Fisherman happy to pay finder's fee for lost wallet
Sometimes gratitude is the hardest sentiment to bear.
It is for Jim Carignan.
As with many fishermen who ply waters and make landfall in places far from the nearest ATM, he often carries thousands of dollars in his wallet.
And therein lies the story.
Carignan, a 41-year-old commercial fisherman, has gone from his Kailua upbringing to fishing the waters of the world: Alaska, the East Coast, the Grand Banks. Often at sea for 30 to 40 days at a time, he relishes trips home to Hawai'i to recharge — fishing the tranquil blue waters of Lana'i, Maui and Moloka'i.
In Kaunakakai one recent trip, he ambled across the wharf into town to buy cigarettes and ice. Returning, he sat for a while on nearby rocks to watch the boats go by and languish in the island's beauty. With water lapping at his feet, he got lost in the moment. And, absentmindedly, laid down his wallet.
Twenty minutes later, he and a friend shoved off, on his way to Hale O Lono Harbor on the other side of the island. Halfway there, that ominous empty feeling grabbed hold. He was missing his wallet. It was that same empty feeling familiar to anyone who has left a purse on the bus or a briefcase on top of the car before driving off.
His wallet contained $1,100, credit cards and Carignan's ID. "My heart rate just dropped — cold sweats," he said. "I tore that boat apart (looking for it)."
His girlfriend, Ann Bayle, remembers the resignation in his voice when he called. "He kept saying, 'What can I do!? I'm out on a boat. I'm on vacation. ...' "
"There was one thing on my mind," Carignan said. "Somewhere, in the middle of the Pacific, a (lucky) fisherman will be fishing $100 bills out of the ocean."
Two days later, in a vacation rental in Honolulu, he was rousted from a sound sleep at 6 a.m. "You have a call from Moloka'i," the unit's owner said.
The caller asked Carignan his name and if he'd lost a wallet. The caller said he'd found a wallet — remarkably, where Carignan had left it on the rocks three days earlier.
The caller said he was able track down Carignan because the phone number of the vacation rental was in the wallet.
The rest of the contents? Still intact, said the caller.
"Open it," said Carignan, "and put one of the $100 bills in your pocket."
The Good Samaritan refused.
"How can I repay you?" Carignan asked.
"I want you to promise me something," the caller said. "The next time you see someone hurt, someone in need, remember this and be willing to help. Spread this aloha!"
The Moloka'i do-gooder extracted one more promise before hanging up: that his anonymity be preserved. He wanted no glory.
Days later, a package arrived in the mail with Carignan's wallet, all contents intact.
Only one of the cards had been used — the calling card, used to make the phone call to Carignan.
Carignan is keeping his promises — to offer a similar helping hand in the future when someone in need falls in his path, and to never divulge the Good Samaritan's identity.
"Everyone told me the newspaper should do a story" to thank the man, Carignan said.
Wade Kilohana Shirkey is kumu of Na Hoaloha O Ka Roselani No'eau halau. He writes on Island life.
