Well, after a horribly bumpy flight out of San Francisco I finally walked the beach at Waikiki and looked up at Diamond Head. Walked for two hours, my foot still sore from the break, and waded into the surf. Finally. I say finally because Dad always wanted me to see this spot. He used to read the travel section of the New York Post (His favorite rag.) and say, "It's only $99 from Los Angeles! Get over there!" But something always came up. I wandered elsewhere for obscure reasons. So what that it took me thirty years. Except now I can't tell him that yes, Oahu is a beautiful island and yes, I could live near North Shore.
Dad was there for a few months in the fifties. Stationed on the island to play baseball for the Marine Corps. He always spoke about how friendly the people were (right again) and how different the air was and how clear and warm the water. He always wanted to go back but life got in the way and he never did. Not that I think that was a big regret for him because the man didn't regret much. He just had more important adventures to live.
There was a slight swelling of my emotions knowing Dad walked this same beach as a young man when he was in his prime. Long before he met Fran or thought about me. I remember two stories he told about his time here. A guy came to visit Dad when I was nine or ten. His name was Gerry Angel. How could I forget that name? I remember Dad being excited that his old Hawaii roommate, fellow Marine and baseball teammate was passing through Pittsfield. And he was proud to introduce Gerry to his family.
Gerry was a big guy, six two or three. He looked like he could hit a baseball easily four hundred feet. He had a big smile too and a big laugh. The guys sat in the yard drinking beer and telling stories and reminiscing about Honolulu. I felt pretty proud that they let me sit nearby and listen. Or maybe they didn't even notice me. They sure were having some laughs.
The first story I remember is that one day Dad and Gerry were at the beach and Gerry poured a bottle of bleach in Dad's hair. I guess they were trying go blonde. Dad said it stung like hell and ran into his eyes before he could run to the ocean and dive into the waves to try to wash it out. He said his hair stayed bleached for a few months.
Another time Dad got to their apartment and Gerry wasn't home. For some reason (alcohol?) he thought it would be funny to put Gerry's mattress in the shower and run the water. Well, I guess it was funny until Gerry got home and found my father asleep and his own bed in the shower soaked and weighing a few hundred waterlogged pounds. So Gerry wakes Dad up but only long enough to punch him full on in the face and knock him to the floor. Years later Dad would still say, with a grin, he didn't know why wanted to do that to Gerry. Maybe there's part of the story I missed or didn't understand. And I can only imagine the stories they told after a few more beers and after I went upstairs to bed. I have a clear feeling that those guys had a lot of fun running wild back in the strength of their youth.
I remember watching Hawaii Five-0 with Big Tony and he would always point out places he recognized.
When I was in high school, before homeroom, when the theme to Hawaii Five-0 came over the hallway speakers you had less than two minutes to be in your seat before attendance was taken. Where that tradition came from I don't know. Maybe it was a way to boost morale on bleak subzero winter mornings. To give us shivering kids a touch of hope that warmer days were ahead and there was life beyond high school. Were the powers that be that clever? Who knows? When, as a senior and some mornings it was my job to play that song, from the radio station studio, I certainly wasn't thinking those things. I had other pressing endeavors. I wonder if that's still a morning ritual at Taconic High, that crumbling brick building on Valentine Road.
Years later, and now years ago, I met Jim MacAthur at the Tee Off. Of course Jim played Danno on the original Five-0. He was a friend of a friend and I must say, a really nice guy. Dad got a real kick out of that when I called and told him.
One day we rent a car a drive out to the North Shore. It is the season of big surf and mighty waves and the pros are out. The spot is crowded unlike most of the drive along the east coast where we find many secluded coves frequented by locals. I could easily see myself in one of those semi-shacks a hundred yards from the water. It's another world from Waikiki. I would love to take the Wus here.
After checking out the big waves and watching a few surfers we stop for lunch at a beachside restaurant in Haleiwa. Wonderful fresh Marlin. My friend Tom told me that's what they feed prisoners in North Carolina. He also reminds me that lobster was the forced meal for inmates in New England until the rich discovered how delicious they were. Funny stuff.
Our lunch is wonderful and we drive back to the hotel through the lush center of the island. It is green and tropical with gorgeous views of the mountains in the distance. We pass the massive pineapple plantation of Dole. We contemplate stopping but Carlos reasons that it's not like visiting a winery. The best they can offer is a slice of fresh pineapple which is something our favorite bartender, Pak, back at the hotel will add as a garnish to our frozen daiquiris.
We spend the late afternoon gift shopping and bar hopping and eating. We have become regulars at Duke's and have ended our nights there before walking the beach back to our rooms. Duke's hospitality is legendary but they still make us feel extra special for some reason. If I do ever live there I know where you can find me at sunset.
I have a few rum soaked afternoons by the pool. Eat too much and tire early. Before midnight finds Rudy, one of my oldest friends in Santa Barbara, and I on his balcony on the twenty-first floor of the Hilton Hawaiian Village's Rainbow Tower looking toward Diamond Head.
We generally don't spend a lot of time together so this is a treat. We beat up all the usually topics; food, work, girls, SB life, friendship and family. The friendship stuff is big. It was Rudy who finally conned me into taking this last minute trip and without his and Carlos' prodding, and generosity, I never would have made it.
The night air is slightly tropical yet still fresh and it slowly cools off. The hotels along the beach glow with an enchanting light. We are almost lured back to the pool bar for a nightcap but, by some miracle, reason prevails. We are not usually known for our restraint. And I've an early flight tomorrow.
It was a short sweet trip for me but well worth it. As usual we packed a lot in to a short amount of time. And I don't have to drink rum again for another year.
Just before sunrise I'm in the air hoping for a smoother flight than I had coming out. We fly over Diamond Head and I'm able to look down into the crater. Someday I'd like to climb up there.
I pull a book out of my canvas bag because I usually can't sleep on planes. I'm in the exit row so I have extra leg room. It's too early to drink and I'm too tired and mind numb to write. I jot a few notes. I flip through some magazines and woolgather the morning away while gazing out the window at the top of the clouds. As always, I've lots to think about.
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