TV Detour #3 - Dateline: Disneyland

And suddenly, it all changed.

On the evening of Sunday July 17th, 1955, an estimated 90 million people gathered around their family television sets to watch a slap-dash live broadcast from what was, less than a year ago, an orange grove in the middle of a tiny town in California called Anaheim. Could they have known that what unfolded on that tiny black-and-white screen before them was a significant moment in history? That the labor of a small group of artists and workers would create something wholly unique that would forever alter the future of the entire entertainment industry? That one man’s desire to open a place for families to have fun that was surrounded by a railroad would change the world? Most likely not. Watching the historically significant broadcast of Dateline: Disneyland today can be bewildering and beautiful at the same time.

A source of joy and inspiration to all the world...

The previous year, Walt had made an agreement with the fledgling ABC network to broadcast a weekly anthology program, Walt Disney’s Disneyland (did ya get your name in there enough, Walt?), in exchange for help in funding the park. Every Sunday, ABC’s program provided glimpses at concept art, models and construction updates for Walt’s project, hyping up the expectations to a captive in-home audience. In a staggering feat of determination, Disney pushed the work crews and managed to just barely get his park up and running in 364 days. Additionally (and perhaps unwisely,) Disney had promised a spectacular debut for his namesake theme park, to be broadcast across the nation on live television, at the conclusion of this feverish construction. The largest live television broadcast yet attempted was put into production (involving, as host Art Linkletter put it, “literally miles and miles of cable” for everyone to trip over.) The scene at the park itself would go down in Disney history as “Black Sunday,” as the not-quite-finished Disneyland was hardly able to host the 28,000 guests that crowded the freshly-asphalted streets (double the officially invited number, thanks to a flood of easily-counterfeited tickets - never mind those who actually scaled the fences to get in.)

Well, are you better off than you were 62 years ago?

Viewers tuned in July 17th - and witnessed, for all intents and purposes, a great big mess. In his introduction, Linkletter prepares the audience for the coming difficulties, referring to their rehearsal from the previous day as “trying to film three erupting volcanoes at the same time … and you didn’t know they were going to erupt.” All throughout the chaotic production, viewers are witness to hosts running to hit their marks on time, sudden cuts to random camera feeds, and the sound jumping between live speeches, pre-recorded narration, and ghostly control-room chatter (or the occasional dead silence.) More than once, Linkletter can be seen desperately trying to locate a microphone, and co-host Bob Cummings continually missing his cues as he talks up female park-goers. The only one who seems to be on the ball in terms of timing is the third co-host, bow-tied future President Ronald Reagan - though he is also aided by a number of pre-written speeches that he carefully reads word-for-word from a large wad of paper. The others, meanwhile, are trying their best to recall what they were supposed to say as the overcrowded park falls apart around them - more often than not drifting into off-the-cuff nonsense (such as Linkletter erroneously indicating that both the Main Street buildings and the Railroad are “⅝ scale”, or Reagan noting that the horse riders heading toward Frontierland were a “part of our very historic past.”)

Disneyland is YOUR land ... but with MY name on it.

 

Who seems to be having the most fun, as he drifts in and out of the televised shenanigans, is Walt Disney himself. First appearing as he hops out of the engine of the Santa Fe & Disneyland Railroad, decked out in an Engineer’s cap and bandana, Walt excitedly tells Linkletter all about the fun he and Santa Fe railroad president Fred Gurley had been having zipping along the tracks that day. His world-famous dedication speech (commemorated, as all future theme park dedications would be, on a plaque near the park’s entrance) succinctly sums up what the entire Disneyland project was all about, and surely must’ve come as a relief to state aloud after a frantic year of planning and construction. Walt’s earnest delivery never fails to tug at the ol’ heartstrings for many a Disneyphile, even today. Following this, Walt can be seen reading off dedication plaques for each of the four remaining lands (which would end up not being placed in the park, for some reason,) his befuddlement at the televised disorder occasionally betraying his otherwise chummy demeanor. This is most clearly witnessed as his dedication of Tomorrowland, in which -  interrupted halfway through - he stares down someone off camera and bemoans “but I wa … I thought I got a signal …”

This place'll have more plaque than a dentist office!

 

Such confusion exemplifies the whole hour of Dateline: Disneyland, despite Walt and Co.’s attempts at staging a live entertainment spectacular. Following the park's dedication (which includes, incredibly, a blessing and prayer by a Chaplain,) a grand parade of bands, dancers and characters representing the various themed lands marches it’s way up Main Street, as Linkletter tries furiously to keep a running play-by-play going. Seeing the primitive costumed characters (in outfits originally designed for the Ice Capades) could potentially keep modern children (and their parents) up at night, so bizarre are such sights as a 2-person pantomime-horse style Pluto and a Dumbo with a head that looks like a massive, misshapen turnip. Evidently, not enough time was set aside to cover the entirety of the parade, and so Linkletter feverishly passes it over to Bob Cummings, who gives audiences a primer on how Disneyland’s “hub and spoke” layout works.

One, two, Dumbo's comin' for you...

 

A lot of time is dedicated to Frontierland, since the breakout success of Walt Disney’s Disneyland were it’s Davy Crockett episodes - and character-based synergy is by no means a new phenomenon in Disney’s theme parks. Riding in from the far end of Frontierland (which, thanks to wide expanses of sparse vegetation, looks more like an actual frontier town than it does today - save for the high-tension power lines visible beyond the tiny tree line,) Fess Parker and Buddy Ebsen, in character as Crockett and George Russell, lead a lengthy song-and-dance number honoring Crockett’s trusty rifle, “Ol’ Betsy” (which "Russell" says they just utilized to dispatch some “redskins ... just itching to lift our scalps.”) Following this comes Linkletter and actress Irene Dunne, christening the Mark Twain riverboat in a scene that rather perfectly encapsulates the entire day’s commotion. After commenting that the boat is “listing a little” (due to the overcrowded sternwheeler having no posted capacity limits,) Dunne calls Linkletter “Walt” and smashes a bottle upon the ship’s bitt (thanks, Google!) - as Linklater, arms spread, announces that the ship is now ready to set out across “the Rivers of the World … of America, that is!”

Mickey and Minnie flee the scene

Our drawn-out look at Frontierland concludes in front of a small sub-section at the area’s dead-end (each land was originally a cul-de-sac, only accessible from the hub,) optimistically called “New Orleans Street” - not to be confused with the brilliantly-realized New Orleans Square that was 11 years away. A rousing routine is tap-danced out in front of the pancake house (at one point a large Black dancer in a kerchief sashays out from the doorway, upon which an announcer suddenly blurts out “And here's Aunt Jemima!”) While the routine, set to brassy Dixieland jazz performed by the Firehouse Five Plus Two (a band composed of artists from Disney’s animation studio,) is certainly energetic, more poor planning meant that the performers had to squeeze between the hoards of guests fronting the restaurant and the tiny garden-fence surrounding the river. The Mardi Gras atmosphere obviously swept up Bob Cummings, as the camera catches him making out with a dancer (who makes a hasty exit as Cummings quickly tries to pass it over to "Ronnie Reegan".)

BUSTED!!

Next we take a look at the underdeveloped grouping of corporate-sponsored state fair exhibits that Disney had to pass off as Tomorrowland until the place got a proper facelift a decade later (it seems that this section of the park is in perpetual need of fixing up, unfortunately.) A view of the world from “the future year of 1986(!)," we are treated to a flag ceremony and band performance by the Boy Scouts of America, as well as a view of the hastily-prepared Phantom Boats that would ply a muddy Tomorrowland lagoon - future sight of the Submarine Voyage. Next, Cummings joins former Nazi scientist German physicist and “gentleman of great renown” Dr. Heinz Haber inside the Aluminum Hall of Fame (which would be located next to the Crane Company Bathroom of Tomorrow - seriously,) for a doomed attempt at making science fun; Haber’s son tosses a ping-pong ball onto a table topped with dozens of mousetraps, also loaded with ping-pong balls, in order to demonstrate an atomic chain-reaction. Clack! goes exactly one mousetrap, the pair of balls tapping silently to the floor. “Uhm...better try again” Haber mumbles, as a second attempt yields better, though far from stunning, results. Such was Disney’s luck that day that even physics failed to go right! Clearly, it would be a number of years until the company became adept at “edutainment.”

We don't need no stinkin' MaxPass!

A whimsical look at Fantasyland is saved for (almost) last, as the miniature drawbridge leading into Sleeping Beauty Castle is lowered for the first (of two) times in it’s history. A gathering of generic-looking fairytale characters, followed closely by hordes of unaccompanied children, stampede into the courtyard (which, at this point, looks a lot more like a plywood-constructed Renaissance fair than it would following an extensive re-design in 1983,) immediately overwhelming the waiting staff and television crews. As a medley of Disney songs blares over the soundtrack, panicked-looking cast members have to warn children to step back as King Arthur’s carrousel starts spinning, while Art Linkletter attempts to persuade Danny Thomas to ride Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride over his daughter’s shouts of “IS IT SCARY!??” At one point, Linkletter also has to ask a few kids to move out of the way of an approaching ride vehicle, before sending the camera back over to Bob Cummings. Cummings, meanwhile, is standing atop the Chicken of the Sea-sponsored Pirate Ship restaurant, chatting with an 18 year-old Bobby Driscoll while the camera focuses on an attractive blonde woman nearby. After some attempt is made to get the cameras and hosts aligned, Cummings gives up and passes it back to Linkletter, only then having to go into a play-by-play of Linkletter frantically running around the front of Mr. Toad, looking for a microphone.

Nothing says "fantasy" like a chain-link fence around a carnival ride!

The mayhem peters to an end, but not before we get an extremely brief look at Adventureland (“Didn’t we forget something?” Linkletter says to an already tired-looking Walt.) In the middle of a heaving crowd in front of The Jungle Cruise (Adventureland was, as it is now, a constantly congested bottleneck,) Cummings attempts to spout out something about the amazing journey that awaits guests seeking primitives in the wild, but is basically drowned out by crowd noise and a “jungle drums” soundtrack that is once again blasted too loudly. With mere minutes remaining in their timeslot, everyone involved seems like they just want it to end already, so no attempt is made to correct any of this. Back in front of the castle, Walt joins Linkletter (who says “Walt, you’ve made a bum out of Barnum!” as Walt laughs and looks at the ground - aww shucks,) before thanking the artists, the workers, and everybody who helped bring his dream to life. In spite of everything, Walt does seem genuinely relieved that they managed to get it open - even if there was clearly more work still to be done. The two men then sign off, waving, and turn to make their way toward Fantasyland - Walt grabbing at the back of his jacket as they walk, Linkletter’s microphone cable having wrapped halfway around him - as the program fades out.

Y'know, Art, this seems like a dandy place to pop the question...

With this auspicious beginning, a brand new art form was given a difficult start in front of a live viewing audience. Looking back, it’s clear that Disneyland, an evolution of the “amusement park” but really it’s own new genre of public entertainment, would need to go through some growing pains before reaching it’s full potential. Likewise, Walt realized that leaving first impressions up to chance (especially on live TV) could end in disaster, and so never again would Disney allow a live television special to compromise its spit-shined public image. While all of it’s parks and resorts would face their own problems and opening-day issues, none of them would be allowed to so openly parade them in front of the entire world. Thus Disney would quickly learn to control and perfect how it presented Walt’s park (and its offspring) to the world, perhaps inevitably leading to more lavish and over-the-top specials in the coming decades.



The man and his moat

 

While initial reviews of both the park and the opening telecast were understandably mixed, once again Walt had a sense of what his audience wanted. Within two months, a million guests had already passed through the park’s hastily-paved main entrance. Soon, Walt Disney Productions, which up to this point had always been one of the more cash-strapped companies in Hollywood, would find perpetual financial stability through its theme park division, and a beloved but relatively small movie studio could now call itself a truly multimedia enterprise. While the artists who brought the park to life (whom Walt would soon dub his “Imagineers”) may have cut their teeth in the film industry, they would soon find themselves more often than not stretching the boundaries of urban design and entertainment technology. Those involved in its creation, as well as those who would one day work at, visit, study or dream of going to Disneyland, would never be the same again. For Walt Disney, who looked like a kid at Christmas when things were going right on opening day, his dream had actually come true - against incredible odds and an arduous birth. We who enjoy the ever-growing fruits of these labors will continue to benefit now and forever.

All aboooooooooard!!