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Written by Joyce Guzman

Wen I see the clothes style dat stay coming back, I laff because I remembah in high school wen we used to compete wearing crinolines. I no tink dat style EVA goin' come back ... eh, you girls remembah wearing dem? Look nice den, no? The mo' you have, da mo' betta you look ... so we taut. We used to laff wen we saw somebody wearing too many at one time, yet we try to compete and wear as much as we could.

Small keed time, we was pooah, no could buy too much clothes, let alone more crinolines. So, the trick was "use plenty starch." Wen you wash the crinolines and put plenty Niagara starch, ooooh, the flair your skirt look. Make you look like you get plenty crinolines, no?

Anyway, had one girl who used to wear plenty crinolines (her maddah was one seamstress) and she had plenty flair skirts. The funny ting about her was dat when she was walking around with it, it looked good. The skirt would swing back and forth and she had small waist too so wen look good on her. But!!! Every morning wen we had to catch the bus to go school, she had one hard time getting in the bus. We used to laff up! Finally wen she got in, she had to sit in the front, wea the seats face each udda. Remembah how the bus always has seats facing each udda in the front? Well, my girlfriend and me used to sit in the front too. The funniest ting was wen she sat down, her skirt would fly up so high, you no could see her face and den right away she had to put her books on her lap to hold her skirt down. She wore maybe six or seven crinolines! It was so funny. All the way to school she kept trying to hold her skirt down. Us, we only had maybe two or three and was flair enuff, especially wen we had put plenty starch. Had to look okay. At least we could sit down without worrying about our skirts flying up in front of our faces.

Remembah the crinolines had all kind colors? Sometimes I had to use only one color but no had choice, heh, if I wen use only white. I had to wear only one crinoline and had look ugly because no had flair. We were stuck wearing two or tree different colors at one time. Dat time, it made a lot of difference wen somebody had noticed. Shame, heh, if they see you wearing one pink, one white and maybe one blue. So I tell my maddah I only like buy white ones and guess what she tell me? "Wat you tink, money grow on trees or wat?" Oohh so hard up dat time. No can help but wea wat you get and try get away wit it.

Anudda ting was comparing who had the smallest waist. We wore belts like it was going out of style. We had to make shua dat it was at least 3" wide so dat can hold the waist in and make it look small. I remembah mine was 27" and somebody else beat mines. Hers was 26-1/2". Guess whose waist was dat? The one with plenty crinolines! It was fun den. We were all good friends and we shared a lot of tings together. Only ting she had mo nice stuff den all of us, but dat still didn't make her my enemy.

Now the shoes, no had noting to compare. If you remembah, the shoes was always white with flat soles. Notting exciting! Wen we needed anudda pair of maybe black or blue ... guess wat we had to do? Use color shoe polish or shoe dye. Den wen you needed white again ... aaayah ... wat you going do? No can change dat color to white again. So you gotta go "beg" your parents for a new pair and again you going hea da same ting: "Wat you tink, money grow on trees?"

Dat was da days. Shua glad not pooah any more. Now I get so many shoes, I no can find da time to wear 'em. My clothes sta' all jam-packed in the closet. Sometimes I dunno wat I get. Some I neva even wea.

Yea, small keed time was shua hard. No wanda we use the term: "Ass why hard!"

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.

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Written by Caroline Obra Ducosin

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Pepeekeo Mill Camp, a sugar plantation camp on the Hamakua Coast of the Big Island, was where I was born and grew up. It was a small camp not far from the rugged eastern shoreline of the Big Island and surrounded by acres of cane fields sectioned off by cane-hauling dirt roads. There was a section known as Filipino Camp where most of the Filipino bachelors resided. Japanese Camp, needless to say, was where most of the Japanese families lived. A blend of Portuguese, Puerto Rican, Hawaiian, and Chinese families lived throughout the village. Since my grandparents (on my mother's side) settled here when they arrived from the Philippines, I grew up knowing all my aunts, uncles and cousins. I realized how fortunate I was to have known all my family when I went to Honolulu to attend Nursing School. I met people who did not know their aunts, uncles or first cousins very well, yet they lived on the same island! But then, they lived a different life style.

Most of the children attended Pepeekeo Elementary and Intermediate School (Kindergarten to 9th Grade). Few were fortunate to attend schools in Hilo and Honolulu. School was nearly 2 miles from the camp. We all had experienced, at one time or other, getting up early in the morning and walking to school. I enjoyed breathing in the clean, crisp morning air with a scent of coffee brewing on the stove, spam, bacon or Portuguese sausage frying, and sweet molasses being processed in the sugar mill we passed on the way to school. During the winter months, the moon was still up when we began that "long trek" up hill to school. When the sun rose, we had the most beautiful sunrise because we had an unobstructed view of the horizon. We would occasionally challenge each other in "flying cane". We would pick a cane leaf and prepare it so when it's hurled towards the sky, a piece of the leaf would fly like a missile. We would do this too when walking home from school. If you prepared your leaf right, the missile-like piece could go quite a long distance.

I don't know when it was first opened but my mother down to my younger sister attended this school. Most of us had the same teachers. So when friends and relatives got together, we would share our experiences from the 3rd and 4th grade. Most of us had Mrs. Low and/or Mrs. Yamada when we were in the 2nd grade. Yes, we were all taught by Mrs. Yamada some Japanese dances, and some of us had the unfortunate experience of Mrs. Low's famous "ruler whack" across your open palm if you didn't mind her. Oww-wee!

A memorable teenage experience was practicing to drive on a dirt cane field road. One day my mother, trusting my driving, asked me to move our "standard-shift" Desoto to the garage complex located about a thousand yards away from my house. Now everybody in Hawaii knows the Big Island rains often. It happened that this time, the cane field next to the garage complex was already harvested and was nothing but tilled dirt and mud.

My friend Thelma was with me and I decided to drive past the garage so I could practice some back-ups and gear shifting on one of the isolated dirt roads between cane fields. My mother would not know I did this. Besides, I had no fear of getting into a car accident. Few families could afford a car back then and even if they could make ends meet, a family owned only one car. At that time, I didn't even know what "traffic" meant!

After a few runs, Thelma suggested we return to the garage before being seen by anyone from the camp. So I made a wide U-turn at the end of the solid dirt road but in doing so, the car went slightly off the road and got caught in the soft mud of the cane field. As I pressed the gas pedal, the wheels spun wildly while my car remained stationary. Images of me "getting lickins" by my mother flashed in front of my eyes.

But this is one of many instances where true friendship prevailed. Thelma got out of the car, without hesitation when I told her, to find anything to place under the tires for traction. Luckily, the tires were not embedded too deeply. She placed some rocks she found along the dirt road and muddy cane field under the rear tires. Soon I was on solid ground ready to go! She screamed after she realized the front of her T-shirt was splattered with thick brown mud.

But this was the least of our worries. Getting back to the house in ample time was top priority. So when we got to the garage, we "borrowed" the water hose hooked up to a pipe next to someone else's garage. We cleaned the muddy tires, under the car, our muddy slippers, feet and hands. She removed her shirt in our garage and stayed there till I finished rinsing off her muddy shirt. Of course I couldn't rinse off all of that thick, dark mud but there were no splatters to say the least. We didn't want to leave any evidence! Ha Ha! Also, we didn't want my mother to question us why we took a half an hour to get back from a trip that should have taken us only ten minutes. Luckily, my mother did not question me when I returned home. Thelma did not return to my house either. She walked quickly past my house to go straight on home. I surely would have had lickins if my mom saw her wet T-shirt ...because then I would have had to tell her what happened. Not telling her the truth would have not done me any justice if anyone saw us. This was a small camp so everyone knew every car on sight. If anyone ever did see us, they surely would have told my parents that they saw "her" car in the middle of the cane field going back and forth or that they saw it stuck in the mud. I was lucky there too! My mother never knew this happened till I told her later in my adult life. She laughed then but I doubt if she would have done the same at the time we went practicing shifting gears!

I knew that eventually I would leave this peaceful plantation way of life. I had plans to go to Honolulu to attend Nursing School after graduating from high school. I did not think about what I would do after that. I never guessed that the rumor I heard since I was 6 or 7 years old would ever come true. The rumor was that Pepeekeo Mill Camp will eventually be moved closer to the main highway 2 miles Mauka (towards the mountains). It did in the late 60s and early 70s. To top this off, never in my life did I think that Hawaii's sugar industry would not be as I knew it, let alone exist by the year 2000. I always thought that I could go "home" to that "peaceful, slow-paced, plantation life " if I decided to live anywhere else other than the Big Island.

I can still hear the cane trucks hauling by my plantation house # 121 and the roaring diesel engines of the huge cranes at night whenever they harvested the field close to the camp. The noise did not bother me for I accepted it as part of my secured life on the plantation. I can also hear the loud sound of the whistle from the sugar mill at exactly 3:30 pm when it's "pau hana"(work shift over). This was a cue for me that it's time to go home and cook rice (on the stove ... yep, no rice cooker back then). If I was out playing with my friends under the "big tree"(a banyan tree that was over 60 feet tall) or playing at "Down Park", the most beautiful park I know that ever existed, it was time to get home!

"Down Park" was green, clean, and well maintained by the plantation groundskeeper. It was never, ever crowded. There also was a gymnasium where basketball and volleyball games were held occasionally, as well as a place to "hang-out" on the weekends. Summer Fun activities were held here. The Boy Scouts had their room up in the loft. Nearby, there was the Pepeekeo Theater, where I remember watching the 3 Stooges, The Wizard of Oz, Captain Marvel "chapter" movies, Lash Larue, Gabbie Hayes, to name a few as a child. Later it was converted to a Catholic church. We had successful church bazaars held on these grounds.

Along the entire length of the park, close to the church and gym was the "flume", a unique structure that's indigenous to sugar plantations. A flume is a structure used to transport the harvested sugar cane to the mill. Water from the streams on the upper slopes was diverted to the flume. Before modern machinery, the cane cutters would toss their bunch of cane into the flume. This was the way cane was taken straight to the sugar mill propelled by the water flow. Many kids had fun "riding the flume" by throwing in a bunch of cut cane & sitting or standing on the cane. The exciting part of this "adventure" was to be prepared to hold onto the last bridge, which ran perpendicular, and over the flume. You had to get out or else ... you bettah tink fast or you goin' straight for the grindahs in the mill. I tried it once when the water flow was not swift. My mother didn't find out about this either. No one lost their life riding the flumes but there were lots of splinters in ones hands and maybe somebody's "okole" because the flume was made out of wood.

I had dreams of sharing this life with my children. My son was born when the Mill Camp was slowly being demolished. My parents moved out of the camp. Pepeekeo Mill Camp, as I knew it, no longer exists. The area is covered only with over-grown weeds, mango, banana, and guava trees that were planted by the villagers who once lived here. The park looks like a pasture. The two small banyan trees on the side of the park look like one big banyan tree with many trunks. The gym, church and flume are all gone. If one never knew of Pepeekeo Mill Camp, they would never know that this place was once filled with music and people ... hard working, fun loving people of different ethnic backgrounds who lived together as one community, one family. They would only guess that life existed here at one time because of a single paved road that ran through the camp and a few dilapidated wooden telephone poles still standing among the overgrown brush. All the other dirt roads that led to other parts of the camp are no longer visible. They are only embedded in my memory. The mill site still exists but the structural form was altered. It is now used as a power plant for Hilo Electric Company. Pepeekeo School was demolished sometime after the late 60s except for the "homemaking building" that still stands and is used for the Senior Citizens Group.

I learned in this small plantation community to respect other cultures. I learned that family and friendship are forever. Some of the people who were from this little camp by the sea are prominent citizens on Oahu today. We cross paths at one time or another since living here in busy, "rush-rush", "race the clock" Oahu. They have always greeted me as an old friend with a "LONG TIME NO SEE". Some forget your name or may not remember you because they were either older or younger than you. All one need do is mention their family name or maybe where their house was located in the camp. That'll do it! The Pepeekeo bond will embrace you in warmth and happiness for that moment. Good memories emerge for those who do not want to forget the old Pepeekeo Mill Camp.

Caroline Obra Ducosin was born and raised on a sugar plantation on the Hamakua Coast of the Big Island. She attended Queen's Hospital Nursing School and graduated with an AD in Nursing from KCC. She is married and works for the Dept.of Health as a Nursing Supervisor. She has a 29-year-old son whorecently was married. Her husband is retired and now works part-timefor Aloha Airlines.

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Written by Wally Bacio

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When I was about 15 or 16, I used to play for the Hanapepe Broncos Pop-Warner midget league football team. The last year that I played for them, I developed a "knack" for kicking field goals. My buddy Matt Tsuchiya and I used to practice in our front yards in Kalaheo during our spare time just kicking the football around. Anyway, I got really good at it and Coach Eli Pablo made me the kicker for the Broncos.

During that year, the majority of the leagues' football teams didn't kick field goals and I held the record for a field goal during a game (32 yards). I was a "straight-on" kicker and not a "soccer-style" kicker, which meant I kicked the ball forward and not from the side. Well, one day while at Waimea High School, the head high school football coach, Mr. Patrick Pereirra, asked me to try out for the Menehunes, and I decided to give it a "shot".

So come Monday, there I was, a small sophomore on the high school football field. During practice, I had a two big centers to hike the ball, David Pavao and Todd Fereirra (both Kalaheo portagees) and a QB. I can't remember who was holding the ball for me. For the first 15 minutes, I had a really tough time kicking the ball because the high school ball was bigger and heavier than the midget league football. My shin muscle wasn't used to kicking a heavier ball. The ball just couldn't get the "air" that it needed to make it over the field goal posts. I got fatigued very quickly.

Coach Pereirra saw that I was struggling and he said that I should try it "soccer-style". So after giving me brief instructions, I got into position. David hiked the ball and my aching leg soccer kicked it. The ball left the tee like a bat out of hell, awkwardly spinning and forcefully hit David, who was still in the "hiking" (upside down) position, in da okole (rear), then it ricochet upward about twelve feet into the air. David, who was one of the larger and heavier football players, rolled forward and landed on his back. The whole thing was hilarious, but I wasn't laughing. I was frustrated.

Coach Pereirra instructed me to keep practicing. The second time I kicked soccer-style, the ball left the tee like a bat out of hell and hit David, who was still in the "hiking" position, and like before, David demonstrated Newton's Law of Physics flawlessly! Everyone in the area was hysterical, including Todd who was standing on the sideline. Coach Pereirra saw Todd cracking up and instructed him to replace David so his okole could take a rest! The third time I kicked soccer-style, the ball left the tee like a bat out of hell and impacted Todd's rear, before becoming airborne again from the ricochet. Todd, in-turn, rolled forward and landed on his back. David was laughing hysterically; Coach Pereirra couldn't keep a straight face and was laughing also. I was so overcome with laughter, that it totally drowned out my feelings of frustration.

A few weeks later I was informed that a "Bantam League" team was being formed, so I left the high school team and joined them. I thought that if I played in the bantams, I'd have an easier time kicking the ball. But, the ball was just as heavy and I had the same problem. We practiced for a month in Lihue . The team was made up of guys from all over Kauai. We played only one game against the top bantam team from Oahu, and got our butts kicked.

I've always kicked myself in the okole for leaving the Menehunes, but that's life I guess. That's okay though, I had plenty good times in high school anyway with all my friends, and without high school football.

As for my buddy Matt, he now resides in Newburg, Oregon with his wife and child. Coach Pereirra, is the now one of Waimea High School's Vice-Principals. David is married and living in Denver, Colorado, with his wife. Todd ... well, I don't know where he is.

From time to time, this memory just "pops" into my mind and no matter what I am doing, I'll just start cracking up. It was one of my funniest moments in high school, second only to freshman marching band practice. But that's another story.

Wally Bacio II was born and raised in Kalaheo on Kauai. He graduated from Waimea High School in 1986. He now lives in Vancouver, Washington.

I joined the USAF in 1987 as an Aircraft Armament Systems (Weapons) Specialist. I got out of the active duty in 1991 and joined up with the AF Reserves in 1992. Now I'm a Pavehawk Aerial Gunner for the 939th Rescue Wing in Portland, Oregon. I've been in deployments to: Operation Desert Storm, Operation Southern Watch (Kuwait International Airport/Dharan, Saudi Arabia, Operation Northern Watch (Incirlik, Turkey), Operation Allied Force (San Vito, Italy). I've attended numerous AF schools, the International Air Academy and flying school at Evergreen Flying Service here in Vancouver. Civilian wise, I have worked at Hewlett Packard in Vancouver as the Security Operations Manager and also as a chef for the Hawaiian Cafe.

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Written by Izzie Kikue

User Rating: 5 / 5

Dis short storee takes me back some yee'ahz ago. Back to a time wen life was much mo' simplah. Back wen nevah had too many worries, 'cept fo' wen sum'body cut one deadly fut! Yeah, das right ... fut! Bettah known on da mainland az, "fart, toot, poot," or da most commonly used term, "passing gas".

I often thought about dat term, "passing gas". What? Wen you stay at da dinnah table and sum'boddy ask you fo' pass da rice, you pass em to sum'boddy who stay "receiving" 'em, right? Well, da fut is da same way! There is no fun in cutting futs eeef no'mo noboddy to "pass" da gas to. Das what dis story is about ... Juss having sum fun.

You can tell wen keeds in Hawaii get bored. Da subject fo discussion always end up on da "fut topic". We waz in da 7th grade and needless to say, me and my friends was no exception. One evening I was spending da night at my friend's house. Sunnie was one tiny but loud, full blooded Portagee tita! We was close as close can get because we shared everyting! Yeah, we shared even doze winnah kine futs!

I had one idea dat I knew Sunnie couldn't pass up. I figah dat eeef we both load up on, da kine, food dat stay give you gas, den we could call a couple uddah friends, tell dem to come ovah, and wen dey least expect it, BLASS EM! Eh, how fass bordom can pass wen get one brilliant project li'dat, yeah? We wen jump up, run in da kitchen, and like two savages dat nevah eat fo' ages, waz tearing da kitchen apaht looking fo gas buildahz! One bottle of Kim Chee was opened. Az I waz boiling eggs, Sunnie was scooping eggnog ice cream. Regular cabbage waz next and whea da beans? No can fo'get da BEANS!

Aftah pigging out on da choice kine gas making, fut building foods, we wen go lay down and wait fo da eruption. One owah pass. Two owah, den tree owah wen pass! And what you fighah? Nuttin happened! Befoah we knew it was time fo eat dinnah! We was still full from eating all da gas making stuffs and wanted to juss fo'get about eating dinnah! But den, Sunnie's moddah wen tell us dat had Kalua peeg and CABBAGE fo dinnah! WhooHooo! Mo' ammo! We GO!!!

Stuffing da pukas in owah faces wit dat cabbage was cracking us up 'cuz we knew why we was doing it. We had hahd time fo keep from bussing up laffing. Eh, now you know dat wen yo'wah keeds stay acking funnee kine, and trying not fo buss up laffing at da dinnah table, you can bet dey get one plan going! Moah eggnog ice cream to follow aftah dinnah fo' dessert. Owa opu was stretch so tight wen look like swollen watah mellons already. We figha dat fo shuah was going have big time fireworks wit all what we wen eat.

We wen lay down in'sai her room again, juss waiting fo da rumble fo happen. Nuttin' again!! One owah pass and no gas! Den owa opu stahted to hurt. We bote was feeling queezy. What da heck went wrong? How come da buggah nevah work and we not making hauna stink bombs fo blast owa friends? Opu getting mo'sowah. Auwe! Da Pain!!!

Next ting we knew, we waz taking turns in da battroom, unloading! Oni had one battroom, so we had to switch off. And every time one of us waz pau, da uddah would go in and almost pass out from da fumes!!! We was gagging cuz all dat hauna foodz we wen eat earlier made, da kine, death fog! WhoooHoooo, da aroma could kill one elephant!

Needless to say dat owa plan to blass owa friends wen "BACK FIRE"! Such one appropriate term, yeah? We wen plan one kolohe (rascal) deed and in da END it was us who wen get da blast in dat hauna, broke da nose battroom! Was one good plan, but who knows what went wrong.

Da moral of dis story is: Futs are like da wind ... It comes and goes as it pleases. Eeef you going try bottle da buggah up, especially just to stick 'em up some powah friends nostrils, going only BACK FIRE on you!

Izzie Kikue was born in Honolulu and raised in Kaneohe, Hawaii. She now resides with her ohana several minutes southeast of Atlanta, Georgia. Her career had her be involved as assistant Director of Ministries and a Certified Biblical/Pastoral Counselor for a large Christian Ministry in Southern California and later in Georgia. With a Th.D. (Dr./Theology), she devoted much of her time and energy traveling to third world countries offering physical and spiritual aide to people who needed assistance due to war situations and other misfortunes. Izzie is currently taking a breather from overseas travels and is now focusing her time and energy on her nani daughter, as well as "Bringing Aloha to the Internet" as AlohaWorld's co-owner and host on a mission to promote Aloha in Action.

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Written by Joyce Guzman

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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.

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Written by Clinton Lee

Long time ago in a past, distant, and magical land lived a little boy growing up in place called Kaimuki, a small district in Honolulu. Here he played and had good fun with all da uku piles of neighborhood keeds after WW II. Some people may have referred to dem as "baby-boomer keeds" but to dem manini buggahs, dey were all like one beeg family. Dey were all kine mix up nationalities. Chinese, Japanese, Portagee, Filipino, Haole, you name it, dey were all living in da neighborhood. Five to ten keeds in a family was real common in dem days. Everybody knew each oddah and everybody talked to one anoddah, not like today. 'Ass why hard. Nobody had secrets dey could keep for very long.

In his parent's yard, dey had mango trees to climb with tangerines, loquats, lichees, dragon eyes, papayas, lilikois, coconuts, guavas, avocados, and bananas to eat. Dat young boy would hang out wit his small keed friends and climb da tall Hayden mango trees. There dey found da ripest, juiciest fruits to peel with their teeth and suck da Seeds dry. Life was simple back den. No mo' problems or worries.

He was neither rich nor poor but in a way, quite resourceful. He would go look around to find empty soda water bottles fo' da two cents deposits. He would den wait for da neighborhood grocery truck to come by every day so dat he could buy candy or get da five cent Japanese bamboo kites to fly on windy days. Sometimes, he would save his money and go downtown to Tanoue's to eat saimin for 35 cents. Somehow, it tasted so ono back in dem days. Even today, it no taste da same like it was back den. Musta been mama san's secret recipe or sometin'. Many times he would get on his juckalucka bike to ride down to Ruger Market and tell Jimmy the owner dat he would like to have 10 cents worth of wet cherry seed. Jimmy would scoop out a generous portion out of da big glass jars on top of da counter and put it in a small brown paper bag and handed it to him. He would den put it in his pocket and savor it all day long. After a while, da small bag would get soaked with da juices and it would bust in his pocket getting lint all ovah da cherry seeds. 'Ass why hard, but he nevah care, it made um taste mo' bettah den. It added mo' body to da seeds. Aye yah!

The boy's faddah use to work at Pearl Harbor and bring home 16mm movies for da whole neighborhood to watch, all dis before TV was around. He used da white garage door as a movie screen and showed cartoons and post wartime newsreels for everyone to watch. Neighbors would bring boiled peanuts and soybeans to eat as snacks. Sometimes dey had slices of dried abalone, scallops, or shrimp to munch on while da movies was going on. Da menfolk would be sucking up da Primo or Lucky Lager beer in tin cans while da womenfolk would be talking story or preparing snacks for da small keiki.

Back in dem old days before TV, he would go wit his parents downtown to da old Sears Roebuck Store on Beretania Street and look at all da stuffs dey had in da large glass store display windows. Sometimes dey would have huge mechanical displays of toys or a choo choo train going round and round. At Christmas time, dey would all go down to watch da play put on by Phyllis Shields on top of da old pink building which later became da Honolulu Police Station. One oddah thing dat dey did as a family too was to ride up Waialae Avenue and King Street to gaze at all da glittering street decorations and lights put up by da merchants every year. Den to top it all off fo' da keeds, dey could sit on Santa's lap and tell him what dey wanted for Christmas. Somehow, da little boy managed to get Tinker Toys every year, even though he always asked for a pony dat he nevah got. He maybe thot Santa had a major hearing problem or was deaf even! Da fat buggah must have bin too old or something because he nevah listened.

But nevahdaless, 'ass what wen happen long time ago for not only dat little boy, but for a lot of oddah good small keeds now all grown up wit keeds of their own to tell stories to. So wit dat, as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans use to say every time when dem guys show was all pau, "Happy trails to you, until we meet again". Aloha, moi moi time. No let da mosquitoes bite. Auwe!

Clinton Lee was born and raised in Kaimuki, Oahu. He graduated from St. Louis High School in 1965 and attended Chaminade College until moving to Gardena, California in 1967. He now resides in Torrance, California with his wife, two "outgrown" children, and Chow Chow dog, Sammy. He currently works at Boeing Space and Communications in Seal Beach, California as a member of the Business Management Staff. He is STILL waiting for his pony from Santa Claus!

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Written by John Book

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I love music. I am a record collector. I love my vinyl because they symbolize parts of our music history, and offer us a look into our past. If memories are hard to find, a song can often bring them back.

I often think about my current love of music and where it all began. It got me thinking of one place in Honolulu that had good music, and was a source of my musical education.

It was a store in downtown Honolulu called Music Box Records. It was a small record store, with maybe three aisles enough to house four or five people at a time, if that. As a kid, my parents would buy me music from wherever. When I turned ten, my curiosity began to grow about music and what made it work. So either after school, or on the weekends, my mom would go shopping downtown. For the longest time I had to be by her side, and when I found Music Box, I began staying there while my mom would shop.

In Music Box was an old Japanese lady who definitely knew her music. I listened to the hits on AM radio. If a disco song was popular, I'd go get it. I don't remember every record I ever bought there, but I bought enough records for the lady to ask me: "Would you like to be in our record club?" Basically, if you bought ten 45's, you would get one for free. How cool is that? I signed on.

My mom then told me that she used to go to Music Box as a teenager. The same lady worked there. She and her sisters would catch the bus to go downtown. They would listen to the hit singles of the day. Maybe they would even sneak in a few home. All the girls in the family were Motown/soul music fans. My uncles were into the Beach Boys and anything that rocked. So I thought it was cool that I was now in the same club they were in.

Around this time, there was a rumor (urban legend) that the girl screaming in the Ohio Players' "Love Roller Coaster" was recorded during a live performance of the OP at a fair. All of a sudden, a lady fell off the roller coaster and split her head open. For years I would believe the stupid stuff my auntie's told me, until I figured out they were messing with my head. Anyway, I asked for a few dollars and rode my bike to Music Box to ask for a copy of that 45.

When my parents gave me a savings account, I saved up to about ninety dollars. I was then given control of the account. I went to Music Box and blew it on records and food. That has been the story of my life, oddly enough.

There was a part of the store I later discovered, featuring promotional 45's. The price was six for a dollar. I would often ask my mom or dad for a few dollars, just so I could hear these "promotional" records. Most were disco, but they were good stuff. Everyone could see it. It wasn't exactly a hidden place, but it wasn't as popular as buying the "hits", so I felt somewhat special going to this corner of the store. I could also look to the right and see all the Hawaiian records.

There was a ritual to buying records there. I would ask the lady for a record. She would take it out off the racks and play it on the turntable for me. Remember turntables? I got 45's like "Hey Jude/Revolution", "Can't Buy Me Love/You Can't Do That", and "Help!/I'm Down". I would give her my two dollars and off I went. Eventually I would buy my first Beatles albums there.

I left Honolulu in 1984 and the lady's son began working in the store. When I returned in 1986 and 1988, she was still there! By 1991, she and Music Box Records were gone. She had passed away. The odd thing about this is that I never knew the lady's name. She was just the Music Box lady. The record store reminded me of those small shops you would see on "Happy Days" or in some old movie. I would love walking into downtown, passing the store, and seeing the window display of the Top 10 singles of the week, while the songs would play from speakers hanging above the door.

I always thought it was cool for this little old lady to be working at the record store. She had all the records in alphabetical (artist and label) order and she knew exactly where everything was. Her hair wasn't completely gray, but it showed many years of hard work and experience. I'm sure she had placed her glasses on and off many times to make sure everything was correct. Before I knew we'd have to move to the mainland, I seriously hoped I could have worked at Music Box. I always wanted to get into the back room to see what else was in there. Other than taking small glances from behind the counter (the room itself couldn't have been any bigger than a nice sized closet), I never got a chance to go back there.

Some kids had a lot of toys; some boys collected baseball cards. I had my records. To the Music Box lady, I want to say "mahalo" for opening one of many doors to the world of music for me.

John Book was raised in Pauoa Valley on the Island of Oahu. He now lives in Pasco, Washington where he also graduated from high school in 1988. He is a freelance music journalist who has a small number of artist specific websites, including a Hawaiian Music Corner. "Being a web designer pays the bills!" John says.

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Written by Joyce Guzman

As a kid, I used to love going to Kapaa to my auntie Rose's house because we got to stay for the weekend and play with my cousins. My Uncle Frank was pure Spanish from Spain. He always wore a suit and was a gambler. My cousins were beautiful, all half - breed of Filipino, Chinese and Spanish. I guess you can say that I was kind of his pet from my family side. I would always wait for him on the porch and when I saw him walking down the road, I would run to him and his arms would spread wide open welcoming me. I loved Uncle Frank so much, he was my favorite all time uncle and I couldn't wait for weekends to see him because he expressed so much love and affection to all of us kids, especially to me. When he would see me waiting for him, he always had a surprise for me in his pocket, which he made me go through to find it. That was the fun part because he would always get something I liked. We would always wait for him early in the morning because he would come home with a big bag of fresh butter muffins straight from the bakery still hot and smelling so sweet. I can never forget the smell and the taste of those wonderful butter muffins.

My days of looking forward to seeing Uncle Frank ended when we were told that he had died of a heart attack. It broke my heart and when the viewing was held at the house, the family couldn't get over the way I was acting, especially for a small child. I would sit next to his coffin and not move, thinking that he might think that I was leaving him. It was the hardest thing for me to accept. I cried so hard and would not leave his side.

Then the day came for his funeral, my dad and I were waiting for the people to come back from the graveside. My dad was mixing a big bucket of water with lemon leaves for the people to wash in when they came back from the graveyard. I don't know if you are familiar with this tradition, but the Filipinos believed that we should all wash off when we come back from the graveside with lemon water, as the Hawaiians believe you should jump over burned tea leaves after coming back from a funeral also.

My dad was mixing the water and all of a sudden he stopped and said, "Hi, Frank." I looked around for Uncle Frank and asked my dad why did he say that. He said that when someone dies, they don't realize they are gone and come back, but for only a short time. He said not to be afraid because they would never hurt someone they loved. I always believed that. Well, during the novena, we stayed in a tent that my Uncle Frank built in the back yard. It was made of screen, wood and part tarp. It was a beautiful tent, built strong and looked like a house with everything you would furnish a house with. It had a screen door and windows and it was huge.

Well, one night we were all asleep and suddenly the screen door latch (lock) flipped open. My dad got up and wondered how did that happen? He got up and locked it again ... the latch flipped open again, and again and again. My dad finally told us not to be scared and that Uncle Frank was there to protect us. He was letting us know that there was no need to have the door locked.

I remember Auntie Rose grieving so much, as she loved Uncle Frank so much. My cousins were so little then, and she needed so much help. He was gone and we stayed to help as much as we could. Auntie Rose would cry and tell us that she would see the clothes folding by all by itself. She knew that Uncle Frank was near, but she was not afraid and neither were we because we all loved him so much. We knew he was there to let us know that he was still around and that soon he would be gone.

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.

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