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the ruckus. A plate fell and shattered. Thinking it was on purpose, a thin man whooped and hurled a water glass against the wall, though not hard enough to break it. Then his friend threw a wineglass and succeeded. When Helen finally spotted her son he was standing across the ballroom next to Morgan himself, coming up to his waist, the two of them seemingly enjoying a casual interchange amid the madness. The city’s newest mayoral candidate pulled some sort of doll out of his pocket and handed it to Elias. Behind them, Ted Severson calmly lit his cigarette, the smoke billowing from his smile.
    When the shouting and laughter reached a climax, servers, cooks and dishwashers burst through the kitchen doors into the back of the room to witness the bedlam that rose up and over the thick walls into Seattle’s oldest streets.

Chapter Three
MAY 1962
    T HE SLOW START quiets the alarmists who warned that the Century 21 Exposition would paralyze downtown, and the smaller crowds give the staff a chance to develop a rhythm in herding people into exhibits, shows, rides and up the Needle. And, deep into the second week now, Roger is finding his stride as the master of ceremonies, introducing luminaries, regaling journalists and hawking the city to visiting tycoons.
    For once, his provincial port shimmers with worldliness. Filipino dancers, Thai silk, Frenchwomen dousing everybody with perfume. And the food! The sudden aroma of Danish sausages, Belgian waffles and Mongolian steaks in a place accustomed to burgers, fish sticks and hot dogs. As all the strange license plates suggest, the fair is rapidly becoming the new destination of the great American road trip, with families puttering into town in bug-smeared Valiants, Skylarks and Bel Airs, just curious as hell ever since they saw the Space Needle on the cover of
Time, Sunset
or
Life
. They come by train and Boeing airliners too, thousands flying for the first time on gleaming new 707s. And Roger sees all these visitors as potential residents, straining their necks to gape at the views. And there is so much to do! Ride the silent monorail, then spend a few hours in the Science Pavilion, or how about the World of Art—
never before, never again?
Or meander over to Show Street for a futuristic striptease while the wife checks out the fashion exhibit
—new models every two hours
. Then throw a few pennies into the reflecting pool, recharge in the Food Circus and loosen your tie or slip off those heels. Hear thatbackground jingle?
Hi-ho, come to the fair. See the world of tomorrow today!
    Roger’s days start at his fairgrounds office, where the cheerful secretary he’d instantly nicknamed Jenny Sunshine brought him stacks of reports, requests and complaints. It would be hard to beat the opening-day air force disaster, which demolished three homes and killed two citizens, but there is a daily onslaught of snafus. And most mornings, shortly before eleven, he speed-walks to the Plaza of the States, where the marching band plays the same songs, over and over again, before and after his effusive introductions of visiting notables. Crowds for these formalities vary wildly. The governor of Alabama gets skunked. The shah of Iran gets mobbed. Then come the astronauts. First Gherman Titov shows up, boasting about his space travels and poking fun at Western religious notions. “I saw neither angels nor gods up there,” he smugly observes. People are appalled, particularly Teddy, though still awed until John Glenn shows up. Having just orbited the earth three times in five hours, he attracts far bigger throngs scrambling for a glimpse of America’s freshly minted hero.
    After the meet-and-greets, Roger usually whisks the VIPs to Club 21, the exclusive expo lounge, for lunch or cocktails, and tries to get their impressions, though they are rarely illuminating. This time it’s Ed Sullivan prattling over martinis about how Los Angeles is dying until Roger interrupts. “So, what do you make of