Setting the standard at Halekulani
| • | House talk |
| • | If you go ... |
| • | Halekulani history |
By Wanda A. Adams
Advertiser Travel Editor
Photos by Jeff Widener • The Honolulu Advertiser Halekulani
Turn out the pockets of the dark suits and blue blazers, the maids' uniforms and waiters' slacks. The bits of fluff and scraps of paper you find are the direct result of the standard that characterizes this award-winning hotel: Own the problem.
Hotel guests Mitch Levy and son Parker Levy, 5 months old, enjoy a dip in the Halekulani pool. TOP left:
Jenny Young directs housekeeping staffers in an early-morning exercise near the hotel's laundry room. The world-renowned hotel has been named No. 1 for service among U.S. hotels by Travel+Leisure magazine.
Room-service kitchen employees put meals — and everything needed to serve them — on carts for delivery.
One of the many special touches at the Halekulani is a note, delivered with chocolate truffles to every room on turn-down.
Meaning it's never "not my job."
So Gerald Glennon may be executive assistant manager, but when he sees a Coke can in a planter, or string on a hallway rug, he picks it up. "I've always got a pocketful of dust," said Glennon. "You walk with your feet and look with your eyes," he adds, unconsciously repeating a Halekulani training mantra.
"If you get a complaint, you own it," explains public-relations assistant Bunny Look. "If you get a call, you don't transfer it. You get the the answer, you find the solution and you call them back or personally deliver the desired item." (And by the way — there's even a standard for answering the phone: three rings, max.)
The Advertiser spent a day behind the scenes at the hotel recently in an attempt to understand how it is that a hotel significantly smaller than most high-end resorts, and lacking many of the more dramatic amenities, could become arguably the most prestigious temporary address in the state.
This past year, Travel+Leisure magazine named the Halekulani No. 1 for service among U.S. hotels and No. 3 in the world. Other recent awards — for service, grounds, food, the new spa — run to a full, single-spaced page.
But the proof of the Halekulani's success is that people who can afford to stay anywhere in the world choose to return to the hotel year after year, some of them occupying $750-a-night suites for months at a time.
Take Al and Maureen Beland, who recently enjoyed their 14th visit. They actually gave up the idea of buying a vacation home on O'ahu because they didn't want to stop hanging out with their friends — not just other repeat Halekulani guests, but also the employees. They come to Honolulu not for the beaches ("we've never set foot in the water," Al Beland says) but for the hotel's homey feeling.
Al Beland gets teary talking about the surprise birthday party the maids gave him last year. And he just dearly loves to be asked to help lead the back-of-the-house tour; he even has a Halekulani blazer to wear.
Maureen Beland mentioned to a maid that she wished she had someplace to rest her feet while reading. Without fanfare, the upholstery shop built her a hassock, which the hotel stores and puts back in the room for each visit.
In conversations with Halekulani guests and employees, it is clear: There is no detail too small to merit serious consideration if it increases the pleasure of a single guest or the effectiveness of a single employee.
For example, most hotels maintain some sort of computerized guest history, including number of previous visits and room preferences. At the Halekulani, the guest history includes every detail: likes and dislikes, special needs, important dates, even bereavements — "so everyone is sensitive to what they're going through," says guest-history coordinator Shelley Oshiro. Every employee is responsible for filling out guest-history forms.
The coordinators also host the business and hospitality center, a suite where guests whose rooms aren't ready, or who are flying out late, can store their things, take a shower, relax. Here also are computer stations where every guest can use 30 minutes' free Internet time daily.
Every hotel has standards — rules for how things should be done, down to the way the toilet paper roll end is folded. (At the Halekulani, it's crimped with the hotel's signature orchid logo.) But at the Halekulani, says Shari Tapper, assistant to the director of food and beverage, "what we try to get across is not just the standard, but why it's a standard. That comes from asking the employee how they would feel in a similar situation: What would you want? We put them in the shoes of the guest" during a two-day orientation undergone by every new employee.
A paramount standard is a ban on the word "no." "We never say 'no' to a guest — no one likes to hear that word," says Tapper. The steps for handling any complaint: Apologize and acknowledge the inconvenience. Clarify the problem. Take responsibility for the problem. Offer an alternative. Follow through.
In every hotel, there are stories of employees going out of their way for guests. At the Halekulani, the stories are larger than life. After the hotel's most recent renovation, a regular guest complained that the new sofas were too high; his wife's feet couldn't comfortably reach the floor. Glennon knew that chief engineer Pat Silva had purchased a suite of the old furniture, so he called Silva, who had gone home to Kane'ohe for the day, and had him pack up the whole set and bring it back.
Every hotel has stories of guests who become friends with employees, but when the longtime and much-beloved director of telecommunications, Melba DeMello, turned 75 recently, more than 35 repeat guests flew in especially for the party, good-naturedly dressing up like "silly tourists" and forming a kazoo band to celebrate her. Another time, a repeat guest flew DeMello and several other employees to Idaho for a week — all expenses paid — for a party.
DeMello, a 21-year Halekulani veteran who leads the weekly back-of-the-house tour, "is kind of an icon," Glennon said.
"I work with all these young people, so they keep me young," says DeMello in her soft, soothing voice. Later, she scribbles in a reporter's notebook: "Wanda, we treat our employees the same way we treat our guests." Her job extends beyond directing the hotel operators to aloha ambassador, appearing here and there to give a hug, make a suggestion or tell a story.
8 a.m., Maids' briefing
Executive housekeeper Audrey Goh is breathing in color. Surrounded by uniformed maids and maintenance workers lined up along a hallway, she is giving her morning pep talk; this one based on a guest's book on yogic breathing and color. "Pink for health, green for money," she says. "So if you breathe in pink all day, you'll be very healthy," says Goh. "I rather have green," a maintenance man quips, and everyone cracks up.
Goh prepares a full agenda each morning for these employees, whom she considers the eyes and ears of the hotel. Every day, there is a slogan to learn (PRIDE — Personal Responsibility In Delivering Excellence), an inspirational story to tell, a safety message or exercise to participate in.
"To clean is very hard, really hard work," she tells them, "We cannot make it easy, but we can enjoy it and have a passion in it. Make it play. Not horseplay, but when someone has a lei in the room, you shape it into a heart and leave it for them. You make their day and you make your own day."
Goh introduces Sandy Sewell of Newport Beach, Calif., who has been staying at the Halekulani two or three times a year for 25 years. Goh often asks repeat guests to visit and, if Sewell is any indication, they seem delighted to accept. "My room is my home when I'm here, and you make it that way," Sewell tells them. "I have a fetish about hair (on the bathroom floor) and I never see one. When I asked for extra towels, I didn't get two, I got a stack! Everyone calls me by name. I wish I knew all your names. Most hotels, nobody knows your name except the front desk, even if you go back often. There is no place I visit as often, and no place I want to visit as often."
The maids beam and one presents "Mrs. Sewell" with a lei. (At the Halekulani, no guest — even one who visits your home or takes you out to dinner — is addressed by first name. They are always Mr. or Mrs., Master or Miss.)
Executive assistant manager Glennon tells them about a young guest who fell and cut his knee the day before — a chorus of aaaaws and oooohs greets the news — "so if you meet him today, pamper him; just a little extra attention would be nice. It's all about the details," he says.
8:45 a.m., Managers' meeting
After a little friendly ribbing, departments heads get down to business: reports that range from the sublimely statistical (overnight occupancy, average daily rate, numbers of arrivals and checkouts, restaurant customer counts, weddings on the property that day) to the ridiculously specific (that kid with the cut knee again, a guest who complained of odor and ants, and had to be moved, and a room-service tray left in a hallway). An Orchids employee is having a wedding reception on the property. Hurricane-season training is scheduled. The night accountant is fielding calls in the wee hours from guests trying to use the new wireless hookup.
General manager Fred Honda offers a benediction: "We're going to be busy all week. A reminder to your people to keep up all the standards. Sometimes when we get busy, we forget."
9:15 a.m., Back of the house
In the laundry, Romy Bolo (who's been at the hotel "from Year One" — 31 years), insists you touch the towels to see how soft they are. The secret, he says, is three rinses. Alongside the room-size washer that does 15,000 pounds of laundry a day is a standard machine, where guest clothing is washed; Bolo even buys the specific soap a guest prefers. Guests can send their suitcases ahead and have their clothing cleaned, pressed and hanging up when they arrive. Over in dry-cleaning, they tell stories about spilled wine and brides in tears — sent smiling back to the reception after a quick spot clean-up.
"Don't open the door!," barks pastry chef Franz Schaier, jumping forward to restrain a reporter who seems ready to peek into the climate-controlled room where chocolatier Yoshikazu Inoue is working. "It's like Fort Knox in there," Schaier says, explaining that Inoue — whose truffles, with a printed note, are a check-in gift — must maintain the temperature within a degree or two to keep the chocolate workable.
The pastry shop operates 24 hours a day, seven days a week, preparing all the baked goods served at the hotel. Schaier figures they've made 7 million pastries in the past 25 years.
Nearby in a tiny, crowded office, purchasing manager Fred Iwamura is attempting to keep up with the hundreds of thousands of items that need to be requisitioned, procured, received, stored and dispersed in any given year. He works four months ahead, and his goal is to achieve GIT status: Ordering everything "gist in time" to meet the need.
Working at the Halekulani is a particular challenge because the hotel will provide just about anything a guest may want, from soy milk to a particular brand of toilet paper. "We know pretty much all the specialty stores, health-food stores in town. Whatever's called for, someone goes down the road to pick it up," he said.
Over in security, Keith Rivera has a lot of good stories to tell — "but I can't tell them," he says with a smile. "Confidentiality, you know." His crew includes a phalanx of men and women in blue blazers wearing earphones whose main job is directing beachgoers to the public-access path alongside the hotel. Their goal is to be unobtrusive to guests but visible to potential wrongdoers — and very, very polite to everyone.
In the room-service kitchen area, things are calming down after the breakfast rush. Assistant manager Darrell S. Izumi explains the "Kalamazoo board" — a wall-mounted contraption of clips and tags that tracks not just orders but equipment. They'll deliver anything from a four-course La Mer dinner to a picnic complete with cooler, table and chair.
In the main kitchen, meat cutter Jerry Yonaha is exercising his skill at eyeballing a steak, cutting it to exact size without having to weigh it. Executive sous chef Shaun Smith is supervising the prep cooks. They work days out — making the croutons for Friday's Caesar salad on Wednesday, for example. "The kitchen never closes, there's always a cook on the line and fish orders are delivered twice a day," he says. "It never stops!"
11 a.m., Weekly walk-through
During room inspections, a handful of managers — housekeeping, guest services, quality control and maintenance — swarm over randomly selected rooms like inquisitive aunts, peering behind bureaus and beds, turning lights off and on, holding glasses to the light, counting hangers, remaking a bed to discover the source of a wrinkle and rearranging patio furniture to fill more of the space. "We touch every room at least twice a year," says Glennon.
Cell phones make frequent appearances as the managers issue murmured orders: Change out that wrinkled bedspread in 215. Re-set the air conditioning in 743; it smells musty. The tile on the patio of 610 looks dingy where it touches the wall.
"Halekulani is a very maintenance-intensive property because of the light colors chosen by the designers — everything gets dirty very rapidly, so we're constantly cleaning and painting," Glennon says.
2 p.m., Concierge desk
Sally Yates has to find a twirler's baton. She's not sure how soon or exactly what for. But that's what the guest wants, so that's what they'll get. Yates, holder of the coveted Golden Key credential, is working the stand-up desk alongside two others, hip to hip, the low counter before them crowded with report forms, binders, card files, Rolodex files and new computer terminals that will make all this paper obsolete.
Every call or request is logged, every action recorded. Yates, who once researched the cost of shipping a peacock to Brunei (the sultan's wife decided it was too costly, after all), phones sporting-goods stores, does a Google search and finally, with the help of a call to a repeat guest who used to sell musical instruments, finds someone with the UH band who promises to help. "Success!," she says with a broad smile.
And here's the kicker: The baton is a gift from guest Sandy Sewell to telecommunications manager Melba DeMello, for use in directing her kazoo birthday band. The baton arrives in time for the party. And that is the quintessential Halekulani story.
• • •
10/5: Be aware of any guest within 10 feet, and when they're five feet away, make eye contact and greet them.
One up, two down: Anytime you're going just one floor up or two floors down, use the stairs, not the elevator.
Flag report: Overnight notes on slip-ups (i.e., a room-service tray not picked up) and special situations (a guest wants two water pitchers, so don't remove the second one).
V1 through V4: VIP levels. V1 would be a head of state, V4 a frequent return guest with luminaries, celebrities, corporate heads, sports figures and such in between.
Pantone 549: The distinctive muted shade of blue that is the official Halekulani color.
• • •
Accommodations: 412 rooms ($325-$540), 43 suites ($775-$2,750).
Amenities: Spa, fitness center, pool, free tickets to arts/cultural activities, weekly manager's cocktail party, free local calls, 30 minutes' free Internet access daily in hospitality suite, weekly back-of-the-house tour, children's programs.
Rooms feature: 27-inch TV, DVD-CD player, free wi-fi Internet access, morning newspaper.
Kama'aina rates: 20 percent discount.
Current special: $295 garden view, breakfast for two, free parking, upgrade/late check-out if available (three-night minimum).
On the Web: www.halekulani.com.
• • •
1860s-1880s: Gracious homes line Waikiki Beach.
1883: Robert Lewers builds a stone-arched, eucalyptus-floored bungalow (today, site of Lewers Lounge, Orchids, La Mer).
1907: Edwin Irwin leases Lewers' home, founds Hau Tree hotel.
1917: Hau Tree leased by Clifford and Juliet Kimball, renamed Halekulani.
1926: Arthur Brown home acquired; was site of original House Without a Key.
1928: Kimballs open Grays-on-the-Beach, an inn in a former home on adjoining land.
1930: Kimballs buy property, renovate; 115-room hotel includes bungalows, restaurants.
1940s: Renovation and land acquisition continues.
1960s: Kimballs sell 190-room Halekulani to Norton Clapp family.
1981: Hotel sold to Mitsui Fudosan USA Inc.'s Halekulani Corp.
1984: Formal reopening of 456-room Halekulani hotel after extensive renovation.
2003: SpaHalekulani opens, the first major addition since remodeling.
Correction: Gerald Glennon's name was misspelled in a previous version of this story.
Also, Parker Levy is 5 months old. His age was incorrect in the caption. Another photo showed gifts given at turn-down service. The caption incorrectly identified them as check-in gifts.
