A note was taped to Adam’s refrigerator: “You are out of beer. Be ready 6 a.m. tomorrow. We fly to MO. Will be home Fri. Love, Lance.”
Lance ignored his ringing phone all afternoon and evening. Around midnight Adam gave up trying to reach him so he could get some kind of explanation for the note. At 5:45 a.m. Wednesday, Adam threw open his apartment door just to stop the constant ringing of his doorbell.
“You packed?” Compared to Adam’s disheveled appearance, Lance looked particularly well-rested and ready to go.
“Packed for what? You wouldn’t answer your stupid phone! Unlike some of the idle rich, I have work to do!”
Lance walked into Adam’s bedroom, ignoring the outburst and sarcasm. “We really need to be on the road in five minutes. The freeways can be brutal filled with you working-class slobs.” Inside Adam’s closet, his voice was muffled. He found a buried gym bag and tossed it to the boxer short-wearing Adam. “You might want to put something on that’s a little warmer.” Lance’s suggestion was accompanied by a wide grin. “Though, that look would probably get you through security a lot faster.”
Adam caught the gym bag and threw it on his rumpled bed. “What are you talking about?” Adam ran a hand through his mussed blonde hair. He had only gotten about four hours of sleep and was in no mood for Lance’s games.
“Our flight to Missouri leaves at 8:45. Didn’t you get my note?”
“Didn’t you hear your phone ringing?” Adam shot back.
“I thought you would understand.” Before Adam could explode, Lance held up a restraining hand. “I found the answer to the clue. We are going to Marceline, Missouri by way of LAX, Denver, and Kansas City. There is a rental car waiting for us this afternoon. We will drive approximately 125 miles from Kansas City to Marceline. Now, you really need to get going.” Lance leaned against the bedroom wall and let his news sink in. Knowing Adam wouldn’t let this opportunity pass by, he just waited.
Grumbling, Adam literally threw random clothes and a toothbrush into the gym bag. “You could have told me all this yesterday.” Running a hand over his stubbly face, he knew he didn’t have time to shave.
Lance herded him into his Mercedes and tossed Adam’s gym bag on top of his own carefully packed carry-on in the trunk. “Yes, I could have given you more of a heads-up,” Lance admitted as he sped away from Adam’s apartment and headed for the 405 Freeway, “but this is a lot more fun.”
While Lance was casually weaving in and out of traffic on the freeway, Adam called his foreman, Scott, at 6:30 a.m. and gave him instructions for the next two days, telling him to call his cell phone if something important came up. By 7:30, they had parked at the Los Angeles International Airport and were sprinting for the entrance to the terminal. Coming to a screeching halt, they were stuck in the newly-formed Security check line as the minutes until their flight left ticked by. At 8:40, they ran into an almost empty terminal. Their plane had been loaded and the terminal door was about to shut. It took a wink and Lance’s special persuasion for the flight attendant to let them onto the plane. The door of the plane was sealed shut behind them. At 8:50, the seatbelt lights came on. At 12:05 p.m., they were in Denver, racing for the terminal at the opposite end of the building. At 12:45, they were in the air again heading towards Missouri. At 4:30, Lance was driving northeast out of Kansas City towards Marceline with Adam wearily slumped in the passenger seat. Around 6:45 that evening, they spotted the tall silver water tower proclaiming Marceline and headed down Kansas Avenue—a street many would recognize as Main Street USA if they were walking into Disneyland. It was Disneyland’s Main Street that preserved the essence of Walt’s small-town experience and allowed him to share it with the millions who would visit his Park.
There were plenty of references to Walt and his family ties there on Main Street—from antique stores to metal plaques at the local movie theatre. The small town aura was obvious in this well-kept town of 2500 residents. In Walt’s time here, the railroad had been a big focus. But, in time, the town became an agricultural and industrial center and home to a large publishing industry. The railroad was still active in town and part of the new Disney museum under construction would be dedicated to the Santa Fe Railroad. Many of the business façades in town were either the old Western-influence wood or painted-over original brickwork. As in a lot of small towns, stores can cater to more than one type of customer. Here, the local appliance center boasted a soda fountain complete with padded chrome stools. Over on California Street was the Walt Disney Elementary School. Arriving by train, Walt himself had come back in October of 1960 for the christening of the new school. At the northern end of Main Street was Ripley Park that was named after E. P. Ripley, a past president of the Santa Fe Railroad. Sitting in the park was a huge train engine, coal car and caboose. The beautiful white gazebo in Ripley Park had been built in 1898 and Walt and his family had attended Sunday band concerts there. Sometimes his father, Elias, would join in with his fiddle. So deep were the memories of this time and place that Walt named one of his first steam locomotives at Disneyland the E. P. Ripley.
Lance pulled in front of the Uptown Theatre and got out, stretching to relieve his travel-induced aches and stiffness. Adam sat in the car for a minute, still somewhat stunned at this turn of events, yet excited to be in a place he had read about and had wanted to visit. And now, he was here.
As Lance pulled the luggage out of the trunk, Adam came out of his stupor and got out into the warm sunshine. “We’re going to see a movie?” Confused, he looked up at the three-story theater’s old-fashioned brick façade and ticket booth.
“There’s a bed-and-breakfast upstairs. I booked the Walt Disney Suite for us. I was going to get the Winnie the Pooh Room for you, but it was already taken.”
Adam just shook his head, looking around. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’m in Walt’s hometown!”
They checked in and were taken to the two-bedroom suite that had a sitting room, small kitchenette and dining room. Lance claimed the bedroom with the king-sized bed for his superior height. Adam, not caring, tossed his almost-empty gym bag into the other bedroom on his queen-sized bed. He wandered through the quaint suite with its clean white walls and maple furniture. In the dining room, dishes and glasses were encased in a glass-fronted chest set into a wall. Discreet pictures of Walt dotted the walls here and there. A directory on the small table next to the phone gave them a historical run-down of the Uptown Theatre and apartments that had been opened in 1930. Walt and Roy had been there in 1956 to host the premiere of the Disney movie The Great Locomotive Chase. Walt had told the children in the audience that “they were lucky to live here” in Marceline. There were ads from other businesses in town and even a preview of the new Walt Disney Hometown Museum that would soon open in May 2002. They were also directed to the Zurcher Building and its original Coke mural that inspired Coke Corner, the outdoor restaurant with red and white awnings found at the end of Main Street in Disneyland.
They found a diner and had a home-cooked meatloaf dinner complete with flaky biscuits, mashed potatoes, fresh-cut green beans, and a blueberry cobbler for dessert. After dinner, while walking down the sidewalk, they found the hardware store. It was difficult to buy a shovel discreetly. Adam picked out one that actually folded, which made it easier to hide, while Lance chatted with the clerk. Adam just hoped she wouldn’t remember too much about the other guy who bought a shovel. Usually the women just remembered Lance—which could work out to their advantage this time.
Travel fatigue on top of a wonderful meal caught up with Adam. After managing to get his teeth brushed, he mumbled something that could have been “good night” to Lance and shut his room’s door. He noticed fresh-smelling floral sheets right before falling asleep in the silent room.
“You can’t miss it.” This was the standard reply they got from nearly everyone they asked about Walt’s special tree.
“Go north.” A senior gentleman walking an equally senior Springer spaniel pointed up th
e street. “Then go left on Broadway. You’ll see a bank on the left. The tree is across from it.”
That should have been simple enough. The bank was easy enough to find. They knew what the tree looked like from that old picture. How difficult would it be to spot a one hundred-year old huge cottonwood?
More difficult than you might expect, they found. They passed it three times. They didn’t account for the growth of the weeds or for the current shape of the tree.
Time and old age had affected the tree as it does humans. Huge branches had fallen and been hauled away. It looked like only half a tree as the men walked around it. The re-creation of Walt’s barn stood in a back pasture. There were little signs posted here and there describing the events that had happened in the history of the tree, the barn, and the site.
Walt’s diary had told them to look around and appreciate wherever they found themselves, so the two men did just that. They took a moment to wander through the barn. The signs had told them this barn had been Walt and Ruth’s favorite place to play. They had performed a barn circus with the animals, including a pig and a goat, dressed in Ruth’s doll clothes. The admission price the children had charged had been refunded by Flora, their mother. The barn had showed up in the movie So Dear My Heart and another re-creation had been built in Walt’s backyard in California in 1950 to become his personal workshop and his own Happy Place. Inside this Missouri version, they found guests were encouraged to leave a personal message. These messages were written on the boards of the barn and came from all over the United States and around the world. Adam and Lance went to different sides of the barn and left their own messages. It seemed like the thing to do.
The land was now privately owned with no parking lot or signs to indicate a roadside attraction. Visitors were welcome at any time to wander the site. Nobody even looked twice at strangers walking through the high weeds or sitting under the fading tree. Everyone who visited there came for their own reasons. They were encouraged, respected, and left alone.
Adam and Lance found themselves alone on that Thursday afternoon. The folding shovel was tucked under Lance’s lightweight jacket. After their time in the barn and reading some of the messages left by others, they wandered back to the tree. As Walt had written, it was time to “begin doing.”
Lance set down the shovel and put his jacket over it. They silently contemplated the tree. “I don’t suppose there’s any big red arrow, is there?” Lance leaned back to see the topmost branches.
“That would be nice.” Adam gave a smile as he walked around the tree. “Nope, don’t see one. Tell me again what you found belly botany to mean.”
Lance recited the close examination of bugs and plants from the on-your-stomach perspective.
“Okay. Now, Walt was about my height, maybe a little shorter, but not much. If he was lying here on his stomach, like this,” as he demonstrated with his own body, “would you go by where my feet are now?”
Lance came and stood at the place where Adam’s feet had been as Adam got up. “Or, since the clue says ‘from where I stand,’ would be it where you are now standing?”
“It isn’t that much of a difference in distance.”
“It is if you are digging,” Lance pointed out. “Think we could find a backhoe and do it all at once?”
That earned a grin from Adam. “Well, I think a two-foot deep trench all around the tree might be noticed. I think we need to find one particular place to dig. Where that is, I’m not sure.”
“Well, mark both distances and we’ll see if we can get any inspiration on where to start.”
They stood at the trunk of the old tree and looked at the view from different positions. Because they didn’t know what had stood in the distance over ninety years ago, they didn’t get any ready answer. Looking up into the tree didn’t help because so much of the tree was gone. They just hoped their reference point hadn’t been burned for firewood years ago.
“What about in relation to the barn?” Lance turned to survey the land. “What do you think? Between the tree and the barn?”
Adam shrugged. “You want to try first? Sounds good to me.”
Not realizing he was going to be on the business end of the shovel, Lance paused for a moment. Adam knew him well enough to know exactly what Lance was thinking and kept quiet. If there was more digging that had to be done after this, he would do the next hole. Lance now realized he was going to get down and dirty. He gave a sigh as the shovel bit into the weedy soil.
Adam kept his smile to himself and sat back under the tree facing the road. He would alert Lance to stop if anyone else came. This was a place to reflect, not dig up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would say to anyone who questioned them, but he would think of something. He heard some mumbled cursing, but saw no other cars or people.
Within ten minutes Lance had his two-foot-deep hole dug. He had examined the dirt as he threw it out but only saw rocks and more rocks. Unless Walt left them a special rock, he didn’t find anything. Calling Adam around, Lance asked his opinion. Adam looked through the pile of dirt and the hole. He shrugged. “Fill it back in. We’ll try another one. Oh, be sure to leave a patch of weeds to put back on top.”
With Lance muttering about his hands, his back, his favorite shirt, and various places Adam could stick the patch of weeds, Adam wandered around the tree trunk again. It was only about three feet in diameter. He studied the trunk at the height he thought a five- to eight-year old boy would be, allowing for some growth of the tree. Nothing. Then he tried again at his own height, as if Walt was looking at the tree as an adult.
He almost missed it, it was so faint. There was some crude carving in the tree trunk. It might have been passed over as some harmless prank by a kid. But as Adam carefully pulled away a little more of the bark, he saw it was initials. They weren’t very deep, but they were legible.
W.E.D.
Walter Elias Disney. As Disney aficionados know, those three initials were a cipher for many things Disney. The acronym was used to create WED Enterprises, the design and development organization Walt founded in 1952 to help him create Disneyland. And here they were, most likely carved by Walt himself so many years ago.
Adam traced the letters with his fingers to make sure they really were letters, not random scars left in the tree. Lance was almost done with filling in the hole. Adam turned his back to the carving and narrowed his eyes as he looked out over the land. There was nothing he could see that would inspire that particular spot. He lay down directly under the letters and dug his heels in to mark the spot. Lance came over while he was still prone.
“Having a nice nap?” He tossed the shovel next to Adam, and sat with his back to the tree, his face was lined with sweat. He ran his hand through his tousled hair. Adam didn’t seem to notice he had finished with his manual exertions in record-setting time. His eyes narrowed at Adam who inexplicably turned a smiling face at him. Adam indicated ‘up’ with his chin. Lance was in no mood for guessing games. “What?”
“Look up above my head, if you can drag your weary body up there”
Barely stifling a curse, Lance got to his feet and eyed the trunk.
“About six feet up from here.” Adam tilted his head straight up to lead Lance to the spot.
Now intrigued, Lance ran his fingers over the carved initials. “How’d we miss that?”
Adam stood up and reached for the shovel. “I guess we weren’t looking for it. Didn’t know what to look for.” As the shovel took its first bite, Adam saw Lance was still staring at the initials. “Will you watch for incoming?”
Lance barely nodded as he stared at the tree trunk. “Incredible.”
“Hey, mister, whatcha doing?”
The squeaky voice caught them both by surprise. Adam’s next shovelful of dirt slowly lowered back into the hole as he stopped what he was doing. He was only about ten inches deep. Lance spun around and his eyes dropped lower than he expected. A young boy stood, hands held behind him, watching. He looked about six yea
rs old to Lance—who was not a good judge of children’s ages.
The boy was curious. “Whatcha doin’ to Walt’s tree?”
Adam kept his back to the boy and let Lance handle it. Lance quickly got over the surprise and had to come up with something—fast. “I’m Bob and this is my friend Ernie.”
“I’m Timmy. I live over there.” The boy gave a vague wave off to the east somewhere, not taking his eyes off Lance.
Lance knew he had to keep the boy talking as Adam got back to digging. “You come here a lot, Timmy? We’re new.”
“You probably shouldn’t be digging up Walt’s tree.” Timmy sounded somewhat doubtful because he was also curious about what might be down there.
“Oh, we’re not digging up the tree.” Lance tried to be assuring and the voice of reason. “See how far we are away from it? Ernie dropped a contact lens. We’re trying to find it.”
Timmy edged closer to the hole. “It’s going to be really dirty,” he muttered. Adults did the stupidest things.
“Well, we will just have to wash it off really good if we find it. How’re you coming, Ernie?”
‘Ernie’ just felt the tip of his shovel hit something. It could be another rock. There were plenty of those in this soil. He scraped a little dirt to the side and saw something gray and then felt the length of it with the shovel blade. He knew he could scoop it out in one throw. Seeing Timmy eyeing him, he covered it over and made a small trench around the item. “Say, Lance…,”
“Bob.”
“Bob, show Timmy what we found on the tree. It’s really cool.”
Lance saw the outline Adam had made in the dirt. Realizing Adam had found something, he had to distract Timmy. “Oh, that’s right! Look at this! Bet you didn’t see this before.”
As they turned to face the tree, Adam dug in and tossed the big clump of dirt off to the side. He stepped out of the hole, grabbing Lance’s discarded jacket. As Timmy complained he was too short and “can’t see nothin’,” Adam uncovered a gray plastic capsule and threw the jacket over it. Turning back to the hole, he started filling it in as fast as he could.
Sometimes Dead Men DO Tell Tales! Page 7
