My betrayer was Walt Disney himself, creator of wonders for children and the first line of assault in the Americanization of the world. In the former instance, the magnificence of his creative achievements cannot be disputed—masterminding a total world of delights for children, the genius behind Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, Bambi, Pinocchio and the tremendous Fantasia. In the second instance, he was a millionaire megalomaniac who turned his humble illustration skills into a vast empire based on the exploitation of the vulnerable minds of children. He can even be viewed, at the extreme, as the monster who brainwashed three whole generations of children into natural acceptance of American imperialism. Whatever the case, most of all he was the shrewd marketing man who almost singlehandedly created saturation advertising.
    Even by 1955, the year he changed my life forever, this work was at its primitive stage as he linked his film interests directly to a vast array of books and comics, made a fortune selling boys Davy Crockett coonskin hats, generated a powerful set of emblems and logos based on his cartoon characters and was putting the finishing touches on the first Disneyland. And, as a part of this totalitarian view, Walt Disney Productions demanded worldwide that whenever a Disney feature was being shown, the exhibitors contract had a clause stipulating that all possible advertising space available in the cinema in question be taken up with Disney advertising. Which included the Saturday arvo matinee placard as it stood outside the Regent Theatre in the distant Melbourne suburb of Prahran.
        Of course, had I troubled to read the poster with care, I would have seen a notice added by the theatre proprietor announcing that the treasured film was only being shown at night sessions and not at matinee times but reading, with or without care, was not one of my strong points and anyway, I had been just plain too excited to indulged in trifles like that.