The factory is highly automated and designed to shift flexibly to produce many different kinds of chips to suit demand. "The diversity is the big difference with this plant," said Richard Doherty, president of Envisioneering, a research firm. "It gives IBM the capability to make so many different kinds of custom chips, and the world is going to custom chips." The 140,000-square-foot plant is a testament to advanced manufacturing technology. The 300-millimeter silicon wafers -- about the size of a standard pizza -- are shuttled around the facility in enclosed plastic pods, which ride on overhead tracks. They drop down from wires automatically into machines, sheathed in stainless steel and glass, for each stage of processing and fabrication. Throughout the 500 processing steps, which typically last 20 days, the wafers are not touched by human hands. The circuits etched into the chips are less than one thousandth the width of a human hair. Human operators are there to monitor the systems, catch errors and fine-tune the production process for maximum efficiency. Because each of the hundreds of processing machines is self-enclosed, and essentially airtight, the uniforms operators wear are less constricting than in the previous generation of chip plants, which looked like space suits. The operators at the East Fishkill factory wear light nylon uniforms, light blue shoe coverings and translucent hair nets made of paper. They look more like workers in a bakery. Yes, said Richard Brilla, director of the new facility, "but the donuts are a lot more costly here." Each wafer, holding hundreds of chips, is worth $6,000 to $10,000 apiece, depending on what insulation, circuitry and materials are used.

Question: "What is the brief summarization of the appearance of the operators' uniforms as described above?"

Response: "They wear heavy metal shoes and a white lab coat"

A: no

At 8:38, Ong told Gonzalez that the plane was flying erratically again. Around this time Sweeney told Woodward that the hijackers were Middle Easterners, naming three of their seat numbers. One spoke very little English and one spoke excellent English. The hijackers had gained entry to the cockpit, and she did not know how. The aircraft was in a rapid descent. At 8:41, Sweeney told Woodward that passengers in coach were under the impression that there was a routine medical emergency in first class. Other flight attendants were busy at duties such as getting medical supplies while Ong and Sweeney were reporting the events. At 8:41, in American's operations center, a colleague told Marquis that the air traffic controllers declared Flight 11 a hijacking and "think he's [American 11] headed toward Kennedy [airport in New York City]. They're moving everybody out of the way. They seem to have him on a primary radar. They seem to think that he is descending." At 8:44, Gonzalez reported losing phone contact with Ong. About this same time Sweeney reported to Woodward, "Something is wrong. We are in a rapid descent . we are all over the place." Woodward asked Sweeney to look out the window to see if she could determine where they were.

Question: "Was Sweeney a passenger or a flight attendant and which area of the plane was she in?"

Response: "Passenger in coach"

A: no

In her storage room-turned-office, Jennifer Baum works under an expanding leak that is causing the ceiling to turn brown and crumble. Mold grows in the buckets positioned to catch the water. She shrugs it off. Outside her office she has taped up a clear plastic suit, and a sign that reads, "All employees must don protective gear before coming in." Such is life in limbo. Nearly a year after Sept. 11, the Legal Aid Society-the lawyers for New York's poor and homeless-remains, well, homeless. The nonprofit has been barred from returning to its 90 Church St. headquarters, across from the World Trade Center site, because of environmental concerns. Legal Aid has uncomfortable company. More than 11,500 New Yorkers continue to work out of temporary space, according to analysis by Manhattan-based real estate brokerage TenantWise.com Inc. and Crain's New York Business. That's 8% of the 137,000 workers who lost their offices or access to them when the Twin Towers collapsed. Legal Aid's 450 displaced attorneys and staffers have spent the past 12 months spread among previously unused spaces-some unused for good reason-in the nonprofit's other offices. It could be another year and a half before they return to their old desks. They have contended with difficult working conditions as demand for Legal Aid's services is on the rise because of Sept. 11 and the deteriorating economy. The civil division is spread among a few boroughs. Their papers and documents, some 20,000 boxes worth, are stuck in a storage facility in Linden, N.J. "I am counting the days till we can have all the parts back in one place," says Steven Banks, Legal Aid's associate attorney in chief. In the memories of the exiled workers, the old office has achieved mythical proportions. They say the wood paneling and rugs had the ability to cool emotions and lift spirits. The Legal Aid office on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights, where 65 displaced workers have cobbled together space amid the faded and scratched walls, looks more like a bargain basement.

Question: "What happened to some of the displaced Legal aid staff?"

Response: "Resources have been spread out into previously unused places, some very bad shape"

A:
yes