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The State of Aloha

The other day I was driving along Piilani Highway in Kihei when I looked over on the mauka side and saw the rolling hills turn from a dusty brown to the familiar verdant green near Ulupalakua Ranch. I realized at that point that most of the trees spanning the acreage from the resorts to the ranch were of a single, annoying species.

Kiawe is the old enemy for any kid who grew up in Hawaii. Its thorns find their way into countless rubber slippers and feet. Getting pricked by a thorn is an inevitable and painful experience. The tree is no friend of automobiles either. Rubber tires are just as vulnerable as rubber slippers. Driving near the trees lining leeward beaches can be risky.

Kiawe isn’t a native plant. It was introduced to the islands long ago. Unbelievable, you might think. What kind of disturbed person would want to bring a thorny tree to some of the most spectacular beaches on the planet? Who is the culprit responsible for tearful kids, ruined slippers and flat tires?

There is an old myth that the thorny kiawe along the golden sandy beaches was not an accident but intentional. When I was growing up, I remember hearing that the missionaries introduced the tree to whip Native Hawaiians into shape and force them to strap on footwear and clothing when they went to the beach.

It seemed plausible enough. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the tree came to Hawaii thanks to a frowning Yankee Congregationalist shaking his head in disapproval at barefoot, kapa-clad Native Hawaiians moving with ease and dexterity as he sweated under the sun in Lahaina or Honolulu in wool, leather and other uncomfortable clothes built for New England weather.

No, folks. It wasn’t the missionaries. Not the Protestant ones, anyway. In fact, the trees you see on the leeward side and surrounding the airport aren’t even from North America. The kiawe tree that has taken root and prospered here took a circuitous course to the islands.

Our story starts in the arid desert of South America. Prosopis pallida, as it’s called by botanists, is native of the arid and sandy hills in Peru, Ecuador, parts of Colombia and northern Chile. The Spanish took the tree back with them to Europe in the 16th century and called it algarroba. From there, things get a bit obscure, but apparently a tree managed to find its way into a garden in Paris.

And it was that tree, so the story goes, where Catholic priest Father Alexis Bachelot gathered a few seeds before embarking on his long voyage to Hawaii. Father Bachelot got to Honolulu in 1827 and a year later he planted the seeds he kept from the Parisian garden in the churchyard of Our Lady of Sorrows Church at what is now the Fort Street Mall. Then again, it’s not certain if this tree came from Paris or Peru. Father Bachelot’s ship stopped in Peru for six weeks before heading to Hawaii.

Either way, he brought it over from someplace else, and planted it. That’s all fine and nice, but the tree wouldn’t dominate Hawaii the way it does today without its sweet, yellow pods. Animals love them. (Many folks fondly remember feeding goats and donkeys at the zoo with yellow kiawe beans they gathered on the ground.)

Cattle eat them like candy. Thanks to the roaming of livestock, the tree spread with their wandering. Ranchers didn’t complain. A sweet snack for the animals on long cattle drives like the one from Kula down to the old port near Makena would only help the cows stay fat and healthy on their way to the slaughterhouse.

There were other good uses for the tree too. Its flowers attract bees, which produce a fine white honey that is harvested and sold as a coveted condiment. And, of course, the wood from the tree makes excellent firewood and charcoal.

As the tree spread throughout the islands, the name changed to the much more familiar Hawaiian word kiawe, which means “swaying the wind.” The tree grew in hot, arid places where most trees couldn’t hack it. In doing so, it became an ideal shade tree for beaches on the leeward side of every island.

As for Father Bachelot’s original tree, it had to be cut down in 1919 to make way for more buildings. A plaque remains as a memorial to the first kiawe tree and the priest who brought it over from Paris (or possibly Peru). But a lonely plaque in bustling Honolulu doesn’t capture the real impact of the hearty desert tree. A local cattle industry, barbeques, white honey, punctured tires and sore feet are the real testament to this hearty desert tree.

* Ben Lowenthal is a trial and appellate lawyer who grew up on Maui. His email is 808stateofaloha@gmail.com. “The State of Aloha” alternates Fridays with Sarah Ruppenthal’s “Neighbors.”

The State of Aloha

Take your hand and make a fist. Now extend your pinky finger and your thumb. Seen it before? Of course you have! This is Hawaii.

You see it on the road when you let someone into your lane. Teenagers in group photos pose with huge grins and make over-the-top gestures. Even tourists see it. We put it on every imaginable sort of paraphernalia.

One of the first things I acquired when I moved back to Hawaii was a silk tie with the little hand gestures on it. I got it from someone who was moving to Washington, D.C., and felt he couldn’t get away with wearing it there.

Like the plate lunch and other local institutions, the shaka is part of local culture. But where did it come from?

Many credit the Mormons. Hamana Kalili grew up in Laie in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He helped construct the Mormon Temple that stands there today.

Kalili also worked at the Kahuku Sugar Mill, feeding sugar cane onto gigantic rollers that squeezed out their juice. Apparently, Kalili got his hand stuck in these rollers and lost the first three fingers on his hand. (In another story, he lost his fingers to a hungry eel on the reef.)

After the accident, he worked as a security guard and traveled between Sunset Beach and Kaaawa. Kalili still waved at passers-by. Now, however, he had a very distinct-looking wave. Kids apparently imitated him and would wave back. The shaka was born.

As he got older, Kalili got involved in his church’s luau and hukilau activities for tourists. Playing the part of King Kamehameha for tourists, Kalili would wave at them in his own distinct way. There’s even a statue of Kalili at the Polynesian Cultural Center in Laie. And, of course, he’s flashing a shaka.

But that’s not the end of the story. Kalili’s wave would have been lost to history or confined to the small windward Oahu towns if it weren’t for television and a very enterprising car salesman.

David “Lippy” Espinda sold cars for 26 years at the intersection of Kalakaua Avenue and Kapiolani Boulevard. His car lot is gone and has been replaced by multimillion-dollar buildings, but back in his day it was ground zero for the pidgin-speaking salesman.

Lippy was known throughout the islands for his colorful advertisements on television in the 1960s and ’70s. He’s credited as one of the very first people to speak pidgin to TV viewers. Espinda was known to finish his ads by flashing a hearty shaka and sign off with the phrase “shaka, brah!” Espinda died in 1975. By then, the shaka – like rubber slippers and Spam – was part of local culture. He ascribed the word “shaka” not to the Mormon fisherman, but to his boyhood days playing marbles. A good marble shooter in old Honolulu was known as a “sharp eye.” But the old pidgin phrase for “sharp eye” morphed into “shark eye.” And with the accent, Espinda got the word “shaka.”

A year after Espinda died, a maverick haole from Connecticut started campaigning all over Honolulu with a new symbol. Frank Fasi knew the power of the shaka. For years his campaign signs consisted of the yellow shaka. When he left the Democratic Party to form his own independent party – aptly named “The Best Party” – he brought the shaka with him. A chubby hand in black and yellow became synonymous with the popular politician.

But perhaps the most widely seen shaka came in 2009. Oahu-born and Punahou-educated, Barack Obama had just been inaugurated as the 44th president of the United States. It was a cold day in January and the traditional parade was making its way to the newly sworn president.

When President Obama saw his alma mater’s marching band, he made the local greeting and smiled. Someone snapped a photo, and the new president of the United States in a long, black coat and scarf proudly revealed his roots.

The shaka was seen around the world. And it’s a good sign to represent Hawaii. Decades after his ’76 campaign, Fasi in an interview explained why he liked the shaka so much.

“I think (it) meant shake it up, buddy. How’s it going? Aloha. Have a good day. All those good meanings. It just meant a world of goodness.”

I think he’s right. The shaka makes everyone feel good, and no one should be shy about doing it. I’m just glad the guy who gave me that tie didn’t want it back so he could wear it in the capital.

* Ben Lowenthal is a trial and appellate lawyer who grew up on Maui. His email is 808stateofaloha@gmail.com. “The State of Aloha” alternates Fridays with Sarah Ruppenthal’s “Neighbors.”

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