during a lunch break that friday alcorn was wandering around outside the plant bemoaning his failure. then he noticed one of the rough-cutters, Al price, whittling at something with an ordinary pocket knife. it turned out to be a block of wood that he had cut incorrectly and normally would have thrown in the scrap heap. but as price said it kind of looked like a duck in an odd way and he had started whittling on it in spare moments