Cheese State's Y2k Strategy: Call In The Troops

December 06, 1998|By David Greising.

The State of Wisconsin plans to call out the National Guard to combat the anarchy and social breakdown that seems all but assured when the Year 2000 computer bug attacks on Jan. 1, 2000.

Amazing, isn't it? They've got computers in Wisconsin.

Apparently, the Cheese State will join the rest of the computerized world as we grapple with the Y2K problem. When computers switch to the date 1/1/00, they'll decide there's no such thing as the year twenty-double-zero, and blow their circuits in rage.

Wisconsin is hardly alone. The Federal Reserve is printing $50 billion of currency to make certain there's cash on hand. Numerous states are writing laws exempting themselves from liability when their Medicaid checks bounce. Towns as tiny as North Platte, Neb., have hired people to rewrite miles of computer code.

It's a Y2-Crazy world.

Wisconsin is the first state to put its Guard on guard for Millennium Midnight. To get a gauge on the terror gripping the North Woods, I called the National Guard outpost in Ripon, Wis., for an update. "You've reached Staff 1, Company C, 173rd Engineers," the answering machine reported in a clipped military style. So far, so good.

Then, "Staff Sgt. Werner will be gone all through deer hunting."

That's just great. Every Norwegian north of Illinois is counting on the Guard to fend off Millennium Madness, and Sgt. Werner is out blasting Bambi.

Our beer-bathed northerly neighbors have plenty to worry about, even if Sgt. Werner and his ilk can take time away from spearing walleye to stand guard against societal collapse.

In Wisconsin, the Y2K bug seems certain to cause havoc like a corn borer on steroids.

Cars and trucks with on-board computers won't work, so the Soldiers of Weekends will commandeer vehicles from the pre-silicon age. The Guard will parade proudly through one-bar towns in a column of the Wisconsin Dells' "ducks," the amphibious landing craft from World War II.

Need more troop transport? Simple. Grab the antique miniature firetrucks from the clown museum in Baraboo.

There won't be a moment to lose.

When computer controls conk out, processing machinery will switch into overdrive. Sheboygan will crank out enough wurst to erect a sausage snow fence around the perimeter of the state. Dairies will curdle so much cheddar, the Guard will use it to build barricades on the state's icy roads.

They'll need it in Green Bay, to fend off the hordes of t.p. hoarders attacking the world's largest toilet paper mill. And in Kohler, to stop marauding snowmobilers from attacking the big potty plant.

Space-heater spasms will melt ice shacks clear into the lakes. Pulling frozen fishers out of the water, the guardsmen will assume it's a fishing derby. They'll weigh every survivor, and the guard outposts in Hayward and Boulder Junction will argue over which town is the fisherman-fetching capital of the world.

The automatic locks on every bar in the state will snap shut, bolting the beer guzzlers inside. A roar of praise will arise from every bar stool in the state. But when the computer breakdown stops the beer taps from pouring, they'll riot and bust out.

Dazed Packer fans will wander toward Green Bay. What better place to welcome the Millennium than Lambeau Field? After all, Bears coach Dave Wannstedt has met Armageddon in Lambeau for almost a decade now, and he's still alive.

Dairy cows will search for someone to milk them. They'll find plenty of takers. The bio-engineered bulls from American Breeders Service in DeForest will search for somewhat similar relief. They won't.

Sheryl Albers, the Wisconsin state representative who had the foresight to call for the Guard, says that Wisconsin can't be too careful about the approach of Millennium Mayhem. "The fact that we're talking about these things has forced everybody to say, `Hey, this is pretty serious stuff,' " she says.

This is serious stuff all right, and the Guard will get right on the case. Just as soon as Bambi's in the bag.