Disneyland: Freemason playground

[Anyong Bluth]

Read the Jack Sparrow / Disney thread, and remember reading this story a few years back. I thought it was pretty interesting, and since it's slow I figured I'd share...


Disneyland is billed as The Happiest Place on Earth; and it’s happier still when you’ve had a bottle or two of fine wine.

Growing up in southern California, I was a frequent visitor to the theme park, and even in my youth I heard whispered rumors about a secret restaurant built by Walt Disney above Pirates of the Caribbean. It was ultra elite, I was told, and only millionaires and movie stars were allowed inside. My youthful imagination went into overdrive. Disneyland was my idea of a garden of earthly delights, and if there was a secret place inside that garden so special that the general public was denied access—then that place had to be out of this world. An Invitation into the Inner Sanctum
Over the years I queried people about this restaurant, getting a wide variety of responses. Some said it was an urban legend. Others said that it was an eatery for Freemasons and masters of industry. Eventually I met a fellow named Tom who worked for W.E.D. (Walter Elias Disney Corporation) in the capacity of “imagineer.” When I inquired about the restaurant, he unhesitatingly said, “Oh, you mean Club 33.”

So, it was true. It really existed. It’s also true that Walt was a Master Mason of the 33rd Degree, the highest you may rise, which is why I believe it was named Club 33 (there are many other theories). Tom regaled me with strange and humorous anecdotes about the club and, noting my obvious enthusiasm, he eventually asked, “Hey, would you like to go there?”

Yes, I immediately informed him, I would.

At the time (1980) reservations had to be made months in advance, to allow for the attention to detail that made every guest feel as if he were a god entering Valhalla. When you were led to your seat, a shiny black book of matches sat at your place setting with your name embossed upon it in silver. Though this may not be your idea of Valhalla, it’s undeniably highfalutin’ and I’ve never heard of another restaurant to go to this extreme in courtesy.
Secrets of the Pirates
Since the entrance to Club 33 is secreted away near the exit to Pirates of the Caribbean, we went on the ride prior to visiting the restaurant, a ritual I’ve repeated to this day. As a student of the occult, I’ve come to appreciate the Masonic influences of Disney’s rides. Pirates of the Caribbean in particular recapitulates the symbology of the ancient mystery religions. First, you are warned to turn back by a talking skull warning that death may be imminent. Then you descend into a fantastic underworld. After enduring various trials and tribulations, you experience absolute destruction and finally ascend into the light. What better prelude could there be to entering the fabled Club 33?

Exiting the ride, you’ll wander onto a faux New Orleans street named Rue Royale and to your left, behind an apparently fake door with the innocuous marker “33” is the entrance. Even if you’ve been to the club a dozen times and think you remember clearly where it is, you can miss it. It seems almost invisible. For good reason. Disney’s imagineers have scoured the color spectrum and discovered the shades least noticeable to the human eye. The color which ranks the highest they call “No-See-Um Green.” If you look around the park with a critical eye, you’ll find many things hiding behind this shade, including the door of Club 33.
Beyond the Green Door
In the old days there was a secret panel near the door concealing an intercom that would allow you to get buzzed in. Nowadays you need a keycard to access the doors to Valhalla.
Once inside, you’ll enter a small antechamber where a hostess verifies your reservation then directs you to an antiquarian 19th century elevator that will lift you to an eatery that replicates the fineries of a bygone age. When first I dined here, a harpsichordist played Mozart tunes. The club as a whole possesses an understated sense of elegance.

Stepping off the elevator into the Gallery, you’ll find a wooden telephone booth with leaded glass panels identical to the the one used in the Disney movie “The Happiest Millionaire.” Other interesting-looking pieces of antique furniture abound and the walls are decorated with a vast array of original (and undoubtably invaluable) works of art by Disney artists.
The Gallery leads you to Lounge Alley, the buffet room for the Main Dining Room and the Trophy Room. The Main Dining Room is an elegant remembrance of the Napoleonic era. Lit by three glimmering chandeliers, fragranted by fresh flowers and populated with antique bronzes, it emanates warmth and dignity.

The Trophy Room is a bit less formal. Wood-paneled and rustically refined, it brings to mind the den of a 19th century sportsman of no small means. There was a time when it was less refined and much more macho, with big game trophies, Fijian war clubs and even a mastodon tusk adorning the walls. But alas, they went the way of the wooly mammoth and were replaced by sketches and paintings. A few birds remain, notably an animitronic turkey vulture lurking in a corner. Walt envisioned the vulture conversing with guests (microphones were planted in the chandeliers to collect personal information) while they dined, but he died before he could put his strange and brilliant plan into operation. Which is a pity. What could be more exciting than, while digging into a steak, having a mechanical vulture start hassling you for a cut of the action. And, what’s more, the cheeky bastard would hassle you by name.

And as you might expect, the food is fabulous. The pasta bar dishes out everything from gnocchi to fettuccine al pesto, cooked to order. There’s beef briquette, chicken fricassee, and mushrooms stuffed with crab meat. It’s a flabbergasting buffet featuring every delicacy a condemned man (so long as he was a man of taste) might wish to enjoy as his last meal.
Above and beyond all this gastronomic majesty, of course, is the restaurant’s greatest allure—it’s the only place in the Magical Kingdom where alcohol is served.
Drinking in Disneyland
When I stopped in a year ago, my pals and I waded through several bottles of a very nice chardonnay before our meals were finished. Bottles of wine start at around fifty bucks a pop, but how can put a price on the experience of getting drunk in Disneyland? We then proceeded to some serious drinking. The club assembles an excellent martini and I lost count of how many I consumed before we realized the restaurant was empty save for us gin guzzlers. We’d arrived at noon and it was presently dark outside. The tab was twice as much as I pay for a month’s rent, but hey — I was in the happiest place on earth and I know what makes me happy.

We stumbled out into the warm California night and made our way to Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. This was always a favorite of mine, another simulated occult rite of death and resurrection. During the ride, you are nearly killed a half of a dozen times, consummating with a head-on collision with a train, then ultimately end up in Hell before being cast back out into the park. Under any circumstances the ride is a laugh riot. After having consumed four hundred bucks worth of gin and chardonnay, it’s damn near a religious experience.

And so it was with the other rides in Fantasyland. In Snow White’s Scary Adventure, the last tableau you see is the witch about to launch a gigantic boulder down a path to crush the hapless seven dwarfs. Immediately afterwards you travel through a set of doors and note a huge sign reading “And they lived happily ever after.” This odd mix of death and happiness pervades Disneyland. There are 999 happy ghosts in the Haunted Mansion, but “there’s always room for one more.” “Hurry back!” the little wraith at the ride’s end entreats visitors, “and be sure to bring your death certificate.” It’s all too easy to imagine that this morbid humor is indicative of a more innocent age in which people could still smile about death and destruction, but even the newest rides are imbued with a sense of the macabre. “Temple of Doom,” as the name indicates, is one such example. It’s a roller-coaster ride past a fiery abyss, death-doting Kali worshippers and mountains of human skulls. If you’re looking for a celebration of mass death and fetishistic danger, look no further than “the happiest place on earth.”
Penetrating the Green Door
Over the years I’ve been lucky enough to visit Club 33 about a dozen times. I say lucky because I’ve always had the great fortune of knowing people who knew people who could get me in. I say great fortune because the rules governing access to the club have become increasingly stringent. Disney employees, such as Tom the Imagineer, are no longer allowed in. I recently met a high-level Disney employee whose jaw dropped when I mentioned I had reservations at the club. “I’ve worked for Disney for over ten years,” he exclaimed, “and I’ve never been allowed inside.”

If you’re Michael Jackson or a high-powered CEO, the red carpet is rolled out for you at Club 33. If not, there’s a $7,500 membership fee plus $2,250 in annual dues. There’s only room for 400 members on the club’s rolls, so you can expect a three-year waiting list.

Despite the obvious appeal such elitist and exclusionary tactics lend to the club, it’s sort of a shame. Disneyland and drinking go together like Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.

In a better world, they’d serve daiquiris as you waited to get into the Enchanted Tiki Room, and Bloody Marys while you languished in the line for the Haunted Mansion. Disney’s rationale for not serving booze in the park is that it might detract from the wholesome atmosphere. Which is ridiculous, of course. What could be more wholesome than a belt of rum while watching crazed pirates raping, pillaging, and burning a village to the ground; a shot of schnapps while a vengeful witch attempts to crush dwarves with a boulder; and what better than a mint julep to make a trip through Hell more pleasant?
—Boyd Rice

[phisherman]

a masonic tie to club 33?

my god, every time someone sees the number 33, it's a huge masonic conspiracy..

here's some good info for you...there aren't 33 degrees in a masonic blue lodge. there are only 3.

[Redrum_69]

Originally Posted by phisherman

a masonic tie to club 33?

my god, every time someone sees the number 33, it's a huge masonic conspiracy..

here's some good info for you...there aren't 33 degrees in a masonic blue lodge. there are only 3.

but 33 rotated is mm

and mm is short for Mickey Mouse...

[phisherman]

OMG!!!1!!! HE'S RIGHT!!!!!!1

[Calcountry]

Originally Posted by Redrum_69

but 33 rotated is mm

and mm is short for Mickey Mouse...

When your mom gets rotated, well umm..

[kaplin42]

Been there, great food. Their steaks are out of this world. You don't have to pay the price of admission as long as you go to the club. So if you have dinner reservations, you can still show up at 10 a.m. and go ride all the rides, then go have a really nice dinner. Plus, its the only place in the park that sells liquer.

Should you ever get the chance, take it, it is worth it for sure. Almost makes disneyland itself bearable.

[Chief Chief]

Hear me now and believe it already that the Hunts and CP are making Arrowhead the Chiefs' version of Disney's Club 33.

[tomahawk kid]

Originally Posted by kaplin42

Been there, great food. Their steaks are out of this world. You don't have to pay the price of admission as long as you go to the club. So if you have dinner reservations, you can still show up at 10 a.m. and go ride all the rides, then go have a really nice dinner. Plus, its the only place in the park that sells liquer.

Should you ever get the chance, take it, it is worth it for sure. Almost makes disneyland itself bearable.

How did you get in?

[Anyong Bluth]

Here's another story about Disney- mostly about working there and hooking up... It's an excerpt from Radar Magazine. I've read the whole thing but can't find it online in full.


Wild Kingdom: An Excerpt

In a hard-luck year for Disney, what are Mickey, Goofy, and Pluto doing to blow off steam? Getting wasted, hooking up at pimps-and-ho’s parties, trying to get Cinderella in the sack. In this exclusive excerpt from “Wild Kingdom,” Tyler Gray tours the underground hangout of the long-suffering, hard-drinking, cross-dressing denizens of Disney World.

by Tyler Gray
Before new characters are set loose on Main Street, they must agree not to talk about what goes on behind the scenes. Only then are they allowed into the secret 1.5-mile network of tunnels (formally known as the “utilidor”) that allows costumed employees to move through the park, take breaks, and relax, far from public view. Walt Disney worried that the sight of characters out of context would be disturbing to visitors. Thanks to the tunnels, a cast member dressed as an old-timey cowboy, say, can travel from the employee parking lot to Frontierland without disrupting a perfectly themed jungle scene in Adventureland. Characters typically spend several hours a day concealed in the underground city, a dank place that is in many ways the inverse of the spotless dreamworld served up to visitors aboveground, most of whom are unaware of the bustling scene below.
During my backstage tour I glimpsed a small portion of the tunnels myself. The floors were sticky, and they smelled faintly of sweat, cooking oil, and garbage. Trash is whisked through tubes running along the tunnel walls and ceilings and ends up at a collection point hidden behind the Splash Mountain ride, or at recycling spots throughout the 30,000 acres of Disney property. Aboveground, guests and characters bounce gaily to “It’s a Small World.” Down below, a thin-sounding PA system blares commercial pop. In between songs an announcer hawks Hyundais to cast members on break.
The social hub of the underground is a gathering spot known as the “zoo,” a stark area with the atmosphere of a postgame locker room, where troops of headless mice, chipmunks, and dogs gather between sets to rest and refuel. The zoo features televisions, a fridge, and couches where a hungover Pluto might grab a few winks. The notice board here, several characters told me, is the best way to find the evening’s party location.
If the zoo is the place to unwind, few areas in the Magic Kingdom are as un-settling as the head room, a cavernous storage space where roughly 250,000 Disney World costumes rotate into circulation among thousands of employees. Here, hundreds of Minnies, Donalds, and Mickeys hang side by side, their lifeless heads impaled on posts. Half-dressed characters stroll in and out holding heads under their arms, adding to the surreal mood. For some, staring into the lifeless eyes of beloved childhood icons proves to be an intensely creepy experience. You might shuffle into the head room tired, aching, and feeling none of the magic, only to be mocked by row after row of the relent-lessly jovial look on your character’s face. “You go in there and you see 30 to 40 Mickey Mouse heads,” says former Mickey and Minnie Jodie Rocha, “all with that big old smile.”
For even the most well-adjusted cast members, the reality of the job soon takes its toll. This in turn can lead to subtle acts of subversion — or retaliation. To alleviate boredom during parades, say, a Pluto might work playful punches and smacks into a choreo-graphed set. An employee in a Country Bear costume might break into a moonwalk, totally out of character for a down-home bear. Though speaking in costume is a fireable offense, slipups are fairly common. One former Minnie, Susan Santamauro, admitted to having shouted at kids to “get back” when they rushed her. Three Plutos told me a story about another Pluto who, toward the end of his 30-minute set, dealt a verbal blow to a pint-size tormentor. Parched from the heat and dying to get backstage, he couldn’t break free of one kid who wouldn’t stop pulling his tail. At his wits’ end, he leaned down so other parkgoers couldn’t hear and whispered through clenched teeth, “You...****ing...leave...me...alone. And if you tell anyone about this, no one will believe you.” Pluto then ducked into the utilidor to chug Powerade; the child scurried away in terror.
For a time the fantasy of character life is a kind of drug. When the initial fix fades, not surprisingly, cast members often seek a different high. Several told me that marijuana, cocaine, and other psychopharmaceuticals are common at character gatherings, and that sneaking out to smoke pot between sets is de rigueur among a few. Trevor Allen, a former Disneyland Pluto who wrote a play called Working for the Mouse, relates an incident when Winnie the Pooh dropped acid, went on set, literally tripped, and rolled down a flight of stairs onto Disneyland’s Main Street U.S.A.
Disney’s policy is to terminate any cast member caught using drugs, but it’s sometimes difficult to differentiate between the effects of drugs and those of heat exhaustion and poor vision (the Pooh in Allen’s story, for example, wasn’t fired). Disney even has its own undercover cops, sometimes called “-foxes,” who secretly watch for minor infractions.
Despite Disney’s obsession with control and secrecy, some of the characters’ more colorful hijinks have been documented on video. In 2002, his last year as a Disney trainer, Justin Alt shot a film in which two Disney characters (Judge Claude Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Philoctetes from Hercules) engage in deadly combat. In the end the loser is decapitated. Alt posted the grisly clip on his website, where it remains. Disney supervisors, he says, tend to look the other way during the filming of such videos, because they consider them important for employee morale. “The subject material came so easy for us,” Alt says. “We live it. We love it. We hate it.”
While reporting this story I also obtained several films shot for screening at annual character banquets. One, sent to me by an anonymous source, was clearly produced with a certain amount of Disney foreknowledge. Captain Eeyore is a bawdy send-up of Captain EO, a 3-D intergalactic dance film starring Michael Jackson that had a run at Disney parks from 1986 to 1998; it features a sophisticated soundtrack, fully choreographed dance routines, and expensive special effects. Other, more lo-fi videos were obviously never intended for distribution outside character circles. In one, Snow White, Alice, and a few other female characters bump and grind their way through elaborate stripteases. In another, a clueless tourist is rushed and savagely beaten by a horde of characters, including Minnie, Tigger, and Goofy. Later in the same video, men act out beatings on their female coworkers so they can steal their wigs and dresses, put on their makeup, and venture into the park dolled up in Disney drag. Sexual themes are common. In one skit a pickled Pocahontas is seen wandering through Disney’s manicured landscape. When her legendary lover, John Smith, enters the scene, the squaw pretends to drown herself in a man-made creek, but the blond, handsome Smith is distracted by a well-built young brave wandering by in a loincloth.
The scenario is apparently an inside joke about the high concentration of gay characters at Disney World, which is something of a sore subject for the Mouse. In 1996 Disney was among the first companies to bestow domestic partnership rights on its employees. Soon thereafter, a coalition of Christians led by the Southern Baptist Convention staged boycotts. The park’s gay constituency, however, was undaunted. Every spring Disney World finds itself host to Gay Days, a gathering of more than 125,000 gays, lesbians, and bisexuals identifying themselves to one another with matching red T-shirts. There’s no official head count among character actors, but reliable sources estimate that one in four is gay. Whatever the real number, it’s clear that for at least a week every year, Main Street U.S.A. transforms into a gay hot spot that rivals the Castro or Chelsea.
The action doesn’t stop when Gay Days are over. With a giggle she might have borrowed from her character, former Minnie Mouse Susan Santamauro recounts hearing about an episode aboard a van shuttling a half-dozen sleepy employees to a character breakfast at Disney’s Polynesian Resort. A cast member turned around to discover a Pluto and a Goofy taking turns going down on each other in the back seat. According to Santamauro they were written up but not fired. Working for Disney, she adds, “was just the most promiscuous situation I’ve ever seen.”
Jodie Rocha, who played Mickey, Minnie, Donald, and five of the Seven Dwarfs at Walt Disney World from 1996 to 1999, also describes a sexually charged environment, and not just for gay actors. She recalls that swiping wigs and pieces of costumes wasn’t uncommon, especially for theme parties. “I remember going to a pimps-and-ho’s party,” Rocha says. “Of course, there was all the alcohol you could imagine. They had a bondage room upstairs. Porn was playing. They had the toys up there. There was truth-or-dare, and everybody was making out with everybody.”
“For $6.50 an hour you have to do something to make it enjoyable,” she says.

[The Rick]

Buzz Lightyear copped a feel on my wife while we were posing for a picture.

[Buehler445]

Yeah, I have a couple of friends who interned at the one in FL, and all that sounds reasonable. I'm not into it, but they like it.

[kaplin42]

Originally Posted by tomahawk kid

How did you get in?

I have a friend who is a member and she makes reservations for me and my girlfriend whenever we want to go.