In Remembrance

Today is the 55th anniversary of the destructive tsunami that damaged much of Hilo town in Hawaii while I lived there. I wrote about this five years ago, and re-offer it, that it not be forgotten.

http://leftfieldwander.blogspot.com/2010/02/remembering-hilo-tsunami-of-1960.html

White Star Laundry Hanger

I found something interesting yesterday. Lying on the back of the couch was this vintage wooden clothes hanger from the White Star Laundry, Ltd. in Hilo, Hawaii (“THE LARGEST LAUNDRY & DRY CLEANING PLANT IN HILO, PHONE 2000, KAMEHAMEHA AVE”).

When I asked the wife about it, she said she’d been using it to hang her jacket. Amazed, I told her that it’s very old, just look at the four-digit phone number. I figure her father, who originally was from Hilo, had taken it with him when his family moved to Maui, then just continued to use it, using it to carry a clothes item from house to house whenever he moved.

So it ended up in his closet here, and the wife began using it.

White Star was founded in 1909 by Luso Joseph Fernandez, an employee of Elite Laundry on Kalakaua Street. The original White Star was on Kapiolani Street by Hall Street. Fernandez sold it to Hilo Steam Laundry in 1910, who then resold it to Bob Gillespie when the bank foreclosed.

Gillespie sold it to a Japanese employee group led by Takeo Tanabe, who operated the laundry before moving it to Kamehameha Avenue in 1924. John Kai bought it in 1929 and renamed the laundry White Star Laundry. It went through a couple more owners – John Magoon and Doc Hill, who eventually closed it for good in 1938.

In 1935, the first Hawaii modern trade union was organized – the International Longshore & Warehouse Union – by Harry Lehua Kamoku (1905-1957). Joining the union sometime between 1936 and 1938 were workers at White Star Laundry.

White Star employees participated in the Hilo union’s support of the Boatsman Union, which was on strike in Honolulu. According to Gabriel Manning, the “Hilo Massacre” of August 1, 1938, White Star Laundry girls jumped into Hilo Bay when shots were fired.

The laundry building became the site of the Western Store (that’s what I remember occupying the building) until McDonald’s moved in.

Wondering what the value of such a relic (in good condition) is, I checked eBay and found that one recently sold for $9 on Dec. 8; soon after, one sold for $12 on Dec. 30.

So now, the question is … what do I want to do with this obviously very old souvenir relic of my hometown’s past? The wife gave it to me and told me to do whatever I wanted with it. She’s not the very nostalgic type, and getting a few dollars for it would make her happy.

Me? I enjoy looking up the history of things and writing about it. But then again, I tend not to be so sentimental about holding onto old stuff these days.

Did the ‘Well’ Run Dry?

Photo by Craig Miyamoto

One of the spots I love to visit whenever I’m on the Big Island of Hawaii is beautiful Rainbow Falls. I never fail to snap a few pictures of the natural wonder with its steady stream of water falling like an alabaster veil over a huge cave.

Legend has it that Hina, the Hawaiian moon goddess, lived in the open cave. Her son, Maui, the powerful demi-god, lived with her, occupying much of the land along the Wailuku River’s northern shore.

I’ve seen the power of Rainbow Falls after a particularly long-lasting storm, and shivered at the roar of the Niagara-like waters as they plunged into the head of the Wailuku River. I’ve seen it peaceful, with two, sometimes three cascades; and I’ve also seen it when the water was barely a trickle.

Photo by Paul Miyasaki

But I’ve never seen Rainbow Falls run dry. Yesterday, Big Island resident Paul Miyasaki took some pictures of Rainbow Falls … and it was dry. For the first time I can recall, it ran dry. That’s more than 60 years in my memory.

It’s the result of a drought, but the Big Island has been through droughts before. So I wonder, could there be another reason? Is it a phenomenon that’s preceding Dec. 21, the reputed date when the Mayan calendar runs out?

Is it a sign that the Apocalypse is near? I sure hope not.

Hawaiian Volcano Plants

Well now, that's interesting ... Hawaiian Volcano Plants. Nice label at Home Depot's garden center. A bit misleading, perhaps, but nice name anyway.

The flowers of course are anthuriums, those beautiful red heart-shaped flowers with the shiny, waxy surfaces and prominent white, yellow-tipped spike called a spadix.

Anthuriums are plentiful on the Big Island of Hawaii, which is where the state's major volcanos are located. So I guess it's natural for some clever marketer to dub the anthuriums "volcano plants."

Whenever I go to Hilo, the wife puts freshly cut anthuriums on my "bring back" list. And apparently she's not the only one, because I see a lot of them being carried on carefully when passengers load up on the plane in Hilo.

Call them whatever you want, as long as you know what they're really called.

Remembering the Hilo Tsunami of 1960

Mooheau Street ... Reduced to Rubble

Yesterday’s “Where is it?” tsunami warning reminded me of Hilo on May 23, 1960. A huge tidal wave – a 50-footer – came smashing into my hometown on the Big Island of Hawaii during the early morning hours . It rumbled through Hilo Bay, traveling all the way from Chile, grew to enormous proportions because of the bay's geology, and turned sleepy Hilo downtown into a bunch of twisted wreckage.

Most of the Kamehameha Avenue stores suffered some damage (the closer you got to Waianuenue Avenue, the lighter the damage), but the brunt of the devastation came from Mamo Street down to the Waialua River and Waiakea town.

Where once there was an uninterrupted line of stores, there now was nothing standing along Kamehameha Avenue. The Boy's Club was gone. The old Pick and Pay supermarket was gone. Mamo Theater was still there, but the Mooheau Theater was nowhere to be seen. The Hilo Theater was gutted (witnesses said the wave completely covered the 50-foot-tall theater).

Waiakea Town was gone. The new Cafe 100 was gone. Dozens of fishing sampans were gone. Hilo's only bowling alley was gone. Sun Sun Lau Chop Suey was gone. The Hobby House was gone. Moto's Inn was gone.

"The Wave," as it came to be known, rolled in while most of Hilo was asleep in darkness. Actually, I didn't even know we were expecting a tidal wave. I woke up that morning to a voice saying, "Katie died." That was Dad. He had just come back from the hospital where he and other doctors had spent hours tending to the injured. In all, 61 people died that night, most of them because they didn't heed the warnings, and either stayed in their waterfront homes, or went downtown to watch the wave come in.

Katie was a waitress at Standard Drug. Wonderful Irish lady who had married a local Japanese. Everyone knew her, and she knew everyone. She died that morning despite Dad's attempts to save her life.

Through my drowsiness, I pieced together fragments of the story. Mom notice I had wakened, and filled me in on what had gone on in the wee hours of the morning. It was quite dreadful.

Of course, we didn't have a TV station in Hilo, so we had to rely on the radio reports. The announcements rolled in. All school was canceled until further notice as Hilo High School was being used as an emergency shelter (school wouldn't re-open for a couple of weeks). Boil your water before drinking in case the pipes had cracked and supplies were contaminated. Electricity will be turned back on as soon as possible. Volunteers were needed to help recover missing people from wrecked buildings. Once those who could be saved were rescued, and once most of those who died were recovered, the clean-up began. Students (boys especially) who wanted to help were asked to report to Hilo High to get tetanus shots before starting, and to bring gloves and shovels.

We heard disturbing stories about the carnage. About the man who was found dead in bed with a woman (not his wife). About heads separating from bodies as they were being taken from wreckage. About the stink of rotten human flesh. About the people who had died, including my friend's sister.

The newspaper was filled with pictures – some horrific, many fascinating. Rubble and wreckage. Parking meters bent horizontal to the ground by the force of the water. Familiar landmark buildings no longer there. A broken clock stopped at the exact moment the wave hit. People cleaning up.

Dad suggested that I call my classmate's father, who owned Standard Drug, and offer to help them clean up. When I called, Mr. Hara asked if my Dad had told me to call, and I lied. I said no. Thanks, he said, but they had things under control, and I was a good kid for calling.

The bridge to Coconut Island was washed out as well. It was the first bridge ever to connect with the island. Up to the time it was constructed, you had to go over by rowboat – quite an experience in itself – or wait until low tide and wade over, ever vigilant for deep water channels. A new one was built to replace it, one with modifications to withstand any future tsunamis.

A few days after the tidal wave, when Kamehameha Avenue was re-opened, Dad took us downtown to look at the wreckage. Every single building from Mamo Street to Waiakea Town was gutted, falling, or completely down. The town sort of reminded me of the sugarcane field in the back of our house, while the harvesters were working on it. And yet, with all the devastation and ruin around, you could see people cleaning up the stores, washing down the streets, installing new glass windows, painting their storefronts, and putting their lives back in order.

Hilo changed a lot after the tidal wave. The whole town moved back, up to higher ground. Tidal wave safety zones were set up, and the town adapted.

We all changed, we all adapted. What an experience.

Update: Comparison to 1960 Tsunami

This event is so exhaustively covered by the news media, and yet it's so insignificant compared to the devastating 1960 tsunami that crushed my hometown of Hilo when I was a sophomore in Hilo High School.

Communication 50 years ago was nowhere as sophisticated as it is today.

When the current tsunami event concludes, I may have to post an article I wrote about my experiences in that “Big Wave” event.

Update: Coconut Island an Indicator

Live TV coverage shows the waters around Coconut Island in Hilo Bay receding and then returning, ebbing and flowing, receding and returning at a faster and faster rate. Incredible shots.

This could be the start of the tsunami event that could continue on for hours.

Update: Hilo Waters Receding

One of my Facebook friends reports that observers in Hilo note that the water is receding and that a weather tracking buoy off Hawaii coast has dropped 27 inches.

I’m watching a live cam shot of Hilo Bay on television as we speak.

Update: No Wave in Hilo Yet

The tsunami was predicted to hit Hilo at 11:05 a.m. It’s now past that time, and no wave has been sighted (it’s being televised live on TV).

Peanuts! Potato Chips! Ten Cents!

Ahhh, the sounds of the ballpark. ”Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don’t care if I never get back.”

Baseball games may come and go, year after year, but the cry of the vendors hawking their peanuts and Cracker Jack will live on in my memories and continue until the game is gone forever from our lives.

When I was a kid in Hilo, there used to be a guy who looked like Jerry Lewis (I swear to God) walking around in the stands and crying out, “Peanuts! Potato Chips! Ten Cents!” For one thin dime, for one-tenth of a dollar, you could get a small brown paper bag stuffed with your choice of roasted or boiled peanuts.

Can you imagine a baseball game without peanuts? The Birmingham Barons minor league baseball organization did. They voluntarily made their home field – Rogers Park Stadium – peanut free for one night, to accommodate an estimated 1% of kids who are allergic to peanuts.

It’s the same ballpark where NBA megastar Michael Jordan played when he tried out for professional baseball.

For several consecutive days before the game, they conscientiously scrubbed down the stadium to remove any traces of peanut residue, and during the game, banned all peanuts and peanut-related products from vendors.

A peanut allergy is serious stuff. Exposure could cause a child’s immune system to over-react, leading to anaphylactic reactions such as life-threatening airway constriction. A child could choke to death.

Making an entire ballpark peanut free may seem a bit extreme just to accommodate such a small minority of kids with problems, but I’d forego my peanuts if it means just one more kid can enjoy a day at the ballpark for the first time in his/her life.

A tip of the baseball cap to the Barons!

Rainbow Falls Birdie

I re-discovered this picture today. It was in a computer folder I had used to download my recent Kona-Hilo trip pictures into.

It’s a house finch, but it wasn’t in a house when I saw it. The little bird was sitting on a wall at Rainbow Falls, admiring the view just as we were. And it was nice enough to hold still so I could snap its pic.

Wanna see what the birdie and I were looking at? Here …

A Beautiful Case of Boils

No, not THAT kind of boils … but rather, a stream phenomenon that LOOKS like boiling water in a pot – so much so, in fact, that they named the Hilo attraction “Boiling Pots.”

This was one of the sights that we visited during our recent trip to Hilo. The wife had never seen it, so I thought it a good time to show her a little bit of Hawaii’s wonders.

When it rains a lot, the river swells and the waters rush into huge depressions in the river bed, churning violently, giving the appearance of boiling water.

It’s pretty dangerous, and every year, one or more people drown when they fall into the water. It’s their own fault. The viewing area is high above the river and there are signs warning of the danger. Still, as you can see from the picture, people ignore or disregard the warnings and climb down for a close-up view.

If you haven’t seen it, I recommend you take a side trip there. The area is absolutely beautiful.

Just go up Waianuenue Street (on the way to Hilo Medical Center), and look for Peepee Falls Street. Yep, you read that right. But it’s not pronounced the way you think it is. It’s pronounced “peh-eh peh-eh.” Got that? Good. I’d hate to have you ask a local where you can find Peepee Falls; I’d hear the laughter all the way over in Honolulu.