AAAAAAA....................GOOMBAH!

It's another shitty day in paradise. Work is a little slow today so I'm sitting on the fender of my car outside soaking in some rays. My shirt is off and the sun feels good. Up the drive comes this red Mercedes convertible. The driver is this stocky guy in a bright aloha shirt and straw panama. A busty bleached blonde is giggling next to him "oh Joey knoc id orf." My ears perk at the east coast dialect.  Joey gets out. He's wearing red shorts same color as the car,  espadrilles, and black socks. She steps out in lilac pedal pushers , jeweled high heel sandals, and a white midriff blouse, her not too slight belly exposed. I throw on my teeshirt and make it to the entrance door just before them. "Aey Dottie dis muss be da place, you Charlie?" His flat hand slaps my back as I'm holding the door open. "Got time for two? Louie sent us." "Yes I have time right now, but Louie?" "Oh year Doctor Nizzoli to you." "Oh yes." "Ya don't mind, do me first, a littal orf da sides and a shave, wadya say? By da way nice littal joint ya got ear." Dottie pecks Joey on the cheek and places herself into a chair. From her pocketbook she withdraws a silver cigarette case and places one in between her lips. I light her smoke and offer her some wine. She rapidly crosses her legs and shuffles through the magazines next to her. "The vino, nice touch kid! Year the Misses and me are out ear kinda checkin the action...know wha I mean?" Joey offers little more about himself.  He makes subtle references to the street and "friends a mine", enough said. In quick order I give him his trim and return the straight edge to the Barbercide jar, powder his neck and wave the babe into my chair. "Honey, just a shampoo and blow dry...trying to grow it out, OK sweetheart?" She didn't say much but kept shifting from one side to the other as she thumbed the magazine.The simple shampoo, blow dry, took an hour and a half. "Charley give me one of ya cards. He peels off a couple of hundreds from his wad ...see ya later"...he points his finger at me...gotta love it...remember me , I am gonna remember you four sure. You got talent baby, we will talk later." The red Mercedes reverses and two hands wave from its windows as they drive off. 
Well I do have this idea.
Cheap but good haircuts.
A chain.
I could train.
This might be the guy....."AAAAAAA.....GOOMBAH 
I played Dion and the Belmonts and remembered Arthur Avenue
Pizza
Veal and pepper heroes
Joey came from such a neighborhood...I know it.
Kinda reminds me of another guy I met....Guido....while I was working as a teenager at Adolf's. Anyhow, that's another story... 

Golf for Dummies

I climbed the stairs at 1911 Main Street. It was up there that Valley Isle Answering Service was located. It was a mom and pop sort of operation. The pop of the business was a guy by the name of Roger Tavaris. He was a round ball of a guy who never wore slippers and seemed to sweat perpetually. A friend had introduced me to Roger. I was in need of a book keeper and Roger did that on the side. There he was, feet up on the switchboard, red lights blinking and he mumbling one thing or another into his headset. A half eaten white bread sandwich was lying on the floor and a wire basket filled with crumpled paper sat in the corner. "Hey, could ya take over for me? I need to use the Lua." He set me at his position and said, "look if a light comes on plug this cord in and say, answering service, please hold." "Answering, answering, answering." He returned to a jumble of cords and rapidly flashing lights. Just then his wife walked in. "Hey hon gotta talk to Charles." He laughed, "good job!" We moved down the hall to the office. It was a windowless place with mounds of paper and an antique adding machine. I don't know how but he seemed to know where everything was. He pulled my file from the middle of a stack. "Let me see, oh yes sign here. Write a check for seven hundred twenty two dollars. That will keep Uncle Sam happy." Behind his desk there was a framed Dali poster. We were standing there looking at it as Andy walked in. "You know why I like Dali? It's his attention to detail, Andy howz' it?" "Great. You guys going to Sir Tilford's today?" Now Andy is this car salesman sort of guy, fast talking and always making a deal. Sir Tilford's was this coffee, cigar store in the Maui Mall. The three of us met up there and were greeted by a couple of fast one liners from Sir Tilford himself. We moved to our regular table outside with coffee and cigars. Watching the traffic was always pleasant. Andy was talking about his golf game. "Ya know, Charles, you should join us and play." "My uncle Howie is a golf fanatic. As a kid I'd go with him sometimes in the Bronx." "Well Tilford, me and this other guy Simon play at Waiehu and you would make us a foursome." "Oh, I'll think on it." Andy got up from our table and went back inside. Upon returning he said he had just called and had set up a 7AM tee time for the next day. A couple of battered carts, two coolers of beer, four fine cigars, an assortment of unmatched clubs we teed off. That was the start of my golfing adventure. The beginning was hooks, slices, and countless strokes. The best of the day was the clubhouse with lots more beer and pupus. I was buying most of the rounds. I stupidly bet on my game. Even having a handicap added up to a losing wager. For some time I stayed in the hundred thirty range. With time and occasional hints and tips my game improved. I became a regular and our group was always put on the book by the starter way ahead of time. We were golfing three to four days each week. The course being a County one, was slightly rough on the edges, down the middle and around the cup. The replacing of divots was rather tricky guesswork. Wind swept from Kahului harbor directly across the front nine, The back nine were laid out along the cliffs. The whole place is a hazard. As Maui grew as the tourist destination so did an array of pro designed golf courses appear. When we were bucks up we would spring for the Kamaina rates of about fifty bucks and play the manicured links. Waiehu was our country club and the beer prices were better.  

MAY I SEE THE MENU? I'll take #5 Mahalo.

Each
Every single woman
Eternally enriched parts of me
I am a believer in wonder
Forever
Sparkle dreams
Smiling eyes
No spoken words
Kisses tender
Rambling
I married 4
Tomorrow
Knocks
Open
Let her in
I must
New star
Upon the horizon
I want
Need
Most important
Thank.
P.S.....I love you 
"Do you like the number 5?????"
e-mail me.
I do read
And wonder 
Each dream
Another hawaiianight.
Aloha....
Means also......hello.......................................
 
No reruns....please!

With visions of expansion I drove towards Lahaina. Honoapiilani Hwy. snakes along the West Maui mountains. Stretches of white sand beaches greet you once you pass through the only tunnel. Coconut trees dot the shoreline. Olowalu is a sleepy outpost village with a gas station/convenience store---dusty cans along its shelves. A quaint and unexpected French Bistro , Chez Paul, also is there. Front Street, in Lahaina town greets you with a giant banyan tree fronting the harbor and the remnants of a bygone jail. Pioneer Inn stands just beyond. Hippie types and assorted leather tanned men of the sea wander about. Sam the Parrot-man is propped in front of the Yacht Club, colored feathers in a mound around his feet, and this molting bird clinging to his shoulder. Near the western end of the historic street is a thatched stand that smells like sesame oil and sells paper cones of Chow Fun. I made a stop, ordering one large. An Hawaiian Punch washed down my snack. The Hoganji temple sits catty-corner. Incense smoke drifted out into the street. Mala Wharf, a slight drive ahead, announces the Lahaina Cannery.  Across the road, ocean front, is a strand of wooden buildings. Here at the very first of these structures, I am to meet up with Wally. The sun-baked man is there standing on the porch wearing only shorts. He gave me a tour through the place and I rented it in quick order. My newest salon would be here, The view is bouncing vessels at their buoys, . Kaanapali construction had just begun and wealthy mainlanders were having walled compounds built. This growth had brought me over here. My neighbor tenant was a ruddy, balding fellow who always seemed to have a cocktail glass in his hand. Frank McPhearson's shingle out front read...Architect. I took to hammering out my salon. Frank would step over to view my design. He suggested I add to his deck so we might adjoin our spaces for sunset cocktails. His place consisted of a large drafting table and his signature bar. He was from Sausalito, California. His brother, who still lived there was an engineer. Between the two of them, they were producing plans for that new Kaanapali, world-class set newly arrived. Frank lived in his office. A clever Murphy Bed was incorporated into the space. Having an eye for the ladies, he expressed his excitement for the upcoming salon. In fact we did have our moments with women who would enjoy the scene upon our veranda. His clients would drift over to my place. It became so that  both Frank and I got invited to the same,  Villa warmings. Mainly though, we shared cocktails and verbal tales. A couple of years later the grand scheme of things kicked in. Our hideaway was to be transformed. Frank took his show on the road. Along the way he married a sweet local gal. They would live on project sites and supervise till completion . Monuments  would grow around them. My phone would ring and Keinani would ask me to dinner...."Frank wants you to come." It was always marble floors and expansive views. It was cocktails with sunset at Kula 200, Maui Meadows, Wailea, etc. "Next is just down the road" he would say. "You're gonna love it!... Salute........great sunset."
       

Olivia was a disc jockey at the KAOI radio station that broadcast from the Maui News building up behind Maui Memorial Hospital in Wailuku. She was a tall blondewith a model's bearing, and a Mid Western, pure, purring voice. She was also one of my clients. She sported my short cut with self assumed presence. Calling, to make an appointment for her monthly scissoring, asked my receptionist if she might talk with me. "It's Olivia, she wants a word with you." "Olivia, how are you, what's up?" "My husband and I are having a get together at our place Saturday night. I want to invite you." I jotted down her address, and accepted. "K...see ya then." I pulled up to the white plantation style house in Haliimaile. It was the end house on the street, with a great view over the pineapple fields below. There were quite a few cars parked along the road. With a bottle of wine in hand, I walked forward and into the carport where a Harley tilted upon its kickstand. Olivia was standing there at the top of the stairs. "So glad you could make it, come on in." I placed the wine in her hand and followed into the living room. With introductions made to other guests, she moved me onto a tattooed, tank-topped fellow with a dark beard, and said, "Charles, this is Edwardo, my husband." His firm handshake was quickly followed by a Budweiser, and from another direction a passed on joint. The mix of people was diverse, and included a lawyer, his wife, a female veterinary,Paul, another radio guy I happened to know, , and others. Edwardo however, stood squarely out. We got to talking out on the deck. He was from Seattle, and had ran with Hell's Angels. He and Olivia seems the odd couple, but their affection, in the course of the evening was displayed with numerous hugs and kisses. "I really dig how you do O's hair." "Thanks...I really like your bike outside." "Yeah, she's a sexy beast too", his reply. "I know what your wife does...what about you Edwardo?" "Just call me Zag; I do pin-striping. Come on I'll show you. There's a car out back I just finished." He removed the tarp, exposing this '57 Chevy with really very impressive fine line embellishments and flames adorning the hood. "Crazy good, man!" We then shifted to his office, tucked in the back corner of the carport. Large pencil drawings, nudes and Brethren portraits adorned walls and ceiling. A cigar box lay on his desk and from it he withdrew this big fat Cola. The heavy smell of Maryjane filled the small space. He packed his scrimshaw pipe, lit it, and handed it to me. Almost immediately the high enveloped me, whole body. "Shit, this is incredible!" The time, the colors, the movements all changed as we rejoined the party within. In time, as I got to know him better, and he, me, a friendship would develop. I would drop him off at a spot atop Piiholo Road a little past midnight. Dressed in fatigues, miner's head lamp, blackened face, with two duffel bags, Zag would disappear int Waihou Spring Forest Reserve. Before dawn I would pick him up down Olinda Road. We would unload the stuffed bags into this secret room back at his house. It was there that I would trim the Buds. I got to keep the Shake that fell upon the floor. I had smoke for years.
Zag and I also went to Life Drawing at Hui No'eau Visual Arts Center in Makawoa.
Olivia continued sending out listener requests over Maui Radio Airways. "And this one is dedicated to the one I love...'til tomorrow...Good Nite."   

THE COLOR ORANGE

Hair salons are by nature colorful places. Mine on Maui were so as well. One day, flamboyant orange danced through the door. A bare footed young thing, skipped at his side, wrapped she was in slight gauze fabric. "I cut hair, and if I may, can show you my ability. I brought this model with me." I rather enjoyed his self-assuredness, albeit his bright orange. "Okay; take it away." He was professionally entertaining. His methodology was not dissimilar to mine. Within the hour he had transformed nondescript longish hair into something attractively modern. His creation was well defined with signature whimsy. He theatrically bowed as he twirled her my way. "I'm looking for a place to work, my kind sir." His was fun energy. "It so happens I have an available station...when would you like to start?" He sat down beside me as the girl reviewed her reflection in the mirrors and danced to the music playing. "My name is Santosh." "That is unusual"...without my asking he told me it was Hindu, and meant Satisfaction. "I do need the money, and I could start right away, tomorrow." I walked him over to the station I had in mind..."Since I have my stuff here, can I set them here?" "Sure, why not." He placed his implements on the station in quick order. In the middle he placed a framed image. "Who is that?", I asked. "Oh, he is Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, he gave me my name!" A smile begot his face upon telling me. "Look, I have a client coming in a few moments." "Cool----do you mind if we hang out for awhile----kinda pick up on the vibes?" "Make yourself at home, and welcome aboard," I did my thing and made ready for closing. Santosh pitched in with the cleanup process. "Do you smoke?" I was lighting this joint I had pulled out of a drawer from the reception desk. "Sure." "So tell me a little about yourself." "I'm originally from Toronto,just got here yesterday from Oregon. "What were you doing in Oregon, cutting hair?" "Well I did some but was actually there just to hang at Rajneeshpuran. Have you heard about it?" "Yeah, been reading some in the newspaper. Your friend over there on the station, he's the dude with all those Rolls-Royce cars." "Yes he does have those, but it is really what he has to say that is important. Like, he is so cool, has an open attitude towards sexuality." "Right!....he's the Sex Guru." "Look man, I gotta get outa here, Catch ya tomorrow."
Sannyasins filled his appointment book. He performed his magic for a couple of years; then, one day was escorted from the salon by immigration officials. They sent him back to Canada. He never had gotten his green card.
The "sex guru" was deported from America as well.
Less orange was seen about Maui. What sannyasins remained, dressed down, and melted into the community. Every so often a picture postcard would appear from one Asian place or another. Aloha, Charles.....signed Santosh. I would run into one of clients and receive information of demise. Seems, Santosh died when a condom filled with heroin emptied into his stomach.
I looked that evening and watched as a giant Orange ball fell into the Pacific.     

Mad men meet in very insane Places

Baba Chic rolled by my salon a half hour before closing. LaRue wagged hello as I swept and vacuumed. Baba's rounded belly bounced the flowers on his aloha shirt. Lisp salutations escaped his mouth as his waxed handled mustache pointed out his twinkling and dashing eyes. "Hi Chic...just finishing up here." I moved to the back room and relocated the load of towels from washer to dryer. Filling two glasses with red wine, I returned to my present guest. "I have some wonderful plants out there in my car for your garden; hear  your house is fabulous...and everyone is talking 'bout your party...was coming but fell asleep after a killer bud thing." "If you want come over now.....and thanks for thinking of me." This man had the greenest of thumbs and an astonishing assortment of fantasy flowering things.He wasn't kidding me. His car was heaped full of pots of everything. "My God!...so many." "Yes, and each will find a special place in your garden." There was pure joy in his words. Upon entering and carefully moving between the array of instruments, statue silent, awaiting another electronic performance:
"Oh what fun! now this is a party place...just love it."Several hours past as he would point out a particular spot and say, "Yes that one, there." I placed each where he had pointed. The colors were deliciously wondrous. His eyebrows arched towards heaven. "Enjoy!" I would many times over. "Stay for dinner," "I don't mind if I do." "And, I have some news to share....I just got the most outrageous piece of land in Ke'anae, I mean it is something to die for. It has this hundred foot waterfall and pools...you're gonna love this....and this, your house, inspires me. Could you help me design something for there?" "Can't wait to see it....Sure!" I boiled penne, al dente, and spooned my East Coast sauce upon it. I had learned this recipe from Mrs. Cavaluso in the Bronx. Baba and I sat at the bar and with Italian bread and more red wine dug in. LaRue licked our bowls clean. He had drawn a map and we would meet tomorrow. As is my custom I arrived somewhat early. I joined my curly whirly girlie in the bed of the truck, and while petting her, gazed out over Ke'anae peninsular. Fields of taro, a few tin roofs and a church steeple patterned the vista. The whitest waves crashed over the black volcanic rocks at the shoreline. A horn beeped three hellos. Baba opened the cattle gate and he, me and Rue walked over the pastured flat. Guava trees dripped with fruit here and there. Mooing cows moved as we approached. The hill before us was solid with dense green. Upward we marched, over large and small rocks breathing the damp forest. Twenty minutes, we stood by a bubbling stream, clear and cool, making its way forward and down. Baba pointed at a flat spot, "There... right there is where it should be!" we merrily coursed the bouldered way to that place so very close where the water fell to a wondrous emerald pool way below. To the right a hint of ocean, and left forested land grew up the mountainside."Wow!" "Now come----come."  We three , sauntered another pasture along the stream. Moved into a strawberry guava strand picking and eating as we went. Then, open before us was another wonderful pool. We dropped our clothes and jumped in. LaRue fetched stick after stick. The sun and cool water was perfect. A few cattle gazed as we play. Not another person was anywhere about. Wet and refreshed we sat at Baba's clearing and exchanged ideas of structure. "So how in the hell did you get this place?" "Well this local gent I barely know asked me last week for a ride into town. Driving him there he told me he was moving to the mainland...Las Vegas. Then he asked me if I knew of anybody who might want to buy this piece of land he had inherited in Upper Ke'anae. He gave me his number and I went to the tax key office in Wailuku and found the map. I hiked in and found this place. He sold it to me for a thousand." Mr Reyes' was an acre stack in a three hundred and fifty acre parcel. It is not uncommon in Hawaii to be a member of a Hui. A number of people own undivided interest in a common property. "There are five other partners, all cattlemen, who see it only as pasture. I staked this out as my acre." I did present him with detailed plans of an open pavilion. Collective hands and merry souls would build it and play in those pools.
Chic would relate more of his road traveled in other times shared. Both he and I had city backgrounds. He was from Philly. Our first meeting was at Pua Akamoa falls. Our last was here on the Big Island in Volcano town. Pune, Maharestra India, was where he met his Guru. We sat many times beneath the bearded man's photo. 
I taught Chic how to cut hair. He passed me a green thumb. We met on an island far from our beginnings. In life one must be open to the unexpected and let it in. I continue to think so. By the way his real name was same as mine, Charles. He passed last year.
...........SEE YA LATER MY FRIEND 

WOOFYISM

Woofyism      the acceptance of the woofy-god
                    a deity offering unconditional love

In 1971... I opened my heart and let the spirit in

 La Rue   1971-1997

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

             

Boster    1998-present  sends e-mail  occasionally visits

Bronex    2008-present

once admitted WOOFY takes on many forms, comes and goes 

for me completes the rainbow-------upcoming I will share 

BABY WHEN YOU'RE USING ME-------USE ME UP!!!!!!

RED RED WINE
    I DON'T KNOW YOU
               you are a shining star no matter who you are

"it all shines on"

When shit happens, it really does!
        I awoke
rubbed yesterday away,...or --was it today?
Stumbled about and threw the bottles away. Piano-man was a heap; hands still out-stretched  upon his keyboard. Mick was pacing about. He held a guitar in his hand and was doing this air-strum sort of thing. I swear...his eyeballs were glowing in  another world.

I  threw some portagee sausage in the fry pan with an assortment of veggies. The rice-cooker glowed readiness. Two madmen fumbled into the food. God!...it was 4 in the afternoon. Piano-man poured another vodka drink. Gravel outside, announced new arrivals. The knock was from a smallish guy with red rimmed glasses. His accompanist, a down to the waist long haired type. "This the place?" Did someone call....who would remember. In long disoriented movements all of us unloaded drums and guitar from the white van. The Baby Grand was happy, it had friends; out'a nowhere. They rested in the moment. A mix of Rockers appeared as of out of the blue. The street filled with every vehicle imaginable. Inaccessibility was now truth. Electric sounds connected to Coconut Wireless. 'Bout 10PM every colorful soul had found his or her way . I held a microphone in my hand and pranced_______my Rock n Roll shout.. shout. This bare chested Red Head cast her spell before me. On and On    I remember IN AND OUT MOMENTS. "Come on Baby----Rock n Roll never Forgets." We all shined on. "If you want my Body....let me know!" 2 total strangers "Never mind Sugar   tell me    so    if ya really mean it   touch ME   as long as ya want to fly   we'll fly   no place we can't go   east   west"   WE DID. Rock down...Electric Avenue! Taking it higher....out into the beyond.........     

YOU SHOULD HAVE A PARTY!

My house    it's a very very fine house   life couldn't be more wonderful
The tune passed through my mind over and over as I drove up Hana Highway. A quick stop at Fuku's; there I got beer from the case and at the counter asked Mary for the famous hot dog. She was the delightful local gal who always beamed a smile and called you by name. "Anything else, Charles?" "A pack of Camels and some rolling papers." As she bagged my purchase who walks in but Mick. Actually, he kinda shuffles about. His voice is round deep bass. "Hey man, how's the house?" "Really great, wanna see?" "Sure, be right over." I entered and this smile took over my face. I placed all but one beer in the frig, opened it, lit a smoke, and peered over the stove and through the wide opening to bar top. The high open beam ceiling, sky-lite atrium, tiled floors, I surveyed from the built in couch. This was my masterpiece. The full hipped, tongue and grove roof was unobstructed, as only partition walls of eight feet defined spaces. Sliding glass announced the jungled rear. One in the living room, the other in my master bedroom. Light filled the place. A minimalist bachelor, my clothes were arranged in the louvered closet, a futon lay on the bedroom floor, the kitchen had a few pots and pans and two barstools occupied the space. Mick drove up front and let himself in. "Cool"....rolled out of his mouth as he set foot within. "Grab a beer from the frig"...his slow moving frame rounded into the living room, where midway he stopped and gazed about. "Shit, this is great!" He placed himself down opposite me and pulled a doobie  from his shorts' pocket, flicked his Bic, took a hit and passed it on to me. "Ya know man, you gotta have a house warming party." Together, at his prompting, I followed him to his place. It was the place I had ridden my horse to a few years back. I followed him into his two roomed domicile where he immediately turned on some jazz at extreme level. Out on the entry deck his voice boomed above the music towards the cliff structure across the flat acreage. A very tanned, almost skin and boned person walked bare footed in response to Mick's call. At the foot of the stairs he stopped and in servant like manner bowed. This guy was the elder brother of a TV personality. His entire family had musical credentials of superior standing. Here he was on Maui playing out some sort of something. He and Mick shared some words and after awhile of passing joints and drinking more, the three of us out to the carport structure placing all sorts of sound equipment and the Yamaha electric Baby Grand into our trucks. Darkness had already fallen as we moved all of it into my house..........it progressed early into the morning. After exacting placement of wires, speakers, mixing board and microphones, the piano man pounded out his first resounding chords.      

come with me to the sea...to the sea of love

it's all in the eye of the beholder

MAUI CUM LAUDE__________MUCH MAHALOS

AWARDED ME BY MY EUROPEAN WIND SURF BUDDIES

WIND SURFING MAUI STYE

MAUI MAGIC

Behind a rather tall wooden fence of reclaimed boards number 9 Noholani was reborn. A main house, studio and tree house nested in a jungled garden of color, scents and tropical fruits. The puddled street remained as such. Friends, lovers there danced night and days. My precious La Rue, a standard poodle lovingly placed her head upon my futon as I would sleep and happily ride in the truck bed. It is with great pleasure I recall that place and those times.
A hot and windy summer day, I received a call from a fellow with yodeling English. He was responding to my ad in the Maui News, house for rent. I had fallen in love and moved into her place up in Kula. Rue and I drove to the Haiku post office to meet the caller. There in the parking lot were Peter and girlfriend Kate sitting on the hood of their Maui Rent-a-Wreck. Piled high atop were  boards, multi colored bags and long fiberglass poles. Wind Surfing was new to our island and these Swiss adventurers were amongst the first arrivals. Maui's north shore was destined in short order to become the wind surfing Mecca. With no hesitation Kate handed me a cash deposit. We agreed to meet again next day, when after cashing travelers' checks, they would give me the rest of the money for their six month stay at Noholani. They insisted that it was not out of their way to drive up to Kula. Next day, mid morning, they arrived. We invited them in for coffee. Kate gave me the rental money. Together we enjoyed the panoramic view and got more acquainted...."Charles, we love the Haiku place....Peter has something else for you." "Hey man, come outside with me." He reached atop the car and removed a board, bag, boom and mast. He laid them there in the driveway. "You will meet us this afternoon at Sprecks." "Hey what is this?" "It is my gift for you, Charles." "I can't accept that." He picked it all up and tied it to my truck's lumber rack. Kate and peter jumped into their car and just drove away. "See you about three o'clock he shouted". My girlfriend who was standing in the doorway smiled and said, "Why Not!"
Sprecks was a picture of rainbow sails racing upon the ocean.

That afternoon, Peter rigged my new toy, and within days I was actually out there digging it. The gift would alter my life once again. La Rue would run the beach and swim the shore as I raced upon the wave faces of the blue Pacific.  Peter sent streams of Euros to my doorstep. To this very day we are close friends.        

LADIES NIGHT

IT'S LADIES NIGHT
STARS ARE BRIGHT
The usual magic is in the air. With my favorite dancing shoes and a few joints, I got into my truck and set off up the hill to Makawao. The parking lot at Polli's has a perfect empty spot awaiting. It is eight thirty and the dinner crowd has diminished. The bar has one empty stool and a handful of Portuguese cowboy types hoisting beers and offering their hearts to the laughing bar maid. I have a couple of beers, say very little, then return to my truck. A slight rain falls as I replace my slippers with those shoes, light a joint, take several hits, then slide across the street. The once, Makawao Steak House has re-birthed as bar/restaurant/disco. The cow town exterior remained constant, but the interior was reinvented several times - Piero's, Lhongi's, Casanova's. The long polished bar at this early hour was not yet full. As was my custom, I joined those there seated. Getting to know bartenders is a good thing. Casual chatter and good tipping serve well. "Heineken, please"... four maybe five. Now ten, the crowd began. Soon, a line would form and a bouncer/doorperson would handle entrance and exit. It was Ladies Night. I relocated to a table, dance floor edge. It offered a commanding view of the entry way. Ladies in groups of three and four sashayed in, guys eyes all over them, mine as well. The DJ assumed his position and the voices and clinking glass sounds were lost to loudspeakers. Pulsating rhythm. toe tapping, table top finger drumming and the here and there goddess dancers, but no one on the floor. Selection having been made, I found my way to a table of four. The least flashy of the lovelies was the one I asked - "wanna dance?" "No one is out there", her timid reply. "Well can I buy you a drink?" She hadn't even answered as I placed another of her kind before her. "The music is good... are you sure?" My hand out stretched, her eyes walked upwards and met mine. "Oh, why not". I love those moments. Women have a way of following. With just a little coaxing, we did this sexy thing. The floor was filling now. One dance begot two. The rest of the night was easier; lots of drinks and dance partners. Round about one Mandie draped her arm over my shoulder and we drove to my place. Soul-slow, wine and pot, we danced into each other. Tropical rain melodies, sweet morning eyes... 

THE NEIGHBORHOOD

DIY

"Gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming here today".

The morning rain was on the wane and sunlight was filtering down upon the structure that was our mission to raze. We were indeed a rag-tag team of demolition wannabes. Two Datsun pickups, a Volkswagon convertible, and a very rusted dump truck had converged at the job site. Mick had brought the arsenal of implements we would need to perform the task at hand. Three sledges and a fine assortment of crowbars were piled in the bed of his truck. I had found a wooden ladder under the old house and it now stood upright against the tin roof. Several rungs were missing but this agile team was willing to accept any challenge. Fred reached into his Beatle and retrieved a well rolled joint from the glove compartment. Awareness is essential to any job, so we all took our turns at inhalation.
Safety is important. Footwear is required at the work site. Yes, indeed each and every one of us had our flip-flops on.
The plan of action was to remove the metal roofing first.
"Bye the way guys, there is a cooler of beer in the back of my truck". It would get hot and hydration was important.
Mick and I were first up the ladder. He gave me an in-depth, on-the-job training example of correct crowbar technique. With an accurate hammer attack the claw of the bar surrounded the roofing nail. He nimbly applied arching pressure and with little resistance the nail was removed. We assumed our positions and zig-zagged our way up the first sheet. Nails slid down and off the roof. This was fun. At the ridge each of us smiled as we engaged the only two remaining nails. Seconds later the sheet we stood upon disengaged and both it and we slid to the ground.
LESSON # 1_____move to the other side when removing the last nails.
"I think we need a beer".
The rest of the day moved quickly along and the once there house was became a twisted pile of members. Our band of disassemblers, with a few cuts and bruises, and covered head to toe with termite shit, had accomplished the mission.
We toked more joints, made another beer run, then called it a day.
Tomorrow, the dump in Makawao would ingest the remains. 

EXTREME MAKEOVER: HOME EDITION

....MAUI STYLE...circa 1980

to be continued 

HOME SWEET HOME ...or...NEVER TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER

So, here I was, basically living in a ghetto. The floor tilts irreverently to the left. Geckos feast on invading winged things. Mosquito punk help through the night. Perfect...no...acceptable...well maybe. I rarely talk to neighbors, but that too is fine. I am on Maui. The phone rang one evening and it was my landlord. She told me that she and her husband had decided to sell the place. Given I was the current tenant, they were giving me first option on buying. The price was thirty two thousand dollars. Fast calculation left me with only thirty two thousand to raise. Next day at my salon, one of my clients informed me of a loan that was available. It was a Farmers Home Loan. Farm? This a Tiny lot. "Oh no... that has nothing to do with it. You see, the government program is designed for rural, low income people to afford them home ownership". "Really"... my response. In fact there on High Street in Wailuku was an office of that administration in the Federal building. Next day, I took an early lunch and walked to the building and up a flight of stairs to indeed find at 203 an emblemed door with the Farmers Home Administration logo affixed to its door. I walked into that office and stood at the reception desk. Several folks locked in private conversation never even acknowledged my presence. "Excuse me!" The statement was met with a half-hearted glance, and complete disregard. Finally with annoyed expression, a woman removed herself from her gray chair and approached. "What ya want?" "Well....wanted an application for a farm loan". The woman turned her back to me and returned to her chair. With no eye contact her voice filled the small office with..."You don't qualify". "What....can I please have the application?" "I just told you that you don't qualify". She resumed the conversation . I am sure that many others had just walked away. I returned to my salon with a bit of New York attitude and found my way to phone  a Hawaii Senator's office in Honolulu, where I was politely told  that I would hear back. One week later I returned to that very office and was handed paperwork to sign for an approved loan. The only catch was I had to build a new house and the amount requested had been upped to reflect that cost. Additionally, the percentage rate on the loan would be one percent.

Maui, demi- god, snared the sun. The psychedelic seventies tsunami was but a precursor to the Maui golden sun-rush of the eighties. Riches and gates,resorts and condominiums, candles and incense....HARE KRISHNA....HARE KRISHNA!
enlightenment  nice and warm.
 I had just divorced and, fortunately found a rental within a block. Retaining my Postal Box seemed important. Noholani ( Heaven-dwelling cloud holder ), number 9. This street was a maze of puddled ruts and wandering chickens... The Rice Camp... Fillipino plantation housing. The parcel was fronted by a large yellow shower tree, two mauka sided mountain apple trees,  three avocados rear, and a three bedroom, single-walled house. Denim, my son, delivered The Maui News. I knew that as he also worked at Fukushima Store and George, the owner, had informed me so. In divorce I had acquiesced my last name ( adoption ). What lies ahead?.....a road less traveled....Hare Krishna.   

There was a new disorder that descended on the once tranquil islands as the later seventies took hold. Slack key melodies were shuttered away as the lords of Woodstock slid into town. The Coconut Wireless spread word of impromptu concerts. Sly and the Family Stone rocked the Silversword in Kula. The purple haze of Hendrix appeared in Olinda. The Blue Max in Lahaina sent Wonder tunes over Front Street as Easy Rider Fonda cruised his bike below. Throngs of young danced rebellion. When the Rolls of Harrison wound its way towards Hana, a Helta Skelta psychedelic tsunami had washed over everything.

SEX....DRUGS....ROCKnROLL

       even here...far away...MAUI WOWIE
          generational defiance
                     casual encounters
                         instant gratification
                                drug induced delirium

AWAKE

As a wedding gift my Japanese, Jehovah witnessing father-in-law gave us a piece of land. I was flabbergasted by the extravagant gift. "You can build here"....a mass of head high cane like grass. We stayed in the parents double wide quonset home while I cleared the site. Sickle and pickax accomplished the task. A whimsical little place was born....OURS! I never did get a building permit, nor could I have. The land was leased land and belonged not to my father-in-law. He and I ceased talking. Early mornings I would find a copy of Awake on my doorstep. Years would pass and awkward additions expanded the original footprint. My ex-wife remains there, and six children, including our son were raised.  

IT'S GONNA TAKE A LOT OF LOVE

am I up to it????????

keep tuned.

Aloha means hello....and goodbye. Kapu....keep out! As more flower power vagabonds set foot on the island, locals pulled back the welcome mat. Too many picked their fruit without even asking ; an understandable reaction to these unconventional, you owe me mainlanders.
       I cut my hair and married a local girl.

GET IT ON

GET IT ON

GET IT ON

GET IT ON 

GET IT ON  

 

MANY A ROAD TO TRAVEL

My chance encounter now took me along a surreal jungle path. Daylight was slipping into dusk. Baba Chick and Paul led me along in a westerly direction. The ditch that we were walking beside, they told me had been built many years ago by Chinese laborers so as to bring the water resource of the eastern rain forest to the dry central valley for sugar cultivation. Tunnels and flues traversed the mountainous terrain. Ferns, fragrant ginger, both white and yellow, giant eucalyptus grew vigorously all about us. Ten minutes and we had moved beyond the jungle canopy into a clearing and the road. Across on the makai ( ocean ) side giant golden bamboo swayed in the evening breeze. Cloistered behind this grove was the humble dwelling they called home. Chickens scattered every which way with the sounds of our approaching foot steps. Surrounding the abode was a truly explosive canvas of flowers, vines, ground coverings; sensational fragrances drifting. What a dizzying surprise. I stayed long into that night exchanging partial stories. My gracious hosts bid me fond aloha as I left. Walking along the darkened road back to my vehicle all the day replayed in my mind.

CHANCES ARE!

One never knows what is to be found around a corner or down a new path. It was such an event as I made my now usual pit stop at Pua Akamoa. The sky was so very cloudless and my waterfall was a tranquil trickle. I made my way up the side of it and dove into the pool below. Refreshed, I headed upstream. Yet another pool was before me. Two other people were there. They were lying on the rocks in the nude. Each turned as they heard my approach. The older of the two was a rather large man with a mustache and potted belly. The other a young man lean and darker. The elder waved and in his eye I noticed a twinkle. Turning back was my first impulse but the hand gestured to join. Having inched forward to an accompanying rock chaise I too removed the bathing suit feeling no shame. In Eden such is acceptable. I turned a corner and found kindred spirits. This chance encounter was to evolve into a lasting friendship....preordained I now believe.

GATHER ME UP

"Raindrops keep falling on my head", a refreshing feeling. I never tire of the road to Hana. What a wondrous adventure awaits. Forty minutes from Haiku there is this place I would inevitably stop. The cool falls of Pua Akamoa invite diving without hesitation...crystal clear perfection. I renew Baptism. With meditative posture the fern grotto pulls me in.

At this point in time, Maui was little know in this world. It was a sleepy outpost with majestic Haleakala rising into the clouds  and West Maui mountains cascading into the bluest ocean. Kula chimneys and social cocktails, Lahaina rotating bar fans with boozing harbor rats shared sunset viewing. In little time all would change. Golf coursed resorts would hug the once pristine beaches and many more clinking glasses would salute the same. A rare voyage it has been to be part of this. Just as the sun falls beyond the horizon and begets dreams....tomorrow....sunrise to sunset...evolution...everything is as it should be...CHEERS!
Not one thing remains the same. 

Lower Main Street was by no means Madison Avenue. It was that place where I established my new salon. The article written in the Maui News created the buzz that sent business from good to great.  Women left the salon with haircuts they had only seen in magazines. Before long it was of necessity that I trained others to handle the flow of clientèle. In time my New York attire was set aside. Comfortable flip flops and flowered Aloha shirts felt just right. To this day I wear such shirts beneath Armani jackets when traveling. Scissoring opened the door to an island adventure. It's a different sort of work when primarily focused on the female. I love them. Gay men laugh with them, I ask for the dance. In such moments I fly away.

 Serious sculptors in perfectly tailored British suits and others dressed like rock stars crossed the Atlantic and created glassed salons in Manhattan. Late 1960's.....new music, new fashion. It was my calling to learn and glean from these master hair stylists. The craft transformed my vision. Scissors in hand I would cross the Pacific and find my stage, Maui.