Strikers struggle in their fight for a better deal from the Magic Kingdom

By THOMAS SANCTON

trike fever is really getting out of hand in this country. First the truck drivers, then the Air France pilots, and now Mickey and Goofy. Not the real Mickey and Goofy, of course, but the young men and women who impersonate these and other famous cartoon characters at Disneyland Paris. Sweltering under their heavy costumes, they cheerfully shake hands with kids, dance down Main Street U.S.A., or wave from atop the parade floats that wind through the sprawling park each afternoon. Late last month these entertainers started putting on a different kind of show just outside the main entrance. Dressed in hip street clothes rather than mouse ears, they juggled, walked on stilts, sang Disney songs, beat tom-toms and danced to salsa music. They also took turns wielding banners bearing slogans like "Disney: Official Sponsor of Low Salaries."

Starting June 24, between 40 and 100 of the park's 160 parade performers hung up their costumes and headed for the picket lines. After Disney refused their initial demand of 7% raises, the strikers insisted that they all be immediately promoted from their current rank of "complementary artists" (base pay $1,100 a month) to that of "stage artists" ($1,400 a month). The management offered to let them all audition for stage shows and to pay successful candidates on the higher scale--but only for the duration of the show they were selected for. Nothing doing, said the strikers. "We all want stage artist status now and forever," said Hamid, 24, who plays Goofy when he is not manning the picket lines. "Management just wants to put out the fire, then they'll exploit us even more."

Unfortunately for the strikers, there wasn't any fire. The movement showed no signs of spreading among the other 13,000 staffers. A call for a general strike on July 4 was answered only by some 150 park workers for half a day. A five-day stoppage by some 15 stage technicians was settled last Monday. The daily parade continued to roll. Only hard-core Disneyland aficionados would notice that the number of floats had been trimmed back from the usual 12 to nine or 10, that some dance routines lacked their usual precision, or that the parade's "interactivity"--the characters' mingling with the crowd--had largely gone.

But the show went on, thanks mainly to the temporary workers the park hires each summer and, if the strikers are to be believed, to the white-collar Disney workers who were drafted to drive floats and even don costumes. "We've had no customer complaints and no cancellations because of the strike," says Disneyland spokeswoman Isabelle Clap. "Attendance has not been affected at all: we have some 40,000 people here every day."

Disney officials claim they are on target to reach 13 million paid admissions, making this the best year since the park opened in 1992. In addition, the hotel occupancy rate is a healthy 80% and spending per customer is sharply up. True, the Euro Disney shares took a 10% dip during the strike's first week, but park officials say that's because of "normal profit taking" on a stock that has risen 60% since Jan. 1.

"Let's face it," says Clap, "40 kids waving banners are not going to close down the park." Indeed, last week, a visitor got the impression that all was in order in the Magic Kingdom. The lines were long, the restaurants and souvenir shops were jammed, and people were having fun.

The strikers were not. For all the exhilaration of the movement's early days--the impromptu performances at the park entrance, the heady media attention--they began to realize that they were getting nowhere. Last Wednesday they huddled near the park entrance under the watchful eye of Disney security guards, and took stock. "They're offering to set up an internal group to discuss our demands once we return to work," said strike delegate Jean-Pierre Massif, a blond Beach Boy lookalike in a yellow rugby jersey. "I say we accept. We don't control the situation anymore." A tall black man in a dark blue windbreaker responded angrily. "If we go back to work, where is our credibility?" Applause. "This is pitiful," laments a girl in a yellow parka and purple sunglasses. "For two weeks, we've been having a big party together, now we're just going to go back with our tails between our legs?" More applause. The majority voted to continue the action. Delegate Jean-Pierre quietly decided to go back to work next morning, along with four of his comrades. By week's end the others had joined them and the strike was "suspended." While trying not to gloat over the defeat of Mickey and his pals, Disney officials said they had always expected the ragtag movement to collapse. "They are just a disorganized bunch of kids, with no union representation and no stable leadership," says Clap. But all is not lost for the beleaguered ex-strikers, she insists. "The company's latest offer remains on the table, and it is more than generous. If they accept it, 80 or 90 of the 160 parade artists would probably pass the stage show auditions and get higher salaries. As for the rest, at least they'll keep their present jobs. But everyone doesn't have the same talent and abilities. That's just a fact of life." In a land of dreams and illusions, such realities are hard to swallow.