Law: No Mickey Mousing Around

In a small courtroom in Orange County, Calif., last week, Attorney Allen Millstone pointed sadly to his wheelchair-bound client. In 1983 James Higgins had been a vigorous young man of 18 when he went to Disneyland and took a ride on Space Mountain. As the roller coaster rounded a bend, the youth was suddenly thrown from the rocket car. Through Disney’s negligence, argued Millstone, Higgins is a paraplegic. Twenty-four hundred miles away in Florida, in another Orange County courtroom, an equally sad story was unfolding. While Marietta and Harry Goode listened closely, Lawyer Philip Freidin recounted a tragic 1977 family outing to Disney World during which the couple’s four-year-old son slipped away and drowned in the moat in front of Cinderella Castle. The amusement park, charged Freidin, had failed to guard the waterway properly.

Normally, sympathy-evoking cases like these are prized by personal-injury lawyers, who usually win a healthy majority of their suits–and collect a third of any winnings. But even the most combative attorneys are inclined to shake their heads when the defendant is Walt Disney Productions. Against the huge entertainment complex, personal-injury specialists are hardly ever victorious. The company’s astonishing success is the result of a combination of safety-minded care and case-hardened lawyering.

Disney refuses to disclose the annual number of injuries at the California and Florida parks, which draw more than 30 million visitors a year, but there is little doubt that thousands occur. The majority never result in suits at all, thanks to quick soothing from Disney. Says Mike McCray, Disneyland’s lawyer since 1955: “If people get wet, we’ve got clothes dryers, and we dry them off. Before they know it, they’re back out there having fun.”

Once a suit is filed, however, Disney takes a tough stance, rarely settling out of court for large sums. There are exceptions: the family of a 57-year-old man who drowned after skimming down a River Country slide at Disney World, although a lifeguard was on duty, got $250,000. But generally, says McCray, “if they come in and want a lot of money, they’re gonna have to fight for it. If we didn’t take that attitude, we’d maybe have as many as 100 times the lawsuits.”

Today, Disney says, fewer than 100 lawsuits are filed each year, and plaintiffs’ attorneys concede that all are uphill battles. In the Higgins case, Disney contends the youth had been drinking and caused the roller-coaster accident himself. In Orlando, the company argues that the moat in which the boy drowned was safeguarded by at least two fences.

The advantage, lawyers maintain, is Disney’s right from the time of the accident. Employees quickly summon supervisors and “security hosts” to round up witnesses and interview the injured, who are often their own worst enemies. Says Orlando Attorney John Overchuck: “It’s your dignity that really is on the line, and God knows what you’ll say at the time: ‘I should have been looking where I was going. How stupid of me.’ ” Alert Disney staffers write it all down.

In court, Disney cultivates other pluses. Attorney Carl Hovland’s experience with one case is typical. A woman and her son were taking Disneyland’s Autopia car ride in 1975 when a 16-ft.-long branch from a eucalyptus tree fell in their path. They stopped their car, but others rammed them from behind. Hovland figured he could win on several points: a tree in rotten condition, a poorly designed roadway and cars without headrests. After a seven-week trial, the jury deliberated only 1 1/2 hours. Verdict: zip.

Disney brought in its own tree expert, who keeps a book on every tree in the park. Says Hovland: “His image, German accent–everything was perfect. He couldn’t explain why the tree fell. And if he couldn’t, who could? The jury decided it was an act of God.” Disney’s squeaky- clean employees (“who all wore Mickey Mouse watches and buttons,” notes Hovland) testified in reverential tones. Sighs the attorney: “You’d ask them who designed this ride, and they’d say, ‘Walt.’ ” Disney also requested an on-site visit for the jurors, a common company tactic, say lawyers. Hovland successfully objected, so Disney brought the cars to the courthouse parking lot instead. The jurors were entranced. Says Hovland: “Here I was trying to convince them that the cars were dangerous, and they were asking the judge if they could go for a ride.”

Disney’s final trump card is that both of its parks are located in communities that are more than happy to have them and the jobs they generate. Pressing a case against the company on its home ground, contends Florida Attorney James Sisserson, is “like suing God in the Vatican.” Lawyers find they have to tread a very fine line, says Hovland, between admitting “we all love Disney and noting that even the most perfect person makes a mistake once in awhile.” But jurors by and large remain unconvinced about Disney’s fallibility.

Even some plaintiffs’ attorneys seem to have nagging doubts about attacking the Magic Kingdom. Says Stanley Jacobs, a Los Angeles lawyer who has lost only six cases in 25 years of practice, two of them to Disney: “I have never been as impressed with an operation as I have been with the Disneyland amusement park. I think Disney wins because it deserves to most of the time.”