Dream It! Do It! (Disney Editions Deluxe) (6 page)

He must have liked the work of this group of Disney Legends. Together, their service to Walt Disney’s company added up to more than two hundred years.

As I’ve said, Walt’s singular focus was on the audience. After several weeks of development, Herb Ryman was sure he had come up with a solution to a design challenge Walt had given him. But Walt took one look and rejected the idea—without offering a hint that would give Herb a direction for his redesign. His frustration boiling over, Herb threw a question at Walt’s back as he stalked out of Herb’s office: “Well, give me a clue what you are looking for!” Walt turned, his eyebrow raised in mock surprise as he answered: “Just do something people will like!”

One day in the early 1950s, deeply immersed in a drawing for
Peter Pan
—the last animation feature he would work on as one of the Disney Studio’s key background artists—John Hench was surprised by the figure peering over his shoulder. Walt nodded as John noticed his presence, but left without saying a word…until he reached the door. “I want you to work on my Disneyland project,” Walt said, assuming John’s knowledge of the then-secret development. “And,” Walt stated matter-of-factly, “you’re going to like it!”

I had the privilege (as my own career grew from staff writer, to vice president of Concepts and Planning, then to president, and later vice chairman and principal creative executive of Imagineering) of working with all of the amazing talents of Walt’s original WED Enterprises team, as well as the Imagineers who followed—many of whom I helped grow into stars in their own right. In the beginning, Walt needed storytellers for his new concept in family entertainment. And so they came, from Hollywood motion picture and television studios, from Disney and Twentieth Century-Fox especially: art directors, set designers, special effects wizards, writers, production designers, model makers. They were joined by a new breed of designer such as Bob Gurr, trained to design cars, but more significantly smart enough to know that “no” and “it can’t be done” were never answers you gave to Walt Disney’s dreams.

The name “Imagineering” was suggested to Walt in an early meeting by Buzz Price, the economist who recommended the sites in Anaheim and Orlando for Disneyland and Walt Disney World, respectively. The term combines “imagination” with “engineering”—thus “Imagineering.” Walt liked it immediately. To assure Buzz received proper credit for the name, Walt sent him a letter in the 1960s thanking him for the suggestion.

Walt also liked—and recorded—the line I wrote to describe WED’s process: “Imagineering is the blending of creative imagination with technical know-how.”

This talented group included my mentors, my friends, and in their golden years, my staff. They were the best of the best. They defined Imagineer and Imagineering. They developed and led the 140 disciplines that form Imagineering today. Their passion for going beyond what they had done the time before was limitless. Their dedication to Walt, and their comprehension of his passion for excellence, knew no bounds. They were true believers, followers, and leaders. Walt created Imagineering, but the Imagineers made it sing and dance.

It might never have happened if Walt Disney’s friend and neighbor, Los Angeles architect Welton Becket, had coveted the design job. When Walt approached him about designing Disneyland, and explained the concept brewing in his head, Mr. Becket gave his friend this advice: “You’ll use architects and engineers, of course. But Walt—you’ll really have to train your own people; they are the only ones who will understand how to accomplish your idea.”

My good fortune in the 1960s and 1970s as “the kid” on the WED staff was that Herb Ryman, John Hench, and the other Disney Legends-to-be (the Legends program was established in the mid-1980s) became my mentors. They may not have thought of themselves as teachers, but anyone who worked around them as they transitioned from animation and live-action films to theme park stories and designs was surely enrolled in a master’s program in theme park creation. I write about a few of them on these pages, but in the interest of being as inclusive as possible, the following are the Imagineering Legends who most influenced me: Ken Anderson, X. Atencio, Mary Blair, Roger Broggie, Harriet Burns, Claude Coats, Bill Cottrell, Rolly Crump, Marc Davis, Marvin Davis, Don Edgren, Bill Evans, Blaine Gibson, Harper Goff, Yale Gracey, Bob Gurr, John Hench, Dick Irvine, Fred Joerger, Bill Martin, Sam McKim, Wathel Rogers, and Herb Ryman. I also count three Disney Studio Legends as teachers: advertising and graphic art icon Bob Moore, and songwriters Richard and Robert Sherman. And no Marty list would be complete without mentioning Al Bertino, T. Hee, Vic Green, Bob Jolley, and Bob Sewell of Imagineering; Jim Love and Norm Nocetti of the Disney Studio; and that “Vegas dealer,” Card Walker.

It was author Ray Bradbury who perhaps best captured the essence of the Imagineering organization. Ray had once urged Walt Disney to run for mayor of Los Angeles, only to be told, “Why should I run for mayor when I’m already king of Disneyland?” In a talk to an assembly of Imagineers in December 1976, during the development of Epcot, Bradbury spoke of the group as “Renaissance People”:

John [Hench] and Marty told me I was supposed to come up here and explain you to yourselves…and to tell you what you are and what I am and what I’m doing here. There are a lot of places in the world I could be, but I’ve been coming through WED and going to Disneyland for many years now, and I like what I see… And so, really, what you are is Renaissance People. If ever there was a Renaissance organization, this is it. You haven’t peaked yet, but you’re peaking, and sometime in the next twenty years, when you peak completely, the whole world’s going to be looking at you.

The WED Model Shop, where designs are studied in three dimensions, became the hub of the Legends’ classroom tutorials, always disguised as design sessions for submarine voyages and bobsled rides, pirate adventures, and ghostly surprises. Every day was a learning experience, as Walt challenged his most trusted designers and storytellers to imagine new experiences for Disneyland, the New York World’s Fair, and, just before his death, Walt Disney World. Those of us fortunate enough to be assigned to their teams—
always
a team effort—were also challenged to grow from undergrad to graduate students, earning our degrees under the wings of these professors: John Hench for design, color, and philosophy; Marc Davis for story, character, and animation; Claude Coats for dramatic staging and continuity; Herb Ryman for overall concept and key story illustrations; Bill Evans for theme setting through landscaping; Rolly Crump for weird and wonderful iconography; Blaine Gibson for turning cartoon sketches into real people; Yale Gracey for the tinkering that created the most simple—and magical—effects; Roger Broggie for making anything (and everything) work; and so many more. They (and some of the amazing technical talents at the Studio, notably the film, camera, and projection genius Ub Iwerks) were the leprechauns who helped Walt find the rainbow that led to the pot of gold called Disneyland.

The lessons were taught outside of WED’s quarters in Glendale, as well. Without a food facility on the Glendale campus, lunch was always a short walk or drive to a local eatery, where a focused discussion frequently took place about a local theater production, museum exhibition, or travel experience. Often the subject was how to solve that day’s creative challenge, and it was a way for the top Imagineers to stay informed about what each was doing. My lunch companions were frequently Coats, Gibson, Joerger, and Sewell, administrator of the Model Shop and a talent in his own right who had helped create the quintessential dioramas in New York’s American Museum of Natural History in the late 1930s.

One of the preoccupations at these meals was my companions’ observation of other diners and servers. One night in Florida, during the building of Epcot, we were having dinner at a local restaurant. I noticed that Blaine Gibson, our chief sculptor, was totally absorbed in studying the chef, who had come into the seating area to converse with patrons. When I asked, Blaine admitted he was focused on the chef’s huge hands. Sure enough, when we all looked, we realized his hands were out of scale to the rest of his body. For Blaine, they were not just curiosities: he was making a mental note of those hands to use later on one of our Audio-Animatronics figures.

I knew that Blaine’s love of animals, and understanding of their anatomy and movement, came partly from his years in Disney animation. But even more, they were the result of growing up as a farm boy in Colorado. When it came to the human figures he sculpted for our park attractions, my curiosity got the best of me. One day I asked Blaine where his inspiration for human characters in our shows came from—for example, the incredible buccaneers of Pirates of the Caribbean. Reluctantly, Blaine admitted that his wife, Coral, had mastered the kick under the chair at dinner: when Blaine would stare too long at another diner or server, Coral would let him have it. But she had not found a way to stop him from focusing on the special characteristics and features of fellow churchgoers.

“You mean,” I asked cautiously, “that some of our pirates may resemble congregants in your church?” “Yes, it’s very possible,” Imagineering’s chief sculptor admitted. “Walt wanted realism in the pirates, and I found ideas and inspiration in many places!”

Realism in life experiences was critically important to the great illustrator Herbert Dickens Ryman, who drew the first overall concept illustration of Disneyland in 1953. A graduate of the Art Institute of Chicago, Ryman had become one of the most skilled artists in the MGM art department in the 1930s, working under the legendary Cedric Gibbons to illustrate scenes and locations around the world for such classic films as
Mutiny on the Bounty
,
David Copperfield
,
The Good Earth
,
Tarzan
, and
A Tale of Two Cities.
Then one day Ryman realized he had seen nothing of people and places, and he became a world traveler, spending weeks in China, Cambodia, Japan, and Thailand in the 1930s. Eventually, he visited Europe, Africa, and—as a Disney artist—he became part of Walt Disney’s goodwill tour of South America in the 1940s. (Herb’s sketches played a role in the design of the two films inspired by that trip for the U.S. State Department,
Saludos Amigos
and
Fun and Fancy Free
.)

“I used to think I could research everything out of books; that I could trace or copy a horse, an eagle, an oak tree, or a girl on a beach,” Herb said. “I thought it was all in
National Geographic.
By actually touching ruins, feeling the wind on my cheeks as I walked along the Great Wall, and resting in the oasis of the desert, I began to realize this is real, and nature is where you have to go. This is the greatest source of my inspiration.”

Shortly after his first odyssey to Asia in the 1930s, Herb was invited by John Ringling North to spend a summer traveling with the Ringling Brothers Circus, in the days of outdoor circus tents. He was given a private suite on the show train in 1949, 1950, and 1951. Ryman’s backstage sketches and watercolor renditions were so alive that quintessential circus clown Emmett Kelly said that Herb “put the smell of sawdust into paint.”

Walt called Herb one Saturday in 1953 to ask his help in producing the first overall illustration of Disneyland. Herb kept a detailed diary, and in the book
A Brush with Disney: An Artist’s Journey, Told Through the Words and Works of Herbert Dickens Ryman
, published in 2002 by Ryman Arts, he described in detail how it came about:

It was about 10
A.M.
on September 26, 1953, when Walt called unexpectedly. When I remarked that he was at the Studio on a Saturday morning, he commented, “Yes, it’s my studio and I can be here anytime I want.”

I was not working at the Disney Studio at that particular time, because in 1946 I had gone back to 20th Century-Fox. I had deserted Walt, which was a very criminal act (at least he thought it was).

However, I was curious, and flattered, that Walt would pick up the phone and call me. I had no idea what he wanted.

He asked how long it would take me to get there
.…
“I’ll be out front waiting for you,” he said
.…

Bill Cottrell, Dick Irvine, and Marvin Davis were there, all friends of mine. Walt said, “Herbie, I’m in the process of doing an amusement park, we’re working on it right now.”…I asked, “What are you going to call it?” He said, “I’m going to call it Disneyland,” and I said, “Well, that’s a good name. What is it that you want to see me about?” He said, “Well, my brother Roy is going to New York on Monday morning. He’s flying out of here to New York to see the bankers. Herbie, we need $17 million to get us started
.…
You know the bankers, they have no imagination. They can’t visualize when you tell them what you’re going to do, they have no way of visualizing it. So, I’ve got to show them what we’re going to do before we can have any chance of getting the money.” I said, “I would love to see what you’re going to do. Where is it?” He pointed at me and said, “You’re going to do it!” I said, “No. I’m not. You’re not going to call me on Saturday morning at 10
A.M.
and expect me to do a masterpiece that Roy could take and get the money. It will embarrass me and it will embarrass you.” Walt asked the other guys to leave the room.

We were alone. Walt paced around the room with his arms folded,…kind of looked back at me over his left shoulder with a little kind of sheepish smile, like a little boy who really wants something. With his eyes brimming, he asked, “Herbie, will you do it if I stay here with you?” I began to think, well he’s very serious about this, and Walt, after all, was my friend, and so I said, “Sure, if you stay here all night tonight and all night Sunday night and help me, I’ll stay here. I’ll see what I can do.”

Our agreement cheered Walt, and he sent out for tuna salad sandwiches and malted milks and we started to work. It was just a carbon pencil drawing with a little color on top of it, but Roy got the money—so I guess it turned out all right.