PRM and the art of hog farming Published March 25, 2004 Commander, 23rd Maintenance Squadron SEYMOUR JOHNSON AIR FORCE BASE, N.C. (ACCNS) -- One of the advantages of growing up on a hog farm is that education comes quick and lessons have a way of staying with you forever. The following is absolutely true: On a blustery spring day when I was about twelve, Dad asked my brother and I to take the manure spreader out and unload it on the fields. If youre not familiar with this device, its a big wagon that is pulled behind a tractor; as its pulled, a powered conveyor system pushes the wagons contents into steel beaters that spin rapidly, violently throwing wet, sloppy pig waste high in a big brown fan in every direction behind you. You can atomize half a ton of the stuff in about two minutes. When youre a 12-year old guy, this mechanical marvel represents the pinnacle of engineering achievement. On this particular day, my brother drove the tractor and I sat on the fender next to him. The load had been fermenting in a pile behind the barn for about two months. All went well on the first pass across the field, although the 30 knot headwind made us squint a bit. We reached the end of the field, cut power to the spreader, kicked the left brake, spun the tractor around 180 degrees, lined up for a return pass, and turned the power back on. Did I mention the headwind? At this point it became a tailwind. We were instantly engulfed in a slimy brown monsoon and panicked. My brothers first instinct was to kick in the clutch, which simply stopped us from moving forward and made things worse. He quickly realized his mistake and made another by letting it go with a lurch, sending us careening wildly across the field because steering was now low on the priority list. Arms and legs thrashed everywhere as we both fought each other for the controls, trying to shield our eyes and bumping heads together while fumbling for the now-slippery power take off lever between the pedals. Opening ones mouth to speak was out of the question. By the time we got things shut off, we were covered and the spreader was empty. Mom made us strip down on the porch. Dad eventually quit laughing and made us wash the tractor. That was the day I learned a valuable lesson about Personal Risk Management. My brother and I hadnt properly assessed the situation ahead of time or considered the possibility of anything going wrong. Had we done so, we mightve driven a different path that didnt put the wind behind us. We mightve worked out emergency procedures to delegate tasks and prepare for rapid shutdown. We mightve spent more time becoming proficient with the tractors controls. We mightve worn rain gear. Instead, we smugly headed for disaster confident in our abilities and worry-free because nothing had ever gone wrong before. So far in fiscal year '04, Air Combat Command has lost 11 of its members to mishaps. Most of those could have been prevented if people had applied PRM principles and thought things through before proceeding. People dont wrap cars around trees because they think theyre poor drivers; they do it because they think they have everything under control and find out too late that they dont. Dad didnt call it PRM, but he summed it up simply: Whats the cost of being wrong? Take a look at the whole picture when youre doing something risky and consider the cost if something unforeseen happens or youre not as good as you think you are. If that bill is something youre not willing to pay, look for ways to do it smarter so the cost goes down. Take it from me: sometimes that bill isnt what you think it is.