Hidden Mickey 5: Chasing New Frontiers Read online

It was Blain who introduced Mark and Jimmy to the game on Tom Sawyer Island. Blain’s father, Oliver Walters, who helped finance his way through college by working Summers at Disneyland as a ride operator in the early 1970’s, told his son about the days, some three decades earlier, when he and his friends played hide-and-seek on the island. Often, while running along the paths or meandering through the caves on the island, Blain could imagine his father having passed along those same paths decades earlier that Blain now was traversing. Even at twelve years of age, Blain felt a wave of nostalgia as he ran his hands along smooth, time-worn, wooden rails, the same ones perhaps, that his father had run his own hands across a generation ago.

  Like his dad, Blain had straight blonde hair that danced across his forehead as he ran to the right of the landing dock for the Rafts and disappeared within a grove of thick trees and bushes that covered the eastern tip of Tom Sawyer Island. He followed the trail that was lined with wooden rails bolted to sturdy posts. The connection of rails-to-posts was camouflaged with rope, made to look as if the ropes themselves held the rails in place. The trail wove up a knoll to what Blain called “the most perfect tree” whose branches were spaced symmetrically and with purpose; the trunk was as straight as a telephone pole and as thick as an elephant. It took a number of years before a much younger Blain was old enough to realize that the tree was totally man-made—the only tree on the island, in fact, that was not naturally growing out of the ground. It was contoured with concrete around a mesh of steel rebar, much like its much larger faux sister tree across the river, Tarzan’s Tree House.

  When Blain’s father worked at Disneyland, Tarzan’s Tree House in New Orleans Square was then ‘occupied’ by a family called the Robinsons, better known to visitors of that period as the “Swiss Family Robinson” from the Disney movie of the same name which Blain had only seen once when he was much younger. Oliver, Blain’s father, would still call the tree the “Swiss Family Tree House,” when his family would come to Disneyland. Blain only knew the tree and its occupying structures within as “Tarzan’s Tree House,” but let his dad call the tree by whatever name he wanted. Like the Swiss Family/Tarzan tree across the river at the convergence of Adventureland and New Orleans Square, a tree house was perched in the large artificial Magnolia tree here on Tom Sawyer Island; the small tree house was centered high up in the tree, above the core of the main trunk, accessed via narrow steps within the hollowed-out bottom section of the trunk. The narrow steps led up inside the tree trunk then outside through a large, open “knot”, an opening large enough for kids—and flexible adults—to pass through. From there and up a couple more steps was a narrow deck that skirted the front side of the tree house making for a great overlook of the west side of Tom Sawyer Island. The surrounding foliage included mature Douglas fir pine trees and shrubs making it difficult to distinguish the realistic-looking Magnolia tree to that of the other bona fide trees that filled in the sloped hilltop.

  Blain climbed up the steps and entered the one-room tree house. A hand-printed sign hung above the open door identifying the structure as “Tom and Huck’s.” Inside, Blain paused to look through a glassless window frame within the small room, putting his hands on the smooth, hand-worn wooden window sill, leaning toward the view that looked out through a tunnel of trimmed foliage. Blain smiled at the visible expanse of the busy Rivers of America, its river traffic flowing clockwise around Tom Sawyer Island. Six canoes and two larger ships, the Columbia Sailing Ship and the Mark Twain Steamboat, all could be seen moving around the island at various times. In addition, two Tom Sawyer Rafts motored across the river at various intervals. On very busy days, a third raft could be put into service, taking island-goers to one of two additional docks; one was up the river towards the canoe dock and around located on the Frontierland side of the river.

  Blain watched for a moment as two canoes had slowed down at the bend of the river in front of New Orleans Square, waiting for the Tom Sawyer Island rafts to cross in front of them. From his vantage point, Blain couldn’t see the rafts; he knew from years of experience of visiting the Park that the canoes had to wait as the Rafts had the right-of-way. He learned later, from his father, that the larger the vessel on the River, the more that vehicle had the right-of-way, obviously making the canoes literally low-boat on the river totem pole.

  He glanced up toward the seawall that ran along the ‘mainland’ side of the river in front of a large confluence of people who were walking toward the entrance of Pirates of the Caribbean, and to and from New Orleans Square. The area was a kaleidoscope of perpetual movement; it was almost hypnotizing to watch.

  Realizing he was losing precious hunting time, Blain pulled himself from the view and exited the tree house enclosure. From the small platform that then led to a short set of steps down to the ground on the back side of the tree, Blain stopped halfway down to look out through the opening between the trees where he could see the Barrel Bridge off to the right in the distance. He suddenly spotted Jimmy’s dark green tee shirt moving across the bridge. A faded “Jaws” movie icon was on the front of Jimmy’s favorite shirt, depicting the angular head of the shark and menacing teeth of its open mouth heading straight up to the image of a girl swimming leisurely near a buoy. Blain recognized the wild, curly brown hair that bounced with each uneven step that Jimmy took as he crossed the floating barrel sections that made up the length of the bridge.

  “Gotcha,” Blain said out loud to himself, knowing now where Jimmy was heading along the one-way bridge.

  Blain knew from this point of the island, he could work his way toward the back of the island and not miss his friends. He knew they would likewise be looking for him, while simultaneously hiding like snipers behind anything that could hide the shape of a twelve-year-old boy. One rule of the game was that none of the friends could hide off trails or outside the normal areas of the island. They all knew that if they hopped over a railing and trudged off in areas that were off-limits to the Disneyland guests, they would risk being caught and potentially taken out of the Park, and security would have to call their parents to pick them up. It had never happened to them, but they had heard stories from other kids at school and from Blain’s dad; they knew if they were busted, it would end their games—and island fun—permanently.

  Blain worked his way back down the tree house steps, saying brief “excuse me’s” to people as he tried to avoid running into them. He still had to be careful that Mark, whom he didn’t know where he might be hiding, or stalking from, didn’t spot him first. It was difficult keeping a keen eye out for your friends who might spot you while at the same time trying not to run over or into other kids or adults. It was sometimes frustrating having to slow down to avoid those guests who were taking their “good ol’ time” as Jimmy would label some of the tourists that he selfishly thought should not be allowed on the island to interfere with their game. Of course, that was also part of the challenge—and the fun—of playing “Ditch ‘em” to Blain.

  The object of the game was to first try and spot a friend and then secretly circle around them and tag them on the back without being seen. Once one friend was caught, the two would team up and try to locate the third without being spotted. Typically, on a busy day on the island, it could take as long as an hour before one boy found another. It was easy to blend in, even to circle each side of the island several times, without being spotted.

  Blain knew the island like the back of his hand, having the advantage of his dad taking him to the Park many times with his family when he was younger. His father, Oliver, must have been a popular employee when he had worked at Disneyland, Blain once concluded. He seemed to still know a lot of people working in the park even nearly twenty years later, after he had quit working there to start teaching school. In fact, Blain was pretty proud that his family never had to pay to get into the park since his dad knew people who would “sign them in.” Today, his dad’s good friend Grant signed the boys in earlier and told them to “be good” and “have a great time.
” Grant did something in administration now. Blain didn’t know or really care to know, but Grant had worked with Blain’s dad on Pirates of the Caribbean and several other rides, ‘back in the day,’ as Oliver would sometimes describe his four years working in the Park back in the mid 1970’s.

  As usual, the boys had enthusiastically thanked Grant as they got their tickets and passed through the turnstiles at the Main Gate followed by high-fives all around. Grant smiled watching the three good-looking—and good-natured boys—blend into the crowd milling about the main entrance. He knew from his own experience he was giving the boys a thrill by signing them in. Even after twenty-plus years, Grant still got a kick out of signing family, friends, and friends of friends into the Park. It was one of the perks of his status as a supervisor and he seldom told people “no” when asked if he could sign people in, as long as it fit his work schedule.

  Blain knew a short cut across the other side of the island where he could head off Jimmy and hopefully catch him and maybe Mark along the way. Blain scurried down the path toward the entrance to Injun Joe’s Cave, a tunnel that headed across the middle of the island and exited on the other side of the big rock formations that made up the narrow middle part of the island. As he entered the cavern, Blain passed through a larger open area within the cave, with small, open ports near the jagged ceiling that served as skylights. Beams of sunlight could be seen coming through the open slots like daggers angling toward the cavern floor. Dust, being kicked up into the air by countless kids running from one cave entrance to the other, could be seen within the shafts of light; the particles floating as if suspended in water instead of air.

  In the center of the cave sat a large metal chest; rusty, old, and locked with an oversized antique-looking lock, the chest was every kid’s fantasy of finding lost pirate gold. According to the story of Tom Sawyer, Tom and Becky Thatcher had gotten lost in Injun Joe’s secret cave while looking for Joe’s hidden “den.” Supposedly filled with silver that Injun Joe had stolen and buried “under a cross,” this chest was securely bolted to the concrete floor and surrounded by wooden barrels that had the words “gun powder” and “supplies” stenciled round the casks. Blain hadn’t read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and knew nothing about who Injun Joe was or Tom, Huck, Becky or even Aunt Polly. He figured Walt Disney must have had some reason to put the big metal box that looked like a treasure chest in the cave. One thing was probably certain: There was little chance of any silver or other treasure being hidden in the chest. On more than one occasion, Blain or one of his friends would pound on the chest with their fists. Their hammering upon the box echoed, sounding as hollow as an empty oil drum.

  What Blain did know, he thought to himself while looking out toward the entrance to the cave, was that his friends were hunting him down just as he was hunting them. He gave the treasure chest a light tap with his fingertips as he circled around to the other side of the cavern. Quickly, he ducked through the narrow passage to his left and followed the winding cavern that led to the other side of the island.

  Circling around the south side of the island, Blain exited the other entrance to Injun Joe’s cave and cautiously walked up the path toward the old fort that was now closed up. In the old days, the fort had a snack bar and another cave that was an “Emergency Escape Tunnel” that guests could take from the fort down to the river’s edge on the north side of the island. Now, both ends of the tunnel were closed up and most people who visited the Island had no idea that there was an even longer, more elaborate cave system on the Island other than Injun Joe’s cave. Blain’s father once told young Blain that indeed the escape tunnel was the best cave on the Island. Blain asked him why they shut it down, but his father said he never really heard the reason except that it probably was a problem for security. Blain figured having one more cave would just make playing Ditch-em that much more difficult.

  Blain stayed close to the rock out-cropping to his right, glancing back behind him several times since he exited the cave, making sure Mark or Jimmy was not sneaking up behind him.

  Up ahead, Blain spotted a crouching Jimmy, hiding behind several tree trunks, looking out toward the path that lead up from the river. Blain smiled as he waited behind a corner of a boulder until Jimmy glanced back behind himself again and then focused his attention in the opposite direction. With stealth footwork—and hoping dry pine needles scattered on the path would not betray him—Blain shot across to where Jimmy was positioned and got up behind him before Jimmy knew he was even there.

  “Oh, man!” Jimmy complained, throwing his arms in the air as he turned around after being tagged, and a shouted, “Gotcha,” was triumphantly announced by Blain, just below the boarded-up entrance of the old fort that took up most of the back half of Tom Sawyer Island.

  “That was too fast!” Jimmy said, looking at Blain whose grin had “victory” written all over it.

  “Hey, no one beats me at Ditch’em!” Blain said expanding his pride-filled chest.

  “We got you that one time last summer,” Jimmy said, poking Blain in the chest with his finger.

  Mildly deflated, Blain said, “Oh…yeah. I forgot about that.”

  “Okay, well, let’s find Mark,” Jimmy said looking left and right. “He seems to find someplace interesting to hide and stays there the whole game,” Jimmy said, slapping Blain on the back followed by an enthusiastic, “Come on!”

  It took the two boys about a half-hour before catching a glimpse of Mark, who was spotted first at the top of Castle Rock, a tall rock formation designed to look like its namesake: a castle with a short, round turret and a pointed outcropping of rock forming a rough conical topping.

  The boys, laughing and pushing each other after Jimmy tagged Mark moments later, headed down to the front of the island where they each purchased lemonade from the food stand that sold snacks near the edge of the river.

  They sipped their lemonade and casually walked back along the trail that skirted the edge of the river on the northwest side of the island, the portion that was far less crowded as there was nothing of particular interest to see or play on. There was, however, a small wooden dock that extended out from the bank of the island about ten feet and faced out across the quiet river. On the far bank was a no-longer-used portion of a train trestle which, decades before, was part of the old Rainbow Caverns Mine Train until 1959 when the ride became the Mine Train Thru Nature’s Wonderland. The name-change was inspired by the popular Disney program, Walt Disney’s True-Life Adventure and the Mine Train survived fifteen years until 1975. Now, the curving track was all that was left of the little train ride as the new attraction, Big Thunder Mountain, presently towered over the land that the mine train once occupied. Off in the distance and beyond the wall of trees that lined the far end of the abandoned tracks, the boys could hear muted screams of excitement coming from the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the rollercoaster that resembled a run-away mine train.

  The boys pulled off their shoes and socks and then slid their legs under the bottom wooden rail of the little pier where they could dangle their feet in the water below while sitting at the edge of the short pier. The bottom rail was at just the right height for them to lean their arms over and drink their lemonade while looking out over the river. After running around for the past hour, combined with the very warm July afternoon, the timeout in the shade and the cool water on their feet was a welcomed retreat for the three boys.

  “Think there are any piranhas in here?” Mark asked, looking down at the dark green water, swirling his toes around, obviously not figuring on anything too dangerous lurking below.

  “Nah,” Blain said, taking a sip from his straw. “My dad said there isn’t anything in here except green food coloring and ducks.”

  “Really? Why color the water?” Jimmy asked, curiously.

  Blain, sitting between the two other boys, turned his head toward Jimmy. “Because, if they didn’t, you’d be able to see the track for the Mark Twain, down there,” Blain said matter-of-factl
y, pointing toward the middle of the river.

  Jimmy nodded, seemingly understanding then asked, “Hey, how deep’s the river anyway?”

  “I think Dad said it is about six feet in the middle,” Blain said, taking another sip of his drink while looking down the river as a canoe full of unsynchronized paddling guests approached. It looked like only the guide in front was doing any of the work, although his large arms and neck looked as if he alone could haul the canoe of sixteen guests around the river without much help. In fact, not only was he the only one really paddling, many of the guests behind him were dragging their paddles in the water, creating more drag.

  The boys watched as the canoe glided slowly along the tranquil river. The front guide of the canoe gave a friendly wave to the boys before shouting over to them, “Watch out for sharks, boys!”

  Blain held up his lemonade and shouted, “Yeah right.” He didn’t notice that Jimmy had pulled his feet up a few inches from the surface of the water for a moment.

  The boys continued to watch as the canoe slid by them from about thirty feet away. Suddenly, the cast member in the back who was leaning lazily against the curved gunwales of the canoe where it sloped up to a point behind him, swung his paddle over his head from the far side of the canoe to the other, twirling the paddle in an athletic-like motion resembling a samurai warrior switching hands with a long, spinning sword. As the spinning blade of the paddle came over the ride operator’s head, the guide brought his arm down whipping the flat end of the paddle against the water making a loud slapping sound. The force of the paddle hitting the water triggered a stream of water which shot from the surface of the river in a perfect spray toward the boys sitting on the pier. The stream of water, at least twenty-five feet in length from where the paddle slapped the surface to where the boys were sitting, ended right at their feet, barely getting even a few drops of river water on their ankles.