Walt Disney, One-Eyed Wenches And Strategic Bombing.

Today would have been Marc Davis’ 99th birthday.

Who’s he? Oh, just the greatest artist in the history of human civilization. I said that and I mean it. Sure Leonardo (not DiCaprio, but that other one) gave us the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper, Van Gogh his Starry Night and Picasso cranked out a few amusing doodles here and there….but it was Davis who gave the world this:

The only child of Harry and Mildred Davis, Marc was born on March 30, 1913, in Bakersfield, Calif., where his father was engaged in oil field developments not unlike Daniel Day-Lewis’ character in “There Will Be Blood”…. minus the whole homicidal episode in a bowling alley at the end. Or least I hope so. At any rate wherever a new oil boom developed, the family moved and as a result, Marc attended more than 20 different schools across the country while growing up.

After high school, he enrolled in the Kansas City Art Institute, followed by the California School of Fine Arts in San Francisco and Otis Art Institute in Los Angeles. While studying, Marc spent hours at the zoo drawing animals, which became one of his specialties. His story drawings for “Bambi” are still considered some of the finest studies of animal characters ever created at Disney Studios. Considered by who? People who know this kind of stuff, that’s who. So back off.

Marc joined Disney in 1935 as an apprentice animator on “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” and later did character design on “Bambi” and “Victory Through Air Power.”

Take that Thumper!

Can we just pause for a moment and let the yin and yang of that last sentence sink in? The same year (1943) he’s doing work on “Bambi”, the story of a baby deer romping in the forest with his adorable woodland friends…..he’s also animating “Victory Through Air Power”, a war-time propaganda film advocating the carpet bombing of European cities. Now that’s artisic range!

Another odd sidebar about “Victory….”  It was based on a book of the same name written by Alexander de Seversky, a Russian-American inventor and military aviation pioneer who believed that only a massive, sustained and merciless use of air power could bring World War II to an end. Walt Disney was so inspired by that argument that he secured the rights to the book and commissioned a film adaption as a way to essentially lobby the U.S. government to adopt Seversky’s tactics.

According to some sources Disney Studios sent a print of the film to the Quebec Conference, a secret military meeting between the U.S., British and Canadian governments. Reportedly, the film had a profound effect on the participants, so much so that soon afterward, the Allies made a renewed commitment to long-range bombing. That story is probably apocryphal (look that word up if you have to), because how would Disney have known about a secret allied war meeting? Still it’s the kind of thing that’s just wacky enough to be true.

But….back to Mr. Davis.

In company lore he’s considered one of “Disney’s Nine Old Men”, a core group of creative types responsible for some of the studio’s most famous works.  Over the years, he animated on such classic features as “Song of the South,” “Cinderella” and “Alice in Wonderland,” as well as shorts, including “African Diary,” “Duck Pimples” and “Toot, Whistle, Plunk, and Boom.”

Impressive credits to be sure, but the place where his genius most directly intersects with your childhood came a bit latter.

In the early 1950’s, as work began on Disneyland, Davis transferred to Disney’s design and development organization, today

The Marc Davis gallery! Creeping kids out since 1954!

known as Walt Disney Imagineering. As one of Disney’s original Imagineers, Marc contributed whimsical story and character concepts for such Disneyland attractions as the Enchanted Tiki Room, It’s a Small World and  The Jungle Cruise.

But it’s his work on two rides: The Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion that best showcase his considerable talents. Not only did he contribute during the early design phase of these attractions…but he’s personally responsible for creating nearly all the art work that hangs inside them.

“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination, hmm…?”

The “stretch paintings” in the lobby of the Haunted Mansion? That’s him. The “Hall Of Portraits” that transform before your eyes? His handy work as well.

I can remember as a small child being carried through the Haunted Mansion by my father, because I was too scared to walk. But it was a good kind of scared….if that makes any sense. Or maybe I’m just romanticizing a moment pants pooping terror. Take your pick.

Twenty-years later I’d carry my own son through those gloomy corridors, thus continuing the generational cycle of fun….or emotional abuse. Take your pick.

My favorite example of Davis’ work (dare I say his masterpiece) hangs inside that other classic Disney ride, The Pirates Of The Caribbean. It’s the painting of a one-eyed, female buccaneer titled: “A Portrait Of Things To Come”.

Oh, it's that Proft kid again.

If the art in the Haunted Mansion fueled some of my first nightmares, then this picture is certainly responsible for early emotional stirrings of another kind all together. I’d argue that it’s (red) head and shoulders above anything dribbled out by Jackson Pollock or some wrinkled old Dutch face slapped on canvas by Rembrandt. Given the fact that people float through The Pirates Of The Caribbean at a rate of 3,400 guest/hour and have been doing so near ceaselessly seven days a week since the attraction opened in 1967, I’d wager more people have physically seen Davis’ painting than anything in the Louvre or New York’s Guggenheim…and none of those so called “museums” drop you down two waterfalls into a dark cavern filled with animatronic pirates.

And where’s the fun in that?

Davis and Walt Disney, circa 1966

My Long, Strange Road To Daycare (Part 3)

Around the time I was getting career advice from a professional Saddam Hussein impersonator my lovely wife Lisa felt a hankering to leave her sales job and go to law school. Which is precisely what she did. She very wisely made the decision on her own without consulting any dictator lookalikes…however a guy who stocked the book store vending machines would bare a surprising resemblance to North Korea’s Kim il Jung.

The Virgin Marry's face you say? Yeah, I don't know. I just don't see it.

Lisa, one of the most industrious people I’ve ever known, worked a full time job clerking in a Westwood law firm, and went to class at night. How somebody can do that without chain smoking or ever tasting a single cup of coffee is a miracle. That and a half way decent card trick might technically qualify somebody for Sainthood under current Vatican rules.

It’s an odd breed who attend night school, let alone a night law school, and I was always fascinated by the trail mix of people in her study groups. There were board trophy wives, a guy who lived out of his Toyota Camry, a mother and son duo and a practicing doctor who apparently was a gluton for graduate level punishment. Despite their divergent backgrounds they all shared the same goal….each was reinventing themselves.

One of the most interesting was a retired Air Force Colonel and former F-4 pilot named Ken who at one time had the distinction of spending three years in the “Hanoi Hilton” along with fellow POWs John McCain and Admiral James Stockdale. He and Lisa struck up an unlikely friendship and we’d spend occasional weekends with Ken and his wife down at their home in Hermosa Beach. He didn’t talk much about his time “in prison” as he called it, but was full of amazing stories that ranged from tangling with MIGs over North Vietnam to his work with NASA on a proposed manned mission to Mars. All of which made me realize that some people live more interesting (or at least swashbuckling) lives than others.

Towards the end of their time in law school both Ken and Lisa found themselves squaring off against each other in Moot Court competition, a kind of legal steel cage match where participants take part in a simulated court proceeding in front of a pannel of actual judges. In the final round my wife tossed a spider monkey of oral arguments in Ken’s face pummeling him with facts, Supreme Court presidents and obscure legal code references.

When Lisa was finished, the judge turned to Lisa’s opponent and said: “Counsel…what do you say to that?”

Ken was silent for a beat. “Well,” he said finally “I agree with her.” Yes, my wife had done in ten minutes what the North Vietnamese couldn’t do in three years….she’d broken him.

Come for salvation...stay for the coffee and donuts.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention also mention Kim Green, a single mother of two, Lisa met in her second year at law school. In 1998 Kim invited us to attend a Christmas concert at her church in Van Nuys, Ca. That moment, which deserves a full blog entry of it’s own to do it justice, set off an unlikely chain reaction of events that would profoundly alter the course of our lives.

But….I digress….

Lisa finished law school and passed the bar exam on her first try. After that she spent several years as an aid to a prominent elected official and became known as something of an expert on children’s issues. She would later take a job with the Los Angeles County Counsel’s Office representing social workers and prosecuting child abuse cases.

By 2005 I was all but washed up as a screenwriter but Lisa, now a hotshot government lawyer, was doing very well for herself.  Truth of the matter was her income had eclipsed mine long ago. For years she’d been underwriting the cost of what I called a “career”, but was really a nothing more than very expensive hobby….and a monument to my vanity.

It’s important to point out that Lisa was, and still is, the most supportive spouse anyone could ask for. But with a new baby on the way I couldn’t justify (her) spending more on daycare than I was bringing in as a writer. This put us at something of a crossroads and the way I saw it there were had two choices. I could find a job that made more than my wife so she could stay home with the baby…which seemed unlikely since her resume’ says “lawyer” and mine “guy who sits in a bathrobe thinking up cartoons”…

…or I could be the one to stay home.

Hey...I was Batman, I got this.

In the end it wasn’t an emotional decision, it was an actuarial one.

On October 11 , 2005, Lisa delivered our second child, Jonathan. She spent three months home on maternity leave (thank you Los Angeles County tax-payers!) then, one bright January day, picked up her briefcase and went back to court….and I settled into stay-at-home daddydom.

Now, in movie land, when a wife leves her husband at home with the kids for the first time you quickly CUT TO the scene, moments later, when utter disaster has broken out. There’s a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, baby food dripping from the celling and smoke billowing out of the Diaper Genie. Because as we all know…men can’t handle taking care of small children.

In reality, things could not have gone smoother. I got our oldest son off to school and settled into the routine of feeding, changing and rocking our newborn. And when I say “routine” I mean the seemingly endless cycle of feeding, changing and rocking. A veritable Moubous Strip of diapers and formula. Maybe it was the zen like repetition or the fact that I was bonding with my child, but either way I found I enjoyed being around kids.

Sure there were a few minor mistakes early on, but once I got my sea legs it was all smooth sailing.

Note to self: Do not confuse these two things again!

After about a year of full-time stay at home daddying later, a friend of ours mentioned that she was looking for childcare. Her son was about the same age as young Jonathan so I offered to look after both of them. She offered to pay me for my trouble and we had this conversation:

“Oh, no I just couldn’t take your money. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I insist. Let me write you a check.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

We went around the offer/refusal merry-go-round several times then my inner mercenary won the day.

“Fine…make it cash.”

I went out that afternoon, bought myself a double stroller and just like that I was in the Male Nanny business. I also discovered the strange calculus of childcare: that taking care of two toddlers is not, despite what you would think, twice as difficult as taking care of just one. In actuality they end up playing with and entertaining each other. All I had to do was read a book now and then, plan some sort of craft and play in the back yard. So if it’s this easy with two kids….how hard could it be with a couple more?

But this is where government gets involved. Turns out you can take care of 2 or 2,000 kids at once if they’re all from the same family, BUT if you have just 3 children from different families then the law requires you to have license and undergo some training.

Rules, rules, rules. Save us Ron Paul!

In 2007 I went through the process of becoming a State Licensed Daycare Center. What’s involved in that you ask? On paper the hoops you need to jump through are pretty straight forward, but in practice it’s a bureaucratic rigamarole beyond Kafka’s worst nightmare. It starts with a mandatory orientation meeting in some nondescript government building. The day I went, there were well over a hundred perspective childcare barons on hand, and let me say they were some of the sketchiest folks you’d ever want to see. Imagine the Star Wars cantina gang seated around a Naugahyde conference table. When it was announced that applicants could not be currently on parole or the subject of an active restraining order, a third of the group got up and walked out. A minute later when the Spanish translation went through we lost a dozen more.

A retched hive of scum and villainy, indeed.

An FBI background check, eight hours of certified training and several processing fees later I was ready for my final home inspection. I’d spent weeks diligently meeting all the State requirements. I had gates blocking of stairs, child proof covers on all the electrical plugs and enough padding to cushion the fall of an elephant from low earth orbit. I had my disaster plan written out, my fire extinguisher and emergency food and water stored and at the ready. All my paperwork was in order, in triplicate and stamped in the appropriate places.

When the state inspector showed up….many….many…days later, he looked around for maybe half a second and declared, “Yeah, looks good to me.”

He pulled out some forms and asked me a serious of bolier plate questions. “Do you own a pitbull or other dangerous animal?

Daycare....Texas style!

Any posionsus plants in your back yard? Any uncapped wells or mine shafts? ” I answered “No” to them all…..until….

“Do you own any firearms?”

I started to say no, then suddenly remembered. “Oh, wait. I do. Havn’t used them years, so I kind of forgot about that.”

“What do you have?”, the inspector said, suddenly conerned.

“Two pistols and a shotgun. There in locked cases out in the garage. Perfectly safe. I can show them too you if you like?”

I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was caculating the amount of calories it was going to take to get up off my sofa and walk out to the grage. “Yeah, looks good to me.”

After that riggoris inspection I was open for business.

While my licence allows me to look after up to 8 children at a time, I’ve never had more than five. And I actually prefer limiting myself to no more than two. The customers like the higher level of personal attention that brings and I enjoy it too.

My first and longest client was an amazing woman, and foster mother, named Audrey. Over the years she has taken care of a dozen or so infants  (one at a time) who’ve been removed from their birth parents due to some abuse or neglect in the home. Because she also works a full time job she needs some one to watch the children during the day. When her old, go-to provider suddenly retired she found me though a local registry. I’ve had the privilege now of watching 4 different babys for her. The last was a beautiful little girl, born HIV exposed, who I cared for nearly 10 hours a day, five days a week, from the time she was born until the day she was placed in a permeant home fourteen months later.

In a way Audrey is typical of my clients. They’ve all been single women. Why? Because fathers find the idea of a guy running a daycare business to be….kind’a creepy. On the other hand single mom’s will often tell me that they like having a positive male influence in their kid’s lives.

I only hope I can be that for my biological children as well.