Chapter One is titled “Life in Kalihi.” It is an important part of Ben Cayetano’s life. It is his foundation, it is his blood. His Kalihi is full of memories, both delightful and painful, and he tells them well.

I know someone who grew up in Ben’s neighborhood. He knew the Cayetano boys and was the same age as Ben’s younger brother, Kenneth. He told me that Ben was a “thug” and a “punk” who seemed destined more for a life in prison than in public service. So this colored my expectations as I started reading Ben’s memoir and I was surprised to find a different Ben, as told by Ben. I am not surprised that an author would want to portray himself in the best of light and Ben is no exception, but there seemed a ring of truth to Ben’s memories and portrayals. They ring true because his Kalihi is the Kalihi of my own memory.

I am nine years younger than Ben and I grew up in Palama, a part of town a couple of miles from Ben’s lower Kalihi. But I had friends who lived in Ben’s neighborhood, so I am familiar with the sites and streets he describes. Ben and I also went to the same public schools in Kalakaua Intermediate and Farrington High. Like him, I was a pretty good student until my junior year in high school. And like him, my parents got divorced and my dad raised us. So I understand Ben’s motivations and joys and pain. I have walked in his shoes or, more likely, his “slippas.”

Ben has been tsk-tsked for citing race and racism in his book. I suspect these detractors did not live nor grow up in someplace like Kalihi, or they are in denial. Race was an accepted thing in my day, but not in a divisive way. It was an acknowledgement of someone’s background and culture. You were proud of who you were, just as your friends were of their culture. My closest buddies were Japanese, Korean, Caucasian, Okinawan, Chinese and Filipino. I was friends with Samoans, Tongans and an African American. If I got the stink eye, it was not because of my race. In this pot, you learned to be humble to get along, and humility took me a long way in my life, both in Hawaii and beyond the Pacific.

In writing about the good teachers at Kalakaua, Ben mentions Mrs. Burmeister. I never had her as a teacher, but knew of and respected her reputation as one tough human being. I remember one day when I heard  a fight was going to take place after school in the adjacent park. My friends and I went to see it. The crowd was huge, at least 300 kids. The two guys we all came to see were in the middle of the pack, sizing each other up. They had just put up their dukes when someone yelled, “Burmeister coming!” Everyone ran for cover, including the two fighters! As I ran up the street, I turned to see Mrs. Burmeister wading through the fleeing crowd, not saying a word but just plowing ahead. By the time she reached the spot where the fighters had stood, the crowd had thinned to a few bewildered young kids. Yes, she was one tough person, but you had to be. Now, many years later, I wish my memories were not limited to her toughness. Did she have hobbies? Did she have children and grandchildren? Did she volunteer for a charity? Did she have a sense of humor and laugh at jokes? Did she love her students and take secret pride in their accomplishments as citizens? Did she feel proud when Ben Cayetano became governor?

That’s something that I really appreciate about reading Ben’s memoir: It gives me the opportunity to reflect on my own life as I live Ben’s. More comments to come in future postings. Mahalo.

Couleurs flashy ! Voilà le nouveau baladeur MP3 de la firme japonaise Palama : le Poketo…