As you may know, for many years, I have often given proceeds from my royalties as an author to the MDA in honor of a friend of mine for 20 years, Julie McMaster. Recently, she passed away, and I made many poignant posts about her on social media which many have seen. At this point, some time after she has passed, I am raising funds to give to the MDA in memory of her. I am also using part of those funds to sustain myself during the COVID-19 pandemic.
I am offering free sample chapters of _Dis-ney-ability_ here, a Disney fan-fic book I wrote in which a disabled child (10 or older or so or any aged person who loves Disney) can feel like the main character via the second person approach.
To get the entire PDF of the book, PayPal Ron Baxley, Jr. $2.50 at at rbaxley37@gmail.com. $1.50 will be put into a fund for the MDA, and $1 will be put into my author fund to help with expenses. The PayPal email address you send the money from will be the email address the PDF will be sent to.
The cover file, by the way, was done by Lance Footer, a well-known cover artist and illustrator who has visual disabilities. I myself have some psychiatric disabilities.
Please consider giving today.
DIS-NEY-ABILITY:
YOUR CHAPTER BOOK FOR MOST ABILITIES
By:
Ron Baxley, Jr.
Chapter 1
In the summer of 2015, a short-haired young man, seemingly disguised
as a Disney Cast-member, tried to stop you from discovering the most wondrous
secret the Disneyland theme-park has ever held. Had the smooth-faced guy known
you had many disabilities (he may have which may have made it worse), he may
have let up a bit on your mom and you during your eventual journey. He reached
the proverbial point of no return, however. The young man, incognito in a
tartan vest, dress shirt, and dress pants, was part of a secret group called
The Changers. You did not know what they wanted or why they were eventually trying
to stop you at first. All you knew is that you wanted to go to Disneyland at
almost any cost.
In
early 2015, you used to gaze with wonder at the funnel-like metallic glittery
sign for the diamond anniversary of the Disneyland theme-park and the huge
indoor parking structure behind it. But unlike many in Anaheim, with your mom’s
limited budget in a single parent household, you had never gone to Disneyland.
She had continued to work two jobs so that you could both stay where you lived.
Your neighborhood had so many one story architecturally similar homes with
limited color schemes that you imagined this is where the The Incredibles were
put in their kind of super hero protection program. Your mother had inherited
the late 40s/early 50s bungalow from your grandparents who both passed away
before you were born. The good thing about the old neighborhood, unlike some
old neighborhoods, was that people felt safe walking on the sidewalks, so both
adults and kids frequented your lemon-aid and cookie stand there. You needed
this for your big goal to go to Disneyland.
Some in the neighborhood obviously knew about your
disabilities, but they were never spoken of. You would rather have had it that
way. You wanted them to see you for you. There have been organizations set up
to help disabled kids like you get extra help with trips to places like
Disneyland for quite some time. You did not want their help. You wanted to do
it your way. So you sold lemon-aid and cookies from after school Friday to
Sunday afternoon in long shifts. (Your mom did not want you selling on school
nights and wanted you to work on homework and focus on compensating for your
conditions. After several arguments, you agreed.)
Postcards of the now silvery Sleeping Beauty castle (for
the anniversary), teacup ride, and more taunted you at convenience stores and
other places when you stopped at them with your mom. Some tourist even left a
postcard of the castle in a local donut shop early in the year. The donut shop,
Go Nuts for Donuts, had the sweetest freshest donut holes and the most acrid
yet sweet fresh-squeezed orange juice you ever had. You were allowed to do your
own ordering and paying at age 10, which you are now, and you never mentioned
your disabilities when doing so. You always relished your independence.
One of the Hispanic employees asked, “You sure you can
handle este, er, this?” He adjusted his two-cornered, paper hat.
“I am sure,” you said, and you counted out the correct
money.
Half-way to having the money you needed for the Disneyland
visit, you begged your mom to let you go to a local arts show at a comic-book shop
where local artists did their interpretations of Mary Poppins. One of the
recent times you went there, you heard about the free entry Mary Poppins fan
art show. You usually asked to go there, Framed Fantasy, to pick up copies of
X-men comics because those heroes (and even the villains) were seen as very
different from the rest of society, something you would identify with – at least
the hero part. Anyway, you were tempted to buy X-men toys and comics at Framed
Fantasy, but you saved your money you had been earning. Your mom allowed you to
attend the Mary Poppins art show there, and she made you promise you would not
ask to buy any of the artwork, prints, or anything else from the store.
In
the art show, there were watercolor paintings of umbrellas with green parrot
heads on paper, acrylics of flowery and cherry-donned-hatted Mary Poppins
flying through the air with her black umbrella on boards, chalk-drawing
depictions of country landscapes and fairs on paper, oil paintings of London
streetscapes with Mary Poppins inserted in various ways on mattes, and many
others. You were in heaven because you liked anything related to Disney.
Your
mom was a little bored by the exhibit because she worked for a company that
made reproductions of classic Disney items from the park that were not always
sold in the gift shops there. She worked on an assembly line press making items
like signs, trashcans, and posters that were duplicates of ones found at
Disneyland. She brought home a yearly catalog (most everything was on the
Internet, but they still released one of these a year) of items available. You
would pour over these religiously and became quite a chatterbox about items
related to characters you liked such as Mickey Mouse and Peter Pan. Your mom
indulged you when it came to this.
Your
mom did like Marry Poppins, she said, because it reminded her of the childhood
she never claimed she had. She said they used to pour over something called a
Wish-book from one of the department stores during the holidays when she was a
child (back in what you called the horse and buggy days before the Internet),
but she and her brothers seldom got their holiday wish. You were just thankful
you were able to go to the exhibit. Mary Poppins wasn’t even your favorite
Disney film or character, but you did like it okay. If you saw Mary and Bert
during your visit to Disneyland, you would not snub them. You liked them both.
For
months after the exhibit, you continued to sell people cookies and lemon-aid in
your little suburban neighborhood but did not tell them your disabilities. Perhaps
they could see them or identify them in some way even as you were behind your
table, but you did not care. At last, after all of late winter and spring, you
had enough money to buy your mother and you each tickets to go to Disneyland.
Months after the art show, the big day came during the
summer of 2015. Your mom and you both woke up at 5 a.m. on a Saturday, got
ready, and went to the donut shop to get a cheap breakfast before going to the
theme-park. Your mom did not like to go to sit-down restaurants because she was
a waitress at a Greek brunch place for her second job. One of your favorite things
at the Greek brunch place, Ambrosia Brunch, was the gyro omelet when you
sometimes had to go with her during a shift (the owners’ kids were in there too
when school was out, so you sometimes played with them, pulling fake plastic
grapes off of their vines and throwing them until other toys were placed in all
of your hands). You liked the gyro omelet because, with the cheese inside, it
kept the lamb pieces and onions intact within the cooked eggy mixture. That
meant less mess. Another thing you liked about Ambrosia Brunch was the female
macaw parrot, Orpheus (a male name, you knew), in a bamboo cage which sat in
the entranceway. You did not mind that she was not named Iago or even from the
one of the parrots of the Enchanted Tiki Room. Orpheus was special and sang
bits and pieces of Greek songs here and there – sometimes almost in concert
with the piped-in Greek string instrumentals. A few days before your Disneyland
trip, though, she sang a melancholy melody. The owner explained, shrugging, almost
like he did in a slightly misogynistic way about his wife, “The bird, she do
what she want.”
-No
huge meal from Ambrosia Brunch on the big day, though. On the fateful day of
the Disneyland trip, you wolfed down the donut holes with much fussing by your
mom, but you wanted to arrive an hour or more before the park opened. She
softened her fussing a little by joking that you were eating like Beast from
“Beauty and the Beast.”
You
said, “You keep saying that, ma, and I’m going to start putting my face down in
my cup and lap up the juice!” You both laughed, and you were glad to see her
lightening up for a change. She did shoo you from putting your tongue down in
your cup as a dog or the non-chastised Beast might, though.
You
wanted to go very early so that you could somewhat beat the crowds. It was
going to be crowded anyway because of summer. But earlier arrivals usually were
best regardless… at least you had read in your tons of Internet research about
the park at the local public library. The crowds were smaller very early in the
day. It was too bad, you thought, that you could not have sold enough cookies
and lemon-aid to afford an overnight stay at the Disneyland Hotel. Guests there
and at other Disney resort hotel properties get what are called “early magic
hours.” They are allowed to go into the parks earlier.
After the agonizing search for parking through levels of the
parking garage named after Disney characters and the wait for the tram and tram
journey, the tram finally took your mom and you to your destination. You rushed
past the edge of the Downtown Disney shopping area to the guard check point,
were checked in and rushed through the ticket turn-style area as your mom
presented the tickets. You wanted your picture taken with the Mickey Mouse made
of white and multi-colored flowers in front of the Disneyland train station. Your
back-pack was designed to look like Mickey with his face and his signature
white, black, red, and yellow color scheme. Your mom, a haggard, thin woman
with long chestnut and black hair and light brown skin, obliged you by taking
the picture on her knockoff smartphone as she knew he is one of your favorite
characters. (She, again, had already presented tickets that you gave her the
money to pre-purchase.) As you smiled in front of the Mickey, you saw your Ma
smile big for the first time in a long time. You smiled too, a heartfelt,
toothy smile bigger than one of your Cheshire Cat grins.
You
hurried under the entranceway with a plaque you paid little attention to and
sped down Main Street. You liked Main Street from the pictures you saw. In
fact, you loved the old steam train that started there and encircled the entire
theme-park. You just had something you wanted to get another picture of first.
With your mom trailing a little behind you, you arrived at
a statue of Walt Disney holding Mickey Mouse’s hand in front of the Sleeping
Beauty Castle. The statues had a dark metallic hue, and the castle shimmered in
silver and faux diamonds behind them, decked out for the diamond anniversary.
You ask your mom to take a picture of you with the statue with the castle in
the background. She obliged again on her knock-off smartphone.
You said, “Now for the rides that let you escape to fun
places!” Your mom nodded and half-smiled.
You wanted to go on “Peter Pan’s Flight.” You rushed
through the castle arch-way with your mom trying to catch up.
“Slow
down! Don’t over-exert yourself!” your mother yelled, catching up with you.
There,
leaning against the archway of the castle, you noticed a metallic, rectangular
strip. You paused for a minute, and it became the focus of your attention
instead of the distance carousel and other rides. You tried to pick it up, but it
was a little awkward if not heavy. You struggled with it and asked your mom for
help. This was part of one of your disabilities.
She asked, “Don’t you think we should turn that in
somewhere?”
You looked at the metallic strip. It had one little square-ish
bit of shiny copper on the left and a dark brown metal after that with coppery
capital letters which read, “AND ENTER.”
“Maybe it’s the entrance sign that fell. Let’s just turn it
in at what they call Guest Services when we leave, ma.”
You put it in your Mickey Mouse backpack. In the
excitement, it was almost forgotten but would be instrumental in making
something wondrous happen later.
Going on the rides ended up being a little quicker for the
two of you than for some as your mother and you did not have to stand in lines.
There are several different mental and/or physical disabilities that will allow
one to not have to stand in line at Disneyland with a special pass or card. You
never mentioned yours, but your mom had. You actually have a combination of
several different disabilities that do not make it easy when it comes to long,
crowded lines. Whether those are physical, psychological, or mental, you would
never say. You did not want to be labeled by your disabilities.
Your mom and you were able to go through the Fast-pass line
and then through a special area for the disabled.
Small, shiny fiberglass pirate ships with faux sails were
being loaded with guests for Peter Pan’s Flight. Murals of the Darling family,
with a top-hat, teddy-bear, gowns, and all, and their adventures were toward
the front of the ride. The infamous Captain Hook with his pointy hook hand, red
coat, and black wig and the portly Smee were not far behind. The Peter Pan
murals were all in vibrant, almost garish colors which could be seen from a
distance. They made you feel like you were immersed more in the animated world.
The audio-animatronics or electronically animated characters and special
effects would eventually make you feel even more immersed than the murals. Across
from one of the large paintings of the animated classic based on J.M. Barrie’s
classic play and book, your mother and a Disney cast member tried to assist you
into one of the small ships with its mini-sail, but you insisted on loading
yourself.
You had to leave the Mickey backpack behind because of
logistics. It was not until you passed it off to the Cast-member that you felt
the extra weight from the abandoned metallic strip which read, “AND ENTER” in
the bag again and wondered where it was from exactly.
Then, it was off to Neverland and your first big escape…
Chapter 2
Your favorite thing about the Peter Pan ride was flying
above London itself and seeing Big Ben itself in a night sky and part of
Neverland. The clock tower and eventual glowing, verdant land of Neverland
below you still resonate. You figured you would never be able to tour Europe,
so this was the closest you would see of London, England. As per it not
happening, you felt very strongly about this yet still had a childish wish it
might happen. You definitely knew you’d never go to Neverland, of course.
You rushed out of the ride and headed toward another land
and something else you had always wanted to ride, Space Mountain. Your mom
asked if you were sure you were up to riding it with your conditions.
You were going past the colorful Alice in Wonderland ride,
toward the tall, brown, “snow-capped” Matterhorn, and back around to
Tomorrowland.
You turned back to your mom, rushing behind you, and answered
her, “Yes. Just because I am… well, you know, doesn’t mean that I don’t want to
have a good time.”
She relented, and you continued to rush. In the entranceway
of the strange, chopped off-dome building of Space Mountain, you noticed
another rectangular bronze sign leaning there. It read simply, “TOMORROW.” It
had similar coloring to the first one you found – only the lighter color square
was on the right of it. You could have sworn that not far from the entrance
that an elderly cast member in a vest and newsboy hat saw you pick it up with
some help from your mom. Your mom had not noticed, and you ignored him.
You said, “Maybe it’s from the entrance of Tomorrowland
itself!”
You asked your mom to help you put it in your bag.
She asked, “Aren’t you sure you don’t want to go to Guest
Services and turn these in right now.”
“Mo-om,” you whined, “We can go after this. I promise.”
You went through the area designated for the disabled and
loaded into the rounded-off rocket ship that was the ride vehicle. And you prepared
to blast off into a tunnel of blue. Then, you launched off into a crazy world
of darkness, starlight, blasting music, and twists and turns.
You loved it and wanted to go another time, but your mom reminded
you about your promise. You unzipped your Mickey Mouse backpack and looked at
the two dark metallic strips again with the light coppery lettering, “AND
ENTER” and “TOMORROW.”
Suddenly, the elderly cast member approached your mom and
you.
“See, I told you we should have turned those in,” your mom
whispered.
The elderly cast member, who had seen the two of you pick up
the metallic strip, gave you a piece of parchment paper. Written on it in a
distinctive loopy and scratchy scrawl reminiscent of Walt Disney himself was
the phrase, “Look to the head and put what is there at the feet of Walt.” You
noticed as the elderly Cast-member gave you the paper that he had a full, grey
moustache that would have been a handle-bar moustache if he had not clipped
and/or shaved part of the handle-bars. He also had a twinkle in his eye. He
adjusted his tartan vest and pulled out an old conductor’s pocket-watch out of
it as if he had somewhere to be.
He stated to both of you, “Keep up the good work collecting
those pieces. The answer will come to you in time.”
You both shrugged.
Your mom asked, “Does that mean we aren’t supposed to turn
these pieces in to Guest Services? Is this some sort of contest?”
The elderly cast member knitted his bushy grey brows and
said, “Well, it is one of sorts. You’ll find out as you keep exploring. And,
no, don’t turn those pieces in to Guest Services. They’ll just put them in Lost
and Found.”
You were both about to ask him something else before the
man in the tartan vest rushed off.
What you did not notice was a well-manicured, well-groomed
young man in his mid-to-late twenties with the distinct Disney short hair and
no piercings and no facial hair who was dressed comparably to the old man but
with a scowl. His eyes were pretty vacuous or dopey-looking and not like Dopey
the Seven Dwarf. He was angry, hateful, and full of himself but not very
clever. He never smiled like the Disney cast-members did, though he was dressed
like them. You were disabled, but he chose to be ignorant. He followed your mom
and you and would only be noticed later in your journey. You had not discovered
at this point that he was part of The Changers or even what the The Changers
were. You did not even notice Mr. Personality stopping by one of the ice cream
vendors on the way as he followed you.
Focusing on the note from the kind old man, you had not
even noticed the sour-looking young man on your trail. If Mr. Too Perfect were
truly a Disney employee as the old man was, he was a complete contrast to him
in every way. You looked at the note and gave it to your mom for her to help
you think about it.
You thought hard about it and then suggested, “Look to the
head of Walt! I bet it’s the head of the statue of Walt Disney in front of the
castle!”
You took a shortcut through Tomorrowland to the center of
the park near the statue with your mom trailing behind.
She found you staring at the head of Walt Disney, and she
did too. There was nothing there at the head of Walt.
You both looked to the feet as the old man’s note stated.
Someone had very recently and just during the day you were both there put in a
kind of indentation beneath the statue. It was in the shape of a plaque and had
two top decorative corners with three angular edges that almost make a w on
each side and semicircular edges at the bottom. The top and bottom of the
plaque indentation were rounded off into curves.
You both puzzled at what could go at the feet of Disney
since all you both had were strips of metal.
Suddenly, the young man who had been following you and had
stopped at the ice cream cart dropped a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar there on the
plaque-shaped hole. He pretended that dropping the ice cream bar was an
accident; he had to have pretended. He
had not even taken a bite of it, and the mouse ear and mouse face-shaped ice
cream bar melted into a gooey, chocolate, and creamy mess all over the shallow
plaque-shaped hole, not letting you or your mom see its contours. That was
intentional, a literal cover-up.
The well-groomed young man, with nary a scruffy whisker
like the old man who helped you, stated, giving a smirk that was more sarcastic
grin than legitimate smile, “Oh, now that’s a shame. One of the sweepers will
be around soon to get that up.” He then whined in a fake falsetto voice that
was just an okay impression of Mickey Mouse, “Oh, golly, I seem to be melting
away!”
Disneyland and all Disney parks did hire quite a few people
to sweep up constantly around the parks to keep them clean. However, usually,
Disney cast-members did not do impressions but left that to the guests or
pre-recorded audio. You knew that from online.
“Too bad I dropped it,” Mr. Perfect, who you called the
overly-well-groomed young man, stated.
The melted chocolate shell and vanilla ice-cream was just
enough to hide the contours of the plaque-shape hole that you had only be able
to glance at briefly before Mr. Perfect/Mr. Personality dropped the whole Mickey
Mouse bar there.
“Maybe we’ll find more pieces later,” you suggested, “And we
can figure this out when the area at the feet is clean.”
Your mom agreed.
The young man smiled toothily as if grinding his teeth
together. He leaned in closer, and you could see what looked like a Disney
collector’s pin but in a futuristic, ultra-light mix of metals or alloy on his
lapel. You later learned it was not some kind of science fiction show
communicator or anything like that. However, it was significant. To the average
onlooker, one would have thought he had a custom collectors pin made with one
of the initials of his monogram. Thinking back to it later, when you learned
about The Changers, you knew the block print C there, opposite of Disney’s
cursive scrawl, stood for The Changers. The block print C made almost a room
like a prison cell in a rectangle with the open part of the little being just
enough space for a doorway. The C pin glinted in the Southern California sun.
The young man squinted as he leaned in closer, closer.
The young man, first looking left and right to make sure no
one overheard, whispered menacingly to your mother and you, his breath smelling
of a brand new candy with the taste of Dole Whip or pineapple with a rotten,
oily undercurrent, “I suggest you both forget what you have heard and saw and
take those pieces to Guest Services immediately. Haven’t you seen the funny
sign at Guest Services? Parents have a way of getting lost around here.”
The funny sign beside the Victorian town hall on Main
Street U.S.A. (not far from the fire station) showed two black and white images
of parents with befuddled looks on their faces and read, “Lost parents. Inquire
here for children.”
The way Mr. So-called Perfectionist Alleged Cast-member
said it was not funny the way the sign was. It sounded more like a threat than
a joke. Yes, usually, it’s the kids that get lost. And, yes, a lost parents
station is a funny idea. But he made it sound like something was going to
happen to your mother if you both kept probing around.
You stated, “Mister, you better get away from my mom and me
or…I will tell your bosses on you.” You did not like tattling on people like
some of the kids at school did.
“You don’t have to do that, son,” my mom said, “I will turn
him in right now for his threats.”
“Do it, and you’ll be asked to return the pieces. You can
be sure of that,” the snotty smooth-faced, and not at all typical employee (if
he was one) said. He whispered toothily, “And I will find a way to make sure
you are lost, lady.”
You whispered to your mom that the pieces must be
important, that the old man had asked the two of you to hold on to them.
Your mom stated, “We are keeping these pieces, and no fresh
out of college punk is going to tell us otherwise.”
You laughed, and your mom and you both launched away from
the unsavory, so-called Disney employee (again, if he was one… you thought he
might be incognito and was definitely not your usual Cast-member at the time.
You were right.) You sped away as best you could, and your mom did too.
“It’s no longer going to be a small world after all,”
yelled Mr. Perfect, “It’s no longer going to be a small world… it will be a
large world, a dangerous world, a new world. Keep it up, and WE will be a part
of it. You will not!”
You and your mother tried not to listen to his horrible
words.
Having put plenty of distance between the two of you and
him, you said, “What a creep.”
“Yes” said your mother, “So misguided. So us versus them.”
She hoped that the us versus them would not mean a place without you, without
her disabled son. She tried not worry about it and the disguised young man’s
threats.
Chapter 3
You and your mom both decided it was best to proceed
according to plan and avoid the seemingly perfect employee at all costs. You
next wanted to go to what is now called Pirate’s Lair on Tom Sawyer Island on a
raft. The promotional materials now say that one can live the life of a pirate
like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn did when they ran away.
Getting over on the raft was okay, but you had some trouble
with some areas being a little claustrophobic. You did not like this particular
escape as much as you thought. The narrow paths made you feel closed in. Your
mom was huffing, and even you were. You both decided the suspension bridge was
not a good idea.
Luckily, beside an oak tree at the start of one of the
trails, you found another addition for your Mickey Mouse bag. This one stated,
“OF YESTERDAY,” Yes, it had a comma immediately after it and a lighter copper
square to the left of it. As you put it in your bag, you heard a distinctive
ca-clink sound. Your mom helped you pull out the pieces that had connected. The
pieces had connected to form “OF YESTERDAY, TOMORROW” with light copper squares
on the left and right and dark metal with light copper for the lettering. As if
by magic or internal magnetism, the pieces had combined. You thought of the
plaque-like hole and knew this must be forming pieces of it. But what was the
original plaque it was based on? You tried to think back to your mom’s
catalogue of reproduction items. But you could not rack your brains to figure
it out. Your mom could not either.
By this time, you were both getting hungry, and fruit and a
turkey leg, the cheapest kinds of food available in Frontierland, were sounding
very good.
You liked portable foods, had an affinity for them. Like
most kids, you liked burgers and hot dogs. Turkey legs were more of a novelty
for you at the theme-park, so you decided you wanted one of those.
After you got back on shore, your mom and you rested a
while and had lunch. You each had a turkey leg, fruit, and water. The turkey
leg tasted smoky, chewy, and meaty and satiated your appetite. The fruit tasted
fresh and sweet. Though the water was just ordinary bottled water, you were so
thirsty that it tasted like the proverbial nectar of the gods.
You decided you wanted to make your way around the water in
Frontierland to a place past the Golden Horseshoe Review and just around a
curve where you could go to the Frontierland Shootin’ Exposition. Your mom did
not want you shooting guns, even fake ones, despite your begging.
“I
just don’t want you having a gun of any kind in your hands,” your mom stated.
You
said, “It’s not even technically a gun, ma. It’s a laser gun made to look like
an old gun.”
“No
sassing… no guff… no guns… that’s final,” she punctuated with a strong shake of
the head.
You
weren’t sure if she thought you could not hit the targets or if she did not
like guns in general. Having always liked historical scenes, you wanted to see
the scene from the Old West and shoot the interactive targets there. Whether
guns were for your gender or not, you would not say. You told your mom about
the historical, educational aspects in a non-whiny voice, but she still
refused. Rather than argue with her, you thought of something else.
You
talked to your mom about what you wanted to do next between the last bites of
lunch. You knew what you wanted your next adventure to be, Storybookland, a
place in Disneyland’s Fantasyland that friends you chatted with on the Internet
could not have the pleasure of seeing at Disneyworld. It was full of miniature
models that looked like distant fantastic cities on a river, and you even got
to pass through Monstro the Whale’s mouth from Pinocchio. Miniatures of many of
the fairy tale castles and villages were there alongside or a little distance
from the river.
You
loved railroad miniatures and even model trains at times, so you were looking
forward to Storybookland, which was not very high tech and was very laid back,
because of your interest in miniatures and fantasy. Plus, you noticed as you
pushed yourself to discover things on your own and do more on your own that
Disneyland was becoming not only a place to escape but a place for you to show
how independent you were no matter where you were, even a lower tech fantasy
world (albeit your interest in small models helped). And as your mom was
starting to not be as overprotective (well, except for not even allowing you to
use laser-based guns), you were enjoying this facet of the trip as well.
However, occasionally present in your mind was the threat of the disguised
young man and why he did not want you to keep those cryptic metal pieces and
what he had in store that would exclude others but keep those in the know
involved in a “large, new, dangerous world” as he put it. Could it be here in
Disneyland? Anaheim? The country or world itself? Could it be a clue alluding
to Disney World? You tried not to worry about it just then and to return to
having fun. To coin a new phrase, Toontown was not saved in a day.
Chapter 4
You
and your mom made your way out of Frontierland and eventually past the statue
of Walt Disney and Mickey. The ice-cream the incognito Changer, the phony,
seemingly perfect Cast-member, had dropped intentionally, had long been cleaned
up. You asked your mom to help you insert the metal pieces from your bag into
the space at the bottom of the statue. The now combined “OF YESTERDAY,
TOMORROW” slightly curvy metallic rectangle fit in the next to last row of what
appeared to be rows for four long pieces. The “AND ENTER” piece fit in the
second row toward the left of it. Therefore, in the large rectangular hole, you
had a blank line; then, a metallic strip of “AND ENTER”; next, a partial blank
line; after that, a full metallic line of “OF YESTERDAY, TOMORROW”; and,
finally, a blank line to fill with remaining, unfound metallic pieces of a
puzzle.
Your mom stated, running her hands through her disheveled,
long chestnut brown hair, “I know I have seen that somewhere before. I am just
kicking myself because I know I should know this.”
You replied, “I think I should know it too, ma. I’ve seen
it somewhere before too. We’ll figure it out, though. Let’s go on to
Storybookland.”
Your mom and you soon ventured through the gateway of the
Sleeping Beauty Castle and past the carousel and dark rides there and veered to
the right past the teacups and Alice in Wonderland ride to the dock entrance
for the Storybook Canal Riverboats. Casey Jones, Jr., the little train from
Dumbo, chugged away with passengers not far from here.
Who should be your guide on the Canal Boat but the older Cast-member
with the quasi-handle-bar moustache, with the groomed moustache, who had helped
you both earlier? You and your mom were allowed to go to the front of the line
for the reason mentioned many times before.
Your mom whispered something to the older Cast-member. He
stated to the others in line, “Sorry, folks, these two get to ride alone with
me. The next canal boat will be up shortly behind me.”
A few people muttered, but most understood. The older Cast-member
and my mom helped you transfer to the boat.
Just as you and your mom had settled, he handed you another
slip of parchment paper in elegant, cursive scrawl.
This one read, “To get back to a good place, sometimes
you’ve got to enter through the belly of a beast.”
The aging Cast-member stated as the canal boat moved
forward, “Now that there is no one else around not only do I need to tell you
to look for your next piece, but I need to tell you what is going on.”
This next point was the first time you heard of The
Changers until you thought about your story later.
The Cast-member said, “The Changers, those with those
modern C insignia pins, are an organization of fans who want to change
Disneyland completely. You have seen a particularly nasty one. He’s been trying
to stop you. The Changers, you see, are not satisfied with Star Wars Land
coming there or the changes made in Tomorrowland. They want everything in
Disneyland to be ultra-modern. That’s not what Walt wanted. He did say
Disneyland would be changing from time to time. But there were quite a few core
things he wanted to remain the same.”
“I like it just the way it is,” you said, “I have never
been able to come here, not even once, and I have always wanted to because of
reading about how it always was.”
“It’s very charming,” said your mom, “I get a little tired
of seeing some of the images of the items my company makes because of the
bright colors and cutesy designs. But the place itself is very charming.”
“Walt knew there would be good people like you who would
like the place the way he envisioned it. The thing is… not even the way it
exists is entirely like how he had it in his mind. In his mind, this place
would have been even more a place of escape and fun for all. You see… Walt
really was a child at heart himself,” the elderly man with the well-trimmed handlebar
moustache chuckled – almost to himself.
Suddenly, as you had been talking, you were all approaching
the open mouth of Monstro the whale in your canal boat.
“It’s important that you look at the entrance of the whale.
Let me stop for a minute,” said the old man.
You looked at the slip of paper in your hand: “To get back
to a good place, sometimes you’ve got to enter through the belly of a beast.”
You spied a glint at the mouth of the beast you are both
about to pass through. You asked your mom to help you retrieve what is there,
and you looked a bit ashamed for a minute for having to ask for help. You are
usually very independent.
Sensing what you must be feeling, the old man stated, “You
do quite a lot for yourself. I have observed you as I have been trying to help
you through. There’s no shame in asking for help. I have to ask for it all the
time. When we age, we all become disabled in some fashion or another… Did you
know that Mr. Disney had a soft spot for the disabled?”
You shake your head no.
“Why that’s one of the reasons I heard he wanted to do the Pollyanna
film because it involves an optimistic, eventually disabled girl who rose above
her disability… he had many health problems himself as child and was rejected
from the regular military service because of his health… He had to drive an
ambulance for the Red Cross in France instead. Then came all of the studio
stuff you know about… For years later, while making Disneyland, finishing it,
and overseeing some subtle changes and additions here and there before he
passed, he wanted the one chosen to be disabled-“
“Chosen?” you asked.
Your mom had fished out the next metallic piece with a
grabber the old man gave her. It read, “AND FANTASY.” This was appropriate as
all of you were about to enter a place of fantasy worlds as seen in the
distance, the castle from the Little Mermaid, the almost spherically domed castle
from Agraba, and other traditional Disney classic castles abounded in miniature
not far from the shore but far enough away to create the illusion that they
could be ventured to in the distance away from the canal.
The old man continued, “Yes, chosen… you as a disabled
person have been chosen. One of Walt’s favorite Silly Symphonies and one he
personally oversaw the ending for was when the Pied Piper led the children of
Hamlin away to a fantasy world when he was not paid properly by the villagers
for ridding their village of mice (Interesting choice for one who liked Mickey
so much, I know). But what he liked most about it was the ending where he has
had a crippled child follow slower behind the others. He makes you think that
the crippled child isn’t going to go in the magic world. But in the end, he
loses his crutch and yells, ‘Woo-pee!’ almost like Mickey Mouse himself and
runs in with the others through the door to the magic world! Catch my drift?”
You nod in wonder. “And now we’ve got this “AND FANTASY”
piece to add to the puzzle that will open the door! We’re going to be able to
go in Walt’s magic world! A realer magic world than this!”
“Clever,” said the old man.
“Yes,” stated my mother.
“The Changers don’t want you to do this, though” stated the
man with the old-fashioned moustache, “Because if you do, it will release magic
that will keep a good bit of Disneyland preserved as it is for future
generations and will have you telling stories to your friends about how
wonderful Walt’s original vision was. -No more changes to things over and over
again for the sake of change. Yes, Walt wanted changes but only occasional ones
and additions, not complete over-hauls of his vision.”
Gazing at the Taj Mahal-esque golden domed castle of Agraba
in this distance and other fairy tale castles, you think of the slip of paper
again, “To get back to a good place, sometimes you’ve got enter through the
belly of a beast.”
You think about Monstro the Whale. “We got the next piece
before even going through the belly of the beast, Sir,” you thought aloud to
the old man.
He stated, “Yes… well, there are different types of beasts
with different bellies. (His eyes twinkled.) By the way, the reason we entered
the mouth of Monstro the Whale was thanks to Walt too. The Imagineers or WED or
whatever they were called then… it all runs together now… they wanted to have
the Storybook canal riders be spit out from the whale with the riders, leaving
the whale behind. Well, old Walt knew it would be more dramatic, more fun for
the guests, for them to actually enter the mouth of the whale. And it is, don’t
you think?”
“Yes, pretty k’ewl,” you stated, “It makes it a bit scarier
to see the whale head with those big teeth up close and approach it.”
Suddenly,
you heard the toot-toot of Casey Jones, Jr. in the background not far from the
canal. You thought about what the old man stated about there being different
kinds of beasts and bellies as the hand-written clue alluded to.
“Sir, isn’t another name for an Old West train engine (you
liked model trains and some train history) a beast. Weren’t some steam machines
compared to beasts?”
The old man had a smile on his face. He said, “Why, I
believe it is. Yes, they were.” He stated this like he knew the answer all
along.
“Ma, when we get off of here, we’ve got to go get on the
train in Main Street U.S.A.”
“Good choice,” said the elderly Cast-member, “Walt always
loved trains. One of the reasons he wanted to build this park was where he
could have a train to ride here. He even had a miniature train in his yard at
his house. The animators made a bit of fun of him with a Donald Duck cartoon
one time with Donald riding on a miniature train too or it may have also been
of Ward. (You must have look perplexed, and your mom did too because he
explained further.) One of Walt’s legendary old men animators, Ward Kimball,
had a miniature train as well. Walt even went to a historic exposition on
trains out East one time.”
You and your mom nodded.
The old man winked and stated, “And, as you suspected,
youngin’, one of the remaining metal pieces of the puzzle may just be near a
train too. Steam engines were seen as beasts sometimes.” The old man’s voice
became very grave yet his eyes showed dewy concern in their hazel, hazy depths
when he whispered, “Beware those people who are true beasts. The very impulsive,
always out for something new. They can be like wild wolves. And they come in
all genders, ages, and backgrounds too. Don’t forget it.”
The elderly gentleman stared off in the distance for a
minute. His face looked grave. In fact, it became so stony in its grimace when
he said the last bit that his moustache looked carved in. He appeared to be
remembering something but looked so sad and a bit frightened too.
Your mom and you shuddered.
“Are you okay?” your mom asked.
He suddenly smiled and shook his grave expression away and
changed his tone: “Be wary, but don’t forget to have fun! Let’s take a look at
these magic lands we’ve got around here, shall we?”
You and your mom smiled with him, keeping his warning in
the back of your minds but not being as worried about the elderly gentleman now
that he was smiling again.
Your mom and you pointed at all of the castles along the
journey with the elderly man as he narrated and were content that these
miniature magic worlds were around you and that soon a gigantic, magical world,
a world more magical than what Disneyland became, would surround you soon, you
hoped. -A world without human wolves.
CONTINUES IN THE PDF AVAILABLE BY PAYPALING the author $2.50 at rbaxley37@gmail.com .
