As a boy I had two heroes: Thomas Edison and Walt Disney. When I was growing up in Pasadena, Disneyland was a favorite amusement of mine, and McKale and I had many memories of the park. The first time I publicly put my arms around her was on the Matterhorn ride. It’s also where I first called her “Mickey,” a nickname that stuck through her entire life.

Elias Disney, Walt’s father, had moved his family from Chicago to Marceline in 1906, when young Walter was only four, after two of their neighbor boys had attempted to steal a car and killed a local policeman in a shoot-out.

As a child, Walt spent more time in both Chicago and Kansas City, but Marceline had a far greater impact on his life than any other place the nomadic Disneys landed. Disney spoke of his years in Marceline as his halcyon days and was quoted by a newspaper as saying “To tell the truth, more things of importance happened to me in Marceline than have happened since, or are likely to in the future.”

I almost passed Disney’s boyhood home, a handsome but nondescript house, without recognizing its significance. It was not hard to miss. The home was a private residence, its status as a landmark denoted only by a small sign warning would-be tourists to respect the privacy of the residents.

I stood on the edge of the property and stared at the house, wondering how surprised the town’s citizens would have been to know that the little boy who ran the unpaved streets and climbed their trees would someday be known in every corner of the world.

A half hour later I reached the town’s main street. I had read that Disneyland’s Main Street USA was patterned after Marceline’s main street, but in looking at its simple and aging façades, I knew Disney’s re-creation was more the offspring of an imaginative memory than a replica of reality.

On Marceline’s main street I found a bed-and-breakfast located above the Uptown Theatre, the theater Disney had chosen to premiere The Great Locomotive Chase in 1956. The small apartment was decorated with Disney memorabilia and smelled like lemon-scented Pledge. While it lacked the charm of most bed-and-breakfasts, the fact that Disney had been there was enough to justify my stay.

The next morning I walked back to the 36, passing the Disney homestead again on the way out. I had once told McKale that I wanted to visit Marceline some day. I had assumed I would see it with her. I wondered if she knew that I had made it.

Chapter Twenty-three

C H A P T E R

Twenty-three

Today I met a self-described tramp

with a most unfortunate view of God.

Alan Christoffersen’s diary