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At Play with the Mouseketeers
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 | Though minor editing for language, grammar spelling, etc. is done without author approval, Silver Boomer Books run bigger edits by the author first. We erred, though, early in the process of including "At Play with the Mouseketeers" in This Path, not realizing a portion had been deleted.
In an effort to correct this mistake we are posting the piece in its entirety here.
The story was first published in the April, 2009, edition of Oracle.
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At Play with the Mouseketeers
Anthony J. Mohr
The Mouseketeers never swore. They played nicely together.
They had rosy clear complexions and smiles like a sunburst.
The girls talked in singsong voices. The boys had an awshucks
manner which, though cliquish, exposed a reservoir of good
feelings toward the world. The Mouseketeers were the children
our parents wished they had. That’s why I wanted to play with
them.
Instead, I played at the Van Nuys Park where one day a
bruiser with acne and an asymmetrical face was swearing at a
boy eating a Milky Way. The boy looked about eight, my age. As I watched, he froze, his candy in hand, as if turning into a statue would make the brute go away. The tactic
failed, and the bully taunted and shoved until the boy ran off in
tears, leaving behind the remains of his candy bar. I peered hard at
the edge of the park, wishing Cubby and Lonnie would show
up and ask me to join them, because Cubby O’Brien and Lonnie Burr
would never hurt anybody.
I left the park and made it home by five, in time for their
show.
"And now," Jimmy Dodd said, "let’s join the Mouseketeers
on a picnic!"
Linda and Don sing "It’s a wonderful day for a picnic."
Linda spots a table under a tree and says, "Boy, this is gonna be
fun."
"Boy, I hope so," replies Don, who has been lugging the food
baskets.
Linda: "How about a chicken sandwich?"
Annette, Cheryl, Bob, Tommy, and Doreen show up before
Don can answer. "Hey, kids," Annette exclaims. "There’s our
table."
Bobby (To Don and Linda): "Hey, what are you kids doing
here? This is our table."
Linda: "Yours?"
Don: "What do you mean ‘your table’? First come first eat."
Bobby: "Well," and he points to a sign that says "reserved."
Don: "Reserved?"
Bobby: "For us."
Don turns to Linda with a hangdog look: "Well, here we go
again. Pack up time."
Annette Funicello beams at Bobby as she delivers the line
that defines the sketch. She says it with an attitude that, while
carefree, is as sincere as President Eisenhower’s grin. "Wait a
minute, Bob. There’s plenty of room. Let’s all eat together."
Cheryl is Annette’s first convert: "Sure, Bob. It’s OK."
Tommy follows suit: "Fine with me."
Doreen: "Please stay."
"OK," Bobby announces without a pause. A second later
they sing that they have "baskets of goodies to munch on" and
lots of prizes for the winners of the games they plan to play. I
blinked my eyes while Bobby and his friends frolicked on my
television screen.
That night under the covers, I joined in their games – racing
in burlap sacks and balancing eggs on a spoon. Don won the
pie-eating contest. "Tell me, Don," Annette asked. "How does
it feel?"
"I’m not hungry anymore," Don replied in a deadpan voice,
and we all laughed with him.
One day Jimmy Dodd announced that for one dollar you
could subscribe to Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse Club Magazine
and – most important – join the Mouseketeers. I always
wondered how I could become a Mouseketeer. Now I knew. My
mother gave me the dollar to mail in.
On the thick envelope that arrived two weeks later was the phrase, "Official Mickey Mouse Club Communication," and below that, sloping upward in cursive script, the word "Personal." Inside was a membership card containing a line on which I could print my name.
"Mommy!" I yelled. "I'm a Mouseketeer! I'm in the Mickey Mouse Club!" I hollered across the living room, down the hall and up the stairs. The Mouseketeers were going to be my friends. It's hard to recall whether I expected Karen and Cubby to show up the next day to play on my jungle gym; but the following week, when I received an "invitation" to "meet the Mouseketeers" at Disneyland, I begged my parents to go.
Every night I rehearsed for our encounter. I didn't know if the Mouseketeers and I would convene near the Mark Twain Riverboat or the Tomorrowland Rocket, but wherever it was, I knew they would chorus, "Hi, come join us," and we would spend the rest of the day playing together across Disneyland. Lonnie and I would race each other around the Richfield Autopia. Mary would screech with glee as she and I spun our Mad Hatter Tea cup. Karen and Cubby would hold my hands as we skipped down Main Street singing the Mickey Mouse Club March. We would gambol through the park until our parents, astutely recognizing the moment we started to tire, said it was time to go home. "Bye-Bye, Tony," Darlene would call out, and when I waved back through the window of my dad's Ford, she would say, "Come to the studio tomorrow and we'll play some more." "Yes," Lonnie would exclaim. "Come see us tomorrow."
I actually did spin in the Mad Hatter Tea Cups that day, and I rode on the Richfield Autopia. They were the only rides I got on because the lines were so long. Disneyland was awash in card-carrying members of the Mickey Mouse Club, but no one sang the Mickey Mouse Club March, nor did anyone appear in the mood to do so. Nobody held hands and skipped down Main Street. Just to shuffle through the crowd took effort. I looked for someone who, if I displayed my membership card, would take me to the Mouseketeers. I never found such a person, just others like me wearing their Mickey Mouse ears and eating hot dogs while they waited for a ride. I must have been gaping too hard, because a fellow club member turned to me. His Mickey Mouse ears were dirty, pimples swarmed over his face, and as mustard dribbled down his chin, he bellowed, "What do you think you’re looking at, jerk?"
Over dinner my father told me to thank my mom for taking me to Disneyland. I did; she said she hoped I had fun. I nodded and, slowly, ate some cherry pie. When bedtime finally arrived, I crawled under the covers and summoned Cubby and Bobby to appear.
"C'mon, Tony," Bobby said. "We're having a picnic."
When I hesitated, Cubby assured me, "There's plenty of room," and pointed beyond my feet, where, between the sheets to the right of my little toe, I saw a table under an oak tree. Doreen and Annette emerged from the crevice where my sheets were tucked under the mattress. They were carrying baskets laden with food. We ran sack races and had an egg toss. I lost the pie-eating contest again – Tommy got the prize this time – but it made no difference who won. At least in my dreams, I was playing with my friends .