by Bob Thomas
During the planning meetings, Walt became impatient over talk about operation of the theme park. “You guys know that by now,” he snapped. “I don’t want to discuss what we learned in the past; I want to talk about the future.” He devoted most of his own thinking to EPCOT, and he discoursed about it in an October interview:
“It’s like the city of tomorrow ought to be, a city that caters to the people as a service function. It will be a planned, controlled community, a showcase for American industry and research, schools, cultural and educational opportunities. In EPCOT there will be no slum areas because we won’t let them develop. There will be no landowners and therefore no voting control. People will rent houses instead of buying them, and at modest rentals. There will be no retirees. Everyone must be employed. One of our requirements is that the people who live in EPCOT must help keep it alive.”
Walt remarked that EPCOT would be only one of two prototype cities. The other, which was forming in his mind, would be an experimental laboratory for administering cities. Retired persons and others could buy property in the second city.
“I happen to be an inquisitive guy,” Walt continued, “and when I see things I don’t like, I start thinking, why do they have to be like this and how can I improve them? City governments, for example. We pay a lot of taxes and still have the streets that aren’t paved or are full of holes. And city street cleaners and garbage collectors who don’t do their jobs. And property owners who let dirt accumulate and help create slums. Why?”
The reporter commented that Walt seemed to have enough to manage without taking on experimental cities.
“Oh, you sound just like my wife,” he replied with a chuckle. “When I started on Disneyland, she used to say, ‘But why do you want to build an amusement park? They’re so dirty.’ I told her that was just the point—mine wouldn’t be.”
On October 29, Walt flew east to receive the American Forestry Association award at Williamsburg for “outstanding service in conservation of American resources.” With Sharon and Bob Brown, he toured the colonial houses of Williamsburg, which he admired for its authentic reproduction of early America. He signed autographs for tourists and posed for photographs with his hands and legs in prisoner’s stocks. He fretted over his speech for the award banquet, finally ignored it and spoke extemporaneously about his own love of nature.
When Walt returned to California, he realized he could no longer postpone surgery. His breath was short, and the pain almost rendered his leg useless. On Wednesday, November 2, he entered St. Joseph’s Hospital for more tests. This time X rays revealed a spot the size of a walnut on the left lung. Doctors told him surgery was imperative.
He returned to the studio on Thursday for conferences on national developments in theater arts. On Friday, he joined the full board of Cal Arts for a four-hour meeting at which architectural plans for the campus were revealed for the first time. Afterward Walt remarked to a fellow board member, “Now it’s time to select a president, broaden the board and get rolling.” Walt reviewed footage of The Gnome-Mobile, had a haircut and manicure in the barbershop and watched forty-three minutes of rushes of films in production. He was scheduled to attend a banquet in honor of his friend Jules Stein, but he felt too tired to go.
Walt went to a house in Encino which the Miller family had occupied before they moved to a bigger home nearby; the Disney house on Carolwood was being remodeled. He rested on Saturday, and the next morning he drove himself to St. Joseph’s. On the way, he stopped by the Millers’ new house and for a few minutes he watched Ron play football with neighborhood youngsters. Walt waved to Ron and then drove on.
Surgery was scheduled for Monday morning. Walt didn’t want any fuss made over him, and he told Lilly not to come to the hospital. But Diane insisted that the family should be there, and she and Sharon and their mother sat in the hospital room to await the outcome of the operation. When the surgeon entered, he was grimfaced. He said the left lung had been cancerous and had been removed. The lymph nodes were oversized, and the outlook was poor. “I would give him six months to two years to live,” the surgeon said.
The women were stunned, and Lilly seemed unwilling or unable to accept the news. Her daughters, too, could scarcely believe it. When Diane returned to the hospital that night in a driving rainstorm, she somehow convinced herself that her father had a chance, and she was able to face him hopefully. Her father was still in the intensive-care unit, and he was beginning to regain consciousness. “Were you there?” he asked weakly. She nodded, and he said knowingly, “Your mother was there, too.”
When Lilly arrived, he was optimistic. “Sweetheart, I’m a new man,” he said. “I’ve only got one lung, but otherwise I’m good as new.”
During the stay in the hospital, Walt seemed to regain some of his vigor, and he was cheerful with family visitors. To his nephew, Roy Edward Disney, he remarked: “Whatever it is I’ve got, don’t get it.” The studio had announced only that Walt Disney had undergone surgery to correct an old polo injury, but reports of the severity of the surgery circulated. John Wayne, who had also had a lung removed, sent Walt a telegram: “WELCOME TO THE CLUB—THE ONLY PROBLEM IS HEIGHT,” meaning that high altitudes were to be avoided. Walt was delighted with the message and showed it to the nurses and visitors.
After two weeks in the hospital, Walt was bored and eager to return to work. The doctors said he could leave, and he telephoned Tommie Wilck to come and get him. He insisted on going to his office, and he read reports on the company’s projects and had a few brief conferences. Winston Hibler, who sought Walt’s advice on a script of The Horse in the Gray Flannel Suit, was startled to find Walt weak and drawn. But as they conversed, his voice grew stronger.
“I had a scare, Hib,” Walt said. “I never had this sort of thing before. But I’m going to be okay—just off my feet for a little while. You guys will have to carry on with the motion-picture product. I’ll be around to help you; when you get stuck on something, I’ll be here.” After making suggestions for the movie script, he added: “Get the story. The story’s the most important thing. Once you’ve got the story, then everything else’ll fall into place.”
At lunchtime he went to the Coral Room, but instead of sitting at his traditional table in the northeast comer, he joined the men at the WED table. They, too, were shocked by his appearance. Walt explained that part of his left lung had been removed and it had been cancerous. But he was certain he would be back to normal as soon as he got some rest. Talking about the illness seemed to bore him, and he inquired about the projects at WED. After lunch, he accompanied his staff to the WED building to look at the works in progress. He asked Roger Broggie about the state of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride for Disneyland. It had been completed and shipped to the park, Broggie said, but more tests were needed. The business faction in the company was pressing for a Christmas opening. “Broggie, don’t you tell them you can do it; that show isn’t ready,” Walt insisted.
Walt sat down to talk with Marc Davis, who had been with him from the creative years of the early features through the Imagineering of Disneyland and Disney World. Mel Melton, whom Walt had made president of WED, came by, anticipating that Walt might have some business matters to discuss, as he usually did on his visits. “I’m not working now,” Walt said, giving Melton a pat on the stomach. “I just want to sit here and talk to Marc.”
Walt laughed heartily at sketches Marc had drawn for an Audio-Animatronic bear-band show at Mineral King. Walt kidded Marc about losing weight, and Marc replied, “Well, one thing—they sure knocked a helluva lot of weight off you.” He regretted saying it and quickly mentioned that a mock-up of a moon-ride show was ready for viewing. Walt and Davis, along with Dick Irvine, John Hench and other WED engineers, inspected the mock-up, and Walt made suggestions for improvements. Then he turned to Irvine and said, “I’m getting kinda tired; do you want to take me back to the studio?” Walt walked to the door and turned to say to Davis, “Goodbye, Marc.” Davis had never he
ard Walt say goodbye before.
Walt returned to the studio on Tuesday and Wednesday, holding meetings and visiting departments. He dropped in at the set of Blackboard’s Ghost, surprising Bill Walsh, who was producing the film. “I thought you were across the street at the hospital, Walt,” said Walsh. Peter Ustinov, who was starring in the film, joined the conversation, and Walt remarked that surgeons had removed a rib to get at a problem—“some damned thing they’re fooling around with.” He spoke to the director, Robert Stevenson, about the picture’s progress. Then he left.
There was one last goodbye. Hazel George had sent him a get-well card in the hospital with the note, “I’ll see you in the ‘Laughing Place.’” On his final day at the studio, he sent for her, and they met in the room where they had spent hundreds of hours talking and laughing about a myriad of studio matters while she treated him for the ever-present pain.
“Well, here we are in the ‘Laughing Place,’” he said, studying her reaction to his gaunt appearance.
“There’s something I want to tell you—” he said, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, they embraced each other, weeping.
The following day was Thanksgiving, and Lilly drove Walt to the Millers’ house for an afternoon dinner. Walt enjoyed being among the children, and watching movies of the Canadian voyage. He talked reflectively with Ron. “Boy, I had the biggest scare of my life,” Walt said. “Even though I’d had warnings all these years, I never thought it would happen to me.” He admitted that he would have to slow down his pace. “I’m going to turn over the picture-making to you producers. I think you guys can work as a team, ‘cause you’ve been showing it for the past three years. I’m gonna devote all my time to Disney World and EPCOT.” He added with a grin, “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to read those scripts.”
Walt thought he might feel better if he went to the desert, and he and Lilly flew to Palm Springs. But he stayed only one night at the house at Smoke Tree Ranch. He grew weaker, and he returned to St. Joseph’s Hospital on November 30.
He was beginning to fail more quickly than doctors had anticipated. Cobalt treatments diminished his strength and robbed his appetite. He grew concerned about the future of his family and ordered his personal attorney to sell a block of Disney stock for Diane’s benefit. When she asked him why, he said, “Kid, I’m worried about you and Ron with that big mortgage to pay for.”
Roy brought him reports of developments in the company, and Ron told him of good business for Follow Me, Boys at the Radio City Music Hall. Small things pleased him, as when Diane brought a basket of delicacies. Walt enjoyed the visits with his family, but at times he seemed to seek solitude, as if he didn’t want Lilly and the girls to see him in such pain.
He grew weaker, and the drugs sometimes made him confused. “Don’t be late for the plane,” he said to Sharon for no reason at all. Once he saw reporter Nancy Dickerson on television and said, “Oh, there’s Jackie Kennedy. Isn’t she lovely?”
His sixty-fifth birthday fell on December 5, but he was too ill for any observance. His strength continued to wane, and his voice became weak and raspy. On the afternoon of December 14, Lilly visited him and she telephoned Diane later to say, “Oh, he’s so much better. He got out of bed. He kept putting his arms around me, and his grip was so strong. I know he’s going to get well. I know he’s going to be all right.”
Roy visited him that evening, and Walt seemed weak but lucid. The two brothers talked quietly about company matters, and Walt was intent on discussing Disney World and EPCOT. He stared at the ceiling, which was covered with foot-square acoustical tiles, and he raised a faltering hand to point out the design of the Florida property. Roy, too, was encouraged by Walt’s appearance, and he remarked to Edna that night that he thought Walt had a good chance to recover.
Walt Disney died at nine-thirty the next morning of an acute circulatory collapse [according to death certificate].
Sorrow and disbelief encircled the world. Newspapers in every country in the world reported the news of Walt Disney’s death, and citizens everywhere felt the loss. Presidents, premiers and kings expressed their sympathy, and editorials hailed the Disney achievements. The Los Angeles Times called him “Aesop with a magic brush. Andersen with a color camera. Barrie, Carroll, Prokofief, Harris—with a genius touch that brought to life the creatures they had created…No man in show business has left a richer legacy.” The London Times reported that he “produced work of incomparable artistry and of touching beauty.”
The New York Times commented: “Starting from very little save a talent for drawing, a gift of imagination that was somehow in tune with everyone’s imagination, and a dogged determination to succeed, Walt Disney became one of Hollywood’s master entrepreneurs and one of the world’s greatest entertainers. He had a genius for innovation; his production was enormous; he was able to keep sure and personal control over his increasingly far-flung enterprise; his hand was ever on the public pulse. He was, in short, a legend in his own lifetime—and so honored many times over. Yet none of this sums up Walt Disney….”
A Paris newspaper said, “All the children in the world are in mourning. And we have never felt so close to them.” Another in Holland called Walt Disney a king who “reigned for several decades over the fantasy of children in all the world.” A Mexico City paper reported the sadness of the country’s children, “and more than one tear was seen in the eyes of grown men.” Disney was described by an editorialist in Turin as “a poet-magician who brought the world of fable alive,” and a Düsseldorf newspaper said Disney’s Oscars “were of less value than the shouts of joy from the young and old.”
His friend Dwight D. Eisenhower commented, “His appeal and influence were universal. Not restricted to this land alone—for he touched a common chord in all humanity. We shall not soon see his like again.” From the White House, President Lyndon B. Johnson wrote to Lilly: “It is a sad day for America and the world when a beloved artist leaves us. Millions of us lived a brighter and happier life by the light of your husband’s talents. We mourn him and miss him with you. Mrs. Johnson and I pray that you will find some comfort in the knowledge that beauty, joy and truth are immortal. The magic of Walt Disney was larger than life, and the treasures he left will endure to entertain and enlighten worlds to come.”
Eric Sevareid on the CBS Evening News seemed to express the feelings of most Americans over their loss:
It would take more time than anybody has around the daily news shops to think of the right thing to say about Walt Disney.
He was an original; not just an American original, but an original, period. He was a happy accident; one of the happiest this century has experienced; and judging by the way it’s been behaving in spite of all Disney tried to tell it about laughter, love, children, puppies and sunrises, the century hardly deserved him.
He probably did more to heal or at least to soothe troubled human spirits than all the psychiatrists in the world. There can’t be many adults in the allegedly civilized parts of the globe who did not inhabit Disney’s mind and imagination at least for a few hours and feel better for the visitation.
It may be true, as somebody said, that while there is no highbrow in a lowbrow, there is some lowbrow in every highbrow.
But what Walt Disney seemed to know was that while there is very little grown-up in a child, there is a lot of child in every grown-up. To a child this weary world is brand new, gift wrapped; Disney tried to keep it that way for adults….
By the conventional wisdom, mighty mice, flying elephants, Snow White and Happy, Grumpy, Sneezy and Dopey—all these were fantasy, escapism from reality. It’s a question of whether they are any less real, any more fantastic than intercontinental missiles, poisoned air, defoliated forests, and scraps from the moon. This is the age of fantasy, however you look at it, but Disney’s fantasy wasn’t lethal. People are saying we’ll never see his like again.
The news was shattering to everyone in the Disney organization—in the studio, a
t WED, at Disneyland and in the growing outpost in Florida, in the Buena Vista offices throughout the world. Some had worked with Walt for thirty years, some were newcomers; all had felt his presence as the guiding intellect of the company. Now it was time for Roy to assume control and maintain the destiny that his brother had charted.
Roy issued a statement which told of the loss that everyone felt. Walt was irreplaceable, said Roy, adding, “As President and Chairman of the Board of Walt Disney Productions, I want to assure the public, our stockholders and each of our more than four thousand employees that we will continue to operate Walt Disney’s company in the way that he has established and guided it. Walt Disney spent his entire life and almost every waking hour in the creative planning of motion pictures, Disneyland, television shows and all the other diversified activities that have carried his name through the years. Around him Walt Disney gathered the kind of creative people who understood his way of communicating with the public through entertainment. Walt’s ways were always unique and he built a unique organization. A team of creative people that he was justifiably proud of.”
The funeral was as Walt had specified—private. The body was cremated, and only the immediate family was present for the simple service at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale on the day after he died. Instead of flowers, the family requested that contributions be made to the California Institute of the Arts.
Walt had wanted to keep the gravity of his illness secret because he feared that the news would depress the company stock. Astonishingly, it rose ten points in the weeks following his death. Roy attributed the rise to the fact that the stock had long been underpriced; also, Wall Street reacted to rumors that Disney was being sought for acquisition by large corporations. A new owner could sell the studio’s backlog of films to television for a huge immediate profit. Roy admitted that there had been inquiries, but he said, “God help us if we had to be absorbed into some big conglomerate mess. We’d have to be running pretty scared to agree to that sort of thing. And we’re not scared.”