With Don Ho's death, Waikiki has lost its magnet, its prime attraction, the beacon to the past.

Over the 40 years I've watched him — from his emergence as an upstart entertainer to his endurance as the biggest of the old-school breed — Ho always did things his way, perhaps taking a cue from Frank Sinatra.

He was an Island superstar whom everybody adored and envied and even wanted a shred of.

They cued up in numbers not likely to be seen again, first at Duke Kahanamoku's in the International Market Place, then at the Polynesian Palace, then the Hilton Hawaiian Village Dome. There were other clubs along the way. Like Ho, they're gone, just a memory in a changing Waikiki that shut down showrooms in the name of progress.

ONE-OF-A-KIND STAGEMAN

Ho was a survivor because he was different — one of a kind. He was widely imitated but he could never be duplicated.

He never professed to be a singer; there always were crooners far better. Yet his impact and appeal were as big as they come.

Back then he was a booster of young talent. He still was doing that at the Ohana Waikiki Beachcomber, his last showcase for a casual, sometimes lethargic show that only he could do.

Certainly, he was the right man for the right time in a Hawai'i ripe for the riches of a visitor explosion. As a post-statehood trouper, he quickly became a magnet to the masses and celebrities, attracting Hollywood legends and stars-to-be. His show was more of a lounge party than a slick revue, with sing-along and clap-along ditties his circle of fans knew and participated in: "E Lei Ka Lei Lei," "One Paddle, Two Paddle," "Suck 'em Up."

Yes, and "Tiny Bubbles." He never liked the song that would become his emblem, the one that he always sang before leaving his stage. In the past decade or so, he made a gag of singing it twice — early, for those who couldn't stay awake till the end; and at the end, for those who couldn't remember that he did it earlier.

I got to know Ho both as a star and as a laid-back, unpretentious guy. I've broken bread with him over the years, at lunch and at dinner, and even held mutual celebrations because we shared the same birthday: Aug. 13.

Ho was an unlikely star because he always sat behind his electric organ, his command post to engineer 90 minutes of shared fun, mostly featuring performers he usually called "my kids."

He'd encourage audience participation; in the early days, coeds from the Mainland would swarm the stage at Duke's and were dubbed "Ho's Honeys." He'd josh about what he'd call the White House if he ran for president — the Ho House. Stuff that only Ho could get away with.

In recent years, he saluted enlisted men and women, firefighters and police after 9/11, paying homage to those who made all our lives safer.

He was the one entertainer all the celebrities, particular the Hollywood veterans, would want to come see and sing with. His fans included Judy Garland, Milton Berle, Johnny Cash, Lucille Ball.

He made it a ritual to kiss grandmas who lined up to smooch on stage, until one died — so he stopped the practice.

But when he appeared at the Las Vegas Hilton some years back, he puckered up and kissed the biggest entertainer of all time: Elvis Presley.

JUICE REPLACES BOOZE

He was largely misunderstood and maligned because of his slovenly manner. His dress of choice was dark glasses, baseball cap, even rubber slippers; in early periods of his career, a wrinkled trench coat was his uniform. His hair was more often disheveled than not, and yes, he mumbled, which some folks construed as drunkenness.

While he used to indulge in alcohol early in his career (Scotch), he quit booze years ago and settled for juice. Still, the boozy image lingered.

He also had hearing difficulties and an occasional failing memory, so he routinely communicated with a backstage aide through the use of an on-stage telephone and, during periods of his Waikiki career, had a teleprompter to flash his lyrics.

He was most proud of the achievements of his singing daughter, Hoku, and frequently featured her in his shows when she visited from the Mainland.

With his voice silenced, there's a noticeable pall in Waikiki.

Surely, everyone is thinking, "I'll Remember You," recalling a special Don Ho story. I'll remember him for being his own person, for bringing excitement to Waikiki. The king has died — and the throne is vacant, with nary a successor in the wings.

Reach Wayne Harada at wharada@honoluluadvertiser.com.