This memory is from June 18, 1955 - about one month before Disneyland opened to the public.

There was an air of anticipation that early morning as my dad pulled into the backstage construction area near the two-story neo Spanish building that was the former Dominguez family residence. Walt had purchased it with the original orchard and converted it into administration offices. It was located in the middle of what is now the parking and staging area between Main Street USA and the Fowler Building.

As my dad and I made our way across the dusty Park, we crossed the Hub in front of Sleeping Beauty Castle, which was still wrapped in scaffolding. We were heading for the steam train building on the west side backstage area.

Half outside a corrugated steel barn was a mechanical prehistoric monster. It was puffing smoke and hissing steam. It had a distinct oily aroma mixed with freshly painted hot metal. The morning sun glinted off the mirror-finished brass bell, grab rails and boiler bands. A black hole loomed where the single big "eye" would sit in the headlamp box. A round nosepiece contained a big brass 2. Men in overalls were lubricating the monster's fittings, giving the green and yellow-trimmed finish a final wiping while others were busy adjusting the valve settings in the cab and checking the water level glass tube.

All of a sudden, everything stopped. Even the monster seemed to pause. I turned in time to see a quickly approaching man wearing an engineer's cap that was pushed back on his head, a blue gingham shirt under a blue serge Ike jacket and light gray pleated slacks. Walking fast to keep up, a man next to him carried a large Mickey Mouse dressed in the same gingham shirt, overalls instead of the jacket, and a red bandana. It was the largest Mickey I'd ever seen, and he looked real.

Roger Broggie greeted Walt Disney with, "It's ready for its first run."

"Great! I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

Walt wasted no time and grabbed a handle and swung his six-foot frame into the cab. There, Harley Ilgin, who was chief engineer except when Walt was in the Park, explained the control levers and valve settings. Impulsively, Walt grabbed the rope loop hanging from the cab's ceiling and the distinct sound of the four-chambered steam whistle filled the air, echoing off the nearby buildings. A broad smile lit up Walt's face. "Let's get this show on the road," he roared.

Carefully, Walt pulled out the throttle to its first notch. Engine No. 2 didn't budge. Another notch, and then a third. "Wait for the steam to build," Harley advised. "Before you give her any more throttle."

Then, as if touched by magic, the polished stainless steel rods began to slowly move, pushing the double set of red drive wheels on one side and pulling them on the other. Steam hissed and the bell began to clang as Harley pulled its cord.

The E. P. Ripley was alive! And the happiest engineer was about to highball along the main line of his improbable dream.

Just as the tender cleared the barn, Walt spotted me standing among the crew--the term "cast member" was several years away.

"Hey, kid, wanna ride?" I looked up at my dad and he nodded approval. "Sure, Uncle Walt," was my quick response. (Remembering back, this term of affection may now seem trite, but it was sincere and he requested being called Uncle Walt by all the children who knew him.)

Walt's strong grip locked around my wrist and he pulled me up to the cab. I found a place to sit on the tender as we entered the tunnel that led the siding to the main line. Soon we were chuffing along the Rivers of America and heading toward a large construction area that was Fantasyland in the making. Walt frequently slowed the engine to a crawl as he studied the progress of his Park. Occasionally, he took a small notebook from his shirt pocket and penciled a short notation.

As we made the curve heading toward Tomorrowland Walt suddenly pushed in the throttle lever, pulled the brake lever and reversed the Johnson bar, bringing the engine to a quick stop. "End of the line," he shouted back at me. I looked and saw that the track came to an end where there was a crossing made for heavy equipment and trucks to enter and exit the construction area inside the earthen berm that surrounded the Park.

"You can just reverse the Johnson bar without closing the throttle," Harley reminded Walt. "That way, you get reverse speed to the drive wheels."

"Hell, I know that," Walt said, as he gave Harley that notorious one high and one low eyebrow look. Harley just nonchalantly turned toward the fireman's window and spit a wad from the chew of tobacco that he kept in his cheek. He knew what he was talking about.

Later that day, Walt, Mickey and the steam locomotive became the center of attention from a group of photographers that were invited to record this historic day: the first operational Disneyland attraction. Fortunately, my dad also had his camera and shot a series of pictures that provided evidence that the story wasn't just a boy's active imagination.

I had no way of forecasting then that those photographs would someday appear in a book I would write, Walt Disney's Railroad Story, about the man who realized his dream to create a Magic Kingdom to be enjoyed by guests in the hundreds of millions, and counting…

It was the summer of 1974 and I was touring the U.S. on a Greyhound bus pass. When I got off the bus in Laguna Beach, I dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Another first was visiting Disneyland. At first I resisted, fearing I was too old (at 25) to enjoy the park. But the couple I was staying with, parents of a colleague in New York, urged me to go. So I boarded a local bus, got off on West Street, entered "The Happiest Place on Earth," and began a life-long love affair. I became a kid again, identifying much more with the four- and five-year-olds than with the adults. When I reluctantly exited the park to catch the last bus back to Laguna, I looked back to see fireworks exploding over the castle. It was magic. I was hooked.

What I love most about Disneyland is how every thing seems to radiate with magic. No other theme park I have ever visited before can do that. I still remember the hot summer nights when the Main Street Electrical Parade would make it's nightly journey down through all the buildings that make up Main Street USA. I remember one year in particular. Alice on top of her mushroom asking my sister and I if we had a cat. We were amazed. "Wow Alice talked to us." I didn't know back then that was part of the show.

But I think out of all my favorite memories are when I got off Space Mountain with the onboard soundtrack, Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye, and Rocket Rods for the first time. It was total exhilaration and excitement. Space Mountain seemed wilder than ever, Indy was the best dark ride I have ever been on and Rocket Rods was a great experience because I rode it at night. My friends and I were so pleased we immediately jumped back in line to get on again.

But I will never forget all the memories I have on all the classic rides like the Haunted Mansion and Pirates of the Caribbean. I will never forget how we lost my cousin on one trip and spent the entire day trying to find him. This place is truly filled with magic. Happy 45th Birthday Disneyland USA, here is to 50 more years of Magic. And thank you for always making my days there worthwhile.

I, too, am celebrating my 45th year, along with Disneyland and the Micky Mouse Club. I grew up in Phoenix and was able to get to Disneyland several times as a child. We would stay in Fullerton and the next morning take the 15 minute (or was it 15 hour) drive to the Park. My older sister and I would try to be the first one to spot the Matterhorn. During our first trip, my younger brother was only about 3 years old. He and my dad went on the Matterhorn and the moment it started, he just quietly said "get me out of here." The "Disney feeling" has always been a big part of my life. I've worked for a Disney Store for over five years and now have a son of my own. We try to get to Disneyland about twice a year. And everytime I set foot on Main Street, I can't help feeling that I'm home. Happy Birthday, Disneyland. Happy Memories, Walt.