West of WEDWay
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The people of the model shop were generally very mellow, almost hippies. A couple were wound very tightly indeed, however. For these individuals, pixie dust was like Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters--they were driven to build models of fantastic things from an early age, when, shall we say, some of us were developing social skills instead. One fellow was fascinated by Harper Goff's Nautilus and built a half-dozen models at various scales. The more typical artist was Doug Nelson, a rangy guy with a droopy mustache, or Chris Tietz, who had a John Denver haircut when I knew him. Chris was extremely quiet.

Many of the projects the model shop built did not involve the architectural department at all. These craftsmen were capable of modeling rockwork, a treehouse, or other scenes (such as Splash Mountain, after my time) from nothing more than a sketch on a cocktail napkin. For this reason, the name "Model Shop" was changed to "Dimensional Design." The crew was clearly not just modeling the designs of others, but the new name never caught on.

I remember laughing during one stroll through the model shop. Someone was working on a new design for the Africa Pavilion at World Showcase consisting mostly of big, rounded boulders. They were shaping foam, plastering the foam with some sort of paste, then painting it. It looked like boring work, and the rocks seemed out of scale. Apparently, the model maker thought so, too. The next day, more rocks were completed, but a new boulder had been added, built split open at the top with sour cream and chives and a fork stuck in it. The new rock made all the others look like baked potatoes by association.

The model shop also created models for the parks themselves. When I first got inside WED in 1975, they were just finishing up a full-size snake in a tree that was later installed in the Jungle Cruise. Just as the Disney article in the August 1963 National Geographic described, the artists used their magazine to get the colors and the markings accurate. Harriet Burns, the lady who is often pictured building Tiki Room birds or Small World dolls, had a cubicle in the corner and, like Herb Ryman, was very approachable. I never learned if there was any management hierarchy in the place--there was one person in charge of schedules and resources like wood and foam (Bob Sewell when I arrived in 1975, Maggie Elliot later). This person was like the classic newspaper editor, always scowling at something. Everyone else was laid back. The model shop could do anything.

-- Alastair Dallas

-- Posted August 23, 2000