By Paul Honda
HondaReport.com
Sunday, June 18, 2006

An utterly amazing walk.

That's right. A walk that wasn't an annoyance. Somehow, after I realized that the high-pitched screeching from both sides of my aging car was a serious call for help, I was pounding the pavement.

Again. That's what reliance on cars have done to me. And it takes me back to a time, circa 1970-1986, when I was entirely dependent on public transportation and my own two feet to get me places. Not by coincidence, I was a much more patient, perhaps more thoughtful person back then.

So, in the heat of an urban Honolulu afternoon, I left Artesian Auto Repair and headed eastward, a mile homeward. What I expected, a 15-minute hike, turned into a 2-hour adventure.

First off, because I'd forgotten my cellphone, I had to find a pay phone and make a call. My nephew's enthusiasm to see "Garfield" would have to be put on hold. Poor guy. Regardless of whether the movie sucks or not, his hopes were up, and my plans to hang out with him were shelved.

After a trip to McCully McDonald's — they've upgraded to booth seating in there, a far cry from the open-air establishment I remember from the '70s — I had two quarters to make that phone call. Naturally, the pay phone booth in front of McDonald's was dead, so I sauntered further down South King Street, past the mumbling, cussing 50ish homeless hippie and made the call by the phone booth next to McCully Library.

During that short segment of legwork, I remembered the old trick we did as kids to get free phone calls. We'd take a paper clip, open it up, stick one end into the voice part of the phone (inside a tiny hole at center) and scratch the other end of the clip on the bottom face of the phone box. After a little static, woila! Dial and get a free phone call, never mind that it was only 10 cents to pay for one back then.

I made my call to my nephew, then headed home, past Chiang Mai restaurant (never ate there) and a Mexican hole-in-the-wall called Diego's. Some Mexican folks were in there, so the food must be good, right? I almost bought a burrito ($3.40), but reminded myself that food should be eaten only when one is actually hungry. So I exercised self-control and resumed the walk.

I strolled past Old Stadium Park. As much as I long to see baseball and football played on that property one day, I can't ever deny that so many people make use of that precious open space. One of them was a woman sitting at a picnic table, her head buried in her arms. Was she taking a nap? Or is she distraught over something? Maybe both. I kept walking.

The variety involved with a visual tour of Mo‘ili‘ili will never cease to surprise me. One nook showed me an auto body garage, but there were also a dozen or so motorcycles there. Interesting. There was also an open space for lease, though it looked like a well-painted garage. What would be useful in a spot like that?

I passed Down to Earth. Folks in there look exactly the same as they did 20 years ago, I kid you not. I had spaghetti there once. It was the blandest plate of pasta I've eaten in my life. The things we do for love. Anyway ...

Kuni Dry Goods used to be where Kinko's now is. Now it's in a tiny place where the mochi store I used to love used to be. Damn, I miss that mochi store. The chichidango was there every day, and if Mom was up to it, she'd treat us on the way home (walking, of course) with our bags of groceries. That mochi shop eventually was bought out and moved to Liliha, still with the Mo‘ili‘ili name attached to it, but known as the Peanut Shop near Foodland's.

The owner during that change was a lady named Eva who worked at UH in the disbursing department. I remember her as very kind, buoyant person, and when I found out her family took over the mochi shop, I was excited. But times change, and the mochi shop had to move, unfortunately. I'd give anything to have a mochi shop within short walking distance of my home. But economics are an overwhelming factor, no matter how much mochi and chichidango I can eat.

Walking over the busy intersection of University Avenue and King Street (and Beretania), I couldn't help but think of the caverns and blind mullet underneath. Reading the recently published Mo‘ili‘ili history coffee book had me wondering all kinds of things about the neighborhood I grew up in. One is the pollution that has seeped underground, making it quite unhealthy for anyone who ventures down low. I'd still like to check it out one day, though, just to satiate my curiosity.

I headed toward University Square, then realized that Mango Season was open, so I did a u-turn and went back to the corner. Mango Season open shop recently and sells locally-themed items, including a ton of products from Cane Haul Road. They have some of the funniest, craftiest stuff I've seen on local culture, and a lot of it is printed flawlessly on T-shirts. The folks there showed me the hand-drawn map of Old Mo‘ili‘ili, which I'll buy sometime in the future. It's 1 yard by 1 yard and would look good in a frame.

I wound up getting a T-shirt for my nephew, one of a pup playing ukulele, since he's gotten interested in playing the instrument. It was good to finally visit that store, which closes early (6 p.m.).

From there, the walk got even more interesting. I stopped in at Changes, a store that specializes in good quality, second-hand clothing. I was surprised to find a lot of higher-end stuff there, like Tori Richard aloha shirts. Less than half of their items are for girls and women, but I ended up buying a couple of polyester aloha shirts and a throwback Atlanta Hawks jersey, all in the $11-14 range. Can't go wrong there.

After a visit to Surf Garage (the owner agreed to let me take photos there next time I visit), I was close to home when I passed the Humane Society and Mary Catherine Bakery. I visited the bakery for a minute just to take a peek. My toothache stopped me from buying a single dessert, and besides, they don't make baklava.

But a few doors down, I discovered something completely unexpected. A rickety old door had the words CANE HAUL RD. on it. I had to stop in my tracks. I knocked on the door, which was locked, and started walking off. The door opened. It was the proprietor and artist genius himself, Grant Kagimoto. We talked for a few seconds and he invited me in.

I could not believe that the entire production facility for all of Cane Haul Road's brilliant products came from that tiny place hidden at the tail end of South King Street. Talking story with Grant took me back into time. Seeing his old-school silkscreening equipment gave the place a museum vibe, and Grant promised that he'd let me take photos in the near future. He even gave me a T-shirt that commemorated the achievements of former Hawaii speedskater Kevin Shimabukuro.

Grant has done somewhere in the neighborhood of 350 designs in his 29 years of original art. Can you imagine what it would be like to see every single one of his artworks on display? Maybe that'll become a goal of mine, to collect each of them both for daily wear and visual stimulation.

The irony of his work is that Grant actually did most of his growing up in Okinawa, where his dad worked for the military. That meant that he graduated from Kubasaki High School, a team that we (Kaimuki) played against during a tour in December of 1981. (We got crushed by a bunch of huge people in that last game of the tour.) Grant lived in Hilo until age 6 before the family moved, then returned to Oahu and the Big Island during the summers. That's how he kept his connection to the islands fresh, and that's what led him to attend college here, then settle on Oahu.

What separates Hawaii from so many other places is this sense of connection. It's not easy to put into words, but people do show that connection simply by choosing to live here despite obstacles and difficulties. They make sacrifices because in their hearts and minds, this is the best place in the world to reside, to raise children, to make friends. To connect with people. Sure, traffic makes monsters of us all (almost) on the H-1, on Kamehameha Highway, the byways and pothole-ridden side streets. But even those of us on Oahu still have traces, at the very least, of where we came from: plantation camps, lo‘i fields, fishing villages, all the small places in our roots that make loyalty, trust and simplicity so valued.

That's why Grant's work strikes a chord with so many of us. It is subtle and direct in a way that is rare. Even he admits that he doesn't necessarily 'get' everything, that people on Kauai have a way of non-verbal communication that is distinct from that of people from Maui or the Big Island. Still, he captures something that resonates, and that's why I feel like this whole afternoon, with the car problems, the march upslope and through my old neighborhood was one of the best I've had in a while.

I was meant to meet Grant and learn about his world. After all, what was he reading when I knocked on the door?

The Honolulu Star-Bulletin. Smart man, this buggah.

Epilogue: Lee, the chief at Artesian Auto Repair, called me the next morning.

Lee: "Hey, Paul, your car is ready."

Me: "What? That fast?"

Lee: "Yup. The total came out to 20 bucks."

Me: "Whaaat? That's all?"

Lee: "Yeah, the guys lifted your car up and took a look. The brake pads were good, but they found a small rock stuck in there."

This meant that I could go ahead and have my root canal worked on later in the morning. But that's another story.

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