Hidden Mickey 5: Chasing New Frontiers Read online

  The list Riggio had prepared for him the day before instructed Nathan to replace potted plants near the construction area of what would become New Orleans Square, raking the paths on Tom Sawyer Island, and trimming back most of the shrubs along those paths.

  He had one thing to do before starting his ‘to-do’ list.

  “These are the last of the bags, Nate,” a woman whispered in the cool early morning darkness. Standing hidden, at the side of the Cash Control building, the darkness behind the side wall that enclosed the stairs that led up to the men’s locker room provided a perfect cloak of deception.

  The young woman was standing beside a mail cart used to distribute company mail within the various departments during the day. The cart was divided into two sections: one half of the cart was divided into numerous wooden cubby holes that were constructed in three vertical columns. These boxed openings were similar to small open compartments often found on a roll-top desk. However these deep holes were bolted onto the base of the cart in such a way that they stood like a tower, three feet tall. These were the distribution compartments for incoming mail; each cubby having a label that corresponded to different departments within the park, over twenty specific open spaces.

  The other half of the cart was an enclosed area that was over three feet deep and a foot and a half long by a foot wide. Normally, a large canvas bag was hung in the deep walled-in rectangular space. Outgoing mail would be tossed into this bag as the cart made its rounds to each department. However, this morning, there were not one but four heavy canvas bags taking up the interior of the boxed in space.

  None of the bags contained any mail.

  Nathan had already been handed the top two bags which were bulky but lighter than the bottom two bags.

  The woman beside the cart whispered, “Those bottom bags must have a lot in them, Nate. They are very heavy. I don’t think I can lean in and fish them out. It was hard enough for me to drop the bags inside from the counter.”

  He took a moment and looked around. Seeing they were still alone, Nathan leaned in and grabbed the leather handle on the next bag and heaved it up out of the cart and, using both hands on the leather grip, he placed the bag onto his maintenance cart under the tarp he had covering the first two bags. Replicating this transaction, Nathan got the last bag out from the bottom of the cart and placed it with the other three. He quickly moved some potted plants around the bags and then covered everything with the dark green tarp laying over the flatbed. The whole transition of four total bags took less than a couple of minutes.

  Nathan arched his back, feeling the strain from lifting the heavy bags from such an awkward angle. At the same time, his eyes darted around as they had been doing for the last few minutes.

  “Okay, you know the drill, Lynie,” Nathan whispered, looking at the woman dressed in a white blouse and black knee-high skirt.

  Reciting from an earlier discussion, Lynie said, “I go back home, call in sick, and then I have my friend call my supervisor saying he’s my doctor and that I’ve suffered a broken collar bone from a car accident.”

  “Yes, and then I want you to leave town.”

  “Really? Do you think that is necessary? No one knows our relationship.”

  Nathan was getting antsy about standing here this long. “Yes!” he said, louder than a whisper. “Yes,” he repeated softer. “Just go. I’ll call you in a week, when I’m done with everything. Okay? Now go.”

  Nathan gave Lynie a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Everything will be okay.”

  Nathan checked the tarp and made sure the bags were hidden behind the plants and that the covering wouldn’t blow off the back when he drove. He then jumped in the driver’s seat and turned the cart’s ignition key to the ‘on’ position. With only a slight hum, the electric motor moved the cart forward as he depressed the accelerator.

  Glancing back at Lynie, Nathan was glad to see her walking away from where they had met. So far, it appeared no one else had seen a thing.

  After turning to his left through an open gate into Tomorrowland, Nathan drove slowly, trying to make his heart slow down. Driving the cart through the entrance of Tomorrowland, around the Hub of Main Street and across the front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, Nathan only passed a few early maintenance workers; two were working on the entrance to the Submarine Voyage attraction back in Tomorrowland and two more could be seen painting the drawbridge’s large black chain links in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.

  As he left the entrance to Tomorrowland, he entered Main Street at the circular drive around the Hub. Looking past the workers in front of the castle, Nathan glanced up at the little windows and openings that were visible within the castle’s gray brickwork; Nathan started feeling paranoid, thinking there were faces looking out, people watching him, knowing. However, at nearly five-thirty in the morning, he knew the entire Park was ghostly, devoid of human life. Yet, it was that ethereal vacancy that seemed to increase Nathan’s paranoia, not alleviate it.

  He forced himself to not look at the castle, instead directing his attention ahead of the cart to the entrance of Frontierland, following the headlight of his cart as it seemed to lead the way within the predawn darkness. He passed two more maintenance workers who were in a similar cart; theirs filled with cans of paint, a ladder, tarps and other tools. Nathan forced a smile and nodded at the two who were talking animatedly about something.

  Nathan had the uneasy feeling they were talking about him…just like when he was in high school and he felt everyone was talking about him, making fun of him. He always had been insecure and hopelessly friendless.

  Shaking the past from his mind, Nathan drove through Frontierland, past the shooting gallery on the right and the Pendleton Clothing Shop on the left. He again focused on the headlight of his cart, the beam of light expanding out, shedding a wide swath of illumination the further out the beam reached. As Nathan steered the cart, the light illuminated the wide, expansive walkway toward the left, past the unmoving Mark Twain Steam Ship slumbering at her loading dock. The headlamp flashed across the large petrified tree stump that sat next to the Mark Twain dock; the peculiar, five-ton, seventy-five million year-old specimen was nearly ten feet tall and certainly the oldest “attraction” in the Park.

  Turning past the petrified tree, the cart hummed parallel to the Aunt Jemima restaurant on the left as Nathan pulled up along a wooden wall that blocked the view of guests to the massive construction site that was to be the sixth—and newest—themed area of the Park, New Orleans Square.

  As the sky to the east started to lighten with the coming dawn, Nathan quickly took the potted plants from under the tarp and set them over the railing of the planter that was in front of the raft dock, which during the day, took guests by the raft-full, over to Tom Sawyer Island and back. Adjusting a rake and shovel along the outer portion of the tarp along its edge, Nathan was careful not to let the tarp expose the additional items on the back of the cart in case someone else might be watching or working nearby.

  Planning to come back and finish planting the flowers later, he left the potted plants and backed his cart up to the vacant Tom Sawyer Island raft dock that was directly behind his cart. He stopped by the exit gate for the rafts and got out of the cart. Pulling open the wide gate to the rafts, Nathan hooked a leather strap over the end of the gate to the wooden railing, holding the gate open, and then hopped back into the cart where he continued to back the cart up, maneuvering it onto the raft. The Tom Sawyer Island rafts, flat and large enough to carry thirty to forty people to or from the Island when the Park was open, were plenty big enough to carry Nathan and his cart of goods.

  Having been taught how to operate the gasoline-powered motor of the raft and drive it across the river, Nathan pushed the starter button that was below the throttle turning over the engine, willing it to warm up quickly. Luckily for him, the raft must have been used earlier, as he could feel warmth radiating from the camouflaged wooden engine cover that was angled like an A-frame
over the engine compartment right in front of him; the motor began purring smoothly. Just before he started to put the engine into reverse to release the tension rope which was holding the raft firmly against the dock, a maintenance man jumped on board.

  “Hey, how’s it going? Mind if I catch a lift?” the grey-haired man, who looked to be in his late fifties, said as he stepped on board. He was wearing a light blue maintenance shirt and darker blue pants and was carrying a small tool box; a leather tool belt around his waist held tools sticking out from various leather holders. A black walkie-talkie also hung on the belt, which made Nathan that much more nervous. A thick paper cup was held in his other hand with a thin, wooden stirring stick angled off inside the cup. Vapor was swirling up over the lip.

  Nathan instinctively looked over at his cart parked in the middle of the raft, checking to see that the tarp was covering the bags.

  “Uh, doin’ great,” Nathan murmured in response to the man’s question.

  “Not a morning guy or just haven’t had your coffee yet?” the other man said with a smile.

  “Uh, sort of both, I guess,” Nathan stammered, pushing the throttle down to back the raft up.

  “Not the best job for a non-morning guy,” the older man said, nodding his head in the direction of Nathan’s landscaping cart.

  Nathan thought about what the man was saying while trying to conceal what he felt was surely visible: His heart pounding in his chest as it were a man in a sinking barrel banging against the its interior. Nathan leaned down and pulled up the tension rope as the raft backed up a few feet. He quickly returned to the throttle and pushed it up in the opposite direction. The raft went forward; a stream of water shot out the back behind the steering oar which was a long wooden shaft that was suspended in a “Y” yoke. The yoke, in turn, was discretely connected to a real rudder below the water line. Nathan used the long steering pole to direct the raft across the river, making a wide, half circle with the square boat so as to be facing the correct way upon landing on the island across the sixty-five foot wide river channel.

  “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get a transfer to the afternoon or evening shift,” Nathan finally was able to say without stuttering.

  “Hey, there you go,” the older man replied, taking a sip of coffee from the cup in his hand. “I personally love this early morning shift. Don’t have to deal with all those tourists, if ya know what I mean?” the other man offered. Looking over at the cart, the man then asked, “Working on the Island this morning?”

  Nathan thought it was pretty obvious but also knew the guy was just making small talk as Nathan directed the raft, lining it up for the landing.

  “Yeah, just trimming all the plants along the trails. You?” Nathan asked, trying to redirect the discussion away from anything that had to do with him.

  “Got a broken drinking fountain at the fort. Spittin’ water out into the faces of the guests.”

  Nathan nodded, suddenly picturing a kid laughing at his Pop as a stream of water shoots the guy in the eye. He was glad to learn the man was not going to be anywhere near where he had planned to go.

  As the raft approached the dock, Nathan threw the throttle into reverse to slow the awkward raft down so as to not bang the raft into the dock. He could just picture that making such a hard landing would send the items on his cart onto the raft deck. He pictured the potential disaster; the bags, filled with who-knew-how-much-money, being thrown to the wooden deck of the raft and hundreds of twenty dollar bills spilling out all over the place like a plastic bag of raked leaves bursting open.

  With a soft bump, Nathan actually made one of the best landings he had ever done with one of the rafts. Not having had a lot of time driving the boats, it was rare that he was able to bring it in so smooth.

  “Nice landing, young fella. Been on some real bangers,” the older man said, stepping off just as the raft nudged up against the rubber pylons that lined the dock edge. “Hey, need help with your cart?”

  Nathan hooked the tension rope to the cleat on the dock and pushed the throttle back to forward to maintain tension of the raft against the dock.

  “Nope, I’ve got it. Thanks though.”

  “Have a good morning…or, at least, have a better morning,” the older man said as he made a symbolic toast toward Nathan with his coffee cup and then sauntered off, walking up the trail to the left.

  Before getting into the cart, Nathan slipped off his white landscaping cap and wiped his brow. It was far from warm that morning, but Nathan was sweating bullets.

  Some guests are going to be problems no matter what the Park does.

  David Koenig’s book,

  Mouse Tales—A Behind-the-Ears Look at Disneyland

  CHAPTER 11

  The Right Place

  Saturday, June 24th, 2010

  3:30pm

  “Okay Mal. What in the world was that all about? Back there? With that Blain guy? Care to share with your older sister who ‘doesn’t speak much English’?”

  Malaysia was leaning against the wooden post while the two waited in line for Splash Mountain. Listening to her sister grill her on the whole Blain thing, a thing that was only that…a “thing,” Malaysia felt Laura was making a big deal out of a very little ‘thing.’ At the same time, however, while Malaysia would never admit to it, she was still thinking about Blain’s green eyes, infectious smile and alluring physique.

  “Sorry Laura,” Malaysia said, shrugging. “Back when we were sitting on that bench, you know, before going on the canoe ride? When we were finishing those Fritter things?” Laura nodded with a ‘yes, yes, get on with it’ look in her eyes. “Well, for some reason, Blain caught my eye when he was on the river, while we were sitting there.” Malaysia waited for a moment. When Laura didn’t say anything, looking as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, Malaysia added, “You know, it was like Blain said, ‘out there on the river, you are on stage’…Well, he was right. It was my turn, I guess, to look at someone else ‘on stage.’” Malaysia shrugged as if to say, ‘don’t ask me why it happened.’

  “Well, just forget it. Forget Blain. Forget the canoes. Forget the dang Fritters!” Laura said as the line moved up a number of steps.

  “I already have, Reverend Mother,” Malaysia said with a little sarcasm.

  Laura stared at her younger sister, her eyes seeing deeper into Malaysia’s torn feelings. “I’m sorry, Mal,” Laura softened. “You know our situation. We…”

  “We can’t possibly get involved with someone here…ESPECIALLY here,” Malaysia finished her sentence.

  Laura nodded. She knew Malaysia understood that “here” meant here in the United States… not just here at Disneyland. They were very quiet, moving forward slowly as the line for Splash Mountain got closer to the loading dock.

  After another minute, Laura broke the silence. “He was pretty dang cute…and extremely nice.”

  Malaysia cracked a smile. “That he was.”

  6:00pm

  At six o’clock that same evening, Blain and five other canoe ride operators finished the day by taking the final canoes with guests out on the river, storing all the paddles from the ride into a large, wooden storage shed just behind the loading dock. Two of the operators ran a cable through all six of the canoes securing the three that fit in the flume dock, three outside the flume along the outer perimeter.

  The Canoe Lead for the day, Carl, put a “Closed” sign out on the entrance to the ride before walking out of Critter Country joining the five others who waited for him.

  Most all the canoe ride operators were friends with each other and a lot of kidding went back and forth between the six men, all with good ‘canoe’ builds. It wasn’t uncommon to have a few lady guests hang around the dock, waiting for some of the guys to get off work. The canoe ride was often considered the “rock star” of attractions, if such a title could fit an attraction at Disneyland. Two of the guides split off as they spotted girls that were indeed waiting for them by the side of the entran
ce to Critter Country.

  Blain was a little more quiet than usual. His partner for the day, Darren, punched him in the shoulder. “What’s up, my man? You’ve been really quiet since this afternoon.”

  While Blain was trying to be nonchalant, he was obviously, looking around, even looking over the shoulders of Darren, a basketball player for California State University, Fullerton who stood a good six-foot-six in his moccasin flats.

  “No, I’m good, D.” Blain replied. “Just thinking about playing tonight, I guess.”

  “Oh, yeah, the band. Where you guys at, the Caper’s Club down on Katella, right?”

  “Yep,” Blain said, suddenly realizing he had not been thinking about the gig since the afternoon. “Hey, it’s Saturday night. Come out and join us, Darren. Caper’s has a great floor and the sound guy is awesome.”

  Darren smiled. “Is Juanita coming?”

  Blain laughed. “I think so. Her roommate, Andrea, said she was coming. So….”

  “Okay. I’m there,” Darren said with a quick, resolute response.

  Blain remembered something. “Oh, hey, D. I’ve got to get over to Joe and Bill on Jungle Cruise. I told them I would drop off a song list so they would have it to look at on their way over to the club. I need to run over there before they clock out.”

  “No sweat, man,” Darren said as Blain started to jog ahead. “Oh, and Blain, tell those Jungle Cruise operators that real men DON’T drive boats on a track,” Darren shouted at Blain who smiled and waved back at Darren.

  Blain knew he had to run over to his locker, get changed, grab the song lists that were in a manila folder in his locker, and run back to the Jungle Cruise, because Bill Roberts, his bass player, and Joe Dennis, his drummer, were scheduled to get off their shift on Jungle Cruise right at seven p.m. Blain knew it was going to be tight to have the band ready for a sound check by eight o’clock. Their first set didn’t start until nine, but Blain hated to be rushing around before then, especially on a Saturday night when there were always a lot of people hitting the club early. A lot of cast members who worked days would be there ready to party even before the band started playing.