HAWAI'I WAYS, HAWAI'I DAYS
Having a swell time at 'The Wall'
By Stan Murakami
Special to The Advertiser
We had to squint as our eyes met the glare of the Sunday noon sun reflecting off the white expanse of sandy beach. The Honolulu Rapid Transit bus had just dropped a bunch of us off at Waikiki Beach by the Kapahulu Avenue groin, a place still known as "The Wall."
It was the summer of 1955, the weather was hot and clear, the waves were consistently good and our homemade paipo boards were rarin' to go. There was a loyal group of us ninth-graders-to-be at Washington Intermediate School. Thoughts of September scarcely entered our minds then. I remember most of the guys, since we remain friends today: Dave, Mushy, Keith, Kusu, Aka, Lulu, Luggy, Chester and, occasionally, others.
Every Sunday would start with our attendance at Olivet Baptist Sunday School. I must confess that our teachers had an uphill battle instilling the Scriptures into our young minds. Our eyes looked heavenward, not for divine inspiration, but rather to visualize the large waves that were waiting at The Wall.
After a hasty dismissal, we each hurried home to get our boards. By noon, we were all gathered at Keith's house, since his was the nearest to the bus stop by the corner of King and McCully streets. We'd catch a downtown bus, transfer to a Waikiki bus by the old Pawa'a theater and head down Kalakaua Avenue.
The bus ride through Waikiki seemed so familiar and friendly. We'd see people we knew, and call and wave to them from the windows.
Waikiki Beach by The Wall in the 1950s had an almost rural atmosphere. There were sunbathers, swimmers, strollers and card players — all local. The mauka side of Kalakaua Avenue was lined with one-story buildings housing a pool hall, a bar and small stores, and there were vacant lots. 'Ohua and Paoakalani avenues had no sidewalks and were surrounded by residential neighborhoods.
But the waves were as they are today: crystal-clear slopes of glassy ocean hurling bodies toward The Wall and shore. We did some "pearl diving," too — being pushed to the bottom by a powerful wave and swallowing salt water.
The summer swells could get large and dangerous, yet the rides were exhilarating! We surfed until we were exhausted, then lay on the sand talking story. When our skins started burning, we'd head for the cooling sea, ready to join the endless surge of waves and bodies again. We continued this routine throughout the afternoon.
An endless day in a summer of transition. We were too young to worry about cars, jobs, girls or the future, but old enough to enjoy the independence of young manhood.
As the sun approached the horizon, we'd gather our clothes and boards, and head to the only restroom on the beach. It was dark and damp, standing where the police substation is today. From there, there was the seemingly slower bus ride home to the real world of teenage responsibilities.
Today, The Wall remains almost the same, a gathering place of young and old, tourist and kama'aina. The surrounding area has changed a lot. Large hotels, shops and an oceanside promenade overcivilized this once country-like destination. I still try to go down there when a summer swell or storm brings in the larger waves. Swim fins and a paipo board are always in my car trunk. If the waves look good, I give it a go. I gotta admit, it still feels great!
Stan Murakami lives in Honolulu.
Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days is a column of essays by readers on what makes Hawai'i unique. Send your article of 500-600 words with your address and daytime phone number, and address it to Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days. You may e-mail it to islandlife@honoluluadvertiser.com; fax 525-8055; or mail to The Honolulu Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802. Sending a head shot of yourself is optional. Articles and photos submitted to The Advertiser may be published or distributed in print, electronic or other forms.
