Reported by Howard Altman, Deborah Bolling, Daniel Brook, Daryl Gale, Brian Hickey and Mary F. Patel

John Dougherty arrives outside his South Philadelphia bar wearing a bright yellow long-sleeved T-shirt and blue jogging pants at 6 a.m. He’s running on two hours’ sleep, which is the way things go for anointed power brokers on the rise come Election Day. If Dougherty’s any worse for the lack of rest, it doesn’t show.

His cell phone rarely makes it into the waist clip. The polls won't open for another hour but everybody still has to know how things are going, even if they're not going anywhere yet.

Dougherty, the affable 6-foot, 2-inch political face of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers Local 98, already knows one important thing: Getting his City Council challengers elected -- along with friend and incumbent Councilman Rick Mariano -- will cement his bigtime player status. Stories of his rivalry with South Philly's entrenched State Sen. Vincent Fumo could grow by nightfall.

By then, he'll have seen Mariano get re-elected, but his upstarts will lose in an election marked by low turnout and little controversy. The only surprise -- if it can be called that -- will be the end of Angel Ortiz's run on Council. It will be an eventful day, but not an overly memorable one by Philadelphia political standards. The next six months could change all that, though, as the battle now becomes healing a fractured Democratic party. And for that to happen, two apparent enemies may soon need to broker some peace that eluded them on Tuesday.

"I like Vince," Dougherty says without a trace of sarcasm, "but we just have philosophical differences."

With that, he ducks into the Colburn Deli for breakfast. He shakes his chocolate milk with one hand and grips a soft pretzel in the other. A female fan gives Johnny Doc a hug of support and offers her best wishes.

Then along comes a local committeeman with a flier in his hand. On it is a list of 20 nearby Section 8 properties and how much renters pay each month to live there. Blame it all on Jim Kenney, the at-large councilman Dougherty's working to usurp, reads the paper. Voting for challengers Mike Driscoll and Dan Pellicciotti -- Johnny Doc's guys -- will change things for the better.

"Man," Dougherty laughs minutes after being taken up on his offer to let anybody come watch his Election Day machine in action, "I couldn't have staged that scene if I tried."

6:20 a.m., Second and Mifflin

Dougherty can't walk one block without having to stop and chat two or three people up. Pennsport is his turf so it makes sense that everybody seems to know him. It is, after all, where he grew up.

A man wearing a VFW-Post hat drives up and hands Dougherty a copy of the ballot that will be spread throughout the neighborhood. He carries it with him, holding it up for a union trooper and pointing to Kenney's name.

"We're not helping him," says Dougherty of the Fumo ally. "Don't take it for granted that people already know that. You have to tell them. Got it?"

6:30 a.m., Edward O’Malley Athletic Association, Moore Street

The union faithful, most of them sporting jeans and tan boots, start arriving. Their Ford F150s and Dodge Dakota Sports will come in handy. The flatbeds will soon be covered with boxes of ballots, stickers and vote-for admonitions.

Dougherty says about 1,800 guys -- both black and white -- volunteered for duty. (They won't all show up, of course.) Their sorties consist of hanging posters, watching polls, distributing literature and telling everybody which ballot spots represent friend and which represent foe. They also get marching orders to help people with errands if that's what it takes to get out the vote.

7:05 a.m., Moore Street sidewalk

Dougherty's phone rings again. On the other end of the line is right-hand man Jimmy Foy, who's a few blocks away at Dougherty's car.

"This is the life I lead? It gets a chuckle outta me when I think about it," he says, shaking his head.

No further explanation is needed when Foy arrives. In his right hand, he holds a Ziploc bag. Inside the bag is the toy gun he found jammed under Dougherty's windshield wiper.

"I'll tell ya, I thought it was real," Foy says, "until I saw the plastic was cracked."

7:50 a.m., Second and Moore

Watching wave after wave of supporters depart, Dougherty doesn't think comparisons between his camp and the Fumocrats will hold much longer.

Fumo spokesman "Ken Snyder's out there saying they'll have 1,500 people on the streets today," Dougherty says, estimating his own citywide legion at 4,000. "They'll be lucky if they have 15."

7:55 a.m., Pirates New Year’s Brigade clubhouse, Second and Moore

At one of their eight staging areas, workers grab stacks of red signs urging people to vote for Driscoll and orange ones for Pellicciotti.

They also grab ladders, staple guns and disposable cameras, important tools of the Election Day trade. Off to the side sits a stack of fliers referring to the neighborhood's Section 8 properties.

"I don't want any confrontations," he tells them. "We're not going to be egged on into doing anything stupid."

Minutes later, a beat-up pickup truck adorned with "re-elect Kenney" signs pulls up. The driver asks for directions to a nearby intersection. He doesn't get bad information.

8:22 a.m., Pirates clubhouse

A silver Ford F150 with tinted windows pulls up and a Local 98 guy hops out. This is no run-of-the-mill vehicle.

Last November, Fumo claimed he was hit by a truck outside his office after watching Local 98 guys hang posters deriding Councilman Frank DiCicco outside. Charges weren't filed but Fumo publicly blamed Dougherty and proceeded to unsuccessfully challenge the union boss to run for office.

"Here's the guy who they said tried to run Fumo over. Hey," Dougherty says, turning his attention to the driver, whose name wasn't offered up for public consumption, "you be careful out there today, OK?"

8:54 a.m., Bayard Taylor School, Erie and Randolph

Despite the lunchroom sign telling students how to channel anger and frustration, both are evident at the 43rd Ward polling site.

Across the room, Maria Rivera, election judge of the 43rd Ward, 12th Division, talks about the power outage that rendered the machines useless until 8:45 a.m.

Waiting for voters, her son, Augie, says the Mariano-Fitzpatrick tilt is getting ugly quickly.

"I wouldn't say so much that he is intimidating people," Augie says, "but he should do what he has to do."

"He helped me get my house repaired," she says. "There are two sides to every story."

9:09 a.m., Pirates clubhouse

Sitting off in a corner alone, Dougherty doesn't look too happy. It seems as if DiCicco is inexplicably campaigning in Mariano's district. (The two don't exactly get along.)

"It's asinine. You don't think there'll be bad feelings come November because of this?" Dougherty asks. "If he was just riding around shaking hands, I couldn't care less, but he went right to where Ricky's wife was [campaigning]. That's just too in-your-face."

9:32 a.m., Pirates clubhouse

"I just got off the phone with [U.S. Rep. Bob] Brady. Brady sent DiCicco home so I promised not to do anything about it. No more of the Mickey Mouse stuff," Dougherty says, alluding to the woman who followed DiCicco around in a Disney costume in recent weeks. "I didn't raise my voice or anything. See that? I'm a peacemaker. I'm being diplomatic. Nobody's ever going to believe that, huh?"

9:44 a.m., Farrell School, Castor and Fox Chase

Susan Mariano, Ricky's wife, is amazed by DiCicco's visit to this 56th Ward polling place.

9:45 a.m., Spruce Hill Community Association, 45th Street

10 a.m., Community College of Philadelphia West Philly campus, 48th and Chestnut

Two conversion vans and one SUV fitted with public-address speakers blast recorded messages onto Chestnut Street at an eardrum-shattering decibel.

"Today is Election Day, and Councilwoman Jannie Blackwell needs your help to elect our Democratic neighborhood team," the heavy baritone voice booms. "Come out and vote for W. Wilson Goode, Mike Driscoll, Juan Ramos and Blondell Reynolds-Brown. For Court of Common Pleas, vote for Paula Patrick."

10:35 a.m., Sheet Metal Workers Local 19 headquarters, Columbus Blvd.

Organized by Congressman Brady, leader of the city's Democratic Party, the "Bob Brady Express" trolley will ferry many of the 25 party-endorsed candidates to voting wards across the city. Though they're scheduled to depart at 11 a.m., the vast parking lot overlooking the murky Delaware River is almost empty. Even the trolley has yet to arrive.

10:46 a.m., Sheet Metal Workers headquarters

The green-and-red 1950s replica trolley rolls into the parking lot. A slew of well-dressed candidates emerge from their cars. A number of other vehicles filled with more candidates and their supporters have since arrived. There's a lot of hugging and handshaking.

Before boarding, Brady, whose pale blue-green shirt is open at the collar, speaks about the split in his party.

"It's a family squabble," he says. "At the end of the family squabble we'll all be together. Johnny Doc assured me we'll all be together."

11:40 a.m., aboard the Express

Cruising up Washington Avenue, cell phones start ringing off the hook. A campaign commercial featuring Gov. Ed Rendell blares from the trolley. "Wave to the people," Brady instructs. Most pedestrians seem completely unimpressed as unidentifiable hands wave through partially opened windows. The most interested citizens are two toddlers who eagerly wave back.

11:50 a.m., Famous 4th Street Deli, Bainbridge Street

For 25 years, Philadelphia's 4th Street Deli has been the place to be on Election Day. When the Brady Express arrives, a horde of news cameras are already waiting. Within minutes, the renowned Jewish deli is packed. A sign on the door informs regular customers that the dining room is closed for a private lunch. Hefty pastrami sandwiches and dill pickles are plentiful. Half-eaten bowls of matzo ball soup and partially chewed bagels are left strewn on the black-and-white tables as the political operatives and candidates work the room. The atmosphere is friendly and everyone talks with full mouths. When Mayor John Street arrives, he is greeted with applause.

12:48 p.m., Famous Deli

Fumo arrives more than fashionably late, much to the consternation of the milling, famished crowd of politicos. He gives an impromptu news conference to talk about how his Seventh Councilmanic District candidate, Kathleen Fitzpatrick, will beat Mariano.

Minutes later, he joins the mayor and Brady to honor deli owner David Auspitz (father of CP Editor Debra Auspitz) with a flag that once flew over the Capitol.

1:35 p.m., Palumbo Recreation Center, 10th and Fitzwater

At the Second Ward polling place, Common Pleas Court judicial candidates Lori Dumas, Ramy Djerassi and Glenn Bronson discuss where they will go for a drink after the polls close.

1:35 p.m., Fifth and Thompson

Councilman Angel Ortiz confers with staffer Dan Rodriquez, who's helping to coordinate his get-out-the-vote efforts.

"It's going well," the embattled councilman says. "Prognostications of my death may be too soon. I feel better than I felt at midnight last night."

Another staffer approaches Ortiz with a sample ballot that was passed out in the 18th Ward. Seeing that his name has been blacked out, Ortiz jumps in a car, which speeds off to his campaign headquarters. The soon-to-be-former councilman isn't driving.

1:50 p.m., Guerin Recreation Center, 16th and Jackson

More candidates are becoming concerned about inconsistencies on paper ballots being distributed to voters heading into the polls. Though the Democratic Party formally endorsed the trolley riders, their names aren't appearing on the campaign literature provided by ward leaders in some precincts. The mood is sinking. Incumbents aren't as worried as the newcomers since they already have name recognition. But for first-timers who spent upwards of $100,000 for party support, the omission borders on disaster.

1:55 p.m., State Sen. Vincent Fumo’s office, 12th and Tasker

At the head of the conference-room table, Fumo wears a button-up shirt and khaki pants, twirling his cell phone in his hand while reclining in a leather chair.

"Ken Snyder called me at 6:30, telling me that generals have to lead. George Bush had Tommy Franks for that, right?" he asks to the amusement of his present company, including Kenney. (All Kenney has to say is, "I feel shitty. Just fed up with all of it.")

Predicting the incumbents would all win, he still takes pride in Fitzpatrick's campaign.

"Doc and Ricky didn't realize they had a fight on their hands until last week," he says. "I feel as if we won already though. We knocked them for a loop. The only place we can't beat them is in a fistfight."

With an 8 p.m. meeting with Gov. Rendell scheduled, his election updates will come via computer. Then he'll turn his attention to Street vs. Katz. Having already held a fundraiser for Street, stories of an irreparably fractured party seem all the more exaggerated.

"We're gradually developing a relationship," he says. "We'll see what happens, but it's going to be close in November."

2:05 p.m., vicinity of Fourth and Girard

Bruce Wilson, an 18-year-old African-American Ortiz campaign worker, puts a flier in each doorway and mailbox in his designated neighborhood. He explains that his uncle got him the job, which he says will net him $150 in street money. He does not plan to vote. His uncle, Keith Burman, parks his green Hyundai in front of the local polling place, a public health center on Girard Avenue. He insists his nephew, like all members of his family, will vote.

"I always make sure everybody in my family votes if I have to drag them out by their nappy hair," says Burman, 40, who got involved with politics during Wilson Goode Sr.'s first mayoral campaign. He says he has always hoped it would pay off with a city job, but no dice yet.

2:41 p.m., Dirty Frank’s, 13th and Pine

Patrons of the well-known watering hole hang out in the late afternoon sun. "Election? What election?" they ask.

3:40 p.m., Bob Brady Express

At every stop, another candidate departs. Only a handful remain. Riding through Kingsessing, several school children become intrigued by the ornate trolley and vigorously wave. None of the candidates wave back.

4 p.m., Bump, 13th and Locust

Mike Marsico, co-chair of the Liberty City Democratic Club, transformed the chichi gay bar into a campaign headquarters for his group and their beloved Ortiz. House music plays softly in the background. Marsico looks over the ward maps he taped to the frosted glass doorway. Wearing a "Vote Angel Ortiz" T-shirt over his dress shirt, Marsico explains that the Ortiz campaign has given Liberty City money for get-out-the-vote efforts. Though the group backs a slate of candidates, phone-bank volunteers make a special plea for Ortiz.

4:30 p.m., Fourth and York

Borfirio Rodriguez, Enrique Rodriguez and Eduardo Morales pass out sample ballots on the corner. They chat amicably, despite wearing T-shirts bearing the names of Ortiz, Ramos and Mariano, respectively. They're not shy about why they're here and it's not because of steadfast support.

"I don't know who Mariano is," Morales says. "I know that I'm laid-off right now and I need the money. A lady told us this morning that we could make $50 for the day, so here I am."

"I'm here for the money," Borfirio Rodriguez adds. "Everybody works for money, so I'm here working for the money. But I like Angel too. He's a good man."

The men agree that standing in the sun all day is a tough way to earn 50 bucks but admit that come November, they'll be right back here to do it again.

5 p.m., The Clothespin, 15th and Market

Earlier, Bob Brady asked the candidates to meet at the landmark for a final photo op. There's no sign of the media. Blondell Reynolds-Brown hangs out by her car.

6:17 p.m., outside the Pan American Mental Health Services building, North Fifth Street

Rick Mariano stands on the edge of a large crowd chanting "re-elect Mariano" outside of a building that doubles as the 42nd Ward, Fourth Division polling place.

"It's been a very bitter race from my opponent, who used every dirty trick in the book, but we stayed positive. It looks like a win, but you never know," he says.

"I've been hearing some stories about dirty tricks, busloads of people dropping off in certain neighborhoods, confusing people, telling them to vote in different places," he says, adding that such tactics have been for naught.

When asked if Fumo -- who poured hundreds of thousands into Fitzpatrick's campaign -- tried to buy the election, Mariano quickly responds.

"He tries to buy everything," Mariano says. "He is a spoiled little rich boy and that's what he does."

6:20 p.m., Pan American Mental Health Services

Mayor Street's trio of vans pulls up. Street gets out and wades into the crowd. People take turns posing for "Polaroid Posse" pictures with the mayor and Mariano.

After launching into a rolling, re-election stump, Street talks about mending the party.

"Our job is to pull everybody together. There will be 48-hour period after the election where people will feel bad, the folks who don't win will feel bad but we will move toward the general election in about as unified a way as I have seen in a while."

6:32 p.m., 35th Ward polling place

City Council at-large candidate Mike Driscoll says he doesn't understand why everyone thinks he'll drain votes from Kenney. Well-known as the owner of Finnigan's Wake for the past seven years, Driscoll figures "it's just because we are both Irish, but we need to move beyond that." He says he gets support from both Republicans and Democrats.

"I ran for Council because all 28 of the Northeast ward leaders wanted representation. I am getting a lot of support from labor and John Dougherty. My biggest support is coming from the bar and restaurant owners," Driscoll says. "And despite the fact that Bob [Brady] had his wedding reception at Finnigan's, I know he has to support the incumbents. But we were friends before the election and we will be friends after the election."

7:37 p.m., Local 98 headquarters, 17th and Spring Garden

Alone in his office, which is cluttered with papers and sporting goods, Dougherty -- still dressed in the T-shirt and sweats -- says the low turnout is no surprise, particularly because it's an off year with no mayoral primaries. Dougherty says he also anticipated Mariano's victory.

"It was very easy to get people out; one, because Ricky is a homegrown talent and two, because of the attack on Ricky," Dougherty says, alluding to Fumo. "This campaign is the best and the worst of the senator. I believe that in the future he will have difficulty raising money, not because he still won't be able to be involved in the gaming process or the legislative process, but all this money was spent on were terrible, majorly negative ads. The people start to get frustrated."

Dougherty then says that his old friend Kenney suffers from his close association with Fumo.

"Jim Kenney is not only a close personal friend of mine, he is basically family," Dougherty says. "My mother is his godmother, his father is my sister's godfather. Most people tell you, I was as staunch for Jim Kenney as anyone. I don't believe, to this day, that Jim Kenney is a bad guy. He is a very good councilman."

8 p.m., 13th and Tasker

Stepping out of a dark blue SUV into the glow of the neon sign in front of Franco & Luigi's restaurant are Republican mayoral candidate Sam Katz and several staffers. He's just here for dinner, not politics, he says, pointing to his wife and two sons.

Asked about the prominently displayed "Democrats for Katz" signs up and down Tasker Street, Katz grins and gives the thumbs up.

8:16 p.m., Local 98 headquarters

"Rick, I'm very proud of you," he says. "Four years ago, Rick Mariano would have flipped out. The reason they spent a half-million was not to beat you, but to embarrass you."

Mariano, once a staunch Fumocrat, remains less than completely confident so Dougherty reassures him.

"Don't worry," he says, launching into his read on Frank DiCicco's morning visit to Mariano's neighborhood.

"What if the shoe were on the other foot?" Dougherty asks, rhetorically. "Would you have gone to the First District and handed literature out? You took the high road."

9 p.m., Finnigan’s Wake, Fourth and Spring Garden

At least half of the crowd packed into Finnigan's Wake wear "Mike Driscoll for Council" T-shirts. Shirts, hats, beer coasters and the screen saver on the bar's video games tout his candidacy. Still, patrons seem disinterested. When the bartender channel-surfs for early returns, several angrily demand he put the Phillies game back on.

9:47 p.m., sidewalk in front of Bump, 13th and Locust

Mike Marsico paces nervously as he fields calls on his cell. The former Ortiz staffer, and current Liberty City co-chair, is trying to figure out how Ortiz is doing. He calls a current staffer who reports that Ortiz trails Juan Ramos by about 2,000 votes with 60 percent reporting. They hold out hope for good returns from Ortiz-friendly districts.

10 p.m., Finnigan’s Wake

Mike Driscoll still hasn't arrived but nobody seems to care. Hardly a soul looks toward the television as the first returns are flashed. When Channel 17 news predicts Goode, Cohen, Brown and Kenney are virtual locks for re-election with Ramos and Ortiz in a dead heat, no one asks what happened to Driscoll.

10:16 p.m., Finnigan’s Wake

Driscoll supporters crowd the bars, sip brews, listen to loud rock music and seem to forget there was an election. Periodical updates on television confirm Driscoll didn't make the top-five cut.

10:54 p.m., Laborers Local 57, Juan Ramos headquarters, 13th and Wallace

Outside the union hall, Supreme Court candidate James DeLeon extends invitations for his big party at World Fusion. He gives directions to the real Ramos party inside.

Ramos, now up 900 votes on Ortiz, remains in seclusion, waiting for his big moment. In a back room, State Rep. Angel Cruz and Latino power broker Carlos Matos share a joyful hug.

11:04 p.m., Bump

Nearly all the votes have been tallied and Ortiz is still down by 1,000 votes. Blank-faced supporters stand outside. One groans, covers her face and walks down the block.

11:40 p.m., Bump

Ortiz arrives wearing his short-sleeved white shirt open at the collar. As he hugs applauding campaign workers and staffers, the stocky, liberal stalwart manages to hold it together. "It's been a very long day and we still are here," he says. "I will have a further statement tomorrow at 2 p.m."

Midnight, on the phone from Pennsport

Th.e results are in and Dougherty's more than pleased. Mariano weathered the storm and despite their losses, Dougherty says both Driscoll and Pellicciotti valiantly led grassroots campaigns. Still, there's little time for celebration as his thoughts have already turned toward November and the efforts to get Street re-elected.

"Knowing the potential for negative campaigning, it says something that there were no major confrontations out there today," Dougherty says. "But now people are going to have to unify; if not for the party, for their own personal sake."