The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up
Part 3
Posted by Trevor on December 18, 2008
Tags: Disneyland, Donald Duck, Eeyore, Great America, Harry, Midget
Looking around Egg House Break Area at the crowd of cartoon characters in front of me, I asked the nearest person, without a head, "Are you Harry?" The gray half-man, half-donkey guy wearing a blue handkerchief skullcap gave me a look like I'd just asked him if he kicked puppies for fun.
"Why?"
"He's my buddy."
"Wrong jackass," he laughed, and then he dove forward into the costume and flipped his huge head up. "You can call me Josh," a muffled voice from somewhere under the fur echoed.
"Oh, hi. I'm Alan. I'm new."
"Couldn't tell." He spun around and called out, "Zip up!"
"What?"
"Zip, zip!" He waved his padded hoof over his shoulder, and I noticed that the costume had no fingers, let alone opposable thumbs.
"Sure, gotcha." I reached over and zipped him into his donkey suit, covering over the zipper with the Velcro.
"Tie, please?" he said, holding out his paw. Wrapped around it was a little red Mickey Mouse balloon. Not floating merrily above him, but actually deflated and dangling pathetically from the end of his arm.
"Uh...okay," I said unquestioningly and tied the string in a bow for him.
As he started to walk toward the Main Street service door which bore an eye-catching sign saying: CAST MEMBERS ONLY, Eeyore pointed to a bench with his free paw.
"That's him, rookie. Go ahead and wake 'em up. He's running late, again."
"Oh, why?" I started to ask, but then he suddenly jumped in the air.
"Check it out, I'm Captain Eeyore," he whooped as he moonwalked past the full-length mirror, spun around and went up onto his tip toes. "Hooter, we're going in!" He chimed in his best Michael Jackson/Captain Eo impersonation. Then completely back in character, he lumbered sluggishly around the corner and disappeared on stage.
I walked over behind the bench. Lying on it was a pair of orange duck feet, a white duck's body, and it was wearing a little blue sailor suit. The ensemble was topped off by a man's head and he was snoring, loudly. He was like the shortest person I had ever seen. He woke up and saw me staring down at him. He focused blearily past me, scowling up at the Mickey Mouse wall clock hanging above the set schedules posted on corkboard on one wall. Puzzled, he looked back at me with bloodshot eyes.
"What are you lookin' at, rookie?" he quacked. His voice sounded like a cross between a carnie barker at a peep show and some guy gargling gravel.
Harry was old school Disney. He had come west with a carnival that had stopped in Anaheim several decades ago. He stayed when they moved on and found a home in the Mouse House. He was a "little person" in height only, under three feet. "Little person" was the approved term. Not "dwarf," not "midget," and no one ever used the other "M" word backstage. At least not around him. Not since some visiting VIP had jokingly called him a Munchkin and suddenly felt a hard Plexiglas duck bill smash into his groin. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled a toxic cloud of liquor-laced coffee breath that made my eyes water.
"You're my buddy," I managed to squeak.
He actually flinched. "Your buddy?" He sat up on the waffle bench and eyeballed me.
I just nodded and tried not to stare.
"Who sez?"
"Jerry said--"
"Jerry, huh?" He cut me off with a sneer of contempt. "That fat little fascist." He looked me over as if inspecting a pack animal's load-bearing potential. "Your buddy huh?"
"Yep. But if you don't--"
"Okay," he growled. "Hey kid, have you ever done this before?"
"I've been doing Hotel Breakfast--"
"Hotel Breakfast! Oh, shit!"
"But I did three summers as Huckleberry Hound and then Captain Caveman--"
"Huckle-who? Captain Cro-Magnon? Never heard of 'em. Where?"
"Great America, it's this theme park up in--"
"Great America? Ha! What the fuck's so great about it?" He laughed the kind of laugh that sounded like it hurt. "Look, park it rookie. Okay, body first. Then put your feet on. That one goes on your right. Your other right. Alright buddy. I've got three rules of thumb for ya. One! Never let 'em get behind you. When you get out there--" He suddenly scooted backward across the break area floor and flattened himself against the corrugated aluminum siding of the wall. "It's back-against-the-wall-time, kid. Get yerself a clear field of vision. So's you can see who's comin' at ya." He shuffled over to me on his great webbed feet. "Are ya gettin' this? Could save yer skin!"
"Oh...um, yes," I mumbled as I stared at the Tigger hide hanging in the corner.
"Two! Never stand in direct sunlight. That's death. I've seen you rookies get dehydrated in half an hour. It's not a pretty sight. Yeah, I don't care how much they beg you to get into better light for their pictures. Bullshit! Stay in the shade. That's why God created flash photography. You know what I'm sayin'?"
"Well, yeah but--" I stammered as I tried to follow his odd theology.
"Three! Watch your ass. The suits, 'Blues' and 'Fox units' are everywhere. Yeah, the Ice Princess only comes out of her air-conditioned office to check up on us every once in a blue moon. But the leads are out to get you. Hell, one time Jerry popped out from behind a bush over by City Hall and he sez, 'I saw what you were doin.' Bullshit! He didn't see nothin'. It wasn't even my stogie, somebody dropped it. I just picked it up. Hell, I was gonna put it out...eventually. Okay, let's get you zipped up. Bend down I can't reach you. That's better. Hey, uh, Captain Huckleberry? You do know that you got your freakin' head on backward, don't ya?" He laughed again as he went over to the stumps to retrieve his own.
I knew that. I was just double checking my head gear. I turned my face back to the front, and I watched as he put his own head on and then I followed Donald Duck out on stage.
TO BE CONTINUED....
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