Life Lessons From The Great Professor
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One of the greatest joys of doing what I do is that I get to meet and befriend incredible, beautiful people on a constant basis. It’s a blessing that I am always mindful of and thankful for each and every day. Losing these friends is a terrible heartache that I face as well each day, as many industry legends are elderly and not always in the best of health.
I met Van Arsdale France many years ago during a Disneyana convention at the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim, California. Our introduction was at best, colorful. It set the tone for the remainder of our friendship. During the show and sale portion of the convention, a friend and I decided to make a pit stop in one of the nearby restrooms. As we stood there, I decided to rattle off a horrendous joke. The only other person in the restroom with us was an elderly man that seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts anyway. During the course of my less-than-tasteful tale, I noticed that my friend grew more pale by the minute. The old man standing next to me concluded his business and left the restroom after briefly washing his hands.
“You idiot,” my friend exclaimed. “Do you have any clue as to who that guy was?” I didn’t. Of course, I soon learned that it was Van France, founder and “Professor Emeritus” of the Disney Universities. Van was, by then, already a Disney Legend and known throughout The Walt Disney Company for his pioneering efforts in the early days of Disneyland. Thanks to Van, Disney (and other companies as well) now use the phrases, “cast member,” “good show” and “costume” in lieu of “employee,” “good work” and “uniform.”
I was mortified, to say the least. And of course, we bumped into Van later that afternoon. I introduced myself to him and told him about Theme Park Adventure Magazine. As I spoke, his eyes lit up and he interrupted with, “You’re the guy from the bathroom who told that dirty joke!” I stopped and tried to find words. I was horrified. Then Van smiled and said, “That was pretty good!” And so, our friendship began.
Our first “official” meeting was great. I offered to take him out to dinner, but he refused, saying that he wasn’t much of a dinner kind of guy (although he said I could take him out for a drink or two any time). Instead, he insisted that I buy him breakfast and some coffee at a McDonald’s in Newport Beach one morning. I arrived early, and sat by the window, watching cars pull into the driveway. Then, across the way, I saw him. Dressed in shorts, a casual shirt, a fishing hat and sandals, Van pushed his way through some bushes lining the parking lot and made his way with total ease toward the front door. As usual, he was sporting his huge sunglasses and had a lit cigarette hanging out one side of his mouth!
Throughout Van’s incredible 87-year life, he was also known as a writer, lecturer and all-around nice guy. A definite throw-back to the “Old School” ways of Disney, Van marched to the beat of his own drummer. He was the only guy that could write about (in his great book, A Window on Main Street) Company executives such as Dick Nunis giving booze as gifts at Christmas, etc. Van told it like it was, and never once did he mince his words. If he liked something you did, he praised you up and down. If he didn’t like what you did, he’d be as blunt as could be. “I think it stinks,” was something I heard commonly from Van when discussing many changes over the years at Disneyland, etc. He had his own thoughts and was not ever afraid to share them, no matter the consequences.
And dear Van loved to have a strong drink and a good smoke. He was known for it, and his own window on Main Street demonstrated that, as it was installed above what was then the Disneyland Tobacco Shop. One of the worst rants I ever heard him embark on was when Disneyland decided that it was time to remove the Tobacco Shop and replace it with something more “politically correct.”
“What the hell is that all about?” shouted Van over the telephone one evening. “My God! Every town at the turn of the Century had a tobacco shop!” It was something we laughed about, but deep down, I know that it really upset him.
The stories that Van shared about Walt Disney were priceless; many of them are found in his now-out-of-print book. He loved working for Walt Disney, and considered it an honor late in life. While he was a tad shy and very unassuming, Van knew how much his contribution made to the Disney theme parks and the Company’s overall way of thinking. Legend or not, he was always incredibly humble.
One day, while he was attending another Disneyana show in Anaheim, he was the key speaker at one of the convention’s “seminars” on the history of Disneyland. He wanted me to attend, but said that Disney wouldn’t give him any complimentary passes for friends or family. I called the Hotel and explained that I was a writer as well as personal friend of Van’s, and that I simply wanted to come say hello and listen to him speak before having lunch with him, etc. The woman explained to me that regardless of my relationship to Mr. France, that if I wanted to see him, I’d have to pay $10.00 to attend the talk. I opted to wait for Van outside of the seminar and when he came out (because I am bull-headed, not broke), he said that he’d been looking for me and that he was disappointed that I hadn’t shown up. I explained the situation to him, and he went into one of his wonderful rants. “What? Hell, I wouldn’t pay $10.00 to listen to me speak! I should be paying people to come see me!” And that is the way Van was; always humble, and always a bit overwhelmed with the “attention” of being a Disney Legend.