By Susan Kinzie
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, August 20, 2006

They've been gearing up for this for months. Last week, the final wave of computer support staff went through training. The techs held their breath, hoping no new virus would come along. Yesterday morning, they gathered for final instructions, and then it hit: The University of Virginia dorms opened.

More than 3,000 new students arrived yesterday. And more than 3,000 computers got plugged in.

Howard University's freshmen arrived yesterday, too, with all their computers. And over the next two weeks the same scenes will play out at colleges everywhere: The first-years want to get their stuff upstairs. Meet their roommates. And hook up their computers.

"The Internet is like oxygen to the students," said Beth Ann Bergsmark, director of academic information technology services at Georgetown University. "It's their link to campus maps, course registration, reading assignments, e-mail from home, Facebook, [instant messaging]."

"I don't do anything without it," said Kristina Gibbons, a first-year U-Va. student from Bermuda, looking at her laptop. "I don't know what it's like without one."

Students have been bringing computers to campus for more than 10 years, but now, almost all do.

Schools have different ways of preparing for the influx, sending out CDs of anti-virus software, sweeping the dorms to repair any nonfunctioning jacks.

"We're pretty much flat-out from the first of July to the first of September," said Tony Townsend, U-Va.'s chief technology analyst. "The climax is move-in Saturday."

Yesterday, U-Va.'s tech staff, wearing matching T-shirts, deployed in waves to help find cables, explain passwords, watch for bugs.

For the parents, after lugging boxes through the non-air-conditioned dorms, sweating and worrying, it was the last chance to help. Parents don't leave, the staff said, until their kid is connected.

So every year on move-in day, the tension is thick: Will the network withstand this sudden onslaught? Will the students all get connected? (And the subplot: Will the parents let go?)

By 8:30 a.m., Townsend was at Kent Hall as one of the more than 100 staff members and 30 students fanned out on campus for technical support. Packed cars crept along the roads, guys carrying rolled-up rugs on their shoulders weaved through crowds on sidewalks, and parents were already sweating through their polo shirts.

When Elizabeth Colonna and her parents got to her third-floor room from Winston-Salem, N.C., her roommate hadn't arrived yet, but their computer boxes were sitting right there on the bed, waiting.

Downstairs, Steve Trombetta was unpacking. It was not yet 9 a.m., but his desktop and laptop -- one for gaming, one for schoolwork -- were on his desk.

When Townsend started at U-Va. 20 years ago, the first computer lab had just opened. Teresa Lockard, director of computing support services at U-Va., estimated that 10 years ago that half the students came with computers, mostly for writing papers.

Now classroom discussions spin out online, students tap into data at the library from their rooms, long-distance relationships flicker on and off computer screens.

Last year, 99.4 percent of new students at U-Va. brought computers. So this is it: almost total saturation.

Nora Phillips was staring miserably at her black laptop. "It just doesn't do anything," she said.

Townsend leaned over, tapping at the keyboard and muttering, "Just need to . . . Did you type in . . . Okay, now let's reboot. Just to be sure."

He straightened up and put his backpack on. "You're good to go."

On the way out, he flipped open his cell. "Any crises? Good."

They were ready for many expected problems -- with passwords, too-short cables and the Dell laptop batteries that were recalled this month. This year, for the first time, the freshmen dorms are all wireless, so they knew there might be some bugs. And there are always a few ornery machines configured in such a way that it takes several hours to wrestle them on to the network.

What really scares people like Townsend, though, is the network vermin they can't predict. There is a whole system of checks and scans before a machine can connect to the network, to try to avoid spreading any worms, viruses or other nasties. But it's not foolproof.

"We worry about some black hat riding into town between the update and move-in day," Townsend said. "There's always that tension."

There have been good years. And there have been bad years.

Like the time in 1998 when the folks on the help desk were so overwhelmed with calls that they had to stay into the night, and many callers couldn't get through. Or the time when they started selling computers to students but hadn't yet learned to put the boxes in the dorms. "The line started forming at 6:30," Townsend said. By 9, it was four blocks long. "I had to go down and try to placate these poor parents standing in the broiling sun. People were asking questions like, 'This is a major university -- can't you get this right?' "

In 2003, the Blaster virus hit at the end of August. Staff members tried to get word out to students before they came to campus and brought in extra employees for move-in day. But it was awful, Lockard said, just terrible. Some employees stayed overnight in dorms and worked all day Sunday, too. Some students lost photos, writings -- everything just wiped out.

In a good year, they don't just fix computers. They give directions to Kmart, advice about fans in windows, tips on cellphones and favorite restaurants. Sometimes even help families say goodbye. "We've been known to give them a hug or let them cry on a shoulder," Lockard said.

Across the hall from Colonna, Jack Storton was kneeling on the wooden bed frame, trying to connect the cable for his daughter Meredith. The legs and feet of a troubleshooter were just visible under the desk. "Okay," Nancy Kechner said as she emerged. "The trick is this little nibby thing right here."

Townsend checked on Pat Colonna, who was looking at the ID numbers on two computer boxes, trying to figure out which one was her daughter's. "It's going to be strange to go home," she said, "without her."

Her daughter laughed and held out her arms for a hug. "Mommy!"

Downstairs, Trombetta had his laptop going, but he was having trouble with his graphics-jacked-up video-game desktop.

"Shut it down," his mother, Pat Trombetta, suggested. "That's what I always do."

"You also poured water all over yours," he pointed out.

David Backer, the student techie for Kent Hall, took over.

"Now he's connected!" his mother said. "How cool is that?"

It was 10:20 a.m.

By mid-afternoon, Townsend was standing around outside. Everything was going smoothly -- too smoothly. "We keep waiting," he said, "for the other shoe to drop. We worry when it's like this."

In the dorm behind him, music was pumping out of open windows. Slowly but surely, parents were leaving. And in almost every room, laptop screens were glowing.