Table of Contents
To AmyI couldnt wish for a better wife, friend and travel partner. To Katie, who seems to have inherited the Mouse gene, and who brought a new perspective by allowing us to see magic through her eyes. And to Dorothy Burke, who was at the Magic Kingdom on its opening day, attended Epcots grand opening a few years later, and who first introduced our family to Walt Disney World.
Foreword
TO LOOK AT ME, youd never suspect I harbor such a secret.
I live in a decent house, hold down a steady job and pay the bills on time. As far as you know.
I play mediocre bass guitar in a good blues band, I love watching football and I secretly yearn to trade my sensible hybrid car in for an unnecessarily obnoxious pickup truck.
But mention something as innocuous as Main Street and I break out into a sweat.
Thats the first clue. Look a bit closer, however, and the signs begin to manifest themselves: Almost every shirt I own has a mouse on it somewhere; if you look closely at my watch youll see cleverly hidden Mouse ears; I refer to the guy at the Sip-n-Go as a gas station cast member; and my credit card bill has an inordinate number of charges emanating from the Orlando, Florida area.
Spend more than five minutes talking to me and Ill figure out a way to insert Mickey Mouse into the conversation. It can be annoying, but I have no qualms about the fact that I am a hard-core Walt Disney World fanatic, and I know how to do it right.
This is not a boastful claim. Its just something Ive learned while in the throes of my addiction. I love Disney World, and Ill spend as much time vacationing there as I can without going broke.
Actually, thats a lie. I dont really care about debt. I just need my fix.
I need to be standing on the sparkling clean streets of the Magic Kingdom, enveloped in ethereal music wafting from hidden speakers and bathed in the early morning Florida sun. I crave the oasis provided by an air-conditioned restaurant as fellow addicts fill the perfectly manicured park outside. And I need to end the day with a head full of frozen margaritas as IllumiNations unfolds in front of mea majestic display of fire and hope.
But it didnt start out that way.
Falling in love with the idea of having my breakfast served by adults making minimum wage dressed as fictional cartoon animals was the farthest thing from my mind when I got on a plane with my wife and headed south one August day in 1998.
It was on that trip that I learned an important fact: Walt Disney World is not just for kids. It may have started out that way, but the days of riding Its a Small World over and over are over. There are nightclubs and restaurants and bars and attractions and shows and shopping and golf and fishingenough to keep us going back for many, many years. For those who havent succumbed to the seduction or havent been to central Florida for a long time, its hard to understand.
At first, Id begin to plan a vacation and people would ask, Where are you going? Now, no one asks. When I say were going away, Ill get a knowing nod or a chuckle. In fact, Ive stopped saying that were going to Walt Disney World. I just say that were going to Florida. It somehow sounds a little less crazy to my ears.
I often think about why Im so enamored of the place. I have theories about how working in the newspaper business I spend a great deal of time thinking about war and terrorism and crime, and how Walt Disney World provides a total escape from that.
That might be somewhat true, but its too easy an answer. It would be bestand probably more entertainingto examine how this all came out from the very beginning.
A Mousejunkie Is Born
MY FIRST FLIRTATION with Walt Disney World occurred on June 7, 1981. A collection of cousins, brothers, and sisters trekked from Boston to the Magic Kingdom. At the time thats all there was. Epcots opening wasnt far off, but at that point there was just Main Street, the Castle, and everything that lay behind it.
We stayed in a motel that had a small arcade where my cousin and I discovered an Evel Knievel pinball game that had about forty credits racked up on it. As a twelve-year-old, that was about as magical an occurrence as I could hope for.
The memories of that trip are a bit vague now, and come mainly in impressionistic brush strokes: Riding Mr. Toads Wild Ride, eating at a character breakfast at the Contemporary Resort, shopping at what would one day become Downtown Disney, playing on the beach at the Polynesian Resort and feeling like we had been transported to Hawaii for the afternoon.
Most importantly, I remember the feelings. From the minute we emerged from our first attractionthe now-retired Mr. Toads Wild RideI realized we were not in a very hot and humid version of our local amusement park. Thats the primary difference between a Disney property and anything that attempts to compete with it: you can experience an amusement park, but you feel Walt Disney World.
I dont remember seeing Cinderella Castle for the first time. Its the icon everyone envisions when they hear the phrase Walt Disney World, and yet I dont remember laying eyes on it for the first time. What I do remember is the effect it had on me. Looking back, I know thats when I first felt the power Disney would one day hold over me. During the entire trip we were always happy, always looking forward to the next thing.
When we returned home following the trip, I immediately went into my first Disney withdrawal. I daydreamed about it, talked to my friends about it, and tried to will myself there as often as possible. I had the Disney DTs.
The urge to return lasted for a few years. Over time the memories faded, but never really went away. With no return trip possible, I discovered sports, college, and aimlessness.
A lack of cash, stability, and any kind of personal responsibility hindered my dream to one day return to Walt Disney World, and I never pulled it off.
Time marched on, and after a few false starts I joined the rat race, met a nice girl, got married, bought a house, and embarked on a career in daily newspapers. All the while those memories would occasionally emerge, reminding me of a time when all my expectations were exceeded and of a place where there were no troubles.
It would be nearly twenty years before I returned.
From Chaos to Perfection
In June of 1998 I was ordered to take a vacation. I worked as an online editor for the Boston Herald and my supervisor had generously granted me an unexpected holiday. She had just returned from Walt Disney World herself, and her glowing review of the place was fresh in my mind.
It also began to rekindle long-dormant memories. I initially lobbied for a trip to Ireland, while my wife, Amy, pushed for Paris. Since we could visit reasonable facsimiles of both at Epcot, it was the obvious choice.
