It’s been a minute since I last entered Disneyland. My first visit happened in 1965, when my mother was seven months pregnant with me. My second was around 1973 or 1974. The third was when Jimmy Carter was president, and Star Wars, now Star Wars: A New Hope, had dropped a month and a half before. Yes, 1977 was the last time I set foot in Disneyland. Why so long? My parents had stopped planning vacations southward, instead devoting downtime toward faraway family visits. I thought my high-school class might journey by train down to the Magic Kingdom for Grad Night, but no. We opted for Santa Cruz instead. My prolonged absence, then, involved others’ decisions, circumstances beyond my control, and, later, feeling no desire whatsoever for anything Disneyland.

In the implausible event of my return, my friend Mortefina will join me, recording my reactions to all the changes and expansions. I wouldn’t recognize the place, I’m told. Mind you, I can’t say I’ve avoided Disney properties completely. I’ve shopped at the Disney Store. Who can keep track of what Disney owns? Any given restaurant or hotel where I’ve hung my hat may have been a Disney joint. I can’t say I’ve broken any records either. One friend reports having not dropped by since 1974, and several acquaintances admit they’ve never gone at all. Even after a comparatively modest forty-nine years, I remember enticements that tickled my fancy and others that did not.

 A combination of the Disneyland Guidebook for Summer 1977, located at https://ia903204.us.archive.org/5/items/disneyland-summer-1977-guidebook-01-images/DisneylandSummer1977Guidebook01.pdf,  and fans’ accompanying commentary reveals developments for that year. Disneyland’s PeopleMover now had the SuperSpeed Tunnel, which in 1982 became the Tron SuperSpeed Tunnel. On January 2, the Mine Train through Nature’s Wonderland closed and was replaced by the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Most importantly, on May 27, two days after Star Wars exploded into our lives, Space Mountain and the Space Stage opened in Tomorrowland.

Space Mountain

In 1959, the Matterhorn premiered, and Walt Disney started springboarding ideas for a space-themed coaster. Several incidents stalled development, however. Walt Disney passed away. Disney Company commenced building Walt Disney World, and there wasn’t enough real estate for a second roller coaster. The idea resurfaced in 1975, and in 1977, the world met Space Mountain.

I remember loving the exhibits designed to at least psychologically shorten waiting in line. We viewed snippets of animated science-fiction space adventures as we moved along conveyor-belt walkways toward a ride that would last between two and three minutes. I wanted more than the two turns I rode it, but E tickets were dear. One could spin inside the Teacups endlessly, but not the bigger E-ticket attractions. The A-E ticketing system died long ago, but I continue referring to expensive dining and other undertakings as “E-ticket rides.”

Country Bear Jamboree

On January 24, 2024, Disneyland closed the Country Bear Jamboree, an animatronic stage show featuring hillbilly bears singing beautiful mountain-country music. There were the Five Bear Rugs, the Sunbonnet Trio, and, best of all, Big Al, crooning “Blood on the Saddle” with his sad, drawn-out baritone. Certainly, not an E-ticket ride, but I loved those bears. One female bear was named Teddi Barra, which could have been a reference to silent-film era superstar Theda Bara, but I doubt it. Teddi slowly descended on a pink-flowered swing from a hole in the ceiling. Her costume was mostly pink and blue, unlike the sumptuous Ms. Bara’s more somber outfits.

Overall, the Country Bears resembled Hee Haw, the musical comedy show set in mythical Kornfield Kounty, with your “pickin’ and grinnin’” hosts, Roy Clark and Buck Owens. Big Al partially resembles Alvin “Junior” Samples, the slow-moving yet enterprising yokel hawking Samples’ Sales, reachable by BR-549, his phone number, and now the name of a popular country swing band. Yes, Big Al was no salesman, and Junior played no instruments nor sang, but my eleven-year-old brain went there, nonetheless.

Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride

The Wild Ride is running today, and, most importantly, riders still collide with a train, die, and go to Hell! I worried that far-right evangelical Christians would have compelled Disney to remove this wonderfully unique ending, but quick research shows that, although Disney has refurbished the ride, a not-so-eternal damnation awaits those who dare! I went to Hell five times! In one day! And I could do so again, theoretically at least, given I’m not likely to share that twisted drive again. Take that, evangelical Christians! (Irony alert: evangelical Christians always tell me I’m going to Hell regardless.)

Pirates of the Caribbean

Pirates of the Caribbean was quite a life-slice for tween Chuck, traveling by boat through tepid waters, serenaded by an unseen masculine choir intoning, “Yo ho, yo ho! A pirate’s life for me,” surrounded with tableaux of, well, images of a pirate’s life: sea battles, drunken escapades, and what I’ll call a brothel. My television-watching generation was familiar with sex workers and drunks, but the bride auction provided a new experience. Back then, I didn’t possess the wherewithal to understand misogyny and human trafficking. My older and wiser lip curls at the memory now. Thankfully, this scene no longer stands, and the ride has been altered to reflect the Pirates of the Caribbean cinema franchise. A soused pirate wallowing with pigs offered another tragic attempt at humor. I’m not certain if he’s left or not. Sing it: no thanks, no thanks! No pirate life for me!

Motels

Katella Avenue sported several theme motels, reasonably priced for working-class families, nowhere near rich enough for the Disney Hotel. In 1977, we stayed at the Musketeer Motel, right outside the Disneyland parking lot. Motels were new and exciting. Previously, we stayed at the Tinker Bell, which had no vacancy, and so on to the Musketeer with its heated pool and continental breakfasts.

            One evening, my father and I walked down Katella Avenue, seeking a convenience store where he could buy smokes. Outside a 7-11, a young woman wearing a fluorescent green mini skirt commented that I was a handsome boy. Dad thanked her. On the way out, I noticed her leaning into a car where a man was telling her to watch out for a brown Chevy sedan. I asked my dear old dad what was wrong with brown Chevy sedans. “Cops. She doesn’t want to get arrested,” he answered, matter-of-factly. The motels were a business hub, I learned, for the real life I witnessed on television. She thought I was handsome, however. I hope no brown sedans ever crossed her path. May Disney’s alleged magic keep protecting her if she’s still with us.

            The Musketeer Motel eventually was demolished and replaced with Disneyland Resorts, which I’m sure charge a packet. I’ve slept in worse accommodations than the Musketeer Motel. I once shared a room with three drunken snorers at the remnant-Soviet hotel in Lviv, Ukraine. Vodka filtered through human sweat stinks. Thankfully, those gents didn’t find me handsome. Blessings abound.

Why I’m Done

I’ve lost all desire for Disneyland. Age and a lifetime of third-shift work have killed my tolerance for crowds. I understand why people love the place, however. Disney owns what fuels our fantasies, everything Star Wars and Marvel, particularly. Fans wonder at immersive attractions that put them right into their favorite adventures and dreams come true. I get it, but I’m a wet blanket who can’t pay for what are essentially fancy commercials. I’m content with letting Disney remain a pleasant memory, a fragment from when my parents were alive, loved me, and sacrificed for their children’s entertainment. I’m afraid the Happiest Place on Earth feels less so personally these days. Sorry, not sorry. Despite my reticence, I pray your bliss never falters, and that your gallivants within Walt’s phenomenon rocks your world endlessly.