Like scribing Christmas, Hanukkah or Thank You cards, or even a Trader Joe's shopping list, birthday greetings can be difficult to jazz up when looking at one after another, crafting unique and heartfelt sentiments. Yes, even within a T.J.'s list, this can be a task. This is not to be taken as a chore, nay; for I adore sending cards, notes and general howdies. (Not to be confused with Gen. Howdy, commander of plush forces at Snoopy Western Town.) It is important to me, however, to send a fervid and friendly message, not just a mere signature.
As you may note, a previous December post was a birthday greeting to auteur, Mr. Woody Allen. Now, with another December birthday, 'tis the anniversary of the birth of one Walter Elias Disney, one of those few on my reluctant heroes list.
Searching my noodle for a short (Ha!) and pithy way to offer a posthumous salaam, it occurred to me I had already done so within my latest novel, The Darlings of Orange County. Allow me this opportunity to offer up a Hail Fellow, Well Met! to the man from Kansas City, as well as to treat those of you whom have yet to read my Darlings.
Without further ado, a wee excerpt from The Darlings of Orange County (all rights reserved):
The last time Ryan was here, officially, was his third-year internship when he was working long hours without pay for Bette Midler and her entertainment company All Girl Productions. Interning was merely another word for schlepping shopping bags, purses and briefcases up from the parking lot for Bette's partner and friend, Bonnie Bruckheimer. Now, Ryan laughed to himself. He was here to meet with her ex-husband, Jerry Bruckheimer, about a development deal. Talk about swinging one's way up from the bottom branches.
The movie lot was iconic, and exactly the same as he and Veronica remembered: the gigantic, 85-foot Sorcerer's hat visible from the 134-freeway, the classic Walt Disney Studios script flourishing over the Alameda entrance and most notably, the twenty-foot sculptures of Walt’s Seven Dwarfs greeting those whom entered the Michael D. Eisner Building, formerly known as Team Disney. All the Dwarfs did their bit, holding up the Parthenon-styled pediment; yet Dopey did the lion's share of the work, holding the roof steady at its apex. The biggest difference now, since Ryan’s days on the lot, was the bridge connecting ABC to WDS across the freeway: a happy path all the way to Buena Vista Distribution, a hefty jewel in the Disney treasure chest.
More whimsical and, depending on whom you ask, more controversial in its history than Paramount, Universal and Warner Bros., the Walt Disney Studios were manageable, cheerful and welcoming. Naturally, there were the de rigueur struggles of any studio going on behind the magic; but it certainly didn’t seem that way to Veronica and Ryan as they were waved through the gates by a smiling guard whom had first scrutinized, then validated their Mickey parking permit. They parked in a nearby lot and entered the Michael D. Eisner Building with reverence. Veronica watched the Seven Dwarfs as she moved and silently pontificated the concept of "Disney's Folly": the derogatory, underground title the entertainment world gave Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs before its premiere, before its true art was realized. The general acceptance of fantasy and imagination had come so far since then and Veronica had pioneers like Mr. Disney to thank for that.
One serendipitous day back in the Kansas of the early 20th Century, Walter Elias Disney had seen a little mouse near the wastebasket in his office and, instead of seeing a pest, saw an inspiration, a friend even. Veronica understood that completely.
Still, despite the tracks fantasy had made some eighty years later, Veronica was constantly explaining, and tiring very quickly of doing so, the concept of a talking, clothed squirrel to folks. One would think she was explaining the pathology of the Ebola virus or the stellar route of Voyager 1 to some people when she described her French-speaking, violin-playing, globetrotting squirrel. Clearly, imagination was not for everyone. Good thing she was on the Disney lot.
"The Darlings of Orange County" (title and text) is property of Jennifer Susannah Devore and KIMedia, LLC. Excerpt may be shared digitally for entertainment, non-commercial purposes only and may not be reprinted in analog format or sold in any format, digital, analog or otherwise.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Disney!
(Wondering what the squirrel reference is in the caption above? Why, Jennifer Susannah Devore's Savannah of Williamsburg series of books!)
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