Duke stepped out of a idling utility jeep, he yanked his hard hat low to shield his eyes from the dust and sun.
A tanned Michael Eisner came out of the passenger side.
The young executive had practically lived in a nearby hotel for the last few months, trading his studio suits for work boots to personally oversee the daily progress.
Before them, the skeleton of Paramount Park Orlando stretched out in steel beams and wooden scaffolding.
Hundreds of workers moved across the construction site, they had heavily recruited during the oil crisis and were now fully staffed.
The country was still on a recovery process from the 1973-1975 recession.
In 1976, the theme park industry was still largely defined by the regional carnival midway model.
Disney had certainly elevated the concept, but most competitors still relied on cheap thrills, basic roller coasters, and featureless, un-themed walking paths.
Duke intended to shatter that outdated standard.
His integrated company model needed a physical space where his media properties could interact with the public every single day.
They stood near the edge of what would soon be the primary entrance.
Eisner unrolled a wrinkled blueprint across the jeep's warm hood, pointing toward the stretch of fresh asphalt behind them.
"This right here? This is the Gotham Police Department parking lot," Eisner said, tracing the perimeter of the schematic.
At most amusement parks, the parking lot was just an ugly logistical hurdle.
Guests typically abandoned their station wagons in fields of asphalt before riding a slow tram to a sterile entrance plaza.
"When guests arrive here, they'll leave their cars and walk directly through a replica of a Gotham police station," Eisner continued, tapping the paper.
"They'll pass a booking desk, holding cells with animatronic criminals, and a Bat-Signal projected right onto the brickwork."
Duke nodded, crossing his arms over his chest but uncrossing them a mere moment later cause of heat. "Immersion from the very second they step out of the car."
It was also a good place to take pictures.
Eisner rolled up the schematic and led Duke up the stairs of a temporary wooden observation deck.
From the top, they had a sweeping view of the distinct zones taking shape across the site.
The park was fractured into immersive lands, a concept pioneered by their main rival, Disney, but refined here for a male demographic.
Duke wanted visitors to feel like they were stepping directly onto a movie.
Eisner pointed to the central hub, currently a mess of scaffolding. "DC Comics Plaza is the main artery. We're casting a colossal bronze statue of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman for the center fountain."
"It will be our main photo backdrop."
From that plaza, paths branched out into different architectural worlds.
Gotham City, which was Batman's city, to the left, were dark spires influenced by Art Deco, the zone featured gargoyles, an indoor Batmobile simulator, and a Joker-themed haunted house.
"We're using theatrical fog and forced perspective to make the alleys feel claustrophobic and dangerous," Eisner noted, he clearly had been working on the details.
Metropolis, Superman's city on the opposite side, held a giant globe structure atop the Daily Planet restaurant, positioned beside the green steel tracks of a Kryptonite roller coaster.
Wonder Woman's, Themyscira was the smallest, and was where workers were installing faux-marble pillars.
A Greek-inspired part that would house a labyrinth maze.
Duke's eyes drifted toward an enclosed space rising in the back corner of the property.
This was Star Wars: A Galaxy Far, Far Away, an expensive gamble on a movie that hadn't even hit theater screens yet.
Surprisingly Diller didn't stop by when he aprooved this as a project for the Theme Park. Ever since the success of Jaws, Diller had given Duke's decision a lot more trust in overall unproven decisions.
"The Death Star ride goes in that building," Eisner said with some sweat starting to acumulate near his nose, pointing at a black building on the skyline. "The surrounding streets will simulate a Alien enviroment based in Star Wars concept art."
"We have daily schedules mapped out for actors in Stormtrooper and rebel uniforms to march through the crowds."
They shifted their gaze to the artificial pool being excavated for Jaws.
Amity Island, would eventually have a boat tour hijacked by a mechanical shark.
Beyond the lake sat some of the retro-futuristic domes of Flash Gordon.
Next door, metallic structures of Transformers: Cybertron, which had a motion-simulator experience pushing the limits of 1970s hydraulic technology.
"We're leaning hard into the male demographic," Eisner explained, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Action, adventure, edge."
"We want teenagers and young fathers. We're leaving the fairy tales to the other guys down the road."
There was, however, one exception, a beautiful Enchanted Castle.
"Our sole concession to the princess market," Eisner admitted. "Beauty and the Beast, but it acts as an immersive walkthrough experience rather than a passive ride to keep the energy up."
The final zone was a vibrant colored sector labeled Ben 10: Alien Worlds, an interactive area where kids could climb through specialized play structures and pretend to transform into alien heroes.
As they descended the wooden stairs and navigated the partially assembled streets of the Star Wars sector, two Clone actors in rudimentary plastic armor practiced a military march through the dirt.
Eisner stopped to watch them adjust their uncomfortable helmets.
"We'll feature character meet-and-greets all day. Darth Vader, Chewbacca, Luke, Leia, and Han Solo will roam these streets to create spontaneous moments with guests."
Unlike the silent, posing mascots standard in the industry.
Paramount's characters would stay entirely in character, delivering dialogue and reacting to the environment.
"And of course, we have Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck stationed near the front gates," Eisner added, checking his clipboard.
"The Looney Tunes roster is our safe familiar touchstone for the toddlers who might be intimidated by a mechanical shark."
"The family anchor," Duke agreed, watching the stormtroopers march past a cement mixer. "They bridge the gap between the edgy new properties and our classic Hollywood legacy."
By early afternoon, the brutal Florida heat forced the two men to seek shelter in Eisner's air-conditioned field office.
Duke never felt as grateful for being american until he entered a AC office, and remembered how people in Europe wouldnt have AC even by the year he came to this timeline.
Themobile trailer hummed loudly, barely masking the pounding of a pile driver in the distance.
The interior walls were practically invisible, buried under concept art, construction schedules, and colorful fabric.
Every flat surface was covered in detailed merchandise mock-ups, the true financial engine of the venture.
Eisner collapsed into his rolling desk chair and hoisted a thick binder from a stack of manila folders.
He had spent the last two years obsessively studying the retail metrics and guest flow patterns of their competitor.
"I've analyzed traditional theme park merchandising down to the last cent," Eisner declared, slapping the binder onto his cluttered desk.
"Gate tickets? Just cover the operational overhead. The retail stores are where we actually make the money."
In the mid 70s, souvenirs were an afterthought generic pennants, cheap keychains, poorly printed maps.
Duke and Eisner viewed retail as a core pillar of their empire.
Eisner flipped open the binder, outlining their new retail doctrine.
"Plush toys, cotton t-shirts, and embroidered hats. They cost pennies to manufacture, but we can sell them for premium."
A parent hesitant to spend five dollars on a plain shirt at a department store would gladly drop fifteen on one featuring a beloved cartoon character as a memory.
"We also create urgency. Certain premium items will only be available inside the physical park. If a guest wants it, they have to buy a ticket."
A teenager wearing an exclusive park jacket back home becomes a walking billboard.
"The merchandise promotes the theatrical content, and the theatrical content drives the demand for the merchandise. A self-sustaining loop."
"Also selling breakable plastic damages the brand. If a toy breaks on the car ride home, the guest feels cheated."
Duke paced the narrow trailer, listening.
Duke added, "But we also have a layer of vertical integration that our competitors can't match."
The standard Hollywood model involved licensing IP to third-party toy manufacturers for a meager royalty percentage or a flat fee.
Duke had bypassed that entirely by investing in Mattel.
"Mattel manufactures the toys and Paramount owns the original IP."
"We eliminate the middlemen for the most part, kill the licensing fees, and capture more of the profit margin from the design phase to the cash register."
Eisner grinned, aligned with the vision. He reached under his desk and began sliding prototypes across the surface to demonstrate the results.
"Let's start with the sci-fi properties," Eisner said after taking a moment to regain energies, pushing a metallic cylinder toward Duke.
"Prototype Star Wars lightsabers. We focused on durability and functionality, these are meant for backyard duels, not sitting on a bedroom shelf."
Next to the lightsaber, he placed a detailed plastic model of the Millennium Falcon and a full size detailed Darth Vader helmet aimed at wealthy adult collectors.
Moving on to DC Comics, he held up a vibrant red Superman cape.
Next to it sat a laminated Daily Planet press pass and a wearable Batman utility belt with functioning compartments, soft-foam Batarangs, and a working miniature flashlight.
"We didn't forget the female demographic in the superhero sector," Eisner added, lifting an adjustable Wonder Woman tiara.
For the Looney Tunes demographic, he revealed a line of soft plush toys, a lanky Bugs Bunny with poseable ears, a mexican looking Daffy, and a round Porky Pig in his signature jacket.
For Ben 10, Eisner put a Omnitrix replica onto the desk.
The wristband featured flashing LED lights and a speaker that played electronic transformation sounds when the dial turned.
Finally, Eisner pulled out the overarching park souvenir.
A plastic headband adorned with two rabbit ears. It was a piece of merch inspired by the iconic Mickey Mouse ears sold down at Disneys park.
Duke picked up the Bugs Bunny headband, turning the cheap plastic accessory over in his hands.
"The physical park promotes the films," Duke summarized, "And the theatrical films drive the demand to visit the park."
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I visited Universal park in Orlando and I got inspired to write this.