“Hello, David. It’s Card.”
Card? Who did I know named Card? The voice on the line was older yet strong, decisive. Didn’t sound at all familiar. I waited before answering, hoping this “Card” would share another clue to his identity and clear up the mystery. He didn’t.
Then it hit me. “Card Walker?” I finally responded, shocked that I might be receiving a personal call from the man who basically ran Walt Disney Productions in the dark ages between Disney and Eisner.
“I understand you’re looking for my help,” Card continued. “What can I do for you?”
I explained that I would love his help. For the last several years, I’d been interviewing Disney pioneers for my upcoming book on Walt Disney World. What a coup it would be to sit down with Card Walker and hear about the creation of the Magic Kingdom and Epcot Center from the Big Cheese himself.
Card, unfortunately, was not up for visitors. He was not in the best of health. Heart troubles, he explained. He paused, then added almost apologetically, “I’m 87.”
No matter. As long as I had Mr. Walker—I mean Card, as he corrected me—on the phone, I gently tried to maneuver him into talking about Epcot. We spoke briefly about Disney, in generalities, but obviously Card was not one for small talk.
“You’re going to call Dick Nunis,” he interrupted, referring to the man who had been his trusted general and enforcer at the theme parks. “Tell him Card told you to call. Dick can answer every question you were going to ask me. Call me back if there’s anything else.” From his resolute tone, I could tell he did not expect there to be anything else.
I thanked him. Said goodbye. He was gone, as if rushing off to his next high-powered appointment. If I didn’t know he’d been off the Disney board and his beloved golf links for years, I’d have sworn he had a company helicopter waiting, hovering over his front lawn.
I never did get the chance to meet Card Walker, who grudgingly succumbed to those heart problems November 30.
Yet that five-minute phone call two years ago told me plenty. Card was gracious, yet firm. Energetic. Focused. No-nonsense. A delegator who expected his commands be quickly followed. Concerned about the Disney image and legacy. And—the one characteristic he didn’t share with his old boss—anything but a storyteller.
His rise to the top of the Disney empire had nothing to do with Walt-like creativity or Roy-like financial acumen. Card was a marketing guy. His gifts were hard work and hustle, and an imposing presence. If anything, Card had the company line down pat. He understood Disney entertainment on the surface, and the best way to sell it. And, because he retired on his own terms, before the hostile takeover attempts underscored his company’s weaknesses, Walker has been treated more kindly in official Disney histories. Most of the blame for Disney’s pre-Eisner woes has been thrown at the feet of Ron Miller, Walker’s hand-picked successor. Miller was certainly more creative and willing to take risks than Walker, but not as polished or confident.
Yet the stagnating Disney of the 1970s and early 1980s reflected no one more than Card. He set the tone. He typified what Disney had become. He was consumed by an unwavering allegiance to the School of “What Would Walt Do?” His direction amounted to figuring out how to keep the distribution pipeline full of remakes of what Walt was working on in 1966. Original ideas didn’t fit Card’s vision. It was always “What should we be doing?” instead of “What could we be doing?”
As one veteran Imagineer recalled, “After the Magic Kingdom was done and Roy died, I saw the company start to lose its thrust for the first time. When Walt was alive, he’d leave us to work on our own a lot and drop in to check on us. With Walt dead, it was like he was on a long vacation. We were on automatic. After a year or so of debugging, there was a lull, almost like a malaise. I was shocked one day at WED; Card gathered us at a conference room and asked, ‘Okay, what are we doing next?’ My jaw dropped. I always thought we were led. He didn’t know what to do.”
So we can thank Card Walker for 15 years of pointless movies that turned the Disney Studios into a laughingstock and few new lines of business. At the same time, plenty of good did come out of his compulsion for dwelling on what was. The intense preservation and appreciation of the past has made possible countless wonderful books, DVDs and other projects that allow us to relive the days of Walt, his associates, and their creations. They also serve as a readily available inspiration for future dreamers. As well, with Card at the helm, Disney retained its identity and independence. It didn’t turn into something entirely different or get gobbled up by some international conglomerate. His rationing of the Disney product also built up demand that made the renaissance of the late 1980s possible.
Card Walker’s legacy is probably best epitomized in Epcot Center, at least circa 1982. Whereas Walt handcrafted Disneyland and brother Roy willed the Magic Kingdom into existence, Card Walker was the driving force behind Epcot as we knew it. Originally, Card didn’t have much interest in building another theme park (remember, Walt hated repeating himself). It’s just that Walt’s final dream was an Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow and Card was determined to make it happen, somehow.
A more ruthlessly bottom-line-minded CEO probably wouldn’t have spent the billion dollars. He probably would have sold the real estate. An ethereal thinker may have tried something closer to the futuristic city Walt proposed—and may have bankrupted the company in the process. For better and worse, we ended up with a new kind of theme park that overnight turned Disney World into a multi-day destination. Some might love Epcot for its grand scale or unique pleasures. Others might detest that it wasn’t more than just another theme park with audio-animatronics, boat rides, and a monorail. Either way, let’s not forget who was responsible.
