January 21–28, 1999

cover story

Why Philadelphians Should Stop Worrying And Learn To Love the Bug

The Y2K scare is real—but Philadelphia may well be ahead of the game.

click here to go to sidebar "The State Prepares for the Date"

by Gwen Shaffer

		A computer tests one of PECO's substations. photo: Sandor Welsh

My goal is to make this as simple as possible for you… " Brian Anderson assures someone on the other end of the telephone line. He cradles the receiver in one hand and shuffles through a stack of papers with the other, searching for an elusive document. "One of the things we're doing is assigning project managers… I'd like to meet with you… My secretary, Terry, will call you back."

Just as Anderson, 37, hangs up the phone, Terry pokes her head through the doorway to let her boss know yet another person is waiting on hold. He takes the call, even though he's running 10 minutes late for a meeting.

When Anderson stands up from behind his desk, his 6-foot, 6-inch frame dominates the room—even this spacious office filled with a slate-blue sofa and shiny redwood furniture. A wall of windows overlooking Market Street would light up the room, if Anderson opted to open his Venetian blinds.

No, it's not the sun's morning glare causing Anderson's eyes to water. It's fatigue.

He wishes he had more time to spend with his family these days. After all, his wife just gave birth to their fourth son last month. And his three older boys would love to have their dad around to help build a snowman and play computer games.

But he's got a good reason for spending 12-hour days at the office: He's charged with ensuring the competency of every computer system run by the city of Philadelphia—and the millennium is just 354 fleeting days away.

When you earn $160,000, you're expected to put in long days at the office. But Anderson is fighting two major uphill battles.

Not only is he competing against an immovable deadline to fix the city's computer problems, he is also challenging the belief held by many Philadelphians—real or perceived—that the world is coming to an end next Jan. 1.

It may be difficult to accept, but Philadelphia—a city that doesn't even have property deeds available online—is actually ahead of the curve when it comes to squashing the Y2K bug.

By now, you would have to be living in a bubble to be oblivious to the looming Year 2000 computer glitch. We are obliged to define it anyway. (Feel free to skip over the following paragraph.)

In the early days of computerization, programs were written using only the last two digits of dates in order to save money and disk space. No one is quite sure how computers will react when they read "00" at the beginning of next year. If computers interpret it as "1900," they could fail to perform properly or shut down altogether.

In November, Anderson—whose lofty title is Chief Information Officer for the City of Philadelphia—convened a meeting of six major cities to compare notes on Y2K progress and process. When the CIOs from Boston, New York, Washington, Chicago and Baltimore hunkered down in Philadelphia that day, it was the first time any of them had gotten together and exchanged ideas on the issue.

Consider a few numbers tossed around: Washington, DC, has devoted $140 million to addressing Y2K problems. New York has created a $350 million contingency plan.

But in Philadelphia, a measly $2.9 million has been spent since 1996 on staff salaries, computer upgrades and replacements. Between 1998 and 2000, Anderson anticipates sinking only $20 million more into Y2K-related activities.

Taken at face value, the statistics seem to imply that Philadelphia is just getting out of the starting gate, while other cities are flying down the home stretch.

Don't be deluded by the figures, Anderson pleads. "Philadelphia was thinking ahead of the game. Other cities have spent more, but not done more."

Ironically, the primary reason Philadelphia is sitting pretty now is because the city was so far down in the dumps during the late '80s and early '90s. While Philadelphia swayed on the brink of bankruptcy, more solvent local governments were investing heavily in technology—computers and software that are now costing millions to upgrade or replace.

"Our departments didn't get new equipment until 1995," explains Karl Bortnick, chief program manager for the city. "There was no budget for it until then."

By that time, the technology world was well aware of the looming Y2K problem and all computers were encoded with four-digit dates.

City government currently purchases 500 new personal computers every 90 days, adding up to 2,000 machines annually. By comparison, the city only owned about 3,600 PCs in 1993.

Rather than upgrade older applications, Bortnick and his colleagues began replacing them as far back as 1996. So in that respect, Philadelphia has a great deal fewer machines to remediate now than most other large cities.

But PCs are far from the only potential Y2K liability.

Thousands of pieces of city equipment contain "embedded technologies." These tiny computer chips operate the electrical utilities we use every day. Microwave ovens, irons, stereos and alarm clocks are just a few of the items likely to be driven by these little cells.

So you can imagine the gargantuan task of determining where embedded technologies lurk inside every city building—from the elevators you ride when you drop off a check at the Department of Revenue, to the fluorescent lights that allow you to browse the rows of books in the public library stacks, to the security systems that protect you inside City Hall.

Embedded technologies live in the most inconspicuous of places. Many city-owned cars and trucks contain date-encoded microchips. Fuel pumps with embedded technology may prevent the mayor's limo from revving up on the first of January.

All of this means that when Y2K efforts began in earnest in 1996, the city needed to conduct a sweep of every building and inventory each piece of equipment containing embedded technology. Only then could the Mayor's Office of Information Services (MOIS)—the office Anderson heads—determine what needed to be tested.

Rather than throwing money at the problem, Anderson and his staff have taken a methodical approach. He teamed up with Unisys Corp., based in Blue Bell.

The city of Philadelphia was Unisys' first Y2K client, says Susan Thomas, worldwide director for the company's "Team 2000."

"Philadelphia recognized the problem as far back as 1988-89," she says. "The city has been modernizing computers for the last 10 years. That's why it's never been under the crunch."

Together, beginning more than three years ago, Unisys and MOIS began prioritizing the functions of all 21 city departments.

"The task has been overwhelming for some cities, and they simply handed the keys over to consultants," Anderson notes. "But I think this is a problem you have to own."

Managing the predicament requires asking questions at the front end, Bortnick agrees.

"We went to each department and said, 'Forget about technology for now, just tell us what you do,'" he says.

Dressed in a black cardigan sweater vest and large square-framed glasses, Bortnick looks distinctly professorial as he steps up to a dry-erase board, pats down his thinning hair, and begins sketching out a

		Charles Isdell, acting director for aviation is charged with finding solutions to the looming Y2K crisis. photo: Sandor Welsh

flow chart of each city agency and its functions. "We had to figure out how the city runs, how it flows," he says.

City departments were systematically "decomposed." What are their critical business processes? Are they dependent upon embedded technology? What type of computer systems do they use? Who are their key suppliers? What would happen if access was lost?

"We try to take a top-down approach, which hasn't been the norm," Anderson says. Most cities and big corporations began wholesale replacements and upgrades before stepping back and analyzing the problem.

Before even evaluating any technology, Anderson says, his office wanted to understand the business impact. "I can sleep much better at night, now that I understand where the risk is and the probability."

Anderson was living in Connecticut and working as a general manager for insurance giant Aetna U.S. Healthcare when the city approached him at the end of 1997. His name topped a list of 80 potential recruits for the CIO position.

The city had to come back with several offers before Anderson finally decided to accept. "I never considered working for local government," he says. "I didn't think it could offer me all the things I was interested in doing."

Not to mention the fact that it pays substantially less than working in the private sector.

Anderson changed his mind after the Rendell administration succeeded in impressing him. Anderson also liked the idea of a job that would allow him to effect change in the community.

More significantly, Anderson was anxious to return to Philadelphia. Before the Connecticut job, he'd lived in Philadelphia for 20 years. A Pittsburgh native, he came here on a basketball scholarship to study at Drexel.

Without a doubt, Anderson says he considers Philadelphia his home. "I even root for the Eagles rather than the Steelers now."

If you follow Philadelphia politics at all, it shouldn't come as a shock to learn that City Council is a little on the sleepy side, technologically speaking. Even though MOIS promises to have things well under control, our 15 current local lawmakers have yet to pass any Y2K-related legislation.

This past Oct. 18, Council did adopt a resolution calling on members to hold public hearings investigating how the Y2K bug may affect the city's ability to operate smoothly on Jan. 1, 2000.

"I want to bring in all the entities—water, gas, electric, finance, the police department, public property, the fire department—and make sure loose ends are tied up," says Councilman Frank Rizzo Jr., who introduced the resolution.

Rizzo says he is "confident" that various city agencies have matters under control, but he still wants "reassurance on the record." And if commissioners were to testify that not every "i" will be dotted and every "t" crossed by the end of this year, "we need to hear what they plan to do about it," Rizzo insists.

Some City Council staffers contend, however, that their bosses are deliberately avoiding hearings about Y2K issues. "There's a sense that the city won't be ready," one source says, "and they don't want it to come out during hearings and incite panic in people."

But allowing rumors and misperceptions to pile up like dust on a computer monitor may be a serious mistake.

The biggest threat emanating from the Y2K problem, Anderson contends, is the potential for mass hysteria. Anderson points to what he calls the "magic bean sellers" who promise that their pricey software programs will fix everything, or that electricity generators should be set up in every home.

Anderson expects that the city will embark on a public outreach campaign to drown out some of the millennium madness.

Although Philadelphians shouldn't sit back and do nothing—Y2K is real, he insists—they shouldn't fear the world is coming to an end. "The truth lies somewhere in between," he says.

In total, $600 billion is being spent worldwide to upgrade computers and equipment. Half of that amount is being invested in the United States alone. The vast majority of it has been spent on testing, which so far has demonstrated that rolling over to 0-0 has zero impact on function.

If nothing were done to correct the Y2K bug, computer systems would not blow up, as some alarmists would have us believe. And, statistically, only one in every 20,000 transactions, or 2 percent, would fail. "Problems are the exception to the rule, but we must investigate anyway," Anderson says.

Even so, people are already talking about withdrawing large pots of money from their bank accounts at the end of the year (the Federal Reserve plans to print an extra $50 billion to $75 billion worth of bank notes this year), as well refusing to fly during the first few weeks of 2000 (realizing they won't sell enough tickets to turn a profit, some airlines have already announced flights will be canceled at the beginning of the new year).

Such precautions are uncalled for, Anderson says. In order to quell local hysteria, he intends to ask Mayor Rendell to establish a commission that would grade Philadelphia's utilities, financial institutions, hospitals, transportation systems and major businesses.

"These report cards would serve as a way for us to communicate with the public throughout the year," he says.

And if the message fails to get across that government has a handle on the problem, what are the consequences?

Companies will prey on people's fears and take advantage of them, Anderson warns. "Even Microsoft is persuading customers they need to buy an upgraded version of Office 2000."

The impact of Americans refusing to fly for several weeks could have a ripple effect, he says. "Work won't get done, which means other sectors of the economy could suffer."

If there are mass runs on banks, even huge financial institutions like PNC could potentially die.

The doomsayers have moved to the "extreme hypothetical," Anderson says. "These predictions are at the same level as saying it is possible for a meteor to hit the earth, so let's go out and build a bunker."

Without a strong counter-message, these are the voices that will resonate with the public, Anderson fears. "I hear logical people asking me if their computers are going to melt," he says, shaking his head in dismay.

Most city departments perform between one and 10 "mission critical operations." For example, the Department of Revenue collects taxes, but it also carries out several "sub-processes," such as archiving documents. If those minor duties could fail without disrupting the continuity of city services, they are not prioritized.

Tax collection, on the other hand, clearly would be.

In fact, all of the city's financial functions top Anderson's list of priorities. Obviously, vendors will stop delivering goods and services if the city fails to pay its bills, and thousands of city employees expect to get paid.

If a check fails to get sent to the electric company, power supplied to the city could be cut off. All local government functions would effectively shut down. On a smaller scale, disaster could occur if the city owed money to Sysco Food Services but the check never got sent. That company could refuse to deliver food to Philadelphia correctional facilities, spurring prisoners to riot.

Topping the list, after financial services, are human services. The police, fire, health, streets and water departments have all been designated high status for Y2K testing.

When the Streets Department tested the city's traffic lights by changing the date to Jan. 1, 2000, they all began blinking. The department is often called upon to fix a traffic light on the fritz—but never all of them at once.

Police officers depend heavily on sound communication to accomplish their work. They need assurances that the 911 call system, radios and telephones will be up and running without a glitch. No matter how diligent the city is in heading off trouble, the electric and phone companies bear responsibility for these functions. Of course, the city has a backup plan in development.

Joe Certaine, managing director for the City of Philadelphia, says the police department's Y2K readiness efforts are "highly classified."

"As we determine our status, we also discover our vulnerabilities," he says.

MOIS also pegged other aspects of the criminal justice system as priorities. The courts, for instance, track suspects from the moment of arrest. The efficiency of every step depends on computers. "If the system were to break down, they would have to quadruple the staff," Anderson says.

By the time every city department was assessed, MOIS had identified 789 projects or "dependencies."

Fixing the problem is not complex, says Bortnick, the program manager for MOIS. "It is actually really simple."

Really simple—and really tedious.

"Y2K is challenging because it is difficult to manage such a large number of projects and activities," Bortnick says. "That's 700 things we have to follow through on. Then we have to evaluate the results, create contingency plans and coordinate with 53 other agencies."

At first, the toughest obstacle was convincing various city commissioners that Y2K was not just an obscure technology problem that could be easily ignored. "Once we created an awareness, everyone looked at [MOIS] and asked, 'What are you gonna do now?'" Bortnick recalls.

Citywide, about 300 employees are working exclusively on preventing Y2K disasters from occurring at the end of this year. Most of them are scattered throughout various departments, but MOIS alone has dedicated 40 of its staffers to the problem.

Every city office is forced to put out extra money for Y2K troubleshooting. Most can absorb the costs through "modernization" and "renaissance" expenditures. That's because some systems needed to be replaced anyway—Y2K concerns simply accelerated the upgrade.

In other cases, city departments have juggled their budgets to cover anticipated computer needs.

City government is not an island. Every one of its functions relies on PECO transmitting electricity; the Philadelphia Water Department pumping water to city faucets and firehoses; Bell Atlantic connecting phone calls; and the Gas Company heating city buildings.

A city can't run without services.

		Bob Moyer, a PECO analyst, is charged with finding solutions to the Y2K crisis. photo: Sandor Welsh

Philadelphians left stranded during last summer's SEPTA strike may fear that the Year 2000 will again bring trains and buses to a screeching halt. But officials promise that service on Jan. 1 will run just as consistently as the smart voice that warns passengers on the new El cars to "Please stand clear of the doors."

With the help of two consulting companies, SEPTA has been performing Y2K remediation for the past year. It identified 336 systems that require testing, ranging from payroll programs to the turnstiles and token machines in each station. When all is said and done, SEPTA officials expect Y2K will have cost the transportation system $5 million.

Feel like you're going to scream if the telephone rings one more time? Doomsayers predict that won't be a worry on Jan. 1 because the telephone network will be paralyzed. Bell Atlantic officials insist such forecasts are hogwash.

In fact, the majority of Bell Atlantic's network was already Y2K compliant at the end of 1998, according to spokesman John Johnson.

The company began testing its millions of lines of software code more than three years ago. "I've watched the guy sit at the computer and scroll through seemingly endless strings of commands," he says. "The problem cuts across every operation and every database system in the company."

The Bell Atlantic region encompassing Philadelphia—13 states plus the District of Columbia—has invested $350 million on rectifying the Y2K problem. Most of that money has gone toward new equipment and upgrading older programs, as well as labor costs.

Know anyone who is normally crisscrossing the sky when the new year dawns? Most likely, not.

Still, rumors abound that planes will be crashing and burning that evening because air traffic control operations will go haywire. The Federal Aviation Administration vows that no such scenario will be played out.

Locally, the Philadelphia International Airport has a different set of worries. The authority has identified 300 pieces of equipment that could potentially go on the blink at the start of 2000.

"Every time we think the inventory is complete, it grows," laments Charles Isdell, acting director of aviation. "It's like a living thing."

Security systems, radio communications and the monitors that inform passengers of flight arrivals and departures are the most obvious risks. Not as dangerous—but perhaps equally annoying to travelers if they break down—are things like automated toilets and parking lot toll booths.

While the potential for catastrophe exists, the fallout from Y2K is no different than other challenges that routinely threaten the airport, Isdell says.

On a daily basis, the airport has contingency plans for handling snowstorms, terrorist threats and power outages. You can feel secure about a building that houses a communications room also referred to as the "disaster control center."

The airport's main security network is a computer-driven "access control system." Electronic badges are used to open doors leading onto the airfield. As of today, that system is 50 percent compliant, and the remaining portion should be upgraded by June 30, Isdell says.

Should it unexpectedly fail, quite a few staff members could have their New Year's Eve celebrations ruined—because they'd have to stick around to personally monitor all 240 or so airport doors.

The larger task is checking with all the airport's vendors and suppliers to make sure they are prepared for the Year 2000, Isdell says. He plans to stock up on items such as rock salt and de-icer, in case deliveries are stalled.

PECO analyst Bob Moyer weaves his black Ford Explorer through the gate leading into the Sun Oil Refinery in Marcus Hook, Delaware County. The truck easily maneuvers its way over patches of ice and snow, under a labyrinth of pipes and smokestacks that stretch to the horizon.

The vast refinery feels like a separate little universe—expansive enough to warrant its own PECO substation, at least. The substation is less than three years old, but caution demands it be tested anyway.

Moyer pulls up to a gigantic metal box surrounded by transmission towers and coils—each one connected to the next by thick cables. Moyer steps out of the truck and clambers up to the substation door. He's decked out in navy chinos, Timberland work boots and a powder-blue shirt with a name patch on the pocket.

Since being assigned to PECO's Y2K project in July, a typical day for Moyer begins at the crack of dawn. By 5 a.m., he is poring over computer manuals and slogging through paperwork. The amount of work to be completed threatens to overwhelm him at times.

"Its like cutting grass one blade at a time," Moyer says.

When he enters the substation, two of Moyer's colleagues have already begun the morning's task.

They have loaded PECO's standard Y2K compliancy software program onto a laptop computer, which is hooked up to a line breaker, the piece of equipment that's being tested today. The breaker has been isolated from the electrical grid so that it can be tested for 13 dates.

The most obvious date they test is, of course, 01-01-00. But crews also test for 09-09-99, which programmers used to write in as a "stop point." The date 03-01-00 is tested because next year is a leap year. And to ensure that computers recognize 31-day months, 03-31-00 is plugged in. Nine other dates are also simulated.

Following each date, the technicians scribble handwritten notes describing how the equipment reacted. If it trips up or fails to function, PECO must upgrade or replace it.

Substations hold 3,000 components considered "suspect," Moyer says, and his crews have completed testing on about 70 percent of them. "We haven't identified anything we need to replace," he says.

PECO officials say they are confident that few, if any, of its 1.5 million customers will lose power when the clocks roll over to 01-01-00.

The utility is investing $75 million between 1998 and 2000 for testing and remediation. Three hundred employees are working solely on Y2K mitigation.

To get a sense of the scope of the problem, consider this: It took six months just for PECO to inventory all of its substations. (A typical substation contains 75 distinct pieces of equipment.)

Next, the company determined which pieces of equipment contain embedded technology and prioritized those that are "mission critical." The critical equipment was then assessed for every imaginable "type and configuration."

"For instance, a single relay breaker could be used in hundreds of different patterns," explains Bob Farrington, PECO's Year 2000 manager for embedded technology.

PECO initiated its Y2K program at its nuclear power plants, the Limerick plant near Pottstown and Hope Creek in Salem County, NJ.

The plants contain 136,000 separate electrical and mechanical components that all needed to be checked out. Of those, 2,300 were found to be "date-sensitive." After testing, fewer than 150 pieces of equipment actually reacted improperly when tested. The utility is in the process of upgrading and replacing those parts.

Over all, Moyer says he feels quite confident about PECO's ability to deliver power at the start of the millennium.

But Anderson intends to purchase an electricity generator for his office.

Just in case.

Not all Y2K survivalists are off digging caves in the Utah desert. Some of them are your neighbors. MRobb Ware is spreading the word among his Delaware County neighbors that they should stockpile at least a two-week supply of food and water in preparation for the dawning of the Year 2000. "That's at a minimum," he adds. "The experts say the crisis could last a month."

So far, Ware has organized two meetings for his Aston community, to go over what he describes as "the Year 2000 Computer Crisis and possible implications regarding public utilities and banking, and how it will affect members of the community personally."

Ware became involved in organizing his community through a Web site called the Cassandra Project (named for the Trojan king Priam's daughter, Cassandra, who was endowed with the gift of prophecy, but was fated never to be believed).

Because a chance exists that our electric supply will also be lost, Ware, a 24-year-old computer programmer for an insurance company, recommends investing in a gas or kerosene heater. "This is happening in the dead of winter," he reminds.

Ware is skeptical that local governments and businesses will be ready when the Y2K bug strikes. He reads every report issued by Congress on the topic, and can easily tick off how far along various federal agencies are when it comes to fixing the problem. (He believes that the Social Security Administration is doing well, but that the Department of Energy is in huge trouble.)

It is important to mobilize the entire community for Y2K preparedness, Ware explains, because he doesn't want to be the only one on the block with enough rolls of toilet paper and cans of soup to eke through the crisis. "If you are the only one in the neighborhood who is prepared, others are going to be banging on your door," he says.

As for folks who are running out and purchasing guns to protect their property from looting, Ware says he is ambivalent about that tactic. "I've never been pro-gun, but I do see a need for them" when it comes to remaining safe during the first few weeks of 2000, he says.

Ware shares a home with his mother, sister and nephew in Aston, which is next to Chester. "Chester has a large population on welfare," he begins to explain.

		The Deadline Approaches: Anderson (left) and Bornick of the mayor's office of information services are under the gun to ensure government agencies run smoothly on Jan. 1, 2000. photo: Sandor Welsh

And because the federal Department of Health and Human Services is lagging behind in its efforts to make sure all systems are Y2K compliant (the agency received a "D" on a report card issued by U.S. Rep. Steve Horn, who chairs the House subcommittee on government management and technology), there is a chance cash benefit checks won't get delivered. "If government checks are not going out and grocery stores have empty shelves, there is the potential for riots," Ware cautions.

Federal government troops are already mobilizing for next New Year's Eve, Ware insists. "My sister's boyfriend is a sniper with the National Guard and he's already been told he will need to be in Philadelphia to protect City Hall."

A spokesperson for the National Guard in Washington says it is possible that some states will opt to put troops on alert, but "there are no plans to mobilize at this time."

The stereotypical image of the personal injury lawyer bolting down the street in pursuit of an ambulance may have to be updated. As the millennium approaches, these same lawyers may be staring at a blank computer screen, smiling broadly.

Lots of clever attorneys believe they can make a killing off the impending crisis. Some local practitioners predict Y2K will be the next asbestos or carpal tunnel syndrome.

A team of lawyers from the City Solicitor's Office is already on top of the potential onslaught of suits, although Congress passed legislation protecting against lawsuits as long as a "reasonable" and "best effort" has been made to prevent Y2K disasters.

That won't stand in the way of cases being filed. Over the next several years, the cost of Year 2000 litigation is projected to exceed $1 trillion, according to a study by Thelen, Marrin, Hohnson & Bridges, a San Francisco law firm.

To date, only about 40 such suits have been filed in the United States. Nearly all of these challenges have been lodged against software companies by customers who believe they should not be charged for program upgrades, according to Scott Patterson, a partner with Saul, Ewing, Remick & Saul.

Out of the 225 attorneys in his Berwyn firm, Patterson estimates about 35 of them are keeping on top of Y2K issues and folding Year 2000 language into contracts.

Most problems likely giving rise to litigation will not be evident until Jan. 1, Patterson points out. "But you can imagine a breakdown in any computer system that uses dates," he says. "If traffic lights fail and there are auto accidents, people will undoubtedly try to hold the city liable."

The main concern for local government involves the "huge volume of financial transactions" it makes, Patterson speculates. "The city may have problems getting payments out, and city services could be disrupted."

But all of these future scenarios are simply that—theories about what could happen.

The City Solicitor's Office declined to comment on its efforts to shield Philadelphia from liability.

In a statement, spokesperson Mary Schmidt said, "For the past several years, the city law department has negotiated contracts with technology vendors that include protective language that requires the contractor to warrant that the computers and software are Year 2000 compliant."

In addition, Schmidt notes, the law department monitors developing case law regarding Y2K litigation. "To date, no governmental unit has been included in the litigation throughout the country."

Contractual issues related to the Year 2000 are permeating the private sector as well.

Increasingly, lawyers are being asked to review agreements between companies using software and the developers of these products.

In addition, it is becoming standard for acquisitions and mergers to include, in the terms of the deal, language assuring the buyer that all assets are Y2K compliant. "It affects whether the buyer thinks it may be too much of a headache to take over a company," Patterson notes.

The vast majority of property insurance policies written this year specifically exclude Y2K damage, opening a whole new arena for lawyers to spar in. A bloody legal battle is likely to ensue between policy holders and insurance companies, Patterson says. "Undoubtedly, insurance companies will be challenged in court."

With so many attorneys elbowing their way into the Y2K scene, some local law firms hope to carve a niche for themselves. The Center City firm Stradley, Ronon, Stevens & Young is offering its clients "Y2K checkups." The firm is examining businesses for the risk of liability at the beginning of the millennium.

"Our approach is not to say, 'We are technical experts,' but to give them an outline of the most prudent steps they can take to reduce their exposure to lawsuits or dealing with repairs," says associate attorney Mark Hershey.

Although Congress is attempting to stave off groundless litigation, Anderson fears the law is too vague. "My question is, what is a 'reasonable and best effort'?"

All he can vouch for is that tireless computer programmers are clicking their mouses to the bone in municipal offices across the city. Philadelphia's government will not come apart at the seams as we all clink our champagne glasses together for a millennium toast, he promises.

But as for what will happen… even the city's CIO isn't prepared to fully answer that question. "The reality is, we don't know what will happen until Jan. 1."

The Y2K problem could be incredibly devastating, Anderson acknowledges from behind his desk, 354 days before the Year 2000 kicks in. "The extremists are correct."

Anderson pauses, for just a moment, before adding, "Except that people are doing something about it."