The Sunday Memory Drawer - When Walt Disney Was God

There was a recent four-hour documentary on PBS all about the life of Walt Disney.  A complex man with probably as many demons in his world as mice, ducks, and princesses.  The American Experience film didn't give us much new information, but it certainly was comprehensive.

I did not know, however, just what a big deal cartoons like "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," "Pinocchio," and "Bambi" were at the time of their release in the late 30s and early 40s.  These movies took animation to a completely new level and audiences marveled at them.

For me, I got to see them all, as a kid, on their umpteenth theatrical release.   And I marveled myself.  Because, to this youngster, Walt Disney was a god.

I think the very first stuffed doll I had was Mickey Mouse.  He and the stuffed Popeye the Sailor doll kept me company every night.  There was a Donald Duck handed puppet that I quickly mishandled with the head coming off.  One more time, I remember my grandmother coming to the rescue.  The door to her kitchen was closed as Donald went into "surgery."  

There was always a Walt Disney movie coming out and I always needed to be first in line.   I'd watch his Sunday night TV show, which, in my home, was called the "Wonderful World of Black and White."  After the credits would roll, there would be a quick trailer of the newest Disney film coming to theaters soon.  This would start my prodding process in earnest.

"Mom, there's a new movie coming out called "The Parent Trap."

She would nod and put it on the list.   In my parental world of moviegoing, my dad took me to all the war movies and anything starring Jerry Lewis.  Lucky him.  My mother took care of all the Biblical epics.  And, of course, the latest fare from Buena Vista and Walt Disney.  Not that all went well every time.  The images of Snow White lying in that glass casket haunted me for years, especially when they were reinforced by my misguided parents dragged me to the funeral parlor to see my dead uncle.  

Mom's favorite Disney movie would become mine as well after we saw it on a re-release to movie theaters.  "Lady and the Tramp."  Years later, it came out on VHS and I remember then two adults sitting down one Christmas day to watch it again.  The magic resounded one more time.

I had Disney figurines called "Disneykins."   Little one-half-inch high toy statues of his cartoon and movie characters.  I liked to play with them every summer when my make-believe world centered around the kitchen window fan.  Invariably, one or two of them would fall into the appliance and they would rest inside between the window screen and the fan.   They would be retrieved in early October when Dad would take down the fan for the winter.

And there were lots of Disney records in our house.  The 45 RPMers featured all the cartoon songs like "Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?" were on discs that were colored yellow.  Some of the other Disney movies merited "long playing" 33 RPM platters.   There was one for "101 Dalmatians" which essentially told the whole plot of the cartoon.  I remember bringing it to my second grade class and Miss Baron played for the entire class.

I can recall the night "Mary Poppins" finally came to Mount Vernon, New York. It was the day of my birthday and my mother took me and a classmate or two out to hear "Chim Chim Cheree" for the very first time.  Or maybe we had already heard it on one of the many previews from the "Wonderful World of Black and White."  

Most of the Disney live-action films often opened at Radio City Music Hall around either the Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays.   We would trudge down and stand in line...usually in a snowstorm...to see the latest movie that usually starred Hayley Mills or Annette Funicello.  If we didn't plod down to Manhattan, we'd wait for the Disney film to "come up by us."  In a driving rainstorm, my mother took me and my childhood best buddy Leo to see "The Absent Minded Professor" at the dingy Laconia Theater in the Bronx.  That was the closest this film would be to "come up by us."

Worshiping at the Altar of Walt became even better when we finally got our color TV and could actually experience the "Wonderful World of Color."  The downside to this?   You got to see these super-vibrant clips of Disneyland in California.  The big amusement park that seemed oh so far away to me lying on the living room floor on South 15th Avenue.  Walt loved to advertise all the fun down there at Anaheim.   For me, Disneyland might as well have been on the Moon.

Of course, I did ask about it once or twice.  Or a hundred times.   And was reminded that my family was not

1.  Named Rockefeller.

2.  Made of money.

3.  Possessing of a tree from which money grew.

It would be years before I ever got to see Disneyland.  And, by then, I was there with my college roommate and we promptly ran out of money.  As a matter of fact, I actually needed my dad to wire me some dough as I was literally walking around Frontierland with seven dollars and sixty-five cents in my pocket.

"You know, we're not made of money."

Or so I have been told.

Maybe that's why I so focused on Walt Disney when I was a kid.  He created a world on film, television, and in California that was so easy and welcoming.   There was no strife.   There was always plenty of money.

And, come to think of it, a lot of the latter wound up right in Walt's pocket.

Dinner last night:  Skirt steak at Taix Restaurant.