Life comes down to a handful of defining moments, incidents where one’s destiny hinges on the outcome. Think of taking a college entrance exam, making an offer on your first house, or interviewing for a job. With so much at stake, the delay until the outcome is known is sheer torture. As Tom Petty sang, “The waiting is the hardest part.”
Famous people aren’t exempt from that agony, including the man who gave the world Mickey Mouse. Just consider his nerve-racking ordeal.
Walt Disney was riding high in 1937. A born artist, he began his career as a teenager by drawing illustrations for advertisements. Moving to California in the early 1920s, he and his brother, Roy, started the firm that would eventually grow into the colossus that is today’s Walt Disney Co.
Walt was a true pioneer filmmaker. Though primitive by our standards, his early features had moviegoers awed by the antics of his animated characters on the big screen. Success piled upon success. Mickey appeared in 1928, Pluto in 1930, Goofy in 1932, and Donald Duck in 1935. There was an Oscar in 1932, the first of 26 the Academy would ultimately present him.
He was an innovator, too. Walt was using technicolor when technicolor wasn’t cool (and grossly expensive to boot). He drove himself hard and insisted on getting the very best from those who worked for him, making his reputation rise.
By 1937, Walt was ready for his most challenging undertaking to date: An animated telling of the Snow White fairytale. And in typical Disney fashion, not just any old cartoon would do. Walt wanted to take animation to places it had never been before and give audiences a completely new experience.
That required a team of highly talented artists and technicians, which took money. A boatload of money. In fact, more money than Walt had.
As he forged ahead with his trademark drive and determination, the bills kept mounting. When the cash was almost gone, Walter sat down with big brother Roy, who ran the financial side of the business. They had spent $1.25 million (about $26.5 million today) when their resources ran out. They were a quarter million short.
Roy said a loan from the Bank of America was necessary to finish the film. And that observation came with a big “but.”
But for the loan to be secured, Walt would first have to win over Joseph Rosenberg, the bank’s VP who made loans to movie studios. And that, in turn, meant letting him see the half-complete film so he would know what his money would be financing.
Walt balked. Like all perfectionists, he never let anyone see his work until the finished product was polished and ready for the public. Roy told him there was no alternative. Joe Rosenberg would never buy a pig in a poke.
A no-nonsense businessman, Joe had financed some of early Hollywood’s biggest hits. He was an interesting character, too, having squeezed a lot of living into his 56 years. Joe, born in Hungary, was a Yale grad who had been a surveyor for a Mexican railroad that flopped, then a mining engineer in frontier Arizona. He somehow landed in a bank and wound up bankrolling Tinseltown. Unimpressed by fake glitter, his keen eye searched for value.
Walt’s team worked overtime to get “Snow White” as presentable as possible. Joe came to the Disney studios one Saturday afternoon for a private screening with just him and Walt. The projector flickered to life as Walt held his breath and hoped for the best.
Only a fraction of the film was complete. Most of it was still rough pencil sketches, with completely blank chunks scattered throughout. Walt swallowed down the jitters as he nervously scanned Joe’s face for his reaction. There was none. The banker sat silent and stone-faced throughout.
Walt’s heart was racing when he walked Joe to his car. After nearly two hours together, the meeting was wrapping up without the slightest indication of what the potential lender was thinking.
At his car, Joe thanked Walt for this time, said goodbye, hopped inside, started the engine, and then casually added, “That thing is going to make a hatful of money” as he drove off.
The rest, as they say, was history. Walt Disney had gone to the brink, had gambled everything, and had won.
And at the next year’s Academy Awards ceremony, he went home with a special honorary Oscar for his efforts, too.
