style, this is how it's done, the old-fashioned way. The sculptor, armed with a chainsaw, shapes the ice following a cardboard template. She smoothes the ice with an electrically powered disk grinder, then cuts in detail by using a die grinder with a triangular bit. She dusts off the snow... And then polishes the ice with a blast from the blowtorch. Now, that's a work of art. In today's world, suits are common, allowing both men and women to dress the part for any situation-- everyday work or a special occasion. While men and women may wear different parts of a suit, the basics of the suit have been unaltered for over a century-- a jacket and trousers or skirt. It's a look that's never out of style. Every suit begins with a design on paper. The style is precisely sketched. It's a creative process but also highly technical. He plans the entire outfit, right down to the last stitch. No detail is left to chance here. They feed the design data to this computerized cutting machine. The blade slices through fabric placed under paper. And because it's computerized, it's very precise, producing pieces that will fit together like a puzzle. This is how they used to cut the fabric-- by hand. It was more time-consuming, and the margin for error was much greater. Now it's time to reinforce the fabric. She places fusing tape made of fabric onto a sleeve piece and then sends it to a heat chamber with rollers that will bond the tape to the material, giving it strength. Next, it's over to the sewing machine. A worker lines up two sleeve layers, and it's hands-free from here. A rail powered by compressed air descends and guides the fabric under the needle. A computer controls the sewing. This frees up the operator to continuously feed the machine. This is an automatic pocket welt machine. She places the front of a jacket under a clamp and puts the welt fabric in the clamp and a pocket flap at the side. The clamp automatically slides the fabrics to needles that sew the welt and flap onto the jacket. Then two tiny knives emerge and cut the pocket open. The result-- a precisely made pocket completely by automation. The only human involvement is to feed the machine and then collect the finished product. Now over at another station, an operator irons fusible tape onto the open seams. This stabilizes them and gives them a crisp finish. A worker places the front of the jacket on a headless mannequin called a buck. A hot metal press moves in, and the pressing reshapes the jacket to the contours of the buck. Now she puts a sleeveless jacket on another buck and tucks a shoulder pad underneath. She presses a pedal to activate the machine, and the hot presses lower, melting the glue on the shoulder pad, which fuses it to the jacket. Now to steam the fabric. Another jacket is on another mannequin. And a worker clamps down the sleeves. A big steam bag made of porous vinyl swings in, wafting steam onto the front of the jacket. At the same time, hoses pipe steam into the porous mannequin cavity, so this jacket gets a steam press from both sides. This machine is a collar master. She folds the collar into the correct position and lowers a big fabric-covered metal press onto the collar to iron down the fold. It's time for the auto-jig machine. It's making an extension piece to the second button for a pant waistband. This is the piece that goes over the second button on the waistband of dress pants. It sews and cuts two layers of fabric that are held in a jig and then feeds the excess fabric to a vacuum tube for disposal. Now it's time to define a crease in a pair of trousers. An operator slides a pair of pants, inside out, onto a double rail. Then using a device similar to a caulking gun, she pipes a silicone-based liquid along the crease line. The liquid is a perma-crease mixture, which will give the crease some staying power. There's also a nib on the end of this gun which sharpens the crease. All that stitching and steaming seems to have gone without a hitch. But the designer still needs to inspect the work to see if it measures up to his original concept. If adjustments have to be made, he marks the spots. That's because how it fits can be just as important as how it looks.