Paul

                  Paul
Teena and I first met Paul when we moved into 1405, and Paul lived next door in 1406. Pete has known Paul the longest. And I will  ask Pete to give us all the details of their long friendship. I think of them as Peter and Paul the Apostles in the Bible. But they  were "Apostles of Fun."

Paul, knowing my interest in history, took me to Wickham Field and pointed out the pock-marked bullet holes on buildings made by the Japanese attack.

One time we went to Ford Island, and looked around, including the red and white rusting control tower.

We would often go to the Coast Guard Station on Sand Island. It was there that Paul could buy his supply of wine at a cheaper price. There is a bar there where we would have lunch. We went so  often, that the bar maid came to know us well.

But the most interesting and memorable trip  to Sand Island was when Paul and I visited building 419. This large building was where bodies of U.S. soldiers and marines were returned from the war in Vietnam. In the building there was a tiny museum and military surplus store. The place was full of ghosts and termites. I wrote more about it in my blog.

Paul and I would take the bus to Chinatown, where we poked around the shops and ate dried fish, and char sui cut from slabs of red colored pork in a store window. I talked Paul into having a chop made for his large Chinese painting. A chop is like a signature.It is hand-carved. So Paul had a chop carved (like a seal with red ink.) It cost him $95 bucks.He added his chop to the painting. You can see that there were three previous owners.

Paul was a long-time nudist. He would attend nudist parties at the home of a woman named Amber. I remember one time when all those nudists rented a catamaran, and when they passed the outer body,and threw off all their clothes. Two of Paul's female friends are nudists.

When Paul's first wife died, he married a much younger woman named Donna. They had fifteen wonderful years together. A story about the two of them is just great. They were on a cruise around Greece, and one snooty woman noticed the difference in their ages. And she asked "Why did you come to get married?" Donna replied, "Because we had to."

Pete has a great story of the three of them traveling together in Europe. So as I know so little about it, let's let Pete tell the story.

Donna became very sick, and at last Hospice brought a bed for her. I was with Paul when she died. I said a few words, and Paul got out two bottles of champagne. We each drank a bottle while the hospice nurse flushed the drugs down the toilet. We asked her to join us, but she declined.

Paul rented two large canoes down in front of Dukes. The two canoes held friends of Paul. I think that Pete was in the one with me. A mile from shore, Donna's ashes were put into the sea, and I said a few words.

Returning to the Waipuna, Paul held a party for Donna. He was fond of this female singer who played guitar and sang "Oh Donna, My Donna." Pupu's and drinks were served. At least thirty people were all crammed together in his apartment.  

Following Donna's death there are five female friends of Paul. The first one is Winnie, a Dutch nudist and painter, from Florida.  She painted miniatures, sometimes with an eyelash. Teena and I have some of her paintings. The large black painted four masted sailing ship you see at the harbor was sailed by her father. She is the one who taught us how to pronounce Gouda cheese. It's really" how-duh."

And, there is Grace. A Chinese woman who lives in Chinatown. He really liked her. She had a hard life, her family owned a laundry. He took her to a nudist party at Amber's house. She wasn't cut out to be a nudist.

Next on the list of Paul's women friends is Pat, a fellow nudist, who had an apartment in Discovery Bay. She liked to drink Amaretto. Paul bought a case of Amaretto at the Coast Guard store. The clerks were greatly surprised.  As Pat's health declined, she decided to return to the mainland. Teena and I went with her to Sand Island, and arranged the shipment of her car.

Then we come to a woman we all know. Noelle, the French lady. She was very fond of Paul.

The last of the five is Helen. She and Paul had known each other for fifty years, living as neighbors with different mates. Helen's husband was gone and so was Donna. The two began spending time back and forth between California and Hawaii. At last Paul decided he would move to California for good. The two of them managed to have five years together. Love and companionship.

We all remember Paul's generosity. Need any money? Need to use his car? All this and much more. It is too bad that none of the tribe took any pictures of his marajuana plants on his lanai. I remember his fondness for cooking sausage and sauerkraut. Paul delighted in what he called "stirring the pot," when he would say some outrageous statement, and then when a person reacted, he would laugh like hell. One other thing is that he often bragged how he had the first hot tub in Santa Barbara.

Everyone here has something to remember about Paul. It was Paul who introduced the tribe to Paisano, our favorite beverage. You may recall the small white hat he wore to the exercise class at Fort DeRussy. I often made fun of his hat but he said it covered his ears.

Someone once wrote that a person was never really dead until they were forgotten. Paul's memory will remain alive in our memories.
 
           End

 

Bong Bong

      More Letters From Paradise
             Bong Bong

Ah Spring! The daffodils and tulips are up.  Cold winter is left behind. And the thoughts of many people turn to America's favorite sport-baseball!

Fans clutching tickets in hand, climb stairs and look for their seats. And the smells of hotdogs and peanuts fill the air. Over-priced cups of beer are offered for sale.

And out on the field balls are whipped around the infield, and the pitcher and catcher are tossing the ball back and forth. Then it is time to stand for our nation's National Anthem. The crowd gets settled into their seats and eagerly await the first pitch.

The pitcher winds up, the ball tries to miss the swinging bat, but it strikes the bat with a mighty bong, and then sails out into center field. Hey wait a minute, what's this? Bong! instead of the sharp crack of the bat as it strikes the ball.

Just whose bright idea was this? Aluminum lobby in Congress? Lawyers certainly. "Lady your kid will be much safer with this bat.""Your athletic department will not have to replace bats as often." Probably insurance companies too. "There won't be any more broken bats."

Do you remember when you were a kid at bat,  and you always turned the burned-in trademark up? Or even on the back. But never on the trademark for fear that the bat might break. It would't have, but that's what we thought.

Anyway, you can't turn back the clock. My grandfather turned an ash bat on his lathe for me, and it lasted forever. Thank heavens that the major leagues never went the way of the metal bat. I always look forward to the crack of the bat, never bong.

       Aloha
       Grant

Poetry for Enjoyment

     More Letters From Paradise
        Poetry For Enjoyment

Sometime years ago while teaching, I had the idea to create a class where poetry could be made fun, and not analyzed. I had always thought that taking apart a poem was like taking apart a song bird to try and discover the source of its song.
And so with approval of those over me, I had my class.

I began by playing recorded poets, then I asked students to find and bring to class poems that they enjoyed, and tell why.The next step was to urge them to try and write poems of their own. And they did. I made suggestions of poets they might enjoy.

We then made a giant leap. Members of the class chose poems that they felt were the best ones of all. These were printed on a offset press,illustrated by two talented boys, pages were stapled together, and with a cover"Some Poems and a Few Other Things."   I think a couple hundred copies were printed and we sold out!

The next thing we did was to form what we called the "First Modern Poetry Quartet." Students chose poems to be read to an audience. Two girls and two guys were chosen for their reading ability and tone of voice. Soon there was practice.You would hear four voices chanting lines from a poem. Or a duet, trio, or a single voice. We borrowed four music stands for the quartet. The big night came and the girls wore dresses and the boys jackets and ties. It was a hit, but one night only.

I remembered reading in our paper that Michigan had an unofficial poet laureate. His name was Max Ellison, and he lived up North  in Antrim County. I wrote to him asking if he would come and speak to my class. I offered him fifty bucks out of my pocket to do so. He agreed.

When he arrived I found him to be a short, stout man with gray chin whiskers, glasses,  and his pants held up with suspenders. And on his head was a black flat Amish hat.

Max had memorized many poems which he recited to the class. He also included some of his own poems from the two books he had written. He had brought extra copies for sale.They sold for I think three dollars, never more than five.

I received permission to use the great lecture hall. I watched as Max cast his spell over the students. They couldn't get enough of him. And he sold some books too.

Max came again the next year, but this time it didn't cost me anything. And somewhere there is a picture of him standing by his old VW with the hood up, showing it filled with canned goods.

 Max is long gone now, and only lives in the memories of students who listened to him,and on these pages.

     Aloha
     Grant

Oh, Rats

       More Letters From Paradise
                Oh Rats

Thousands of people living in parts of our war torn world have lost their lives or limb to landlines. Warfare may have passed, but land mines remain. Farmers are afraid to plow their fields. People live in fear of land mines.

Now it seems that help may be coming from a most unusual source. African rats have been trained to sniff TNT used in land mines. My information came from an excellent Associated Press story, "Hero Rats," by Dennis D. Gray. He writes that African rats trained to locate land mines have been used in Angola and Mozambique.

Now being used in Cambodia, the rats with their handlers are able to clear 2,150 ft. in 20 minutes. A man with a mine detector would take four days!

The non-profit organization APOPO translates from Belgian as "Land mine Detection Product," in English.

These African rats are more easily trained than dogs, and they are friendly too. And they work for peanuts. Their favorite food is bananas.

History has had much to say about rats. Rats spoil or eat almost anything. And they are found around the world, carried there by sailing ships. Traps were invented long ago and continue to be used today. So is poison. American farmers use paper trays containing wheat treated with Warfarin. The rats die of bleeding. It is the same stuff used by humans as a blood thinner.

The main event concerning rats took place in the early part of 14th century Europe, often called the Black Death, now known as bubonic plague. It was spread by rats carrying fleas. It has been estimated that 75 million people died.      

The war against rats continues. Major cities such as New York have ongoing programs to fight rats. Here in Honolulu ships moored to docks often have large round discs on their lines to prevent rats from coming aboard. Visiting tourists will see metal bands around palm trees. These bands are to prevent rats from climbing, and eating coconuts and making nests in the top of trees.

And while I am at it I should mention that Honolulu's Chinatown burned down twice. Once by accident, the second time on purpose, because of rats.

Much has been written about the history of rats. But I feel that I simply must end with the speech made by the actor Edward G. Robinson, in a Hollywood gangster movie "You dirty rat."

         Aloha
         Grant
         

Simply Bananas

       More Letters From Paradise        
            Simply Bananas

To begin with, Gene is a  pilot. And years ago he was flying a cargo plane to Panama, and back to the States. While he was in Panama, he bought two big bunches of bananas (very cheap),to take home. And when the plane landed, there were no customs to bar his way,so he threw the bananas in the trunk of his car and drove home.

The next morning while his wife and two kids were having breakfast, they had remarked that each bunch of bananas were as big as they were. And Gene went down into the basement, to hang up a bunch to wait until the bananas were ripe.

 A scream was heard, and Gene rushed upstairs to see his wife standing on the top of the table, and the two kids in the kitchen sink! And there on the beautiful white kitchen floor with gold flicks in it, lay a big nasty spider!

What was he to do? Armed only with soft bedroom slippers? He sneaked around behind the big nasty spider and struck a mighty blow with the sole of his slipper. "Did it squish?" I asked. "No, he replied, more like a crunch."

      Aloha
      Grant