Though Disney Parks today are well-established cultural icons, the Walt Disney Company’s start as an interpreter of American history and ideals began long before it opened the gates of Disneyland or Disney World (1955 and 1971, respectively). From its creation in 1923 as “The Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio,” the Disney operation was producing films that echoed Americans’ ideal version of themselves. Often set in a glorified 19th century rural American heartland, these animations featured a hero (usually the indomitable Mickey Mouse) whose strong work ethic and bravery in the face of risk always found the “little guy” and “common man” triumphant over his foe. Such optimistic sentiment held great appeal in the country’s Depression years, and most certainly led Mickey and company to become household names.

Promotional poster from Life Magazine for Disney World’s 1987 celebration of the bicentennial of the U.S. Constitution.

By World War II, the company was cementing its association with the “American Way” by producing propaganda films and war-related goods that served the U.S. cause. Disney characters appeared on war bonds, posters, and on more than a thousand military unit insignia. They also appeared in short patriotic cartoons: The Spirit of ’43 has Donald Duck expounding on the importance of paying taxes; Donald Gets Drafted, shows, as expected, the irascible cartoon waterfowl getting drafted. Donald Duck in particular became so well recognized as an American symbol during the war that in February, 1943 The New York Times called him “a salesman of the American Way.” For their promotion of wartime allegiance and good citizenship, Mickey Mouse and friends joined the ranks of the Statue of Liberty and Uncle Sam as faces of our nation.

This narrative of upholding American values continued at the brand’s theme parks, where Walt Disney translated it into a physical experience using American folk history. “Disneyland,” he said at the park’s grand opening, “is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams, and the hard facts that have created America.” Visitors are made to feel as if they are stepping into carefully curated moments of history, ones chosen to fit a tidy narrative that highlights the nation’s past and future commitment to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It celebrates a simple story that tells us that through hard work—and perhaps a bit of pixie dust—any American can make their dreams come true.

Main Street U.S.A.’s manicured small-town charm and bustling shops boast of American optimism and enterprise. The colonial-themed Liberty Square teems with symbols of the nation’s commitment to independence, even when it requires a fight. Its centerpiece, the Hall of Presidents, provides a stirring homage to our government and its illustrious leaders. And while Frontierland’s cowboys and pioneers harken back to the rugged individualism of the Old West, Tomorrowland’s space age attractions point ahead to America’s constant eye to a better future and the conquest of new challenges. American heroes like Abraham Lincoln, Paul Revere, and Davy Crockett—whose legends are repeated to us in childhood—are brought to “life” here through Disney magic.

The pocket map, “The Story of Disneyland with a complete guide to Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, Adventureland, Frontierland, Main St. U.S.A.” from 1955.

Visitors not just from all over the country, but from around the world, can find themselves standing amidst Disney’s version of America’s past, creating a sense of collective memory in all who visit. It’s perhaps telling that the parks have been popular destinations for not only four sitting U.S. presidents over the decades (Carter, Reagan, H.W. Bush, and Obama), but also foreign heads of state—from Prime Minister Nehru of India to the Shah of Iran to Khrushchev (who was famously barred from visiting)–hoping to get insight into American culture.

Fittingly, in 1976, as the nation celebrated the 200-year anniversary of Independence Day, the Disney Parks staged a 15-month bicoastal extravaganza of Americana, “America on Parade,” which Disney dubbed “America’s Biggest and Best Bicentennial Party.” The festivities included special touches such as television programs, books, and records.

The stars of the show were the parks’ daily parades—50 floats and more than 150 characters representing “the people of America”. They were seen by an estimated 25 million park visitors, making it one of the largest shared celebrations across the nation (and were even designated “official bicentennial events” by the U.S. government). The grand show helped solidify the theme park’s place in the minds of Americans as spaces not only for family-friendly vacation destinations, but as ones where they could come together to share cultural and historical heritage.

WWII aircraft worker’s pin featuring Mickey Mouse, from the Lockheed Martin Aircraft Plant in Burbank, CA.

To be sure, Disney’s unique ability to appropriate and transform American history in its own nostalgia-tinged image—what has come to be called “Disneyfication”— has drawn significant criticism. Its idealized imaginings of the country’s past can certainly strip out its more complicated, controversial, and unsavory elements in favor of a simpler, sunnier story.

But when it comes to collective memory, it must be noted that the past can be remembered one way and exist factually in another, and that many different versions can have their place in the American mind. For many park visitors, the value of “Disneyfied” history is not in its factual accuracy—or lack thereof. The importance of “Disney’s American history” is in how it gives life to a folk history we would like to have, one that gives us a sense of optimism and unity. It makes easily accessible a version of American history that shows visitors less the nation that we have been than the nation that we want to be, and, indeed, hope that we are.

Even as characters change and Tomorrowland becomes an artifact of yesterday, Disneyland and Disney World continue to be touchstones of American collective memory. From annual Fourth of July celebrations to contemporary additions to the Hall of Presidents, from a 1987 celebration of the Constitution’s bicentennial, to the swearing in of new citizens on Main Street, U.S.A., the parks have established themselves as places to celebrate shared memories and civic pride—and allow it to evolve and expand.

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Unfortunately, like most little girls, she grew up, but not before moving to Orlando, Florida at the age of 11. I’d like to report that I put up an epic fight and battled all the way up the runway kicking and screaming out of my hometown of Scranton, Pennsylvania (the suitably unglamorous setting for The Office). “These are my friends,” I cried. “This may be no theme park, but it is my home. You’re ruining my LIFE!”

But of course that didn’t happen. Promise an eleven-year-old her new house will be 10 minutes from Walt Disney World and it’s like giving her a Xanax…er…spoonful of sugar. Scranton where? We were going to live happily ever after.

Until high school, of course, where someone else has the boy you want, someone else has the hair you want, you’re not “gifted” (whatever that means) and the grass is always greener on the side of the hill where you grow boobs before junior year.

Our homecoming queen, on the other hand, seemed to have it all. By day, she was a straight-A student, super athlete and boy magnet. By nights and weekends she turned into a beautiful princess. Literally. Most of us might have settled for wheeling around the Panther’s football field on a shoddy float built by the drama club as our little realm’s sovereign, but she also got to do it in front of Cinderella’s Castle every night, as Cinderella. Did I mention she got to wear a rhinestone tiara and ballgown that lit up? It LIT UP!

I wanted so badly to walk in her glass slippers I was ready to do anything it took to fit them.

Easier said than done. I had a mother who wore patchouli oil and thought shaving your legs was some sort of ritual punishment only performed by Aborigines. She was my favorite person in the universe (not up for debate), but I clearly needed to outsource the fairy-godmother role. I turned to my best blonde beauty pageant friend and with a swift flick of her magic wand (and some tweezers, bleach and very detrimental dieting advice) I was a sight for sore eyes. Well, let’s be honest, nothing some fancy wigs, costumers and a ton of makeup couldn’t fix.

Next thing I knew, I was waiting in a four-hour cue, behind the scenes of Walt Disney World, with hundreds of other Disney character look-alike hopefuls. There wasn’t enough patchouli oil in the world to fend off these competitors.

First you sign in. Height, weight, lies… etc. Then you wait. Today, there are blogs and Facebook pages dedicated to Disney character wannabes. Back in the dark ages of my youth, you were lucky if someone told you the specs ahead of time. Other than your eyes being just far enough apart and your skin as white as snow, it was helpful to know that you wouldn’t make it into the next room if you weren’t between 5’3″ and 5’7″. If you didn’t get the memo that Disney Princesses only fell in this height bracket you would not be whistling to work anytime soon. Standing not-so-proudly a touch north of 5’8″, I cleverly wore a flowing skirt to hunch down without being found out during my measuring. I’m sure Kate Middleton has had to bind a toe or three to fit into a pair of those fabulous Louboutin heels. What was a little awkward lock of the knees?

When your name was finally called, you were ushered into a room full of mirrors and a panel of all-female judges. With about five rows deep of ten girls each, everyone took her fateful turn being silently stared at, nodded at and whispered about.

This was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. It made me realize that, as a woman, there are times when there is no hiding behind cleverness or character – times when you’re judged according to the length of your eyelashes or the meal you’ve skipped. At least if you want the princess role.

Of course, at that moment, nothing mattered if I could just leave with a shiny little slip of paper. The Mouse came through. My name was called and my shiny little slip, which might as well have been framed in perfumed gold, invited me to a call-back for Princess Cinderella, Belle, Snow White and Mary Poppins. I jumped for joy. I ate a cheeseburger. It was all happening.

The call-back was less stressful. I was hired to portray Cinderella, Belle and Mary Poppins. No Snow White for me–something about my face being too long and thin. Could be worse: I actually saw them comparing my picture to that of a cartoon. Dreams really do come true.

On my first day, I was to attend Princess School. Training consisted of watching Disney Princess movies…ALL DAY. Over a few weeks, I mastered my autographs, makeup and curtsies. It was a flurry of responsibility.

I learned what to say so that curiosity didn’t kill the children when they would ask things like, “Where do you sleep? Are you married? Why is there black coming out from under your blonde hair?” Each had its own precise answer. Except in the case Princess Belle, who was living in a castle…in sin…with a beast. “Just make up something that sounds good,” said our coordinator.

Seasoned princesses were quick to advise novices that glamour is for the birds. Breakfast shifts in King Stefan’s castle that guests booked some three months in advance were dreaded. Being banished to sets in Toontown for a day was every cast member’s nightmare and equivalent to an office job (shiver). Even being the lucky girl picked for a specialty parade had its downfalls, such as all-night rehearsals, heavier gowns and deep-seated fears of freezing to death in your life- size snow-globe. Smile. Wave. Repeat.

For “the happiest place on earth”, it was shocking how much complaining went on.

I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life. For every early morning, wardrobe malfunction, wrist cramp or princess on her period, there was a surprisingly wonderful moment to make up for it.

One particularly crabby morning I dragged myself into King Stefan’s breakfast in rare form. This Cinderella had had some royal fun the night before and no amount of caffeine or pixie dust could perk her up. Towards the end of the third round of breakfast, I rushed into the kitchen to shoot an espresso and try to avoid the usual mild panic attack associated with an over-abundance of flash photography.

Immediately, I was accosted by a middle-aged server in pseudo-Renaissance garb. She held a fully-loaded coffee carafe in her right hand, decaf in the left and said frantically, “Look. Cinderella. The last table on your round is a little girl with her mother. She’s refusing to eat until she gives you some gift she has for you. Can you please get there quickly and spend a little extra time with her?”

I am sure I muttered all the way up to a beautiful and earnest child, who gasped, “Cindewella, you look bloot-iful.” The babe said she was so sad my evil step sisters had messed up my dress and shoes that she’d gotten me a present, and she pulled from behind her tiny back the most adorable pair of Cinderella pajama slippers that wouldn’t have fit anyone over 24 months old. They still had the price tag on them: $13.95. (Disney, you’re shameless). Her mother lost it. I lost it. The frantic server lost it. I thanked her in a tornado of tears and hugs and felt grateful to have played the role of a lifetime.

Disney owns a lot of firsts for me. My first rollercoaster, my first job and even the first time someone told me they loved me–all happened within the maze of those park gates. I won’t always be able to clock in and head straight to pick up my ball accouterment – certainly not now that I work at a financial information firm. I do get a little forlorn that I may not dance with a prince and pick up a paycheck in the same afternoon ever again.

To this day, I will still run up to your children expecting them to recognize me, bevel my foot when taking a photograph, wear blue eye shadow thinking I look beautiful and be ultimately shocked when a guy as handsome as Prince Charming likes girls. But most importantly, I will insist that my little girl never stops dreaming of white weddings, pixie dust, prattling forest animals and kisses strong enough to shake you alive. I can’t wait to meet her and take her on her first trip to Disney World.

Catherine Mangan is a recent graduate of UCLA’s Anthropology department and a freelance writer living in Downtown Los Angeles.

*Photo courtesy of Catherine Mangan.

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