Like a letter from the IRS, I tend to hold these at arm’s length until I can muster up the nerve to break the seal. My name is Cory London, I’m a guy, 35 years old, and been through a lot, but the fear is still there, especially in the last case that had a gun pointed at my chest.

Thankfully, as I entered the train that morning, my two train mates were already on-board car number three, sitting at our usual table number one.

Smiling, I said, “Good to see both of you this fine Monday morning.”

Both nodded. Shelly said, “It’s too early for that big of a smile, Cory. What’s up?”

I held up the envelope. “Look what I have. Another sealed envelope. Care to open it with me?”

My petite French friend Amie sat forward, with an inquisitive look in her eye. “Oooh, an envelope. What kind of mystery will this bring?

Shelly laughed, “You sound like Nancy Drew, Amie. Maybe it’s ‘The Mystery of the Crooked Stick.’ Possibly the ‘Mystery of the Haunted Bridge.’ Could it be the ‘Secret of the Hidden Lair?’”

I piped in, “Maybe it’s ‘Footsteps Under the Window,’ like the Hardy Boys.”

Amie shook her head. “I don’t get it, who are Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys?”

“Those are American children’s detective series heroes. Nancy Drew for girls and Hardy boys for the guys.” I said.

“Oh, I’ve seen French copies in one of the larger bookstores in Paris. So now this adventure will have to have a certain air of mystery. You’re a writer, Cory. You need to chronicle our adventures and come up with compelling titles. Now I definitely want to see what’s inside the report.”

I put the official-looking government envelope on the table in front of us. As I ran my finger along the tab to open it, I could see both girl’s eyes firmly staring at the contents. As I pulled out the usual three sheets of paper, I did a quick perusal and then handed the materials to Shelly. “Since you have a new position as County Office Manager, Shelly, why don’t you give us an overview of the case?”

She took a minute and looked over the three pages and then went back to the summary. She said, reading aloud, “This is a case of robbery at a Tina Tahiti clothing and accessories store in the beach town of Encinitas. It appears that expensive one-off fashions and jewelry are missing from thefts overnight. According to the report, complete outfits are disappearing off the main mannequin in the window, while other mannequins are in different positions in the morning that they were the night before. The alarm never sounds, and there is no apparent break-in.”

I laughed. “So, we have a case of mannequins coming alive at midnight. Sounds too funny to be true.”

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Billy, as his parents called him, had something of joy and wonder in his pocket. His uncle Charles had given it to him. Good ol’ Uncle Charles. Part media mogul, part charlatan, had said with pride that the ticket that young William held in his hand would one day be valuable. As he handed it to the young lad, he said, “Billy, keep this ticket stub. It’s the first day. This thing is going to be big.”

Billy remembered his dad laughing at the thought. Uncle Charles always had “something big,” working in his life, but the big thing was usually a dream, not a reality. This one would be no different. He had presented the three tickets to the family as a gateway to the land of tomorrow. It sounded mysterious and oh so cool to a ten-year-old boy. But his dad warned, “Don’t get your hopes up, Billy. You know how Uncle Charles exaggerates.”

He was right. Uncle Charles always had a deal going. 1950 it was a gold mine in Yucaipa, 1952 it was a carburetor for your car that would guarantee a hundred miles to the gallon, 1954 was the grand whopper of all, waterfront property on the Salton Sea. All of these dreams had left Uncle Charles broke and that was why he was selling these golden tickets for a whopping twenty bucks apiece.”

Billy’s dad was a well to do architect in town, so he usually humored uncle Charles with a donation, even though he knew it would be fruitless. Hey, three tickets to the land of tomorrow was cheap in comparison to the other schemes he had dreamed up; that crazy carburetor had cost him a whopping five hundred bucks, and it would give him an excuse to take Friday off and take the family on an adventure.

As the day came for the trip, the family dressed up. Dad had a new sports coat for the occasion, mom had a new dress and a pair of high heel shoes. Billy knew this was serious if mom had new shoes. As they waited at the Del Mar station at six on a misty Friday morning, the train whistle could be heard in the distance. They would soon be heading to a mysterious adventure ninety minutes away.

Billy had been on the train numerous times before. There was no freeway to San Diego in the mid-fifties, so the train was a primary way north. He loved to sit by the window and look out at the ocean and then repeat the city names as the conductor would yell them out. Solana Beach came first, then Carlsbad, Oceanside and San Clemente. Soon the train lurched to a stop at their destination of adventure, Anaheim California.

The family stepped off the train and headed to one of the buses marked “Special.” The crowds filing into seats on the bus were intense. There was something to this event. Many other people had tickets in their hands. Within minutes the buses stopped in a row on Harbor Boulevard. There was excitement in the air. Then the doors opened and the towers of a large castle could be seen in the distance.

Billy was excited now and so were the crowds but he knew some of the other people were talking nonsense. They said things like you could fly with Peter Pan over moonlit London, or tumble into Alice’s nonsensical world of wonder or maybe even take a spaceship to the moon. Dreams flew through his mind. If only such things were possible. If they were, Uncle Charles would be the coolest uncle ever. But Billy had such dreams dashed in the past. Uncle Charles knew how to dream, but reality always caught up with him.

Except this day was different. The Castle turrets were now clear, marching bands could be heard playing, and the crowds talked joyously. Everyone was going to someplace special. After waiting in line for over an hour, Billy and his family followed thousands of other people past a sign that said:

Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy. Welcome to the magical world of Disneyland.

It was not only a world of tomorrow but one of yesterday and one of adventure. To a ten-year-old boy, it was so amazingly cool. Way past what he could have imagined. Billy couldn’t believe it. Uncle Charles had really come through. The family joined other guests behind a row of television cameras to hear Walt Disney give his opening remarks. He recast the dream . . .

To all who come to this happy place: Welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past, and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams, and the hard facts that have created America, with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world.

The day was magical, even though it was a hundred degrees and mom’s new high heels had sunk in the soft asphalt and the water fountains didn’t work because of a plumbers strike. By the end of the day, little Billy was wound to the max after consuming a number of Pepsi drinks.

Overall it was a day to remember, and now that Billy was seventy years old, still one of his favorite memories. Uncle Charles had passed away soon after the great adventure, and it was revealed that there were over fifteen thousand forged invitations that day. Certainly, the ones that Charles had given the family were bogus, but William had kept the printed invitation book just the same.

In fact, after visiting the Del Mar Train Station with a sense of nostalgia, William went home and pulled out the old invitation. He pulled the printed invitation card out of the envelope and read it again, but then noticed there was a small piece of paper folded in the back. He pulled it out and found a handwritten note. It simply said . . .

To Charlie,

You have been one of my most loyal employees over the past few years. You stood by me when everyone doubted. You believed the dream.

Please take these tickets as a gift for all your hard work with the team.

Dis

A hand written note by the Walt Disney himself to Uncle Charlie.

A man who believed the dream!

Questions formed in my head. How did it get here and who left it? There were no stores with carts within miles of the station. My first thought was a homeless person, but the cart was shiny new and empty, and it was sitting in plain view at the end of a sidewalk. There was something different going on here. Then I saw it. The long black retainer strap. Now I remembered. I had seen this cart before.

It was usually pushed by an older gentleman from the Carlsbad by the Sea Senior Home a couple of blocks away. He used the cart to fill and transport five-gallon plastic bottles of water from the Carlsbad Alkaline Water facility across the street from the senior home to his apartment. The long black strap securely held them in place. I remember vividly the first time I met this man. He was out early in the morning filling a bottle as I happened by on a morning walk and photo shoot. I waved at him as I passed, and he said in reply, “You ought to drink the water from here. Healing properties. Make you live longer.”

He was a tall, ruggedly built older gentleman with a full head of white hair, and had a helpful attitude that was almost forceful. I liked the guy immediately. As I walked closer, I saw his name on a volunteer nameplate that he wore with pride. In small letters, it said Carlsbad by the Sea and in a large gold monogram, it listed his name, Marvin T. Harold. A man with two first names.

Out of curiosity, I asked him what his middle name was. He replied, “It’s Tiger. At least that’s what my friends call me. You can call me that too.” Then he winked, “Actually it’s Theodore. But no one, not even my wife when she was alive, ever called me that.”

We talked for a few minutes and he related some health concerns. “The doctor tells me I don’t have long to live. Bad ticker. Used to smoke for years. Nothin they can do. That’s why I drink this stuff. An elixir of life, I call it. I was supposed to be dead six months ago, but this keeps me going.”

I helped him secure the bottle in his cart and then he headed back across the street. As he walked away, he said, “My knees have bout gone out, but this cart is like a walker and a whole lot less wimpy. Don’t like to be seen with one of those. That’s why I volunteer. My daughter bought me this cart and I deliver things all over. Gets me out and about. Sometimes I have to hang on for dear life.”

I waved goodbye to Marvin and headed on my way.

Now, a few weeks later, I was looking at his cart abandoned on the sidewalk. I had to know more. I walked the block and a half to the Senior Home and walked in and talked with the front desk clerk.

She smiled. “I’m Clara, can I help you?”

I said, “I saw Marvin Harold’s shopping cart down by the train station. It was parked at the end of the sidewalk. Is he OK?”

The lady shook her head. “Unfortunately, he passed away earlier this week, but he left a note. Are you a friend?”

“I’m an acquaintance. I’ve seen him around town numerous times.”

She smiled, “Everyone loved Marvin around here. Always helping others. He hated getting old. Fought it to the end.”

“What did the note say?”

“Why don’t I show you a copy. We posted a few around here after he died. He wanted everyone to know what his plans were.” She reached under the desk and pulled out a xeroxed copy.

The note was written in his handwriting. It said . . .

I want you to know, I’m going on an adventure. I have a picture that I have to return to the USS Midway in San Diego. I ‘borrowed’ this small picture from the wall of one of the displays when I was visiting there with my daughter over a year ago. It’s the last known picture of my dearest friend, Jerry Hanks, who was a helicopter pilot. Jerry had saved my life during the war. I know it’s crazy, but it’s a memory I’ll always treasure. I need to get it back where it belongs before I die. I’m going to push my cart to the train station and take the Coaster down to the Santa Fe Depot. I have a cane and I can walk to the Midway from there. My ticker’s been acting up the past few days, so if I don’t make it back the same day, at least you’ll know where I went. God said in his bible that you are to forgive someone seventy times seven. It’s been almost seventy weeks since I took the photo, so I don’t want to run out of forgiveness.

If I make it back, you’ll never see this, but if you do read it, know that I love you all.

Marvin “Tiger” Harold.

Tears came to my eyes. “I take it he didn’t make it back.”

Clara shook her head, “He made it on-board the ship and returned the picture. As he was leaving the ship, his heart gave out and he passed away. We found the letter in his room after they called. The man from the ship said, ‘The Tiger roared one last time.'”

I nodded, “The incredible love of a friend for a friend.”

Clara smiled. “You can have the note. We’ll pick up the cart later. There is talk of displaying it in our Foyer as a tribute. Marvin will certainly be missed.”

I smiled back, “I’ve got a picture of the cart and the train. That’s how I’ll remember Marvin. The Tiger that roared.”

(Please note: This is a work of fiction, but one that could certainly happen)