The Claims-Free Architect

When A Millwork Schedule Typo Leads To A $200,000 Mistake

• Season 3 • Episode 12

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How can a simple typographical error in a millwork order lead to a financial and logistical nightmare, not to mention the heartbreak of trashing 180 custom-made cabinets? 

Architects don’t normally assume responsibility for ordering interior furnishings and fittings. But when they do, they should follow quality assurance protocols.


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This story involves a simple typographical error—a zero, added to the quantities column of a cabinetry order, changing a 20 into a 200, and a $25,000 order into a $200,000 insurance claim. This story is called “TOO MUCH OF A WOOD THING.”


Dufferin University was looking to upgrade its library of European and North American rare titles. A recent gift of medieval manuscripts had prompted them to hire some specialists to create appropriate shelving for the safe storage, conservation, and protection of the valuable documents, while still allowing access to scholars and researchers.


This delicate project was handed over to the Architects J&J Dosh, who had an unequaled reputation for high-end interior renovation work, particularly institutional and commercial interiors. 


The University Facilities Department commissioned them for a total redesign of the university library, including not just the rare manuscript vaults, but also the reference and lending library, as well. It was a big task. The library proper required hundreds of standard bookcases, with some variations. For the archival storage, the Architects would need to design special cabinets that would accommodate every item in the new collection in a separately accessed enclosure—shelf, cabinet, drawer or mini-cupboard. 


For this purpose, The Architects’ interior design team created a unique solution for bookcase and cabinet units, to be made of the finest hardwood veneers, jointed and glued, in the manner of the best cabinetry, since before the Industrial Revolution. A great deal of precision was required in the design of the units, and the same degree of precision would be required in their manufacture.


The general contract was awarded to Careful Interiors, with the millwork contract to be awarded separately to Skillful Millwork & Furniture Co., with whom the University had worked before on special projects. It would be the General Contractor’s job to place the order and arrange for delivery of the cabinetry. It would then be up to Skillful to manufacture and install the cabinetry, once the interiors were prepared for them, and for the University to pay for cabinets upon delivery.


Before placing the order, Careful, quite reasonably, asked for a cabinetry schedule, giving exact quantities required. J&J Dosh’s chief interior designer Jason Coping prepared the schedule and submitted it to Careful, who passed it on directly to Skilful, the cabinet makers. 


And this is where the trouble started.


Of the standard units, which all had similar specifications, 200 were required. Of the more elaborate archival units, a much smaller number was needed—exactly 20 units, in fact. To an inattentive eye, the number 200 looks similar to the number 20, and the two might easily be confused. So when the quantity 200 was incorrectly entered in both categories, it didn’t immediately register. The schedule submitted by Jason Coping indicated 200 standard bookshelves and 200 special archival cabinets. And this is what Skillful Millwork & Furniture Co. set about to manufacture. 


Thanks to a single extra zero, Skillful had been instructed to produce 180 unnecessary, expensive cabinets. In the subsequent shop drawings, production and approval process, there was no further mention of quantities, and the issue never arose.


Once the interior finishing work was completed, and it was time to accept delivery of all the cabinets, Careful prepared a protected area within the library to accommodate them until they could be properly installed. But somehow, this area appeared to be far too small. In fact, as truckload after truckload of cabinets arrived onsite, it became more and more apparent that the entire library might not be large enough to accommodate them all.


But the immediate problem was to find proper storage space—other staging areas had to be found. Fortunately, the University’s Physical Plant Department stepped up by providing spaces here and there throughout the campus. Cabinets were stashed everywhere.


There was something that particularly puzzled the Contractor. Not only was there far too much cabinetry, but a lot of it was rare manuscript-type cabinets—far, far too many to ever fit into the vault space provided. Something had to be wrong.


When the Contractor notified the University about the space problem, they immediately contacted Skillful Millwork to find out if they might have gotten the quantities wrong. To the University, it looked like they had been sent—and, with the Architects’ approval, had already paid for—more cabinets and shelves than they wanted or needed. Skillful assured them that they had only manufactured and shipped the quantities that had been ordered and, to prove it, they sent a copy of the Architects’ original schedule.


The University facilities department called the Architect Jan Dosh. If the cabinetmakers couldn’t explain what had happened, maybe she could. In fact, she couldn’t—but maybe, she suggested, their interior designer Jason Coping might have some insights.

 

From that point on, the story followed a sadly straightforward and predictable path. Coping checked the original order and recognized the error immediately. He was stunned, horrified and deeply embarrassed. It was only a zero . . . but it wasn’t . . . nothing.


The Contractor immediately undertook a careful count, visiting all the temporary storage areas. He confirmed that the University was now the proud owner of 200 cabinets for a collection that could comfortably be housed in 20.


Coping wondered: How had he missed the error in the first place? More important, what could be done about it? The University had no hesitation deciding what should be done about it. Once Coping explained what had happened -  and it was the most difficult phone call of his entire professional career - they filed a claim against the Architects for $200,000.


When Jan Dosh stopped by Pro-Demnity’s office to explain what had happened, our Claims Specialist was at a loss for words. Dosh seemed to believe that it was the General Contractor’s duty to verify quantities, just as he would verify the accuracy of a shop drawing. But just in case, the bid documents, the specifications and the contract all had exculpatory clauses designed to offload liability onto others, whenever possible.


The Claims Specialist could find not even a shred of an argument that would implicate anyone else in the numerical error. For one thing, the cabinets had all been constructed exactly as indicated on the architectural drawings and the approved shop drawings. Furthermore, there was no indication anywhere—except on the Architects’ schedule—of the exact number of any type of unit, or even the gross total. The Contractor would have to be a psychic to have suspected that the numbers given to him in the schedule were incorrect.


Then, of course, there was the general confusion as to the exact amount of the loss. Pro-Demnity agreed that they would have to offer some compensation, but first they needed to see a “proof of loss” from the University.


This proved to be an impossible demand. The suppliers informed us that they had never broken down the actual cost of each unit. The shop had booked the hours and material for the contract seamlessly, but the archival units were not separately accounted for. It was all by the hour and not by the unit. The basic arithmetic, they told us, was our problem. Both the Claims Specialist and the Architect appreciated the ultimate irony of this comment.


The University business manager sat down with the Claims Specialist. Taking a maximal position, he laid out his reasons for the quantum of the claim: Essentially, these special archival units represented the bulk of the manufacturer’s costs, resulting in a $200,000 overcharge. The Claims Manager, in the absence of any solid proof of this fact, took a minimal view. That afternoon, an amicable midpoint deal was struck, with Pro-Demnity contributing exactly half of the claimed amount.


Unfortunately, the story, and Pro-Demnity’s role in it, didn’t end there. We needed to arrange for off-campus storage of the units that we had “bought,” while we tried desperately to find a market for them. But the units were of no use to anyone else. We contacted other universities, public libraries, government archivists, etc., to no avail. The possibility of disassembly was investigated, but the units were so well made and so strongly glued together that this proved impossible. 


It would also be impossible to describe the frustration and grief that was experienced by every single participant in this tragedy. Because, in the end, these beautiful forlorn objects were dumped outside in the snow, for passersby with pick-up trucks to come and help themselves.

In this story, there are two lessons to be learned, and they are both important.


Lesson No. 1: Exculpatory clauses in contracts cannot be relied upon to excuse any error. The architectural firm will virtually always be responsible for a direct instruction, whether oral or written, that is relied upon by others in good faith.


Lesson No. 2: It’s a simple fact that, while architects do not involve themselves in the ordering of specific quantities of building materials, interior designers often do. When an architectural firm acts as interior designers, errors can be minimized by putting special quality control systems and review protocols in place. Orders should be checked and confirmed… before they are placed.