Port Allen was a beautiful seaport for the Matson Liners that came in during the early 40's and 50's. My dad was a Stevedore worker or what we called a Longshoreman. It was nice when he came home with pockets full of ebi. Boy, dried ebi was so ono when you got it fresh. He even brought home dried abalone. Us kids would all sit around dad while he'd take out he small pocket knife. He'd give all the kids slices of abalone. Boy, kids nowadays miss all the fun. We had no junk food to give us rotten teeth.

Anyway, Port Allen was a small camp consisting of a lot of families of Filipino, Japanese, Portuguese, Hawaiian, haole and a lot of single manongs from the Philippines living in "singlemen houses." Some lived in Federation houses, with long beards and long shrouds. We had the camp divided into two parts, one was Upcamp and the other was Downcamp. As simple as that.

We lived Upcamp and we also had our own Upcamp community bathhouse. Sometimes we'd all take our buckets, soap, towels, slippas and go take a shower Downcamp because they had a bigger "furo" bathtub. Our bathhouse consisted of about 10 showers all lined up on one side and on the other side was a stone ledge where you'd put your buckets, sit, scrub your feet, and then go to the shower. Each family had their own shower and sometimes one family would be too large for one shower so some of the kids had to wait to take a shower. I remember us girls used to go shower alone, without our mothers. We used to have amateur hour.

After showering, we would all take turns doing a song or dance from the bathtub. It was so funny !! We even dived into the tub, which was I think about 3' deep. We would climb the water pipes next to the tub, you know how our monkey toes were at that age, it could grasp anything. We would climb on it and dive all kapakahi. There was no angle to dive in so we had to be careful because there was a ledge to sit on making the tub about only 2' wide. I don't know how we managed to have so much fun. I guess we were so little that it seemed like the tub was huge. It was just like when I went back home after all these years and finally went into our old place. It was so small, yet when I lived there small keed time, it seemed so huge.

Anyway, I like the Downcamp bathhouse better because it had a raft in it and it was more shallow but wider. As I think back, I wonder how we ever did this, so many families in one bath house, all nude and nobody feeling any embarrassment. Those days are gone and forgotten, nowadays there are so many perverted people, the thought of a public wash house is forbidden. My mom, my sister and I used to always go to the bath house around early evening everyday carrying our buckets with our soap and washcloths. We had to walk on this narrow dirt path with our slippas, trying not to get the dirt on our feet. The vegetation was so plentiful that the trail was almost covered with shrubbery.

At nights, when we would come home from skating, I used to dread coming home on that path, it was so dark and scary. We'd take the long way home, which was also scary too because of some old garages that had doors that squeaked and creaked. There was no possible way to get home without getting spooked. To get to my girlfriend's house, I had to run along this dirt road with plenty pukas and trying to avoid the crazy dogs that the Filipino men owned who barked and chased you when you ran. It was okay upcamp going to her house, but when I had to go to my other girlfriend's house downcamp that that was another story. I had to have someone get me and walk me back home. There was no way I was going to walk home by myself. Even if my little sister was with me, we both didn't like walking home alone.

Sometimes we would go Downcamp and play all night and forget the time. Soon it was like 11:00 pm and we were too scared to go home. My dad would be worried and come looking for us. He was something else. I laugh when I think about it. He would come to the top of the hill where my friend lived, tooting his horn. He wouldn't come down to the house because the road was so messed up with pukas and loose rocks all over the road that it was even difficult to walk on it. After hearing the horn, we thanked God someone came for us. Still, we were in fear of getting lickings because it was late and for him to come and get us, that meant trouble for us. We would get to the top of the road and he would leave us! Meaning, we had to walk home and also telling us he was mad and that we were in for some whipping with the koa stick. You know the kind, the young koa, still green. The kind that when he hits you, it bends and stings. He was so funny, he never really gave us lickings, it was our mom mostly.

Any way, we would run home, scared of the dark and more scared of getting lickings. When we got home, we had to wash our feet by the sidewalk on the rock with the pipe. Then wipe your feet on the stinky mop or towel on the porch. We would walk in. He'd be there sitting in the pala waiting with a small koa stick knowing not going do any damage. We strutted into the pala. He says, "lie down here in front of me and pull down your panties." Now we start crying. Actually, pretend crying because if you don't cry, that means you fighting back and you not scared of him.

He takes the koa stick, lifts it up and ask this question: "What time is it?"

We both look at the clock simultaneously and say "11:30" WHACK! WHACK ! (little whack whacks)

Then he says, "what did I tell you keeds?"

Then we always gotta say, "No come home late"

Then he would say, "And then, what time now?"

This went on almost constantly, we never learn, huh? When we were small keeds, we had no much fun that we didn't know when to stop playing. Whether you were a girl or boy, we all had so much fun growing up in Hawaii.

Port Allen soon became a place where we started losing our parks to Ben Franklin and a bowling alley, which when I first started seeing them build it, couldn't for the life of me make out what the heck they were building with beautiful wooden floors. I thought they were building a dance hall. To our amazement, the bowling alley became our haven.This was the bomb! We never had a game that we enjoyed so much that till today, we are still bowlers and good ones at that too.

So the parks we lost, we didn't mind because the bowling alley was mo' betta. We soon had a new dispensary, which was closer and nicer than the old dispensary we had near the school. Then another bomb and that was Dairy Queen. I think that was when the rotten teeth set in. Too much cokes, french fries and real ice cream. Port Allen was getting modern. We had Laundromats, a new post office, BofA and gas station in our hometown.

People used to get confused when they asked where I lived.

I would say "Eleele". Then they would say, "Not Port Allen?"

I then would say,"Same thing !!"

Well, Port Allen no longer exists. The pier no longer invites the great Matson liners. They go to Nawiliwili. The pier no longer uses the sugar chutes for the sugar canes. The only thing that keeps Port Allen alive is the small boat harbor where fishermen bring their boats down to the skip and go fishing outside of the breakers.

It is still a beautiful place, although the camps no longer exist. It seems a waste not to have anything built on that ocean view. I once lived there, overlooking the boat harbor and the pier, near the edge of the cliff by the river of old haunted memories.

Joyce Guzman was born on Kauai and graduated Waimea High in 1961. Residing in Dana Point, she works for JCP as a makeup artist and sales associate. Gave up working corporate level in 1991, enjoying life working with people who need consultation on skin care and makeup.