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I used to hate reading. Television, movies or music were far more interesting. Books were too hard. This aversion to the written word plagued me through elementary and middle school.
That changed when I was lucky to have a great sophomore English teacher demand-
ing creative book reports. Being a book-averse teen I proposed a report on something I had already read. Glen Grant's "Obake: Ghost Stories of Hawai'i" is considered a local classic, but back then it had come out a few years before.
Something in his ghost stories was captivating. My brother and I couldn't get enough of the stories in that book. It's how we learned about the faceless lady at the women's bathroom in the old Waialae Drive-Inn on Oahu, fireballs shooting across the sky near Kaena Point or the violent and haunted dorm room at the University of Hawai'i at Manoa.
When Grant came to Maui to share his stories at a church in Wailuku one night, we all went as a family to meet him. And just like his books say, a little crowd gathered around him to share their stories with him at the end of the presentation.
My teacher was skeptical at first. He wanted something good. For the report, I would be like Grant and interview folks about their otherworldly experiences on Maui. I got the green light, didn't have to read a new book and started tracking down folks who had a good ghost story. I sat at the dining room table in the evening on the phone talking to people and businesses.
It got out of hand pretty quickly. If you ever need proof that Hawai'i is different from the rest of the country, start talking about ghosts. I soon had so many stories I got a map of the island with pins marking for every story. There wasn't a spot on the island that didn't have a pin. So many people had stories that it was unclear if there was a spot on the island that wasn't haunted. Basically, where there's development, there are ghosts -- or at least ghost stories.
It was fascinating to hear about a poltergeist in a Pauwela plantation house, the restless dead in Kuau or vanishing hitchhikers along lonely stretches of the highway in Olowalu. Everyone had a story. Newcomers fresh to the island who by all accounts would never believe in these kinds of things "back home," locals, haoles and Hawaiians of all social and economic backgrounds had something to say. Lawyers, fishermen, cops, teachers, hotel workers, even scientists shared stories about the time they saw or felt something supernatural.
Security guards were one of my favorite sources. I would call a hotel or business in the afternoon to find out when the graveyard shift began. I told them I was a student looking for ghost stories. Then I'd call back at the start of the shift early in the evening. By then, word had gotten out about this teenager asking about ghosts. I was regaled with anecdotes about mysterious footsteps, an eerie white mist, invisible forces triggering alarms at all hours.
I was privileged to hear family stories too. Stories about a favorite uncle on a fishing trip in the 1960s or a father who battled dark forces on the west side in the 1940s were passed down throughout their own family. For them to share it with me was special. It was more than a family story; it was gaining their trust and respect.
The book report came and went. I kept going with the interviews for about a year. It even got me reading more. It got me hooked on books about Hawai'i, its history, mythology and local legends.
My project stopped when people started calling me for help. People were asking for advice -- how do I get rid of these terrible dreams? Did I want to come over and check it out myself? No way.
I remember a man who came to see Glen Grant. He knew my dad. Unlike the rest of us having fun sharing stories, he was anxious. He needed to talk to Grant.
I got his number and called him one night to see if he wanted to share his story with me. He cut me off mid-sentence.
"No," he said curtly. "I don't talk about them." Then he hung up.
I was annoyed. I'll call him tomorrow. Maybe he'll come around, I thought.
Then everything went black. The power in our house went out. I sat in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," I said aloud in the dark. "I won't bother him or you."
And with that, the lights went back on.
A ghost story is very different from a ghost. I left them alone and never called again.
* Ben Lowenthal is a trial and appellate lawyer, currently with the Office of the Public Defender, who grew up on Maui. His email is 808stateofaloha@gmail.com.