But one problem persisted. No one could find them. Located on a small nub of a street left when Kapahulu Avenue replaced Makee Road as the main thoroughfare on that end of Waikiki, the little road got lost in the shuffle. Adding injury to insult, those who knew where it was gave the good ol' Scottish name — Makee (pronounced McKee), named for James Makee, a 19th century trader, rancher and ship captain — a Hawaiian pronunciation, Ma-ke-e.

Makee, says Dator, was quite the bon vivant, lavishly entertaining King Kalakaua and Queen Kapi'olani at his Maui Ranch. So celebrated were his exploits that hulas bore his name: Hula O Makee, a jaunty standard about a ship named for him; and Makee 'Ailana (Makee Island), about a romantic little part of Waikiki now long gone.

Known now mostly for the hula it inspired, the little island in the middle of Kapi'olani Park's lagoons, joined only by wooden bridge to land, was quite "the place" in its day, says Dator. It was known for moonlight concerts in its bandstand — and quite a bit of lovers' romantic gymnastics at night amid the ironwoods, palms and kiawe. Folks, it is said, would count the couples on the island by counting the number of lit cigarettes.

Dator's new home stood on that approximate location. Immediately, he says, there were "personality conflicts" with the little Makee Street location. No one — not emergency vehicles, taxis, repairmen — could find the little stub of a street, left when the confusing maze of a modern Kapahulu, Lemon and Kuhio roadways converged.

"Forget the ambulances," joked McShane. "What about the pizza delivery guys!"

Directions such as "directly across from the zoo, next to Queen Kapi'olani Hotel" were of no help. Everything was a mishmash of high-rises and traffic. Everyone, says McShane, ended up at the more prominent high-rise a block mauka with a similar address: 240 Makee St. Dator and McShane got quite used to "waving their arms and yelling" to direct expected visitors. "It was a problem from the beginning," says Dator.

Further complicating the building's identity crisis was the similarly-named Scandia Towers a few blocks away. Neither Nordic name seemed indicative of the romantic past of this small enclave of Waikiki history, Dator says.

The Scandia. Scandia Towers. 240 Makee; 204 Makee. And where the heck is Makee?

The confusion became a cause célébre when residents bought the building in 2002 from its original owners. "We took the opportunity," says Dator, after reaching a building consensus, to petition the city for an address and name change, navigating the convoluted city bureaucratic hurdles that entailed. "The building LOOKS like it is on Kapahulu," Dator lobbied. "Let's make it officially so."

One day, says McShane, the Makee Street signs disappeared, leaving the building clearly on Kapahulu, even if just by default. "It was the fastest thing I ever saw the city do!" joked Dator.

"And fortuitous," adds McShane, that the old "204" address "fit in the (ordered addresses of) Kapahulu. The building even retained its old number."

Residents agreed on the name Makee 'Ailana. Part Scottish, part Hawaiian. Pure sense of place. The name joined the memory of the captain, the road, the island, the ship, the songs and the hula.

They notified the post office. They notified the Fire Department. And, individual apartment owners told friends and creditors. "Everyone," says Dator, "assumed if we changed our address, we'd moved."

Now all is well in Dator's little world. The building is easily found on Kapahulu, and the name "Makee 'Ailana" perfectly reflects its nostalgic history — even though folks continue to pronounce both words as if they were Hawaiian: "Ma-ke-e Ai-lana."

"Still," says Dator, with a twinkle in his eyes, "it was the easiest way 'to move.' "

"Yeah," says McShane. "And now the pizza gets here!"