Dark Days at Disneyland

Beneath the sparkle and magic of the “Happiest Place on Earth” lies a shadowy past few dare to explore. In this haunting episode of California Crime with Amy Jean, we take a chilling journey into the Dark Days of Disneyland. From eerie accidents to unsettling secrets, this isn’t the Disneyland you remember from childhood. Buckle up… this ride ventures into the unknown.

Season 1 Episode 3 - Dark Days at Disneyland from California Crime with Amy Jean, a true crime podcast based out of California.

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Transcript

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Disneyland, a paradise of dreams, nostalgia, wholesomeness, and excitement. A place where worries are left at the entrance gate and enchantment takes over us as we step into its universe. It's not only a place, but an event that requires us to save money, plan, and clear a day for it in our schedule. But it's all worth it if it means stepping into the magical world of Disney. But behind the facade of princess castles, candy storefronts, and thrilling rides, darkness lingers as much here as it does in the outside world. This is a story of the dark days at Disneyland. Greetings, this is California Crime with Amy Jean. I'm your host out of California, Amy Jean. On this podcast, we will be covering true crime stories bi-weekly. In this special summer edition, we have compiled three frightening stories that have taken place within Anaheim's magical kingdom. Number one, the Grad night Death. For decades, Disneyland has hosted its annual two-month-long event, Grad Night, to honor and celebrate graduating high school seniors. The first official grad night took place in the 1960s. Back then, students dressed in formal attire, tuxedos, and dresses. Just before an all-night graduation party on June 17, 1966, on what was supposed to be a fun night for teenagers to mark a new era in their lives turned tragically grim before it even started. 19-year-old Thomas Guy Cleveland scaled Disneyland's 16-foot parameter fence under the cover of darkness. His goal? To slip into the park undetected. He hoisted himself onto the monorail track, planning to drop down once inside. But his presence didn't go unnoticed. Security guard Theodore Thomas spotted him and shouted, a desperate warning of an approaching train. He didn't listen. As the monorail closed in, he made a last-minute attempt to escape, climbing down onto a fiberglass canopy just below the track. But the space was too tight. The train barreled forward, striking him with brutal force. His body was dragged nearly 40 feet before the monorail came to a halt. Deputies were unable to identify his body for some time, but once they did, they notified his parents, who were vacationing in Colorado. Police assumed Thomas, a mechanic, climbed onto the train road as a prank, but his sister Carol, who was 25 at the time, later told police that the 1965 Grover High School graduate wanted to join friends at this year's graduation party. John Gill of the Orange County Coroner's Office said that two other teenagers who had not hopped the fence were seen running from the area after the accident. I wasn't able to find out if these two unknown persons were ever identified, but police speculated that the teens were friends of Thomas. Eventually, a flagpole with a large American flag was dedicated to Thomas at the chapel in the canyon in Northridge, California, where Thomas worshipped with his family. It was said in an article at the time of his death that Thomas had many friends in the area. He was survived by his two parents and by his sister and three brothers. Number two, the derailment of Big Thunder Railroad. Marcelo Fernando Torres, who also went by Mars, was born August 30th, 1981 and lived in Gardena, California with his father. His family described him as a good kid and very obedient. On September 5, 2003, Marcello boarded the Big Thunder Railroad, a roller coaster that takes visitors on a twisting, turning ride on what is supposed to be a runaway train in the Old West. Riders zoomed through mineshafts and caverns and past tumbling waterfalls. Less than an hour before 22-year-old Marcelo sat on the Big Thunder Railroad, a third train was added to the ride. The train had not been in use since it underwent routine maintenance three days earlier. A later report would find that workers had erroneously failed to tighten two screws properly. The ride completed 12 trips around without any problem, but several ride operators noticed an unusual noise. A wheel assembly that keeps the lead car on the track had fallen off, probably as the car finished its 12th run. The accident happened about one-third of the way through the 13th ride when an axle assembly shifted and a connecting rod broke as the train entered an uphill grade. As the train entered a tunnel, the axle jammed against a brake section, causing the locomotive to become airborne and hit the ceiling of the tunnel. The locomotive then fell on top of the first passenger car, crushing Marcello. He suffered blunt force trauma to the chest that fractured his ribs, leading to laceration of his lungs that caused severe blood loss, according to a coroner's report. Later, emergency workers said they had to extricate him from the front passenger car only to discover he died inside the ride. Ten other people were injured. Once it was revealed in an official report that the roller coaster rider Marcillo was killed as a result of improper maintenance, Disneyland was slammed for the death. The report issued by the California Division of Occupational Safety and Health said outside mechanics did not understand or follow the park's maintenance procedures and operators were not given the right guidelines. Leslie Goodman, who was then a senior vice president of strategic communications for Walt Disney Parks and Resorts, first stated publicly, quote, given the status of the state's ongoing investigation, it would be irresponsible for us to respond. A safe environment has been and remains our top priority, end quote. Later she told the LA Times, quote, our own analysis found that the accident was caused by incorrectly performed maintenance tasks required by Disneyland policy and procedures that resulted in a mechanical failure, end quote. Upon further investigation by reporters, it was discovered that in 1997, Disneyland quietly adopted what the safety industry calls reliability-centered maintenance, a cold, calculated system that relies on data and failure rates, not the season instincts of veteran workers. Consultants promised the change would slash maintenance costs and trim hundreds of jobs, a promise the company embraced. But behind the polished facades and smiling cast members, the shift triggered a quiet upheaval. Reporters who reviewed internal documents, court filings, government records, and spoke with 18 current and former employees uncovered a troubling pattern. The push for efficiency came at a cost, not just in dollars, but in safety and spirit. Morale withered. Workers once devoted to a single ride were scattered across multiple attractions, their sense of ownership stripped away. Spare parts became harder to source. When rides broke down, they often stayed down, especially during the day when guests were watching. Staffing was cut, maintenance routines were parred back. And according to those who worked behind the scenes, the park's once redundant safety layers, the invisible ones that caught problems before they reached the public, began to disappear. A report by the state occupational safety agency recommended that outside mechanics be retrained and that Disney write new, clear guidelines instructing ride operators to take action if an unusual noise is heard. 3. Sailing ship Columbia. The holiday season at Disneyland is one of the jolliest and most delightful times to attend the park. The festivities of elaborate parades, seasonal merchandise, and impeccable decor cloaking the entire magical kingdom, bring joy to those who celebrate with their loved ones. But beneath the glow and glitter, shadows stretch long. On Christmas Eve morning, 1998, no one knew that the land of Disney was shrouded in a soft illusion of peace. Luan Phi Dawson, a 33-year-old senior computer programmer and test engineer at Microsoft, his 43-year-old wife, Liu Tui Vong, their six-year-old son and eight-year-old grandson waited to embark on the sailing ship Columbia, a replica of a 1790s trading ship and one of the park's tamest rides. Built to scale, the ship is 110 feet long, 33 feet wide, and reaches a height of 84 feet with its three towering masts. It was the boys' first visit to Disneyland, the highlight of a 10-day vacation from their rainy Duval, Washington home. As the stately ship edged toward the dock in Frontier Land, a crew member hurled a mooring line toward a cast iron cleat, still attempting to secure the vessel while it was in motion. The tension proved catastrophic. The bolts anchoring the cleat tore free under the sudden strain, sending the heavy metal fixture hurtling into the unsuspecting crowd. It shattered the worker's ankle on impact before striking Vong and her husband Dawson while the children watched on. At UCI Medical Center in Orange, California, two days later, Dawson was removed from life support, his skull fractured, his brain hemorrhaging. The injury was devastating. The result? Fatal. The accident shattered Vong's life in an instant, and its aftermath sent ripples far beyond her own. Not only did the accident take the life of her husband and give her serious injuries, it would go on to change Disneyland and reshape the laws governing theme park safety. For nearly a year, doctors worked to restore a sensation to the side of Vong's face, where the nine-pound chunk of metal torn from the moving vessel had struck without warning. The damage was brutal. In the aftermath, Disney faced a wave of criticism, not only for the accident itself, but for policies that allegedly prioritized appearance over emergency response. According to former employees, outside medical personnel were routinely restricted from entering the park quickly, out of fear they might alarm guests. Compounding the outrage was a startling revelation. The employee overseeing the ship at the time had not been properly trained to operate it. The fallout force changed. Disney reinstated lead foreman on most attractions, and Anaheim police officers were stationed within the park to accelerate emergency response. An investigation by California's Division of Occupational Safety and Health uncovered further failures. The cleat that tore free wasn't designed to stop or slow the ship, and the employees should have recognized that the vessel was coming in too fast. Safety protocol required the captain to reserve course and attempt the docking again, but that didn't happen. In the end, Disney was fined over $12,000 by OSHA. The lawsuit brought by the victim's family was quietly settled for a reported $25 million. My husband and I frequent Disneyland and California adventures quite often. Although I've never had a bad experience at either park, our sound engineer, Josh, has a story of his own. In 2001, during his eighth-grade graduation event, he and a friend witnessed a violent altercation between two male guests. Josh states that the men had each other by the collars, spewing profanities. No park employee or anyone else tried to de-escalate the incident, and Josh, with his friend, left the scene without knowing the outcome of either man. When I worked at San Diego Fire Rescue years ago, my training supervisor told the class of his experience working for a sea life park in San Diego County. My supervisor worked as a paramedic and revealed to us the protocol staff had to abide by if an emergency occurred. The first procedure was for staff to immediately hide and cover any merchandise related to the theme park so as not to have guests associate a grim event with the park. He revealed other odd procedures, but this is the only one that I remember that really sticks out in my mind. So let this episode be a reminder that just because you're in the happiest place on earth doesn't mean you're protected from the realness of the world. Thank you to our sound engineer Josh. His hard work is always appreciated. I also want to give thanks to a new addition to our team who requests to stay anonymous, but is willing to be referred to as Agent C. Agent C has been helping with graphics and teaser reels for this podcast. I'm your host, Amy Jean. Stay safe and take care of the same.