The Gangs of Disneyland

disney gangs

Gangs roam Disneyland. Turf wars and occasional fisticuffs occur however Disney tolerates these activities.

main street elite

Fashioned like biker gangs, these Disney gangs have vests, patches, probation and initiation rites. At last count, there are almost 100 separate gangs. It’s all fun and games until some gangs interact. Especially if they’re “DUI” or “Disney Under the Influence”. Yes, Virginia , Disneyland has places where beer is sold. These folks take Disneyland very, very seriously. With Park Passes in hand, they roam the park. They have been known to “claim” certain park benches or areas in the Park. “The Main Street Elite” for example claim um…Main Street.

There are many Disney social groups. The “Bikers” admit that they are on the weird end of the spectrum and like to emphasize that they there benign. They conduct fund raisers. Disneyland itself tolerates them because their number one rule is it fact, Disneyland’s number one rule.

“Do not damage the Disney Fantasy”

Gangs have sung to children on their First Visit. They pick up trash. Their code of conduct demands everyone follow park rules and not become “Treasured Guests”, Disney’s code word for disruptive visitors. Most “gangs” can be seen pushing strollers as they bring their kids to experience the “Magic of Disney”

How Bad Ass can you be pushing a stroller?

The Dark Side

Like people everywhere, there are assholes that screw up the Good Times for everyone. A civil lawsuit filed in Orange County Superior Court has revealed a dark undercurrent to the pastime. Of course they did, it is California. The head of one club has accused another of using gangster-like tactics to try to collect “protection” money for a charity fundraiser at the park. The walk was due to take place on September 11, 2016, to benefit families of the firefighters killed during 9/11.

It sounds like a Mob movie set in a theme park. The Main Street Fire Station 55 accused the White Rabbits of extortion, invasion of privacy and intentional infliction of emotional distress.

Stop laughing.

Apparently, the White Rabbits offered to provide security for the fundraiser parade the Fire Station 55ers were holding for the low, low price of $500. That triggered the Rabbits and the fur flew.

Do you belong to one of these Disneyland social groups. If so, we’d love to hear from you in the comments below. Represent.

Picnicking in the Rocky Mountains

Do you remember a time when you were a kid and you thought your Dad was awesomely God-like?

My moment was in 1966, I was about eight.  We were stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado.  On the weekends we’d go picnicking on Cheyenne Mountain.  Dad was alway looking for arrow heads and miner stuff.  Mom was taking pictures like mad.  Oma (Grandma) was making sure I didn’t kill myself.  I spent most of the time getting as dirty as possible. 

Lion Dog
Rhodesian_Ridgeback (Lion Dog)

We became friends with the local Park Ranger.  He let us get into the sort of shall we say “not open to the public” places.  Once we made an unannouced visit to his home.  A ranch style log cabin affair.  He wasn’t home but his dogs were and Mom made friends with them almost immeadiatly.  When he did get home he was amazed to find us waiting in his living room.  He was really amazed to find us still alive.  His dogs were a pair of what he called “Lion Dogs”.

One weekend we were at one of those out of way places when Dad spotted an old mine sunk into the side of a hill.  It looked like it had been there for a hundred years so visions of “miner stuff” danced in his head.  Flashlights at the ready, Dad, Mom and I proceeded on a mine adventure.

The shaft had about a 20 or 30 degree incline, so going was slow.  There was a remnant of the rail lines that the ore cars used.  After about 50 feet or so, Mom slipped and fell.  When she hit the ground she lost her flashlight.  To an eight year old it looked to me like the darkness just sucked her out.  She came to a stop with a resounding “THUD” and a not-so-cheerfull “SHIT”.  Dad and I ran to her.  We noted where the rail line ended abruptly and the floor dropped about six inches.  For Mom, it was like stepping of a stair step she didn’t know was there.  

When we got to her, Mom was on her ass, leaned up on a stainless steel door.

At this point I remember Dad saying, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”  I remember it well because he hardly ever used “fuck”, he was more of shit and god dammit man.

Mom had broken her foot in the fall  By the time we got out of the mine shaft there were two jeeps and about a half dozen Army MP’s waiting for us.  As a army brat, I knew my Dad out ranked these dudes so they obviously there to help us.  Especially as they gave us ride back to our car and Oma.  Somehow, my Dad used some superhuman way of contacting the M.P.’s to come help us.

Jever
Me and my Dad.

Years later, Dad told me that we had stumbled upon an emergency escape hatch for NORAD’s Cheyenne Mountain Complex.  Since he was an E-9 he did out rank the M.P.s.  He had also attended a orientation tour of the Complex given to the Command Structure at Fort Carson.  That combination was good enough to get us off the hook.

NORAD
Not this one.