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The first sign that you might get laid off at Disney: the bosses won't give you a new computer.

Steve Hulett recounts his experiences working on "Oliver & Company" and the unexpected tragedy that happened during its production.

Steve Hulett remembers the time when Disney artists were told they were being moved to a warehouse off the lot, and the animation division's first "gong show" pitch session.

Michael Eisner lounged his six-foot-four frame in a conference room chair. He was wearing jeans and sweatshirt, but why not? It was a Saturday morning.

Walt Disney Productions changed forever when two guys named Mike and Frank showed up.

When the Disney strike of 1982 ended and the story artists returned to their respective work spaces in the animation building, "Basil of Baker Street" was still running along two sets of tracks. There were storyboards filled with gags and character bits, and boards filled with plot points.

Steve Hulett on everything from "Winnie the Pooh and a Day for Eeyore" to "Katy Caterpillar."

"Basil of Baker Street" by novelist Eve Titus was an illustrated children's book centered on a mouse who fancied himself an ace detective. The mouse resided (naturally enough) inside the walls of 31 Baker Street in London, home of a human-sized ace detective, the name of whom escapes me.

Steve Hulett recounts his role in the the confusing and chaotic production of Disney's most un-Disney-like feature, "The Black Cauldron."

Before I got hired at Disney Features, I sold a few magazine articles and developed a love of writing for print, where there was nothing between writer and reader but words on a page. When I became a Disney employee, I realized I was surrounded by animation veterans with vivid memories of the rambunctious days at the old Hyperion studio, and the creative struggles that went into making "Snow White," "Pinocchio," and the other early features. Talking to older Mouse House staffers, it dawned on me they could provide great source material for articles.

I was back in Don Duckwall's office, exchanging insincere smiles with him. I had been on "The Fox and the Hound" with Larry, Woolie, and everybody else for half a year. But now Don wanted me to go on another assignment.

Larry had me writing sequence scripts for "The Fox and the Hound," which turned out to be my assignment for the next six months. Part of the package was attending Woolie Reitherman's marathon story sessions, which often left me drained and dazed. There were also Woolie's marathon take-selection meetings, which left me drained and bewildered.