South of Seattle, soldiers marched across an open field at Fort Lewis while at McCord Air Force Base, pilots climbed out of cockpits on the runway. Nearby, the California Zephyr whizzed through Fife on its way north.

In Federal Way, thousands of kids with half as many parents played in swimming pools, rode amusement rides or slid down tall water slides. At Boeing field, a new 777 made a perfect landing, successfully completing its maiden flight.

On Seattle's waterfront, a half filled ferry blasted its horn, then pulled away from the dock.

At the Seattle Center, children frolicked in the water fountain or paused to count the state flags in the Flag Pavilion. On the second level of the Center House, whole families boarded the Monorail and prepared for the three-minute ride to the heart of downtown. Others paid the price, then climbed into glass-encased elevators for the lift to the top of the Space Needle.

In the southbound lane of the short I-5 tunnel under the Convention Center, none of the Saturday drivers noticed when three small, yellow tiles popped off the western wall.

Seventy-six year old Morgan Toliver stood in his living room window and waved good-bye to his five-year old great-grandson. Then, for no apparent reason, the lower left hand corner of his window suddenly cracked.

On a wide window ledge of a third story apartment house built in 1932, a faded red brick set in old gray mortar slipped a full inch out of place.