The Ride of My Life

What is your favorite ride at Disneyland? Ask anyone that question and more than likely they will pick one of the old “E” ticket rides. You may be interested to know that in a 2008 survey asking park visitors to name their favorite ride, Space Mountain and Haunted Mansion tied for first place. Maybe for you it’s the Pirates of the Caribbean, or perhaps Thunder Mountain Railroad. If so, you are not alone. They rate very high among loyal park visitors.

When the ticket book system was in operation (1955-1982) rides were classified according to their relative value. When I was a kid an “A” ticket ride could be purchased individually for only 10¢, or bought as part of a book of tickets. The most expensive tickets – the “E” ticket rides – cost 85¢ if bought alone. We all understood that “E” ticket rides were the most thrilling, elaborate, and extravagant, and obviously the most expensive rides to create. No doubt about it, “E” ticket rides were the most popular.

In time, the “E Ticket” moniker was transformed forever into a pop culture idiom by astronaut Sally Ride. A member of the 1983 Nasa Space Shuttle team, she was asked by reporters when she returned to earth to describe the experience of takeoff, flight, and landing. Obviously a child of Disneyland, she replied, “It was definitely an E ticket ride,” and we all knew exactly what she meant.

The ticket book system is only a memory now, but before it was retired, the following rides were classified as “E” ticket rides:

1. America Sings
2. Country Bear Jamboree
3. Monorail
4. Haunted Mansion
5. Submarine Voyage
6. Pirates of the Caribbean
7. It’s a Small World
8. Enchanted Tiki Room
9. Matterhorn Bobsleds
10. Jungle Cruise

Even for rides created after the ticket book system ended, we could guess with relative certainty which ones would have probably been granted “E” ticket status, like the Indiana Jones Adventure and Big Thunder Mountain.
For me, hands down, my personal all-time favorite ride at Disneyland was, and still is, The Jungle Cruise. It was one of the original rides when the park opened in 1955, and started out with a “C” ticket classification (from 1955-1956). It was promoted to “D” status from 1956-1959, and was finally elevated to the coveted “E” ticket level in 1959. Walt initially intended the ride to contain live zoo animals, making the ride a kind of floating Wild Animal Park. The idea fizzled when the animal handlers explained that these creatures are nocturnal, and would rarely be seen by anyone. So they went to plan B: mechanical animals that would always show up on cue, look adorable, and never need to be fed.

My devotion for the Jungle Cruise ride was based on several reasons. First, I thought their costumes were the coolest. The cavalry uniforms at Fort Wilderness came in a close second (and the goofy futuristic jumpsuits at the Monorail rank last with me), but to me the safari expeditionary garb of the Jungle Cruise evoked images of the rugged adventurer, the modern-day explorer, that rare breed of treasure hunting individualists who knew how to survive in the wild.

Second, I idolized the skill and daring of real life explorers. As a kid I read books about David Livingston, Albert Schweitzer, and Lewis and Clark (all right, Lewis and Clark explored America, which isn’t as exotic as Africa, but still very cool, and America was pretty wild and dangerous in their day). I watched the classic movies “King Solomon’s Mine”, “The African Queen”, and “The Naked Prey”, “Zulu”, along with most of the Tarzan movies that came to TV. To me, the jungle was full of peril, with ferocious animals, deadly plants, and wild natives at every turn. But in the hands of a capable safari guide, I would feel completely safe. For me the Jungle Cruise ride paid tribute to these intrepid adventurers.

Above all, I loved the Jungle Cruise because it was one of only two Disneyland rides where the ride operator actually joined you on the ride and entertained you for the duration (the other ride being the Story Book Canal Boats – and maybe the parking lot tram if you count that as a ride). The Jungle Cruise is a 9-minute expedition, with a massive tongue-in-cheek script that must take weeks for a novice guide to memorize. As I sat beside the captain of my tramp steamer, I hung on his every comic description (“We are now approaching Schweitzer Falls, named after that famous African explorer, Dr. Albert Falls ...”), sarcastic insights (“Do you know how you can tell that that's an African elephant? ... It's because we're in Africa ...”), and droll commentary (“We now arrive at the most dangerous part of our journey – the return to civilization and the Santa Ana Freeway”). The guide was not only captain of the vessel, he was master of the crowd, a bona fide stand-up comedian as important to the ride as the mechanical hippos.

I thought to myself, I want to do that one day. I want to learn how to stand in front of an audience and hold them in rapt attention, to entertain, to inform, to inspire. Believe it or not, the Jungle Cruise Ride introduced me to the power and possibilities of public speaking.

I have to admit, I was always drawn to all of the live performers at the Magic Kingdom. I loved the show at the Golden Horseshoe in Frontierland, and was even chosen once to go on stage with the animal balloon maker. I stood in front of a packed house, who laughed at my slightest remark or reaction to the balloon maker. This fleeting moment of glory under the spotlight left a sweet taste in my mouth. Maybe like most performers I was hungering for attention.


Other Disneyland street performers I fancied included the roving barbershop quartet, and the “custodian” percussion drill team, a trio dressed as trash collectors who would stop along their route, produce drum sticks and turn their trash can lids into steel drums. And don’t forget the magician/cashier at the Main Street Magician Shop. I loved to stand at the counter with the other kids watching his slight-of-hand demonstrations. I fantasized that I could become skilled enough to hold a crowd in the palm of my own hand.

From what I read, the love of the stage is rare compulsion. Researchers have discovered that people are more afraid of speaking in public than they are of dying. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, they would rather be the guy in the casket than the guy delivering the eulogy. I was an odd contradiction. While I too was terrified to stand in front of an audience, it was a place I loved to be. Was it fear or exhilaration? Those two emotions produce the same physical response, and I thrilled at the sensation. I determined that despite my natural fear of public speaking I would seek every opportunity to find an audience.

In the third grade I entered the school talent show, not with a musical instrument, but with the memorized recitation of a poem about the “Poor Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.” My mother sat in the audience, beaming with expectation. The announcer called my name, and I stepped into the spotlight. My heart pounded, my knees shook, and my voice quivered, but the audience was full of kind and long-suffering parents. Much like drunks at a night club, parents watching their children perform are ready to laugh and applaud at anything. When I delivered the poem’s punch line – “Poor old lady, she swallowed a horse. She died, of course,” the crowd roared with laughter. As I took a bow, I could see Mom gush with pride, and my destiny was clear.

As a young teenager I accepted speaking assignments at my church. Those engagements were easy to come by. I might read a Bible text, call for the offering, or apprise the membership on the progress of missionary efforts across the ocean. There are never enough volunteers to help out in these capacities at church, and audience expectations are particularly low. This gave me ample opportunity to speak to a congregation that would politely listen no matter how dull I might be.

In high school, with considerable speaking experience already under my belt, I entered temperance oration competitions, a quirky annual event that challenged participants to concoct a 7-minute speech decrying the evils of one of three vices: 1) alcohol, 2) drugs, or 3) tobacco. With gusto, I borrowed a page from the protest playbook of the 1960’s to fashion my speech. For example, where activists across America were protesting the senseless wasting of lives from the Vietnam War, I protested the senseless wasting of lives from smoking cigarettes. This twist on the “protest” theme won me regional awards two years in a row.

As the head of my high school’s Temperance Club, I spoke to local high school audiences about the health dangers of cigarettes. It was a surreal experience – teenagers warning other teenagers about high risk behavior. When I took questions at the end of my presentation, I got the oddest queries. One student seriously wanted to know how many years he could smoke before he needed to worry about cancer. Another asked if drinking water right after he smoked might reduce the risk of throat cancer.

In college I majored in communications, and joined the school’s drama club, where I acted in, and eventually directed, university productions. In 1978 I earned a Master of Arts in Communication Arts at California State University at Fullerton, and in 1983 I completed a Ph.D. at the University of Southern California in Communication Arts and Sciences. For a few years I taught public speaking at the university level.

In my spare time over the next 20 years I wrote and toured a one-man play on the life of James White, a colorful 19th century religious leader and founder of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. That production took me all over the country and even to Canada.

Today I periodically tell children’s stories as part of my church’s worship service. I am not a minister by any means, but for a few minutes I play the role of story-teller. The kids in the sanctuary are invited to come down to the front as I share a short five-minute object lesson, complete with my own sound effects, elaborate gestures, and over-the-top facial expressions. It is a sermon in miniature, and a weekly tradition designed to both entertain and inspire children of all ages – including the grown-ups.

I never became a Disneyland Jungle Cruise guide. I hear there is always a long line of applicants, and I am not surprised. It just looks like one of the most fun jobs in the park. Although I have never applied for the position, I am tanned, rested, and ready for my audition. In the meantime, I am thankful for the inspiration it provided to me at a tender age to explore the possibilities, the power, and the rewards of public speaking. My favorite ride at Disneyland ultimately took me on the ride of my life.