Submitted by TLM fan Dolph, this is a letter he sent in to Disney, detailing an
idea he came up with for the Little Mermaid comics when they were still in publication.
Philadelphia, February, 1992
David Seidman
Disney Comics
500 South Buena Vista Street
Burbank, CA 91521-6850
Dear Mr. Seidman:
I have quite enjoyed your limited edition series of The Little Mermaid comic books, which I have no rational excuse for, being 27 and a doctoral student in Ancient History at the University of Pennsylvania. True, my specialty is history of the sea and seafaring, admittedly, I am something of a self-made expert on sea folklore, it's a fact that I never miss Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates, own Peter Pan, saw Hook twice, am working my way through the entire spectrum of Andrew Lang's fairy books... Come to think about it, I suppose I do have an excuse for enjoying your comic books--they were entertaining, and far less depressing than the original Hans Christian Anderson, not to detract from the original.
At any rate, being, like your heroine, something of a dreamer about places I've never been, I thought I might respond to your plea in issue #1 to "tell us what you'd like," although I am quite sure you had a younger readership in mind. Notwithstanding that, I'd like to tell you about a particular daydream I had which I would entitle "Ariel's Rowr."
Not ever having written for a comic before, I thought the best way to describe this particular story line to you would be in an abbreviated outline form. Picture (you ought to be good at that) if you will, a relatively small fishing boat in a relatively heavy sea-- the crewmen are more or less frightened as they try to reef sail and save their vessel, but one of them, the oldest, pauses among the frenzied activity on board to pause and put something (seen only as a bulge in the pocket of his oilskin) into a firkin (wooden hatbox, basically, used for butter) on deck and wedge it firmly into a section of the rail, perhaps with the remark, "See there, Felix, no sense risking you when I've got to be in the middle of things."
That would be the section of rail to be hit by the collapsing mast, and the firkin, quite watertight, thank you, drifts away into the storm. Perhaps the occasional "mew" is audible from within.
A young adventurous girl might well find a swim on the calm morning after a storm irresistible, even when the rest of her family and friends, including Flounder, are busy checking for damage to the beds, the palace, and any other source of food you can think of underwater that doesn't involve eating people with whom you're on a first-name basis ("Fish-eating barbarians," indeed, your majesty--may I ask what the devil you eat?)
What is it? It's small, round and wooden, it has a lid and, "oh my how darling!" (mew) "I've never seen anything like it! (mew, nuzzle)" "Poor thing, you must be terrified!"
What to do when the animal you've just found in a wooden hatbox would drown if you tried to take it to the only source of food and shelter of which you are aware? Could a remembered conversation with a certain seagull about a cay with "the water I have to drink, sweetie!" prove useful? Might a pleasant little sandy lee in the shelter of a big rock near the spring (it's a very tiny island) allow a young girl to lie at her ease on the sand and watch this strange new creature (possibly using the sand for purposes completely foreign to a young lady of her upbringing) drink, wash itself, and try to acquaint itself with its surroundings in true feline "Master of all I survey" fashion? It well might, although the aforementioned seagull might be in for a shock when, spotting the young lady of his acquaintance, he swoops down for a visit.
"What'cha up to, cutie?'
"Oh, Scuttle, have you ever seen anything like it?"
"Like what? Have you found some new human stuff?"
"Not exactly. It's the little fuzzy animal who's sneaking up
behind you..." (abortive, but quite sincere, pounce)
"Yaah! Fly, swim, run, it's a Rowr!"
Exit seagull.
"So that's what you are, a Rowr. Oh my gosh--you tried to eat Scuttle! (purr, nuzzle, my word this girl smells appetizing).
"Oh, you poor thing, you're starving! But what do you eat? I wonder if Scuttle knows anything more about you than your name?"
Exit young lady in search of frightened seagull, the latter having returned to his usual perch and now in the process of warning Flounder, who has brought Sebastian, about the terrible danger now facing Ariel.
"Y-you mean Rowrs eat fish?"
"Fish, birds, rats, birds, mice, birds, crabs, and birds!"
"Oh, howz someting dat small gonna hurt Ariel? Still, de Sea King
gonna go head over flukes when he hears 'bout dis. Dat young lady
gonna get us all netted for sure..."
"Oh, there you are Scuttle. Why did you call that sweet little
animal a Rowr?"
A rather unpleasant argument ensues, where the three previously conferring members of Ariel's innermost social circle in no uncertain terms let her know of their opinion of environmental hazards and people who think fangs, claws, and fur are a pleasant combination. Scuttle goes on at length about the depredations of cats he has witnessed, nay, even experienced in the past. A crab pontificates:
"What do you mean, young lady, this thing the bird so worried about is cute? You goin' to start petting baby sharks, perhaps? Maybe you throw us all to the pelicans 'fore you finished. You listen to me! Dat ting on de island, it safe, you saved it. Now let it be, child. You get yourself or us in a heap of trouble if you mess around wid it again! I got to do this for your own good. You go near dat Cay, I have to tell your father!"
"But I can't just let it starve!"
"No buts! Honestly, Ariel, one of these days you gonna let that
surface-fixation of yours go too far."
Our young heroine swims off in tears and a relative agony of indecision. A frightened but magnificently loyal yellow and blue fish swims after her.
"Ariel, what's "milk?"
"Oh Flounder! What did you ask?
"S-scuttle said something about Rowrs drinking milk. I don't
think that's a bird, or a crab, or a fish..."
"Milk is something mother dolphins and whales give to their
babies. That thing on the island is awfully small--do you suppose it's
a baby?"
A determined search, a polite request, a salvaged bowl and bottle and a co-operative nursing dolphin later, the subject of all this concern is soon dining upon milk agreeably seasoned with fish oil--"Laq a la dauphin," unless you folks prefer to bring a sea cow into all this (you certainly didn't blanch at putting a manatee into waters that didn't look too tropical to me or H.C.A!).
Depending on how long (if even at all) you wanted to stretch the thing out, incidents involving some salvaged rope and a playful kitten, several close encounters of the fur kind ("It's sort of like a seal pup's, Flounder, but softer..."), fears of discovery and an alienated (unless possibly won over) seagull and a crab with growing hypertension (not easy in an open circulatory system, either!), could all be paraded across a page. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end (including this letter) and a nearly-successful attempt upon Flounder forces Ariel to realize that the status quo does not allow either her friends or herself to continue this association. With great skill both in wheedling and carpentry, one of the artists/carpenters/guards/musicians at the palace is convinced to build a sort of buoy in which a cat might be carefully towed to the mainland, but the legitimately-dreaded undertaking of catching and stuffing the feline in question (no! not the Box!) is prevented when a certain fishing boat puts in at a small cay for water and our heroine does at least get the small comfort of watching a small form staring down from the stern as both Ariel's and her Rowr's problems are fortunately brought to an end.
I'd be pleased to hear you liked it, even more pleased to hear that you were going to do something with it--I certainly can't, trademarks and characters all over the place and we all know "the mouse has iron teeth!" (They love that at the Disney stores) If I had a release form to sign that would let you use it, I'd sign it. At any rate, here it is. Do me a favor, if you decide to reply--if you thought it had potential--if anything. You can write me at the above address (which would be very nice of you) or call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX, my evenings, your afternoons. Please don't put my name in your magazine. I was able to convince myself that I had a rational reason for enjoying your comic books, but my dissertation advisor...?
©Dolph