STORY THREE

ALOHA NUI LOA, OR LEIS, POI, HAOLES, WAHINES, OPUS AND DA KIND

In mid summer 1951 we were winging our way aboard a United Stratoliner on a night flight to Hawaii. It was a beautiful flight over the Pacific on a star studded night. The drone of the propeller engines, the cloudless calm skies, plush seats with wide aisles and dimmed cabin lights made us feel like we were somewhere abstract, almost out of this world. We even talked in hushed tones and there was a general quiet that most passengers observed so as not to break the mood of the moment. What a contrast from our mainland flight. That was taken via a non scheduled carrier on what looked to be a well used DC-9. The plane was packed with all seats occupied. It was crowded, smoke filled, noisy, bumpy and made frequent stops to pick up and discharge passenger and fill up with fuel. The last leg of the flight that was to bring us into the Los Angeles area, was the worst. Coming over the corner of Texas we picked up the remnants of a full fledged hurricane that had passed over Mexico and the plane shuttered amid heavy doses of wind driven rain and constant lightening. Most of the folks onboard, including many servicemen, reached for paper bags and so did Molly. It would not be an understatement to say everyone was glad when the flight ended without any further incident. It was then we decided to switch to a scheduled carrier for our flight to Honolulu.

It was close to mid morning when we started our descent. The plane banked and from the distance one could see the white sandy beaches and the lush green vegetation that are the trademarks of most Pacific Islands. As we got closer, we could easily see the outlines of Honolulu and the mountains rising in the background. We were excited and then the plane flew over Diamond Head, the extinct volcanic crater that is Honolulu's distinctive landmark. We landed at Honolulu International and taxied to an unpretentious airport terminal where we began deplaning. When our turn came to take the last step off the plane, several people of oriental ancestry were there to greet us. They bid us welcome and presented us with the traditional Hawaiian welcome - fresh rings of orchids, or leis. Each member placed one around our necks, so that after the fourth lei we felt happily laden. The greeters were part of the staff of the Library of Hawaii, my new employer; the staff wanted to start us off right.

After the normal round of welcome and introductions they took us to a motel not too far from the Library and almost across McKinley High School. We could not believe the beauty that was all around us. Well maintained yards with lovely orchards, bird of paradise, hibiscus and an almost endless variety of floral display together with stately coconut palms and other native trees such as mango, breadfruit and koa trees were amply evident. The people too were of extraordinary beauty, truly a melting pot reflecting the Island's history. Their dress also was completely new to us since many young ladies wore dresses with Hawaiian prints known as, Mumus and Holamus and most did not bother to wear shoes, or were carrying them instead. The Islands at that time were still classified as The Territory of Hawaii. It was just five years after World War II had ended and the pace was still island like; that is, what can wait till tomorrow need not be done today. Tourists were largely confined to Waikiki Beach. There were only a handful of multistoried hotels and a lot of beach and single family residential housing that made up most of the area. Shopping malls had not been invented yet, nor had Henry J. Kaiser redrawn the local map at the time.

We had a room on the second floor of the motel with a small kitchen. The walls were painted white and the furniture was tropical bamboo. This was going to be our home until we could locate an apartment which was no mean feat at the time. While we were unpacking our suitcase, Molly noticed what must have been the biggest, blackest, fattest roach slowly ambling across the wall. The whiteness of the wall made the contrast that much starker. Molly was usually not the screaming type, but this time there was an exception. I picked up a shoe and was about to make hash out of the bug when it suddenly lifted itself up and flew straight at me. Naturally I ducked and in the end I got it, but that was our welcome to the world of tropical bugs in an unmistakable manner.

Later, Molly decided to go to the local grocery for a few things to tide us over. She returned after a brief time holding back her tears and sobbing. She had just been introduced to the Hawaiian economy which meant that everything short of locally grown fruits and products was at least double if not triple the grocery prices she had been used to paying in large, competitive East Coast city markets. She wanted to return immediately and felt completely hopeless. As it turned out, at least for the first two years, she was right. Librarian salaries, like teacher salaries were insufficient to make a living, at the prevailing wages of the time. We could have easily qualified for welfare, but we were too ignorant to realize that, nor would we have opted for it. The cost of living was doubly compounded in a high cost environment such as the main island of Oahu. We consoled each other, decided to tough it out and proceeded with the task of finding an inexpensive, but acceptable apartment with baby in hand.

With a bit of luck we found a two bedroom, small apartment in a wood-frame complex on Lunalilo Street, close enough to the Library so that I could walk there and save the bus fare. Molly felt better, started to make friends quickly, and did some long arduous planning for our monthly meals; heavy on spaghetti and light on meat. She soon found many ways of using a variety of locally grown vegetables, and fresh fish from the fishing boats as they docked to supplement our diet. Our diet still contained a lot of hash and spam, but with fresh fruit such as pineapple, papaya, guavas, and mangoes we managed well. Naturally the baby's concerns came first and we never allowed his diet to be influenced by our meager finances.

After a year or so, we rented a bungalow in Kaimuki. Molly learned the art of preparing dishes of modest means from the local folks living around us. They did not look at us as Mainlanders, or Haolis, and treated us as one of their kind. Molly was introduced to the ways of oriental cooking and the most innovative ways of using local products to their best advantage. Through trial and error she became a superb cook. On one of my birthdays she whipped up a large dish of breaded veal cutlets, something we had not eaten for a several years due to the high cost of veal. I was astounded and asked her how in the world she saved all that money to buy so much veal. She prided herself on the meal and told me I could eat all I wanted to, and I did. After we had finished our dinner she asked how I liked it. I told her it was most delicious. Then she said that I really did not eat breaded veal cutlets, but instead ate turtle cuts (at the time we did not know they were an endangered species). That was just one example of the many ways Molly found to substitute foods.

We were invited to a Luau (a Hawaiian outdoor picnic) one Sunday afternoon by some local friends. They showed us how to eat one and two fingered poi made from a native root which at first may taste to the outsider like some kind of paste. They also introduced us to a buried, hot stone cooked, roasted suckling pig which was the traditional meat served at a Luau, together with numerous side dishes, and drinks. It was there that we met with someone from the Bureau of Sight Conservation. After the party had progressed from Hulas and local songs accompanied with guitar and ukulele, we were asked if we would be interested in having a blind person stay with us for room, board and company.

We thought that was a great idea and a few weeks later we were introduced to Mickey, a young blind man of Japanese ancestry and his guide dog, Midge. They came to live with us in Kaimuki a short time later. Mickey had a job working at the newsstand in Iolani Palace, not far from the statue of King Kamehamea. One day I went over to visit with him during my lunch break. He had numerous persons come up to his counter over the next half hour. Most of them just said, "Give Me One of DA KINE" and Mickey would hand him a pack of a certain brand of cigarette, the man would pay and the transaction was complete. I found out that many locals knew just what was meant when someone said, "Da Kine" but I was never clever enough to figure it out myself.

Mickey left regularly every morning with Midge, walked across a four lane highway, and took the local bus to downtown Honolulu. He came home the same way. In the evenings we would take walks together, or play cards with a deck that Mickey had inscribed with braille. He would always beat us at Canasta, because his memory was excellent. Sometimes we would take Mickey and Midge to the local movie where we would treat ourselves to popcorn and other goodies while watching the show. When the screen was silent we would give Mickey a summary of what was going on and then he would quickly catch up again when the sound resumed. We met quite a few sight handicapped persons through Mickey since there were regular gatherings for that purpose sponsored by the Bureau of Sight Conservation.

Molly got to know a big, husky, native Hawaiian, whom she liked, named Benny. Seems he had no prior vision problem, until one fatal day at the local jail. Apparently he and some friends were confined there for some non violent indiscretions. Benny got a hold of some drinks made by inmates from wood alcohol and that resulted in his loss of vision. He had a good voice and was musically inclined. We would enjoy listening to him and his friends for hours. They were a happy and good natured bunch. Then one day, some months later, Molly got a distress call from Benny. She met with him and did not like what she sensed and so informed the Bureau. She thought Benny was despondent. Several days later she was in shock as she learned that Benny had killed himself. It took her quite awhile to get over it.

Among persons so afflicted, was a young lady, that Molly met, who was attending the University of Hawaii. She was of Portuguese and Hawaiian ancestry and the two became good friends. Since she had a local family, there was no need for her to stay with us. She was a frequent visitor and we enjoyed having her over whenever her schedule allowed it. Meanwhile, Mickey found a place close to his work at Iolani Palace and after a year with us moved to his new location. Subsequently, we were asked by the Bureau, if we could help a blind teenager, about sixteen, who was institutionalized because she kept hearing voices. We agreed and Patty came to stay with us. She was sort of frail and of slight build and went to McKinley High School. She was quiet and of no bother to anyone, a little bit on the shy side. Our household was noisy and open and at first it took her awhile to adjust. But as the months went on, she became a lot more self confident and then, one day when she argued back to Molly about some minor matter, we knew she was getting back to normalcy. Patty stayed with us for about six months until she was considered out of danger and placed in the home of one of her local aunts.

It was shortly after Patty left, that Molly learned of a vacancy at the local Salvation Army's Boys Home. They needed a cottage mother and were looking for someone with a small family so that they boys could more readily relate to them. Molly met the Captain in charge of the institution, and was hired for room, board and a small monthly stipend. We moved in a week later. The building that she was responsible for was an older, large yellowish looking masonry and stone building, with two equal wings that extended from the center, which consisted of her quarters. There were several such buildings on the ground including a chapel, main office, mess hall, gymnasium and auxiliary buildings.

The boys assigned to her building were from the twelve to sixteen age group. There were about thirty boys in the dorm. I had previously seen the film, Boys Town, with Spencer Tracy, and to me this was almost like a real life imitation of some of the film. The boys assigned to the home were there for various reasons, but mostly they had to do with broken homes, incest, theft, or parental neglect and alcoholism. Basically most of the kids were not bad in the true sense of the word. They were just victims of circumstance. Life at the compound was routine and regimented. The boys went to the local schools where they were duly promoted without learning to read or write, just as long as they behaved themselves. I remember being called to school one day by an incensed teacher who raved about the numerous four letter words that one of the boys had written all over a textbook. My comment was simple and to the point. I merely said, "He spelled it right, didn't he". The teacher immediately got the point and ended her tirade right then and there.

After that I started to tutor the boys in the evenings as time permitted. At first they were bashful because they knew they had been short circuited in the schools and were not knowledgeable. But with painstaking patience many came around to where they at least could manage to read at the second or third elementary school level and write their names properly. There were some talents that the boys had that were inherent. They were, for one, "street smart". For example, we never had to worry if we forgot our key. All we did was ask for Emil and we were in free. Emil, you see had an uncanny knack for operating as a locksmith albeit without license. The boys for the most part were also excellent athletes. They made up well over half of the local high school's football team which gave them quite a recognition. High School football was a big event and it was taken seriously. The boys had a chance to shine and they took full advantage. Whenever they played, the opposing team was always in some awe, because of the effort and vigor with which the boys executed their plays.

They were also excellent swimmers. Sometimes we would take a truck, load up the boys and got to Waimea Falls or some other out of the place swimming hole. The boys would climb the highest rim they could find and dive into the water. They had a great time and would look for local mountain apples, which were cool and delicious directly from the tree. At other times we would take them to the public swimming pool. This was a large, olympic size pool with both a fifty and a hundred foot diving ladder, which the boys duly monopolized all the while we were there.

Molly wanted to learn how to swim, and although she could float on her back in the ocean, she could not swim at all in the pool. Each time we took the boys down to the pool, she would practice, so that after some four months she was ready to try to swim the length of the pool. She started out very slowly close to the edge of the pool and was making her way down a third of the way, when she seemed to gain confidence, moved more to the middle of the pool, and really started to swim well. It took her a little time because of the length of the pool, but finally with a few more hefty strokes she made it all the way across.

Well, to her, and to everyone's surprise, the boys had been watching the progress she was making, and they were as happy as she was when she achieved her goal. At the very moment that Molly touched the far side, the boys let out a terrific hoopla and cheer noting her success. A few had been watching from the high ladders and they made believe they were fainting at the completion of this ordeal and fell from their perches in unusually funny ways into the water. It was quite an afternoon. Molly had truly earned the boy's respect and they were no longer shy in having her as their confidant.

Meanwhile I had noticed a posting on our Library bulletin board for a vacant position as a technical librarian at a local naval installation. I called, got an interview with the Chief of the Laboratory, and was promptly hired, even though the final paperwork took some three months to come through. In a way that move changed my entire career pattern. From then on, I would be working for various agencies of the government, and thus in a way, my private sector career was ended.

We were happy though, for at least it meant a little easier lifestyle. My meager salary was almost doubled to that of the beginning government professional series, and employees received an additional small cost of living compensation because of the inflated cost of living in the Islands. We were also eligible for quarters at the naval community, close to Pearl Harbor and an entire new door opened for us. Molly was really starting to enjoy her new way of living, and was making frequent friends with lots of Navy wives and their families. She could now go shopping downtown and no longer had to worry about what she could put on the table. The Navy was a "close community", and they always seemed to look out for each other.

In being a part of that, there were constant invitations, visits, and hosting navy types from other Pacific areas. As an example, we were asked if we wanted to have the Captain of a visiting ROC (Republic of China) destroyer and his main officers over for a Thanksgiving dinner, since the ship had arrived just about that time. We were happy to do so and invited some Marines who were MP's (Military Police) at the same time. The Captain showed up with some of his officers driven in a staff car. He was very polite and extremely uptight. He sat on an easy chair, straight as a ramrod and would occasionally talk very quietly to one of his officers. This went on for about an hour and we thought this is going to be one heck of a Thanksgiving. Then Molly put salad dressing in a big bowl of salad, put a cover over it and asked one of the big MP's to shake it up. He did so with vigor to the point where the top flew off and salad was literally all over the place. The poor MP was chagrined and somewhat at a loss of what he should do; but the Captain was in stitches. He was laughing and shouting to his officers and they began to break up as well and pretty soon everyone was laughing till tears rolled down their cheeks - it was very funny really, and from that moment on the party was in full swing. We had a great time and so did the Chinese navy. They finally left late evening and thanked us profusely for a wonderful dinner.

I had put in for a transfer to quarters on the base where I worked since that made a lot of sense to me. I would be less than five minutes from work, I could come home for lunch and be back quickly in the afternoon, so that we could go down to the beach or undertake some other activity. There was a waiting list, however and it would be some three months, or even a little longer before we would be assigned our new quarters. Meanwhile, at one of the social functions, we met a semi-retired federal judge, who frequently was asked to assist for a few months on the bench in California.

When his turn came to do so, he and his wife were always in the market for a house sitter, so to speak. The judge asked Molly if she were interested and explained that there were some guest cottages on the grounds as well. She was intrigued and we drove up for a visit, having first gotten very good road instructions. It was a Sunday afternoon, naturally sunny and warm as we started out. The road veered off the main highway and worked its way through tall sugar cane fields, where it quickly turned into a gravel road. Some miles through the fields it turned into a private road leading up a rather steep mountain. Near the top there was a good size forest preserve consisting mainly of tall, beautiful eucalyptus trees. Apparently the judge had carved out a niche of some sizable acreage for his home and grounds at the periphery of the preserve. It was so quiet up there, some two thousand feet above the beaches, and the gentle rustling of the huge trees added to the serenity of the location.

Molly agreed, and we moved into one of the larger guest cottages. It was very rustic, but also very primitive. There was a kitchen of sorts, but no running water. There was electricity, but no indoor plumbing. An outhouse was conveniently placed within walking distance. There were no telephones, and the nearest neighbor was a sometime visitor to his "farm" five miles down the road. We were isolated, but like Little Abner, and Daisy Mae we did not know any better. The overall inherent beauty of the place left us feeling very peaceful. We did not mind having to carry up our drinking water in huge bottles from the well at the bottom of the mountain. We ignored the hundreds of black bugs that came into the house every time it got damp or rained. We did not even mind taking an outside improvised shower, the water of which came from rain-barrels, collected from the runoff off the roof. What did trouble me however, was an incident one dark night when I had to use the outhouse. As usual I took a flashlight with me since there was no electricity in the facility and took my seat. Suddenly I heard a loud thump next to me. I shone my light in the direction of the sound and wow - there was the fattest, meanest, longest looking centipede that I had ever seen. It was an embarrassing situation leaping from my seat in the middle of everything and beating the creature to the door. I tried very hard for the next few months to do my business during daylight hours, which in Hawaii fortunately often ran to almost nine or ten o'clock at night. Word finally was given me that our base quarters were ready and we prepared to move back to civilization. Meanwhile the judge had also returned from his term on the bench, so all worked out well.

We moved on the base and into a Quonset hut. Those of you, who had similar experiences, are sure to remember that when it rained, especially in a tropical heavy downpour, you hardly could hear yourself think; for the din of the rain on the roof covered with corrugated sheet metal drowned out all sounds. Yet for us, that did not matter at all. We loved living there, participating in work functions as well as the normal military and social base activities. We traded in our old Packard for a new Sunbeam- Talbot, a very cute white English sports sedan with leather upholstery. It looked like a miniature Rolls Royce and we adored it.

The base itself was somewhat isolated from downtown Honolulu and was close to Makaha Beach where the big surf lured the most talented surfboarders. We often went there to watch them do their acrobatics riding huge waves from way out at sea. The base also featured a movie, as most bases do, and we often attended in the evenings for a small entrance fee. It was much more fun for us to hear the many running comments from the audience in the rear than to actually watch the movie, since apparently a lot of sailors possess a solid sense of humor.

The base had an Officers club as well and there were a lot of scheduled off- hour activities and programs. The base environment was safe for our little shaver as well who had gone native quite sometime back. He was admired by the local Wahines (ladies) for his large Opu (tummy) and was not wearing a pair of shoes till his first day in school. It was a local elementary school and he was the only Haole (Caucasian) kid in his class. The first day back from school and he had "lost" his shoes on the way. He, our poodle named Dora, plus a pair of Siamese kittens had a great time growing up in the sun.

There were many other events that happened while we were there. One of these was my meeting the well known author, Thor Heyerdahl, who spoke about his recent book, KON TIKI, while showing a silent film at the same time. He was later to author another adventure book called, AKU AKU. Perhaps the most meaningful experience for me, however was having met and worked with such very nice people. There was a young man of Korean ancestry for example, whom I had on the staff at the Library of Hawaii. He was a very intelligent and polite young man, and when an opportunity came to hire an assistant at the Navy library, I asked him to join me. We respected each other and when I left I asked that he be assigned my vacated position, which in fact happened. That may have also been once again, and unbeknownst to me at the time, the beginning of what I may call, my "Korean Connection", a fact that would from time to time influence and change my personal life.

I learned of an opening as a Technical Librarian at an Air Force agency in Ohio and applied for the more responsible job, at a higher grade level. Within two months, I was hired and my transfer papers were duly prepared. It was with great regret that we left the Islands. Many Mainlanders referred to Oahu, as "The Rock", since one could drive around the Island in about three hours time; as you may have inferred from this Story, those folks missed the point.

We were able to take a luxury liner back which had docked at Honolulu from an extended tour of the Pacific. It was The President Wilson and as we boarded to the strains of various poignant Hawaiian farewell songs, long strung leis and cheers from our many friends on the dock, and then slowly slipped into the channel and out to sea, we felt heavy at heart, and sad as the Island vanished over the horizon.

Dear reader: this somewhat lengthy Island tale should have left you sleeping long ago. Therefore you may want to finish this story the next time you have a difficult night, and the warm sun and lazy images should quickly relax you into slumber-land. If you were prodigious, however and finished ahead of time, please turn to STORY FOUR. Thank you.

©1990 Herbert Holzbauer

published @1997 edition S.p.N.LAUB

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