In his work as an expert military interpreter for the National Guard, Ken Sizemore travels the world. He and his colleagues are usually called off their civilian jobs to help with high-level military negotiations or translate top secret documents.

But this week there was no mission more important or satisfying to him than helping a distressed Special Olympics athlete get her dinner.

The German linguist found her waiting outside a cafeteria, frustrated to tears. The person at the door, who spoke no German, wouldn't let her in; she had no credentials. But the young woman was insistent.

With Sizemore's help, the athlete gained a voice to explain her situation. She couldn't get her credentials, because they were in her hotel room, and the key was in the cafeteria with her teammates.

Tears became smiles. Crisis solved.

The use of military interpreters, obtained through special arrangement with the Pentagon, was only one language innovation among many at the 2001 World Winter Games, said Leslye Langla, director of participant and delegation services.

The innovations were born of limited resources, said Langla. Because a shortage of interpreters was one of the biggest complaints from previous Games, organizers were worried that the relatively small community of Anchorage wouldn't be able to provide enough interpreters to accompany delegates everywhere they went.

Anchorage had to make do with only 250 translators, a quarter of the number used in other host cities, said Langla. With all arrivals tallied, the Games brought 2,400 athletes to Anchorage from 69 countries. Without a good system, the event threatened to turn the city into a Tower of Babel.

Instead, said Langla said, "We really feel we're setting a benchmark."

Every day, Sizemore walks the different venues of the Games, wearing a special pink armband that identifies him as a member of "language services," available for on-the-spot translations for athletes, coaches and others.

Every night, his colleagues supply simultaneous translation services to delegation leaders at a meeting that resembles a model United Nations (Sizemore's services are not needed, because the German delegation coaches speak English.) This is the first time the simultaneous translation has been provided nightly, said Langla.

Another innovation, a "virtual switchboard," allows local volunteers to help with language issues at the Games without leaving their homes or jobs. Each of the thousands of volunteers at the Games wears a small laminated card listing all of the hot line numbers, representing 27 languages. One of them rings the phone assigned to Manju Bhargava, president of RBA Engineers Inc., who is one of 29 interpreters assigned to cell phone hot line numbers making up the switchboard.

Her phone was among the 400 that AT&T Wireless lent to the Games in addition to switches, use of three portable cell-phone towers and technical support.

Bhargava, who came here from India 25 years ago, is thrilled to be the official interpreter for Hindi-speaking athletes. Every day during the games, she's kept the Nokia cell phone provided by organizers in her purse or pocket, ready to fulfill her obligation to be on call 24 hours a day should a Hindi language issue arise.

There is only one problem, Bhargava said: The India delegation, which includes three English-speaking coaches, doesn't need her services all that much. For the most part, Bhargava said, her phone calls have been wrong numbers. "Mostly people are asking me 'Do you know how to talk in Spanish?' or 'Do you speak Arabic?' " she said. "I never got Hindi calls. Not even once. I was so disappointed." She has chosen to volunteer at the Games in other ways to spend some time with the athletes.

By contrast, it's an unusual day when Mandarin translator Wulin Yen's phone does not ring. Volunteering by phone has been a good arrangement, Yen said. "I can work while I'm talking." Yen, a data administrator for the municipality, has been sharing the responsibility with his wife, who is a teacher.

Tuesday, while still at work, he took a call from a coach with the Taipei team, which felt another team was playing rough, but couldn't get the referee to call a penalty. After calling Yen to help explain their situation to officials, the coaches asked if he would come to the FedEx building to help fill out a formal protest form. Yen did.

Another day, a call came for help understanding a hotel's long-distance phone bill -- something that can be challenging even without a language barrier. "Finally, they checked out smoothly without any problem," Yen said.

Wednesday was quiet. Yen said that's good news. "Whenever they call the number, there is some problem."

Even those not officially part of the language services team have been helping participants ford the language barrier. In the past few days, press assistant liaison Natacha Pacoud, fluent in multiple languages, has helped a Russian newspaper reporter talk to English speakers, connected Special Olympics newsletter writers with a German-speaking snowboarder and assisted a French journalist with his e-mail.

Pacoud was also enlisted one day by a Venezuelan teen, who pulled her aside to help her speak to a new friend who spoke German.

But often, athletes do just fine on their own.

Sizemore was impressed by the sight of a deaf German athlete and deaf American athlete communicating animatedly, no language barrier keeping them apart.

"They were using international sign language," he said. "It was fascinating."

After the Games, Langla said, she hopes the Special Olympics can leave behind some of the information gathered for the effort, including a list of local foreign language speakers and a CD storing commonly used sports and medical terms in multiple languages. "We do have this as a legacy to hand off to the community."