The Wright Way

7 Problem-Solving Principles from the Wright Brothers That Can Make Your Business Soar

Wright Way, The

Author: Mark Eppler
Pub Date: 2007
Your Price: $24.95
ISBN: 0814407978
Format: Hardcover

 


Chapter 4
TACKLE THE TYRANT
THE PRINCIPLE OF WORST THINGS FIRST

“The balancing of a flyer may seem, at first thought, to be a simple matter, yet almost every experimenter had found in this the one point which he could not satisfactorily master. ”

— Wilbur Wright (1867-1912), inventor

TACKLE THE TYRANT is a problem-solving principle based on the idea that within each problem there is a potential "tyrant," a subset of the problem that, if not resolved, will prevent solution of the whole. By putting the worst (i.e., the tyrant problem) first, costs for the whole are limited to this subset should a solution be unachievable.

* * *

You might remember a children's story called "The Three Billy Goats Gruff." A parable, it tells the story of three goats that wanted to cross a river in order to get to the lush, green grass on the opposite side. There was only one way to get across the rushing river, however, and that was to cross a wooden-plank bridge. Under the bridge lurked a troll, an ugly, one-eyed tyrant whose sole mission in life was to eat anyone or anything that tried to cross his bridge. Once, when my mother was reading the story to my daughter, I heard my daughter ask why the goats didn't look for another way to cross the river. "They probably did," Mom replied, "but sooner or later they had to face the tyrant." Therein lies the tale.


A Timely Invitation

In the annals of history, there are items that seem small at their point of occurrence but later emerge as seminal moments. One of these occurred in the history of aviation in the fall of 1901 when Octave Chanute extended an invitation to Wilbur Wright to address the Western Society of Engineers in Chicago. The Wright brothers' relationship with Chanute began in May 1900 when Wilbur, after reading Chanute's book, Progress in Flying Machines, had written the Chicago engineer to ask for guidance. It was the beginning of a relationship that would span a decade. The more than four hundred letters exchanged with Chanute between 1900 and 1910 would provide an extraordinary record of how the Wright brothers solved the problem of heavier-than-air flight. In the beginning, Chanute was not just an important source of information, he was a valued sounding board as well, someone the brothers could bounce ideas off in an effort to clarify their thoughts and theories.

Chanute's greatest value to the Wright brothers, however, may have been his role as an encourager. Sensing that Wilbur's enthusiasm was flagging (the brothers had just returned from Kill Devil Hills after a discouraging season of trials), Chanute sought to rouse his protégé from his malaise by inviting him to address this prestigious group of scientists and engineers. Chanute's plan not only served to jump-start Wilbur's interest, it forced him to revisit the research and experiments he and his brother had conducted to date. By performing a step-by-step review of their work, the brothers were able to organize their thinking and get back on track. By the time the review was completed, the brothers knew where they stood, what they believed the critical issues were, and where they would apply their efforts next. It was a breakthrough of the first order for the Wright brothers.

Although technically prepared for his presentation, Wilbur was a little apprehensive about actually giving it. When his sister Katharine asked him whether his speech would be serious or humorous, he replied, "Pathetic." A letter from Chanute a week later didn't help. Chanute wanted to know if Wilbur had any concerns about making the meeting a "ladies night." Wilbur responded that it did not matter to him. "I will already be as badly scared," he wrote, "as it is possible for a man to be." Wilbur's biggest concern was that "ladies night" meant having to come in "full dress" (i.e., formal evening wear). Chanute assured him that would not be necessary.

Clothing was never as important to Wilbur as it was to Orville. Wilbur was no slob, but a crisp trouser crease was a low priority. If Katharine pointed out that his trouser knees were a little baggy, he'd just slip his trousers off and give them a once-over with a heated iron. Orville, on the other hand, was a careful dresser who took pride in his appearance. His clothes were always immaculate. Carrie Kayler, the Wright housekeeper, used to marvel at the fact that Orville could work all day at the machines in the bicycle shop and never get as much as a speck on his clothing. When Wilbur boarded the train for Chicago, he departed wearing Orville's shirt, collar, cuffs, cufflinks, and topcoat. Katharine later wrote her father that Wilbur looked quite good. "Clothes," she wrote, "do make the man."


A Chicago Surprise

On September 18, 1901, Octave Chanute introduced Wilbur Wright to a packed house in Chicago. During his introductory comments, the respected engineer and aviation authority took the opportunity to express some of his thoughts on the flying problem. Chanute made a number of general observations before stating, with surprising conviction, that the lack of a "suitable aeronautical power plant" (i.e., motor) was the greatest obstacle to solving the flying problem. Unless this was addressed and resolved, Chanute continued, heavier-than-air flight was all but impossible. He then introduced, as the night's featured speaker, a man who couldn't have disagreed with him more on the views he'd just expressed.

Wilbur's personal regard for Chanute was trumped by his inability to present anything but what he believed to be true.

Wilbur was taken aback. In earlier correspondence, he had made it clear to Chanute that he and Orville did not believe that power and propulsion were the principal obstacles to manned flight. In fact, at that time the brothers didn't see them as obstacles at all. Wilbur's personal regard for Chanute was trumped by his inability to present anything but what he believed to be true. He had no alternative but to contradict his friend in a highly visible forum. "Compared to the problems of balance and control," Wilbur told those gathered, "all other difficulties are of minor importance." Wilbur further contradicted Chanute's comments by saying, "When this one feature is worked out, the flying age will have arrived." It was not the first time the opposing points of view-power and propulsion versus control and balance-would be contested, especially if Hiram Maxim, Clément Ader, and Samuel Langley were involved.


The Power Team

In the Old Testament of the Bible, God instructs Job (40:15) to "behold now behemoth." Exactly what God was referring to is not known, but we know it must have been something extremely large. Something like an elephant, a giraffe, or Hiram Maxim's flying machine. Hiram Stevens Maxim (1840-1916), an expatriate American living in England, dedicated a considerable portion of his fortune (acquired from his invention of the Maxim machine gun) to the problem of heavier-than-air flight. In fact, he spent in excess of $200,000 constructing a 7,000-pound test rig that would be described in nearly every book on aviation history as a "behemoth." Maxim's machine was powered by two enormous steam engines, each capable of generating 180 horsepower units. The engines, in turn, powered two pusher-style propellers measuring seventeen and a half feet in length. Compared to other craft of the day, this was one huge flying machine.

Maxim's obsession with power was understandable, if not practical. By the end of the nineteenth century, the world's love affair with the motor was in full bloom. Enormous engines had revolutionized life at every level, but their impact was particularly felt in the area of transportation. Like many flying-machine pioneers, Maxim believed that power and propulsion were the key to solving the problem of heavier-than-air flight. In 1892, Maxim boldly announced, "Without doubt the motor is the chief thing to be considered." These practitioners reasoned anything could be made to fly with enough power. To a degree, Maxim proved his point.

In 1894, Maxim and three other men boarded his machine, which was mounted on a test track. On Maxim's signal, the massive structure, powered by 10,000 pounds of brute force, thundered down its one-third-mile track. The machine rose in the air a foot or two before unceremoniously thudding back down to earth. Although technically failing to meet the criteria for a successful flight, Maxim had managed to get his flying machine, remarkable for its lack of aerodynamic qualities, off the ground for a few seconds. It was a powered, though certainly not controlled, flight. Maxim wasn't alone in touting power and propulsion as the answer to achieving flight. In France, Clément Ader was taking a similar, yet somewhat different, approach.


The Éole

Ader, a French inventor and telephone pioneer, began work on the heavier-than-air problem in 1872. A self-taught engineer, he studied the problem for years before building a full-size machine he called the Éole. Like Maxim, Ader regarded the air as a kind of "stable fluid" through which he could navigate, much like a fish through water. He shared Maxim's view that the answer to the problem lay in generating sufficient propulsion. Instead of building bigger engines, however, Ader's approach was to reduce the craft's weight. Compared to Maxim's 180-horsepower engines, Ader's twenty-horsepower motors were puny. His flying machine, however, was dramatically smaller and lighter than Maxim's. He had more than enough power for the weight. His deficiencies were in other areas.

On October 9, 1890, in a suburb just outside Paris, Clément Ader is said to have made a steam-powered, low-level flight of 160 feet in the Éole. The alleged flight remains one of the great mysteries of aviation. If Ader did indeed make the flight, he would have a right to claim the first powered flight in history, a claim that would precede that of the Wright brothers. Only two witnesses saw Ader's flight, however, and they reported that it ended poorly. The Éole was said to have crashed at the end due to "deficient equilibrium." Ader's machine had no tail and no practical method of lateral control.

Although a few loyalists still cling to the idea that Ader, not Wilbur and Orville Wright, should be recognized with "first flight" honors, there is little evidence to support the claim. Although Ader was a capable engineer and contributed much to the "flying problem," his legitimacy was called into question when he later claimed to have made a 900-foot flight in his third flying machine, the Avion III. Witnesses to this flight state that Ader covered 900 feet, but did so in several hops, with all three wheels never being off the ground at the same time.


Making a Splash

Professor Samuel Langley of the Smithsonian Institution had been working on the flying problem since 1878. Well into his sixties before seriously considering the challenge, Langley also believed the answer to the problem was to develop sufficient power to get the craft in the air. Like Ader, Langley concentrated on reducing the weight of the craft so that a larger engine would not be necessary. Both Langley and Ader, in an effort to maximize power and thrust, committed a grave mistake: They sacrificed structural integrity. Langley's flying machine, named the Great Aerodrome, collapsed on takeoff; its light structure was unable to withstand the pressures of launch.

In the larger scheme of things, it was fortunate that Maxim, Ader, and Langley failed to get their machines in the air. Had any of them succeeded, they would have confronted an even greater shortcoming in their machines: the inability to adequately control them. Although Langley had succeeded in flying smaller models of his Great Aerodrome, there was no provision for making a turn, and descent was risky at best. What rudders their flying machines did feature were based on a simplistic design so that if they were turned left or right, up or down, the craft would follow in those directions. All three men were of the opinion that control and balance could be worked out later, after mastering straight-line flights. Collectively, Maxim, Ader, and Langley invested nearly half a million dollars (does not include one hundred years of inflation) on their failed machines. Wilbur and Orville Wright took a different approach.


Control and Balance (The Tyrant)

Wilbur and Orville were not just builders of bicycles, they were students of the art. They observed how bicycles handled, and they sought ways to make them more dependable. One discipline of thought overlaid everything they did: study, understand, improve. The brothers' ingenuity was in full force at this time, and improvements to their bicycles were commonplace. They were the first to use balloon tires on their bicycles, greatly improving the comfort of the ride. They made improvements to the coaster brake and invented an oil-retaining hub. New tools began to find their way into the shop of the Wright Cycle Company: a turret lathe, drill press, tube-cutting equipment. They attached the tools to an overhead shaft with pulleys, then designed and built a small illuminating gas-powered engine to drive them. Their bicycles were known for their craftsmanship and attention to detail. More important, the business was making a profit, generating funds that would later be put to good use.

The Wright brothers knew that the key to riding a bicycle was to master its inherent instability. Most of us can remember those terrifying days when we first learned to ride. Some of us were fortunate to have training wheels, but most of us were taught the old-fashioned way. Our parents ran behind us until we worked up a head of steam, then, with one departing shove, left us to our own devices. The inevitable pileups occurred. It wasn't long, however, before we were cruising along shouting, "Look, Mom, no hands!" Without giving it much thought, we overcame the bicycle's greatest shortcoming-its instability. The key element in riding a bicycle was control and balance, and the Wright brothers were well aware of it.

One discipline of thought overlaid everything they did: study, understand, improve.



A New Hobby

When the Wright brothers first began their flying-machine experiments, it was not with the intent to solve the problem of heavier-than-air manned flight. Fascinated with the exploits of the German glider expert Otto Lilienthal, Wilbur and Orville thought that gliding would be good sport. As the brothers prepared to make their first trip to Kitty Hawk in September 1900, Wilbur wrote his father a letter detailing his plans:

It is my belief that flight is possible, and while I am taking up the investigation for pleasure rather than profit, I think there is a slight possibility of achieving fame and fortune from it. I am certain I can reach a point much in advance of any previous workers in this field even if success is not attained just at present. At any rate I will have an outing of several weeks and see a part of the world I have never before visited.

Their first season of gliding was challenging but satisfying to the brothers. As Wilbur later reported, "We considered it quite a point to be able to return without having our pet theories completely knocked in the head by the hard logic of experience, and our own brains dashed out in the bargain."


Pet Theories

Although there were many people addressing the heavier-than-air flying problem, the majority of them were doing it carelessly. They were either assuming too much about the way a flying machine would behave, or leaning too heavily on past experience, causing them to misjudge situations. No one was approaching the problem in the same fashion as Wilbur and Orville Wright. Four years would pass between the date of the brothers' first active interest and their first glide at Kitty Hawk. Those four years would be spent reading, discussing, theorizing, and learning about flight issues. The Wright brothers were looking for what I like to call the "tyrant," that portion of a problem considered most critical and hardest to solve. Before they ever cut a piece of wood or sewed a patch of cloth, the brothers, by thinking the problem through, had identified the worst part of the problem and committed themselves to tackling it first.


Pay as You Go

When Wilbur and Orville began addressing the flying problem in earnest, their intent was to finance the project out of profits generated from their bicycle business. Although they had a bit of money in the bank from an inheritance, the funds available for their experiments were to come from the sale and repair of bicycles. Remarkably, that's exactly what occurred. The brothers never touched the money they had invested. A modest bicycle shop at 1127 West Third Street in Dayton, Ohio (the building now preserved at Greenfield Village), financed the beginning of a billion-dollar industry. With the need to be careful with their money ever in mind, Wilbur and Orville started where they usually did when taking on a new problem-they searched for the "tyrant."

Both Wilbur and Orville were clear, logical thinkers who believed that the starting point in solving any problem was to accurately define the objective. The brothers knew, both intuitively and experientially, that a poorly defined problem can lead one far from the desired outcome. Others had defined the goal simply: "to fly." The Wright brothers expanded the problem definition to include two essential (in their minds) ingredients. Wilbur and Orville wanted to fly balanced and under control. Instead of concentrating on simply getting off the ground, they gave initial consideration to these more complex issues.


Small Sealed Doors

Wilbur and Orville knew that the flying problem was not simply one big problem, but a number of discrete problems that needed to be addressed individually. It was not, as Wright biographer Fred Howard describes, "one great gate that would fly open when unlocked with a secret key, but rather a series of small sealed doors that would have to be pried open one after another." As the brothers broke down the problem, they discovered that many of the doors had other doors as well. Achieving heavier-than-air powered flight was filled with complexity. Initially, the Wright brothers identified six "doors" (or categories or subsets) within the overall problem. They were:

* Wing design (generating sufficient lift)

* Propulsion (propellers to provide thrust)

* Power (a lightweight, gas-powered engine)

* Control (a means to manage instability in flight)

* Balance (the ability to keep the craft level in flight)

* Flying skill (the ability to actually fly the machine)


The Worst First

As the Wright brothers looked at these various components of the problem, they asked themselves which categories represented the greatest impediment to success. After much study and discussion, the two men agreed that balance and control would be the hardest part of the problem to solve. Having identified balance and control as the "tyrant," the one area capable of blocking their success, they immediately focused their attention there. Since they were funding their research and development out of their own pockets, the Wright brothers had no intention of addressing other issues before this one. They believed that the motor needed to power their craft was already available. The propellers needed to push their craft were also available, or could be made. At the time, sufficient data already existed on wing design, so that would not be an issue, either. Once control and balance were achieved, learning to fly the craft would be possible. They put the worst thing first in an effort to limit their exposure. If they were unable to resolve this issue, they reasoned, their loss would be limited to what was expended on this part of the problem alone.

Many people approach problem solving tentatively. They look for parts of the problem that are familiar to them, that they feel they can comfortably address, then start there in an effort to get things going. Very few problems have only one dimension to them. As a result, one of the best tools for attacking a problem is to break it down into smaller subsets. This is exactly what Wilbur and Orville did when they first addressed the problem of heavier-than-air flight.


Introducing the Tyrant

If you look up the definition of a tyrant in the dictionary, you'll see it described as someone (or something) who oppresses in harsh or cruel fashion. During my college days, I remember encountering, on more than a few occasions, a "tyrant" in the form of a final exam. I had a strategy for dealing with it, however. I quickly scanned the test and placed a check mark by all the questions I thought I might have trouble with. Then, believing that it might help "prime the pump," I tackled the easier ones first. By the end of the class, I was facing the hard questions with no time left to answer them. There was little or no chance that I would succeed at the exam. This was exactly the situation the Wright brothers sought to avoid.

There is no redeeming virtue in putting the tyrant off.

In the problem-solving sense, I define the tyrant as that portion of a problem (i.e., challenge, opportunity, difficulty) that rules, often cruelly, over all other components. It's that part of the problem that, if left unsolved, will prevent solution of the whole. It's the deal breaker, solution buster, worst of the worst. Fail to master this portion of the problem and you cannot possibly, under any set of circumstances, succeed. It is the part of the problem that lurks under the bridge, waiting to attack anyone who attempts to cross it. Please forgive the drama, but I want to make sure everyone understands that the tyrant has the ability to:

* Block, oppress, or impede movement

* Rob individuals of limited resources (i.e., time and money)

* Intimidate, freeze, or otherwise inhibit creativity

* Deceive the problem solver into thinking he is making progress

The principal thing to be understood about the tyrant is that there is no redeeming virtue in putting it off. Doing so can have serious repercussions, causing one to incur significant losses and delays. With everyone understanding that, why do we put off the hardest problem? Why do we work on the easier parts first? There's more than human nature involved.


The Nature of the Beast

Most of us, if pressed for an honest reply, would own up to the tendency of doing the easy things first. Having been bombarded with productivity training and time management seminars, most of us know all about the ABC system. Break your assignments down into A's, B's, and C's, based on the level of importance of each. Start with the "A" stack, and do not do "B" or "C" tasks until all A's are completed. Being the humans that we are, however, we invariably start with something easy in an effort to get something going, especially after a long weekend. Typical reasons why we choose to begin with easier (i.e., nontyrant) components of a problem include:

* It's easy. (Who doesn't like that?)

* It's gratifying. (You get to check a box.)

* It's the area in which we have the greatest knowledge.

* It's potentially the most interesting part of the problem.

* It conforms best to personal preferences and prejudice.

People may choose to address lesser subsets of a problem because the procrastinator's mind-set may be saying, "It doesn't really matter where you start, just get started!" Poor organizational skills and the inability to manage priorities contribute to this tendency, as well.

There may be other reasons, beyond poor prioritization skills, that may cause us to push nontyrant issues to the head of the list. For example, the boss may want another part of the problem tackled first. Perhaps we choose the nontyrant issues because accomplishing them will look impressive at the next problem status meeting. Or maybe it's just symptomatic of a "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it" mentality.


Identifying the Tyrant

One of the key steps in the Wright brothers' problem-solving process is identifying the tyrant. Here are some of the steps that can be taken to correctly identify it:

* Break the problem down into small components, or subsets.

* Identify the obstacles and barriers associated with each subset.

* Determine the resources (i.e., time, money, people) needed to solve each subset.

* Rank subsets in terms of degree of difficulty.

* Pick the tyrant.

* Tackle the worst (i.e., more difficult) first.

In the problem-solving model of Wilbur and Orville Wright, the tyrant was balance and control. They knew it not only from their studies and preliminary research, but from their work experience as well. Like a bicycle, a flying machine was inherently unstable. Wilbur and Orville knew that if they could provide the means to control and balance a flying machine, gaining the skills needed to fly it would then be possible. Although the Wright brothers had the problem of flight largely worked out by 1901, it would take another three years of practicing and tweaking of the design to overcome the tyrant. It wasn't until this problem had been resolved that Wilbur and Orville turned their attention to other factors.


The Cost of Ignoring the Tyrant

Ignoring the tyrant in favor of smaller, easier-to-solve portions of the problem can be a costly proposition. Consider, for example, the following penalties of doing so:

* It creates a false sense of security.

* It has many costs (e.g., time and money), the greatest of which is "lost opportunity."

* It compromises speed to market, which is a competitive edge.

* It leads to tunnel vision (i.e., looking only at the areas of the problem you want to see).

* Time loss is doubled, because what you lose, your competitor gains.

* It creates a hiding place for clueless employees.

Let me give you a quick example. A company was suffering through a period of poor sales. The president called his team together and told them, "People, we've got a problem." He went on to tell them that they needed to increase sales (a point they were already well aware of) and that they needed to increase them immediately. After he left, his team brainstormed in an effort to develop new ways to increase sales of their product. When they finished, they had a new sales campaign, a new incentive program for reps, a new volume discount structure, and a new PR program. They were pretty pleased with themselves until one of their service coordinators asked, "Are we going to do anything about the cracking problem?" In one question, she managed to identify the tyrant. Until they resolved the issue of the product's tendency to crack under certain applications, no marketing campaign or sales strategy was going to work. The product, not sales, was the tyrant.


Learning to Soar

Here are some thoughts and ideas to help you identify and tackle the tyrant in your challenge. Remember, if it's easy, do it last. The tyrant, by definition, is the hardest and most potentially unsolvable obstacle you face.

* Define your primary objective. Identifying the tyrant begins with correctly defining the objective. The mistake many people made in addressing the heavier-than-air flying problem was that they defined the problem as "flying." The primary objective of the Wright brothers, the one that led to manned flight, was to fly "balanced and controlled." How the problem is defined can have a huge impact on the end result.

* Break the problem down into components. One of the keys in identifying the tyrant is to see what the potential candidates are. Since most problems have multiple components, begin by breaking the problem down into as many subsets as possible. Consider not only issues directly related to the problem, but also those that might be influenced indirectly by your decisions. For example, the problem may be implementing a new software system. One of its components, however, might be the organization's resistance to change.

* Gather as much information as possible. The first step for the Wright brothers in tackling a problem, or any portion of one, was to find out what was already known-especially what other early aviators had already learned about the problem, or what they had already accomplished. Encourage your team members to gather as much information as possible to correctly assess individual parts of the problem that your organization is confronting. Have them look at your competitors and what they are doing. Don't forget the considerable value of asking others-associates, suppliers, customers, etc.-for their views as well.

* Analyze the subsets; identify the obstacles. Study each component of the problem by asking yourself, What would prevent us from accomplishing this objective? How much time and money and other resources will be needed to solve this component of the problem? What staff (trained and available) will be needed to tackle the challenge? Are there any significant internal issues (e.g., traditions, habits, resistance) that need to be considered? Are there any external hurdles to be overcome in making this work?

* Rank-order the subsets. Having identified and analyzed the components of the problem, as well as the challenges and obstacles associated with each, begin the process of ranking each, based on the degree of difficulty you might experience in resolving them.

* Identify the tyrant. Looking at the most difficult subsets, ask yourself which one problem, should it fail to be solved, has the capacity to prevent your team from reaching the defined objective. The tyrant is that portion of the problem that is the hardest and most troublesome to accomplish.

* Tackle the tyrant. Work on the tyrant and only the tyrant. Resist the temptation to work on some of the easier or more interesting parts first. During the task, ask yourself repeatedly, "Am I working on the tyrant right now?" Failure to do so may result in a significant loss of time, money, and opportunity.

Resist the temptation to tackle jobs you are most comfortable with. Begin with the toughest challenge, one you expect to present the most difficulty. Once the initial tyrant has been resolved, look for the next one.


One Last Thought

A number of years ago I was working with a group of engineers on a product that would subject our parts to high temperature and vibration. Using a high-temp plastic was a standard option that presented no problem. It turned out, however, that the customer wanted us to mold the part in a plastic manufactured by one of its subsidiaries. We knew there was a potential tyrant in the situation, since the shrink rate (i.e., the degree that the material shrinks during the molding process) of the plastics would be different. The mold was designed to work with our plastic, and our customer adamantly refused to pay for a new mold. We needed the business badly, however, and hoped their material would "do okay" in our mold.

In this scenario, we knew exactly what the tyrant was. If the plastic didn't shrink properly in the existing mold, the project was dead. As a result, we set that part of the problem aside and worked on the other design issues (of which there were plenty). We had a great deal of expense-time, money, opportunity, and cost-tied up in this project when we finally reached the critical point. I remember the day our molder called us, spitting nails. Not only had our customer's material failed to meet operating requirements, the plastic had gummed up the molder's dies. It took him four weeks to repair the damage, causing us to not only lose our order, but fall delinquent on orders for other customers as well.

A number of people have asked me why we exposed ourselves to so much risk. The reasons are twofold. First, when you're a smaller company courting a larger one, you often find yourself in situations where you feel you have to take risks. The second reason is what I call the deception of the gradual. We kept working on various parts of the problem hoping we might catch a break at the end. Unfortunately, we came face-to-face with the tyrant at the end, instead of at the beginning, and the costs were enormous-not only to ourselves, but to our customer as well. If we had put the worst first and tackled the tyrant, considerable loss could have been avoided.

© 2004 Mark Eppler.
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