Outside, John had some of his workmen construct a huge round cage, seemingly made out of rotting bones, which would hang over the side of a cliff. The opening was large enough to allow guests to climb in and look around and wave at the people far below. A newly constructed ship’s wheel was rigged with ropes and pulleys so that visitors could turn it, but when they did, what looked like a rotting skeleton, still desperately holding a sea chest, would rise from the water in an attempt to scare the guests. Further down the hiking trail to the east, the peaceful picnic area that for many happy years had overlooked a beautiful straight stretch of the River was now overhung with new ship’s canvas sails and a new black pirate flag that was used for background and for shade. Stacks of brightly painted loot, sea chests and plundered goods replaced the benches and tables that had been used for seating. These goods would be left for the visitors for photo opportunities once the Grand Reopening was successful.
The foreman had his men continue working throughout the night. The Grand Reopening was only a few weeks away and there was still a lot of work to do. Glancing at his watch and then at the sky in the east, he could see the pink of dawn slowly advancing over the canopy of trees. He knew their time was up for this night. Pulling an air-horn out of the tool box, he blew a blast into the air to signal his men to return to the dock and prepare to quit work. They had to be out of sight before the first guests of the Park would arrive to greet a new day at the Magic Kingdom. The props that hadn’t been placed yet were stashed out of sight and would have to wait until another night. The most elaborate pieces John would set in place himself.
He watched as his men wearily climbed aboard the rafts. There were no unnecessary words, no playful jesting. After a long night of manual labor, the workers were tired and wanted to get to their cars and go home for some much-needed rest. The needs of the Park came first, and the rafts needed to get back to their proper places on the other side of the River. The docks were unnaturally quiet as the rafts slipped their holding ropes and motored into the pink, misty dawn. Looking over his progress sheets, the foreman looked through the remaining tasks. He smiled contentedly as he stood next to the steering rudder of the raft. It was going well. The Grand Reopening would happen on schedule as planned. Yes, he thought, it is going very well, men.
Inside the Fort, in the parade grounds, the fifteen-star flag had been lowered for the last time. Another flag, a black one, had been raised in its place. With respect for the past and for the history of the Island, the last cast members had been reassigned to other positions, the useable props had been sent to other areas of the Park, and finally, the stockade gate of Fort Wilderness—The Last Outpost of Civilization—was closed and barred for the last time.
The Island – 1817
Working under the cover of darkness, long after the few remaining residents of the Island were fast asleep in their beds, strangely-dressed, savage men invaded The Island. Referring to a dusty rolled sheet of parchment, his men armed with pickaxes, gunpowder, chisels, shovels and mallets, the Captain, Jean Lafitte, had already directed the closing of an escape route through Injun Joe’s Cave. At the same time, another part of his crew was busy digging out new hiding places in what was left of the inner tunnels and caverns.
Brightly burning torches were blazing on the backside of the Island to illuminate it in the darkness. A gangplank from the ship had been lowered to tote the heavy construction materials onto the Island. An army of rafts had been confiscated to ferry over items that had been hidden for months along the dock on the other side of the River near the Mark Twain. Tightly-sealed sea chests were brought in, a few of the natural caverns were covered with heavy metal barred doors, and some remaining mining equipment was taken away. All traces of the peaceful community had been removed. The old treehouse behind the Fort had been explored and dismissed as unimportant. Holes to the outside were chiseled into the ceiling of the cavern to cast an eerie light on the grisly scenes below. Traitorous shipmates, dressed in rags, were shackled to the walls of the newly-dug dungeon. Pieces of treasure were placed in carved inlets—inlets that were booby-trapped to cut off the hand of a greedy crewman hoping to claim more of the treasure for himself. A protective walkway and railing was placed around the Bottomless Pit to insure that one of their own didn’t accidentally fall in while stumbling past it in the darkness. Sharp steel swords were stacked in a hidden alcove, a few pistols and shot, and some kegs of gunpowder were ready at hand lest they be needed in a hurry to ward off attackers.
Outside, Captain Jean had some of his men construct a huge round cage made of rotting bones which would hang over the side of a cliff. The opening was large enough to only allow prisoners to be thrown in to rot and be able to look longingly at the people far below them. An old ship’s wheel was rigged with ropes and pulleys so the crewmember could turn it, but when they did, a rotting skeleton still desperately holding a sea chest would rise from the water in an attempt to warn the crew of what happens to disloyal, greedy crewmembers. Further down the riding trail to the east, the peaceful fishing dock, that for many happy years had overlooked a strategic straight stretch of the River, was now overhung with unused ship’s canvas sails and a new black pirate flag that served as a warning and was also used for privacy. Stacks of crates of loot, sea chests and plundered goods replaced the empty barrels that had been used for seating. These goods would be divided amongst the crewmembers once the planned take-over was successful.
Captain Jean Lafitte had his men continue working throughout the night. The planned invasion was only a few weeks away and there was still a lot of work to do. Glancing toward sky in the east, he could see the pink of dawn slowly advancing over the canopy of trees. He knew their time was up for this night. Pulling a pistol out of his belt, he fired a shot in the air to signal his men to return to the ship and prepare to set sail. They had to be out of sight before the inhabitants of the Fort awakened to greet the new day. The treasure that hadn’t yet been buried was hidden and would have to wait until another night. The most valuable pieces Jean would bury himself.
He watched as his men wearily climbed the gangplank. There were no unnecessary words, no crude jesting. After a long night of manual labor, the pirates were tired and wanted to seek their hammocks below deck for some much-needed rest. But, the needs of the ship came first, and it needed to get out of sight in one of the hidden coves near the Island. The deck was eerily quiet as the huge sailing ship slipped its moor and sailed into the pink, misty dawn. In his mind, the Captain ran through the remaining tasks. He smiled smugly as he stood behind the pilot at the huge ship’s wheel. It was going well. The invasion would happen on schedule as planned. Yes, he thought, it is going very well, mates.
Inside the Fort, in the parade grounds, the fifteen-star flag had been lowered for the last time. Another flag, a black one, had been raised in its place. Thinking nothing of the needs of inhabitants of the Island, with no respect for the history of the Island, the gates of Fort Wilderness had been breeched, the few remaining soldiers either run off or pressed into service, the Fort looted of anything valuable, and finally the stockade gate of Fort Wilderness—the Last Outpost of Civilization—was closed and barred for the last time.
Disneyland – 1959
Walt pointed at the poster for his 1953 Academy Award-winning documentary The Living Desert. The left half of the poster showed a bobcat sitting on top of a saguaro cactus. “See? This is what we want. Maybe surround the cactus with wild pigs. Make it funny and interesting.”
One of the designers looked questioningly at the others. He could tell they were going to leave it up to him. He tapped his pencil for a moment and then spoke up. “You remember, Walt, when the documentaries were first shown? We were criticized for putting humor into the real scenes of desert life. You sure you don’t want to play it straight?”
They thought back to the other True-Life Adventures that had been filmed. In Beaver Valley had won the 1950 Academy Award for Best Short Subject. Bear Country, The Vanishing
Prairie, The African Lion, Nature’s Half Acre and the others, all of them shot over a twelve-year period of time, had been loved by the public. And now, with the expansion of the popular Mine Train ride in Frontierland to become the Mine Train Thru Nature’s Wonderland, it seemed natural to include the same elements that made the Adventures so popular.
Walt looked back at the bright pink, red and orange poster. The other half of the poster advertised The Vanishing Prairie with a herd of buffalo fleeing a burning wildfire. He smiled and nodded. “We are not trying to entertain the critics. I’ll take my chances with the public. Besides, playing it straight isn’t any fun. Look at what we did at the end of the Submarine Voyage. What do you think people are going to talk about? The natural-looking fish or the sea serpent and the mermaids?”
That brought a chuckle from the designers. Their boss knew what he was doing.
Walt got back to his previous line of thought. “The Beaver Dam is fine just as it is with the one beaver swimming in a circle and another one chewing on the white birch tree, but I want more showcase animals this time. We have plenty of motionless ones. Let’s get more big movement going to capture people’s attention.” He walked over to the storyboard covered with drawings. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with Marc’s drawings and this map of the new track route. For the Bear Country section, as the train goes over this trestle,” he pointed, “I want the water filled with bears! I like this old guy scratching his back up on the bank. I like the jumping fish. Let’s get them moving!” He moved over to a somewhat crude mock-up of one scene. “Come on up here, Wathel,” he invited, “and let’s show them what we want.”
The two men each took hold of one of the fully articulated plywood silhouettes of antlered elk. With the wooden heads facing down and antlers pointing outward, they did a mock battle to show possible movements of the two male elk who will be battling for the female’s attention. Walt was clearly enjoying himself.
Once the men got the idea he was conveying, Walt moved on to the next portion of his meeting. “As you know, we are not just shooting for the May twenty-eighth reopening date. It will be May twenty-eight.” Seeing only reactions of agreement, he nodded and looked toward the back of the room. “Now I’d like you to listen to something I had recorded. It isn’t the finished deal just yet, but it’ll let you all know how I want it played out. Could you start the tape, please?”
All in the room looked over in anticipation. Their boss’s enthusiasm for the expansion was a viable, palpable thing and this enthusiasm, as it always did, rubbed off on them. The tape began rolling and static briefly filled the room. Then they all listened closely as the narration began. It was a gravelly voice that sounded like it had been in the sun too long, slightly parched, but still awfully glad to see you. “Howdy, folks!” the narrator drawled, “Welcome to the tiny minin’ town by the name of Rainbow Ridge, what we call in these-here parts the gateway to Nature’s Wonderland. As our little train gets to rockin’, please stay seated at all times and keep yer hands inside the train. Since we don’t want no forest fires, there’s no smokin’ please! Keep a sharp hunter’s eye ‘cause you never know what kinda wildlife yer gonna see!”
Walt motioned for the tape to stop. There was a murmur of voices as the men started taking more notes. Walt grinned to himself. He liked seeing that. “You might know Dallas. We’re working with him on the full narration for the Mine Train. I think you can tell it is going to work out very well. Whether the train engineers use the taped version or do their own spiel, we’ll include all the new elements of the ride.”
He walked back to the storyboard wall and picked up his pointer. “Here,” he slapped some single item drawings. “These are still going to be part of the Living Desert. As you already know, they are the giant saguaro cactus. We’re going to have Dallas mention the hot desert sun playing tricks on your mind and the cactus taking on strange shapes, like animals,” as the pointer moved across the sheets of drawings, “and even people.” One of the drawings, a barrel cactus, looked like a very short person with long stringy hair and a lei of flowers around his neck. Walt went to a taller drawing that looked very similar to the poster from The Living Desert he had shown them earlier. “And this section of the ride will be a good place to insert old Mr. Bobcat here, chased up the cactus. Once through the cactus forest, we will enter Geyser Country. The bubbling pots of mud, or Devil’s Paint Pots, as they are also called, will be a good lead-in for geysers blowing into the air. Should be a good way to cool people down on hot days, too. No, I don’t want them to get drenched,” he clarified as he caught the smiles of some of the men. “Make sure they go off before the train gets there and only the mist is left to drive the train through.” Pointing at the largest geyser, Walt continued, “This one is going to be called Old Unfaithful. Dallas will mention that you never know when she will blow and the train will slowly go past her after coming to a complete stop for the first eruption. Make sure the water actually goes over the track here. Then, once the train starts up, have it start bubbling again, threatening. That way we can add some danger for the last cars of the train.”
When there was a lengthy pause, the men looked at each other. Their boss was just standing there smiling as he stared at the large map of the new layout. Used to this, they still wondered how long they should wait or who should interrupt him. One of the older animators cleared his throat. When that didn’t work, he gave a shrug and piped up, “Say, Walt, how many animals and such do you think you want?”
Walt broke off from his thoughts. He was mentally walking each foot of the track in his mind, picturing each one of the geysers erupting and the balancing rocks that would start rolling towards the slow-moving train. Then, disappearing into the dark cavern, the train would come upon glowing pools of fluorescent-dyed water in every color of the rainbow that came to life under the blacklights. Bridal Veil Falls. Witch’s Cauldron. Geyser Grotto. The music was not quite haunting, but mysterious and heavenly…. “Hmm? What? Animals, you say?” Walt momentarily frowned as the vision of winding pools of color faded from his mind. Instantly back on their track, he waved his arms. “Lots! I think, between the mammals, reptiles and birds, we can get at least one hundred and fifty. Maybe two hundred if you all are clever enough!” he kidded. “And I want to hear them, too. I want to hear the elk snorting and the coyotes howling and the rattlesnakes…well, rattling.”
Those taking notes wrote “200” and underlined it.
“Let me tell you now about Cascade Peak. It’s going to be beautiful!”
Disneyland – 1964
In bright red letters, the words The Order of the Red Handkerchief stood out on the seven-by-ten-inch paper certificate that was just handed to Tony as he finished his shift on the Mine Train.Inside the ornate green border were the fancy letters R.M.R.R. for Rainbow Mountain Railroad on one side, and N.W.R.R. for Nature’s Wonderland Railroad on the other side of a brightly colored oval rendering of the yellow Mine Train emerging from a cave and going over the trestle. Two smaller engines, one colored green and the other yellow, framed Tony’s name and mentioned he “is a stockholder in good standing” in the Order of the men who worked on the Mine Train and wore the trademark red handkerchief. At the bottom of the “100 Shares” certificate, was a bright blue drawing of the Sleeping Beauty Castle and the dates of the Rainbow Caverns Mine Train of 1956 to 1959 and the Mine Train thru Nature’s Wonderland established 1960.
At Tony’s pleased grin, he was told, “Congratulations, you were approved. Our next meeting is at the Hilton’s ballroom. I was told Walt will be there, too. Bring your I.D. card. You’re buying the first round!”
The Island – 1817
Wals stared at the oval piece of plastic in his shaking hands. He slowly stood from where he was crouched next to the injured wolf. Those disconcerting blue eyes intently watched his every move. Wals’ breathing suddenly became labored as if the walls of the cabin were closing in on him. Closing his fist, the pin puncturing the palm of his hand, he hurr
ied out of the open door, gulping in the fresh air as he tried to calm his erratically-beating heart.
His mind still not quite able to believe what he was thinking, he slowly turned to face the small log cabin and backed up one step at a time until he could really look at it. Small rectangular in shape. One door in the middle. A small, square window on each side of the door. The chimney on the right side of the building. The split-rail fence was four rails high, zigging and zagging unevenly around the little garden plot. The tree that was recently struck by lightning was off to the right side of the yard, a large eagle’s nest newly constructed at the very top of the empty boughs. The brown mare, Sukawaka, was standing placidly in her favorite place by the fence facing the River. A few barrels were scattered around the clearing. The now-empty clothesline strung between two leaning posts.
Spinning around and stumbling all the way down to the River’s edge, Wals looked to the right. There, farther away than he thought it should be, was Keel Boat Rapids, lined with smooth, round boulders, the River’s current causing white water to churn and foam around the huge rocks. Raising his eyes from the Rapids, he tried to see the Pinewood Village, but it was too far away, a faint tendril of rising smoke the only indicator it was there at all. Where were the little native girl and her shaggy dog standing on the log? He could barely see the empty log protruding out over the River. I should be able to see them, he told himself. Why is the River so wide?
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