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Pakalaki Memories: 4

Kirby Wright

My father had formed a limited partnership with Gramma, an agreement where he paid her gas and grocery bills in exchange for deducting those expenses from his taxes. He made her sign papers saying they'd had meetings they never had. The partnership was a no lose situation for my father and he gained the added benefit that he was providing for his mother while Tommy wasn‘t. Gramma's hotel room was a write-off. He'd already buttered her up with a new International Scout, a suji gill net, and a bigger cesspool. On birthdays, he sent her a big gold box of Mrs. See's Candies. He'd promised her a fiberglass boat, a German Shepherd, and a flushing toilet for her mountain house. The gifts and promises were proof of his love. He wanted her to know he was a devoted son who deserved Hale Kia, her ranch. Tommy rarely visited the Young Hotel because it reminded him that his older brother was paying for their mother's room. That hotel became my father's territory. If Gramma wanted to see Tommy, she had to meet him someplace neutral, like the Hob Nob Restaurant across the street.

My father had decided on the Young Hotel because of Gramma's weakness for sweets. The hotel boasted the best bakery on Oahu. He also knew she had a nostalgic interest in that hotel because, during the Forties, she'd jitterbugged with Alan Ladd in its ballroom. Despite the bakery and the memories, Gramma was leery about sleeping alone in a city she considered the crime center of the Pacific. She never ventured out alone. One night a drunk sailor banged on her door and begged "Lucky Lucy" to come out. Gramma called room service and ordered a butcher knife. Room service refused. She phoned HPD and got the sailor arrested. After that trauma, my father made sure Gramma got a room with twin beds and had Ben and me take turns spending the night with her. When it was my turn, I realized she wasn't meant for hotels. She was meant to be talking story in a kamaaina home, not stuck in a place full of malahinis. She told me she could hear noises through the walls and claimed people were "monkeyin' " with one another.

"Are you sure they're monkeying?" I asked.

"Screamin' an' bangin' tah beat the band."

"Really?"

"Just goin' it," she said.