Editorial Strategy — John Deere Waterloo Works
A yearlong employee story series built to make one company goal visible: how you treat a coworker or a customer counts as much as what you produce.
The cab drop was the best moment on the factory tour. A conveyor carried the cabs high above the floor, out of sight, until one came down from the rafters and finished the tractor. Customers stood there in awe. The crew connecting it in minutes was the part they went home and told their neighbors about.
The cabs were built in another building, off the tour route. The people who anchored those connections, who made sure it would be a perfect fit, set the stage for all of it and never saw a visitor. Nobody had written about them.
So I did, and it became a series.
John Deere had put people goals into how everyone was measured. How you treated a fellow employee or a customer was worth as much as how you physically did your job. That is a hard thing to communicate with a policy document.
People goals were never a new initiative. They were waving at the tour carts and shaking a customer’s hand to say thank you, the things we were already known for. The series only made that visible. I built it as an example, because we walk past people every day who are building up a team or making a customer happy, and those stories just needed telling. The people in it already existed. I did not create them.
Who got featured
More than 30 stories ran over the year, across departments, shifts, and locations. Four I still think about:
The last defense before a tractor reached the customer. Everything anyone else built came down to what this team caught or missed, and almost nobody in the building thought about that.
The team behind the tour’s best moment, working in a building off the route where no visitor ever saw them. They anchored the connections that made the cab drop look effortless.
He kept first shift running with the custom parts he made overnight. Day shift arrived to tools that worked and rarely knew who to thank for it.
Measured entirely by things that did not happen, which makes for a quiet job and almost no recognition.
Every piece was the same shape: a photograph of the person or the team, their story in their own words, and a thank you from me and the factory manager. It ran alongside the formal recognition program and carried no reward of its own.
Every piece ran the same way. A green field, two staggered yellow bands carrying the series name and the line that finished it, a photograph of the actual people on the factory floor, a short bold subhead, and copy naming each person. The bands made it recognizable in a second on a screen somebody walked past. The finish line did the strategic work, flexing between “who” and “to” depending on the story: who takes pride in their work, to continuously improve, to make safety a habit, to inspire the next generation.
The last look before the customer’s.
Everything every other team builds comes down to what end of line inspection catches. They are the final check between the factory and a farmer’s field.
The tour’s best moment starts here.
Cab assembly works in a building off the tour route, anchoring the connections that make the cab drop look effortless. No visitor ever sees them do it.
Overnight work nobody sees.
Custom parts made on third shift are why first shift walks in to tools that work. Day shift rarely knew who to thank for it.
Layout recreation showing the format only.
The printed series
Nine of the series laid out together. Every piece led with a photograph of the actual people, most of them team shots taken on the floor. Faces are blurred here on purpose: these employees agreed to appear in a John Deere internal series, not on a personal portfolio.
Building up people who were humbly making John Deere better or making a customer smile. A sincere thank you, or a real note telling someone you appreciate them, is its own kind of recognition, and people can tell the difference between that and a program.
What the series did was encourage others by showing that people goals are not something you go do. They should be something you already do.
“The cabs were built in another building, off the tour route. The people who anchored those connections, who made sure it would be a perfect fit, set the stage for all of it and never saw a visitor. Nobody had written about them. So I did.”
From a 2026 cover letter