George

I don’t know if this is common knowledge or not, but Walt Disney World is reportedly SUPER haunted.

It kind of makes sense that, in a place where people have been feeling big feelings for nearly 50 years–where engagements, honeymoons, and anniversaries have been celebrated, where life-threateningly ill children and their families get a moment’s respite from reality, where memories of happy moments with loved ones, living and gone, bubble up to bring a tear to your eye–some people want to come back and visit from the afterlife, too.

Most of the Disney ghost stories I’ve heard came from a longtime friend who worked there for many years in many different capacities. Of all the ghosts he told me about, my favorite one is George.

George is, reportedly, an Imagineer who passed away in an accident during the construction of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Reportedly, even in the afterlife, he takes great pride in the attraction, and cast members are aware of his constant presence. Sometimes, they see him on ride surveillance monitors. Other times, cast members have reported hearing his footsteps, or getting phone calls from a control room they know to be empty.

It was really impressed upon me how seriously Pirates cast members took George’s presence when I learned about the Standard Operating Guidelines. These are, basically, the manual for how to run the ride: instructions for startup, shutdown, daily operation, and maintenance. I’ve never worked at Pirates, so I can’t verify this, but reportedly, printed within the Standard Operating Guidelines as the first step to starting up the ride every morning is to announce over the ride’s PA system, “Good morning, George!”

If you do not do this, new cast members are told by their trainers in the most solemn of tones, you are going to have one heck of a day running the attraction. You’d better like how you look in hip waders, because you’re going to be wearing them a lot as you have to repeatedly evacuate guests from the broken down ride. All. Day. Long.

Also printed in the Standard Operating Guide, I am told, is that the last thing one must do before leaving the control room after the ride is shut down for the night, once the boats are all stationary and all the moving parts have been turned off, is to announce over the PA system, “Good night, George!”

If you do not do this, new cast members are told with all solemnity and severity, you’d better hope you’re not on the opening shift the next morning, because when you arrive, you’ll find that some of the animatronics have suffered a case of insomnia and reactivated themselves overnight, seemingly on their own.

As I’ve said, I’ve never worked at Pirates, so I can’t say I’ve ever had my own brush with George.

But my sister did.

Julie is six and a half years behind me in age, so once I’d graduated college and started working at Walt Disney World full-time, Julie was still in high school. Once her summer break started, this presented a fantastic opportunity for a super-cheap vacation. She and a close friend (whose name is also Laura!) came down for a week and camped out in the living room of my one-bedroom apartment. Every morning, as I left for work, I’d drop them off at the parks, and once my shift was over, I’d head over to wherever they were and join them. It worked out great, and everyone had a good time.

I’d told Julie and Laura the story of George, and they were absolutely fascinated. Unbeknownst to me, each and every day of their theme park shenanigans included a trip to Magic Kingdom to ride Pirates of the Caribbean. Each time they rode, the girls would say, “Hi, George!”

On the last day of their trip, I finished my shift and headed over to meet them and take them to the airport, and they excitedly related what had happened to them that day. As usual, they had made their daily pilgrimage to Pirates of the Caribbean. At the usual point in the ride, they said, “Hi George! Today is our last day! We’re going home after this!”

Immediately, the ride came to a halt.

Julie and Laura looked at each other in surprise as their boat sat, entirely stationary, in the water for entirely too long. The animatronics continued their slightly stiff, preprogrammed actions, over and over again around them as the moments stretched longer and longer.

“We’re sorry, George!” They said finally. “We promise we’ll come back to visit!”

A few moments later, the ride started moving once more.

I guess we’ll never know if it was truly George or not, but everyone in my family quietly mutters ‘Hi George!” every time they step on to Pirates of the Caribbean.

A few weeks ago, I related the story of George to a Disneyphile coworker at my current job. Once Disney shut down its theme parks for the COVID-19 virus, she sent me a message: ‘Poor George. He’ll be so lonely.’

Hang in there, George. We promise we’ll come back soon.