I am Walt Disney, and I’m here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?

‘No!’ says the man in Screen Cartoonist’s Guild, ‘It belongs to the animators.’

‘No!’ says the man in the Anaheim, ‘It belongs to the locals.’

‘No!’ says the man in Hollywood, ‘It belongs to everyone.’

I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose… EPCOT, a city where the producer would not fear the artists, where the businessman would not be bound by petty morality, Where the great would not be constrained by the small! And with the sweat of your brow, EPCOT can become your city as well.