Doc Sherwood gives seven-year-old Walt some much-needed artistic self-esteem.

By the time he was seven, Walter was hurrying through his work for still another reason. He knew that if he finished up early enough, he could accompany the country doctor on his rounds. That was real fun.

Doc Sherwood was a kind and thoughtful old man who, unlike Walter’s father, patiently listened to all Walt’s young ideas and problems. The doctor often let the boy drive the surrey for him, and willingly answered the youngster’s endless questions. But best of all, the old man took an interest in whatever Walter did.

One spring day Walt rushed through his chores and ran all the way to Doc Sherwood’s house. He reached the doctor’s house just in time. The old man was already hitching up his high-stepping stallion for a tour of the countryside.

“Afternoon, Doc,” said the boy. “Can I go along with you today?”

“Why, surely, Walter,” Doc Sherwood answered. His chin whiskers seemed to wiggle when he spoke. The strange motion always amazed the boy. “I could use a strong hand on the reins, while I make out my reports,” the doctor added.

Walt leaped onto the surrey with one jump, as Doc Sherwood gave a gentle snap to the reins to signal the stallion. The surrey swung out of the yard and down a country lane, past orchards of apple trees still fragrant with blossoms.

“Where we goin’ first?” asked Walt.

“To the Mulvehills’ farm,” said the doctor. “The twins’ve got the mumps.”

“What’s mumps?”

“That’s a disease where the jaws swell up. Makes it hard to swallow.”

“Is it serious?”

“Not for the twins. For grownups, it can be.”

Walt thought about that for a long while, until the surrey rumbled up the curving driveway to the Mulvehill farm. Doc Sherwood took his bag and went inside. As soon as he had gone, Walt removed the pad and pencil from under his jacket and began looking around for a likely subject. He spotted a mockingbird sitting on the limb of a sycamore tree and quickly penciled in the bird’s outlines on his pad.

The mockingbird flew away before Walt could finish, but Walt completed the sketch from memory, then drew the tree boughs around it. When he heard the door of the farmhouse open, he tucked the pad and pencil back under his jacket.

Doc Sherwood climbed back on the surrey, and handed Walt the reins. The boy clicked his tongue and swatted the stallion’s rump with the leather. The horse turned his head and stared with disdain for a moment. Then he began to walk slowly down the driveway.

“How are the twins?” Walt asked.

“Fine, just fine,” said the doctor, as he wrote in his ledger. “They’ll be back in school next week.”

“Can you die from mumps?” the boy asked.

“It’s not likely,” Doc Sherwood answered.

“Who’s next?”

“Mrs. Crandall. She’s got a bad hurt in her chest.”

“Is she going to die?”

“Yes, Walter, I’m afraid she is.”

That gave Walter much to think about. He watched solemnly as Mr. Crandall came out of the farmhouse and hurried Doc Sherwood inside. They were gone a long time, and Walter once more brought out his pad. This time he made a sketch of the Crandalls’ setter, snoozing in the shade of a flowering peach tree. Once more he hid the pad as the doctor emerged from the house.

“Is she dead yet?” Walt asked in a whisper.

“No—not yet,” the doctor said with sadness.

This time the stallion started down the road without Walt’s signal, and Doc Sherwood, who was writing out his report, broke his pencil.

“May I borrow your pencil, Walter?” he asked.

The boy handed it to the doctor, and the doctor finished his writing.

“Now why don’t you show me what you’ve been drawing?” Doc Sherwood asked, as he laid his ledger aside.

Walt blushed. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to see it,” he said, trying to figure out how the doctor knew about his sketching.

“Yes, I would,” the doctor answered.

The boy slipped the pad from inside his jacket and handed it to Doc Sherwood, who studied the scene of the sleeping dog under a profusion of blossoms.

“Why, that’s very good, Walter,” he said. “That’s very good indeed.”

Walter’s face reddened again, half with pride and half with embarrassment. For he was a quiet, shy boy, and no one really had ever complimented him on his drawings before—except, maybe, Aunt Margaret or his mother. He sucked in his cheeks to keep himself from smiling with pleasure, and silently drove on.

Continued in "Magician of the Movies"!

It's hard to believe today, with his universal popularity, but at one time Disney felt that Mickey Mouse had become too predictable, too dull, to keep the public entertained. What the company needed was an anti-Mickey...

One night at the studio, Walt was discussing the plot of a new cartoon with several of his men. All of them were weary after a long day’s work, and the ideas were not coming as quickly as everyone had hoped they would.

“Well, let’s quit for tonight,” said Walt. “Maybe if we get a good night’s sleep, we can lick this story in the morning.”

While the men talked, a radio played quietly in a corner, and one of the men walked over to turn it off.

“Wait a minute,” Walt said. “Leave it on.”

He heard a strange noise coming from the loudspeaker. It was a squawky voice reciting “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

It took him a minute to identify the singer. Then he realized why.

“It’s a duck,” he laughed.

The men nodded their heads in agreement, as they too suddenly recognized the sound. Everyone was smiling at the job the impersonator was doing.

“That’s the funniest duck I’ve ever heard!” Walt exclaimed. “Let’s find out who does the voice. Maybe we can use him in a cartoon.”

The voice belonged to Clarence Nash, a traveling performer who made a specialty of animal noises. He was invited to visit the studio. As soon as he exhibited his wide range of barnyard sounds, he was quickly added to the staff of actors who supplied voices for cartoon characters.

“I like that girl duck you do,” Walt told him. “Maybe we can think of some way to use her in a cartoon.”

Months passed, but no plot appeared that called for a female duck. Then one day when Walt was working with his story men on a new Silly Symphony, The Wise Little Hen, he got an idea.

“We’ll play it the same as in the nursery tale,” said Walt. “The Little Hen will ask all the animals in the barnyard if they will help her plant the corn. They’ll all say no, and she’ll do it herself. Then she’ll have to water the corn, and pick the crop, and make the meal by herself. In the end, they will all volunteer to help her eat the corn dinner, but she’ll have other ideas.

“The hen will have to be the straight character. To get the laughs, we’ll have to dream up some good comedy characters to play opposite her. Got any ideas?”

“What about that girl duck you’ve been hoping to use, Walt?” asked one of the men.

“No, it wouldn’t be funny to have two females playing a scene together.” Walt paused a minute. “But say—why does Clarence’s voice have to be a girl? It could just as easily belong to a boy duck—a lazy, good-for-nothing boy duck. I think we could have some fun with him.”

One of the men started sketching the outline of a jaunty, self-confident duck.

“Make him kind of cocky,” Walt suggested. “And I think we ought to give him something to wear. How about a sailor suit? Ducks like the water. Give him a sailor’s jacket and a cap.”

The sketch turned out to be promising, and a new Disney performer by the name of Donald Duck was added to the cast of The Wise Little Hen. Donald’s first line was: “Who—me? Oh, no! I got a bellyache.”

Donald Duck has been bellyaching ever since. He was such a sensation in The Wise little Hen that Walt put him into a second cartoon called The Orphan’s Benefit. This one starred the studio’s top name, Mickey Mouse. With the voice of Clarence Nash, Donald recited “Mary Had a Little Lamb” until the audience began booing and throwing vegetables, and Donald erupted in a flurry of angry squawking that became his trademark. Soon Donald was starring in his own cartoons, and later in feature films as well.

Continued in "Magician of the Movies"!