As late afternoon thunderstorms loudly announced the possible postponement of the Opening Ceremonies for the 2002 U.S. Transplant Games, two friends -- brought together every two years by a common understanding of a shared experience -- huddled closely under one sheltering umbrella. Serene and sincere in their interest in each other's lives, they talked softly and waited patiently for the pageantry to begin. But happy as they were for the chance to cheer, yet again, for their perservering loved ones, they were even more willing to wait however long it might take to thank, along with the rest of the wet but undaunted throng, the unselfish heroes who give of themselves so that others might live. And on this grand stage -- where thousands continue to go about the business of making the extraordinary seem ordinary -- the menacing rain clouds were barely a minor inconvenience.

Katherine Dalton and Beth Goodwill first met six years (and three U.S. Games) ago in Utah. Dalton's son, Tim, competes in the swimming and 5K run events in these Games with a kidney donated by his father, Bill, and Goodill's husband, John, received a bone marrow transplant seven years ago and is here this year to bowl and play racquetball, as he has in each of the last three competitions. As their loved ones compete, they meet. Though they don't necessarily stay in touch between events, they know the relationship will pick up effortlessly where it left off.

"We know we'll find each other," they say in unison.

Sturdy young Bryce Arnold, 13, also waited patiently and alone for a moment as the downpour turned miraculously to a drip. Preparations for the festivities began anew, and as the stadium filled with the multi-colored multitudes, Bryce looked out toward the infield below, where the puddles were shrinking at a lightning-quick pace. Bryce's mother, Molly, returned from the concession stand with his 10 year-old sister, Haley, and she gave his strong shoulder a pat.

"He's had a rough year," she said."We all have." The Arnolds live in Normal, Illinois, but life has taken a not-so-usual turn this past year. On May 11, 2001, Bryce's close uncle Mark Zednick, 42, of nearby Champaigne -- a robust landscaper and former football player -- died suddenly of a rare brain rupture. This was also the day Molly was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Molly rubs her happy fingers through a close-cropped yet still lush head of coppery hair and smiles warmly. "I'm fine," she says -- and she surely seems to be -- though her half-finished sentence begs a question about her brother-in-law, Mark. And the answer, it turns out, is even better than one might have imagined: he left behind more people, and in much better shape, than Molly can apparently count.

"Mark donated tissue, skin, a kidney, his lungs," she starts to list, until she runs out of fingers. "Gretchen [Mark's wife] received so many letters of thanks from all the recipients," she says, mentioning one particularly appreciative 57 year-old man who is breathing easier with Mark's strong lungs. "Gretchen could tell you all about it."

But Gretchen was in line behind the right field pavilion, waiting to be called for her turn to march proudly onto the field along with the rest of the Team Illinois donor families. And much of her own family was there to support her -- including stoic Bryce, whom his mom fondly calls "the man," and whose gaze, beneath a low-slung baseball cap, barely wavered from the infield in anticipation of the events to come.

The 6:45 announcement that the Opening Ceremony would begin at 7:15 -- only 15 minutes behind schedule -- seemed to go largely unnoticed. As the still sparse bleachers began to fill with the bright primary colors of supporters' team shirts and assorted rain gear, the enormous "Smartvision" screen in right field brought bagpipers into focus as they streamed through an outfield gate and high-stepped in place on the infield dirt.

The atmosphere, though muggy, was unmistakably festive. Youngsters tucked and rolled down the gently sloping green hill that parallels the third base line -- or dunked basketballs at lowered, six-foot hoops just beyond that -- and older folks made comfortable use of the picnic tables arranged along the right field foul line. Some talked and milled about, while others absent-mindedly twirled brightly colored umbrellas that were no longer needed.

Finally, the official Transplant Games flag was being unfurled, and in a burst of fireworks -- recorded with a whirring of private camcorders heard in all corners of the stadium -- the celebration began.

One of the first to speak was Rich DeVos, co-founder of Amway Corporation (now called Alticor), owner of the Orlando Magic, and a recent heart recipient with a new mission: to encourage others to give the gift of life.

"I'm sure I was selected [to speak] because I'm so old," be began, explaining that at 76 he may be the oldest living heart recipient. He also pointed out that since he received the heart of a younger woman, his age now averages to about 60, "which means I now have the privilege of changing my mind" -- a reference to his recent and highly publicized "change of heart" about selling the Magic. But he soon turned serious and sentimental -- lauding the stadium's "cheering section" as the athletes' crucial support network, not only at the Games, but everywhere, and always -- as well as controversial (with a brief mention about financial incentives for organ donations).

Soon enough the teams began filing in, first from beyond left field and then from the right, with each accompanied by a donor family liason to symbolize the vital need of a donor for each recipient. The first to stream out to a spirited welcome was Team Alabama, dressed in matching white shirts and black pants and waving large white and red flags. Notable about this team: it grew quickly from 11 athletes and two donor families in 2000 to 72 families and 22 donor families this year.

Team Arizona's 39 members include 13 heart recipients, two of whom race cars in their spare time. Indiana's 15 member team made itself more prominent with its bright orange jerseys, while team Philadelphia -- without need of drawing additional attention to its massive 151 member contingent -- nonetheless brought itself a larger spotlight with its easily identifiable torquoise garb. Perhaps the loudest cheer was reserved for the gang from Michigan, whose large throng of supporters went wild for Larry Carr, who received a kidney 32 years ago, and Said Anker, who received a transplant just two years ago and at 75 is the oldest transplant patient in Michigan history. Team Ohio's 44 members also received tremendous support, as most of its friends and family members stood and cheered and waved and yelled at the very mention of its name.

More than 1500 athletes representing 48 states waved and bowed before an adoring audience, followed by small contingents from Chile, Germany, Mexico, Panama, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Finally, the host -- Team Florida, 141 members strong -- was given a warm and thankful reception. But as has been true ever since donor families were added to the Opening Ceremony's processional, the loudest and most sustained display of gratitude and admiration was reserved for those who have lost loved ones but have found a way for a part of them to live on. For many minutes, everyone in the stadium was on their feet, cheering and clapping and yelling and crying. They craned their necks for a better glimpse, offering a wave and a smile. At times it seemed it just wouldn't stop. And why should it? Everybody in the stadium was thinking the same thing: without them, all else is impossible.

In a year when much has been made of who our real heroes are, the hosts of the proceeding -- Disney's Sheila Smith Ward and Billy Flanigan -- mentioned the policemen, firefighters, and paramedics who sacrificed their lives on September 11. "But heroes are also those who persist through poor health, or the loss of a loved one, to become vibrant again," said Ward. "Those who travel a long road and don't give up but take one day at a time."

"And heroes are family members and friends," added Flanigan, "and the more than 5,000 men, women, and children who become donors each year."

Dr. William F. Keane, chairman of the National Kidney Foundation, provided a sober reminder that 17 people die each day while waiting for a donated organ that never comes. But he also expressed hope that education and awareness are on the rise, citing the growth of the U.S. Transplant Games as partial evidence: in 1990, the Games were first held in Indianapolis with 400 participants; this year, the NKF's passion and hard work has made the number rise to more than 8,000.

Actor Larry Hagman added some needed comic moments, as usual (he threw away what he claimed were written remarks prepared by someone else to just call out, in his friendly drawl, "Ha y'all doin'?"), but he also urged quite seriously a change in the law to allow organ donations without the consent of family members.

Chris Klug, who became a snowboarding bronze medal winner at the 2002 Winter Olympics less than two years after his liver transplant, was obviously proud of his accomplishments -- he lugged the actual medal out of his pocket to show it off to the crowd -- and seemed even more thankful for the support he felt at the Olympics from the entire transplant community. He summed up the theme of the evening succinctly, and sincerely: "Organ donors are heroes."

As the evening drew to a close, 44 year-old Gerald Griggs sat in awe. Griggs had received a heart just a few days after the 2000 U.S. Transplant games, and he will celebrate his transplant's second anniversary on June 29 by competing in his first Transplant Games in bowling, golf, and 3-on-3 basketball. As the torch was paraded around the infield and the Olympic flame lit, he was looking forward to the competition, and to the privilege of singing an original song, accompanied by his son, at tomorrow's Living Donor Ceremony. He'll do another number, along with some of his fellow participants, in front of a much larger crowd at the Closing Ceremony on Saturday evening.