A Clean Image with a Smokers Cough – WDFM

A Clean Image with a Smokers Cough – WDFM

Well, I’ll be hornswoggled! Here I am, traipsing through The Presidio – a place that’s seen its share of soldiering and we’re on the proul for the house of the mouse.  A regular shrine to Mr. Walt Disney himself. A museum dedicated to the man who made a mouse a global sensation. It’s a caution, I tell you. Like finding a Sunday school in a saloon, or perhaps, like finding a particularly enthusiastic mime trapped in a saloon. It’s a grand affair. A regular cornucopia of Disneyana. Sketches, storyboards, letters… enough to make your head spin like a top, or perhaps enough to make you feel a mild sense of… bewilderment. They’ve got it all laid out, neat as a pin, a chronological journey through the life and times of Mr. Disney. From his humble beginnings to empire. The whole shebang. It’s impressive in a scrubbed-free-of-all-grit-and-grime-off type of way.

And the artistry! Decades of animation, a regular deluge of films and characters. It’s enough to make you believe in magic. Almost. But then you remember it’s all business, too. A mighty fine business, mind you, but a business nonetheless. A dream factory churning out dreams for a profit. That’s America for you. One can speculate. Disney, they say, practically invented modern animation. Or if he didn’t invent it, he certainly perfected it. From Steamboat Willie, a regular marvel of its time, to Snow White and beyond, he pushed the boundaries of what was possible. He wasn’t just telling stories, he was building a whole new world of moving pictures. It’s a testament to his ingenuity his willingness to take a chance. Or perhaps, it’s a testament to his relentless drive and ability to manage creative talent.

And then there’s Disneyland. A regular city of make-believe. A place where cartoons come to life. A testament to the American appetite for amusement. A dream made real, or at least, a very carefully managed version of reality. A simulacrum of joy, perhaps? The museum touches on this, naturally. The concept, the design, the sheer audacity of building a real-life cartoon. A place where fantasy and commerce intertwine seamlessly.

They paint Disney as a regular patriot, too. World War II, the 1960 Olympics… the first televised games mind you. Everyone wants to be remembered fondly. Or perhaps, everyone wants to control their own narrative. They present Disney as a civic-minded individual, a patriot, a man who contributed to his country in various ways. It’s a carefully constructed image, designed to enhance his legacy. He was always looking for new ways to do things, to create, to entertain. He was a businessman, an artist, and a tinkerer all rolled into one. He had a vision, and he pursued it with a regular bulldog tenacity. And then there’s the family angle. Walt, the loving husband, the doting father. A regular paragon of domestic bliss. Except– where’s Herbert? Walt’s brother. Vanished from the narrative like smoke in a gale, or perhaps, like a slightly awkward extra in a particularly well-funded film production. A curious omission, wouldn’t you say? A missing piece of the puzzle. Like a chapter ripped from a dime novel, or perhaps, like a crucial plot point excised from a particularly convoluted screenplay.

Now, here’s a funny thing. Disney, he was all about the clean image. Wholesome, family-friendly. And yet… he died of lung cancer. The man who built a world of sunshine and smiles, felled by the very thing he tried to hide. It just goes to show you, life’s a funny old dog. It just goes to show you that even the most carefully constructed image can crumble under the weight of reality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go home. Turn on the telly, perhaps. There’s bound to be something on. And the odds are… well, the odds are it’ll probably by Disney. It’s a small world, after all.