Disneyland - Easy There, Mickey!

The massive Walt Disney Company is a different animal from the company I first encountered in my youth.

And now it's likely to be the first company anyone encounters in their youth!

I saw an article today on Yahoo! about modern Disney's kinda creepy new scheme to get new customers before they can even ingest solid foods or articulate the simplest of words.

The Company is literally trying to stick newborn babies in "Disney Cuddly Bodysuits," while coddling new moms who are still suffering the after effects of oxytocin and epidural anesthesia.
Whoa, Mickey!  Hold your horses!! (No offense, Clarabelle).
Methinks there be plenty o' time to cull wee lads and lassies into the warm grip of Disneydom.
Let's at least allow mom and child a little time to get acquainted post-partum before blowing into the maternity ward like an overzealous mother-in-law or great aunt that knows EVERYTHING about caring for a newborn.
"Careful, dear, be sure to support the head!  SHHH!  No sudden noises!  I ALWAYS went right to formula---no child of mine was going to starve trying to breast feed!  Who swaddled this child??  That blanket is so loose the baby will suffocate in it!  Why aren't you using CLOTH diapers??  Those plastic things are so alien.  Desitin??  Why Vaseline was all we had and it was all we needed!  When is the last time you changed the baby?  Oh!  Those socks are ridiculous!  They're much too big!  Look, the baby's already kicked one off.  They're prone to catch pneumonia that way!  Here, let ME hold him/her---THIS is how you do it.  Who's Aunty's little buttercup??  Who's Aunty's little buttercup??  See?  He/she just LOVES me!  Oh dear, does someone have a spit rag---the little angel just spit up all over Aunty's favorite blouse!  Oh, breast milk!!  See?  It upsets their stomach!  That's why I ALWAYS went right to formula..."
And so on.
It doesn't take a Baby Einstein to see that this scheme is a touch over the top, even in today's wildly invasive and prolific marketplace.
We have three children of our own, and we certainly did not need Disney's help in developing them into raging fans by the time they could take their first, uncertain little steps.
I mean, from their first bedding, to their clothing, to the mobile above their tiny heads, to their bottles and bibs, their strollers, car seats and room decor, it is not like we as a society have deprived our children of a healthy initial dose of Disney.
Disney's most recent move looks like something that is going to backfire.
There are already articles blossoming across the web that are negatively panning this marketing scheme.
I couldn't resist joining in the fracas from the moment I saw the article this morning.
Enough.
Enough already!!!

Stay dry and comfortable, my friends.  Try powdering with every diaper change.

---Mike

Disneyland - Cast Member Giveaways

You might be a current or former Disneyland cast member...

...if you can instantly spot a cast member parking lot hang tag dangling from the rear view mirror of the car behind you on the freeway.

...if you find yourself giving a total stranger directions---and pointing with two fingers.

...if guests come up and ask you for directions while you're visiting the Park---even though you are not in costume and aren't wearing a nametag!! (How do they know??)

...if mention of the letters "E.R." triggers happy thoughts, as opposed to visions of hospital crises.

...if you ALWAYS step into the shortest of two lines ("Both sides are open folks!").

...if you smell popcorn and think of the Hub or the Frontier Landing rather than a movie theater.

...if you find yourself irresistibly compelled to "Put a Smile in Your Voice," when answering a phone at work.

...if, when visiting the Park as a guest prior to a parade, you find yourself subconsciously looking around for poles and a plug-puller.

...if you find yourself hanging a hard right at the north end of Main Street to grab lunch at the Inn Between, even though you're off duty or haven't been "on duty" officially for many years!

...if you spot a lost child in the Park and find yourself grabbing the nearest costumed cast member or security officer to help.

...if you still feel strange parking in the "regular" guest parking structure.

...if you can make your way through a teeming crowd without missing a beat.

...if you encounter a crowd of confused people anywhere (inside or outside the Park) and instinctively reach for a coned flashlight (even though you don't carry one anymore) and have to stifle yourself from intoning: "This is a walkway, please stay to the right!"

...if people consistently describe you as "approachable" and easy to talk with.

...if friends still ask if you can sign them into the Park.

...if you exchange a knowing glance with "on duty" cast members when you're in the Park as a "guest" (we know who WE are!).

...if you start to head toward the Plaza or Center Street or the Town Square gates when it's time to leave---rather than toward the exits at the Main Entrance.

...if you have to fight the urge to step back stage when you pass your old haunts during a Park visit (break areas, area lockers, CDS terminal locations, etc.)

...if, when encountering a group of people, your first urge is to ask, "How many in your group?" and to advise, "Two on Row 1, two on Row 2, and two on Row 3."

...if, during Fireworks, you find yourself watching the crowd around you as much as the show in the sky.

...if you see a less than diligent or discourteous Disneyland cast member interacting poorly with a guest and it irks you to the core (a rare occurrence, fortunately).

...if you ALWAYS know where the closest restroom, food service location, FastPass distribution location or outdoor vending stand is, no matter where in the Park you may find yourself.

...if you find yourself poking around the internet for odd little blogs like this!

---Mike

Disneyland - Nice Tribute to Walt - Marooned In The Jungle

Walt Disney's daughter Diane Disney Miller, his son-in-law, Ron Miller, and his grandson, Walter Elias Disney Miller, put together a very nice program entitled Walt - The Man Behind The Myth that I happened to catch on TV last night.
It has been out for some time, but this was my first viewing. 
I was happy to hear Dick Van Dyke narrate the film and to see some great home movies of Walt's life.
Talk about a life that is difficult to sum up in a couple of hours.
If you don't know the story of Walt Disney, I'd say you're at the wrong blog.
In any event, it was heartening to see the iconic images of the early days of Disneyland and into the 1960's.
Several key players were interviewed, from Marc Davis to Rolly Crump, X. Atencio to Ward Kimball, Ollie Johnston, Ron Miller and even Dick Nunis (who was kind enough to write me a letter of recommendation after I met him in 1985 in his office in the old Administration Building).
The enormity of Walt's personality, his influence on his company, his ability to develop a story and to inspire literally hundreds, if not thousands, of highly creative people, shone through.
If you get a chance to record this on your DVR, or want to grab the DVD off of Amazon.com or other sites, I think you will be pleasantly surprised.


On a completely unrelated note, I once learned a valuable lesson about trust and Jungle cast members.

During an opening shift our lead noticed that a large branch had fallen down and was laying across the roof of the native hut opposite the loading dock (pictured above with Minnie and Pluto on the porch). 
It was decided that my lead and I would board the skiff and putt across to the island to remove the branch.
The lead manned the outboard motor and I sat in the bow.  We put out from over by the old "load" position.
Pulling along one of the island's banks where I could get a foothold, my lead announced, "O.K. Jump out here."
I gladly did as told.  This was my first time on one of the Jungle islands.
I felt like a mixture of Stanley Livingston and Christopher Columbus, setting foot on wild soil, yet unclaimed by the Western world.
"Are you going to get out?"
My daydreaming had obviously delayed my exit from the skiff.
"Oh, yeah.  Sorry."
I planted my black Red Wing half-boot (with steel toe and non-slip sole) on the shore and swung my other leg out of the boat, catching my balance with care.
"Grab the branch and toss it behind the hut for now until we can get gardening over here tonight to get rid of it.  I'll pick you up on the other side by the water buffalo."
He pulled away.
There seemed to be an oddly devious buzz to the outboard motor as my hunched forward and sped from my "drop zone" on the island.
Focused on my task at hand and still waking up in the early pre-opening morning, I stumbled through the vegetation ahead of me until I came upon a dirt path, mid-island, that led to the back side of the hut.
Tree branches, palm fronds and bamboo shoots flicked against the brim of my hat as I made my way along the narrow path, blinking my eyes open and shut to avoid getting them scratched out by the teeming flora.
I reached the hut.
It looked like...like something in a jungle.
Leaves, webs, vines, dirt, dust, grime and shafts of sunlight pouring through the tree canopy above decorated the dank backside of the hut.
Stepping gingerly to the highest point I could reach behind the structure, I leaned against it and stretched my hand to the heavy branch that dangled across the roof.
It was about as big around as the barrel of a baseball bat and was surprisingly dense.  It tugged and at first the branch would not budge.
Wiggling it back and forth, I was able to get it to move and use gravity to assist me.
I did not want to damage the hut's palm-fronded roof in the process.
Through the hut, I could hear the muffled sounds of the attraction's opening activities.
Boat engines whined and came to life.
I heard the voices of fellow skippers in conversation on the dock.  I couldn't make out the words, just the hum of everyday chatter.
Over the Public Address system came the morning call, "Attention in the Jungle, Animation is about to be switched on and cycled in one minute.  Attention in the Jungle, Animation is about to be switched on and cycled in one minute."
Nothing near me was animatronic or electronic, as far as I could see, so I kept up my battle with the stubborn branch.
Finally I wrestled it to a point where it fell heavily from the back of the roof into the brush around my feet.
I stepped back onto the path and tried to get my bearings.  The Jungle river is laid out like a squiggly maze or the intestines of a zebra after a lion kill.  It can be a little disorienting.
Follow the path, I thought to myself.
The animation kicked in and the sounds of the jungle came alive around me.
I heard the family snorting and snuffling of the water buffalo and headed down the trail toward the sound.
I arrived at the water's edge.  Down the shore to my left was Trader Sam.
To my right was the water buffalo and the python scene.
Ahead of me, a silent and empty jungle river.
I glanced at my watch.  We would be open for business in about fifteen minutes.
I searched down river for any sign of the skiff over by Schweitzer Falls.
Checking up river, past Sam, I scanned for the vessel---expecting its bow to nose into view any second.
The water buffalo snorted and snuffed.
The python weaved toward it repetitively.
A growing wave of suspicion crashed over my consciousness.
"Attention Skippers, we have a report of a missing Skipper---last seen manning the Mekong.  Be on the lookout!" came my lead's voice over the P.A.
Through the thick foliage I heard giggling coming from the dock.
Like so many of the guests on my Jungle boats, I had been taken.
There is no way off that island without a boat or a swim.
I trudged back through the brush and peeked out to where I could see the unload dock and the catwalk.
I could see my lead.  I could see the dockhands.  I could see the skippers leaning out of their boats toward me as they floated along the loading dock.
I smiled and nodded and raised my hands above my shoulders in a shrug of surrender.
No one, of course, was making any move to render assistance to me.
I put my hands on my hips and did my best pantomime of a person impatiently for their dog to come to them when called.
The boats bobbed.
The engines hummed.
The Jungle drums pounded in the distance.
The water buffalo snorted.
And everyone ahead of me suddenly returned to their daily business.
Time passed.
I tried to find another spot where I could make eye contact and plead for rescue.
Stumbling back through the brush I walked along the trail, suddenly very cognizant of the fact that real critters lived here amongst all the animatronic ones.  We had seen rats as big a raccoons during many a night cruise.
There were spiders, too.  Not as big as the ones guarding the ancient Cambodian shrine---but close.
Through the trees to my left I could see the gorillas ransacking the Lost Safari's camp.
I knew I was heading nowhere.
I turned back and came to the rear of the hut.
We were minutes from opening.
I did NOT want to become part of the attraction.  If a supervisor appeared now, I was dead.
Walked out.
Done.
86-ed.
Torpedoed.
Harpooned.
Gone-ski.
In short, fear now crept into the forefront of my mind, along with anxiety, anger, annoyance, perplexity and histrionic befuddlement.
I was alone in the Jungle and at the mercy of a mischievous lead and a callous crew of skippers.
Marooned.

(To be continued...)

---Mike

P.S. There is still time to get your own custom Jungle t-shirt Jungleteers!

Disneyland - Jungle Load and Spiel Intro

Climb on in, please, there's plenty of room.
That's right, take a seat.
Scooch in, it's a bit of a squeeze.
That's because Doug and Tim, our boat loaders, used to work in a sardine factory.
Until they got canned.
So they joined the circus; took a job on the flying trapeze.
They held on for as long as they could.But they were let go.
Next they tried their luck as human cannoballs.
They were fired on the spot.

Fortunately, they landed here.
In the Jungle.
And they are doing such a fine job, that it looks like we are are fully loaded.
(Which is the only way to go into the jungle, if you ask me).
Let me remind you that the Jungle Cruise is a high speed, turbulent, roller-coaster type ride through space. Expectant mothers, persons with heart conditions, motion sickness or back problems should not attempt to ride this attraction.
Our boat has been pressurized for your safety and comfort, in the event of a devastating loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down from above your head. At that time, take the mask and place it over your nose and mouth and begin breathing normally. Even though the bag does inflate, oxygen will be flowing. Be sure to secure your own mask before assisting any child accompanying you.
Sit well back in your seats, make sure your seat backs are fully upright, your tray tables closed and all carry-on items stored beneath your seat or in the overhead bins...and we are off.
Off.
Like a dirty t-shirt.
Like old fish in the fridge.
Gone.
Like the dinosaurs.
Out.
Like zipper boots and polyester leisure suits.
Now turn around, if you will, and wave a fond farewell to the folks back on the dock.
You'll...
never...
see...
them...
...again.
Where are my manners?
My name is Mike and I'll be your skipper and guide for the next seven adventurous days and 12 romantic evenings.
Keep your ruddy hands on board and watch your small children---(in best pirate voice), "That be the best way to repel boarders."
We are entering the tropical rain forest where it rains over three hundred and sixty seven days a year, largely due to the sprinklers in the trees above you.
Before we go any further, raise your right hands and repeat after me the Jungle Cruise Oath:

I hope...
(crew on boat: "I hope")
that I...
("that I")
return...
("return")

...ALIVE!


Speaking of alive, if the boat should take on water, capsize or sink along the way, remember small children and people with Mickey Mouse T-shirts may be used as personal flotation devices.


The foregoing, and several variations thereof, launched many of my poor boats on journeys into the deepest parts of the Jungle.  Ah, the purity, the directness, the joy of the spiel.
Wouldn't mind jumping on a boat right now, grabbing the throttle and working my poor, captive audience.

TTFN.

---Mike

Disneyland - The Main Street Area Locker

After depositing my time card at Custodial Control's tight quarters tucked behind Carnation Plaza Gardens, I would set out for my summer shift on Main Street.
It was a closing shift on "Center," smack down the middle of Main Street.
I came on at 4:00 p.m. and would be there until my shift ended just about 12:30 a.m.
As I left the bustling little custodial offices, I would bump against fellow sweepers coming on for the closing shifts.
Most were tan and had come from a day spent lounging on Huntington Beach or Seal Beach or Corona Del Mar.  The joy of a closing shift was you were up late, slept in, and usually arranged to meet with your co-cast members to hang out during the day---often at a beach during those summer months.
It was the mid-80's, so just about everyone sported Ray Bans---classic Wayfarer sunglasses.
Jack Nicholson.
Risky Business.
Madonna.
"Where're you at tonight?"
"Fantasyland."
"Who's the lead over there?"
"Aronson.  He's pretty cool.  You?"
"I'm over on Main Street with Fraser."
"Can't beat that."
"Heck no."
"Say Hi to Arthur.  Saw him over at the Plaza on my way in."
"Yeah, me, too.  I'll tell him you're in Fantasyland tonight.  You know he'll ask."
"Going out tonight after work?"
"I don't know yet.  I'm still tired from the Over-The-Line tournament.  It's hard to run in sand."
"See you around.  Lunch at In-Between?"
"Yes.  Same time.  Save us one of the bigger tables if you get there first."

Turning to my right, pan and broom in hand, I would step out the door, walk through Plaza Gardens (pictured above circa 1987) and head across the Hub (shown below circa 1985) toward the middle of Main Street.

At the far end of East Center Street there was (and still is) a large gate leading "backstage."  Here is an old view of East Center Street from the late 1970s.  The gate of which I speak is around the corner of the building on the right side of the picture---the building where the famous Market House is located.  Of course, since the photograph was taken a locker facility opened at this location, along with an ice cream service stand.
I would open the gate and make a left turn past a large pine tree (which I believe is still there---in the picture below you can see its branches and shadow falling over the face of the building in the background).  Tucked near the huge trunk of this tree was a white area locker filled with custodial supplies.

Immediately east of this locker was a large metal trash compactor.  It looked like the back of a trash truck.
Parked alongside the compactor were two large wheeled trash carts that were used for dumping the cans along Main Street.
To the north of this location was Central First Aid ("CFA"), with several ambulance vehicles parked behind it.
I once took out the side of a CFA ambulance van with a Main Street trash cart, but that is another story for another day.
The area locker was the "nerve center" of the custodial department's operations on Main Street.  Here is where the lead would meet with his crew, hand out sweeping schedules, post lunch and break times, conduct training exercises and other such business.
There always seemed to be at least one or two sweepers lingering in this area---on their way to, or coming back from, a break, a lunch, or the beginning or end of a shift.
The locker was stocked with everything a sweeper's heart could desire: white five gallon buckets, scrub brushes, extra pan brooms, push brooms, cleaning solutions of every kind and color, stacks of towels, paper towels, green-handled "grabber" tools, squirt bottles, Disneyland Souvenir Guides and maps, flashlights, gum scrapers, trash bags, hoses, nozzles---you name it.
We met here before and after parades and fireworks displays---standing in a huddle around our lead and his trusty aerial view map of Main Street.
He would assign us positions and plot out our attack on post-parade cleanup duties like a World War II squad leader.
"Kelly, East Side.  You'll push-broom the sidewalks into the street for the street vacs.  Helmuth, you've got one of the vacs.  Toth, West Side broom duty.  Grubb, you'll take Plaza.  Ingram, man the other vac starting at the Hub.  Stacy, you've got Town Square..."
And so on.
"Remember everyone, hands on handles and watch for feet!"
This line still rings in my memory.
Pushing a wide broom in a crowd of guests presented a hazard.
We were trained to keep one hand over the very top of the push broom handle as we wielded it.
This was meant to protect against jabbing the eye, stomach or head of someone passing by with the top of the wooden broom handle as we swept, since it was easy to lose sight of what was behind you as you went into the backstroke of a sweeping motion.
The "watch for feet" caution was obvious, but necessary.
Guests walking along Main Street were not anticipating a sweeper with a large push broom stepping into their path.  They could easily trip over the brush end of the broom, or even its handle, as you earnestly moved the head of the broom along the ground in front of you.
I learned quickly to make my presence known to guests and to sweep between the meandering throngs without taking anyone to the pavement (hopefully).
I especially liked the comraderie of the area locker.
It was the scene of many practical jokes, squirt bottle fights, party planning, water cooler talk, story sharing and team meetings.  It often doubled as a break area, too.
Our leads seemed cool to me.
They had walkie-talkies and were always radio-ing in to "Custodial Control."
We were like the Secret Service or the FBI of trash and clean up duty for Disneyland.
"Custodial 3, Ops. 1.  10-87 me at City Hall."
"Ops. 1, Custodial 3. 10-4."
Ooh...Ops. 1.
The big Kahuna.
The Head Honcho.
The BOSS.
Disneyland's operational CEO.
"Ops. 1" controlled the whole Park.
Attractions, custodial, you name it.
The person assigned to Ops. 1 duty was responsible for meticulously maintaining Disneyland's "show" for all of its guests.
They made sure everything ran smoothly.
When "Ops. 1" called on the radio, you better hope that you heard the call.
And you'd better answer quickly.
Our interaction with Ops. 1 usually involved an emergency clean up in a high profile location like an attraction, or the train station, or City Hall.
Believe me, our lead would snap into action when responding to such a call.
Usually with two or three of us scurrying right behind him.
We'd arrive, assess the situation, go into triage mode, cordone off the area (if necessary) and attack the problem.
If the restroom on West Center Street flooded (again), they we were in an instant, with plumbers not far behind.
An overflowing trash can just outside City Hall?  Our trash guy was bolting over there to dump it.
Someone threw up between the trolley tracks in front of the Candy Palace?
To the rescue!
Vomitus splayed out on the street, just in front of the window where a cast member was busily preparing a large batch of peanut brittle made for "Bad Show" indeed.
At the end of our shift, we would finish our closing routine and meet back at the locker before grabbing our time cards and heading to our wardrobe lockers to change for the ride home.
"Good night, guys!  Thanks!"
"See you tomorrow."
"What's everyone doing right now?"
"Man, it's almost 12:30 a.m., I'm going home to sleep."
"Some of us are heading to HoJo's."
"Not me.  I'll catch you next time."
"Come on!  They've got coffee!"
"Are they even open still??"
And the voices would fade behind me as I trudged homeward.
It never grew old.
Still hasn't, actually.

---Mike

Disneyland - Custodial Sweeps

It may seem odd but perhaps one of the best cast member positions to hold in the Park is that of a sweeper.
At least it was in 1984.
Day Custodial back then assigned sweepers to an area within the park---say Main Street, Main Gate.
You were essentially given your own little slice of Disneyland to walk and maintain during your shift.
If you worked long enough in custodial, your assignments would take you practically everywhere in the Park.
Want to get to know Disneyland?
Be a sweeper.
Spend a full shift cycling through Thunder Trail, Matterhorn Alley, Tomorrowland Entrance, Main Street, The Hub, The Plaza, Adventureland, New Orleans, etc.
Sweepers got to roam within their areas.
We interacted with ride operators, Outdoor Vending, Merchandise, Foods, you name it.
Back areas?  No problem.
Our custodial whites gave us an instant excuse to be just about anywhere.
"What are you doing here?"
"Um, Control sent me, seems we have a leaky restroom to clean."
"Oh.  Good luck with that."
"No problem, gotta go."
You get the picture.
Parades on Main Street?  Got to see every one of them while steadily sweeping the walkways.
Also got to clean up after them.
Confetti is fun while it's in the air.  After that, not so much.
Cigarette butts?  Popcorn bits?  Wrappers?  Napkins? Money?
A sweeper's eye could pick up these objects along the ground from hundreds of feet away.
Over you would stroll and, with a snap of a tiny broom and the clank of your metal pan, the object would disappear.
What about Guest interaction?
Disney was smart.  Its surveys showed that no other cast member position had as much guest interaction as a sweeper.
At one point, Disney really was selective in the types of people they would put into this role.
Outgoing, friendly, humble, amazing, humorous, dynamic, enthusiastic, generous, courteous and helpful.
And that was just me!
But, not surprisingly, I digress.
The point I'm making, if I actually have a point, is that a sweeper got to know the layout of the Park deeply, intimately, literally from the ground up.
Every trash can, every restroom, every vending cart location, every balloon girl, every drinking fountain, every attraction line, every cash register, every shop, every security post, every backstage entrance/exit, every flower bed, every nook, corner and cranny.
What exactly is a "cranny," by the way?  For the record, it is "(1) a small, narrow opening in a wall, rock, etc.; chink; crevice; fissure, or (2) a small out-of-the-way place or obscure corner," according to Dictionary.com, which is never wrong.
We even got to enter the attractions after closing and sweep out the line---or sometimes venture inside on a "walk through" with the closing ride operator.
I've walked the Mansion, Pirates, Matterhorn (all the way to the top), every Fantasyland ride (from Alice to Pinocchio), Space Mountain, America Sings, Big Thunder, Country Bear Jamboree, Tiki, CircleVision and Tom Sawyer's Island.
All because I was once a sweeper.
And, as I am sure I've mentioned before, if nothing else, being a sweeper as a young lad taught one humility.
Those horses pulling trolleys on Main Street?  Yeah, they aren't trained to "hold it," if you know what I mean.
The size and scope of a mess that a Percheron can leave behind in the middle of the street can be truly breathtaking.  In more ways than one.
Sweepers would measure horse droppings by how many pans it took to clean up.  A 3-4 pan mess was not unusual.
And you got to perform this task in the middle of Disneyland, before hundreds of ---usually clapping--- guests.
An ostentatious and meretricious bow upon completion of this task was usually the best way to handle things.
Darn.
Another digression.
What I am getting to here, ever so sluggishly and deliberately, is that sweepers really got to know the people and places within the Park.
Face it, if you worked in attractions you got to know your attractions and the people who worked them with you, but that was it.  A cast member in a Pirate costume could not wander freely through Tomorrowland without garnering the attention of an Operations Manager (or two).  Storybook Land Canal girls could not stroll through Adventureland or  New Orleans Square (at least not in costume).
True, Attractions had the glamour.
Most everyone wanted to be in Attractions.
Heck.  I did.
But, looking back, I am most grateful that my first role as a cast member was a sweeper.
Scanning through many of my older posts, I see how my viewpoint was framed by those experiences in a very positive way.
Besides, when I'm in the Park...
...I always know where the closest restroom or drinking fountain is.
Without hesitation.


---Mike

P.S.  Our Jungle shirts continue to make a stir - order yours on E-bay before they're all gone!  Take a look at the listing.

Jungle Is 101 - "The Shirt" Is Now On E-Bay

Salutations, Jungle-teers! 
We are pleased to announce that we have overcome enormous odds, technical difficulties, thick bogs and an angry herd of water buffalo in order to list the official Jungle Is "101" t-shirt on E-Bay at long last.
This is in response to the surprisingly large demand we had for the shirts---even here in this remote hut in the shadow of Schweitzer falls.
Over a quarter of our devoted readers ordered shirts!!
If you are still interested, you can head over to E-Bay and place your bid or your order.  Here is a link to the listing, or you can type "Jungle Cruise T-shirt" in the E-Bay item search box and you should find it.
These rare t-shirts make excellent gifts, conversation pieces or awkward paperweights and are suitable for framing.
Show your pride as a Jungle Is "101" reader---you know who you are! 
Amaze your friends! 
Stun your enemies! 
Reduce your risk of malaria!
You'll love the looks, the grins and comments you'll get sporting this beautiful t-shirt on your next excursion to the Park.
Face it, if you read this blog you are already a Disneyland "insider," whether or not you've ever been a cast member.  The skippers and dockhands on Jungle will look at you quzzically and then knowingly when they spy the front of your shirt and the "Jungle is 101" announcement on the back!

This design even works for our friends who work the Jungle in that other Disney park in Florida! 
Skippers of the world unite!! 


Please note that Trader Sam is willing to give three (3) of his shirts in exchange for that part of your anatomy located just above the neck. 
So get to Trader Sam's Wholesale Clothing Hut today! 
It's an economical place to be headed!

Thus endeth today's blatantly commercial post.

Have a fabulous day, my friends, no matter what shirt you choose to wear!

---Mike

Disneyland - Main Gate Trash Run

My 1984 summer was spent on Main Street, for the most part.
When assigned trash duty on the Street, one of our responsibilities was emptying the cans outside the Main Gate.
For this job we were given access to a Disney vehicle.
It was a small Chevy S-10 pickup as I recall, with "Disneyland Custodial" imprinted on the sides of the doors.
Two of us sweeper-types were always put on "Main Street Trash," which made me think we were in a bad punk band when I saw it listed on the schedule.  As a team, we would work together to dump all the trash cans along Main Street.  Each metal can had a "secret" door that you popped open to reveal a plastic liner inside.  We would swap out the full liner for an empty one or dump the contents into one of the liners on our large trash cart.
The trash cart itself looked like something from Outdoor Vending.  It was closed on three sides and painted to fit the Main Street theme.  The one open side allowed us to slide in up to eight liners (four rows of two, as my feeble mind recollects).
In any event, most of the liners at the Main Gate and the picnic area were "bagged"---meaning we would tie a plastic Hefty garbage bag into them and replace the bags when the cans got full.
To do this, we would take two large wheeled carts in the back of the pickup truck, bungee-cord them in place, and head from the back area near the Inn-Between (behind Main Street), down "Herbie Hill," under the Disneyland R.R. trestle, past Harbor House and around the Kennel to the Main Entrance.  We would park the truck under the Monorail track and grab our large wheeled carts and boxes of trash bags.
We would split up, each taking a geographic area and a number of trash cans (starting first with the picnic area, as it was always the busiest and its cans the fullest), and begin our rounds.
I got pretty good at it.
Approach the can, slide my left hand through the trash flap and push on the door from inside to release the magnetic latch.  As the door swung outward, with my right hand I'd grab the plastic liner inside and pull it out of the can.  When it hit the ground I would already be undoing the bag from inside the liner and start removing the bag with my left hand.  By the time the bag hit the ground I would quickly tie the bag off in a knot and toss it into the large wheeled cart.  I'd yank a new bag off the roll, pop it open and tie it into the liner, kick the liner forward back into the can, slam the can's "secret" door and move on to the next one.
As you can imagine, there were quite a few trash cans out in front of the Park. 
Our wheeled cars would soon fill with trash bags.  In the end, we would wheel the carts over to our pickup truck and toss all the garbage bags into the bed, followed by the wheeled carts which we threw on top of the pile and secured again with bungee straps.  This helped to hold the load down as we jumped into the truck and raced back past Harbor House to the dumping area located back behind Small World.
I remember many a trip at Mr. Toad-like speeds along the Monorail pylons as we drove to the back area.  We had to be careful or Security would call us in, or worse, pull us over. 
There's nothing like the scene of a Security golf cart pulled alongside the Custodial truck with a Security cast member giving a lecture to a sweeper behind the wheel.
Think Thelma & Louise meet Disneyland.
One last recollection along these lines: Fireworks.
When working a closing shift, we would often plan our Main Gate trash run to coincide with the start of the evening fireworks show.  We would get to the back area in time to dump our trash bags and then pull to a safe spot where we could watch the fireworks mortars shoot off their rounds into the night sky. 
It was two shows in one!
Watching the mortars light off on the ground was its own spectacle of light and noise.
We'd bend back our heads as the rockets shot overhead and exploded into sparkling firework eruptions in the sky high above us.  The fireworks would illuminate the rows of mortars and pyrotechnic personnel responsible for the nightly onslaught.  Then the mortars would launch another round and the process would be repeated.
I've never seen or heard a louder "Grand Finale" than the ends of the shows we watched in the backstage area on those summer nights.
It was one of many "perks" of being a Cast Member.  We were not paid well from a money standpoint, but I earned more in fond memories during my stints at the original Magic Kingdom than I could ever hope to count.

So, I've got THAT going for me.
Which is nice.
(with apologies to Carl, the groundskeeper of "Caddyshack" fame).

Enjoy your day, my friends, wherever you may be!

---Mike

Disneyland - The Diaper That Attacked Pinocchio's Village

Summer 1984.
Fantasyland.
Disneyland Day Custodial shift.
About 4:00 p.m.
The call came over my lead's radio.
"Custodial 3, 10-49 Storybook. Code...um, Code-D."
"Code-D?"  The lead looked quizzically at his radio.
Storybook?  What sort of custodial incident could happen at the Storybook Land Canal Boats?
"10-4, I've got a sweeper en route."
He looked at me.
"Wait a second," I said, "I still have to hit the Dumbo and Toad bullpens (queues)."
He kept looking at me.
"O.K., O.K. I'm on my way.  I hope they didn't mean "Code-V."
Code-V was the dreaded radio term for a vomit "spill."
We sweepers were armed with "Pixie Dust" to deal with Code-Vs.  It was an absorbent compound that came in small bags and would be sprinkled over the mess, which would be absorbed and them swept up into our metal pan.  A final squirt down with some bottled cleanser and a sweep with a thick paper towel would finish the process.
Not sure what I'd be facing, I took a couple bags of Pixie Dust and a long-handled "grabber" from the Fantasyland area locker and set out apace to the Storybook Land dock.
Normally, a trip to this location was looked upon with anticipation bordering on delight by males of the sweeper species.  Storybook was a "girls only" attraction in 1984 and tended to be staffed with attractive young ladies in cute blue skirts and knee-high white stockings.
Most of the time, we would stop at Storybook to sweep through its bullpen at routine intervals.
This "Code D" run was a novelty.
As I arrived at the attraction, I made my way through the exit and over to the lead at the dock.
I do not recall her name, but let's use "Colleen," since she had strawberry blonde hair and freckles like an Irish lass.  The dock was lined with empty canal boats and the guests in the queue were looking impatient.
The attraction was "101."
"Glad you're here.  Go ahead and get on the Faline with Patty, she'll take you to the problem."
Without thinking, I stepped onto the boat, and Patty, with her shortly cropped brown bob and utterly Disney smile, told me to grab a seat and hang on.
We chugged forward at full speed, which is not all that fast in a canal boat.
As we entered Monstro's mouth I turned to Patty.
"Exactly what am I in for here?"
"Diaper."
"A diaper?"
"Somebody tossed one out of Casey Junior, I guess.  It's kinda making for 'bad show.'"
"Nice.  Where is it?"
The boat slowed to a creep as we drifted through Monstro's missing tail.
Patty nodded to her right.
Nestled there along the bank was a tiny and quaint Tyrolian village.  Behind it loomed miniaturized Alpine mountains, eternally snow-capped.  Just beyond those mountains ran the tracks of the Casey Junior Circus Train---about a diaper's toss away from the heart of the little village.
"Pinocchio's Village," Patty announced.
I couldn't see anything from this vantage point.
"We have to go around to the front." And she throttled the boat forward, past the Village, past Peter Pan Park, Alice's rabbit hole and the Casey Junior station.  Indeed, we made our way through most of the attraction's canal until we were back at Pinocchio's Village.
Patty stopped the boat and tried to steady it.
"You're going to have to get up slowly and step across.  Be careful!"
Taking hold of my pistol-gripped "grabber" tool, I stood in the middle of the small boat and tried to figure a way to step from it without rocking it to the point of falling into the canal.  I gingerly planted my foot on a medium sized rock along the shoreline and then glanced about for another safe foothold.
I felt like Gulliver entering Lilliput and stood with both arms outstretched for balance like a tightrope walker.
Laid out before me was the curved and cobbled main street of the Village.
It was lined with charming structures fitted with shingled roofs and tiny windows and doors.  I gazed up the little avenue and saw it---The Diaper.
I pictured the little villagers in their homes, inns and taverns, huddled in mute horror, pinching their noses and gasping for air.  I was sure they had been through many trying times in the past: sparrow attacks, giant duck landings, and the occasional invasion of giants bringing new light bulbs to replace the old ones that lit the interiors of the small buildings.
But this, this was different.
There, in the middle of the street, and less than half a block from the woodcarver's toy shoppe along the canal's edge, lay a diaper almost half the size of a building.  It appeared to be a Pampers make and had been bundled in on itself, with one of its sticky tabs holding fast while the other splayed outward, unattached, leaving the diaper's contents treacherously close to spilling out.
It looked a bit like the boulder that Indiana Jones encountered in an ancient South American temple.  I imagined it rolling down the street---a massive, smelly ball of doom.
My thoughts raced.
Poor Gepetto!!  Cleo!  Figaro!!!
I could see them inside their little cottage, slumped and overcome by methane fumes from the enormous diaper, while a myriad of cuckoo clocks chimed about their motionless and diminutive bodies.
Oh the humanity.
I placed my right foot onto the cobbled street and prayed I would not lose my balance.  I leaned forward and, with my right hand, used the long "grabber" tool to pinch the diaper between its claws.
As I gently lifted it from the street, I twisted my upper body and deposited the diaper along the bow of the Faline, as Patty squirmed in disgust and made faces from her perch at the aft end of the boat.
Spinning on my left foot, I stepped with my right back to the edge of the boat and boarded.
Turning to Patty, in my best Gary Cooper voice, I announced:
"Ma'am, my work here is through.  The people of Pinocchio's Village have been ridden of their burden."
Rolling her eyes and not seeming very impressed by my heroism, she started to take us home to the dock.
As we pulled away, I could almost swear that I heard the sound of tiny voices raised in cheer coming from within the Village.  The jaunty music in Gepetto's Toy Shop seemed---jauntier.  From the corner of my eye I thought I spied tiny hands waving handkerchiefs from windows in salute to the man who saved the town from Pamper-geddon.
As Patty and I pulled alongside the dock on our return, the lead, Colleen, stepped onto the edge of the boat to steady it.  I then disembarked with a grabber-claw full of nasty diaper.  I deposited in one of the nearby trash cans---feeling a slight pang of pity for the sweeper on trash duty that day who would have to empty it later.
Meh.
Goes with the territory.
If I may quote Super Chicken: "You knew this job was dangerous when you took it, Fred."
Anyway, as a child and as a guest for years at the Park, I often pictured myself being able to step off the canal boat and tiptoe through the miniature scenes, peering in windows and marveling at the tiny architectural details.
Never did I imagine my one opportunity would involve a diaper and Pinocchio's Village.
Talk about magic and imagination.

Have a great day all!  And to those parents who must deal with a diaper while on an attraction---there are trash cans at the exit, please deposit the diaper there!

---Mike

Disneyland - A Cold Winter's Trip - Back in the Wheelhouse

We made it to the Park on January 8, 2011, which was a cold, gray day---perfect for taking in Disneyland.

It turned out to be a pretty nice trip.
We took along some friends of ours who recently got annual passes.
For the first time in a very long while, we sat down by the Rivers of America and took in the Fantasmic show, complete with its new dragon.
We stayed in place afterward and watched the new "Wishes" fireworks show, which combined the old "Wishes" show with some of the best parts of the 50th Anniversary display.
All in all, we were pretty impressed by the view of both shows from the edge of the Rivers of America.

What was best of all, we were able to take a nighttime cruise on the Mark Twain before it shut down for the night and the Fantasmic shows.

As we were preparing to board, I signaled from the dock up to the Captain in the wheelhouse and called to see if we could get my daughters and one of our friends to get a ride up there.

He waved back and called down to say that we couldn't and would have to check with the cast member at the entrance turnstile the next time if we wanted a ride up there.

As he said this, the cast member from the turnstile was walking up the stairs behind me on his way to take over for the Captain.
This cast member's name was Ryan, and he said, "How many of you would like to come up to the Wheelhouse?"
"Four," I answered without missing a beat.
"Four it is," said our tall Captain.
Ryan, for the record is 6 feet, 7 inches tall by his own telling.
(His capped head nearly banged against the low roof of the wheelhouse when we finally got up there!)

Pictured above is Ryan at the helm---many thanks to you, good man!
In any event, our friend, Maria, had never been in the Wheelhouse of the Mark Twain.
She was in for a treat.
Ryan led the way through the little door marked "Private."
We entered the "Captain's Quarters," which is a small room that has a bed, a night stand and a ladder that leads up to the vessel's helm---the Wheelhouse.

The ladder is narrow and as steep as you can imagine.
I remember in younger days, sliding down the railings with both hands on my way below.
My days as a steamboat captain on the Mark Twain have previously been mentioned here in my essay, Disneyland Musings - Volume 3 - Nights in the Wheelhouse.

When you get to the top of the ladder, you step through a gate (that has since been installed since my days on the Twain) and out toward the Mark Twain's massive wooden steering wheel---the helm.

You step to your right and there is a small writing desk with the Mark Twain's official guest book on it.
As is the custom, each visitor signs their name in the guest book.

Maria and the girls signed their name and I took the plumed pen (which is flimsy and very difficult to write with) and signed on the next page.

Okay, it's no "John Hancock," but it sufficed.
Captain Ryan grabbed the P.A. microphone and announced our departure.
He then directed the girls to do the whistles and bells as the Mark Twain pulled from the dock.
They froze.

They were not ringing or blowing.
Ryan looked nervous for a moment.
With the years fading in an instant, I was suddenly back in 1987, and I leaned past my youngest daughter and grabbed the wooden handle of the bell rope---the shortest of the two ropes pictured just above the little girl wearing pink in this photograph.
I pulled down on the handle briskly and then lifted my hand to get the ship's bell to rock back and forth.
Five bells!
Clang-clang!
Clang-clang!
Clang-Clang!
Clang-Clang!
Clang-Clang!
Then - two whistles!
I grabbed the steam whistle's handle at the end of its rope and gave a strong downward pull.
The whistle bellowed long and loud.
Another, longer pull on the whistle announced our departure, followed quickly by five more bells.
Clang-clang!
Clang-clang!
Clang-Clang!
Clang-Clang!
Clang-Clang!
We were off.
We rounded the bend at New Orleans Square.
We sounded two more whistles (as is customary) when we were passing Fowler's Harbor.
This time, my older daughter helped.  She pulled down on the handle of the steam whistle and gave the two blasts.
Nice work.
Runs in the family.
As she stood at the helm (on a two-step box to assist in getting her tall enough to see), I cautioned our youngest to be careful not to crash the boat.
Her small hands clutched the massive wheel as she stood on a stool and tried to see which way to turn next.
Her older sister helped.
"Dad!  Which way?!!" said the little one.
"Right!  Turn right!!  Watch the ducks!  Don't hit the canoe dock!"
'Dad!!"
She steered with concentration and determination.
All.
The.
Way.
Around.
The.
River.
Ryan was a gracious host.
Our friend Maria was enthralled.
The view was splendid.
The river calm.
It was dark outside and Ryan grabbed the handle of the vessel's spotlight and shone it on Indians and wildlife as we floated past.
"Here's our two moose---Mickey and Minnie," he noted as he lit up the large quadrupeds.
Groans filled the wheelhouse.
This ain't Jungle, Ryan!
He laughed.
The girls loved it.
Especially the one in the pink scarf and "Jungle is 101" t-shirt.

"Ryan," I announced, "I'm putting you on the blog."
He read the back of my shirt with the web address.
"Uh. Thanks," he said.
Okay, so, it isn't NBC News or Yahoo, but, come on, it isn't THAT bad!
We thanked him as we floated over the river.
As we began the final turn towards home and the landing, Ryan told the girls to ring the bells and sound the whistle once more.
They did.
Like professionals.
We pulled to the dock and the vessel came to a stop.
"Thanks, again!  We really enjoyed the trip, Ryan."
"No problem, you're welcome any time."
We climbed back down the ladder and out the Captain's door onto the deck.
Next it was down the stairs and off the boat.
We were the last ones off.
I turned and looked back at the Mark Twain, sparkling there in the cold evening darkness and felt quite satisfied.
The old girl and I have never lost our connection.
It felt great to take the helm again---if only for a little while.

Have a great day, all!

---Mike