The Red Room Riddle: A Ghost Story (Scott Corbett, 1972)

I first became aware of Scott Corbett's 1972 ghost story The Red Room Riddle when the made-for-TV adaptation decided to crash my regularly scheduled Saturday morning viewing ritual. My fandom for children's horror stories adapted for television had been established years earlier in my stumbled-upon viewing of Once Upon A Midnight Scary (1979), the Vincent Price-hosted anthological trio comprised of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (Washington Irving), The Ghost Belonged To Me (Richard Peck) and The House With a Clock In Its Walls (John Bellairs) (covered previously in a years-old blog post that's not very well written, but hey, at least the screen caps are... adequate.)

For The Red Room Riddle, Price even reprises hosting duties alongside feline puppet regular O. G. Readmore in this ABC Weekend Special presentation which aired just in time for Halloween, 1984.

Grade-school kids exploring an abandoned haunted house with nary an adult chaperone to be found? On paper, this should have been exactly my cup of arsenic. But even with my Expectations-Have-Been-Lowered-For-Television mindset, this version was lacking in atmosphere or scares, and kind of just plods along until it mercifully ends, with our lead explorers, Scott Jacoby (Bad Ronald) and Nicholas Gilbert ("3rd bully" in The Never Ending Story) left unscathed and unchanged by their experience.  For me, the most memorable thing about The Red Room Riddle was its alliterative title in dripping-blood font.  (But don't let my singular pooh-poohing steer you away from checking it out for yourself---there are plenty of first-hand kindertraumatic testimonies singing its praises by viewers other than me.)

That old Red Room Riddle font gives me the creeps!

I've said it before: most mysteries are solved in the library, and that's exactly where I went to investigate The Case of The Ghost Story Adaptation That Wasn't All That. If The Red Room Riddle's premise sounded good to me on paper, maybe "on paper" was the proper place to actually experience it, was my thinking.

Now let's get one thing straight---there is no actual riddle in The Red Room Riddle. Yes, there are mysterious goings-on that beg explanation, but anyone hoping for a what gets wetter the more it dries type plot-revolving puzzler for the characters to solve will find no such satisfaction.

Did I mention I love ex-library copies? This book filed under Mystery, because of all those mysterious goings-on that beg explanation, no doubt.

Framed as a first-person childhood reminiscence, The Red Room Riddle recounts an adventure by our narrator Bruce Cowell and new-to-the-neighborhood friend Bill Slocum on a drizzly Halloween.

Bruce's love of Halloween is expressed repeatedly, described here as "the most exciting night of the year." Apparently trick-or-treating was not yet a common practice when and where this story is set, so Halloween was instead a night of rule-breaking and mischief-making, "... when we were allowed to run loose in the dark. We looked forward to it for weeks."

Regional lore tells of a haunted house in the nearby affluent neighborhood of Mt. Alban, at which a baby's body was supposedly found years ago, chopped up and buried in the garden (unsurprisingly, the TV version leaves this gruesome detail out entirely.)

A timely conversation about belief in ghosts inspires the pair to seek out the house for "research", but really Bruce and Bill are just looking to add a little spice of the non-pumpkin kind to their Halloween gallivanting.  Guided by Bruce's fuzzy memory of having once passed by the place years earlier, the pair venture forth into the labyrinth of lanes, streets and drives that wind their way up Mt. Alban, eventually stumbling upon the house, three stories of dilapidation and jungle undergrowth.

Unlike the TV version, where the kids are left unscathed by their forbidden explorations, Bill gets scathed immediately, brushing against a thorn as they struggle their way through the unkempt grounds, leaving a bloody scar on his cheek.

While still navigating the yard, a third member unexpectedly joins their party: an aloof kid named Jamie Bly, trailed by his menacing bulldog, Major. Jamie claims familiarity with the house and offers to lead them on a tour, but there's something off-putting about his too-cool demeanor that immediately puts Bruce and Bill on edge. After making their way indoors and up a rickety staircase, they are chased out by yet another new arrival, a cantankerous old groundskeeper (who, considering the state of the grounds, should probably find another profession). While fleeing the property, Bruce thinks he sees Jamie's dog digging at a "small, age-yellowed bone...leaning sideways in the hole with the tilt of a disturbed tombstone." Is the legend of the chopped up baby true after all?

Sensing their fear while exploring the house, Jamie taunts them with an offer to experience actual ghosts in person later that evening at his own home. Despite their skepticism, Bruce and Bill appoint to meet him that evening at an intersection a few blocks away.

In the interim, they debate allowing their Halloween evening itinerary to be dictated by this infuriating stranger who obviously won't be able to produce real live dead ghosts--but may just have some other prank up his sleeve.  Ultimately the pair decide to call Jamie's bluff (but secretly, they each hope he won't show up.)

Bruce and Bill waiting for that little twerp Jamie. Illustrations are by Geff Gerlach, working in the I-Could-Draw-That style.

When Jamie does indeed appear at the appointed time and place, Bruce and Bill pivot from dread to bravado and dare him to deliver on his earlier promise. After leading them on a disorienting pretzel path through the neighborhood, the trio finally arrive at Jamie's house, which Bruce and Bill find as uninviting as the abandoned Mt. Alban house. 

Mirroring their earlier experience, Bill's cheek is again scratched as they approach the house, this time accompanied by a mysterious whooshing sound and a cold burst of air.  

And this is the point where we dive head first into the unique weirdness of Corbett's story that is sorely missing from the TV adaptation.

Once inside, Jamie's house proves legitimately spooky. Lit only by intermittent gas lamps, it's a confusing, shadowy labyrinth of lonely corridors and dark corners.  Jamie's parents are supposedly out for the evening, leaving a pair of servants as the only adults in the house. A mute maid emerges unexpectedly from the shadows just long enough to blow out the nearest lamp and then disappear again into darkness.

A huge, horrific tapestry adorns one wall, depicting the Biblical atrocity of King Herod putting children to the sword. This combined with the earlier sight of what might very well have been a murdered child's skeleton casts a foreboding seriousness over what would otherwise seem a harmless Halloween jaunt. This is another colorful detail omitted from the TV version, which ditches the whole infanticide theme entirely.

Again evoking their earlier adventure, they find themselves following Jamie up a staircase, this time to visit (drum-roll) "The Red Room". What's red and red and red all over? This unsettling upstairs chamber in which every wall, fixture and piece of furniture is covered in various shades of crimson that, impossibly, appears to still be dripping wet, prompting Bill to not so helpfully volunteer that old wooden warships used to paint their decks red to disguise blood spilt from battle.  "That's right." Jamie agrees with a knowing smirk.

The other shoe--which Bruce and Bill had been anticipating all evening--finally drops when Jamie springs his prank, locking them in the Red Room and challenging them through the red door to find a hidden red staircase somewhere near the red fireplace.  As they fumble around for a secret panel, crashing metallic footsteps can be heard from outside the room with increasing volume, and Jamie ominously warns they'd better hurry or "you'll see more than you bargained for."  

Admittedly the depiction of the room itself in the ABC Weekend Special is kind-a neat looking, even if it eschews the weirdness of the book for more generic haunted house tropes like floating candles

A tense and prolonged climax finds our heroes fleeing from a sword-wielding phantom Roman soldier down a claustrophobic spiral staircase, and a mysterious final flourish has us questioning whether any human being (or dog) Bruce and Bill have encountered since first stepping foot in the earlier Mt. Alban house is real, imagined, or something in between. It's even possible the Mt. Alban house and Jamie's are one and the same.

In a sad coda, Bruce describes trying to relay the incident to his parents years later, only for it to be dismissed as the result of a child's overactive imagination.

But Bill's scar, we are told, never healed.

The Red Room Riddle is out of print as of this writing.

Ahwatukee House of the Future (1980-1984)

It was envisioned as a "shining home of dreams", an "experimental living laboratory and testing ground", a "magnificent prism of Man's dreams" where the ideas of tomorrow are experienced today.  

In practice, it ended up being a three dollar tourist attraction. 

Completed in 1979 for a cost of $1,200,000, the Ahwatukee House of the Future was the brainchild of real-estate developer and Ahwatukee village founder Randall Presley. 

Conceived as an attraction to generate interest in the relatively new Phoenix, Arizona suburb, Presley approached the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation with the vision of an idealized futuristic home that would wow visitors while also maximizing efficiency in a harsh desert climate.

Elevation sketches.

Floor plan.

Charles Robert Schiffner, of Taliesin Associated Architects, served as project architect for the striking pyramidal edifice, which looks something like the star-child offspring of a mid-century modern church and an inter-dimensional spacecraft.

Solar panels and copper roofing, which has since turned green after years of exposure.

The interior is centered around a spacious atrium with multiple skylights strategically placed to maximize natural lighting throughout the day. The traditional living room is replaced with a "conversation pit", a 1950's modernist innovation intended to facilitate interpersonal communication, that by the late 70's was still viewed by suburbia as a novelty. 

Pit shmit--let's watch The Love Boat!

Employing an open design, there are no hallways to sequester adjoining rooms from view, and sliding glass panels replace traditional interior doors.

Study and bedroom under glass.

To efficiently keep the environment cool in the hot Phoenix desert, living spaces are below ground level, and a bank of solar panels, unusual in private residences of the day, powers the hot water heater.

Now maybe you're thinking that a conversation pit and solar panels aren't all that futuristic?

Meet Tuke.

Pronounced tu-kee, (as in Ahwatukee), Tuke is the name of the ten interconnected Motorola microprocessors that monitor and control all aspects of the house. The system, which cost approximately $30,000 (although Motorola engineers predicted the price of a comparable system would drop to only $5,000 in a few years), monitors windows and doors, adjusts blinds, controls temperature, and logs energy use for later analysis.

Terminals located in the sitting room, kitchen, and master bedroom allow human beings to interact with Tuke to store and retrieve messages, recipes, and bank account information (the system doesn't connect to the Internet or any other external network.)

"Tuke, look up the recipe for stuffed bell peppers. Then delete it."

Did I mention Tuke talks and can entertain children with spoken jokes and nursery rhymes? Tuke's speaking voice is very similar to the voice synthesizer from 1983's War Games.

Of course, no House of the Future would be complete without a phalanx of robot security guards patrolling the grounds. But we'll have to settle for security cameras, motion detector lights, and a keyless entry system that requires entering a personal code into a calculator-style keypad.

Can my code be 58008?

Now, you may be concerned that an intelligent, computer-controlled house might try to kill you someday after determining you are an inefficiency, or perhaps, after hours of spying on you in the shower, fall in love with and attempt to impregnate you.

Don't worry-- Charles E. Thompson, Motorola's VP of World Marketing , has anticipated your concerns, and assures us, in a somewhat humorous interview ("The Tenant is in Complete Control", InfoWorld Magazine, June 1980), that human beings will remain "in complete control of the environment...making all the important decisions".  Rumors that Tuke will lock you in the house and slowly cook you over several hours by aiming its solar panels at you are highly exaggerated.

The House, which opened to the public from 1980 to 1984, hosting approximately 250,000 visitors at $3 a pop before being sold as a private residence, was notable enough to be featured on the television show That's Incredible and in Volume 3 of its companion book.

Here are a few current photos of the house, followed by the That's Incredible book article in its entirety.

Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark with original Stephen Gammell illustrations is back!

Hot on the heels of the surprising news that Usborne Publishing's World of the Unknown: All About Ghosts book was returning to print in a facsimile edition, I am pleased to discover that Alvin Schwartz's Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark trilogy has been rereleased with the original Stephen Gammell artwork restored!

You may recall back in 2012 Gammell's soul-scarring black and white illustrations had been replaced with new art by Brett Helquist done in a completely different style, which I described in a previous post as "the labor of a competent and perfectly sane artist."

I'm guessing we can thank the new Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark feature film, directed by André Øvredal (Troll Hunter, The Autopsy of Jane Doe) and produced by Guillermo Del Toro (everything cool) for invigorating interest in the title, as the film faithfully adapts Gammell's original designs in three horrifying dimensions.

Order at Amazon.

World of the Unknown: All About Ghosts is back in print----WHAT?

One of my favorite treasures from the haunted library is the 1970's Usborne World of the Unknown series, particularly the tome dedicated to Ghosts, which I covered in a previous post here.

In a surprising bit of good news, this long sought after rarity is back in print, apparently after a successful campaign and petition organized by British actors Reece Shearsmith (Doctor Who, League of Gentlemen) and Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, The World's End). Read all about it at The Guardian.

I don't have the new edition in hand (it doesn't release in the U.S. until October 3, 2019) but it appears to be a facsimile reprint, save for a new forward by Shearsmith. Pre-order now at Amazon!

Seems as good a time as any to remind you that another of my personal favorites, 1976's Nightmares: Poems to Trouble Your Sleep (Jack Prelutsky, with illustrations by Arnold Lobel) has been back in print for a few years now and would love to take a ride in your shopping cart, too.

Hooray, books!

The Little Golden Books of Disneyland (1955-1971)

Let's us sample those delights too! 

Disneyland has been the subject of seven Little Golden Books: Little Man of Disneyland (1955), Donald Duck in Disneyland (1955 and 1960), Disneyland On the Air (1955), Jiminy Cricket Fire Fighter (1956), Mickey Mouse and the Missing Mouseketeers (1956), Donald Duck Lost and Found (1960), and Disneyland Parade With Donald Duck (1971).  There's a fair amount of artistic license in how the park geography and architecture is represented in these books, which makes the already charming illustrations even more interesting to Disneyland fans. (I'm only including pages depicting Disneyland, so if you want to see Mickey talking on his office phone, you'll just have to buy the books!)

Little Man of Disneyland (1955)

Reissued in 2015 under the Little Golden Book Classics line to coincide with Disneyland's 60th anniversary (making it the only book covered here that is still in print), Little Man... serves as a teaser-trailer of sorts for the still under-construction Park.

As Mickey and company scout the future park site in the same Anaheim orange groves famously walked by Walt in Disneyland promotional footage, they encounter Patrick Beggora, the "last Little Person left in Movieland".

Disney's live-action film Darby O'Gill and The Little People wouldn't premier until 1958, but Walt had expressed interest in leprechauns as possible subject matter as far back as 1946, and made several trips to Ireland during that film's pre-production.

I've seen illustrations of Disneyland, and concept art of Disneyland, but here's something unique: illustrations of concept art of Disneyland! The Jungle Cruise, Sleeping Beauty's Castle, a Main Street storefront and Mr. Toad's Wild Ride vehicle are visible, as well as a non-descript rollercoaster that doesn't correspond to any actual attraction.

An under-construction Sleeping Beauty's Castle surrounded by scaffolding, and that mysterious roller-coaster looming in the background behind a Main Street building.

Patrick Beggora's tiny tree house was recreated in Disneyland in 2015, to coincide with the book's reprinting.

Donald Duck in Disneyland (1955, 1960) 

 Donald Duck and nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie visit Disneyland only to get separated for a few pages.

This depiction of the east side of Main Street, USA, seems to be a hodge-podge of various storefront styles without much regard for accuracy, save for the pointed roof and circle window of the "Photo Supplies" store, recognizable as the #106 Fine Tobacco Shop (currently the 20th Century Music Company.)

Next door is a building numbered "1873". Main Street stores do in fact have "street addresses", but with house numbers in the hundreds. You have to look in Frontierland for house numbers in the 1870s (the Golden Horseshoe Saloon is 1871).

Pictured at its original intended location in the center of Town Square is the bandstand. By opening day it had been relocated to the opposite end of Main Street, near Sleeping Beauty Castle. It was later moved to the Magnolia Park area between Adventureland and Frontierland before finally being donated to the City of Anaheim in 1962. 

You really did have to buy a ticket for the Santa Fe and Disneyland Railroad in 1955. It was a C-ticket attraction, costing 30 cents. The engine pictured appears to be the #1 C. K. Holliday (even though its misnumbered "21").

The yellow enclosed freight cars are the "Retlaw 1" combine cars. With their tiny windows and bus-style seating they didn't really lend themselves to looking at passing scenery, so were retired in 1974, having since turned up in the hands of various private collectors and at railroad museums.

A Jungle Cruise boat passes behind famous "Schweitzer Falls" for a close-up view of the back-side of water. For the first few years, skippers  treated the excursion like a serious nature tour rather than a series of gag setups. The shift to a more irreverent spiel began with the addition of Marc Davis' humorous Elephant Bathing Pool and African Veldt vignettes in the early 1960's.

Here we find the Mark Twain River Boat after apparently having made a big wet U-turn (it normally circles the Rivers of America  in a clockwise direction). The large white building is recognizable as the Golden Horseshoe Saloon, home of The Golden Horseshoe Revue (1955 to 1986.) The blue-roofed, house-like structure might be the Chicken Plantation Restaurant (1955-1962), based on its proximity to the dock (or it could just be a piece of generic scenery to fill out the scene).

The Stagecoach (1955-1959), along with the Conestoga Wagons, transported guests with real horses down a real dirt path to see fake cactus and fake rocks.  It was replaced by the Mine Train Through Nature's Wonderland and Pack Mules in 1959.

The charming and still operating Casey Jr. Circus Train. You won't see kids peeking over the top of the animal cage cars in real life, because they are actually fully enclosed.

These fancy red curtains look like they belong to the Lilly Belle parlor car and not the yellow "Retlaw 1" combine car Donald is riding.

Louie has flown his Peter Pan's Flight ride vehicle right out of the attraction and  is now hovering through the skies over Fantasyland while Capt. Hook threatens from below. With its endless ocean and rock cliff, it's not clear where this scene is supposed to be taking place.

Autopia's original cars with the fully-bumpered bodies, and no center guide rail (those wouldn't be installed until 1965). The 14 mph speed limit sign is more than double the cars' actual top speed.

Another look at the bandstand as Donald relaxes at the Main Street train station.

Tomorrowland famously got the short-end of the budget in the rush to meet opening day, and this illustration looks more like concept renderings than anything that was actually built.  The rocketship pictured resembles the one from Disney's Man In Space (1955) series, not the iconic TWA Moonliner that was actually erected at the site.

Disneyland experienced a major growth spurt in 1959 with the addition of the Matterhorn Bobsleds, Monorail and Submarine Voyage Thru Liquid Space (the Skyway buckets were added in '56.) A 1960 updated edition of Donald Duck In Disneyland swapped out a few spreads to highlight these newer attractions.

 

 Disneyland On The Air (1955)

Mickey and Donald make a red-carpet arrival to the Main Street Opera House for filming of a television special. That Man In Space version of the Tomorrowland rocket makes an appearance on the cover, as well as the Mark Twain River Boat and Disneyland Stagecoach.

The Opera House is the oldest building in Disneyland park, originally used as a workshop and lumber mill during construction and for several years after park opening, before opening to guests in 1961 for a temporary exhibit of props from the film Babes In Toyland. It then briefly served as the "Mickey Mouse Headquarters", before finally becoming the permanent home of Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln in 1965. 

Look at those dapper park guests. They are expecting to be in the audience of a live television broadcast, so that may explain why they are so sharp-dressed, but it really wasn't unusual to see guests dressed up for their day at the park back then.

This backlit panorama of the park is just a painted backdrop used for filming.

Jiminy Cricket Fire Fighter (1956)

By the mid-1950s, Jiminy Cricket had left his debut role as Pinocchio's conscious far behind and was firmly ensconced in his new position as master of ceremonies in several educational films for Disney, including the safety series I'm No Fool, the Encyclopedia and Nature of Things newsreel-style documentaries, and  health and wellness series, You And Your.

Jiminy Cricket, Fire Fighter finds our "chipper little fellow" working in the same vein, using the Disneyland #105 Fire Department on Main Street as a base of operations to teach lessons in fire safety.  Unfortunately most of the actual lessons are taught off-property (e.g. Mickey's fire-trap suburban home), but we at least get a look at the horse-drawn "Chemical Wagon" fire truck (still on exhibit today), Sleeping Beauty's Castle, and another concept-art version of Tomorrowland.

Mickey Mouse and the Missing Mouseketeers (1956)

Mickey, Goofy and Donald visit Disneyland to film a special episode of The Mickey Mouse Club, only to find the Mouseketeers have disappeared somewhere in the park.

There were a couple short-lived Mickey Mouse Club oriented attractions in 1956: a live circus show that lasted less than a year, and the Mickey Mouse Club Theater, a movie house located in Fantasyland that featured both a 30-minute program of animated shorts and air-conditioning. Neither attractions are mentioned in this book.

Finally an accurate rendering of Tomorrowland's landmark centerpiece. The TWA Moonliner stood in front of the Rocket To the Moon attraction, until it was removed for the 1967 Tomorrowland remodel. The pond bordering the Autopia track hosted the short-lived and problematic Phantom Boats attraction. It closed permanently in 1956.  

You call this a "dark" ride? What may appear to be a view over Tom Sawyer Island is actually supposed to be the Indian Village as seen from inside Peter Pan's Flight ride.

Mickey and a camera crew in the back of Sleeping Beauty's Castle. Mickey is riding what looks like a Main Street Surrey carriage (discontinued in 1971) through Sleeping Beauty's Castle. The Moonliner is visible in the distance. 

In these Little Golden Books, the animated characters aren't mere ride scenery but are actually supposed to be living in the park. Here, the seven dwarves are caught napping on the job inside their diamond mine while the Wicked Witch hands out poison apples.

Mickey and Minnie, armed with a sword and shield purchased at the Main Street Magic Shop, rescue a pair of Mouseketeers, who don't appear to represent any specific kids from the cast (the names on their jerseys are illegible).

Mickey and Minnie astride a horse on King Arthur's Carrousel, which originally came in a variety of colors (they were all painted white in a 1975 refurbishment.)

Donald Duck Lost and Found (1960)

I'm not sure why Donald gets sole billing in this Disneyland outing that finds Mickey and what's-his-name exploring Tom Sawyer Island.

Tom Sawyer Island, along with the motorized rafts that ferry people across the Rivers of America, opened to the public May '56. The island itself was there from opening day, but as merely scenery with no guest access. Disney lore credits Walt himself with designing the island playground, with its labyrinthine caves, climbing rocks and rope bridges.

For the first few months after opening, guests could actually borrow a fishin' pole and catch live fish from Catfish Cove, a stocked pond located just off the dock. Since most Disneyland visitors don't bring ice-filled coolers with them to the park, the caught fish frequently ended up tossed in the garbage (or worse, left behind on a ride vehicle.)

Donald and Mickey ponder the echoing voices from Injun Joe's Cave, named for the villainous character from Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer. The cave was rebranded "Smuggler's Cove" when the island underwent a Pirates Of the Caribbean-themed makeover in 2007.

The Old Mill and Tom & Huck's Treehouse, which guests could actually climb into for an elevated view of the island. Decades later it was shuttered, surviving today as a piece of scenery.

The Suspension Bridge, Pontoon Bridge, and towering Castle Rock, at the foot of which are Teeter-Totter Rock and Merry-Go-Round Rock, playground equipment disguised as natural formations. Both became casualties of increased safety concerns sometime in the early 2000s.

Fort Wilderness was an opening feature of the island and was quite an attraction itself, boasting mounted cannon and rifles, Davy Crockett figures in wax-museum style exhibits, a canteen to buy snacks, and a "secret escape tunnel" in case the walls are breached. In the early 2000s the Fort had to be torn down due to wood rot, and completely rebuilt, but this time as a storage and backstage area for employees and equipment.

Goofy and Mickey examine a huge map. Much smaller brochure-style maps of the island have been available to park guests through the decades, including a version updated in 2007 to highlight changes made for the "Pirates' Lair" makeover. At the upper right we find Indian Territory and, inaccessible on foot but visible from the water, Burning Settler's Cabin. 

Disneyland Parade with Donald Duck (1971)

This is the most recently published book (only half a century old!) and the least interesting as far as seeing renderings of the park, as it's mostly Disney characters preparing for the big parade in a vague "backstage" area.

Once again, Donald and nephews visit Disneyland. On the horizon, between the castle and Matterhorn mountain, we can see the top of Fort Wilderness, the Skyway buckets, and the thatched roof of the Enchanted Tiki Room. The pirate ship is Captain Hook's Galley (formerly the Chicken of the Sea), a ship-shaped snack bar that stood in a Peter Pan themed lagoon in Fantasyland until a 1982 remodel of the area.

Alice, the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit stand below the over-sized leaves of their dark-ride attraction.  Minnie, Pluto and Goofy prepare for the parade. Goofy has driven a broken down jalopy in parades as far back as 1965. 

Donald purchases some balloons near the Castle, and later, on Main Street. Check out the groovy "Minnie"-skirt on that park guest! Donald gets carried away in his balloon buying binge, providing us another look at Captain Hook's Galley ship.

Finally the parade is ready to roll as our tour of Disneyland via Little Golden Books comes to a close.