When I was a child in South Dakota, I knew about Disneyland long before I visited it, thanks to an hour-long advertisement called “Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color” that aired every Sunday night. Growing up modestly in the Midwest, Anaheim seemed as remote as Mars. I had a friend who made the pilgrimage and returned with a mouse-ear cap, which we revered as if it were a holy relic.
My grandparents took my sister and me to Disneyland during a swing through the Western states when I was 9. It was the era of ticket books and “E ticket” rides. Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion were new and amazing, and both remain favorites to this day. I know how every illusion in the Haunted Mansion works (there are no holograms!), and have even adapted some for my homemade Halloween haunt, but the original is so masterfully done I can only gape and grin.
After my family moved to California, Disneyland trips became more frequent. I remained a fan. Luckily, my wife, Karen, felt likewise, and we’ve indoctrinated our daughters as well.
I’m not naïve. I understand that Disney is a multinational corporation that manipulates emotions and plays upon nostalgia to maximize shareholder value. Its goal is to part me from as much of my money as possible.
When I pass through Disneyland’s gates and walk through the tunnels beneath the train track, where even the air feels charged with enchantment, that seems like a fair deal.
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