My mother, Helen Yonge Lind, was born in Honolulu in 1914. She died early this year, just months short of her 99th birthday.

This is one of a series of short vignettes of life during her early years, transcribed from her original typed and handwritten notes.

Today’s contribution: Waipahu.

Most of my childhood memories are of Waipahu and the Oahu Railroad, as my father worked for the railroad as a station agent, first at Puuloa and later at Waipahu.

I have only faint memories of the Puuloa Station, which was located near today’s entrance to Hickam Field. It was a smallish structure located in the middle of cane fields on the makai side of the train tracks. On the mauka side of the tracks was a cottage where a Hawaiian couple lived and may have operated a small store. Alongside the station, a road running in the Ewa direction led to Pearl Harbor and another disappeared through the cane fields to Watertown and Fort Kamehameha.

We visited friends in Watertown where homes were built on the edge of a rocky shoreline, each with a pier extending out over the water. In the clear shallow water, you could see slithering sea creatures that we called “snakes.”

My father was transferred about 1917 to the Waipahu station, which was closer to civilization. It served a larger population and was surrounded by a number of stores and a rice mill. Not too far up Depot Road was the Waipahu plantation town. The road separated the station from the river which in the rainy season filled to overflowing and caused great flooding.

The station had a second story which served as the living quarters for the family. Behind the building was a small lawn area bordered by a hibiscus hedge, and beyond that was a large warehouse for goods being shipped in and out. Across the tracks from the warehouse was a large wooden water tank that serviced the train engines. In a portion of the surrounding area that was covered with bushes and weeds, my father cleared and fenced a space where he raised chickens and vegetables. By the warehouse, he raised red pidgins which provided us with the most delicious squabs.

Across the track and beyond the water tank was the entrance to a rice plantation where my sister and I spent a great deal of our time under the watchful eyes of the two oldest daughters of the Chinese family. I remember the names Ah Ting and Ah Moy. Their young brother, Ah Look, was our playmate.

We ran down the raised pathways through the rice paddies chasing flocks of rice birds and playing with the ducks. We caught frogs and small fish, and when the workers came in from the fields for lunch, we joined them in the rustic dining area sitting on stools around a quite large round table. The floor was hard-packed dirt with chickens flitting around chasing bones and bits of food from the diners. Hanging from the ceiling over the table was a large pot of rice from which we helped ourselves. The food was simple and savory and has left a lasting influence onmylife-long preference for what some call Chinese “peasant food”: salt fish, salt duck egg, fatty steamed pork (kau yuk), and green vegetables with pungent hum har sauce.

Since my father supervised the loading and shipping of the rice harvested by various rice growers in the area, our family was often invited to elaborate harvest banquets. The feasts were a sumptuous spread of many dishes elaborately prepared and delicious beyond description.

Related:

Memoirs of Haleiwa

A 1949 family luau in Waipahu

A pre-WWII picnic

More glimpses of my mother’s Hawaii in the 1920s

I found another old manila folder in which my mother stashed handwritten notes, then later typed them up, sometimes through several revisions. They are about people and places she knew during her long life. I’ll share bits and pieces over the next few days.

The first is titled, “Memoirs of Haleiwa.”

A newspaper article about the area around Haleiwa and Waialua had apparently jogged my mother’s memory, and she sat down and typed out notes of what she recalled. The notes are undated, but other notes seem to have been written between 2004 and 2010, when she was between 90 and 96 years of age.

For three years of my childhood in the 1920s, I lived in Haleiwa in the makai section close to the grand old Haleiwa Hotel and the Anahulu Bridge. Even at the tender age of 10, there was no mystery about the names. I understood perfectly that I lived in Haleiwa in the district of Waialua. The town that bore the name of the district Waialua was several miles distant surrounding the sugar mill and plantation housing. I doubt if that particular area was actually called Waialua before the advent of the plantation. When the plantations of Waialua, Waianae and Ewa were established, each was given the name of its district, not the Hawaiian place-name of the location.

Although located in Haleiwa, the Waialua District Court House and the Waialua Elementary School were so named because they served the entire district. That was the Waialua District court and theWaialua District school. Some of my school friends came every day from the banana farms of Kawaihapai and from Puuiki out beyond the Waialua mill. Next to the school, out on Kaiaka Point, was the Waialua Fresh Air Camp, now a state recreational area.

On the 1841 Wilkes map prepared bu the U.S. Exploring expedition of 1838-1841, the various districts of Oahu are shown with Waialua extending across the entire North Shore.

Over the years some names of places have changed or new ones have been adopted. I don’t know when it happened, but Paumalu, the “beach of the sneaky waters,” disappeared and Sunset Beach entered the scene. Other place names well known years ago have been forgotten. Puuiki and Kawaihapi don’t even appear on current road maps.

It was many years ago, but I still recall a few of the names of people I knew in Haleiwa. My best friend and constant companion was Jenny Woodd, who became and entertainer and the grandmother of currently popular singer, Amy Hanaialii Gilliom. Jenny’s brother, Johnny Woodd, was a well known local swimmer in his day. There was John Kukea who chose the career of a fire fighter and a water sports enthusiast. One of his sons is connected with the Kamehameha Schools. Tommy Cleghorn sat behind me in the 5th grade and delighted in poking my back with sharpened pencils. He went on to Punahou and became an anthropologist with the Bishop Museum.

The Mahoe fanily lived on a rise beyond the Anahulu river. A granddaughter is Marie Adams McDonald, an artist and the author of the beautiful definitive book about the Hawaiian lei. Across the street from us was the Takahashi family. I don’t remember if they had a store, but I believe they were the owners of the community furo which I remember well. On a number of occasions, my sister and I donned our kimono, placed a bar of soap in our little bamboo baskets, grabbed a towel and trekked across the street to bathe and bask in the warm, soothing waters of the furo amongst people of all ages. The Laird family lived on the banks of the Anahulu near the old missionary Emerson house. Years later we met again when one of the daughters and I worked together in the same department at UH.

I wonder if many residents today are aware there was once a thriving glass bottom boat business owned and operated by a man named Jenkins. His boats that took paying customers out into the bay to view reef life were moored next to the bridge on the lowest slope of the hotel grounds. As far as I know, he was not married and left no descendants.

I have two outstanding memories of the area. One was a tidal wave around 1922-25. A couple ran up the street shouting, “the kai, the kai” (the sea, the sea) and people flocked to the beach. We stood on a high area above the sandy beach to watch. I have a mental picture of the water in the bay receding and then suddenly rising into a high wall of water pushing toward the shore. There weren’t any curling waves as portrayed in surfing films. The ocean seemed to just swell up and then move forward. Then someone hustled us inland so I dod not see what happened next. Nor do I remember if there was any property damage.

Another vivid memory is one of ethereal beauty, the spectacular and captivating sight of the lotus ponds in full bloom. The scene was so impressive, it has remained with me through all the years.

Helen Y. Lind
Kahala