by Bob Thomas
He became inured to accusations of corn from critics, from scholars, even from his own children. Once he ran a new Disney film at home, and Diane remarked, “Gee, Dad, that’s corny!” Her father replied, “Maybe so. But millions of people eat corn. There must be a reason why they like it so much.” During a visit to France, a group of French cartoon makers met with Walt to seek his advice. “Don’t go for the avant garde stuff,” he told them. “Be commercial. What is art, anyway? It’s what people like. So give them what they like. There’s nothing wrong with being commercial.”
After Walt had demonstrated his showmanship on television, leaders of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences asked him to produce the Oscar telecast. The previous year’s show had been a flop, and the industry’s leaders saw Walt Disney as the savior of the Academy’s prestige. The Academy delegation came to the studio for lunch with Walt. He listened politely to the arguments that only Walt Disney could rescue the Academy from its low estate. Then he replied, “Look, we live out here in the cornfield. All these years we’ve been turning out corny entertainment. I’ve never considered myself a big producer like Louis B. Mayer or Darryl F. Zanuck; I’m not in their class. I don’t think our organization is cut out to make the kind of sophisticated entertainment that an Oscar show should be. And I think the public would resent it if I turned it into a Disney production. No, I think you’d better find someone else to put the show on for you.”
Walt expounded his theories of film making during a studio conference to plan a book called The Art of Animation. He wanted the book to describe the history of animation, with emphasis on what the Disney studio had contributed to the art; he also wanted to pay tribute to the artists whose talents had allowed him to accomplish his goals. Among his remarks:
Don’t get into any too-arty discussions. This has been a very down-to-earth business. We can’t go off into those ivory towers….
The mechanics are not what make this business. We can still get the idea over with nothing but pencil drawings and without our present equipment. We don’t need all this fancy stuff, actually. A pencil reel will give you the story. The mechanics are secondary.
What is the difference between our product and the other?
We have never tried to hog anything. The thing that makes us different is our way of thinking, our judgment and experience acquired over the years. Giving it “heart.” Others haven’t understood the public. We developed a psychological approach to everything we do here. We seem to know when to “tap the heart.” Others have hit the intellect. We can hit them in an emotional way. Those who appeal to the intellect only appeal to a very limited group. Let’s not let the mechanics get in here and foul the whole thing. The real thing behind this is: we are in the motion picture business, only we are drawing them instead of photographing them. We have got to appeal to the whole population. All the famous classical things always had this certain contact with the public….
My feeling about the early days and why the cartoon lost out is that it was still a lot of tricks….For example, Felix the Cat had a personality but he didn’t develop. They began repeating his tricks on which his personality was based. Aesop’s Fables caught on but never had any real personality and began to die out….
At first the cartoon medium was just a novelty, but it never really began to hit until we had more than tricks—until we developed personalities. We had to get beyond getting a laugh. They may roll in the aisles, but that doesn’t mean you have a great picture. You have to have pathos in the thing….
There is only one reason why “Walt Disney” has been played up: because it adds personality to the whole thing. It isn’t “Ajax Films Presents”—it is a personality. Actually, “Walt Disney” is a lot of people. Let’s put this in an honest way. This is an organization. Each man is willing to work with the other and share his ideas. This is an achievement….
Throughout the studio history, he resisted any dilution of “Walt Disney Presents.” He relied on William Anderson, Bill Walsh, Jim Algar, Winston Hibler and Ben Sharpsteen to help prepare and produce film projects, but he insisted that each film remain “A Walt Disney Production.” He explained his philosophy to a young employee, Marty Sklar, who was preparing a slide presentation for the annual report. Sklar had pictured key production personnel, and Walt commented: “Look—Disney is a thing, an image in the public mind. Disney is something they think of as a kind of entertainment, a kind of family thing, and it’s all wrapped up in the name Disney. If we start pulling that apart by calling it ‘a Bill Walsh Production for Walt Disney’ or ‘a Jim Algar True-Life Adventure for Walt Disney,’ then the name ‘Disney’ won’t mean as much any more. We’d be cutting away at what we’ve built up over all these years. You see, I’m not Disney any more. I used to be Disney, but now Disney is something we’ve built up in the public mind over the years. It stands for something, and you don’t have to explain what it is to the public. They know what Disney is when they hear about our films or go to Disneyland. They know they’re gonna get a certain quality, a certain kind of entertainment. And that’s what Disney is.”
He was ever protective of “the Disney thing,” and his scrutiny extended to every area of the company’s operations. In 1957 he fired off an inter-office communication to one of his executives: “I hear that you gave permission, for a fee, to the agency that handles the Rheingold account to use ‘Wringle, Wrangle’ for a commercial. In the first place, I don’t think that any of our music should be used for jingles, but above all, definitely not to exploit beer, cigarettes or such things. We should always be careful about what our music is used for because of our broad audience and also the timeless value of our films. In the past we have turned down several of these things, and this should be a continuing policy. What’s happening—isn’t the money coming in fast enough? Or as they say, ‘Pig, don’t make a hog of yourself.’”
His attitude was demonstrated in the way he showed dignitaries around Disneyland. As the fame of Disneyland spread throughout the world, royalty and heads of state visiting the United States insisted on including it in their tours. Walt showed off the park like a father with a new baby, and he never tired of answering the same questions: When did he first get the idea for Disneyland? Why did he locate it in Anaheim? How much did it cost?
The first foreign personage to visit Disneyland was President Sukarno of Indonesia. He was dazzled by the place, and as he and Walt stood on the prow of the Mark Twain, he remarked, “Mr. Disney, you must be a very wealthy man.” Walt smiled and replied, “Yes, I guess I am; they tell me I owe about ten million dollars.”
King Bhumibol and Queen Sirikit of Thailand were given the personal Disney tour, including the voyage on the Mark Twain. Walt pointed out some ducks paddling alongside the steamer and said to the king: “Your majesty, those are the only things I have here that didn’t cost anything—they just moved in after we built the river.” King Mohamed V of Morocco seemed to have trouble sorting out the real from the artificial during his tour with Walt. When the Jungle River boat passed under the waterfall, Walt commented, “It looks almost like real water, doesn’t it?” King Mahendra and Queen Ratna of Nepal were given a dinner by Walt and Lilly at the Disneyland Hotel after their visit to the park. When dinner was over, Walt asked the king and queen if they had shopped during their tour. When they replied that they hadn’t, Walt ordered the park reopened. The royal motorcade drove down Main Street to the Emporium, and the king and queen selected presents to take home.
Inevitably, Walt was recognized by the Disneyland crowds. He was embarrassed when his famous visitors were ignored, and he called to the crowd, “This is the King of Belgium—a real king!” or “My friend here is the Prime Minister of India, Mr. Nehru.”
When Nikita Khrushchev, the Premier of Russia, visited the United States in 1959, he expressed his desire to see Disneyland. The Los Angeles police chief said he could not protect the premier in such crowds, and the visit was canceled. At a film-industry luncheon attended by
scores of movie stars, Khrushchev ranted like a child who had been denied a toy. His outburst made headlines throughout the world.
Lilly Disney had wanted to meet the Russian premier and was disappointed that he hadn’t come to Disneyland. So was Walt. He had planned to line up the eight ships of his new submarine ride and say to his visitor: “Well, now, Mr. Khrushchev, here’s my Disneyland submarine fleet. It’s the eighth largest in the world.”
By the late 1950s, the Disney enterprises had undergone enormous growth. Walt’s realm of activity now included Disneyland; the television series; live-action films; cartoon features and shorts; the True-Life Adventures and an outgrowth of it, People and Places; music publishing; records; books; magazines; and character merchandising. Commenting on the company’s prosperity, Walt told a reporter, “Roy and I must have a guardian angel. We could never split up like Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. Roy doesn’t know whether it’s my guardian angel, and I don’t know whether it’s his.”
There was never a question of a split, but the relationship between the two brothers showed evidence of strain as the company’s affairs grew more complex. Sometimes there was an explosion, usually caused by Walt, the younger, more impatient, artistically minded brother. And usually it was the volatile Walt who made peace. After one memorable clash, Walt arrived at Roy’s office bearing a birthday present—an Indian peace pipe. Roy’s pique vanished in laughter. Later that day Walt dictated a letter to Roy:
It was wonderful to smoke the Pipe of Peace with you again—the clouds that rise are very beautiful.
I think, between us over the years, we have accomplished something—there was a time when we couldn’t borrow a thousand dollars and now I understand we owe twenty-four million!
But in all sincerity, Happy Birthday and many more—and—
I love you.
Roy’s contribution to the building of the Disney empire was never underestimated by Walt. He often paid tribute to Roy’s financial sagacity and his devotion to the family enterprise. Roy was performing an invaluable function for which Walt had neither the talent nor the appetite.
“I feel sympathetic toward Roy,” Walt once said, “because he has to sit with the bankers. He has to sit with the stockbrokers who come in and harass you and say, ‘I haven’t turned any Disney stock in six months now; do something so I can turn it and make a profit.’ I used to tell Roy, ‘You’ve got to get away from those guys; they’ll beat you down.’ One time he called me from New York, and I told him, ‘Come on back to California; the sun is shining here. Get away from those guys.’”
Roy realized the need to cultivate the financial marketplace. Each year he urged Walt to appear at the annual stockholders’ meeting. Walt refused. “There’s nothing I can do there,” he argued. “It’s a formality. We give ‘em a report, tell ‘em what we’ve got, and that’s it. Who’s sitting out there? Just representatives of brokerage houses and financial reporters. And maybe some little character who likes to attend stockholders’ meetings like some people go to funerals. My real stockholders aren’t out there.”
One year when the company’s fortunes were at a low ebb, Walt finally acceded to his brother’s urgings. Walt addressed the meeting: “I don’t know how many of you out there are stockholders. I’ve got a letter I want to read to you; it’s from a lady in Florida. She writes, ‘Dear Mr. Disney, I’m a Disney stockholder, and I’m very happy to be one. I don’t care if you ever pay any dividends. I just hope you go on doing the fine work you’ve been doing.’” Walt folded up the letter and said, “Now that’s the kind of stockholder I like. It’s been very nice to appear before you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back and try to get this company on its feet.”
Walt also considered board of directors meetings a waste of time. He avoided the meetings except when Roy advised him: “Look, they’re going to try to force us into something; you’ve got to be there.” At such times, Walt and Roy Disney formed a solidarity that was fearful to oppose. When the stock was in a slump during the postwar period, influential stockholders urged the Disneys to announce a big expansion in order to inflate the stock price. The threat of stockholder suits was raised. The Disney answer: “Sue all you want. We’re doing what we think we should do, and that’s to take care of the best interests of the company, not any individual stockholder.”
Even at times when the two brothers were at odds, they exhibited a mutual protectiveness. Many an employee learned the peril of agreeing with Walt when he was complaining about Roy, or with Roy when he grumbled about Walt. During a long plane flight Walt sat with an assistant and told how his plans had been thwarted by Roy’s thrift. The aide replied he thought Roy had done everything he could to help Walt. Afterward the man reflected, “If I had agreed with Walt, he would have thrown me off the plane.”
While Roy did not react as explosively as Walt during their disputes, he was no less disturbed. His wife, Edna, and son, Roy Edward, could always tell Roy’s mood by the way he drove into the driveway of their Toluca Lake home. If the car came to an abrupt halt and the door slammed loudly, it meant that Roy had probably been arguing with Walt.
Like Walt, Roy was single-minded in his devotion to the studio. He generally arrived home with a briefcase bulging with letters, reports and memoranda to study in the evening. He and Edna had a small circle of friends, most of them not connected with the film business; his best friend was Mitchell Francis, Edna’s younger brother, whom he had known from his early days in Kansas City. Roy had played polo with Walt during the 1930s and had bowled with studio teams in the war years. When Edna urged him in later years to take up golf as a relaxation from studio worries, he declined. “I don’t want you to be a golf widow,” he said. He preferred working in the garden.
Roy guarded his health. The tuberculosis in his twenties had influenced him deeply; he was determined to avoid another serious illness. Such was Roy’s concern for his health that he had his appendix removed, not because it was troubling him but because he feared infection. In later years he installed exercise machines in the basement of his house and used them regularly. Like Walt, he was a poor sleeper, and he often used the machines to tire himself so he could return to sleep.
He enjoyed reading American history and amassed a large collection of works about Thomas Jefferson. But most of the time he read the nightly contents of his briefcase. When the company’s fortunes improved in the late 1950s, his reading became more and more enjoyable, and often he would share his delight with Edna and young Roy. “Here, look at this,” he said with a wide grin.
Roy remained modest about his own contributions to the company’s prosperity. Late in his life he commented to an associate, “My brother made me a millionaire. Do you wonder why I want to do everything I can to help him?”
THE five years that followed the opening of Disneyland were a period of great expansion for Walt Disney Productions, which had begun the 1950s with a gross income of $6,000,000 and had leaped to $27,000,000 in the first year of Disneyland operation. By the end of the decade, the figure was $70,000,000. Television production grew with the introduction in 1957 of a third series, Zorro. The project had been transferred to the studio from WED, and the half-hour adventure proved to be a popular attraction on the ABC network. Disneyland continued to be the top-rated series in television; in the second season Walt produced two more adventure episodes starring Fess Parker as Davy Crockett, again a television sensation and a moneymaker in the theaters. The second season of The Mickey Mouse Club was more successful than the first.
After two seasons of losing to Disneyland in the ratings, NBC scheduled the most expensive series in television, an hour-long western, Wagon Train. NBC lavished promotion on the show and it succeeded in toppling Disneyland from its number-one position. ABC, which was having success with Hollywood-made Western series such as Cheyenne, Maverick and Wyatt Earp, began importuning Disney: “Give us more Westerns! Give us more action!” A meeting was scheduled with top ABC officials at the Disney studio. Walt s
tartled them by appearing at the conference room in full cowboy regalia. He twirled six-shooters and laid them down on the table. “Okay, you want Westerns—you’re gonna get Westerns!” he exclaimed. But, he insisted, he was going to do the Westerns his way, depicting the true heroes and the true West. He recounted tales of Texas John Slaughter and Elfego Baca, and the ABC executives were totally convinced.
Walt disliked being forced to turn out product to fit an audience formula. He found himself competing with two dozen other television Westerns, and that wasn’t the Disney style. He argued that his product had always succeeded by its uniqueness, not in following trends. But ABC told him: “Just keep giving us Westerns.”
Despite its immense popularity, The Mickey Mouse Club ran into trouble. ABC claimed it couldn’t find enough sponsors who wanted to appeal to the juvenile audience, and the show was cut to a half-hour for its third season, then discontinued. It had been a brave experiment, an attempt to present important programming to the young television audience; never again would it be done in commercial television. What killed The Mickey Mouse Club? Walt Disney hinted that it was greed; he believed the network’s overloading of commercials caused viewers to lose interest.
The Zorro series had been an acknowledged hit for two seasons, but ABC declined to renew it. The reason was economic: the network could make more money with series which it owned, rather than those bought from independent producers. In canceling the series, ABC contended that Disney was barred from offering Zorro or The Mickey Mouse Club to other networks. Walt and Roy considered that unfair. They sued ABC, and after a lengthy negotiation, a settlement was reached. Disney would be able to take Walt Disney Presents (as it was called in its last two seasons on ABC) to another network. Disney would buy out ABC’s one-third interest in Disneyland for $7,500,000. The settlement galled Walt—“What did they do to help build the place?”—but at least he was free. The purchase from ABC in 1960 gave Walt Disney Productions total ownership in Disneyland, the interests of Walt Disney and Western Printing having been acquired earlier.
