Hidden Mickey 5: Chasing New Frontiers

by David Smith

  “No problem. What can I do for you?” Willie Riggio said, not seemingly in any rush to do anything at that moment.

  “In learning more about Nathan Duncan, we have come across a woman’s name, a woman that he may have had a relationship with.”

  “Really,” Riggio said, leaning back, digesting the information. “Got a name for the broad?”

  Blain mentally laughed at the crude language the old-timer used but answered him with, “A ‘Lynette’ something. Don’t have a last name.”

  Riggio sat there, not responding, just thinking. His eyes were closed and for a moment Blain thought the guy was either asleep or had just died in his chair.

  Suddenly, Riggio’s eyes opened wide. “Oh yeah, fricken-a, I didn’t remember it before. I remember now,” Riggio said slapping his palm on the blotter on his desk. “I remember Duncan came into work talking about something…something about his pop, I think. Yeah. He was all excited because he was getting, quote ‘a lot of money’…might not need to work anymore.” Riggio leaned back in his well-worn desk chair, crossing his arms. “That’s right. He said he might need to give his two week notice. Then one day, I was coming around on my scooter, just before the Park opened, and I sees Duncan chatten it up with some red head R.O. working the Tiki Room.” Riggio sat there for a moment, seemingly pulling up some memory that had to have been buried deep into his sub-consciousness. Blain unconsciously moved to the end of his seat.

  “Red-headed Ride Operator?” Blain probed, trying to keep Riggio on the subject.

  “Yeah, you know, flaming red. I think I remembered it because it was the same color of hair my deceased wife used to have. Well, was the same color…she was gray for the last thirty years.”

  “She have a name?”

  “My wife?” Riggio asked.

  “No, the Tiki Room R.O. It wasn’t Lynette, by chance?”

  “Oh. Hmm,” Riggio rubbed his chin. “Not that I know. Well, not that I remember, I mean. Doubt if I ever heard her name even mentioned, come to think about it. Usually I’m pretty good with names,” Riggio said, and then he paused again. Blain didn’t think he was going to get anything more out of the guy. He was impressed that he got what he had, considering how old the information was that he had already provided, and that Riggio was ‘sixty-eight come this August.’ Blain sat back against the chair. He didn’t think sixty-eight was that old considering he had grandparents in their late sixties…and they still were sharp. Yet, he thought he was expecting too much to hope that Riggio could remember anything from so far back.

  “But, I do know who you might want to talk to about the woman,” Riggio said, suddenly leaning forward again toward Blain who also moved forward himself. Blain was feeling like a magnet being turned off and on, pulling him forward again, meeting Riggio half way across the old desk. “Head over to Club 33 for the hostess there, name is Rita. She and I had a thing a while back. Her husband had passed away a few years ago. We met at one of those, you know,” Riggio was tapping his temple, when he said; “It was one of those senior balls that we went to at the Elks Lodge.” Riggio paused, looking up at the ceiling, “Or was it the Rotary Club?”

  “So, this Rita worked on the Tiki Room attraction? Back then?” Blain asked, trying to be patient.

  “Yeah. Rita worked that ride for at least ten years. Was one of the original hostesses on the attraction when it opened.” Riggio paused again, as if thinking back to something important. Then he added, “I think I may have to give Rita a call myself.”

  “Club 33, eh?” Blain confirmed.

  “Yes, she works the early shift.” Riggio looked at his watch. “Probably there right now, getting ready for the guests comin’ in for lunch.”

  Looking at his watch which now read 10:10am, Blain reached across the desk to shake hands with Riggio.

  “Willie, thank you again for your time. You have been more than helpful,” Blain said shaking the older man’s hand and then standing up. “Have a good sixty-ninth birthday this August, if I don’t see you,” Blain said.

  “Well, mighty fine of you to say so,” Riggio said, picking up his phone, presumably to call the reservation desk at Club 33.

  May, 21st, 1965

  7:15am

  Construction Zone New Orleans Square

  “I want them talking, entertaining the guests as they eat,” Walt Disney said, talking with two of his New Orleans Square design team members, Marc Davis and Bill Martin. The conversation had suddenly turned from talking about the new boat ride, Pirates of the Caribbean, to the area that would be on the second floor above the new pirate attraction.

  “Talking like how?” Marc Davis asked, who recently had been trying to come up with ‘pirate gags’ for the ride Pirates of the Caribbean that would be at the basement level of the building that was depicted on blueprints which were spread out on a makeshift table consisting of a plywood sheet supported by two saw horses between the three men. Bill Martin, the area architect was listening to Walt as he was discussing with Davis about his new idea: an exquisite, exclusive, and very private dining room that would replace Walt’s use of the Red Wagon Inn on Main Street. Taking the place of Walt’s “Hideaway,” in the secret room at the back of the Red Wagon Inn, this new, select dining room, one reserved for business partners, friends, and invited guests, would be lavish and certainly a most unique “club.”

  That morning, Walt had come over to the construction site to see how things were progressing. The construction activity had been rejuvenated after the entire construction crew had been pulled off the project a quarter of the way through to work on his pavilions at the 1964 World’s Fair in New York. Now there was activity going on almost every day during every daylight hour.

  Davis was trying to picture what Walt was talking about in his ‘Trophy Room’ inside the new dinner club, a trophy room consisting of heads of large moose, elk, buffalo and other free-range animals mounted on the walls.

  “Talking like English, or just making animal sounds?” Davis asked, trying to grasp Walt’s idea of the heads of the animals on the walls actually saying something.

  “English. You know, like a funny conversation between animal heads that are now the ‘trophies’ of the trophy room,” Walt said, waving his hand across the stretch of blueprints that were trying to curl back up at each end.

  Davis thought for a moment and then said, “You mean having the animals saying things like, ‘Pity we are now only a fraction of ourselves,’ or a deer saying, ‘Hope those folks down there aren’t eating any venison?’” Davis said with a grin. “Or maybe having a moose head talking to an elk head: ‘Hey, Henry, you’ve lost weight.’”

  “Yes, you got it,” Disney said, slapping the animator-turned-ride designer on his back. “Hey that’s pretty funny!”

  Bill Martin was still quiet, busy looking over the set of blueprints while listening to the conversation between Walt and Marc Davis.

  Martin spoke up. “Walt, what do you want to call this club?”

  Walt Disney looked at Martin for a moment. “I don’t know, Bill. Hadn’t given it much thought,” Walt said, shrugging his shoulders. “I figured we would come up with something unique as we got closer to the actual construction of the building,” Walt said, referring to the blueprints again.

  The three men looked at the drawings and saw the proposed entrance on the ground floor, an entrance that included a glass elevator which would lead up to the second floor restaurant that Walt was referring to. The drawing for where each store or restaurant was located also had the street addresses printed in typical drafting lettering, and an arrow pointing to each location on the blueprint that corresponded with each numbered address. Because all the shops and restaurants were going to be part of a recreated New Orleans district here at Disneyland, each store and restaurant had its own physical address. The street was Royal Street on the blueprint; along the street were a variety of shops as well as another restaurant that the everyday guests could eat at inside the pirate attraction.
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  Bill started talking out loud as much to himself as to the other two men or more specifically to Walt. “The address for your entrance is number thirty-three,” Martin stated, running his finger along the drawn street that would curve around from the front of New Orleans Square to an intimate area of shops, a courtyard, and a couple different restaurants for guests. “Your special restaurant’s entrance is right next to the entrance of the Blue Bayou restaurant we have planned for inside the pirate ride,” Martin said, rubbing his chin for a moment. He then looked up at Walt. “I don’t know if we want to have an additional sign out there that might conflict with the Bayou signage, Walt. It might be confusing having two restaurant names side by side. Especially since one will be by private invitation only. Guests will be bewildered I think.”

  Walt looked up from the blueprint with a little smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

  “You say the address is thirty-three?” Walt asked, looking back down where Bill’s finger had been pointing at the place on the blueprint a moment earlier.

  “Yeah, why?”

  Walt smiled, looking back at his architect. “I love it,” Walt said.

  “Love what?” Martin asked.

  “Club 33. That’s what we’ll call it.”

  The men stood inside a visual barricade which blocked the view of the massive construction going on from the guests that were visiting that area of Disneyland. From the vantage point inside the walled barricade, the west side of Disneyland now looked more like an excavation site for a subway or giant subterranean fallout shelter. Steel beams crisscrossed the area at ground level in front of the men, soon to be covered by the facades of ornate buildings patterned after those found in New Orleans, Louisiana. A huge mound of dirt had been excavated to construct the two tunnels that would run under the Disneyland-Santa Fe Railroad. These two tunnels led to and from two large warehouse-looking buildings which were being erected on the former “Holidayland” site that had previously held a giant circus tent next to a baseball field and volleyball court. Inside the two massive buildings would be sections of the new Pirate ride called “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “Club 33,” Marc Davis said, nodding his head. Bill Martin had left when one of the construction foremen interrupted the little meeting needing Bill to come over to the construction trailer.

  “The place needs to be not only elegant, but I want it to be one-of-a-kind,” Walt Disney said to Davis about the restaurant, turning and looking at the construction area as if he could see the finished theme area already in his mind.

  “You got it, Walt,” Marc Davis said, rolling up the blueprints and sliding them into a cardboard sleeve. “Glass elevator, chandeliers, and your ‘Trophy Room,” Davis said, smiling at Walt.

  “Hey, how about this too,” Walt said looking back at Marc Davis, his eyes twinkling again. “Let’s add a couple of magpies or parrots, like those we have in the Tiki Room, and put them on a couple perches in the dining room.”

  “Why Tiki birds, Walt?” Marc Davis asked, with a confused look on his face.

  “We can stick some microphones in the chandeliers and hear the conversations of the main table under it. Then the stuffed birds come to life and join in the conversation, you know, with someone talking through a hidden speaker in the birds, as if the birds themselves were talking and carrying on a conversation with the patrons eating below them,” Walt said, elaborating on the notion.

  Davis nodded slowly picturing the initial startled expressions on diners as they would not only see the birds acting as if they were alive, but also being able to talk to the guests below them. “Walt, what if the cooks could listen in on the table-talk too. They could hear what people liked or didn’t like about their meals or even have the waiters bring things they hear the diners say they want…even before they actually ask for it!”

  “Not a bad idea, Marc. What better way to find out ways to improve,” Walt agreed. “Let’s work on the birds and trophy heads banter now and decide if any of it is doable.”

  Davis was already formulating some good-natured jokes the birds could use.

  As if reading his mind, Walt added, “Be thinking of some funny gags for the birds while you are working on the pirate ones,” Walt said just before a coughing fit consumed him for a few moments.

  A concerned look fell upon Marc Davis’ face as he watched Walt try and catch his breath.

  “Dang this cough,” Walt said, as he finally straightened up from being slightly hunched over from the spasm. Walt took a breath then said, “I’m sure this is going to be great, Marc,” Walt said, turning from the makeshift table and headed out of the construction zone.

  “Take care, Walt. I’ll give you an update on everything next week,” Marc Davis said, watching his boss walk slowly across the dirt towards a door in the barricade.

  Walt walked back through a “Cast Members Only” door built in the eight-foot tall wall of the decorated and painted plywood barricade. Leaving the seemingly complete chaos that now consumed the construction area on the other side of the wooden wall, Walt now looked out across the Rivers of America and Tom Sawyer Island. His heart swelled with pleasure as he now saw tranquil beauty surrounding him. At seven forty-five in the morning, it was as if he had the Park all to himself, like being in his own backyard.

  Looking back at the construction barricade, Walt imagined the buildings, seeing the images that his artists had drawn on the conceptual look of the New Orleans area. Walt looked up, above the grey-blue painted barricade walls, and in his mind he could envision the balconies that would line the second floor of each building, French doors that would open up allowing dining guests to look out over the panorama vista of the New Orleans Square and across the river at Frontierland. He pictured the ornate railings that would include his initials in one section of artistic iron-work as well as those of his brother Roy’s in a section right next to his.

  He imagined his new restaurant, picturing the expressions on the faces of his guests as he dined with them, the mechanical birds and the animal heads suddenly coming to life. He smiled at the thought of having a first-class dining room that was as entertaining as it was exquisite.

  “Club 33,” Walt said out loud, still looking up at the empty sky that would eventually be filled with beautiful architecture. “I like it,” he said, looking forward to hosting a great number of guests and throwing some wonderful parties.

  “I like it a lot!” Walt repeated, as he started walking back towards Main Street.

  CHAPTER 29

  Knowing

  Tuesday, June 29th 2010

  8:50am

  Hoping to locate Riggio’s “Rita” working in Club 33, Blain went through the cast member’s entrance between the Tarzan Tree House attraction and the overflow queue area of Pirates of the Caribbean. Blain paused to look at the ride entrance; with the Park not yet open the queue area was void of guests. The ride looked lonely, out of place without people waiting, anticipating. Immediately, Blain thought of riding Pirates with Missy last Sunday, and then thinking how much the two of them had done together in only three days of knowing each other. He knew he had never experienced a woman like Missy; he knew that part of the uniqueness must be because of the timeline they were under. There was a sense of urgency he was aware of. But, he also believed that there was more to it than that…more to HER than just the quantity of time. There was a quality about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. But, he did know one thing for sure; he would never forget Missy as long as he lived.

  He walked through the back stage area along the side of the Pirate’s ride-containment building or what was commonly known among the ride operators as ‘Building One.’ The walkway sloped down and ran into a wide service road used by delivery trucks which brought daily supplies to the restaurants in New Orleans Square, including the French Market, the French Quarter, Club 33, and the Disneyland Employee Cafeteria on the sub-basement floor of the Pirates of the Caribbean façade.

  He turned right and headed
further down the sloping service road to the covered truck dock where a raised platform with rubber bumper guards lined a space for up to two trucks to back into. Blain climbed a few steps to the loading platform where he entered an oversized hallway, one large enough for forklifts to maneuver through. Along the two-hundred foot long corridor were innocuous-looking doors on either side that, when opened, revealed portions of the Pirates ride. Each door was simply labeled with a short description of the area within the attraction that the door opened up into. Such doors sometimes led to dark maze-like passages that snaked through the facades and ride elements. These doors were used as emergency exits if the ride were to malfunction as well as accesses that were used by maintenance workers and ride operators to get to various parts of the attraction such as boat storage.

  As Blain continued to walk the long corridor, he reached the end of the hallway where a service elevator was located. The elevator went up two floors from where Blain stood, pushing the “Up” button: the next floor up was the main Park floor where The French Market and French Quarter restaurants were located. On the third floor was the landing for Club 33 and the kitchen that served the five-star meals within the unique Club 33 restaurant.

  Blain rode up with a cook who wore a tall, white chef’s hat. His white apron and short-sleeve shirt were spotless, an appearance that Blain thought would certainly be far different after his shift. At the third floor, Blain let the chef out first and then walked through two large doors that led to the Club 33 kitchen. Walking through the bevy of stainless steel tables, cabinets, and appliances, Blain knew there wouldn’t be much going on since it was still early. Club 33 didn’t start serving until eleven o’clock although there were a few kitchen staff members unloading boxes of fruits and vegetables from a wooden pallet that was on the floor near the landing to the service elevator.