The bus edged into the right hand lane, went up an exit ramp, and turned right onto a main surface artery. Towering before him he saw the mighty form of the Matterhorn. Presently the slim outline of a rocket poised on its pad came into view and he knew that this was indeed the magic kingdom, the fabulous Disneyland. But even more than that, it meant that he was in Anaheim!
The gas station man had told him that the Angels baseball stadium was less than a mile away. Excitement began to build up within him. This might be his last day before he would have to go to prison, but this one precious day would be the greatest one of his life.
The bus turned off the highway into the immense Disneyland parking lot. Overhead a helicopter was just settling down onto the pad provided for air travelers. Up on an embankment an enthralling, old-fashioned steam engine was slowly pulling a string of cars into a station. The bus drove up before the main ticket gates and stopped.
Johnny tried hard to think, to decide what he should do. He did not have a watch, but he knew that it was still midmorning and that the baseball park would not yet be open. He would have been content just to go there and sit, looking at the stadium, but that would invite notice and he knew that he must keep himself concealed in the crowd.
There was only one thing to do, to go into Disneyland and wait there until the ball park would be open. There were a great many cars already on the parking lot; that meant there would be a lot of people inside and he would not be conspicuous.
The others on the bus were already on their feet, eager to be out and on their way through the gates. Johnny joined them, his shoe box tucked under his arm, his hand in his pocket to make sure that his precious money was still safe. At that moment the thought came to him that there would probably be a clock in Disneyland which he could watch to see when he should leave.
While waiting in line at the ticket window, he considered the various combinations offered. His first thought was to buy admission only, but his protective instinct told him that that would be an unnatural thing to do-it would be noticed. The more elaborate offerings were out of the question, he would not have the time and they cost far too much. He decided on the lowest-priced combination ticket as a logical purchase and one which would conserve his resources as much as he dared. When it was his turn he pushed four dollars under the window and received his book of coupons. His shoe box got in the way as he tried to pick up his change and the tickets at the same time; at last he succeeded and made his way to the entrance turnstile. He passed inside without further trouble, walked through the tunnel under the railroad tracks, and found himself in nineteenth century America.
Then he began to worry about his gun. He did not dare to hide it anywhere, someone might find it, but if he carried it with him, then sooner or later it might fall out of its box if he were riding on something. The town hall on his left attracted him; he walked toward it until he saw the small, coin-operated lockers where packages and purchases could be stored. His heart leaped a little; he would have to spend some more money, but his gun would be safe and away from suspicious eyes. Carefully he pushed his shoe box into one of the cubicles, deposited a quarter, and withdrew the key. Now his problem was solved, he was free for the first time in eighteen hours from the burden of his accursed gun, now he could safely explore the wonders of Disneyland.
With his book of tickets in his hand he began to walk up the main street toward the great central plaza where Frontierland, Adventureland, Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, and all the other miracles awaited him. He was just a boy now, exactly like thousands of other boys who already were spread out across the great amusement park. He would have been almost as hard to find as a single ripening ear in a vast cornfield, but it made no difference because in that place, at that time, no one had as yet heard of Johnny McGuire.
During the next two hours he had one of the greatest times of his life. He spent one of his precious E tickets on the Pirates of the Caribbean and was overwhelmed by the adventure. After that great experience he wandered around for the next few minutes, just seeing all of the things about him. Then with one of his lower value tickets he rode the huge merry-go-round and as he did so wished fervently that he could be free to return to this wonderful place over and over again with his father and mother so that they could ride the merry-go-round too.
Because he knew that he would never be coming back again, at least not until after he had spent his time in prison, he used up all of his limited supply of tickets. The submarine he rode revealed to him a totally new and unbelievable world. He wanted to ride the bobsleds on the Matterhorn, but he had no ticket left that would admit him to that high-priced attraction.
In his last few minutes he went back to Frontierland to drink in all of its wonders and to look once again at the mighty Mississippi River steamboat which arrived and departed with grandeur every few minutes. He had no ticket to ride it, but it was a wonderful spectacle just to see. After he had watched it sail once more he turned and began to walk down the wooden plank sidewalk toward the central plaza. As he passed by the Western store he paused and studied the many things it had to offer, for each one of them reminded him of Gene Autry, the greatest cowboy who had ever lived, and who had once held out his hand to Johnny McGuire.
The wide door was open and the steady flow of traffic in and out encouraged him to venture inside. He surveyed the merchandise with the utmost care, automatically rejecting those items which cost many dollars, and studying those which cost little. He had no real intention of buying, but there might possibly be some little thing which could actually be his….
He found his heart’s desire when he saw what appeared to be a real cowboy hat and which was only two dollars. It was not as large or as fine as many of the others in the store, but it was a real Western hat and white, just like the one Gene Autry wore. He thought about the hat, about how he would love to own it, and about the modest supply of funds he still had in his possession. He had already spent more than a dollar for food and almost two dollars to get to Anaheim, that meant that he had thirteen dollars now. Then, suddenly, he remembered two more things-the money he had spent to get into Disneyland and the fare that he would have to pay to get back home. That cut his resources down to about seven dollars. He completely forgot about the money he had put into the pay telephone and the coin locker where he had concealed his gun.
He guessed that it would cost two dollars to get into the baseball stadium; if he allowed himself one more dollar for food, then he had four dollars left. The hat would cost half that.
“Can I help you, son?”
It was unexpected and for a moment Johnny was badly startled; then he looked up at the man who had spoken to him and saw that he was a cowboy all dressed in his Western clothes. “I was looking at the hat,” he said.
With a flourish the clerk took the treasure off the peg, creased it in the proper Western style and carefully fitted it onto Johnny’s head. “Now go look at yourself in the mirror,” he invited.
Johnny did as he was told and saw himself in a wonderful new light. The boys would never laugh at him at school if he wore this superb hat which marked him as a real cowboy; even Billy Hotchkiss would be impressed and at last treat him as an equal. After the cowboy salesman had creased it for him and put it on his head it would have to be his; he could not possibly tell a man like that that it was beyond his means.
“How do you like it?” the clerk asked.
“It’s wonderful,” Johnny admitted.
“Would you like to buy it?”
It was a fair question with no hint of pressure behind it. Johnny drew breath to announce his important decision when he looked into the case before him and saw a gun belt. He stared at it so hard that the clerk obligingly removed it and squatting down fitted it around Johnny’s waist. “There,” he said. “Now you’re a real cowboy and no mistake.”