Golden Ears for 50 Years

Friday, May 13, 2005

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Golden Ears for 50 Years

By J’AMY PACHECO

I hate crowds.

I hate being anyplace where a crush of people makes it inevitable the backs of my shoes will be stepped upon. I despise being hemmed in to the point that strange people wind up pressed into my backside. I detest being in places so crowded that mothers wield their strollers like weapons, cutting a swath of calf-level destruction as they ruthlessly clear a path to their destination.

It is, therefore, almost inconceivable that I would spend two precious vacation days and a whole bunch of money to help the world’s most famous rodent celebrate the 50th anniversary of The Happiest Place on Earth. But I did.

From the moment we heard about Disneyland’s planned 5-5-05 bash — nearly a year ago — my daughter and I knew we had to go.

So a friend and I yanked our kids out of school in the midst of state standards testing (do we have our priorities straight, or what?) and checked ourselves into the Disneyland Hotel to ensure an early-morning arrival.

Unfortunately, a convention of business and marketing college students had also checked in. This professional crowd let its collective hair down that night, and I got no more than two hours sleep as I listened to the hard-partying, balcony-climbing, drink-dumping, toilet-flushing revelers that surrounded my room. Oy.

I was, therefore, a cranky Mouseketeer when I dragged myself out of bed the next morning. But I donned my Tinker Bell shirt, pinned newly-purchased golden mouse ears on my daughter and myself, and headed for the gates to paradise.

We expected the park to be crowded, but even I, the eternal pessimist, was unprepared for the crowd at the security checkpoint more than an hour before the scheduled opening.

We were third in line to have our bags searched when a cast member brought the line to a screeching halt, explaining that a capacity crowd had already passed through. We couldn’t get in.

I can’t describe the dismay that rippled backward through the crowd, fueled by the fact that many of those refused entry were in the same situation as our little group – part of the party was inside the gate, and part was outside.

As only the media — working or not — were let through, our dejected little girls posed for pictures, sad looks on their tiny faces and fingers covering the word “never” to make their new shirts read, “Disneyland: Where the Party Ends.” It was pathetic.

But all that disappeared when the crowd behind the security lines let out a roar indicating the gates to the park had been opened. Before long, we zipped through security — and found ourselves in the midst of a frozen mob on Main Street.

That harrowing situation ended relatively quickly, and we raced to board the new and improved “Jungle Cruise” ride.

I won’t tell you how that vintage ride is better, but it is. In fact, everything in the park is better, from the new parade (wow!) to the liberal use of royal blue and gold to decorate.

Sleeping Beauty’s castle now sports royal crowns on each turret, and many Fantasyland rides have new golden elements. There is a single golden teacup on that ride, and even a golden “Dumbo” on the high-flying elephant ride.

Our children had a golden time searching the park for the “50th” emblems, and nearly fainted with delight when they were able to board the single golden boat on their second cruise through the jungle.

Our joyful day was nearly undone when, preparing to view the fireworks show, we found ourselves squeezed into a tight, “had-it-up-to-here” crowd. It got a little scary for a while, until a man next to us began making jokes and doing magic tricks.

Any trouble we’d experienced that day disappeared the moment the lights went out. Pyrotechnics completely surrounded us as we took an unbelievable trip to the past, reliving classic moments in Disneyland’s history, from Walt’s opening day speech to sound clips from classic, and no-longer-in-existence rides.

The crowd roared its approval, and I doubt there was a single adult there who didn’t feel the same childlike wonder that was apparent in the faces of our own offspring. It was awesome.

The backs of my shoes were stepped on more times than I could count. I can’t tell you how many strangers touched my backside, and my shins still ache from contact with strollers.

Was it worth it? You bet. Would I do it again? I’ll be in my 90s when the next 50 years has passed, but if Mickey is still there, I’ll be there, too.

I just hope my golden ears can take it.