Disneyland - Jungle Cruise - A telegram from Mike

Jungle is 101 fans!

Stop.

This is Mike.

Stop.

Happy to report, still alive.

Stop.

Presently held in small hut.

Stop.

Natives outside dance continuously in a circle.

Stop.

Have to go to the bathroom. (Not me, the natives.)

Stop.

Promise to post something substantive soon.

Stop.

Must get past Schweitzer Falls and the piranha first.

Stop.

Oh. Trader Sam says hi.

Stop.

Stopped by his village cafe for lunch. Prices have gone way up.

Stop.

He wanted to charge me an arm and a leg.

Stop.

Please, somebody make me stop.

Love you all.

Miss you.

Wish you were here. This hut's lonely and those natives' incessant war chant is starting to drive me a bit wacky---er, um, wackier.

---Mike

Disneyland - Memorial Day Weekend 2010

We went to the Park this past Monday, May 31, 2010.

Of my many times there as a guest, I must say this trip ranks among the very best.

It was a perfect California day, with a brilliant blue sky, warm temperature and breezes that kept things just right. The attendance was just about perfect, too. You could see the ground. There were no unduly long lines.

And the Park.

The Park sparkled in a way that I thought I'd never see again. The paint on the buildings on Main Street was shiny. The newly refurbished Rivers of America flowed gracefully again past a dazzling New Orleans Square on this sunny day. Every figure in the Small World danced and sang in neatly pressed clothes without a hiccup or hitch. We were able to find Nemo in a Submarine Lagoon that glittered like a backyard pool in the Holmby Hills. Space Mountain gave us an early morning energy boost. Indiana Jones did the same---with every ride element working flawlessly. We had stage-side seating for Billy Hill and the Hillbillies at the Golden Horseshoe. My daughter Caitlin even got a picture with Billy before the show. Our youngest daughter got Billy's attention during the show---she is still missing her two front teeth and he offered her his special set of Hillbilly teeth to the delight of the audience.

We took the Davey Crockett Explorer Canoes for a race around the Island (probably the first time I've done that since my last Cast Member Canoe Race back in 1987!). My wife and I followed our daughters for a spin around the Autopia track and enjoyed its shady twists and turns. We steamed through the Grand Canyon and Primeval World. We cooled ourselves from the afternoon heat with Dole Whips at the Tiki Room lanai, followed by an air-conditioned performance by our good friend Fritz and the boys. I don't know if you realize this, but the Bird of Paradise is an elegant bird. It likes to be seen, but it loves to be heard. That's the word on street---or at least in the Room.

We raced down the icy slopes of the majestic Matterhorn. We asked for (and were cheerfully directed to) the last two rows of the train on Big Thunder (best seats in the house). Seven-year-old Madison breathlessly and toothlessly reminded me to "stare at the goat all the way around the turn at the bottom of the big hill---it makes it better!"

It really does.

I screamed loudly round the final turn---to bemused guests meandering along Thunder Trail---and into Dinosaur Gap. Just for the heck of it.

We boarded the proud Mark Twain and glided past new scenes (and some refurbished ones) along the river. Gone were the rotting mine train and keel boat. Now the Gullywhumper sits, restored and proud, at the old settler's cabin---which has been newly inhabited by a certain Mr. Fink. Deer, streams, jumping fish, a proud Indian Chief, skunks, beavers, even a live horse, could be seen at the river's edge. But wait, what's that? Do my eyes deceive me? Is that Fort Wilderness slowly rising anew on the Island?? Well, I'll be.

Even the Mark Twain had shiny paint on every railing, polished decks and a spanking new paddle wheel at her stern. We ran from one side of her to the other as we enjoyed the sights on each side of the river during our trip. Her whistle and bells as we approached the dock were loud, clear and filled with pride and energy.

We had plenty of time to head over to California Adventure during our day. Madison and I walked right on to Tower of Terror and laughed during every stomach lifting dropped. We rode Screamin' twice in a row! She even kept her eyes open on the loop on her second trip! We all floated and sailed on the Silly Symphony swings, taking in the fine, unobstructed view. We clacked along Mulholland Madness and then headed back to the Park.

As our day drew to a close, we opted for one more attraction.

You'll never guess which one.

Thank you Disneyland---and the team at Disney---for a great day!

As you exit the boat, please don't miss out on our Character Parade this evening. That's when all us cast members line up on Main Street after fireworks and watch you characters head to the parking lot. Goodbye now!

---Mike

Disneyland - Scant Observations From Main Street

Due to a shortage of time, today's post is presented, ala James Joyce, via stream-of-consciousness observations based upon my 1983 Disneyland wall map, among other things, and more trips to the Park than I can ever fully hope to remember...

Ahem...

"Your attention, please! The Disneyland Limited now arriving..."
Speckled leaves.
Ghouls beckon from the wall poster in the tunnel.
I hear a squeaky stroller wheel. The warm sun makes the green benches smoothly shiny.
Feathered hooves coconut clop and the white pole is so high amidst the bright flower faces at its feet.
To all who come.
Welcome.
The blue sky domes highly and the shops bustle with a by-gone sensibility.
Hello, Mr. Dinglinger?
--Yep
Miss Flump? Auralee Flump? Will you please get offa this line? Now, I know you're there 'cause I can hear your clock tickin', and it sounds like it's slow, too.
The smell of the roasted beans mixes with wrapped sucker sticks and taffy.
King me!
A bell "ding dings" outside the doorway.
Across the small street, candy canopy umbrella tables grandly dance o'er the huddled patrons in their midst. Toasted smells waft down the small alleyway.
The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be swirls in the background of one's hearing from the keys of an unseen piano.
Trolley tracks under foot, mind your ankles!
Glass and crystal sparkle castle-ly shapes and spidery lines.
Green satin bloused Esmeralda floats her hand over the deck and whispers of future things unseen.
Green metal posts twist like candy canes to gas lit bowls draped with triangle banners and fringed with balls of flowers.
A trolley bell rings "pardon me, coming through" while the lights chase each other around Coke Corner.
Crunch and toffee, caramel and fudge, waft unseen to one's nostrils.
Yellow and white.
Pink and blue.
Red, white and blue.
Skinny trees along walkways spatter shade and leaf.
The Hub spreads its arms like a splayed octopus at the foot of the Castle.
Pink and blue again.
Red and white.
Carnation flowers and ice cream.
Water flows 'neath wooden planks.
Swans drift.
I'm wishing.
I'm wishing.
For the one I love.
To find me.
To find me.
Today.
Today.
Logs stand tall and pointed and rustic.
The long steam whistle haunts the distance with its mournful happy call.
The white peak erupts a roar.
Screams and laughter flash by.
Funny plastic boxes on wheels glide over the entrance.
Glistening points shoot skyward at either side.
Will I go on shrinking...forever?
Yellow and purple and green flowers almost blind the eye in their brilliance.
A green, tall bus full of faces chugs by.
Rainbow balloons cling together in an inverted pyramid clutched by a yellow and red clad girl with black hair and blue eyes.
Green iron railings hug beds of flowers and shrubs.
"Let's go this way!"
"Wait for me!"
The smell of coffee and pretzels and popcorn and old green water and duck and swan mix with pineapple and waffle cones and diesel and heaven knows.
People and laughter and children and crying and strollers and hats, funny shaped hats, all moving and walking and spreading over the scene like wayward sheep or dandelion stems on the breeze.
Wonder and peace and joy and sweat and aching feet with tearful tired children scooped into parents' arms and onto shoulders and into stroller seats.
The night darkens and the trees develop tiny sparkles of light.
The street is aglow with yellow lights.
Flashing.
Steady.
Outlining the buildings on either side.
The crowd grows and fills. Anticipation pants and breathes and looks skyward.
Bursts of color splash the night sky and spread into a hundred arms of flickering, shimmering flecks of light.
Drifting and smoking and falling.
Music is everywhere.
The children ooh and ahh with their parents.
The crowd wells up as the sparkling little spirit glides o'er castletop.
Look!
Look!
There she goes!
More bursts of color and booms that resound in your chest and make the little ones clap hands to their ears.
Then silence and wafting smoke.
Yawns and sleepy small faces.
Cries and more yawns.
"It's been a big day."
"You're tired."
"Let's say good-bye for now."
A horde ambles on heavy feet toward the tunnels, filling the street and the curbs and marching, exhausted, onward---toward home.
One more line.
A child dazed and drooling dangles over a shoulder, eyes rolling under heavy lids---trying not to let go of the day and the sights and the excitement.
Just a minute more.
Sleep.
The roar of a big diesel rends the night and yellow and blue seats beckon the weary.
Please keep your balloons in your lap so the driver can see.
We hope you had a wonderful and memorable time in this happy place.
"Were we in "Pinocchio" or "Goofy"?
"I see it! There's the car!"
Key in ignition.
Lights on.
The engine hums and the car heads homeward, as though it knows the way.
Children slumber in seats.
The road smoothly bumps and sighs beneath.
Aching calves and backs of knees remind parents of their advancing mortality.
Father turns to mother, and knowing, tired smiles are exchanged.
This was a happy day.

(With deep apologies to Mr. Joyce and all who love literature).

---Mike.

Disneyland - Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls...

The words "electro-synthe-magnetic musical sounds" once gave me goosebumps nightly on Main Street U.S.A.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Disneyland proudly presents our spectacular festival pageant of nighttime magic and imagination...in thousands of sparkling lights...
and electro-synthe-magnetic musical sounds.
...The
...Main Street
...Electrical
...Parade!"

It was with great sadness that I saw the parade end its run at Disneyland.

Now, alas, it has even left California Adventure, ending its run there this past April.

If you wish to see it, you can still catch it though.

In Florida.

It is at the Magic Kingdom for an extended stay. Thankfully, it has returned to Main Street, where it belongs! It is too bad Disneylanders now have to book a flight to Orlando in order to catch it.

That said, the Electrical Parade beats the complete tar out of "Spectro Magic," a parade that I could never stomach. Ack. It was like watching an inept cover band try to sound like the "real thing" at a Holiday Inn Hospitality Lounge somewhere in the mid-west. Perhaps worse.

Again, I digress.

I have long missed the warm summer nights as the crowd built along the Hub and down Main Street. Cast Members would banter and chat with guests as they jostled for positions along the curb. The throng would fill the sidewalks several people deep.

There was a festival spirit in the air. Kids sat wide-eyed with anticipation---even the 40+ year-old ones. A long day at the Park was about to close out in spectacular fashion---a brilliant light parade with bouncy, joyous music and beloved characters followed by the "Fantasy In The Sky" fireworks extravaganza. The crowd knew it and sensed it.
It almost hummed with anticipation.
People would finally sit for a while after running around the Park all day.
Some would sit for two hours or more to get the best seats!

Working guest control along the parade route in 1987, still ranks as one of my favorite Park experiences as a Cast Member. We would walk up and down and make sure that ropes were up, people were seated in the right places ("Uh, sir, I'm going to need you to step out of the planter, the viewing area is inside the ropes. Thank you!), strollers were collapsed (so there was more room and everyone could see), and guests were having a good time.

Often I worked Parade shifts in my Jungle costume, so guests would instantly start joking with me.
"Are you lost, skipper? Adventureland is over there!"
"Hey, where's your boat?"
"Where's your gun?"
"You aren't from around here, are you?"

Etc.

Believe me, I gave it right back to them, spieling and playing and goofing around---all the while getting paid for it (I could never get over that part!).

The anticipation grew steadily.
Teaser announcements would help build the drama, letting everyone know the Parade would soon be coming.
When the night settled in and the street lights went down, section by section, along the parade route, the robotic, techno-sounding musical intro announcement would surround the waiting horde:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls..."
The crowd literally would go wild.
Kids cheering!
Adults cheering!
Everyone clapping in rhythmic unison.
In those moments, Disneyland along the Parade route truly was the Happiest Place on Earth.
Then the Blue Fairy would come into view and the Parade was on!
If you never saw the Electrical Parade on Main Street in Disneyland, I am sorry.
If you get a chance, book a flight to Orlando and catch it at the Magic Kingdom.
Perhaps, of course, it may someday return to its rightful spot in Disneyland.

For now, this is Mike, wishing you all a fabulous rest of your day or evening, wherever you may be!

---Mike

Publish Post

Disneyland - Cold, Damp Nights

A closing shift at the Park during the winter, Christmas season or New Year's Eve can be a cold, damp and wonderful thing.
Let me start by patiently explaining that California's "winter" can manifest itself in an icy moisture that breathes frostily deep into your joints.
It gets your toes cold to the point where only a warm bath will bring them back.
No snow, for sure.
No twenty below.
No windchill worth mentioning.No ice scraper for the windshield.
No plugging in your car so your radiator and battery won't freeze.
No gummy snowboots or galoshes.

But it gets you.

I'm from western Pennsylvania.I have lived in South Bend, Indiana......in January.
I have been on the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago, tiny icebergs at my feet, a ceaseless gust in my face and snow several feet deep all around.I have been in "lake effect" snow.
Freezing rain.
Ice storms.
Winter mornings before dawn when my jeans were stiff from ice.
So were my socks.
Been through a whiteout on a lonely stretch of central Indiana interstate during a blizzard.
Watched a Notre Dame game from the top of the stadium on a day when the sheets of rain turned to sleet and then to mushy snow.
I have stepped off my grandmother's porch as a tiny lad and been swallowed into snow drift there off the porch steps.
I can still feel the fluffy, icy and muffling snow around me.
Good thing my uncle happened by, just as this occurred, to safely pluck me from my predicament.
I am not a California creampuff.
Neither was Mark Twain.He toughed out some of the coldest weather one could imagine and yet he found California to host the most chilling. He famously noted, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."
What I am trying to hint at is that I am no stranger to the cold winter thing.

Now, I offer the foregoing for those Easterners and Mid-westerners who swear to high heaven that they can tough out any winter in shirt sleeves and shorts. They smugly smirk at Californians who bemoan a dip into the 40s and a little sprinkle of misting rain.
Yeah, I'm talking to you in Buffalo and up there in Green Bay.
Let me tell you.
California winters are amazingly,
surprisingly,
cold and damp.
You see, in Green Bay, or Pittsburgh, or Buffalo or South Bend, when you step into the house or your car from 15-below-zero temperatures, you are instantly warm.You immediately tear off your parka and sweatshirt and long underwear once you are back indoors because otherwise you will die of heat stroke.
This is "dry" cold.
In California, along the shores of the Pacific, an oceanic wetness sets into the winter air.
Especially after about 1o:30 p.m.
It sets a chill that seems to come from the inside out.
It can even get at you indoors.It finds its way through sweaters and most jackets.
It creeps numbingly into fingers, toes, ears necks and noses.
A damp cold.
A reach-for-the-beer-at-the-bottom-of-the-ice-chest kind of cold.

So...
...I think you get a sense of what you face at the Park on a closing shift during a California winter's night.

Over on Jungle, the scarves and gloves come out, along with the jackets. The condensation glistens across your boat's bow. Your .38 revolver chills your hand as you reach to reload it with numbed fingertips. Your breath clouds around the P.A. mike. If you are on the dock, you try to keep your body moving between boats---which are fewer and farther between at night, especially in the winter (after all, a charging African Bull Elephant does not leap into the minds of most guests as an attraction option when the weather gets cold, dark and damp).

On Main Street, if it was a fireworks night, the guest control cast members would be bundled in the most fabulous of Disneyland costume pieces---the heavy wool peacoat---which is modeled perfectly and shamelessly below by a certain member of this blog's editorial staff.You would see these old peacoats on the Mark Twain operators and Disneyland Railroad conductors, too. It was one of the few clothing items that could combat the cold well. The peacoats had not changed for years, though the Park has now gone to a "fleece" version that is no doubt cheaper, but definitely less insulating. If there was one item I wish I could have taken home with me when I left for the last time---it was the peacoat. I dug the "Disneyland" patch stitched into the left breast of the coat.

Since most cast member positions within the Park are of the outdoor variety, standing outdoors in a chilled dampness for six or eight hours can take its toll. Fortunately, we got to move around a lot if we were on guest control. Indeed, the main reason for the coned flashlight on such nights is not so much to direct guests, but more to generate warmth by the constant back-and-forth motion of one's upper extremity.

After closing or the end of your shift, you would trudge back to your exit (which for most of us was Harbor House), stopping by your locker on the way to grab your backpack or whatever you brought with you before your shift began. In the old days, you would walk out into the cast member parking lot along Harbor Boulevard and watch your breath fog ahead of you as you found your car. Its windshield would have a film of dew. You would open your door and sit down (often for the first time in over six hours). The seat would be cold. The inside of the windshield would be fogged. You would start the engine, hit the windshield wipers, and wave a goodbye to fellow cast members walking to their cars. Put it in drive and pull out onto Harbor Boulevard, heading homeward.

About five or ten minutes into your trip, the car would warm up and you could actually turn on your heater. The streets would be empty after a closing shift. You would feel the warmth slowly build around you. Back to the "real world." Still, I miss those quiet, late evening or early morning commutes home from the Park on cold nights. More so, I remember how great it felt to get home to a warm bed or a brandy (or both). Some things, of course, never change.

Let the East Coast versus West Coast "who has the colder winter" debate begin.

I tossed in my two cents.

---Mike

Disneyland - Frontierland Shooting Arcade - 1987

I worked the "new" Frontierland Shooting Arcade at a time when Disney Dollars made their debut and a detailed western scene with light sensitive "targets" had been installed in place of the old shooting gallery.

At the time, the Arcade cast member would wear the Big Thunder costume and carry a money sack around the waist, filled with change for those guests whose dollars would not feed into the change machine. It was my only money handling position during my tenure at the Park. I remember the crisp feel and weird look of Disney Dollars. I kept thinking: someone's GOT to counterfeit these somewhere along the way. Some folks loved them. Some thought they were a cheesy money making gimmick: let's see, give us $20 "real" dollars and we will give you $20 Disney Dollars. They can be used the same as cash anywhere within Disneyland. Or, they can end up a souvenir. I wonder how many of those pieces of paper are still in circulation today.

Back to our riveting story.

The main duty of the Arcade cast member was to assist guests whose change was deposited but their gun failed to operate.

"Hey! I just put my money in there and the coin return isn't working!"

"No problem. I will fix it for you and we'll have you blastin' away in no time."

Then I would walk behind the door at the far western end of the Arcade and go to the computer. I would select the gun the guest was using and reset it. Next, I would walk over to the gun and guest and ask them to give it a try. Most of the time, the gun would "fire." The guest would be satisfied and I'd reset the gun again so that they would have a fully "loaded" turn at the gun.

My favorite moments, though, were when I would "test" the guns during those guestless interludes at the Arcade when no one was there. My eyesight was excellent. I loved shooting and was always a good shot. I have to admit, there is an adjustment between a real rifle and one that simply shoots light beams at photo-sensors. Once I got the hang of it though, I could not miss. I got to the point where I could lift any gun along the length of the Arcade, shoulder it and unload it, striking every target effortlessly and in rapid fire succession.

This "handiness" with the guns came from my ability to issue myself as many free rounds as I wanted during the course of my shift. It served a dual purpose of checking the guns for operation and learning how to interface with the Arcarde computer.

But my skill really came in handy for those guests who would demand refunds and insist that their gun was "broken." Don't get me wrong. I'd give them the refund, but as part of the process I would reset the gun and ask them to fire a couple shots. Almost invariably, they would miss (more often than not because the rifle was long, heavy and had the old-fashioned "V" sight that would line up with a round piece of metal at the end of the barrel---you had to hold it pretty still). You also had to know just where to line up the sight on the "target" at which you were aiming so that the light beam would activate the object when you shot at it.

The frustrated guest, feeling vindicated, would hand me the "defective" rifle. I would look down at it for a moment, take a breath, raise it to my shoulder and squeeze off 10 or 15 shots in a row, mowing down every target I came across. The "Ghost Rider" in the sky would rumble across the scene; the cars of the train in the distance would drop---one after an another---as I plucked them off; the crows would set to cawing; the owl would hoot; the dynamite in the old mine would go off---and the mine car would do its little loop from shaft opening to shaft opening; the old bridge would squeak and bend under the footsteps of an unseen "ghost" crossing it; I'd hit the constantly moving shovel (with a light sensor in the middle) and a skeleton would rise from the hole that he was "digging"; the horse in the stable in the tiny town would rear and kick; the bees near the cactus flowers would spring up and start buzzing; the rock balancing precariously in the distance would tilt back and forth; the tin cans would spin and the wagon train wagons would fall.

I would stop and then look back at the guest.

"This gun shoots fine. Here, let me reset it so you can give it another try."

I would hand them back the rifle as they slowly shook their head and blinked in disbelief.

My job here is done, Ma'am. 'Tweren't nothin'. A cast member's gotta do what a cast member's gotta do. Well, Pilgrim, I'm gonna mosey on over to that young feller with the mouse ears. Looks like he's havin' a time with that ol' muzzle-loader. You have yerself a fine day now, y'hear?

In the stillness, the clomp of my Big Thunder boots against the wood plank walkway would fade into the distance as the sun set over Frontierland.

Roll the credits.

---Mike

Disneyland - Where to Eat?

When I think of Disneyland food, my taste memory rarely generates much data. Still, there are some places where I've had food worth mentioning.

The old Carnation Ice Cream Parlor on the west side of Main Street springs to mind. I loved their ice cream sodas. The strawberry soda was served in a tall soda glass with vanilla ice cream, strawberry syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top. Never had a bad one of those.

The French Market in New Orleans Square and the famous mint juleps at the Mint Julep Bar.

The Plaza Inn seems to offer consistently good food.

The Rancho del Zocalo over in Frontierland has decent Mexican dishes, with good portions. You can almost always find a table, too.

Village Haus in Fantasyland has pretty good turkey sandwiches and salads. You can always get a hamburger. Even the veggie burger isn't half bad. There are usually plenty of tables available, too. Plus, being a holdover from the Pre-Eisner era, it is actually themed well (though, the same can be said for the Rancho del Zocalo, I must admit).

Don't forget the River Belle Terrace---but not just for breakfast! It is actually a great location for a lunch or dinner. Often it is less crowded than you would expect. I think this is because it kinda gets "forgotten," located as it is between two major walkways (Frontierland's riverfront to the north and Adventureland's walkway to the south). They serve great sandwiches and salads, too. Try their New York roast turkey or pulled pork sandwich and I think you will agree.

And in Tomorrowland...

Well, stick to the other lands if you want to eat, let's leave it at that.

While strolling by the remains of the old Motor Boat Cruise in Fantasyland, in the shadow of the majestic Matterhorn, you turkey leg aficionados will find yourselves at home with a relatively new food service location there that specializes in Disney's now famous turkey legs. These are a perfect option for those who want to make like Henry VIII and eat a big leg of meat barehanded while making the rounds of the world's most famous theme park.

Best advice: leave the Park and hit Storytellers Cafe over at the Grand Californian or, if money is no object, throw in the towel and luxuriate in the amazing entrees and elegant, but relaxed atmosphere of the Napa Rose, a Zagat Survey No. 1 choice for four years in a row. Even Guy Fieri dines at Napa Rose---he and his family were seated in the private dining room not far from our table the last time we were there. I don't know if Napa Rose qualifies as a "Diner, Drive-In or Dive," Guy, but the food is simply amazing.

Thank you and we hope you have a wonderful and memorable stay in Walt Disney's Magic Kindgom of Disneyland!

---Mike

Disneyland - Crowded Adventureland - The Treehouse - and A Dry "Rivers of America"

Today I will share with you (again) one of my favorite water elements in Adventureland---the flowing stream under the Swiss Fam...er, uh...Tarzan's Treehouse. The short video snippet above was shot on April 6, 2010 during a recent run to the Park with my fabulous (and patient) family. They have put up with me through many a trip to the Park and to Walt Disney World. Only true Disneyophiles (and their spouses, children or significant others) can understand what that is like.

Anyway, to truly understand the connection I have to the Treehouse waterway (pictured below), you must place yourself, circa 1985-87, at the turnstile to the old attraction (long before that enormously out of place extra tree stump and rope suspension bridge had sprouted up in the midst of perhaps the tightest walkway in all Disney parkdom---see photographic proof of what I mean below).

First, here is a a photo taken on the bridge in front of Pirates, photographed facing directly toward what would have been the "old" Treehouse entrance:
The opposite (or left) side of this pedestrian walkway (as shown in a photo taken again from the Pirates bridge looking eastward into Adventureland toward Main Street) is an equally mangled traffic jam of a pedestrian "pinchpoint," to wit:A photo alone does not do justice to the issue, so here is a short video to aid in your understanding:


Simply put, the crowds in this area are enough to send one to the old infirmary (if you know what I mean):
Anyway, as usual...

I digress.

My point is that, as evening fell over the West Side, the pedestrian traffic in front of the Treehouse and throughout Adventureland would dwindle as folks headed over to Main Street to get seats for the Main Street Electrical Parade and Fantasy in the Sky fireworks show.

The lone cast member standing at the Treehouse turnstile, became an early version of the "Wal-Mart greeter" of the West Side---waving to and chatting with guests and fellow cast members passing by, including sweepers, managers, other attraction operators and outdoor vending types.
An earlier post on this blog shows fellow 80's cast member Jackie Lacey manning (or womanning?) the turnstile position. It is from this position that I spent many an hour greeting, chatting, waving, b.s.-ing, and generally just getting paid to be at Disneyland.
Rough gig.
Doesn't come close to a day behind the desk as a litigator, let me tell you.

Did you know that the Swiss Family Treehouse was based upon a real fig tree that grew along West Street in Anaheim back when Walt decided he wanted a treehouse attraction for the Park? Take a moment to view this link: Forgotten Orange County, The Original Swiss Family Treehouse.

Permit me to close with some shots of the "Rivers of America" as they looked on April 6, 2010. Hmmm. Perhaps these amount to some sort of metaphor for the current state of America?
Oops, as the great Spears was oft to posit, I did it again.
Digression.
Sorry.
I hate it when that happens.
Here you see the "riverfront" by the River Belle Terrace:
And here: is the Mark Twain's landing---absent a few million gallons. See? It is not that deep.
Here is the general area pictured above---only with water. Makes a difference thematically.
Lastly, here is a view of Tom Sawyer's Island from over on Thunder Trail---looking southwest toward New Orleans Square there in the distance.
I hope you have enjoyed today's "Jungle Is 101."
This blog has been brought to you today by the letters "E" and "R" and the letters "A,D,O."
This program has been made possible by the Carolyn Ahmanson Foundation, by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and by readers like you.

All four (4) of you.

Love,

---Mike

Disneyland - The Folks at Disney Notice Us?

Oh for goodness' sake! Word on the street is that certain higher ups in Disney have taken a liking to this feeble little blog. Seems there's a longing for some "old school" cast member types and attitude.

To these fine people we say: hi! Thanks for stopping by. We're always ready to chat.

Oh yeah, and Mike's free if you ever need him! Feel free to drop him a line.

To the rest of you Jungle devotees, carry on! You are four (4) of the finest people I know (hi, Mom).

Just got back from a trip to the Park today. Crow-ded! I mean like the upper queue in Jungle was STILL going at 6:30 p.m.

Good to see so many folks enjoying the Park.

Buy Disney stock folks.

: )

---Mike

Disneyland - Jungle Cruise - Bumping Into Load - 1981-82

A fivesome of fine lads fearlessly stand their post at front and rear load on the Jungle Cruise dock circa 1981-82 (thanks to old skipper Ed Cunningham for originally sharing this one).

In addition to showing off the snazzy thatched confines of the old main entrance queue, this photo also depicts why Jungle skippers must be nimble of foot as well as lip. When a boat slips from the load dock into the jungle and there is a gap between it and the boat coming up behind it, there is precious little real estate between your friendly boat loaders and over four and a half feet of churning, green, gross jungle river.

I won't say I ever saw a skipper summarily bumped into the water at this position by a devious fellow skipper---or that I was the one doing the bumping (or being bumped). I will say that sloshing back to wardrobe to get a dry set of pants and socks was a long, moist trek. Working the rest of one's shift in wet Red Wing work shoes was no proverbial picnic either.

There have been more than a few guests who were prepared to stroll from the dock into a boat that was no longer there. Thankfully, we dockhands were alert for such wayward folk and---usually---got to them before they obtained a jungle baptism. The most potentially drenching time for guests and skippers was during a "bump" in the rotation, when one skipper would replace another at either load position. As two skippers tried to switch positions at the load station, an overly anxious guest might step past the famous "yellow line" and precipitously near the edge of the dock. This would result in three bodies trying to occupy space meant for only one. The laws of physics dictated that somebody would be going in---or dancing along the edge of the dock like a chimney sweep on the rooftops of London (Coo...what'a sight!). I have often waltzed with a fellow skipper during a bump as we tried to switch places on the tiny dock.

This process was made all the more interesting back in the days when tomfoolery by one's fellow cast members was not merely a remote possibility, but an immutable law of nature.

Rookies and skippers who were generally obnoxious (or woefully late returning from their breaks or lunches) were often targeted for these "accidental" bumps.

The bumper would approach the victim at the load position and say, "Bump." This meant, "I'm taking over, you can rotate to your break." The bumpee would then try to move along the dock while the bumper stepped into the load position. While both bumper and bumpee were making this transition, the bumper would literally bump his fellow skipper (who was invariably on the "outside" edge of the dock) toward the river's edge. As the victim lost their footing, the bumper would grab the handrail at the load position with one hand and the plummeting skipper's arm with the other, catching them just in time. Well, in time enough to let at least one of their legs dip into the river up to the knee.

Then the bumper would act profusely apologetic.

You know, some guys who were so good with the apology, it wasn't until maybe my third trip back to Wardrobe for new pants and socks that I realized maybe, perhaps, I had been the victim of an intentional act.

Today's "Jungle is 101" lesson comes in two parts:

1. Be careful on the dock.
2. Never trust a Jungle skipper to pass up a good opportunity.

---Mike