This was an story in the paper today. It's from the readers as writers section of the paper. Does anyone have any similar memory.
Death of a legend leaves a hole in a wonderful world and a boy's heart The day the cartoon creator died was a dark one for me.
By Murphy Scott
I was young when he died.
That day, I was playing in my bedroom when Dad pulled up in the driveway. He was home at the same time as always from work. I heard him turn off his engine, his car door slammed and finally his footsteps were inside the house. I got up and ran to meet him. He and Mom were already in a hug, but he bent down to embrace me, too. He asked how my day was. I told him briefly but I ran back to happily play with my toys.
My parents continued talking, not aware I could still hear them. I wasn't actually listening until his tone of voice changed. It got real low and turned into a sad question.
"Did you hear who died today?"
"No," Mom said. "Who?"
I was old enough to understand when someone died, I wasn't going to see them anymore. They were going to be buried in the ground and in time only become bones. With Dad's terrible question lingering in the air, I found myself wandering toward them. I was scared it was someone I knew. I didn't want to know but knew sooner or later they might have to tell me.I'd rather know right now.
With his back to me, Dad uttered two words.
I forgot instantly how to inhale.
Everything in the world stood still except the terror rising inside my chest.I flashed back to last Sunday night. There was Mr. Disney as always, with his mustache, a gentle smile and soothing voice. I saw him talking with Mickey Mouse on the television. Walt Disney was like having another grandpa and I loved him. All of my friends did. Now there would be no more of him. The Mouseketeers' television show would have to go off the air.
The "Wonderful World of Disney" would stop coming on Sunday nights, I might not ever see Mickey Mouse again, but the most awful thought came screaming inside me less than a half-second later.
Disneyland would have to be closed now.
I began to shriek. "No!" I sobbed. "No, no, it can't be!"
Mom quickly took me in her arms. She knew my world had been crushed.It was all over. All that was good and wonderful had been snatched away forever. It was like death had popped a beautiful balloon. All the glittery and magical air inside was escaping with no way to stop it.
"Please, Dad. Please no, no. Don't say that happened. Mr. Disney didn't really die, did he? Can't they wake him up? What if they tried really hard? Can't doctors do that sometimes?"
Dad took me but didn't answer. He held me quietly.
"So, Dad? Is Mickey Mouse gone too?"
"What do you mean, son?"
"Walt Disney drew his cartoons," I tried to reason, "If he died, so did
Mickey Mouse. Doesn't he do his voice, too?"
"No, that's not the way it works. Mr. Disney had other people helping him. He was so busy running Disneyland that he didn't draw the cartoons anymore."
"So, if he was the one running Disneyland, won't it close? It was his,
wasn't it?"No, son. Somebody will make sure Disneyland always stays open. They wouldn't want his dream to end. He created too beautiful a place."It didn't make sense how anyone could keep Disneyland open, but I trusted them. Mom and Dad always seemed to know. They were always right. After much reassurance, Mom finally calmed me down. Through my tears they promised nothing about the Magic Kingdom would change. It was hard for me to believe but a parent's promise is a powerful thing. As it turns out, they were right.
Disneyland is still here today.
The Magic Kingdom didn't leave but it could have packed up. It never closed but that night was probably the closest it ever came. As I lay in my bed, I thought of what might be happening at Disneyland that very moment. All lights were probably already off. All the buildings were empty.All the rides were sitting still in the dark. I bet nobody wanted to walk along Main Street tonight.
It was hard to sleep and I couldn't help sniffling. In my imagination I didn'tknow where Mickey Mouse lived, but I knew what he was doing.Mickey was probably in his bed, sniffling, too.
Murphy Scott is a 15-year San Pedro resident and a
credit analyst and aspiring novelist.