1. family and parenting
2. children

StiUii'(in>
The Disney family: Behind Walt in the hammock are Diane's husband, Ron Miller, Sharon, Diane and her daughter Joanna; Lilly—Mrs, Disney—and her grandson, Chris.
My Dad,
Walt Disney
The daughter of one of
the most famous Americans
tells the surprising,
unknown story
of his private life.
Part One
Until I was six years old I didn't realize what it was that my father did for a living. The news was broken to me by a playmate
at school.
That night, when D;id came home from
work atid flopped into his easy ehair, I approached him with awe. Then doubt erept in.
He didn'i look famous to me, he just looked
tired.
So I a.skcd a crucial question. "Daddy, artyou Wall Disney?"
"Yes, honey," he replied.
"I mean, arc you the Walt Disney?"
He nodded. So it was true!
Hy DIANE DISNEY MILLER
as told to Pete Martin
'"Daddy." I said, "please give me your
autograph."
That scene was played many years ago, but
my father still recalls it with enjoyment.
•'It gave me a thrill," he sav^s now. "I had
fought for recognition at home, with your
mother and your sister and the nurses and all
the aunts. When I finally Rot it — e\en if it was
from a six-year-old —il was a triutiiph, I mean
n tnan has to put up a fight when he's surroundi'd by females."
I've heard Dad go inlo that surrounded-byfemales routine many a time. He likes to pretend that he's victimized at home because he's
l > i u k , s h o w n lii-i-i- in
v IIIIHHI, i n l i n e of
the iiiily iiiiilr in rrsidonie. "Even our dugs
liiivr licfii frmalrs," he reminds us.
When lie gels tliat far, we ktirjw that Dud is
secretly rnjoyiiiK his liousi hold, with a lot of
woiiini fussing nvcr him, He in vi'ry sentimental. I cvTii suspect that he's Kentimrnlai about
his lainouH brain children — Snow White and
the Seven Dwarfs, Donald Duck, Mickey
Motisf, and all the rest.
The story of their creation is a large part of
the stoiy of my Cither's life. Dad has been
asked to write it, but he won't. Years ago he
put tdgotlur a skeleton outline for an autobiography, but that's as far as he ever gotSince then a lot of writers have usod thai outline as a frame on which to hang their own
stories about Walt Disney. When Dad read
wliiil they wrote about him, one "i lii.^ ey<
brows would go up and the other ryrbrd
would go down in a way he ha»i, and he'd
"That didn't happen to me,"
So one- of my reasons for telling ihiii storyj
to get the facts .straight. Anothrr reawn Li ll
Dad recuils from ihc thought of writing abon"
himself. He tells me that I'm elected. "Honey,
he says, "you can say things that I can't."
I've got a lot of ground to cover. Dad started
making animated cartoons whon he was nineteen years old. That was in February, ifrlO,
thirty-six yc;irs ago, a long time before I waj
born. So I'll have to interview my parenU at
great length. Luckily, Dad has practically
complete recall. "I even remember things people don't want remembered," he's told me.
"There arc several Walt Disney stories," he
went on. "Everybody in the Disney studio
could tell one, and each would describe me in a
different way. One of them would characterize
me as a bogeyman, who roars into the shop and
tears up things other people have been working on for v\eeks. But someone has to say 'Yes"
or 'No,' and stick to it. And that's my job."
I can't see my Dad as a bogeyman at all. If
it's true that
fOiminued on Page 130)
NEXT WEEK . . .
Hard Times
in Kansas City
Diane tells how hef fathef,
hungry and bankrupt, decided to
quit cartooning forever and lit out
fof Hollywood.
Ouofy the dog may not have a
high I.Q., but he draws mure laughs
tli.in most two-legged comedians.
a n uld-ld-shioncd l i u r w - d r d w i i h i e e n g i n e ,
Walt pcnonally pilots a load of visitors ihrough Disneyland, his
fabulous St,'i,fK«,000 amusement park near Los Angeles.
Modesi Mickey Mouse
n'l Ici the faet that he's an
inlerniiliona] celebrity
go to hia head.
Out of ilH- Disney studios h^ve come American . la.^.io: i ,,. 1 ,nv. LUde Pig,, Snow Whi.e
and Ihc Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella.... Here, Walt and some of his cmv
work out the driails of a new feature, The Sleeping Beauty.
^^••i.l
TIIR
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they forgi't their
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Anvil
ui S*< ih* varitd labriti and
vr d*ala>'l.
(Cumlnucd rmm l>agc 26)
IIATtfRnAV
B V E W I K O
PO«T
our old house In Lo» Fcliz Hill* Ihe windaw* had spcciully reinforced screen*, Ai
It turned out, the newspapers were
interested in Ron's name than in mine.
The headlines read: Fx-U.S.C Fo&r-
After he collected $300 for Tommy
Tucker's Tooth. Hfid (fitvc the money to
his creditors. But il wasn't enough to pay H A i i m Mil iCR IC Wft»,
lilt hiN dehls, I Ic tiilked to Jerry and Louie.
Dad wu\ very sweet about our wet],
and to everyhody else he owed, 7 hey said, ding. I think he had had dreams of giving
"Thiit's all right. Walter. We're for you, me away in high style, hut he let me have
Walter, Send it to us later,"
what I wanted—a quiet ceremony at a
It was a critical period in Dad's life. little Fpiscopal Church in Santa Barbara,
tnjt not the only one, I can think often or before a small group of friends and relatwenty crises in my father's career, and tives. When the minister asked. "Who
I'll write about them. Of course. I'll have gives this woman to be marriedT' I heard
a lot to say about the Disney studio, and a mutflcd sob, I turned my head shghtly,
tho way Dad created some of the most and there was Dad with tears running
lovahie and unforgettable characters ever down his cheeks. I squeezed his hand and
born in a man's mind. But that's only part he gave me a soulful look.
of it. More than anything else. I want this
The marriage was in V •. Ron went
to be the personal story of a dad as his into the Army in October. Like many
daughter knows him,
other Gl's, he was making about sixty dolI am twenty-three years old. and the lars a month plus my allotment check of
most important men in my life are my SI 17, His parents gave us a cash wedding
father and a tall athlete named Ron gift, and Dad "lent" us a car. He wouldn't
Miller, Ron and 1 mel as students at "give" it to us. lest he be accused of tamU,S,C,—he was a football star. We soon pering with our independence, Bul he ts
got to talking about getting married. But already designing the house Ron and I
this was just between ourselves; I didn't hope to own someday. You'd think that
share my thoughts with Mother or Dad, lhe man who designed the Seven Dwarfs'
For one thing. Dad had always advised house in Snow White and the Enchanted
my younger sister. Sharon, and me nol to Castle in Disneyland would have some
Dad always filled it out for thirty, and marry until we were at least tweniy-five— fanciful ideas about a house for his
used the money to appease two Greeks. and I was only nineteen. Dad didn't think daughter, Bul Dad"s plans are very
ovvnersof a restaurant vv here he ate on the much of the beaux I brought home to functional. He knows how lo save money
cuff. The restaurant was downstairs from meet him. After they'd gone, he would and make lhe most of space.
his defunct Laugh-O-Gram studio. He say. "Why arc you going out with that
never gol completely out of hock, but the character?" Or, "That boy"s not much— ISefore I married. Dad did a lot of comGreeks fed him until his bill had climbed you're wasting your time,'"
plaining about being the only man around
to sixty dollars.
But for some reason, both Mother and our house. Mother said that was just talk.
When things seemed blackest, a Dr. Dad liked Ron. "Maybe." I told Ron. "The truth is. he's always been partial to
Tliomas B. McCrum. who was associated "it s because they haven't seen much of girls," she said, "I know he wanted a girl
with the Deenor Dental Institute, asked you."
before you were bom."
Dad to make an animated cartoon to
When Ron dated me he usually came
Nevertheless. Dad announced that it
teach children to take care of their teeth. lo the kitchen door, and rushed me off was up to Ron and me to produce a grandDad told him he could do the tilm for with a fast hello-good-by to the parents. son for him. When he made his featureS500. One night the doctor called Dad lo One night while I was waiting for Ron. length cartoon picture. Cinderella, he
say. "Ive got the money from the insti- Dad strolled into the kitchen and in an even added a new character to the classic
tute. Come over and let's scl this deal." elaborately olThand way said. "Diane, if fairy tale: Prince Charming's father, an
"I can't, ' Dad said.
you want to get married, you can. Your old king who wanted to marry off his son
"Why n o f "
mother and I think Ron might be the so he could have grandsons.
"I haven'l any shoes," Dad said. "They one. and it would be a shame to wait."
When the time came I gave binh to a
were falling apart and I left ihem at the
1 was bowled over. But I knew what son, Christopher Disney M,ller, Dad
shoemaker's. He won't let me have them Dad had in mind, Ron was facing two didn't seem to want to hold him in his
until I can dig up a dollar and a half." years in the Army, and Dad was afraid arms. He watched Chris from afar and
Doctor McCrum said, "I'll be right that in his absence I might meet and waved his hands in front of his face. "Just
over," He paid the shoemaker and took marry Mister Wrong,
seeing if there's anything wTong with his
Dad back to his oflice. They worked out
When I told Ron about my parents' eyesight." he explained.
an agreement to makea tilm called Tommy suggestion, he gave me a funny look, and
When my second baby was on the way,
Tucker's Tooth,
I wondered if he felt trapped. But we soon Dad was still telling us that he favorni
If you wonder how Dad got home from wound up at the marriage-license bureau. boys. He said thai it was going to be great
that shoemaker's after leaving his only Photographers pounced on us. They must for Ron to have two sons to go hunting
pair of shoes there, lhe answer is thai lhe have been lying in wait, hoping that some- and fishing with him. Then Joanna w^s
shop was under the Laugh-O-Gram stu- one with a front-page name would show bom.
dio, next to the Greek restaurant. Dad up, I was dismayed, because I knew
It was midnight, but Ron called my
walked out of the shop and upstairs in his Daddy had kept his family out of the
immediately, waking up Mother
sock feet.
spotlight ever since the Lindbergh baby home
and Dad, Mother took the call, and told
When Dad's restaurant tab climbed kidnaping in 1932. That tragedy occurred Dad, "Diane has had a little girl." Dad
past si,\ty dollars, one of the Greeks came before I was born, but I remember that in ^sid,
(Continued on Page 132)
up to see him. "Walter," he said, "believe
me. I'd give you unlimited credit. But my
partner says fun's fun, but we've got to
cut you olT,"
"All right. Jerry," Dad said; "I understand,"
there lire severiil Walt Disneys. I'll .sttirt
with iny fiivnrilc; Wall Disney. Poor
Itut IKuiiul til kive.
No niotisi:. eluirv'h or M ickey, vviis ever
us poor IIS my lliid Wiis ul one time in his
life, lie was nineteen, und he'd already
failed in business in Kiinsas City. Some
people there had hacked him in ii smult
enterprise called the I auBh-O-Cirani Corporation, lhe linn was capitaM/ed at
$15.tKX). When it folded. Dad depended
on odd iobs to eat. It was lean pickings.
He traded a harlier w funny ilrawin^
tur each haircut, and the barber put the
canoniK in his window. (Dad still hears
from that barber. Once, at Dad's invitation, he came to Hollywood.) Sometimes
he'd hear from his older brother, my Uncle
Roy. who'd gone West to recuperate from
the lint;ering effects of exposure endured
in the Navy in World War 1, Uncle Roy
wrotL' from a servicemen's hospital in
Tucson, then from one in Los Angeles, If
he hadn't heard from Dad recently. hc"d
write. "Kid, I have a hunch you could
use a little dough. So I'm enclosing a
blank check. Fill it out for any amount
you need up to thirty dollars.
Iwo days later Jerry wandered into the
Laugh-O-Gram studio and saw Dad sitting on a box, eating cold beans from a
can, and dry bread. They were picnic leftovers, abandoned in a photographer's
studio next door. Dad had lived on beans
and bread for two days.
When Jerry came in and saw him
munching that dismal meal, he melted,
"Walt." he said, "I don't care what Louie
says. You come down to our place and
get something to eat,"
When Dad was telling me this story. I
asked, "Wasn't that about the low point
of your life?"
"No." he said, '"it wasn't bad. 1 love
beans." He meant it. He wasn't trying
to be guy ^nd gallant about it.
Harold fancies hiinself a comedian."
I M K
Trapped on a
hunting trip I
l A T U H U A V
(Contltuiedfrom Page 130)
"Uh-huh."you can go to the market and buy itraw,
He wu<i fitill halfunlccp. Then he <tat up, berries. The Miuirrcl* can't "
Mother had no luch v>U idea* about
wide iiwiikc, Teurs aimc to his eyes, "A
diiughlcr!" he said, "How wonderful for the «)uirrch. One summer when *h« krm
Ron! He'll love thiit!" Then he leaped that nhc and Dad were going to be away
out nf hed. Mother uskcd where he was for several monthi. s\\c gave Pete initrtKtions to shoot any squirrel he saw, on
going.
" I liuve to get busy and enlarge their sight. And she saw to it that a shotgun wa
house plans," he explained seriously, sent over from Dad's studio for hii use.
"They'll need a separate bathroom for
Dad knew nothing ubout Mother'i
the children,"
death-on-squirrels carfipaign. When he
Mother and Dad come to visit us the reads thii. it will be the Iirst he's heard of
Christmas aficr my son, Christopher, ar- it. He'll feel better when he also hears that
rived. Dad peeked into our refrigerator those squirrels were so shifty and io eluand rushed nif to a food market. He sive thai Pete bagged none of them at all.
brought back a mountain of canned
Dad's love for animals is sincere, and
goods—cimncd hush, canned fruit, canned I'm afraid it ha.s caused a few arguments
cheese spreads, canned everything, I " I like any old dog," Dad says, "but yout
couldn't bear to tell him that Ron won't mother is particular." He wanted a dog
cat canned food. After all. Dad loves soon after they were married, but Mother
the stuff, and he ean't understand why we objected that dogs brought odors into tht
shouldn't.
house and shed hair on everything. Dad
Dad has always been a hard man to read up on the various breeds and learned
eook for—ask Mother and our priceless that ehows shed almost no hair, harbored
housekcepcr-eook, Thelma. Because he no fleas and were comparatively free o
ate in hash houses and lunch wagons dog odor. He gave Mother one for Christwhen he was young and poor, he has a mas, and it was her pet until it died of old
hash-hou^e appetite. He likes fried po- age. But Mother couldn't abide other
tatoes, hamburgers. Western sandwiches, breeds. Then Santa Ciaus brought me an
hot cakes, canned peas, hash, stew and extremely untidy cocker puppy one Christroast-beef sandwiehcs. He doesn't tike mas, but he disappeared the next day.
expensive cuts of meat because he didn't
grow up on them.
Most of the time Dad comes home
through the kitchen, so heean have a look
at wbat Thelma has on the stove. "Oh,"
trouble witb Uncle Sam
he'll say in a disappointed tone. "Steaks,"
playing Santa Claus to the rest
So Thelma will serve steak to Mother,
and give Dad one of bis specialties—
of the world is that we Amermaybe macaroni and cheese. Dad will
ican taxpayers are left holding
then claim that he has no objection to
tbe bag.
cv N. PEACE
steak, and why should be be tbe only one
to get macaroni? He'll tell Mother,
"Lilly, you've lived with me for thirty
years, and you still don't know what I
like."
Mr. Santa hadn't consulted Mrs. Sant3
He eats such a big luneh at the studio in advance, and she put her foot down.
that be can cat very little of Tbelma's dinA lot of people have said to me, "It
ner, no matter how tasty it is, "My big must have been wonderful to ha\e been
meal is lunch," Dad explains. I have a child of Walt Disney's, especially at
heard him say that a hundred times. "You Christmastime. You must have been stirwomen ought to eat more lunch. All I rounded by mountains of special toys."
ever want for dinner is just a nice bowl of
It's true that Dad sometimes gave Dissoup and maybe some fruit."
ney toys to Sharon and me, and he gives
One night Mother planned just such a them to his grandchildren now. Still,
dinner—soup, a salad and watermelon. there's almost no evidence of Mickey
When Dad linished bis soup, Thelma Mouse or Donald Duek or the Seven
asked if he'd like a second helping. "No," Dwarfs around his home, at least as a
be said. " I don't think so. 1 want to save decorative niuiif. " I live with my job all
room for whatever else we're having."
day," he says, " I don't want to bring it
"We're just having a salad and some home,"
fruit. Wait," Mother said.
The Mouse, tbe Duck and the Three
Dad was indignant. "Today," he said, Little Pigs were already famous when I
" I had a light lunch."
was bom. On my first Christmas they appeared in profusion, along with all sorts
iLvery so often he'll say. " I think I'll go of dolls and mechanical toys. I ean't redown to BifT's for a little while," Biff's is a member that Christmas, of eouree, but
little eating place on a nearby eorner. I've seen home movies of it. Dad trust
Dad thinks it's better tban Romanoff's or have gone all-out. There was a tree that
Chasen's. He's always telling Thelma, soared to tbe top of-a two-story living
"You ought to go down to BitT's and see room. 1 sat beneath it batting at toys with
what goes on. Tbey do their potatoes baby tists, too young to appreciate thetti.
right there. They pan-fry them," Thelma
says they're really hash-browned. She When ni> sister, Sharon, and I v*ere old
sneaked into Biff's one time to get the facts. enough to know what we really vvunted,
we had to wjnt things pretty hard before
There was a time when the doctor told we got them. But we got them in the end,
Dad that he had to avoid egg yolks. Dad I'll never forget the Christmas when
had never cared for eggs until then. But Sharon was tive and I was eight. We'd
after the doctor's edict he made Thelma wished very hard for a playhouse.
fry an egg for him every morning, so he
The playhouse appcaml in our yurd on
could go around the yolk, earefully trimming otV the white and eating it with an Christmas moming, looking like a Disney
studio creation—whieh it was. It v^-as
unhappy look on bis faee.
about the size of a large eloWies eloset, big
He has lots of fruit growing on enough for Sharon and me to play in. 1
his place—strawberries, boysenberries, had leaded-glass windows, and a little
peaches, grapes, tangerines—but the birds mushnwm chimney, and a kitehen
and squirrels get most of them. Ground stocked with tiny cans of food. There was
squirrels have riddled the yard with holes,
but Dad won't allow Pete, our gardener, a kitchen sink, and when we turned on the
to set traps. He says the squirrels are faucet, water eame out. And there was a
God's creatures. Onee. when Mother was telephone, eonnected with the phone in
denouncing the squirrels for stealing our the big house.
We had a good-natured fat butler then
strawberries. Dad said seriously, "Lilly,
He must have been the one who rang the
T,.
A hoppv smile wrinkled Art Brown's face as he drove through
the early morning darkness. He and his friends had planned
thi5 hunting trip for months. It was good to be on the way.
In the back seat, the other men were kidding about who
would take the iirst deer. Art couldn't resist turning around to
get in on the conversation. "Remember that big buck inM year?"Someone started to answer, but broke off witb a sbarp sbout.
"Art! Look- oui!" Whirling ti> the frmit. Art saw the dark
silhouette of the stalled car dead ahead. Mis foot stabbed desperately for the brakes , , . too late, A split-seeond later, the
hunters were trapped in twisted steel.
Certainly not all auto accidents happen exactly that way.
CireumslancfS are as varied as the types of drivers involved.
But Art Brown's accident is tragically typical of how even
momenlary distraction traps ordinarily careful drivers.
It may he a conversation in the baek .seat, a flash of anger at
another driver, or worries about family ur business. The cause
iloesn't matter. Just remember tbat anything that takes your
mind off driving cun kill you before yuu kiiuw it.
I
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riptoudly diipl*i>td b/ci'DHnDiile(din|1h«ctuii<]t lor i t l * diivinf,
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R V It N I N '>
Ni«rmtnT IT, IJIW
phone in ihc playhouse nn I hrisinms
moniinj und nsKeii. " h the play house alt
ri^ht'.'"
"Yes. Simtu." I repllci.1. "Il's j\ist Unc.
thnnk >\ni!"
When vvv livTti in Liw Fell/ Hills I
wanted 11 bicvvte, and I got one. ii lovely
little balltKin-iircd job. l o niuke it more
fun for me, Oiul not a biKo. loo, and we
all leanux! in ride ingelher—ih;il is,
Moiher and I learned Dad ala'ady kniw
how. bul he pa-leiidcd he w;is learning
with us. Insiinctivelv he knew how lo put
a chilli at her ease.
My sister, Sharon, wns born when 1 vvas
ihtvc vear^nld. Haddv vvasoiir playiiiiile.
When he came hnnie al lughl, that was
funtinie. Sundav was a woiKlerfiil da> for
us. because after Sunday schnni Dad
would be with us all day Sometimes he
took us to the /oo or over to Gntliih
Park to hde nn ihe inerr> -gn-rniind. There
were golden rings tn be caught nn the way
around, good for Tree rides Dad paid lhe
bny who arranged those rings tn lei us get
ihem oftener ihan anybody else. We
didn't know about the tix, Wejust thought
v«: were smart.
Sometimes, Daddy look Sharon and
me over lo the Disney studio In play on
Sunday. Dad liked to be at the studio
when it iv^s deserted. He wandered from
room to room, looking and thinking and
tucking suggestions away in his mind. We
didn't know what was gniny on in his
head; we jusi followed him, apd ale the
ice cream he bought us from ihe vending
machines, and ran around shouting at
each other, "Wait for me!"
Sharon and I had more companionship
from Dad than mosi girls get from their
fathers. The summer weekends were wonderful. When we were vnungwespent them
in and around our pnol, with our friends
and relatives. M> mother's sisler. Hazel
Cottrell, would come over wiih her
daughter, Marjorie, or Uncle Roy and his
wife would drnp by wiih young Roy, live
year? my senior. Dad was always on hand
to play with us, and he was a glutton for
punishment. I can remember, when I was
very small, leaping from the edge of the
pool into Dad's arms as he stood in the
water. He knew how to instill eonhdence
in children. 1 guess that's how he taught
us to ride and swim so well.
But there came a time—I was about
junior-high age—when Dad lost me as a
Sunday playmate. When he'd say, "Let's
go over to the studio," I would make an
excuse to back out. I was just old enough
to feel that Sunday excursions with Dad
were childish.
After that I'd vratch Sharon and Dad
go off together without me, to visit the
amusement centers in and around Los
Angeles. Secretly I wanted to go with them,
but I couldn't give in after having called
it "baby sluff" m my own mind.
Sharon was Dad's buddy iwo or three
year's after I'd checked out, but at last
even she deserted him. She'd ask. "When
are we going home. Dad?" or "How much
longer do we have to stay. Daddy?" That
"have to" seemed a low blow lo Dad.
Finally. I achieved enough age and
wisdom to appreciate Dad as a human
being—generous, kind, overworked and
sometimes given to outbursts of lemper.
Laler still il dawned on me that he loved
his daughters and needed ihcir affection.
There was a plain sijjn: he was critical of
every boy who paid us attention.
When I put on my lirsl formal dress
and got ready to step out on my first date.
Dad came down wiih a complaint called
lumps in lhe throat. My own reaction was
nostalgic. I didn't wani lo say guod-by to
dungarees and horseback riding, and get
mushy about boys. If I had to gel married,
I just wanted to marry Daddy.
But I must have changed in due course,
judging by something Dad said recently. I
rememlvr nne itiiy when he was liiying
otil Ihe pivliniinaty plans for Oisncylimd,
Ik' WIIS tiyiiin III litsinv hnw he could
brnadcn its appetil fnr Iccn-agers, when
he turned tn me LIIHI askeil, "Diane, vvhiit
can I pill in this park thai will interest
girls of your iigo,'" Accnrdinn in him, I
siiid, "Thai s simple. Dud. llnys!'" I dnn'l
remember saying il, htil he says I did,
"> oil inid niL- right over there by our
swiinniinn P*'t'l." he says,
Had vvciil to every falher-diiutthler
scliiml iillaii Ihat was pill tm. And nnce
in a whik' lif hiniit;ln nit- L-mharrasMiieni,
1 remcinlici tin- i:uiinsity of nne lillle girl
in the lourth grade. She asked nne day,
"When yniir lather brings ynii tn school
in the innriung, may I Inok al him?" The
nevl dav 1 made Daddy let me out a block
away from school so she couldn't see him.
I j u t she bided her time, and on another
day she caughl us driving up. She was
slandmg nul front, wailing. I said.
"Daddy, Dailily, leave quickly. Don't get
nul, Jusi slay in your car." Bul llie .sills
crealure peered out frnm behind a bush,
and when I wenl into school she said
gloatingly, "I saw him. I saw him." 1
could have strangled her.
I never explained to Dad why I wanted
him u> leave quickly, but il seemed slupid
tn me that anyone should peer at my father as if he were a freak.
When I gol lo higli school, 1 compared
nntcs with other daughters and I fnunj
thai all falliers are prelly niiich alike.
Pressure piles upon ihcni during worthing
hours, and when they come home they
wani lo be comforied. Mnlher does her
besi, but I'm afraid that we don'l give
Dad our full attcniion. Maybe he has just
erealed something new at (he studio, and
he'll start talking about it enthusiasticalK.
And we'll say patiently, ">'i;s, Daddy, wo
know," or "Oh, really'.'" Tlieii wu'll goon
wilh the really important cnnvcrsation
abnut whal happened al th^' hairdresser's.
Even Moiher can be oblivious when Dad
brings home a nice fresh triumph for us to
admire. She is api to break in and tell of
plans for redecorating a room,
"Gosh, Lilly." Dad will say. "you
can't redecorate right now, I just haven't
got lhe cash."
"Where is it?" Mother asks, "What
happened to it?"
"Lilly," he says, "you know I'm rebuilding Disneyland. Remember? That
takes all the loose money I've got."
4
Once, when I told Mother that she
didn't pay enough attention to the things
that worrj- Dad, she put me m my place.
"If I give lhe impression of being unconcerned about your Dad's alTairs," she
said, "it's because he's got beyond ihe
poini where I can do anything aboui it,
I've always worried about his schemes, I
slill do. Bul I tell myself, 'He'll pull off
this new scheme because he always has.
Il's his life, he's buill il up himself. If he
wants lo tear it down, that's his right.'
"He puts 100 much of himself inlo his
projects. Money means nothing to him,
except as a thing to spend on his nexl creation. It gets your Uncle Roy down too,
Roy thinks, Co\h, what mwt/ but Walt's
always been able to persuade your Uncle
Roy,
"You don't know your fallier as well as
I do. He's never fell whipped, I can remember when your Dad had trouble
dropping oil" 10 sleep. Then he'd have an
inspiration, and sleep like a child. In the
morning he'd say. 'Lilly, I've got it
licked' '
Some years ago, when an endless round
of sludio problems clawed al Dad's
nerves, he sought relief frnm wnrry by
building a model railroad big enough 10
ride on. Every evening when he came
home he would go down to our lower
yard and tinker with his train—a model
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5
T It I',
Kvoniotivc. sex-cml tiiitcnr^, Ivscttr^ and
0 eiilvHwc on narnivv-^<iii|tc tiikks,
SoniciiiiK's I kept him conipuiiv. sitting
on il t1;Ui..H ,iiid nutliii)! iddiig Ivhind
him Hut I \v;i'.quii..klvl>»ireil I>iul Ixviinic
^odi^l,^nlri^^ted tluit U»r a wink- \K put his
to>s iivviiy. Now lio's ihmkiiin of
Ihem out (t)ijiin. Kviitisc niv twov-ear-old >on, t hris. will Mton l>e big
enough tn liclp him piny enttinLvr.
Diid's tram has eiuniitb ejus to sent ii
diven Inends. and lie like.s to give quests
a ride. He built the engiiK' liiii)M.'1f. copying a t'ull-M/ed UxonuMivf niiide in I.SW,
It's a (X-rfevI link' coal-burniiig model,
scaled an mcti and a liiilf lo a foot. When
l")ad tirvs it up, he wears his engineer's
enp, covenills and work gauntlets, and he
earriesanoilean witti a loni;. slim nozzle.
When Mother ;ind Dad were drawing
plans for their new luiusc—I mean tlie
one thcv've lived in for the last si\ years—
Dad decided to lay his nii1ro,id traeks all
around the grounds. We thought he was
er,iz\\ iind said so.
"If 1 ean't have a railroad around my
house." he argued, "what's the use of
building a new house?"
At one point Dad vvent to his attorney,
Spence Olin. and s;iid. "Spenee, I want
you to draw up an agreement between me
and my family. I want it losay that I'll be
allowed to own a right of way through my
place for my railroad."
"'l ou don't have to do tbat. Walt,"
Mr. Olin said. "The house will be in your
name anyway."
"Spence," Dad said, "I've been married longer than you have, and there's a
lot of womenin my family. I need this in
writing."
At my father's suggestion. Mr. Olin
dug up some old railroad-riglit-of-way
papers to make sure of tbe wLirding. Then
Dad brought the doeument home, "i
won't agree to build a new house." he
said, "unless you sign over a right of way
for my tracks." '
Sharon and 1 thought it over, and advised Mother to give in. "All right." she
said. "As long as the railroad doesn't
mar the beauty of the place."
That was alt Dad needed. He began to
lay out a fine, sweeping run for his train
all the way around the house. The layout
required a deep exeavation in the front
yard. Dad thought that it was a section of
lawn Mother wouldn't mind having dug
up. but she insisted she wanted a geranium
bed there instead of "an old hole in the
ground."
To keep the peaee Dad agreed to tunnel under that spot. Then he discovered
that a tunnel would eost a mint. It had to
be made of concrete and steel beams: so
said the building-code inspectors. Dad
was ready to give up. Then, while he was
driving home from work one night, he
heard a song on his car radio. It seemed a
In a famous eanine romance. Lady
waa wooed and won by The Tramp.
personal nicssiige to him. "Eiyoy yourself." the ri'l'tiiiii wenl, "it's Inter Ihim yoti
Ihink." AsMwm us lie leitched liniiie. Dud
phoned his contniclot, "I'ut tlitil tunnel
ill liisi," he snid, "before 1 ehtinge my
mind,"
Dad bus never ti>ld iinyoiie whiit ihat
tunnel cost. Hejustilies it by stiying ihiit
it would niiikc ii [>erlecl honilt shelter.
Mother dinrsn't have lojustily it. She luis
lier geiaiiiiiin l>ed.
One of tlie questions people lire constantly iiskini; my sister. Shiiron, and me
is, "hoes your l>;id reiilly driiw nil those
piciiires tliiii tio inlo his lilms,'" They ask
Diid loo. We Disiieys once went to the
Yoseniite Njitional Park at Cbrisimas, to
It mw DuiVn idcii to uive his
problcniH for ItiH forenoons. He thought
that ciilnier iiflcrnooiis would Id him
.sleep iK'tter tit night, Aho, lie stopped
reiidiiiK scripts or business diKumentsat
nighl. He miiy bring papers home, bul he
keeps Ihem in liis briefcase lo read eurly
the next morning,
Hul I've known him to he so unxious
ahotit a script ihat he'll read it ut nighl.
The next morning he tompliiins nt breakfusi, "I WHS lighting that script all night
long,"
He had quile a haltle to get his secretaries to follow his rule ahout no-worriesin-lhe-afternoiHi. At Iirst they ttiuldn't
believe thai be was serious. Around four
For Pinocchio, Walt Disney
assigned Jiminy Cricket to die
formidable task of kttping the puppet out of trouble.
stay there through New Year's, And Dad
met an eleven-year-old boy there who was
a question-asker. He began witb, "Mr.
Disney, do you draw all those pietures
yourself?"
"No." Dad said.
"You do the first ones, don't you?" the
boy asked.
"At one time 1 drew them all," Dad
told him; "then, later, I did the first ones
and had the others done by other artists,
but today I draw none of them,"
The boy refused to give up, 'But you
think up all tbe ideas, don't you, Mr.
Disney?"
"No," Dad said, "I have men who
work on ideas and I work with them;
then we all team up to make it come out
right."
The boy looked disgusted. "What do
you do, Mr. Disney?" he asked,
"That," said Dad. "is a good question."
Another good question was one Dad
asked himself early in his career: "How
can 1 relieve my worry load?" At one
point Dad told bis No. I seeretar>.
Dolores. "When people eome to see me at
the end of the day with problems they
want to talk over, tell ihem to hold it until morning; then talk lo me."
or five o'cloek they'd come in and say,
"So-and-So wants to see you."
Dad would say, "You know what my
rule is." and the secretary- would say,
"Yes, but he sajs it's very important."
"They all say tbat," Dad said, ••I'll see
him in the morning. Let him go home and
worry about it all nigbt if he wants to. I
plan to go home and sleep."
Dad found out something: a good
many of the live P.M, problems got themselves solved by the next morning. The
man who'd wanted to thrash a decision
out would ring up and say, "Forget it.
Walt. I've figured it out. It s O,K. now,"
It's fun for his family when Dad does
relax at home. He loves to put on a oneman comedy show for his family, and if
we laugh at him he'll keep on elowning
until he's e,\hausled. The truth is, my
Dad is a frustrated actor. For this reason
he was a natural to emcee his own TV
shows.
When Dad viewed the first TV show
he'd filmed, he suffered agonies over
what he lluiught were detieiencies In bis
pronunciation and diction. He tbougbt he
had a horrible twang in his voice, a sloppy
sag in his posture and a hahit of running
words together—gonna, won'lcha. Now
»
he in blas^ about the whole thing, and
thinks nothing of cmceeing iin sh<»ws in a
morning's filming of future TV prtxluciions, "Well," he say* as be bids u*
good-hy in the morning, "('11 have to act
like hell today."
At limcn he seems lo find mere worth
inadequate; he looks directly at you with
an intensity which rs sometimes disconcerting, but he's »o lost in hi^ train of
thought that I'm not sure he sees the person to whom he's talking. If he really
throws himself into it. it's hard to carry
on a conversation with him. You find
yourself a listener, nodding agreement
Dad bas been known to talk for a solid
hour, ending with the conviction that his
speechless listener is intelligent, sensible
and highly articulate. There are those who
migbt find this a flaw in Dad's personality, but I'm prejudiced. I'm perfectly
content to listen to him indefinitely because his talk fascinates me. All I wish is
that he'd (ind something brilliant to say
when be gels those Motion Picture Academy Awards—he seems struck dumb.
Dad has won more Academy Awards
than anybody else—upwards of twenty—
but he doesn't sit around gloating over
them, Tbe night he won four Oscars, I
wasn't even watching TV. I was out ice
skating, and when I came back to my
sorority house at U.S.C, the girls saicC
"Golly, Diz, we've been watching your
Dad on TV. He's swept everything."
I was astonished at tirst. Then I asked
myself, lyiiy shoiddn'i Dad win ' He's the
best, isn't he' But let's faee it, he's got an
organization behind him which does so
many things so well that the opposition
doesn't stand much of a chanee.
Someone once told my father that
Mickey Mouse and Coca-Cola were the
two best-known names in the world. But
it wasn't until my sister and I traveled
with Dad in Europe that we leamed how
imponant tbe creator of Mickey Mouse
really was. The reception we got was so
enthusiastie that it was almost frightening. Dad is even more celebrated abroad
tban he is at home, and as members of his
family we basked in bis glory. To millions
of Europeans he's far more than a Hollywood eelebrity—he's a friend.
Tm not millions of Europeans; I'm his
twenty-three-year-old daughter, Diane,
but I consider him a friend, too, which is
not always the same thing as a Dad. Like
any other friend, he has plenty of human
weaknesses—apart from his inability to
listen. I'm going to tell about those in this
story too. Dad has not only agreed that I
do this; he's insisted that I do it. Most of
the time I love him dearly, but some of
the time I'm not so sure. I'll tell about
those times too.
ol tlghi co
Pluto the pup is Mickey
Mouse's best friend.
oboe tar iav MMar. Tte