By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
Over the years, I have traveled to Disneyland in California with several very excited people. The most excited one—over three decades ago—was my then almost 60-year-old mother.
Mom was born in Burlington, Vermont, just south of the American/Canadian border. She grew up in a blue collar Irish-Catholic family. They never ventured far from home, but when they did, it was to nearby places like Boston or New York City. All that changed when my father enlisted in the Air Force.
Suddenly, Mom was traveling to places like Bermuda, Louisiana, and Orleans in France where I was born. After France, the growing O’Brien family was transferred to Hill Air Force Base in Ogden, Utah. With the exception of one trip to Northern California, it was the furthest west Mom ever got—until my sister Karen and I decided to take her to Disneyland in the mid-1980s.
Why Disney? Mom always wanted to go. I just graduated from law school and had a good job (and an income) with my law firm. My sister had a good job too. We just decided it was the right time to go, and so we did.
I booked a hotel room in Anaheim on Harbor Boulevard, right across the street from the park’s main entrance. The adventures started there, before we ever reached the “Happiest Place on Earth,” primarily because both Karen and I are notorious sleep talkers/walkers, and Mom was too excited to sleep.
The weather forecasts were sketchy, suggesting it might rain. Apparently, I worried about it in my sleep. Mom said I keep jumping up, pulling back the drapes, and staring intently out the window into the darkness. My antics were unnerving enough, but once I also flicked the light on and off too, which triggered my sister’s nocturnal activity.
She was sharing a double bed with Mom. While Mom watched and wondered why I was flicking the lights, she felt movement beside her. Sound asleep, Karen opened her eyes and slowly sat up from the covers up with her arms crossed over her chest funeral style. Mom was happy when that night of the living dead ended, and dawn arrived with clear weather.
We walked across the street and paid $25 each for a full day all access pass. Disneyland in the mid-1980s did not yet feature Splash Mountain (built in 1989), Toon Town (1993), the Indiana Jones Adventure (1995), or California Adventure (December 2001). They did, however, sell those frozen bananas everyone seems to like. We tried one. It was fine, if you like to break your teeth on a chocolate-covered rock.
We also were there for the last year (after three decades) for the Golden Horseshoe Revue. The musical comedy show (with lunch) featured female vocalist Sluefoot-Sue as well as an Irish tenor, a traveling salesman, and can-can girls. Between riding the Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion, we saw one of the final shows. Mom really enjoyed it. To my everlasting surprise, however, what she loved most was the life size animated Disney characters. Our trip turned into a day long search for them as they wandered around.
If you have been to Disneyland recently, you know that today (and by today, I mean when the park is not closed by COVID-19), the characters stay in marked/fixed places and you either make appointments or queue up to “meet” them. Back then, however, there was no such crowd control and it was more like the cartoon wild west.
The characters walked around the park and you elbowed your way past what could be a fan-free-for-all to say your hellos and get your photo. We found most of them, believe it or not, in just one day. This included the all-star regulars—Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Chip and Dale (I still cannot tell them apart), and, of course, Goofy.
Mom hit it off so well with so well with Goofy that she picked a Goofy hat (instead of Mickey ears) as her souvenir. Eventually, we ran out of superstars like Goofy to hug and take pictures with, and had to start rubbing shoulders with the second tier players. I refer to the Mad Hatter, Sneezy the Dwarf, and the second ugly stepsister from Cinderella, who really was not as bad in person as she seemed in the full length animated feature.
Towards closing time, Mom still had enough energy to spot, chase down, and pose with the mute cat sidekick who—along with Honest John the fox—had lured Pinocchio away to Pleasure Island where the poor wooden boy grew donkey ears and a tail. I had to look up the cat’s name when I wrote this blog. It’s Gideon.
I knew our Disneyland outing was successful when, the next day, Mom was so completely exhausted that she hardly said a word during our excursion to Marineland. She wore her Goofy hat most of day and did not show much excitement at the sea life, except for a few brief moments when she got to pet a dolphin named Flipper or something like that.
In contrast to the well-documented social media world of today, we only took about seven or eight photos on this entire memorable trip. Fortunately, we had the good sense to use the camera when it counted, during what perhaps was the highlight of the trip for Mom.
We were strolling near “It’s a Small World” and saw a rare sight—an A-list Disney character with no one else around. As we walked (Mom ran) up to Pluto, he grabbed Mom’s hand, and they started waltzing to “When You Wish Upon a Star,” the theme park music Disney piped perpetually though nearby hidden speakers. We snapped pictures on our Polaroid.
When Mom had finished dancing with Mickey Mouse’s dog, I asked, “How was it?” She said, “It was great, once I listened to his instructions.” “Mom,” I said, “the Disney characters do not talk to the guests.” She responded, without any hesitation, “Pluto does…to me. He told me to let him lead, and so I did.”
Mom’s mother died when Mom was only 8-years-old. Thereafter, her widowed father’s struggles with alcoholism effectively made Mom an orphan. She lived with siblings, foster families, and in a boarding school—not much of a childhood. Yet, sometimes what we know least we understand best.
My mother’s joyful exuberance during her first and only trip to the Magic Kingdom taught a valuable lesson to my sister and me, just as we started our own adult lives. Walt Disney said it well, explaining that “the real trouble with the world” is that “too many people grow up.” The gospel writer Matthew put it this way: “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. His book Monastery Mornings (found here), about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, will be published by Paraclete Press (more information here) in August 2021.
