Outage Shows Technology’s Fragile Links

It used to be that restaurants didn’t have computers and the only way to get money out of the bank was to stand in line and wait for a teller--the human kind. Gas pumps weren’t connected to credit-card networks. Emergency systems were run by people, not computers.

The Blackout of ’96 did more than demonstrate the nearly complete dependence of business and government on a host of seemingly infallible technological gadgets. It also provided dramatic proof of how unsettling it can be to go back to the old ways when those gadgets fail.

While most authorities and businesses claimed to have successfully pulled through the record blackout with well-honed contingency plans, when electronic push came to shove, the fragility of interlocking technology--ubiquitous in everything from cash registers to traffic signals--was exposed.

Consider the plight of Scott’s Seafood and Grill in Costa Mesa, which was preparing for a wedding reception for 175 guests when the lights went out.

“It would have been a complete nightmare for the bride and groom,” said manager Charles Roumeliotes. “We couldn’t let that happen.”

Although much of the kitchen runs on gas, the exhaust fans are powered by electricity, which means the kitchen quickly fills with smoke without them. Likewise, the ordering and cashier functions are all computerized. Guests couldn’t even wash their hands, since the taps in the bathrooms are triggered by “electric eyes.”

So Roumeliotes and his staff quickly rented four generators and two industrial-strength fans to provide enough current and air flow for the dinner and dancing. Turns out it wasn’t needed, since the power came back on before the guests arrived.

But for Roumeliotes, the power failure was deja vu. The restaurant had been forced to close the previous Saturday night, thanks to a blown power grid in the area.

“I felt like Bill Murray in ‘Groundhog Day,’ ” Roumeliotes said. “I couldn’t believe it was happening again.”

In Morro Bay, the blackout sent people rushing to Giant Food to stock up on candles, flashlights and food. There was just one problem: All of the items in the store had bar codes and the bar-code scanner ran on nonexistent electricity.

A clerk, posted at the doorway of the darkened store, handed slips of pink paper and pens to customers and told them to jot down the prices of the items they wanted. The clerks could do the math. “Makes you think about when life was simpler,” one customer remarked.

Even more disturbing was the failure of more than one crash-proof system designed to provide public services. Officials--who have long proclaimed that everything from sewage treatment to emergency communication was protected by backup equipment and interlinking systems--spent much of Monday trying to assess what, exactly, went wrong.

Some saw in the blackout a warning sign that society must be better equipped to handle breakdowns in the intricate technology that has come to dominate daily life.

“Our society is evolving to a complex system of systems” said Dr. Bryan Gabbard, Associate Director of Science and Technology Division for RAND Corp., a Santa Monica-based think tank. “This interlinking controls the day-to-day activities of our work life. I don’t know what caused the power failure, but it had a massive impact because of this interlinking.”

Gremlins surfaced in unexpected places. Twelve Southern California hospitals shut down emergency services, despite backup generators that were supposed to keep them running during any disaster.

There was a 30-minute interruption in communications at Los Angeles County’s emergency headquarters in Commerce--officials were unable to contact local hospitals or paramedics, despite a supposedly crash-proof technology. Officials have been trying to get the bugs out of the system--which also failed during the Northridge quake--for years.

In a massive example of the dangers posed by interdependent systems, 6 million gallons of partly treated sewage was spewed from the city’s Hyperion Sewage Treatment Plant into the Santa Monica Bay, forcing beach closure until Monday.

“The idea of a total shutdown like this, which affected three counties, was something that was supposed to not happen,” said Chuck Ellis, a spokesman for the Department of Public Works.

Individual systems at Hyperion have backup power, Ellis said, but because many machines on the 144-acre plant are interconnected, the outage had a domino effect.

“Think of the size of the equipment we’re talking about. We’re talking about pumps the size of your house,” Ellis noted. “These are huge pieces of equipment. Even if they were only down 15 minutes, you don’t just turn a switch and turn them back on. You’ve got to bring them back on line slowly.”

Hyperion engineers met Monday to review the crisis.

“They’re debriefing everything . . . . They’re replaying it in their minds to see how they can do it better,” Ellis said. “We’ll also look at the redundancy [backup] question: Do we have enough? How much is enough? How prepared to we want to be, and how much are we prepared as a city to pay for the amount of preparedness we want?”

Those with technology-dependent businesses were still assessing the impact of the outage. By mid-afternoon Monday, Wells Fargo Bank, for one, had yet to reconnect 330 of the 2,100 ATM machines that went down statewide.

But Orange County businesses and institutions generally said that their emergency systems performed well.

Backup generators at UCI Medical Center kicked on within seconds.

“We’re talking about computers, lights, everything . . .” said hospital spokeswoman Carolyn Cohen Carter. “There was literally just a couple of seconds before the backup generators automatically went on, and we were fully powered. The wheels just worked smoothly, and everybody did what they were supposed to do.”

The Anaheim Police Department’s emergency generator kept lights and computers going, but not the air conditioning. Workers opened windows and doors, in addition to calling in extra dispatchers to handle the 911 calls from residents wanting information about the blackout.

“We don’t like to see things like this happen,” said Dennis Sisto, a spokesman for St. Joseph Hospital in Orange where, he said, full power was maintained by emergency generators. “But it’s a good test.”

Of course, the seriousness of the outage depended a lot on your point of view. Thousands of immigrants--born and raised in developing countries where utilities are less than reliable--didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

“In places like El Salvador, a power outage is no big deal,” said Angela Sanbrano. “For example, every time there’s lightning or a big storm you know the electricity is going to go out. You’re used to it.”

Others, as well, saw in the blackout cause for optimism. Deprived of electricity for hours, freed of their computers and ATM cards, most people managed quite well.

“People were uncomfortable, people were inconvenienced, people were out of sorts, but people didn’t die,” said Clifford Stoll, author of “Silicon Snake Oil,” a critique of the computer industry. “There weren’t riots. Nor were there tears in the fabric of society. Quite the opposite.

“People are amazingly adaptable,” he added. “I think we are less dependent on electricity and technology than many people believe.”

Twentieth Century frustration often gave way to that old time American trait, ingenuity:

At the Four Seasons Hotel in Newport Beach, hotel workers stationed themselves at various strategic points, in the hotel lobby, near elevators and in all hallways, to help guests find their way. And almost immediately, spokesman Tom Segesta said, a command center was set up in a conference room where managers could get up-to-the-minute information about the blackout from a portable radio. They also made periodic announcements over the public address system to keep guests calm and informed.

Had the outage lasted longer, the hotel was equipped with enough grills and propane tanks to do the cooking for several scheduled banquets, Segesta said.

“We were ready to cook the meal on a barbecue,” he said. “The show was still going to go on, even if the lights weren’t going to be there.”

At Topanga Canyon Chevron in Woodland Hills, customers desperate for gas simply left their cars at the pumps when the power died and the fuel stopped flowing.

“They’d throw us the keys and say, ‘When it comes back on, fill it up. Here’s my credit card. Here’s my phone number. Call me when it’s ready,’ ” said station manager Jay Graham.

His employees did just that.

Times staff writers Martha Groves, David Haldane, Douglas P. Shuit, Richard Simon, Eric Slater, Jodi Wilgoren and Nora Zamichow contributed to this story.