Good Sh*t From Hawaii: The Last of the Great Original Tiki Lounges

On a whim, we tried to get into the Honolulu Surf Film Festival at the Hawaii Art Museum.  It was opening night and the Festival were screening one of those films that was a little smarter than you’d expect from the surfer crowd; you know, probably some tasteful acid jazz over 16mm footage of peeling surf – looking very much like lines of coke on a glass coffee table – from oddball surfari destinations like Kiribati or Fiji.  Art crowd meets surf crowd.  Since it was opening night there would be a cash bar and a live band.  Looking forward to tropical images, surf music, and good libation, we circled the Museum in my truck looking for parking.

I already knew we’d have trouble getting in.  There was a trickle of Beautiful People sauntering towards the Museum from the nearby street parking, all decked out in Aloha shirts, Little Black Dresses and dress slippers (you mainlanders call them “flip flops).  Anticipating them, I had dressed the same in my kodachrome Phil Edwards-designed,surf-themed Aloha shirt and khaki Duck Head shorts.  The beachy version of Tom Wolfe’s Radical Chic were all turning out.

Sea Shell Lamps

It would’ve been a memorable night had we gotten in.  But without advance tickets we were sh*t out of luck.  Since we didn’t want to be uncool and get in off the waiting list (nobody wants to be uncool in the surf world), we executed Plan B.

Mai Tai and Blue Hawaii

Plan B: The last of the original tiki bars in Honolulu is located not in Waikiki, but hidden away in an industrial area off Sand Island Access Road, amidst a boatwright’s lot, some warehouse storage facilities, and probably a junkyard or two.  It’s called the La Mariana Sailing Club, and although there in fact are slips for several dozen sailboats, it’s not like any yacht club I’ve ever seen.

Sunset at the LMSC

As you might expect if you know me, the LMSC is the real deal.  It didn’t pop up in the midst of the lounge and tiki revival movement of the late 90s.  By that point, the LMSC was already into 40 years in business at roughly the same location.  Every artifact of the genre there, the tikis, the glass fishing balls, the hanging blowfish lamps, have the patina of authenticity, the aura that it was hung in the Kennedy era by some monosyllabic manservant to Annette La Mariana Nahinu, the establishment’s founder.  There is dust settled into the cracks of the koa carvings and mahogany filigree that dates back to the era of Skinny Elvis.

The food, while generous of portion, is average at best, but really, you’re there for the Boat Drinks.  The drinks you sip on a Lurline class ocean liner.  Mai Tai.  Zombie.  Blue Hawaii.   All strong, all original, all irony-free.  Brought to your table or served at the bar, where, on the night of Plan B we drank bathed in the light of startled blowfish, next to a particularly salty and pickled patron of dubious condition.  We watched him get politely 86d because he hadn’t lost his sea legs yet and was still a bit unsteady on land.  Evidently, outside he engaged in fisticuffs with some of the solid, and very real tikis lining the walkway.

Glass Fishing Balls

There were other tiki bars in Honolulu, mostly in Waikiki.  Famously, there was a Trader Vic’s at the International Marketplace and a Polynesian Village (founded by Don the Beachcomber), but they, and the multitude of smaller, lesser known establishments had all but died out by the 80s, when irony as a precious natural resource was discovered.  The only ones left standing on the island by that time were the LMSC and the Tahitian Lanai.

The Tahitian Lanai, and it’s adjacent tiki themed hotel, the Waikikian, sounds like it was a fine place in its day, hosting many sing alongs around its much revered piano bar.  I’ve heard anecdotes of holiday parties there involving guests like Martin Denny, Connie Francis, the Lennon Sisters, the cast of “Hawaiian Eye”.  It remained open until 1997, leaving the LMSC alone to carry the torch, which Annette did until her passing in 2008.  In the 90s when I started going to La Mariana, she would greet us as we walked in, dressed in a long floral mu’u mu’u and often a haku lei on her head, shushing her caged parrot.  And the LMSC continues to outlive her in exactly the manner she intended.

The Kodachrome Phil Edwards Surf-Themed Aloha Shirt

On the night of Plan B we had a C+ pupu platter and potent mai tais and Blue Hawaiis.  There may have been a martini and a beer in there, too.  We watched the sunset over my shoulder and through the masts of the LMSC fleet.  The place got dimmer, but the colorful glass fishing balls turned on.  Tourists and regulars were all charmed by the place.  The same entertainer from the Tahitian Lanai piano bar was there, too, singing for us, encouraging the shameless to sing along.

Believe me, Radical Surf Chic was not missed.  An irony-free zone, when it can be found here, is definitely Good Sh*t from Hawaii.

Spiny Blowfish

Fresh-Water Fish Tank, here?

Piano, Ukulele, and Sing Alongs

The Old Salt

Non-Hipstamatic Hawaii: Waikiki Beach

With the proliferation of camera equipped smartphones, we see point-and-shoot images go from uninspiring to evocative. Images processed by Instagram at The Trad or in camera through Hipstamatic here take on more character. The images that simulate vintage snaps really catch my attention, and I can no longer look at overlighted, hyper-real pictures -- which we once considered acceptable lo these past 30 years since the advent of cheap photography -- with any amount of satisfaction.

Which is why I thought I'd share a few genuine vintage shots of Honolulu that an historic architect friend of mine recently shared with me.

We have a series of images of the south shore of Oahu. Immediately below is a view looking west towards Waikiki from what is now the Outrigger Canoe Club. In the distance you see the iconic Royal Hawaiian, lovingly called "the Pink Palace".

And a closer view of the same hotel from Waikiki Beach itself. My guess is this beach fronts the Moana Surfrider.

The Royal Hawaiian, the Moana, and the Hilton Hawaiian, the lagoon and original bungalows of which are pictured below, represent some of the most venerable of Old Waikiki luxury tourist accommodations. At these resorts you can experience century old traditions such as high tea, sunset hula, and elegant dining - where, contrary to Waikiki convention, you may still be denied entry without a jacket and tie.

Today as in days past, one can find scenes like this, where tourist girls can pour out of their hotels to receive surfing or paddling lessons from the beach boys of Waikiki.

Not to be confused with the california rock n' roll group of the same name, the Waikiki beach boys have a long standing tradition which continues to this day of serving as ambassadors of beach culture to the visiting Mainland masses. Master swimmers, surfers, paddlers, and fishermen, they epitomized the idea of the Hawaiian waterman. It may sound like a frivolous existence, but on an island which derives much of its livelihood from visitors who flock to places like Waikiki, the role of the beach boy cannot be overstated.

I leave you with a final shot, decidedly un-Hipstamatic, of the legendary beach boys, from an era gone by but not forgotten.

Honolulu on V-J Day, August 14, 1945

VJ Day, Honolulu Hawaii, August 14, 1945 from Richard Sullivan.


Unfortunately, I had nothing for Memorial Day, and serendipity didn't smile on me when this video found its way into my mailbox the day after the Sixth of June. Living in Hawaii the ghosts of the Pacific war haunt us just as tangibly as the Blitz does London, even to those (like me) who are generations removed. Here in Honolulu, we have the Arizona Memorial entombing those who first gave their lives in the the first morning of the conflict. Nearby is the Battleship Missouri, where the armistice was signed by MacArthur. Two icons which bookend the war with Japan. But we also have the ghosts, sometimes friendly, other times more somber, Americans all, who wandered these streets and taverns in khaki and denim before, during, and after. Some watched as others sailed off on hulking warships of grey, or happily piloted aircraft to rendezvous with flattops already out to sea, their last peaceful flight for a long time.

I now know what it looked like here in Honolulu, the day the news reported the end of the war, when these ghosts were still vital and alive, coming home or seeing loved ones coming home. I myself have never seen footage quite like this, and it deserves sharing. One of the streets is Kalakaua Avenue, the "main drag" which cuts through Waikiki, but not Kalakaua as I've ever seen it before. The only recognizable features to my practiced eye are the venerable Moana Hotel, still there today (and worth a stay for you fine hotel stalwarts), the Beach, and Diamond Head. Otherwise, it's another world. If you've ever been to Honolulu, the chances are near-perfect that you've been on this street. But, minus the two-way traffic, minus the rural, single wall cottages adjacent taverns. Minus the men in khaki and denim, and their beautiful women. Minus - regardless of what you were doing here - the level of celebration we see these ghosts enjoying.

About the video: This footage is personal to Richard Sullivan who kindly made it available for embedding on his wonderful website. The scenes were shot by his father, a veteran who evidently was blasted out of his bunk unhurt on Dec. 7, 1941. One comment to his video, I've copied here, to identify some of the landmarks. The commenter uses the handle "hebneh", and sounds like he was present as well, as he compiled the following guide.

":28 - South St. next to the Advertiser building
:38 - Kapiolani Blvd. seen from South St.
1:05 - "Parade" goes from Victoria St. onto King St. with Thomas Square in background (with military buildings in it)
1:26 - Ala Moana Blvd. with HECO plant at back left
1:28 - Kalakaua Ave. nearing Kapiolani Blvd., with Kau Kau Korner at the intersection (later Coco's, now Hard Rock Cafe)
1:40 - Moana Hotel
2:05 - Looking up at viewers on the exterior fire escape stairs of the Moana Hotel

Other than the Moana, all the other Waikiki buildings seen here are long vanished.

There were more local people on the streets that day in downtown Honolulu than in Waikiki, but they were outnumbered everywhere by the military."

Amazing stuff.

Skinny Skinny Fat

A buddy at another blog got me a'thinkin' about Elvis and his Hawaii connection. The King always loved the islands, and for that we here will always have a special place for him in our hearts. My favorite Elvis movie is Blue Hawaii (which beat out Paradise Hawaiian Style, about a helicopter pilot being a bachelor on Kauai, by a country mile, as well as Girls, Girls, Girls, which I've never seen). There's so much that this movie gets WRONG about Honolulu, but the vibe is just SO RIGHT, especially for when summer kicks in and it's a non-stop beach-fest from Memorial to Labor Day.

Here he is driving around the Island, circa 1961. Love the girl (hibiscus in hair). Love the sights (Waikiki, Diamond Head Lighthouse, the Kai'wi Coast, Makapu'u). Love the little red sports car (what is that, a Jag?).



And here's a timeless classic that many may not know first played in this movie.



Time passed, and the Skinny Elvis, the great iconic bachelor, eventually bought lots of Caddilacs, set up shop in Vegas, and maybe shot out a few too many TVs with .357s. But he still had one iconic Hawaii performance left in him before he became Fat Elvis. Ladies, gentlemen, Bachelors and Betties, I give you Mr. Elvis Presley at the Honolulu International Center (know to locals as "H.I.C."), 1973.



A bronze statue of the King was dedicated in 2007 at the very site of this immortal concert. And that's Good Sh*t from Hawaii.

Mid-Sixties Honolulu

My parents married two years before I was born and I know a bit about their story. After the wedding my parents travelled often. Here are some pictures I have of them in the Honolulu of 1965 or '66.

I wonder what it was like for them before I was born. I imagine in their lines of work, without me to chase around, and at that time in Manila, life was pretty cushy. It shows in their faces, if you know them. Here they are at the Ala Moana Shopping Center, once known as the largest shopping mall in the world.


I love the way Mom is standing in the picture above, still at Ala Moana. Like one of those sixties models. Below, I don't see a bit of the game face that Dad almost always wore around me when I was a kid, nor do I see the stiff "parade rest" that I think was always for my benefit. I also love his trim trousers, Florsheim loafers (always Florsheim. The day he stopped wearing Florsheim, I knew he was mellowing), and the French aviator sunglasses. By the way, the parking lot below later became the location for one of Mom's medical clinics in the Eighties.


I also can't ignore Dad's shirts. Not exactly cheesy, but certainly not traditional either. I imagine those are the same shirts the Mercury 7 were wearing whenever they hit the Cape back then.

Next, they are with another couple in front of the apartment they bought. Pilots used it as a crash pad well into the Eighties, and I remember going there occasionally and finding three or four of them at a time. A new flight crew would move in every few days. After my father left the airline, he kept his interest in the place until the end, although he never used it other than to see old friends. We always referred to it as "The Apartment". We still see the other couple regularly.

The other "star" in the pictures is definitely old Honolulu. The sky seems emptier, more exotic. Today, there would easily be three times as many buildings in the background if you were to stand in the same spot and snap the same image. And this Savings & Loan failed long ago.

If I can steal some from Mom's albums, I'd love to show you some pics of them in Europe. Dad looks like a secret agent and Mom looks like Jeannie Shrimpton.

Good Sh*t From Hawaii: Aloha Shirts for Aloha Friday

In Honolulu, the alternative to the business casual of denim shirts, is the Aloha Shirt. In fact, it is less an alternative than it is an institution in its own right. For as long as I can remember, long before "I.T." specialists anonymously buzzed the hallways of quiet law firms in their Dockers and jeans shirts, there was the Aloha Shirt, worn daily by bankers, CPAs, and all other professionals. My father wore one to Equitable five days a week. The Aloha Shirt, especially those made by venerable local clothiers have always been acceptable business wear downtown.

I, on the other hand, took a long time to warm up to the idea of colorful patterned shirts as anything other than tacky, even in this Aloha State. Of course, I changed my attitude, especially when I realized that many tasteful patterns could be had. Add to that the comfort of cool short sleeves in our tropical climate and the fact that many of the nicest ones are made right here in Hawaii, and I'm ready to defend the Aloha Shirt against the sniping of any sartorialist.

To the right you find the classic Reyn Spooner, an almost always muted affair, unencumbered of the many garish colors associated with the Aloha Shirt of the cheesy variety. This one was given to me by my sister because it depicted outrigger canoe paddlers, and I love it. Pull this shirt over your head, tuck it into a pair of tropical weight dress pants or, of course, khakis, and you can hit the board room, deposition, or country club without fear of being underattired. Just don't go to court in one, unless it's a settlement conference in chambers. Going on the record is still a suit and tie occasion, as well it should be. But the Reyn Spooner is about as Establishment as they come around here. In the late fifties, Reyn McCullogh, a businessman from Catalina Island, California, saw the potential that jet travel and statehood offered Hawaii. Ruth Spooner was already a master seamstress making the best shirts and surf trunks in Waikiki when Reyn brought his venture here. Like the formation of a law firm, both their names graced the letterhead and Reyn Spooner was born. Now, whether Trad or Prep or modern, and you don't want to swim in a world of cheese, the Reyn Spooner is the Safe Bet of Aloha Shirts, .

To the left is the Kahala*, since 1936 another member of the venerable Battleship Row of Aloha wear. The Reyn Spooner may be a safe bet brand, but there's nothing safer in pattern than blue and white, for sure. Not having any court appearances, I wore mine this past friday, so that I could seamlessly go straight from work to happy hour. Aloha Friday existed long before silicon valley execs could even imagine casual friday. In Honolulu, every friday is casual and to a lesser extent monday through thursday is a sort of friday. Matched with some pegged chinos and my Jolly Roger belt (thanks John) and Weejuns, I like to think I've got that travelling surfer vibe from The Endless Summer going on.

So far two shirts, two brands and I have yet to detect the stink of cheese.

Manuheali'i is the name of a label from the Windward Side of Oahu, in Kailua, a place that some locals still consider the other side of the moon rather than just the other side of the island. Although I've lived here for almost 40 years, I still get lost in Kailua, because I'm from over the mountains. And Kailua is no one horse town, either! Manu is a relatively new brand, so new in fact, that they don't tout their age on their website. My wife seems to love their patterns and has gifted me a trio of their shirts. The one below is my favorite, a pullover (half placket) with tanglefern print. Quietly sprinkled into their design is their script logo. My wife has taken the liberty of gifting the exact same patterns to herself and our son. The two of them are the only people on the planet I would ever wear matching clothes with, and with these Manu prints, I must say it's still not an overload of pattern.

But really, the best reason to wear an Aloha Shirt, in my book, is because you want to "kick back" and relax, maybe have a mai tai at the Halekulani Hotel House Without A Key or enjoy some finger food and stingers with the Jetsons at Honolulu's last rotating restaurant, The Top of Waikiki. If that's the case, don't even worry about business casual. Just do what Honolulu does best: casual casual.

What follows are some of my fun Aloha Shirts, ones I probably wouldn't wear to the office, but ones I'm proud to wear to anything from fancy cocktails to baby lu'au. To the right is my Primo Beer shirt by Go Barefoot, another gift from my wife, this time for Valentine's Day while we were engaged. This shirt usually goes untucked with Duck Head shorts or my Levi's. I've gotten many compliments from locals who remember this Hawaiian beer from the sixties and seventies when it was the choice of everyone from fishermen to politicians.



Next is another favorite of mine, another Reyn Spooner with nifty graphics featuring the Disney superheroes, the Incredibles. Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Dash, and Violet the Invisible Teen are all depicted, as are second-bananas like Frozone and the Edith Head-like "Edna Mode". Man I loved that movie. If you've never seen it (and what OnceABachelor with a kid hasn't?), it's cooler than Mad Men for sure, and an absolute must-see.
Next is a sweet kodachrome-toned job, again by Reyn Spooner, but designed by deified sixties surfer Phil Edwards. This pattern celebrates surfing's early days, with the names of some noted surf spots like Makaha and Waimea Bay printed right on the shirt and mixed in with some classic surf images. This is a tough shirt to pair with anything other than very faded blue jeans, although I can get away wearing fancy linens and a pair of dainty Coach loafers in tan leather with it. No socks, please. Then my wife is putty, but that's another story.


And last but not least is my famous (at least around here) party Aloha Shirt, although it's not made in Hawaii. I bought this orange and green Attitude Adjuster in Bora Bora, when I was accompanying students on an environmental awareness exchange through the islands of Tahiti. This shirt gives new meaning to the term Go To Hell. It really lets the rest of the party-goers know what your intentions are. This shirt is Strong Medicine, and I don't wear it often, but I love it.

I will square off against any clothes horse in its defense, and in defense of all of my beloved Aloha Shirts.

* By the way, all the photographs from the Kahala website were taken by a photographer friend of mine, Joss Descoteaux, who specializes in paddling and surf themed photography.

Good Sh*t from Hawaii: Bathys Watch Co. 100Fathoms Automatic

I've lived most of my life in Hawaii and, yes it's paradise. I wouldn't live anywhere else, but really, its greatest claims to fame are Don Ho (R.I.P.) and Hawaii Five-O. Hardly illustrious by the standards of polite society but if so moved, I can give polite society such a philodemic bitch-slapping on the merits of both Uncle Don (Tiny Bubbles. 'Nuff said) and H5O (Jack Lord's sharkskin suit, to begin with) it would be ugly. Honestly though, as much as everyone would love to visit the Islands, not everyone truly appreciates all the different amazing things they have to offer.

And so I hereby inaugurate Good Sh*t From Hawaii, beginning with the Little Watch Company That Could, which, as it turns out, comes straight outta Kauai. Bathys is run, almost single-handedly by John Patterson. John, as far as I can tell is nothing if not a fine time manager (no pun intended), who balances scientific endeavors (i.e. his day job) with horological entrepreneurialism, a love of Hawaiian watersports, and an appreciation of vintage automobiles (old Volvos, SLs, and Willys jeeps).

Bathys hit the watch scene only a few years ago as the only watch company from Hawaii to offer Swiss made precision timepieces. The term Swiss Made is jealously protected by, well, the Swiss, to ensure quality and superlative workmanship, so you know you can count on a Bathys. I have one of the original 100 Fathom automatics, actually a 2nd generation Bathys, in stainless steel with a black dial. I bought it on the strength of the Bathys reputation, which grew thanks to the internet, and because of this very evocative photograph (taken from the Bathys Website):

This image, depicting the arm of an eco-adventurer pal of John, spoke to me. It told me the watch was just a bit different but still tasteful, and I just had to have it. As you can see, this watch sits proud of the wrist, a 41mm beautifully brushed silver stainless steel case on a waterproof leather band with contrast stitching, big green numbers and a blood-red sweep second hand. It boasts a slightly curved sapphire crystal that distorts at flat angles (love it or hate it, the former for me) and thunks reassuringly when you tap it with your fingernail. It also has a beautiful chapter ring indexed both in 60 seconds and 24 hours, also in confident red, black, and white. Lastly, the face is marked with one of my favorite words: "Hawaii", and on the case back John has engraved and labeled the main Hawaiian Islands. Here's mine, serial # 6155, on my lanai railing wearing the original leather strap with deployant buckle (enlarge the image, seriously, get a load of the face!):

And here it is, at a waterfall on Kauai, wearing an aftermarket solid-link stainless steel bracelet. John will be coming out with his own bracelet with fitted lugs soon:

And finally, here we are diving on a pod of spinner dolphins on the island of Lanai and sporting a nylon NATO strap:
Because of the absence of a timing bezel, it can't really claim to be a complete dive watch. However, with a 200 meter depth rating, a spirited argument to the contrary can be made. What the watch is, in fact, is a consumate watersports watch that can be surfed, paddled, swum, or worn diving, as I have done many times, without issue. In that way, it is as Hawaiian as can be. Unlike a pure diver, however, it is stylish enough to be worn to court in a suit, as I have done probably weekly. In that way, it is as OnceWereBachelorean as can be.

In a short span, Kauai resident John Patterson, a man after my own soul (and therefore yours too) has taken his little watch company from internet pipsqueak to cult favorite, a three-time (and counting) invitee to the illustrious Basel Watch Fair in, where else, Switzerland. John has expanded his line of watches to include the classic 100F (my favorite), a variety of imposing dive watches called Benthics, to their newest line of lunar phase ladies watches called Wahine (Hawaiian for, well, woman). Alas, Bathys have made the jump from internet sales only to brick and mortar retail at stores on the East Coast and London, but it's still the same great watch, with the same great customer service and approachability.

So the uninitiated may think that Hawaii is all kitsch and tack, but really if you look hard, you can find a lot of Good Shi*t From Hawaii, starting with Bathys.

For more info on Bathys, go to John's website, bathyswatch.com. Do yourself a favor and let the intro play so you can hear a great cover of Bob Marley's "Jammin'" on ukulele. Make sure to turn it up.

John, I hope you don't mind me borrowing pictures off your website. This is, after all, an unsolicited and unpaid-for testimonial for I am no shill. However, if you want me to remove them, let me know and I would be happy to do so immediately.

OnceWereBachelors Careers: International Airline Pilot

When you're a bachelor airline pilot flying international routes, you've literally got the whole planet stretched out before you. Possibilities are endless. Your life is a William Holden movie unfolding. You leave home, go someplace exotic, mingle, and return refreshed. When you get married and have children, as my father eventually did, not much really changes except now you miss home, you return to your wife, and you make sure you've got toys in your flight bag for the kids to rifle through in your den.

Before I was in preschool, my father flew routes between Manila, Honolulu, San Francisco, New York, and London for Philippine Airlines. Back in the late Sixties at PAL, that meant Douglas DC-8s. Flying to the States enabled my father to keep his hot American cars, as well as those of his race-car-driver pals, excellently equipped with Goodyear tires he had loaded in the cargo holds of his planes. Corvettes. T-Birds. Mustangs. PAL would send him to flight training with KLM in Amsterdam. That's where he acquired his French aviator sunglasses, Harris tweeds, pegged pants, and Florsheim shoes. The gold Rolex Day-Date Oyster Perpetual he also acquired while travelling, I believe in Hong Kong.

For the PAL pilots back then, Hawaii was a significant touchstone, a waypoint in more ways than navigation. Investments were made here. Real estate. Life insurance policies. Friendships. And of course it was so very much like Manila. So when airline management got chintzy with the pilots, and a strike they organized collapsed because of scabs who crossed the line, my father resigned from PAL, packed up his whole OnceWereBachelor life, and moved us all to Honolulu. He traded the large Metro Manila home with the den and bar and the maids and houseboy for a small cottage on hospital grounds where my mother became a resident physician, a profession she barely needed to practice while dad flew the endless skies.

My father considered a few options, the least promising of which was American International Airline Pilot. Something about quotas for non-American-trained flyers, despite the fact that KLM training was top of the industry back then. Next least promising was bartender. My father has never been very talkative or hospitable and smoky places make him irritable. Eventually, he settled on life insurance, which he turned into a nearly thirty-year second career. He barely looked back during those three decades. Once I asked him if he regretted ever leaving PAL. Without hesitation he scoffed at the thought and pointed out that if he hadn't he doubted he would have a lawyer son or a surgeon daughter. I tend to agree. Privileged Manila Kid is a dicey upbringing to have, but I digress.

Selling life insurance sure wasn't the same as world travel, hands at the controls, thousands of pounds of thrust at your command. So it is not lost on me that this was one of many, many sacrifices that my father made for the better of our family. In this day and age, where I myself espouse quality of life, insisting that I couldn't work at a job I was unhappy doing, my father's sacrifice is even more remarkable.

This is barely the story of my father, really. I mentioned the maids and houseboy? In this new, non-airline pilot life, dad did most of the feeding and cleaning and grocery shopping and bill paying, while mom built her medical practice. He drove us to and from school. And he sold life insurance with great success.

Dad's in his early seventies now, and thanks to grandchildren, I truly believe he's getting younger and younger. He hasn't worked in years. When they can pry themselves away from our kids my parents travel often, mostly to Madrid and Manila, anywhere we have family. But for the sake of my dad, even though he retired from Equitable Life, I like to think of him as a former airline pilot and I always will.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. There will never be enough of them in my lifetime and yours together for me to be able to express my love and gratitude to you.

Top: My dad in the right seat of a DC-8 cockpit.
Bottom: My dad and his red 1955 T-Bird.

Christmas at the Lodge

Once in a great while the OnceABachelor must drop his offspring with the Grandparents and make a brief escape. With the Christmas season starting, my beautiful wife and I did just that, with a trip to our favorite "resort" hotel: the Lodge at Koele, on the Island of Lanai. My law partner and his wife (both of whom were my closest high school classmates) came along for the good times. It was certainly a quick vacation worthy of the Epic Life we should all try to lead.

The Lodge was where my bride and I had our honeymoon, and it is where my law firm holds its annual retreat with the wives. This Christmas marks the first time I've come back For No Good Reason. We flew in on a small Cessna Caravan in which the two of us were the only passengers, and on the way to Lanai I got a view of Honolulu you rarely ever get on the big jetliners. Contrast the cityscape with the cliffs of Lanai, and you get an idea of what the latter island is all about.

We arrived to find the hotel bedecked in Christmas ornaments, trees, and holly. The only thing missing, of course, was the snow, but the brisk highland air would do. Our room, as always, was cozy but far from small, with a view of the pond and immense banyan trees.

The Lodge is hardly a big resort hotel. Never crowded, it is small enough that its staff know you by name, even before you arrive. The illusion is similar to a ride up in the First Class cabin, where you are given personalized attention. This, combined with the authentic hunting lodge ambiance, make Koele my favorite hoteling experience. The Lodge is a very masculine place, all wood and leather and stone, boasting artifacts ranging from Polynesian to Asian and African.
Aside from the Lodge's great hall and two dining rooms, there are four other rooms of importance. The first is a semi-octagonal game room equipped with billiards, shuffleboard table, chess and backgammon tables. Next is a library, another octagon, with several conversational areas. There is a music room with a grand piano. These rooms all have stone fireplaces that are useful since upcountry Lanai's nighttime temperature often dips into the fifties.
And of course, the Lodge has a small, well stocked bar with excellent wait staff, all of whom, again, know your name. It is quiet and the other guests, all feeling that they are in on the same juicy secret that you are in on, are always friendly. It is a whispering kind of bar, but it is so inviting that we've been known to turn whole afternoons to haziness in there. My libation of choice for the weekend was the Lodge's special Mai Tai. Not always a fan of tart sweet cocktails, this one I felt was appropriate for the Pineapple Isle.

And lest you think the weekend was all about the indoors, the Lodge has a spectacular grounds, too, including a large koi stocked pond, a greenhouse, bamboo forest, an occasional flock of wild turkey (which seemed abundant this year), a 9 hole putting course (not to mention a world class golf course I've never seen (I'm not a golfer, but I'm told it's called the Experience), three croquet pitches and a huge bowling lawn. My wife indulged me a cigar under the eaves of its church (what other hotel has an active Congregational church on its own grounds?). We taught our wives how to shoot shotguns at a nearby sporting clays course. Turns out we married natural born killers. The only thing we didn't do was our traditional midnight cocktail raids to the hot tubs (our numbers were meek).

I really wanted to sing the praises of the Lodge and I feel I have failed to do that sufficiently. All I have done is summarize it. How should I put it. It is a place we truly love. In writing this, I realize that what I love about this place, besides the memories we make, are the spaces it gives us to occupy. It's not a hotel you pass through. It's one you inhabit.

Merry Christmas to all. May you be with your loved ones occupying places close to your heart.

*Click on the painting at the top to visit the website of Lanai artist Mike Carroll, who painted this image of the Lodge.