One Winter.....

 

There are times in our lives that stick with us and other times that just slip away.  Today I’m thinking about the time when I failed my draft physical and, with $124 in my pocket, ran off to Hawaii to visit friends.  It was the winter of 1971 - 1972 and I still remember what we did, what we ate, what we drank, what we listened to and who we hung out with.  Here are a few of those memories.

My friends Irv and Emma were living in a 3-story cinder block apartment in Waipahu shared with a guy named Dave and a few geckos.  The geckos had the run of the place and chirped at night but were seldom seen.  When I expressed concern about sleeping with a bunch of lizards they told me that in Hawaii I could either sleep with Geckos or with cockroaches and scorpions.  The apartment was located just a block off the Farrington Highway on the corner of Leonui and Leokane.  It could be said that we weren’t in one of Oahu’s garden spots.  Low metal buildings, barb wire topped fences, wrecked and abandoned cars everywhere.  Irv and Dave were in the Navy and about to be discharged, Emma had a part-time job at a natural food store across the highway and I had a roof over my head until I ran out of money. 

I slept on the floor between two large orange-faced JBL’s and beneath two faded light weight India print bedspreads.  One spread hung on the wall above me while the other provided warmth at night. A bead curtain separated the bedrooms and bath from the living room.   Within easy reach was a silk and velvet lined box cradling a steampunk set of gold Pioneer L40 headphones with brown stitched leather headband coverings and a thick, soft 10 foot braided cable that terminated with a 1/4” plug.  That long braided cable meant that they could reach the amplifier from anyplace in the living room.  I often fell asleep wearing them. 

The adjacent wall sported a large velvet wall tapestry featuring a lion pride, some version of which every serviceman returning from Vietnam seemed to possess.  Across the street was a SAV-MOR gas station/car wash that sold Pearl Harbor Guava Nectar, a beverage that I quickly took a shine to.  The Herfy’s on Farrington Highway provided some semblance of home.  

The soundtrack for Hawaii was Cat Stevens, Taj Mahal, Undisputed Truth, Temptations, the soundtrack for Shaft, Staples Singers, Mountain, The Chambers Brothers and Savoy Brown. Without exception these artists’ albums or tapes were on hand and played everywhere we went. 

Irv and Emma showed me around.  We drove all over the island in their 1960 Ford Falcon that was never locked and the glovebox was always left open..  Dave had a red Austin Healey with a fairly straight body but lots of mechanical and electrical issues.  Typical British Prince of Darkness problems.  Both had dirt bikes of around 250cc or so.  A Yamaha and a Suzuki, neither of which were licensed or street legal.  Legal or not we could take back roads from the apartment to a culvert under the highway where a dirt road freed us to ride through the cane and pineapple fields on red dirt tracks to the summit of the Waianae Range. 

We considered Tracks Beach in Nanakuli to be our local break even though it was 14 miles away and not very friendly.  We were haoles, after all, and Nanakuli was a tightknit community with little interest in putting off-islanders at ease.  It took a while for them to tolerate me as I had a lot to learn about surf etiquette and my place in the food chain.  Once I figured some stuff out and had a dark tan, fewer locals tried to run into me as I paddled out or knock me off a wave that etiquette dictated should have been mine.  Irv and Dave liked that beach because few servicemen chose to go there and as servicemen, they were familiar with people trying to kill them so harassment at Tracks was no big thing..

On days the car wasn’t available I hitchhiked to Nanakuli or the North Shore.  Being on the highway as a haole could be a semi-sport-death affair so I kept my head on a swivel and eyes open for flying Primo empties.  A passing car full of locals called for focused situational awareness and a Plan B.  I had to be mindful of who was slowing down to “help” me.  Usually there were plenty of servicemen on the roads who would pick me up and they were always safe. 

Though the North Shore was a longer drive it definitely held more charm for me.  With its classic surf beaches, bigger waves, smaller highway, more authentic, and somehow less “damaged” feel it seemed right.  It might have been my imagination but it seemed slightly safer.

Friends

Dave and Irv at Cam Rohn Bay

Normally Irv and Dave spent their working hours hunting submarines in P-3 Orions and weren’t bothered by their command structure about the length of their hair and beards.  Neither looked the least bit like servicemen and the Navy didn’t want to do anything that might delay their scheduled early discharge. 

The majority of their friends were also squids.  Most of their names are lost to me now but every one of them parted their hair in the middle and grew facial hair if they could.  Everyone wore puka shell necklaces.

• AJ was a guy from a tiny farming community in the Midwest.  Really a nice kid but had bad hair and low self-esteem.  He was still bandaged up from a motorcycle accident he had in the cane fields where he was thrown from his bike into a concrete irrigation ditch.  He slid for quite a ways in the 3-sided concrete rectangle and lost a lot of skin.  One of his injuries was an abrasion that completely “erased” one of his nipples.  He was really concerned about what sort of nicknames he would acquire once folks saw him with his shirt off.  The name “One Tit” was gaining ground and is most likely with him to this day. 
• Brad was a California surfer and a Robert Redford look-a-like.  Tan skin with blonde hair parted down the middle and a blonde mustache curled on the ends above a constant smile.  Very Mellow guy.  A soul surfer. 
• Another guy, Jack (Mack) McCale, lived with a prostitute named Kalea in Makaha.  He was a legit Southie who sounded and acted the part.  Mack had the whole east coast tough guy thing going on.  I was never sure as to the nature of their relationship.  She was a local who grew up on the windward side and was really pleasant to be around.  On more than one occasion we drove her to or from her work on Hotel Street in Honolulu.
• There was a strange young white kid who called himself Ace Nesbit Raleigh who hung around Jack and Kalea.  Not in the military.  He supplied Jack and some of his friends with whatever illegal substances they wanted.  He slept on a water bed mattress a tiny house bereft of other furniture.  No frame for the mattress, just a big bag of water waiting to pop.  He had an accent that I couldn’t place and functioned pretty well when he was on psychedelics, which was most of the time.  He always had a smile, “acid eyes” and sometimes spoke in tongues.
• A local woman named Vera worked in the health food store with Emma and lived in a milk truck on the beach with her young daughter.  She was a talented artisan making rings, necklaces, pins and earrings from shells and fibers gathered where she parked her truck.  She sold lots of puka shell jewelry to servicemen.

Budget and Bones

With limited funds I was mindful of expenses.  For some reason Miller Highlife was my beer of choice.  Maybe it was the price at only $1.25 per six-pack.  Guava Nectar was $.10 per can at the SAV-MOR and I drank a couple of those every day.  A large cone of shave ice with fresh fruit was a dime.  A small wooden box of fish cake was less than 50 cents at any open-front ohana grocery and made a decent meal.  Pineapple was dirt cheap and the best tasting I’ve ever eaten.  A Big Mac was pricey at $.65.  A gallon of gas was $0.35 and would fire the Falcon for about 15 miles.  That meant that it cost $0.70 to drive to and from Tracks in Nanakuli. Pretty expensive and that encouraged hitchhiking despite the flying glass projectiles. 

 Tracks

One day at Tracks I borrowed Brad’s long board.  It had a large face card graphic on it.  Jack of Diamonds.  I ended up hitting my chin on the board rail and splitting it open.  Really rang my bell and when I felt my chin there seemed to be a hole in it.  It was a big gaping wound but didn’t bleed much.  When I gave the board back to Brad his perpetual smile disappeared.  He just stared at me and the tan ran from his face.  You could see something white that I think was my chin bone. 

We went to the free clinic in Nanakuli and waited a long time before a doctor finally saw me.  He asked where I was from and when I said “Seattle” he asked me how I was going to pay for treatment.  I told him that I couldn’t afford much and he told me to go elsewhere.  He made it clear that free or cheap treatment was reserved for locals and not for haoles and that I wasn’t at risk of dying right away.  I got a similar response at the clinic in Waipahu.  I ended up going to Queens Hospital in Honolulu which was yet another 15 miles.  So, Waipahu to Tracks to Queens Hospital via Waipahu then back to Waipahu was ~60 miles.  That cost me about $1.40 in gas.  That was just a bit less than a Big Mac, a box of fish cake and two Millers.  A whole day’s food ration.  It would mean that I would have to kype bananas from someone’s yard in the residential neighborhoods and pick guavas off the ground for the next day or so in order to get my budget back on track. 

Waipahu (Supermarket/Food Bank) Neighborhood

The doctor at Queens said I was going to need a bunch of stitches.  Something about making them small and close together so that the scar wouldn’t be too  noticeable. 

“How many stitches” I asked?

“We’ll use dissolvable stitches on the inside and about 15 regular stitches on the outside”, he said.

Then he asked where I was from and how was I going to pay for it.  When he heard that I didn’t have much money he said, “In that case we’ll skip the interior sutures and use fewer to close it up”. 

And that was what he did.  He used 5 or 6 stitches instead of 15 and told me to stay out of the water.  I was to come back in a week to have them removed.  Seeing as how it was going to cost me the equivalence of a day’s eats to go back to Queens, when the day came, I opened a cold Miller and took them out myself.  The resulting scar wasn’t pretty so it didn’t take me too long to quit shaving and start growing a beard.  I haven’t seen my chin since 1972.

Tomatoes

Our next-door neighbor grew Marijuana in a bathtub and in coffee cans on his lanai.  He called them his “tomato plants” and gave us tomato treats from time to time.  At one point he came over and gave us some small plants potted in coffee cans to put on our lanai.  The quality was OK and the price was right.  There was plenty of exceptional weed available, though, as the island was full of service personnel from all branches who had served in Vietnam. 

The SOP for military men returning from Nam was to buy a big stereo system at the PX and have it shipped home.  Before shipment they would open the speakers and fill them with contraband and extra acoustic foam.  The contraband of choice was often marijuana rolled up like commercial cigarettes and put into packages of Thai branded smokes.  They were even sealed in cellophane and had the official-looking government stamp sealing the packaging.  In-country they were sold in regular packs of 20 or cartons of 10 packs all sealed and official looking.  I became familiar with two brands; Falling Rain and 99’s.  

Real Falling Rains were mentholated filter cigarettes like Salems right down to their green and white packaging.  The smuggled Falling Rains also had a white filter which you tore off prior to consumption.  Every Falling Rain was of uniform quality which is to say it was very strong.  I suspect that they were a Sativa strain as they didn’t incapacitate you.  They left you still able to surf after a fashion (on very colorful waves). 

Real 99’s were unfiltered cigarettes in the vein of Camel or Lucky Strike.  In fact, as I recall, the packaging was red and white reminiscent of Luckys.  Like Falling Rain I couldn’t tell the difference between a pack of real 99’s and magic 99’s.  The ingredient was most likely Indica as it was paralyzing.  Absolutely knock out weed.  It scared me as there was no surfing on 99’s and probably no swimming, period.  Actually, with 99’s remembering to breathe at all wasn’t guaranteed.  After trying 99’s a couple of times I opted for Falling Rain or Lanai Tomato Weed. 

Discomfort

When Irv was discharged he allowed another squid, Peter Wisniewski, to take over the rent and buy the Falcon under the condition that I be allowed to stay as long as I wanted and that he drive me to the airport when I wanted to leave.  No deal was struck, however, that guaranteed that my extended stay would be comfortable or provide any degree of joy.  Maybe he agreed to Irv’s terms because he needed a car and knew that I was running out of money, therefore, wouldn’t be taking up space on his floor much longer. 

With Irv and Emma gone I took to spending more time away from the apartment and hitchhiked more often to the North Shore.  Late one day I found myself on a deserted beach at a park near Mokuleia.  I was hungry and down to less than $10.  I wasn’t sure where the nearest ohana grocery was.  Somewhere back towards Haleiwa but I didn’t know exactly how far and it was getting too late for a haole to be on the road alone.  I decided to spend the night under a picnic table as it would be warm enough so long as it didn’t rain and it would let me see trouble coming.  February being the rainy season, though, it did rain and I was getting wet and cold.  The restroom seemed like a reasonable option as it had a roof, a light and it only smelled of urine.  I settled down in a corner, leaned against the wall and tried to go to sleep.  My growling stomach kept me awake and looking across to the far wall I spotted something that looked like a scorpion.  Taking a close look confirmed my fears.  I realized that I hadn’t heard any geckos chirping so God only knew how many of these creepy things were crawling around in there. 

Needless to say I didn’t sleep much and was out of there as soon as I thought it was safe to travel.  Walking into Haleiwa I found a store and bought a box of fish cake and a can of guava nectar for breakfast that I enjoyed eating outside in the morning sun.  After breakfast it took me three rides and several hours to cover the 20 miles back to Waipahu and Peter’s Pleasure Palace. 

 Haleiwa Ohana Grocery

Too Far From Home

Peter was a nice enough guy of high moral character but a little too squared away for my comfort.  Super clean cut, handsome in a rural Midwest kind of way and extremely polite.  He didn’t swear and he certainly didn’t smoke marijuana.  When he first moved in, I sat down to have a beer with him and break the ice.  I think it may have been the first beer he had ever tasted as he acted as though he had never held one in his hand before.  He seemed surprised by thefoam bubbles that came out of his nose and kind of choked.  Didn’t seem to like the taste, but then, it was Miller High Life, the champagne of bottled beer.  He was the only serviceman that I met who didn’t own an incredible rack of stereo components purchased at the PX.  He had this really poor sounding stereo, on par with a low end boombox.  He kept it in his bedroom and the foundation of his record collection was Mac Davis, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Melanie, Neil Diamond, The Carpenters, Bobby Vinton and Bread.  Now, instead of sleeping between orange JBL’s and gazing at a velvet lion pride I still had chirping geckos but looked up at his own taste in velvet wall art.  The lion pride was bad enough but not nearly as bad as Peter’s velvet wall hanging of dogs playing poker.  When the religious icons went up on the wall, I finally accepted that I was too far from home.  

With only three dollars and change to my name it was time to leave and thankfully Peter, in spite of what I viewed as his “quirks”, was a man of his word.  He was more than happy to drop me off at Honolulu International.  I boarded the nearly empty 747 with enough cash in my pocket to buy two beers and a dime to call folks for a ride home when I landed.  After that phone call my net worth amounted to less than a dollar in change.

I was surprised to feel the cold, see snow on the ground and have icicles hanging from gutters.  My Fiat 850 Spyder had 10” of snow on it where I had parked it in the drive of the Montlake house.  Clearing off the car I found a large hole poked through the convertible roof.  Behind the seat was the 2 foot long icicle that had fallen from the eves and punctured the roof.  Luckily, I had a roll of duct tape in the trunk to fix it with because I didn’t have enough money left to afford a new roll.