Chapter Twelve
While Elias and Flora Disney weren’t thrilled that their son had joined the American Red Cross, they assumed that he was assisting the charity organisation on the home front, serving as a driver who would transport returning troops either to rehabilitation hospitals or their homes upon arrival back to the States. However, Walter wasn’t quick to correct his parents: if they allowed him to serve out of ignorance for what he was really doing, he was willing to take advantage of this. Elias and Flora’s misunderstanding was further perpetuated by Walter’s training at Camp Scott, which could begin before receiving his parents’ official permission.
On 25 September, Walter and Russell arrived at Camp Scott, on the southeast edge of Washington Park where it met the Midway Plaisance, near the intersections of 62nd Street and Cottage Grove Avenue. An American Red Cross officer met them at the headquarters where they’d originally applied and explained to the two eager young men that they could carry their bags with them as he gave them a brief tour of the small camp on the way to their barracks. The three men walked through the beautiful Midway Gardens, which was dotted with makeshift white tent structures, the canvas edges flapping in the wind. The trio approached the Washington Park Refectory, which was being used as the Mess Hall where participants in Camp Scott’s training programme took their meals. The building, which had been designed by World’s Columbian Exposition Head of Works and Head of Construction, architect and designer Daniel Burnham, served as a community dining location that could be rented out, surrounded by the natural beauty of Washington Park and the nearby Midway Plaisance. Sticking their heads in, the two young men marvelled at the remarkable cafeteria. With his keen artist’s eye, Walter especially noticed the beautiful statuary on either side of the hall, as well as the way the sunlight shone through the lightly pigmented glass windows, illuminating the entire room in a kaleidoscope of colour. Stepping back into the bright sunlight, the officer then guided the boys past various recreation areas, framed by tall pillars and covered seating areas from which the enlisted men could enjoy the sights of Washington Park to the west and the Midway Plaisance to the east.
After a brief overview of the grounds, the three approached a large brick structure that housed the barracks. As they entered the lobby, the officer explained to Walter and Russell that they would be making this building their home for the next six weeks, along with approximately 500 other men during their training programme. All the features and amenities of the building thrilled Walter: the barracks include large showers, an expansive library with books covering topics from military subjects to automotive engineering to pieces of fiction, as well as smoking and recreation rooms. The final room the two young men were shown was the sleeping quarters, a large area where dozens of the American Red Cross drivers and mechanics would sleep. The officer led them to their cots; as he set his small bag on his new bed, Walter was thrilled to see that each enlisted man was provided with woollen blankets, a pillow, and a comfortable sleeping arrangement.
Throughout the remainder of the day, Walter and Russell sat with the officer back in the headquarters building, as he explained to the boys what their course of training would be. Those training as American Red Cross mechanics typically went through the programme over the course of a month, but due to the large number of trainees and the limited availability of places in each class, the trend of completing the programme was closer to six weeks. The training itself consisted of learning the different structures and functions of various vehicles used on the war front. Classes were taught by experienced mechanics from area automotive garages and those employed by Chicago’s Yellow Cab Company. Guest lecturers from various American and Chicago automotive corporations also regularly visited the camp to give talks on important car parts and repair processes, including bearings, lubricants, carburettors, and tyre repair.
After the initial training, the men visited the workshop attached to the barracks, as well as area automotive garages, where they had experience taking apart and rebuilding various vehicles over the course of a sixteen-lesson class. It was here that Walter would learn the way an engine functioned, how to correctly time motor valves, how to adjust a carburettor, how to wire an ignition system, and how to change a car’s oil and refill its cooling system. Once they were given a cursory overview of the process of automotive repair in the barrack’s workshop, the newly-trained mechanics would be sent to area automotive garages, where they would be trained by, and work alongside, professionals repairing customers’ vehicles from around the city.
Following mastery of automotive repair, the American Red Cross men would be trained in driving vehicles that they would use during their service in Europe. While this training began on regular roads around Camp Scott to ensure that the recruits had a handle on how to properly manoeuvre the vehicles, they were soon brought to a driving course approximately 4 miles away from the camp, which had been set up like a mini ‘No Man’s Land’. This special course, which was meant to mimic the battlefields of Europe, was complete with trenches, shell holes, craters, and piles of debris in order to ensure the ambulance drivers really could drive their vehicles through war-torn areas. The final test, which would determine whether or not an American Red Cross man was ready to be deployed to the European Front, was mastery of driving through Chicago’s ‘No Man’s Land’ at night. For those who became arrogant in their final driving test, they were introduced to Maude, a Ford truck that had been damaged, taken apart, and repaired dozens of times during the A.R.C.’s testing of potential ambulance drivers in the fake ‘No Man’s Land’. This ancient vehicle provided numerous challenges for the self-confident youths, breaking down as many as three times per run, leading to the expectation that those being tested not only drive flawlessly, but also repair the truck, all in the darkness of the Illinois night.
Throughout the entire training on driving and automotive repair, Walter and Russell would also be going through extensive training and drilling in military discipline. While not officially part of the American armed forces, each man who passed through Camp Scott was well-versed in how a military man should act, as well as different troop formations and manoeuvres. In the American Red Cross, there was also a similar hierarchy to that of the Army or Navy, as well as a rank equivalent to the branches of the military. Each man who completed the American Red Cross training at Camp Scott held the status of private in the Army upon arrival in Europe, and those who took over individual ambulances achieved the rank of lieutenant. This meant that while serving as a part of the medical service, they weren’t seen as outsiders by the American military establishment, but rather as equals, and in some cases, superiors.
“We should probably discuss compensation,” the officer explained with a smirk on his face. “While there are 70,000 Red Cross drivers working on the fronts in Europe, only those who successfully complete training here at Camp Scott will receive pay for their work. During your time here, you will be provided $20 a month, as well as necessities like food and board. Once you embark, your pay will increase to $40 a month including necessities. You will also receive a paid-up insurance policy of $1,000.”
“Looks like we picked the right place to train then,” Russell stated, eliciting a nod from Walter.
Several weeks later, as his training at Camp Scott began to come to a close, he realised he still needed to submit his passport application, giving him permission to be deployed overseas for relief work with the American Red Cross. Walter began by filling out the application himself, using one of the typewriters available to trainees at the American Red Cross camp. On the first page, Walter listed details about his origin, including when and where he was born, as well as information about his parents’ citizenship, and his current home address and place of employment. At the bottom of the application, he read the short paragraph to which he was to agree as his Oath of Allegiance to the United States and signed his name.
In order for his application to be processed, he was required to supply two letters of recommendation: one from someone who could attest to his character and another from a parent giving permission for him to serve as a minor. Walter convinced one of the engineers he had recently met on his job at Chicago’s elevated railway, George H. Peirce, to vouch for him, and on 26 October, the two men went together to the clerk of the U.S. District Court’s office in downtown Chicago for Peirce to sign his statement, and swear an oath that his statement was truthful and accurate. However, Walter still needed to formulate a plan to win his parents’ favour in allowing him to have an American passport as a serviceman. Even though he was living at Camp Scott during his training, he was still able to move about the city, including paying the occasional visit to his family at the house on Ogden Avenue.
Emboldened by his accomplishment in securing one reference and motivated by his desire to join his countrymen in this great war, Walter decided to make his move in convincing his parents to sign off on his passport application the same evening he had received Peirce’s endorsement. Upon arriving home, Walter found Flora working in the kitchen. This distraction was the perfect opportunity to bring up the passport application.
“Mother, I applied today to serve overseas for the American Red Cross. I was wondering if you could write out a permission thing for me since I’m under 17.”
Without looking up from her work, Flora responded: “We will discuss this with your father later this evening.”
As the evening progressed and the Disney family was spending time together, Flora could tell that Walter was apprehensive about bringing the topic up with his father. Deciding to help him, she broached the subject herself.
“Elias, Walter has something he would like to talk to us about.” Elias looked at his son. As Walter began to explain his desire to enlist as an ambulance driver in Europe for the American Red Cross, he could tell that his father was becoming frustrated.
“I don’t want my grandchildren asking me someday, ‘Why weren’t you in the war? Were you a slacker?’” he explained, hoping that this last summary would convince his father of his desire.
“I won’t give you permission,” Elias stated, standing up to walk out of the room.
“Elias,” Flora tried to reason, “the boy is determined.” The family patriarch spun around.
“I won’t consent. It would be signing a death warrant for my son.” Through his father’s frustration, Walter detected pain and betrayal in his voice.
“Three of my sons have left our family in the dark of the night. I would rather sign off on this and know where he is than to have him run off somewhere like Herbert, Raymond, and Roy,” Flora retorted, herself becoming indignant about her husband’s stubbornness.
Elias’s eyes widened in pain and a look of shock registered on his face as he processed his wife’s stinging comment. Quickly gaining control, this emotion was replaced with deadpan emoting. “Well, you can sign it,” he grumbled, turning around and stalking out of the room. “And you can sign it for me too, because I won’t.”
The room was silent for a moment. Walter looked over at his younger sister Ruth, who was sitting nearby listening to the conversation, and the two locked eyes. The young man could see empathy in her eyes, as she too was familiar with their father’s lack of reasoning. The sounds of Elias moving around in a room elsewhere in the house could be heard, probably as he was attempting to distract himself and hold himself together in the light of this news. A few seconds later, their mother gave an almost inaudible sigh and looked at her son.
“Well, that’s that.” Flora reached for a small notebook nearby and a pen, and leaning over a small side table, she began to scribble out a note. A few seconds later, she ripped it out of the notebook and handed it to her son. “This should do,” she explained. Replacing the notebook and pen in its place, she stood up and walked into the next room to calm down her fuming and pained husband.
Ruth stood up and came to sit by her older brother. Together, they read through the note. At the top, Flora had written in her scrolling cursive script the family address, proving that Walter did, in fact, reside where he had noted on his passport application. The body of the note was simple, stating that Walter E. Disney had been born on 5 December 1901 at the Tripp house in Chicago. At the bottom of the note, Flora had listed both her name and her husband’s.
There was one more thing to do to complete the process of securing his employment as an American Red Cross worker. Feeling a touch of betrayal towards the mother who had lovingly stood up for him against his worried and strict father, Walter rose from his seat and crossed the room to the side table where his mother had written the note. While the permission was exactly what he needed to complete his application, his mother had identified him as only being 16, a year too young to participate in the war. Ruth watched from where the two had been sitting, but when she saw him pick up his mother’s pen, she joined him at the side table, curious about what he was going to do. Very carefully, so as to make the writing appear natural, Walter changed the second one of his birth year to a zero to show that he had been born in 1900 instead of 1901. The work made the correction almost indiscernible. Replacing the pen exactly where his mother had left it so that she didn’t suspect anything, Walter took the note to his room and placed it with the other papers that made up the passport application, intending to submit it to the District Clerk’s office of Chicago. A few days later, the clerk notarised his application after Walter gave an oath as to the validity of the information and accepted it for processing.
After Maas submitted his passport application, the two began to craft the last piece of their plan: to remedy the fact that while their passports named them as Walter Disney and Russell Maas, their applications for employment with the American Red Cross identified them as Walter and Russell St. John. Acquiring new copies of the American Red Cross application, they filled them out identically to their first submissions, altering only their names. Having made an acquaintance with one of the office staff working at the American Red Cross headquarters in the Oakland neighbourhood, they submitted the new applications; the ones for the St. John brothers were replaced by the applications for Walter Disney and Russell Maas instead, officially granting them legitimate entry to participate in the First World War by way of the American Red Cross.
As Walter and Russell’s training came to a close in mid-October 1918, Walter almost became a casualty of the war. Raging across every continent, stealing silently into civilian homes and military barracks at home and abroad, and storming into the trenches at the front, was an invisible enemy: the Spanish flu.
The Spanish Influenza, which was a strain of swine H1N1 virus, was easily transmitted between individuals by direct contact or by inhaling infected droplets that had been thrown into the air either by the sneeze or cough of an infected individual. The lay name for the virus was seemingly misleading: the ailment didn’t originate in Spain, as the name suggested, but rather got its name because Spanish news coverage of the illness was most accurate during a world war when propaganda and news censorship abounded. Rather, the first cases of the flu emerged in Haskell County, Kansas in spring 1918 before it quickly began to spread across the United States. It was here that the Army burned more than 9,000 tons of pig manure monthly in an effort to dispose of it. However, a violent dust storm in March 1918 ripped through the Kansas prairie, blowing the dust and ashes from the manure through nearby Fort Riley. A few days later, the first reports of flu-like symptoms began to emerge. Those infected by the virus experienced a number of symptoms such as high fevers accompanied by delirium and hallucinations, coughing and sneezing, body aches, and headaches. Over the course of the week after the dust storm, more than 500 troops at Fort Riley reported flu-like symptoms, resulting in forty-six fatalities.
As the illness progressed throughout the human body, it quickly led to pneumonia, filling the infected person’s lungs with fluid and, in severe cases, blood. While this new strain of the influenza had a mortality rate of 2.5 per cent, this was significantly higher than the 0.1 per cent of previous strains of the flu. By the time the global epidemic ended, the Spanish flu had infected around 500 million people, or one third of the world’s population in 1918, killing approximately 50 million people, with 675,000 in the United States alone.
As America continued to mobilise for war, the American military establishment served as the primary vehicle through which migration occurred throughout 1918 and 1919, transferring recruits between military bases and camps, accepting draftees into training programmes, and deploying troops to the front lines in Europe. The movement of these men led to an increased transmission of the Spanish flu across the United States, and across the Atlantic into Europe. A couple of months after the virus emerged in Kansas, troops from Fort Riley were deployed to France, and the sickness quickly spread through the lines of the Western Front.
Over the course of a calendar year, the virus went through three waves. The first wave, which began with a few undocumented cases of flu-like symptoms in January, became a recognised viral problem in March and lasted until May 1918, taking the form of localised outbreaks, especially in the American Midwest and in and around military training camps. After a couple of months of dormancy, the virus emerged again in July until November, bringing the largest effects of the illness and leading to the most fatalities from complications. The final wave emerged in February 1919 and lasted only a few months, tapering off in April, concentrated primarily in northern European nations where American troops had been deployed to fight the Central Powers.
During the last few months of the First World War, thousands of deaths occurred as a result of the Spanish flu and its complications from pneumonia, continuing into the thousands even after the signing of the Armistice in mid-November. In 1918 alone, more than 2.4 million enlisted men and officers required hospital treatment as a result of the influenza epidemic with a mortality rate of 1.9 per cent, or approximately 47,300 men. Close contact between the American troops and natives of European nations and the enlisted Allies quickly led to a spread of the disease to other groups. Interestingly, African American troops had a lower incidence rate of catching the Spanish flu, which can likely be tied to the segregation of military barracks and units; however, those who did catch the illness had a higher mortality rate from complications from pneumonia than their white counterparts.
While easily communicable diseases were nothing new in the first decades of the twentieth century (doctors had been combating illnesses such as smallpox and the mumps), it was the groups impacted most by the Spanish flu that frightened Americans the greatest. Described by doctors and epidemiologists in recent research, the mortality rates of Americans as a result of the 1918 influenza epidemic can be described as a ‘W-shaped curve’: those most at risk of dying from the disease were very young children, young adults between the ages of 20 and 40, and those over the age of 65. However, there was a disproportionate number of low incidences of death for those between the ages of 5 and 20 and those from 40 to 65 years old. One theory for this is that these two groups had achieved partial immunity as a result of similar, yet less fatal, illnesses to which they had been exposed in the 1840s and in 1889. This didn’t diminish the extreme danger that the Spanish influenza epidemic posed, however: in Philadelphia, on 10 October 1918 alone, the virus killed more than 750 people, while two weeks later, on 23 October, more than 850 people succumbed to the virus in New York City. The domestic death rate in America replicated high mortality rates from the Spanish flu around the world. Throughout the last week of October 1918, war-related injuries killed 2,700 Americans, but the Spanish flu caused the deaths of more than 21,000 Americans domestically. The virus was very quickly becoming a major threat to people worldwide.
To combat exposure to the flu virus, Americans took a number of precautions. Because it soon became obvious that the disease was initially spreading as a result of troops moving from camp to camp, not only exposing other enlisted men and civilians working alongside the military but also the surrounding urban areas, a halt was placed on transfers of individuals to or from infected camps, including Camp Devens in Massachusetts and Camp Dix in New Jersey. Mess halls throughout all military training bases began to implement strict cleaning measures of dishes and silverware, going as far as publishing literature instructing staff how to disinfect equipment and dishes. Once it became obvious to military medical personnel and leadership that the illness was spread by airborne droplet infection, overcrowded barracks and troop-ships were addressed, cutting occupancy down by approximately one-half. Overseas, one in three American troops caught influenza, while troop transport ships across the Atlantic became floating infirmaries as the hundreds of troops onboard either came down with the flu or were exposed to the virus. According to studies, in one Army unit, the mortality rate for soldiers with influenza was as high as 80 per cent.
Civilian groups also implemented measures to attempt to control the spread of the virus. While the masses lacked a true understanding of what caused the illness and how it was spread, it quickly became obvious, especially with the high incidence of mortality in usually strong young adults, that an attempt needed to be made to curb the spread. Social distancing measures were encouraged, with some communities going as far as advocating self-isolation and quarantine. City-wide bans on public gatherings forced thousands of businesses, stores, schools, and churches to shut down, leading to many of them going out of business. The government published literature to teach citizens safe coughing and sneezing techniques and handwashing protocols were enacted, while many were encouraged to wear masks, especially if they were experiencing flu-like symptoms or were particularly susceptible to the disease. It was at this time that using a handkerchief became popularised, as one was using it to protect oneself, rather than exposing others to potential airborne germs. Even kindergarten classes taught children the importance of using a handkerchief, conducting occasional drills in an effort to teach them proper sneezing and coughing etiquette. Local and state governments began to create emergency hospitals and sanitoriums to accommodate patients struck by the epidemic. A number of patent medicines, many of which were scams, were introduced to the market, touting that they would prevent one from catching the disease or heal those who had been infected. A few medicines were created which claimed to address symptoms of the Spanish flu; one in particular, Vicks VapoRub, which had been invented in Greensboro, North Carolina and had gone on the market in 1905, gained particular popularity for its ability to calm bronchial irritation that could cause virus-spreading coughs. While the United States Army attempted to create a vaccine to address the Spanish flu, it was ultimately unsuccessful in curbing the disease.
The Spanish influenza very quickly spread to the urban areas surrounding military training camps as troops and military personnel moved about the local cities and interacted with civilians. Lower income areas, especially those in large cities, were hit particularly hard by the virus, probably due to a number of factors including higher population density, limited access to healthcare facilities, and illiteracy, which made it difficult for the affected populations to be educated on methods of treating the illness and prevention of catching the virus from infected individuals. In fact, during one of the worst periods of the Spanish flu, from 29 September to 16 November 1918, there were 7,971 deaths from influenza and complications from pneumonia in central and south Chicago, which is where the majority of the city’s population was living.
Chicago was lucky in that the primary training camp for wartime American Red Cross workers was located in the heart of the city. As the virus overcame the city’s population, Camp Scott’s trainees were dispatched to provide relief to those stricken by the illness. The health organisation quickly jumped into action, setting up emergency hospitals, transporting both the sick and the dead, providing meals to the convalescent, and even creating pamphlets and literature for the U.S. Public Health Service to educate Americans on how to care for themselves in the face of the epidemic. After the Armistice was signed in November 1918, the American Red Cross and its citizen supporters quickly converted their relief supplies; instead of their wartime military uniforms and surgical dressings for those injured at the Front, they created hospital gowns and gauze masks for the infected. However, while providing great relief services to their neighbours, their work was also exposing the American Red Cross volunteers to the virus due to its high likelihood of contagion.
As enlisted men from Chicago’s various military bases moved about the city and interacted with its citizens, they brought the illness back to their camps, where it quickly spread amongst the troops and volunteers. The Great Lakes Naval Station, Camp Scott, and the University of Chicago’s Student Army Training Corps were all heavily impacted by the Spanish flu, primarily due to the fact that trainees lived in close quarters and the camps were often overpopulated. In October, influenza broke out at the University of Chicago, hitting the Student Army Training Corps particularly hard. The Corps served as a programme at the university to train young men how to be effective officers in the Army, allowing them to be concurrently enrolled in their college classes, as well as on an officer training programme. Rather than living in dormitories, however, these young men were accommodated in military-style barracks, often in close quarters with each other, making them more susceptible to spreading and catching the virus. Section B of the Corps was particularly hard hit, mainly because of a lack of isolation efforts for the infected: out of 234 men living in Section B, ninety-two were infected by the disease within a single week.
The University of Chicago and its Student Army Training Corps was located on the north side of the Midway Plaisance, only a few minutes’ walk from Camp Scott, where young Walter Disney was stationed. The American Red Cross work assisting the city’s sick, as well as official interactions between the personnel of Camp Scott and the university’s training corps, spread the disease between them, while the close quarters shared by the American Red Cross workers at Camp Scott quickly caused influenza to spread through the camp. As a camp used primarily to train members of the American Red Cross Ambulance and Motor Corps, Camp Scott didn’t have extensive medical supplies or facilities. Consequently, as volunteers and workers began to fall ill, they were removed from common barracks and placed in white canvas tents, where they stayed with others who had contracted the virus. If one of the infected got too sick, they were driven by their colleagues in an American Red Cross ambulance to a nearby hospital for care, many of which were already overwhelmed with patients suffering from the Spanish flu or the subsequent pneumonia.
At first, Walter’s symptoms were minor: a low-grade fever and a sore throat. Over the next couple of days, his symptoms worsened as his fever increased, leading to body aches, chills, low appetite, and delirium. A few times each day, American Red Cross workers carrying stretchers visited their sick colleagues, going from tent to tent to check on them. On one particular afternoon, after stopping by Walter’s tent, it became obvious that he was too ill to remain at Camp Scott and was in need of medical attention.
“Kid,” one of the camp medics asked as he ducked into Walter’s tent. “Do you live in Chicago?” Walter could only answer an affirmative with a croak.
“We’re gonna take you home,” the medic explained. “You’ve got a better chance there than you do at the hospitals. If we take you there, you might not come out alive.” The medic waved over his shoulder, and another medic entered the tent. Squatting down, the two men helped Walter onto the canvas stretcher and slid him out of the tent into the back of an ambulance waiting nearby.
The next few days spent at the Disney home on Ogden Avenue were marred by a series of fever-induced hallucinations and long periods of sleep. Flora Disney cared for her youngest son, accompanied by Ruth, who worried about her brother. Flora even called a local doctor to the house, who administered quinine to Walter, a medicine typically given to patients fighting malaria. Finally, his fever broke; it would still be a few weeks, however, before his strength returned sufficiently and he could return to Camp Scott. Caring for her son came at a cost: Flora soon caught the Spanish flu, followed shortly by Ruth. However, she soldiered through the illness to continue providing care for her two youngest children, nursing them back to health in the midst of her own illness. Walter was one of the lucky ones: he soon learned that two of his friends from Camp Scott had been taken to the hospital the same day he was sent home with symptoms of the Spanish flu; true to the medic’s word, neither of them left the hospital alive.
Word of his friends’ deaths wasn’t the only disappointment Walter Disney experienced as he lay in his convalescent bed at his parents’ home. On 3 November, Walter’s company from Camp Scott, including Russell Maas, left Chicago for the battlefields of Europe, where they would aid the American Expeditionary Forces (A.E.F.) and the Allies on the front lines in France.
Adamant not to miss out on his chance to serve his country, Walter, still weakened from the effects of Spanish influenza, left the Disney home and returned to Camp Scott the next day, 4 November. However, because his unit had shipped out, he was assigned to Company C of the Personnel, Automotive, and Mechanical section of the American Red Cross Motor Corps. This required a transfer from Camp Scott to Camp King, located at South Beach in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Walter and the other American Red Cross servicemen transferred from Camp Scott were billeted in Ye Olde Greenwich Inn, a 100-year-old beach resort that was left vacant during the winter months and had been commandeered for use by the American Red Cross after the U.S. became involved in the war.
The young Walter Disney wasn’t happy that he had been left behind by his unit and had instead been sent to a new camp on America’s East Coast: he spent his time waiting for deployment, moping about and sketching rather than interacting with his new colleagues. When other young men assigned to Company C went into nearby towns to flirt with local girls, Walter was standoffish, deciding to stay back and draw instead. On the rare occasions that he let himself have fun, he would receive demerits and be assigned to guard duty at the camp entrance as punishment.
Unfortunately, Walter’s attitude soured even more when, on 11 November 1918, the Allies and Central Powers signed the armistice, which ceased the fighting on the battlefields of Europe. The end of aggression meant that the United States would begin to demilitarise, as well as bring home the troops and auxiliary organisations, such as couriers and medical services, that provided battlefield support. The evening of 11 November was especially sombre in the mess hall: the usual chatting and laughing was absent, replaced instead by a low murmur of whispers as none of the American Red Cross workers wanted to disturb the others who were obviously disappointed in missing out on deployment. With nothing else to do after dinner, many of the servicemen slowly trudged to bed, expecting to hear when they would be discharged the next day.
At 3 am the next morning, however, pounding came at the doors of the resort rooms as an officer yelled from the hallway.
“Up, everybody! Up!” came the call.
One of Walter’s room-mates dragged himself out of bed to the door, cracking it open. Doors up and down the hallway were opening as dozens of young men were pulling on shirts and rubbing their eyes. One of the other drivers came to the door and spoke through the crack.
“Fifty guys going to France!” he called into the room.
Walter’s room-mate left the door and rushed to his bedside, shaking him awake. “Come on, Diz. Fifty guys going to France!”
“I won’t be going,” Walter grunted, rolling over in bed and pulling the blanket over his head.
Down in the mess hall, most of the American Red Cross workers gathered, sitting at the tables. The silence that reigned the evening before at dinner was replaced with a new buzz of energy, excited chatter from young men who hoped to travel overseas in the days following the end of the First World War. Over the course of the next hour, fifty names were called out. After each name, a chorus of disappointed groans was overshadowed by a single cheer of excitement by the young man whose name had been chosen.
At the end of the meeting, the American Red Cross workers whose names weren’t called went back to their rooms, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before they needed to get up and pack before heading home. Walter Disney’s door slammed open, however, as his room-mate sprinted into the room, practically jumping onto his bed.
“Get up, Diz!” he yelled. A few other young men joined the room-mate, pulling Walter out of his bed.
“You lucky son of a bitch!” one yelled. “They called fifty names and yours was the last one called!”
“I’m going to France?” Walter asked, a smile breaking across his half-asleep face.
“You’re going to France!”
Over the course of the next hour, an exhausted Walter Disney gathered his things and put on his American Red Cross uniform. The excited young man and forty-nine of his colleagues arrived at a train station a few minutes after leaving Camp King, boarding a train for Hoboken, New Jersey. The sound of the wheels on the rails lulled the young man to sleep; those around him could have sworn that a small smile played across his face who, after sixteen years, finally felt like he was going off to do something that would make a difference.