strength

MILITARY FAMILY DOCUMENTARY:
While Time Stands Still

 

For 17 years, our country has engaged in a war most people have now forgotten. Yet, we still have troops deployed… Filmmaker and Iraq War Veteran Spouse Elena Miliaresis travels to Twentynine Palms, a Marine Corps base in the Mojave Desert, to meet two wives on the eve of their husbands’ deployment to Iraq with 3rd Battalion 7th Marines. Over six years, “Military Family Documentary: While Time Stands Still” follows their journey revealing how they find the resilience to survive and grow stronger than they ever thought possible. “Military Family Documentary: While Time Stands Still” is the first film to chronicle the lives of military families during wartime, and depict the impact war has on families. This moving documentary created by female filmmaker gives a voice to women, to wives and mothers, a rarely seen perspective. “Military Family Documentary: While Time Stands Still” honors and celebrates the contribution of women to the history of the United States of America.

 

 

 

LONG STORY SHORT WITH LESLIE WILCOX
Puna Dawson

 

Puna Dawson has often found herself in the right place at the right time. Guided by her Hawaiian values and a desire to serve others, she has met extraordinary individuals and lived through significant events. Meet this Kaua‘i-based Hawaiian cultural practitioner and learn about the remarkable people and events that have touched and shaped her life.

 

This program will be rebroadcast on Sunday, Sept. 22, at 4:00 pm and 11:30 pm.

 

More from Puna Dawson:

 

Hawaiʻi Is All People

 

Whatever You Need, You Have

 

A Simple Smile

 

Puna Dawson Audio

 

Download the Transcript

 

Transcript

 

Did you have that sense that you were—because your life has been one of service, and you’ve done an astounding number of things, was that an intention?

 

I think it kind of happened.  I’ve been very fortunate to be at places that have opened doors and given me experiences, I mean, from one end of the Earth to the other. I thank my kūpuna, because they planned it, you know, and I’m just walking that path.

 

Puna Dawson often happened to be in the right place, at the right time, meeting remarkable people.  Was it chance, or part of a greater design?  Puna Dawson, next, on Long Story Short.

 

One-on-one engaging conversations with some of Hawai‘i’s most intriguing people: Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox.

 

Aloha mai kākou.  I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Cecelia Ann Camille Keikilaniwahinealiiopuna Kalama Dawson, better known as Puna, is a Hawai‘i cultural practitioner on Kaua‘i.  She’s the second-oldest and first daughter born into a family of eleven children on O‘ahu. Descended from Hawaiian ali‘i, her parents taught her as she was growing up that like her ancestors, her life purpose must be to serve the people.  While she did not seek to meet prominent and extraordinary individuals, they certainly crossed her path in surprising ways, in surprising places.  Who else can say they were called to give a man a ride on Kaua‘i, and it turned out to be the Dalai Lama?  More on that later.  She lives in Anahola and Līhu‘e, Kaua‘i, but grew up in Kailua on the Windward side of O‘ahu.

 

Kailua was a big place close to the ocean.  I that was what our life was all about. And my family, you know, when I look back at all of my siblings, my parents had playmates for us.  Because they had so many.  And we were poor, but we just didn’t know that we were poor.  Being there in Kailua, it was a rich community of people that really knew one another, that saw each other at church, walking to and from, you know, school.  The people of that time are names that you read about in today’s time, but they were aunties and uncles, and everybody knew everyone.

 

And now, it seems so odd that anyone who describes themselves as poor would live right … you lived behind what is now Buzz’ Steakhouse, and right across from the beach park.   And now, it’s a whole different upscale neighborhood.

 

Oh, it sure is.  But back then, you know, in one of the homes that we lived, my dad grew everything.  And he was a cook.  My mom was a princess.  But he grew everything, and he taught us to respect and appreciate the ocean, because that was our icebox.  Our house was a one-bedroom house.

 

With eleven children.

 

With eleven children.

 

Up to eleven at a time.

 

Eleven children.  My dad was a man of many trades.  And he was able to build us steel bunkbeds.  So, we had three bunkbeds, a daybed for one of the children, and then a crib.  And we all lived in this one bedroom.  I mean, all the children did.  My parents slept in the living room.  He made that bed, too.  And we had a closet that was about this big, and a bathroom, and a hallway kitchen.  I call it a hallway kitchen because that’s exactly what it was; it was a hallway.  Small house, but lot of love.

 

And did you want to go home, or did you feel cramped at home?

 

Oh, no.  I thought everybody lived like that.  And we always had extra people.  My dad, you know, all the people that kinda grew up—Whitey Hawkins, all these uncles and aunties that he knew from the ocean came home; brought ‘em home.  And children.

 

So, when you were a child, your home was full of people who had a range of backgrounds, and came to eat, came to socialize.

 

My dad; yes.

 

Your dad would …

 

My dad and my mom.  You know, because my mother was a hula person, we always had hula people there.  Back then, the Lucky Luck show, you know, we’d go and perform, Auntie Genoa would play music, the Bee Sisters would play music.  My dad, between his fishermen and friends, we lived down the road from Don Ho, we lived, you know, in Waimānalo it’s Uncle Gabby.  But it wasn’t unusual for them to show up at our house and kanikapila in the front yard. And my dad was a boat builder, so he built so many boats.  And last count, he built sixteen boats, and he gave them all away.  And these were big sampan style, you know.  The people who would come to our house would not just play music, but you know, talk story, and talk story.  And so, our life was full and rich.

 

Auntie ‘Iolani Luahine came to your house.  I mean, you’ve seen her dance in person.  You know, she’s no longer with us, and not a lot of pictures even remain of her, especially moving pictures.  But they say it seemed like she was possessed by another presence when she danced.  Did you see that?

 

She was dedicated to hula, and of that time.  You know, when you look and read about the history of that time, I had no idea we were living in that time because she was part of it.  Iolani came on my mother’s birthday and asked if my mother would go and chant for her at the beach.  And so, we went.  And she danced right there at the water’s edge, right at the mouth of Kawai Nui, the river in Kailua.  And she danced there.  And you know, when you say that she’s possessed, it’s like she’s from another time. It was as though she was on top of the water, at the water’s edge, just floating.  Because of her dedication, when she became this other person, it was a real gift to me in my memory, because it helped me understand the histories of past.

 

So, here you are, I mean, treated to this amazing dancer, while also, you’re off to St. Anthony’s Catholic School in Kailua with your long hair down to your ankles.

 

Big bush.

 

Bound up behind your head.

 

A bush.  My dad didn’t want us cutting our hair, so our hair was big.  Anyway, at St. Anthony’s, again, at the right place at the right time.  You know, Hedwig von Trapp was—

 

Okay; stop right there.  Hedwig von Trapp was your teacher.

 

Yes.

 

And who was she?

 

Hedwig von Trapp of the von Trapp family.  She came to school in her dirndl and her kerchief.

 

The Sound of Music family.

 

The Sound of Music.

 

The actual one of the kids.

 

Actual; yeah.

 

Grown up.

 

The actual.  And you know, she was a gift to the school.  My auntie, Melia Meyer’s mother, found this woman, brought her to our school.  They were so involved with education.  And she became our music teacher.  So, you know, Mihana Aluli and all of us going to school there, we learnt from this woman.  Besides, of course, Auntie Irmgard.  But we learnt from this woman about harmony and voice projection.  We didn’t know we were having voice lessons; it was what she demanded of us at the time.  But, you know, I attribute my ability to hear harmony to that woman.  And what a gift.

 

Puna Dawson’s family life revolved around the ocean, whether it was boat building, fishing, or especially canoe paddling.  As much as her mother expected her to follow in her hula footsteps, paddling always came first for her.  Yet, her life experiences, guided by her relationship with her mother and other Hawaiian cultural practitioners, pushed her in another direction.

 

I loved sandboarding at the mouth of the river. That was my favorite sport; and canoeing.  And you know, all our family were canoe paddlers, canoe builders, makers.  And my passion was canoeing.  And I’d show up for hula with my hair wet, and show up there, and I never thought I was going to be a kumu hula of any kind.  In fact, I’m really lazy.  But I never thought, because I believed that my mother was going to live forever.  But not too long after that, my Aunt Maiki Aiu passed away.  She and my mother were two peas in a pod, and were both graduates of Auntie Lokalia Montgomery, and so, they did everything together.  But it was such a shock when Auntie passed away, because it made me realize that that could happen to my mom, too.  And I will say that helped me be more responsible.

 

Because you were the next in line to be kumu hula once your mom passed?

 

No; it was, you know, never appreciating what is right around you.  Never appreciating them.  And that was a real wakeup call.  Because my aunt was surrounded by beautiful people, and you know, and my mom too, and my aunts, my other aunts, that when she passed, it shook us, all of us.  But it shook me enough to say to my mom: I’m ready. I’m ready.

 

You had been the daughter who wasn’t showing interest in hula.

 

Oh, no.  I would say to my mom every time: Oh, there’s a new race, mom; right after this race, I will show up.

 

I see.

 

I promise you, I promise you.

 

It’s not easy; as everyone who ever goes to Kamehameha Schools knows, not easy to make Concert Glee.  You did so. What was that like?  Because it did take you many places.

 

It did.  You know, I’m gonna say this on record; I had the best friends in school, and Robert Cazimero was one of them, Kaohu Mookini.  I mean, you know, all the names that you hear.  Wayne Chang, all of these people were the who’s-who were all part of this group.  And Auntie Nona Beamer was our Hawaiian teacher.

 

You must have thought that was really normal to have all these amazing people around you.

 

Really.  And what happened was, at the right place at the right time.  Kalani Cockett came and he saw the Hawaiian ensemble, our group, and picked the whole group up and, you know, the rest is history.  We became The Hawaiian Expression.  And so, we traveled, but we traveled with our teachers. Mr. Mookini, who taught science, was our musicians, the Bee Sisters.  You know, all of these people that were known musicians of the time were a part.  Barry Yap from Kauai, you know, Beverly Noa, Ed Kenney.

 

Wow.

 

These people were—

 

They traveled with you and worked with you.

 

They traveled.  You know, we’d show up in Belgium, we’d show up in Paris; every place that Pan American flew, we had a show there.  And we were housed in Zurich.  And a group of us, you know, it was like a pod.  And it was wonderful, because we were at places that you only read about, you know.

 

Was Hawaiʻi small enough now that many other people had these experiences, or were they coming to you because your family was so involved in the community?

 

I think it was just timing.  And I say it all the time; it’s just timing.  All the places that I’ve been and continue to go to, in the name of aloha is an expression that my mom used.  What happened was, she saw so many things being written about Hawai‘i, and she totally disagreed with it.  And she became part of the Aloha Council with Auntie Pilahi Paki.  They wanted to push to make sure that that idea and the flavor of Hawaiʻi didn’t disappear.  And so, my mom started to travel.  And she chose the places that we still had agreements of peace—Germany. You know, if you look at Kalākaua and the things that he had made peace agreements—Japan, all of these places, that’s where she wanted to go.

 

What were the original things that your mom heard that were being said incorrectly about Hawaiʻi, that made her want to go on her mission?

 

Oh; hula.  Things about hula that just drove her crazy.  All knowledge is not in one school.  That’s correct.  But what was happening was, things about huna, about lua, and especially about hula was being printed, and printed in all these different languages—Japanese, you know, German, a lot of Swedish and things.  And talking story with Auntie Pilahi, you know, they were: We gotta do something about this.

 

Well, what exactly bothered them?  What was being said?

 

Well, the practice of huna especially.  Huna is in every culture; every culture.  And the expression of unihipili, coming to your center. It’s when you translate something that has no foundation, and you create it.  And that’s what they saw.  You know, in the expression how the word aloha was turned around or expressed without thought, without foundation.  I mean, the words itself in that word aloha, it is so pronounced, because it is characteristics of who we are as a people.  And in reference to hula, hula is not something that you can really learn.  It is there in you.  And different people are able to help to bring it forth.  I believe that that was really what bothered them the most. And my mother said: My grandchildren, great-grandchildren are gonna be reading this and believing it if we don’t speak out against it, if we don’t show the other side of the picture—

 

Correct the record.

 

Right.   Then, you know, we’re at fault.  So, it became a mission of hers in her later years to try to, you know, create that huliau.

 

After high school, Puna Dawson assisted her mother teaching hula in Kailua, while remaining an avid paddler and hoping to build the sport.  She followed her husband, Kalani Dawson, to Kaua‘i when he was assigned a short-term job on the island.  And she was there when Hurricane Iwa hit, which extended her husband’s stay. Commuting back and forth between O‘ahu and Kaua‘i after that, she became part of the Kaua‘i community until moving there permanently.  Then, a second hurricane hit.

 

My husband worked for the telephone company, and he went to install of the PBX in Poipu.  The very following week, Iwa hit.  And then, we were on loan to the island.  And getting ready to come home, and then Iniki hit.

 

’92; that’s a long time.

 

That’s a long time.

 

So, you were there …

 

I was there from ’89, continuously.  But in that time, my friends and family on the island would say: Oh, teach hula; why don’t you teach hula.  I go: Oh, no; too much work.  Plus—

 

I’m leaving anyway.

 

Yeah.

 

Plus, my husband and I were very involved with the canoe club on Kaua‘i.  And he bought me a microwave.  I know. He says: I’m gonna buy you this microwave because I want you to come and be the coach for the women’s crew on Kaua‘i. And so, I said: Oh.  Well, when I went there, when I went there to be the coach, what happened was, you know, coming from O‘ahu, where everything was more systematic, we go to Kaua‘i, and I have people who don’t run, they paddle when they want to paddle.  I mean, they were wonderful, but you know, it was a different lifestyle.  Anyway, he said: We need to help them to become long-distance paddlers.

 

Okay; now, what does this have to do with the microwave?

 

He bought me the microwave because I said: I’m too busy, I can’t do this, you know.  He bought me the microwave, got me the classes, and I became the microwave queen. Anyway, come back to the canoeing. Why I even went on that tangent is, my mom came to visit me a couple of times, and you know, we have friends on island. Everybody knows everybody.  And in the years that I was there, I met different kumu.  And so, when my neighbor said: Oh, can you teach us a song, we’re gonna have this convention.  And I said: Oh, let me send you to my friend.  So, I sent them to Kapu Kinimaka.  Love that girl.  Anyway, sent her.  Well, these were older women.  They were schoolteachers at Kapa‘a School, and just wanted to learn a hula so that they could share.  Well, after about three days, my neighbor comes back; she goes: We can’t dance over there, we cannot do the duck walks.  Kapu was progressive and young.  So, I said: Oh, I have another friend.  So, I called Auntie Beverly Muraoka.  I sent them to Beverly, and Beverly was teaching down at the boats.  The Lurline would come in, and so, her classes were right there in front of the Lurline coming in.  So, here are these schoolteachers who like everything to be exactly right; right?  All learning hula with all these tourists around them.  And so, they come back again three days later: We can’t be down there, we don’t even know the songs, you know.  Well, my mom happened to be home at my house, and she heard me talking to my neighbor again.  And she says: How many times did you send them away?  And I said: Twice.  She goes: This is the third time?  I said: Yes. She goes: No; you’re not sending them away.  She walked out; she said: Come tomorrow, you folks will have hula over here.  And that’s really how I started to teach, is because my mom was there.  You know. Otherwise, I would have probably passed it on forward.

 

Wow; that’s interesting.  Yeah; do you think that was meant to be?

 

I believe so.  Going to Kaua‘i, my husband encouraged me.  So, anything that I wanted to do, he encouraged me to do it. But he loved the fact that I was not only doing the culture, but you know, seeing where it was going, and utilizing the things that I was taught as a young girl.

 

You mentioned that two hurricanes kept you on Kaua‘i, even though you had planned to move back to O‘ahu.  What was your life like?  Iniki really hit Kaua‘i—well, both hit Kaua‘i hard.  What was life like after that on Kaua‘i for you?

 

Oh, my goodness.  You know, I was working at um, Smith’s Flower Shop right at Wailua.  And we had this big funeral.  So, I go to work that morning, and I’m doing all of this stuff for funerals.  And what I noticed is the peacocks in the garden are walking out of the garden in a line. And I’m saying: That is so unusual. And the Iwa birds that you usually see in the mountains were now in the lower areas, where I could see them outside of our flower shop.  And my husband calls and he says: You’ve gotta go home; you know, this hurricane is really gonna come.  Anyway, I’m driving home, and I see on the open plains cows and horses sitting on the ground.  And they only do that when they’re gonna give birth or something; right?  So, I mean, all of these signs were showing that things were different, something was happening.  My husband opens up all the windows and all the doors, and everyone’s saying: Go up to the mountain, go to the school because that’s gonna be the safest place to be.  But he looked at the house, he says: There’s concrete around everything around right here, we have a coconut tree right in front of the house.  Anyway, when Iniki hit, um, it came like a locomotive, the sound. And the wind went right through our house.  And our house was fine; we were perfectly fine.  Then, we hear the noise again.  So, here is Iniki coming, the other half, ‘cause I didn’t realize we were in the eye; other half.  I saw a house that I was at the open house just the week before, falling off the mountain. You know, like the piano just falling off the mountain.

 

Wow.

 

It was at that time that I met my neighbors.  So busy coming and going, I didn’t know my neighbors.  And my neighbors next door, the three girls had really bad asthma.  My brother Kamohai, he sent a generator; I had the first generator in Anahola.

 

Oh, that was so precious.

 

And so, we hooked up these girls, because they needed it for their machines.  I met the neighbor across the street, all the neighbors, and pretty soon we had all the kids at our house.  And you know, we would walk down to the beach to go and swim in the ocean, because we didn’t have running water.  I mean, there were so many things we didn’t have.  In that time, getting to know the neighbors, getting to know the people, I think that Anahola community really came together, and people not only knew one another, but took care of each other.

 

Wow. So, you’ve just described a powerful, destructive hurricane in terms of what good things it did for you.

 

It did.  And it did for the island.  It made everybody appreciate.  Lucky we live Hawai‘i.  But lucky we live Kaua‘i.  It made everybody appreciate what they have.  And we have a lot.  You know, simple is best.

 

Puna Dawson’s experiences of meeting remarkable people in history and living through significant events have all been part of her journey.  Mahalo to Puna Dawson of Anahola and Lihue, Kaua‘i for sharing her stories with us.  And mahalo to you for joining us.  For PBS Hawai‘i and Long Story Short, I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Aloha nui.

 

For audio and written transcripts of all episodes of Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox, visit PBSHawaii.org.  To download free podcasts of Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox, go to the Apple iTunes Store or visit PBSHawaii.org.

 

Along that theme of you coming in contact with leaders and just really remarkable people, you had an interesting guest in the backseat of your broken down Subaru one day.

 

Yes; I did.  I called him Toptim, ‘cause that’s what my brother said; his name was Toptim.

 

And in fact, he was …

 

He was the Dalai Lama.

 

Dalai Lama.

 

Yeah.

 

And he was sitting in the back of your Subaru.

 

Yes.

 

Holding your pikake plants.

 

Yeah; yes.  He came to the island.  My brother just said: My friend wants to come, and his name is Toptim.  When he came—because I didn’t know who he was, I had no idea, and so, I had all my buckets with the plants and stuff in the backseat.

 

Because you worked in a flower shop.

 

Yeah.  And so, I had to pick up all the flowers.  And so, when he said where he wanted to go, I said: Oh, I’m gonna go there, but we’ve gotta pick the flowers up on the way.

 

What was the Dalai Lama’s reaction to that?

 

Oh, he was game.  He’s a fun-loving guy.  We arrive at the airport, and here he’s sitting with my packages of pīkake, smelling wonderful.  And the girls come out to help me, and they tell me: Auntie, Auntie, that’s The Chosen One.  And I’m going like: Yeah, I guess so.  And so, we proceed going inside.  And the girl comes up and she has a newspaper, and she shows it me like this. And I turned to my brother and I say … he goes: Yeah, Toptim.  Because he couldn’t say the long version of the Dalai Lama’s name.  From that moment, it was like: Oh, my goodness, I just took this gentleman from one end of Kaua‘i to the other end of Kaua‘i picking up flowers.

 

And covered him with plants.

 

And covered him with plants.  I mean, literally, you could only see him here, and everything else was around him.

 

Did he make a comment about it?

 

He said: Oh, this is joyful.  You know, he used that word joyful quite a few times. And he found humor in everything that we were doing.

 

It is pretty funny.

 

Yeah, it is.  All I can say is, I’ve been blessed.  I’ve been really blessed.

 

 

 



NOVA
Treasures of the Earth: Gems

 

Gemstones like diamonds, rubies, opal and jade are some of Earth’s ultimate treasures. Delve into the depths to discover how these precious stones are forged and what explains the unique allure of each captivating gemstone.

 

 

 

HIKI NŌ
Breaking Gender Norms and other stories

 

TOP STORY

 

“Breaking Gender Norms”
Students from McKinley High School on O‘ahu introduce us to their school’s quarterback, who happens to be a female. On August 19, 2017, McKinley sophomore Alexandria Buchanan became the first female varsity quarterback to start a game in Hawaiʻi. She recounts her progress from playing on the junior varsity team as a freshman to becoming the starting quarterback on the varsity team. “I’m proud I got this far,” says Buchanan, “I never expected to be on the varsity level, let alone starting as their quarterback. I take a lot of pride in it. I take a lot of pride in having my team and my coaches trust in me.” McKinley’s football coach and its athletic director also discuss how more and more females have been playing football in recent years, challenging the old perception that it is a sport strictly for men.

 

ALSO FEATURED

 

–Students from Maui Waena Intermediate School in Kahului, Maui, introduce us to a female intermediate school student who inspires younger students to embrace the wonders of STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math).

 

–Students from Kapaʻa High School on Kauaʻi give us an inside look at their school’s building construction class.

 

–Students from Moanalua High School on Oʻahu shine a spotlight on a downtown-Honolulu arts organization: The Arts at Marks Garage.

 

–Students from Kamehameha Schools Maui High School introduce us to a young woman who has created a program that helps other young women build self-confidence and separate their sense of self-worth from social media.

 

–Students from Waimea High School on Kauaʻi present a profile in courage: a young girl who defeated cancer and gained strength and ambition from the experience.

 

 

 

Easy Yoga: The Secret to Strength and Balance with Peggy Cappy

Easy Yoga: The Secret to Strength and Balance with Peggy Cappy

 

Discover how yoga can aid in the increase of strength and mobility. Peggy Cappy shows how yoga poses can increase range of motion, improve awareness of the body, help prevent bone loss and keep metabolism running efficiently.

 

 

 

LONG STORY SHORT WITH LESLIE WILCOX
Mahealani Wendt

LONG STORY SHORT WITH LESLIE WILCOX: Mahealani Wendt

 

Growing up in the crowded, rundown tenements of downtown Honolulu, Mahealani Wendt witnessed the poverty of the Native Hawaiian people around her. That ignited a passion to help, and she spent more than three decades fighting for Hawaiian rights, with a long run as the Executive Director of the Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation in Honolulu. Today she lives in Hāna, Maui, and is a poet and author.

 

This program will be rebroadcast on Sunday, August 11, at 4:00 pm and 11:30 pm.

 

Program

 

More from Mahealani Wendt:

 

“Righteous Cause”

 

Hawaiian Homeland

 

This program will be rebroadcast on Sunday, March 24, at 4:00 pm and 11:30 pm.

 

Mahealani Wendt Audio

 

Download the Transcript

 

Transcript

 

When I went to Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation, I’m not sure that the most effective thing I could do there was as an attorney.  I worked as a volunteer, I worked as a grants writer.  I knew nothing about writing grants.  You know, a lot of times, you’re fueled just by passion, and you have so much … I don’t know how else to put it.  You know, you just feel so, so intensely about something, and it drives you, and you do everything you have to do to make it happen.  And that’s how I became a grants writer.

 

Her success as a volunteer grant writer led to a thirty-two-year career fighting for Native Hawaiian rights.  Mahealani Wendt of Maui, next, on Long Story Short.

 

One-on-one engaging conversations with some of Hawai‘i’s most intriguing people: Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox.

 

Aloha mai kākou.  I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Mahealani Wendt is the retired executive director of the Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation, a community activist, accomplished writer, and poet.  She’s the eldest of seven children, grew up on Kaua‘i and O‘ahu, and now lives on farmland on Maui in Wailua Nui along Hāna Highway.  She knew from the time she was nine years old, living in the rundown tenements of Downtown Honolulu, that she wanted to help others.  She was deeply affected by the poverty of Native Hawaiian people she saw around her, and despite being poor herself, she says she was raised in a loving, nurturing environment, and never went hungry.  In childhood, she developed a love of writing and reading.

 

My father is Spanish; he’s second generation.  My grandparents emigrated from Spain in 1906.  They were plantation workers, the first sugar plantation in Hawai‘i, Kōloa Sugar. And so, they settled on Kaua‘i. And eventually, he met my mother, who’s from Hilo; she’s Hawaiian.  And we grew up on Kaua‘i there.  It was very beautiful, very country.  We had horses, cows, pigs, chickens, raised every kind of, you know, fruit tree, we had a garden. We were cray fishing, climbing trees; all this stuff we did, it was beautiful.  My parents separated.  You know, we were pretty innocent; we never understood what happened.  We just knew that one day, my mother decided that we were going to move, and she brought us to Honolulu.  It was a really different lifestyle.  You know, it was kind of an idyllic life, country life, and we moved to the heart of Honolulu, to the tenements.  And I still remember our address; it was 1278 Fort Street.

 

Fort Street.

 

Yeah; Fort Street, and there were twenty-seven steps going up to the second floor where we lived.

 

This was an old, beat-up building.

 

Yeah; it was the heart of the slums, the tenements in Honolulu.  This was in the 50s, mid-50s, and these tenement buildings, the closest thing that would kind of resemble it would be the buildings in Chinatown.  Those are far more well-maintained than the ones we lived in.  The buildings we lived, I’m now understanding, they were at least fifty years old.  They were wooden, they were termite-eaten.  They were firetraps, basically, you know, not fit for people to live in, but we lived there.  My mother, when she left, you know, didn’t have really the means to support all of us, and so … that’s where we lived.  Some slept on the bed, some slept on the floor.  We had, I think, three showers, cold water.

 

On that floor?

 

In the building.

 

In the whole building?

 

Everybody shared.

 

And how many people were in the building?

 

There were fifty-two rooms. There were three areas where we could do our cooking.  There were kerosene stoves.

 

Was it dangerous?  I mean, I know from a fire standpoint, it was dangerous.  What about from a human standpoint in a rough part of town.

 

It was a rough part of town. From my standpoint, I never saw any danger, I never experienced any danger.  It was a new world; I thought it was really kind of cool and exciting. New kids to play with, new people to meet, new aunties and uncles.  All Hawaiians in that building.  You know, in the same way they do now, the aunties take care.  So, we felt very protected and free, and I never felt any danger.  If you were entering from the sidewalk, you know, there were these narrow steps that went to the second floor.  And the pool hall was downstairs, next to a Chinese restaurant, next to a grocery store, next to, you know, all these different kinds of—

 

So, it felt like a neighborhood to you.

 

It did; totally.

 

No creepy people hanging around.

 

I never remembered any creepy people.

 

You know.  And I mean, when I think back on it, I think: Wow, it would be like, you would think there would be creepy people, but in my child’s eyes, I never saw creepy people.  To me, they were really nice; nice people.

 

And you felt adults were looking out for you, too.

 

Yes, we did; we felt very protected.

 

I wonder how your mom felt with seven kids to take care of.

 

We owned our own home on Kaua‘i. My grandparents homesteaded twenty-five acres there, and you know, the lands are still there.  So, you know, what caused her to feel so compelled to move, we never understood.  I never even understood it as an adult.  But there we were.  It must have been very stressful; we were really poor.  I sold newspapers.  I thought that was really cool, ‘cause I could have spending money, you know, and stuff. I was selling newspapers.  My corner was Fort and Kukui, and I sold the Honolulu Advertiser.  I sold forty papers, made a dollar.  And then, that was my lunch money.  I made most of my money from tips, ‘cause I was so young.  You know, I was like, nine years old, standing on the corner with newspapers.  Oh, poor thing, you know.  So, they’d give me a dollar.  Wow, that’s a lot of money.  That’s what I would make for the whole, you know, selling forty papers.  So … I thought it was great.

 

M-hm.

Again, the perspective.  You know, as a child, I was innocent.  I saw all of it as a great excitement.  It was just a different thing, you know.  I mean, one thing, for example, when we lived in Kauai, the store was really far.  You know. When we moved to Honolulu, the store was downstairs.

 

It was amazing.  I was just like, enthralled, you know.  When I lived on Kaua‘i, we’d go to the movies once, you know, every six months or something.  When we went to Honolulu, we lived next to the theater.  You know.  So, that’s how I saw it from a child’s sort of sense of wonder.  It wasn’t until I was, you know, older, maybe intermediate school, I sort of kinda understood that we were really poor.  And then, as I got older, I realized that, you know, the auntie that, you know, was so sick, and da-da-da, this is why.  And then, I realized that, you know, so-and-so, that you know, we really thought was really a cool guy, he’s in jail because he did this.  You know, so I had a sense of perspective, but it was afterwards.

 

After the fact.

 

Yes.

 

Did you ever connect with your father again?

 

Yes.  We saw him as we could afford to.  I think he would send money and, you know, we’d go.  But it wasn’t very often.  And he came to visit us once.  You know, he was not a Honolulu man; he was a hunter, a fisherman.  He would come back from the mountains with, you know, these burlap bags full of ‘o‘opu to feed our family.  You know, very subsistence lifestyle.  When he worked, he worked as a heavy equipment operator, kind of a laborer.  I loved my dad.  Both of my parents read to us.  My father would put us on his lap and read.  You know, those experiences.  I came to really love literature and reading from both parents.  My parents were very good parents, in spite of the separation. And my mother was very strict; she taught us very fundamental values, and we were expected to, you know, adhere to them.  And if we did not, the punishment was swift and sure.  All of the kids turned out good.  I went to Royal School.

 

Royal School.

 

Yeah.

 

Okay; elementary.  And then?

 

I went to Royal Elementary, and then I went to Central Intermediate.

 

And then?

 

And then, I went to Kamehameha in my sophomore year.  I liked public school.  Public school was awesome; I learned a lot.  You know, again, the common theme of, you know, this love of literature, that was more than reinforced in the public school.  In fact, at Kalaheo Elementary, where I went to, you know, from first to third grade, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Robello, encouraged me when I wrote a little poem for my mother.  You know how teachers do.  It’s so important.  She took my little poem, she put it on the wall.  You know how teachers, you can encourage by telling everybody, you know. And when her students would make a little picture, she’d put that on the wall.  So, she had ways of encouraging and making you feel: Ho, this is something I can do.

 

How long were you in the tenements?

 

Well, we lived in Honolulu for three years.  There was a terrible fire in the tenement next door.

 

Another wooden building?

 

It was a wooden building; it was right next to ours on the next block, and it burned down.  And four people died in that fire.  One of the ones who passed was a three-year-old who was my brother’s playmate.  And so, it really affected everybody, the family.  It really had an impact on me.  And it was just … I don’t know; I’ll never forget it.  We stood out there and watched this whole thing happen.

 

And watched it burn down.

 

Yes.  We lived there until my mother could find someplace else she could afford.  So, we moved close to Queen’s Hospital; same sort of building, but not as big.  We lived there for another, like, three or four years, and then we moved, and we actually moved to a much nicer place. Things were getting better; you know, Mom could find work, and so, we moved to a much better place.

 

How formative was the experience of living in places like that, those two different buildings and the fire that took your acquaintances and friends?

 

I know that it has everything to do with my community advocacy work, especially on behalf of Hawaiians.  The people who made a difference in our lives when we were growing up were the social workers who reached out to us. They were so kind.  They were so kind to my mother.  And I grew up feeling that I wanted to be a social worker.  I changed my mind when I realized I didn’t have the fortitude.  I saw what they had to deal with.  And I’m a little bit emotional; I have a really hard time focusing, you know, when I see that.  I got older, I guess I gained a perspective.  As a child, I didn’t really understand what that environment was all about.

 

Yeah; you thought they were nice people.

 

I thought everybody was nice.

 

But they were carrying all this pain, I suppose—

 

Yes.

 

–that they saw.

 

M-hm.  And as I got much older, and we learned our history and, you know, the displacement, I started focusing on Hawaiians.  It happened kind of gradually.  I was, you know, someone who was intent on a social work profession, but I also had competing things that I was really interested in.  The literature thing was always an interest.

 

After graduating from Kamehameha Schools, Mahealani Wendt went to work for big corporations, first on the continent, and then back home in Hawai‘i.  She was good at what she did, but her heart was not in the corporate world.

 

Right out of high school, I lived in Texas.  And while I was in Texas, I worked for a very large insurance company, a national insurance company, and I learned a lot about corporate business.  And so, I worked there for five years, I worked my way up.  Then I came home to Hawaiʻi.  I worked for a local corporation called Crown Corporation.  They had a bunch of industrial loan banks, they had securities firm, they had insurance. You know, I mean, some of the companies are still around; a lot of them are no longer.  But you know, they were real estate developers; all of that.  I was into that.  And I was like an admin assistant to vice president.  So, I did that.  And then, I went to college.

 

That was good preparation.

 

Yeah, it was good preparation. But interestingly, I started doing the community activism, you know, the demonstrations and stuff when I was still working for this corporation.  And my boss, who was a vice president, said: Just don’t let me see you arrested, or on TV. You know, something like that.  I said: I’ll be fine.

 

You know, so I always like, had these two like, sort of identities there.  I would be this corporate thing at work, and then, you know, uh, the rest of the time, I’d be … and then, I decided I needed to go to school, because I needed skills to do the thing I wanted, which is [SIGH] effectuate social reform.  Working for business was really a survival thing for me.  I had good skills, I had good typing, accounting; those sort of things. I had skills that I could market very readily in the business environment, so that’s where I went.  But that’s not where my heart was.

 

So, you’re taking political science now at the UH.

 

M-hm.  I’m taking political science, and I have an opportunity to do an internship with Legal Aid Society, along with thirty other interns, students at UH Mānoa, political science majors.  And we’re placed at the Legal Aid Society of Hawai‘i at a time when, you know, we were coming into a growth of social programs, social economic programs in our community.  So, there was this quantum leap in legal services available to the community through Legal Aid.

 

Because there was more funding.

 

There was more funding.

 

More value placed on that.

 

Yes.  I chose to go with the so-called land unit at the time.  And in the course of my internship, I was assigned to work with community organizations in the Hawaiian community. And that sort of was a catalyst for my future work.  I attended law school, I left law school.  I was very active in the community.  I mean, actually coming into this kind of work, the genesis of it was community activism.  So, the early so-called land struggles—Kalama Valley, Kokua Kalama, He‘eia Kea, Waiāhole-Waikāne, Niumalu-Nāwiliwili on Kaua‘i, Mokauea Island—all of those struggles, I was there.  I was there. I was not there as a leader; I was there as someone who felt compelled to be there.  I really related to what the people were suffering, and I felt I had to be there.  It’s a combination of that activism and my experience at the Legal Aid Society leading me to Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation.  You know, it’s kinda like all boiled into the picture.

 

Why did you leave law school after college?

 

Well, I had children.  At that time, I was a single parent.  That was part of it; it was the economics of it. You know, when I went to Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation, I’m not sure that the most effective thing I could do there was as an attorney.  I found my niche was really talking to the staff about community; how community felt, you know, what was important.  Because sometimes the rigor of legal linear thinking separates you from community. And I think you need both.  So, I think it would have been fine to go through law school, but at that point in my life, I felt I would be more useful in bringing that perspective to the firm.  And I think that it worked really well.

 

And you worked your way up to heading the office; you ran the office.

 

Yeah.  So, the first position was an interim attorney who agreed to come over from private practice to sort of get us started.  The second was Melody MacKenzie.  Then after, I think, a year or two, the first gentleman moved on back to private practice after kinda mentoring us.  I became the third staff person.  And Melody MacKinzie was my boss for, I don’t know, maybe six, seven years. And she taught me so much.  I just owe her a great debt of gratitude.  She’s the kindest, the most brilliant mentor a person could have.  I mean, I just love her; I love her to this day.  She was the executive director, but I guess she was kind of, you know, having to do a lot of this admin stuff.  And it just seemed more efficient to have me do the administrative part, you know, deal with personnel hiring, firing, that sort of thing.  ‘Cause I had a background in it.  Melody has those skills, but she’s also brilliant; a brilliant jurist, a brilliant scholar.  You know, I mean, talking story as a staff, and it just seemed like, you know, a more sensible way to go.  And so, I guess in name, you know, I became the head of the organization, and then she could focus on cases and clients, you know, and I could just deal with the other stuff.

 

You did that for a long time.

 

M-hm.  Well, I retired after thirty-two years.  So, yes, I did it a long time.  It was fun.  I loved it.

 

What kinds of cases did your firm handle?

 

Well, our cases were all Native rights cases.  So, you know, they’re kind of characterized as the things that we require in order to be Hawaiian.  Hawaiians were being affected with respect to land tenure, their ability to hold onto their lands, ability to hold onto their natural resources, have access to it, ability to engage in traditional and customary practices that they require to be Hawaiian.  If their access to the ocean is cut off, then they can’t go fish, they cannot gather limu; these kinds of things.  The ability to exercise practices relating to their traditional religion, things that would impede it, ability to access their trusts, the Hawaiian Homelands trusts or the public lands trusts.  All of those things became our areas of focus.  We had genealogists on staff, we had title people on staff.  We had Hawaiian translators on staff, because we’re dealing a lot with archival documents, many of which are only in Hawaiian. So, we had people on staff who specialized in translating legal documents.  So, the shop is a specialty shop, you know, asserting the rights of native people.  And we did well.  There were many cases that we did, that I’m very proud of.

 

That was a very … just vibrant time, and also, it was a time of people coming into age and being very proud, and also running into a lot of walls, too.

 

Yes; yes.  And I think with knowledge comes power.  You know, and the more we’re able to understand our history—and of course, language is a window into culture, the more we understand our language the more we understand better who we are.  Part of that is having, you know, connection to land, connection to water, connection to ocean, continuing to keep traditional practice vibrant and alive. All of those things are important. And you know, ultimately, it’s about values.  And as many other peoples, including indigenous peoples, those values are really important, not only for us here as a people in Hawaii, and not only for all of Hawai‘i, but even globally.  You know, you join with other peoples.  There are certain values that are universally exalted as being life-affirming and necessary in order for, you know, humankind to thrive.  We can make a contribution, and it’s really, really important that we be allowed to be a people.

 

Why do we do this?  We do this because we love Hawai‘i.

 

A&B doesn’t own the water, the taro farmers do not own the water.  Our people own the water.  Ke Akua owns the water.

 

Ae!

 

Ae!

 

Ke Akua owns the water.

 

Ae!

 

For all of us.

 

So, let our people live, and let the ‘aina live, forever. [INDISTINCT]  Stand up so that we can make that happen.

 

Mahealani Wendt met her husband, Ed Wendt, through her work in native water rights.  He’s a taro farmer with kuleana land.  Where they live in Wailua Nui, in Maui’s Hana District, is beautiful, but as always, farming kalo is hard work.  Besides her passion for justice, Mahealani Wendt has always had a love for poetry and writing.  Even as head of the Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation, she found time to write, and has received numerous literary awards, both nationally and internationally. We’re going to close now with a reading from one of her poems that reflects back on her childhood.  Mahalo to Mahealani Wendt of Wailua Nui, Maui, for sharing her life story with us, and mahalo to you for joining us.  For PBS Hawai‘i and Long Story Short, I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Aloha nui.

 

For audio and written transcripts of all episodes of Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox, visit PBSHawaii.org.  To download free podcasts of Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox, go to the Apple iTunes Store or visit PBSHawaii.org.

 

At statehood, we trundled kerosene tankards over rutted Honolulu sidewalks, past beer halls, pool halls, taxi dancehalls, past honky-tonk dives, juke joints, and shoeshine stands, to rooming house kitchens where we lit our communal fires and kept vigil for the one day our nation would be restored.  The torches burned bright as we stood watch.  Our children, listless on tenement floors, their coverings prickling with insect filth, and the grit of ambient sounds, incessant scuttlings and winged scurryings inside squalid floors and walls, we sensed a slow collapse under the terrific weight of a people whose gods kept watch with them there. The minions of forest, river, and ocean gods, companions in these root places whispering their encouragements as generations of children turn to hear, like flowers brightening to sun.

 

[END]

 

 

LONG STORY SHORT WITH LESLIE WILCOX
Amos Kotomori

 

Amos Kotomori designs fashion, jewelry, building interiors and more – you can even see his creativity at work in the set design for Long Story Short here at PBS Hawai‘i. From working in advertising, with modeling agencies and with top fashion designers, his career successes have taken him all over the world. However, his most inspirational attribute is how he has dealt with life’s challenges. This Honolulu and Bali-based designer shares how his life values and no-fear attitude have helped guide him through obstacles in life with grace and humility.

 

This program will be rebroadcast on Sunday, July 28, at 4:00 pm and 11:30 pm.

 

Amos Kotomori Audio

 

Download the Transcript

 

Transcript

 

Facing fear, I think, is one of the things that I love, because it’s an adrenalin rush for me.  It makes me realize what I have to conquer, so that it’s no longer frightening. And I think in today’s society, everything is based on fear.  And I really feel for artists today, only because there is no place to fail.

 

This artist and designer has shut down fear many times in his life, whether it was in walking away from a successful business, or dealing with life-threatening illnesses.  Each time, he had no idea what was going to happen next.  Amos Kotomori, next, on Long Story Short.

 

One-on-one engaging conversations with some of Hawai‘i’s most intriguing people: Long Story Short with Leslie Wilcox.

 

Aloha mai kākou.  I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Amos Sadamu Kotomori of Honolulu and Bali has about him a kind of mystique.  He inspires ardent admiration on the part of many of those who work with him or who hire him.  That’s because he can take an art design and elevate it with touches that nobody else thought of, and which are inexpensive.  Or, as one of his colleagues said, he can even make something out of nothing.  He designs fashion, jewelry, building interiors, and more.  In fact, he designed our Long Story Short set at PBS Hawai‘i, as well as this Hawaiian Victorian parlor stage for our Nā Mele TV show, that time featuring Tony Conjugacion.  He says the spiritual values that his parents passed on to him while he was growing up have always been at the heart of what drives him to dream and to create.

 

Being Japanese, we believe that like, our destiny is created with our name.  And part of it is that I was named after Amos Cooke.

 

He actually came here to be a missionary.

 

Exactly.

 

And became an educator and a businessman.

 

Right.  His daughter gave me his name.  My dad was the first Japanese osteopath in the islands, and Margaret was his patient. She came and said: I would like for him to have my father’s name.  And so, that’s where Amos came from.  And Sadamu came from the temple, and it means never-failing, like the daruma that always pops up.  But with that, my parents always made it a point.  It’s not about never-failing; it’s about learning from failure, it’s about having expectations and sometimes lowering them to learn the lesson.  You know.  So, that’s all part of it.  But the most important one, I think, is my last name, which is Kotomori, which is a forest of musical instruments.  And I always hear the music in everything.  I mean, it makes life so much easier.  You know, my dad really believed in service.  He loved what he did as well, as an osteopath.  It’s a nerve and bone specialist.  But he was a country doctor, in the sense that it wasn’t the money.

 

I see.

 

It was about people coming, and they would give us food.

 

In payment.

 

In payment.  And that was fine.  I remember one Thanksgiving, someone gave us a live turkey.  It was really mean.

 

But, you know, what do you do with a live turkey; right?  You just kinda go like: Okay.  And then, it disappeared, and all of a sudden, it was meat.  ‘Till today, I can’t see buying avocados, bananas, mangos, because they’re supposed to be free.

 

Mm; lychees, too.

 

Lychee; yes.  You know, all of those things, you know.  But that’s what growing up in Hawai‘i is, is that everybody was Auntie, Uncle, Halmeoni, Halabeoji, Popo, Gung Gung.  You know, all of those things; it just meant that they were family. And I think that’s what is the difference here.  And that’s why I think when I look at people, I don’t look at them as, oh, this is a cohort of work and a peer.  You know, I just think we’re all working towards moving in one direction.

 

When he saw you interested in art, was he worried?

 

Many parents do get worried when they see that art compulsion.

 

Yeah.  You know, art just kind of came by, because my mom was the creative side of it.  And you know, she made my shirts, she printed my shirts, she sewed all my clothes for the first two weeks of the school year. So every day, I had something new to wear.

 

That was unusual.

 

That was unusual, but I didn’t know it.  I really didn’t know it.  So, my love for textiles grew from that.  But you know, it’s like we are who we are because of all the experiences, you know.  And I think part of my DNA comes from that strength of being independent from my dad. And he died when I was in my early twenties.  And he left me an obi, which I love.  I got a print from his office.  But more than that, he left me messages of how to survive, how to really see value in everything around me.  So, it wasn’t about money.  It wasn’t about, you know, never failing.  It was always about doing more, and maybe serving.  My first memory that I have visually, ‘cause I’m a visual person, is my dad holding me next to the volcano.  And it’s like I can still see him there, and always pointing to the sky. And so, I always look to the stars. And the message really is that if you have a dream, if you have something that you really want to do, it’s possible.  And the song, you know, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star actually turns into A, B, C. And that is the next message, is that with education, and I was brought up this way, that you can do almost anything you want.  But the key is, I think, what my mom always told me; I was born under a lucky star.

 

Do you believe that?

 

And I believe that.

 

Designer Amos Kotomori has enjoyed career successes that have taken him all over the world.  He worked in advertising, modeling agencies, and with top fashion designers.  Eventually, he designed his own line of men’s aloha shirts. He says he was often in the right place at the right time, but his no-fear attitude is what really opened doors for him.

 

I was working at Parks and Recreation.  I was the one who did the summer art programs, working with all the parks and the schools, and you know, doing that.  And someone walked in and said: Would you like to apply for a Rockefeller fellowship?  And I said: Oh, what’s that?  It was thirteen states wide, and only ten got it.  And I was one of the lucky recipients, and so, I got to go to San Francisco and study, being museum curator in community arts.

 

All that from Parks and Recreation?

 

Parks and Recreation.  And I was one of the, you know, say top fifteen positions.  And I left that because I didn’t know what that offered, in terms of the next step.  And so, I did.  And I met the promoter for Issey Miyake, which is like a dream.

 

Explain Issey Miyake.

 

Issey Miyake is a Japanese designer that is internationally known for his fabrics, pleatings.  Just an avant-garde designer.  And he invited me to Paris to see his show.  I was in the Rockefeller Foundation, and I asked for a week off, and they said: Mm, no, you can’t go.  And I thought: Hm.  That was a Friday.  I walked in on Monday morning, and I said: I’m leaving the program.  And they said: You don’t leave Rockefeller.  And I said: I am; I have a plane ticket this afternoon, I’m going to Paris.  You know, it was the fear that they were trying to instill in me that you don’t do this. And the don’ts, don’t work with me. I think sometimes you just have to challenge it, and see what’s out there.

 

And you’re prepared.  What if this thread goes nowhere?

 

You know, it didn’t have any place to go when I went there.  And when I got there, I didn’t have clothes to wear to the designer shows.  I went to Printemps, which is a department store. I bought men’s underwear, and I layered it.  I took a kimono, I took the sleeves off, I made a scarf.  I had a friend who made a jacket for me out of Japanese sex banners. I wore that.  I got invited to Issey’s show, then to Kenzo’s.

 

How many pairs of underwear was involved?

 

I wore three different layers of shirts, which was like long-sleeve, three-quarters, and a short-sleeve, and a tank.  And it just was that, you know, with jeans.  And no one was wearing jeans at that time, I think. It was okay, but not really acceptable to go to a designer show.

 

But you looked like an avant-garde kind of guy.

 

Well, it’s the best I could do, and I had fun doing it, putting it together.  And for whatever reason, from there, I was invited to Dior.  And said: I really want to coordinate shows.  So, the coordinator actually had me go to the House of Dior, and I watched them put on a show.  They put a full-length fur coat on me and said: Now, you walk the ramp, ‘cause you have to know how to be a model, you know, know what it feels like.  And that was my training.

 

It sounds accidental, but is it?  One, you’re willing to go.  If somebody invites you to something, you’re willing to go.  But I mean, it seems like you’re getting an awful lot of special treatment.

 

It sounds like that.  But you know what?  This is me.  I mean, this is my ordinary life, ‘cause that’s the only life I knew.  It’s like, doing an agency, there was a need for it. And I wanted to serve that for our people here, the local people, you know, just to be represented in national commercials.  But even that, I gave the agency away, and basically, it was one of the hardest things to do.  And someone told me: You’re giving up the agency because you’re afraid of success. And that really hurt.  But at the same time, when I went away, I left and I went to England, and it took me a while before I realized that success sometimes is knowing when to stop.  And it’s okay, ‘cause there’s something else to learn.

 

What tells you it’s time to stop?

 

You know, it’s like … again, from the heart to the gut.  And that’s it, and following it.  What happened when I left the agency was that I ended up in Morocco.  A friend built a kasbah there, and he said: Come.  And he’s been saying come for years.  And when I went there, I realized that in third grade, I had done a painting, and I called it Hot Fudge Sundae Mountains. And I can still see it; the valley like this, the cream coming down a lake, and hot fudge sundae mountains. Because I had never seen snow, I didn’t know what it was, but I knew what a hot fudge sundae was, and it looked like that, with the whipped cream.  Many years later, I give up the agency, I end up in Morocco in Marrakesh. And I look out the window of this car … I see Hot Fudge Sundae Mountains.

 

Exactly what you drew in third grade.

 

Exactly what I saw in third grade.  The only reason I remember that painting is because at Royal Elementary, it was sent to the Art Academy as an example of third grade art.  But that’s the only reason I remembered it.  But all of a sudden, bam, the image was there.  And I thought: If I hadn’t let go of the agency, I wouldn’t be here. I’m back on track.

 

So, that’s a dot.

 

It’s a dot; I’m back on track.

 

You’re connecting the dots.  What about money, though?  I mean, you know, you were running a successful agency.

 

You know, to this day, I don’t know what my balance is.  I really don’t.  I’ve never put an emotion on money.  And the reason for it is because it’s a number.  I feel like a number needs to be met at the end of the month, to meet all the bills, and somehow, it’s there.

 

Somehow, you were this town kid, who became a—you know, you’ve rubbed shoulders and had projects with top fashion designers internationally.

 

M-hm.

 

And you’ve been able to choose between successful projects as an artist that pay the bills.

 

M-hm.

 

I mean, like you said, there’s a reward in creativity.

 

Yeah.

 

But often, there’s not a reward financially.

 

Right.  I think when you get stuck on a number, you know, it makes it really, really difficult to succeed.  Because for me, let’s lower my expectations.  You know, because I’m getting there, I know I’m getting closer to it. But then, sometimes the dots don’t connect, and when they don’t connect, it means that I’m drawing the wrong picture. It’s really meant to go here.  And that’s okay.  And when I start from there, I can do another one.

 

It’s all about resilience.

 

I don’t know if I am, but I think I believe in good things.  I believe that good things happen for its own reasons, and that belief has given me life.

 

Who is the most interesting top fashion designer you’ve worked with?

 

I think it would have to be Dior.  I’ve never met him, but I worked with the people.  I don’t speak French.  But what happens is that art is universal, it’s a language of its own.  And they wanted me to do their silks, their batiks and silks, and I couldn’t stay in Paris anymore, because I got the call from my mom a year after my dad passed away, and she said: You must come home; I need help.  You know, family first.  I came home.  Paris would send me fabric and say: Just do whatever you want, and send it back to us. And I did for a while, and then, you know, it was one of those things where you go like: Wait, I can do this myself. And so, I took the chance, and responsibilities took on another thing here, you know, when you’re caring for someone, when you’re trying to survive in different ways.  Maybe that’s why I changed professions, in many ways.  But it always led me to where I am.

 

I see a lot of men wearing your shirts.

 

Oh, thank you.

 

They’re very distinctive.  And I just wonder; what’s your thought in creating a shirt, that kind of shirts? What are they like?  You know, what’s your thought process?

 

It took me two years to really develop the shirts in terms of finding the fabrics, and doing the designs and the textile process. You know, it’s like from silk screening to abstraction, to hand painting, to embroidery; all of those things. But for me, wearing a shirt that I’ve worked on and designed is wearing a prayer.  Because it stems from a story, and when people wear it, hopefully, they feel that prayer.  They become happier, or maybe more determined.

 

You designed the shirt you’re wearing now. 

 

Yeah.

 

Is there a message in the shirt?

 

Basically, what this is, is it’s almost like spirit writing, in many ways because it’s calligraphy.  I don’t really know how to do calligraphy in written form or standard form, but I think there is a message in it which is, stop and connect the dots. You know, sometimes you gotta live long enough to get enough dots to collect, you know, and connect them up and doing this.

 

Oh, that’s why they don’t connect sometimes.  You gotta live longer.

 

You gotta live longer.  You know, but for me, it’s like the shirt is basically to see messages, everywhere.  We hear it, we see it.  Things don’t just happen for no reason.

 

Honolulu and Bali designer Amos Kotomori has had many successes in his life. But it hasn’t been easy.  He got past many obstacles along the way.

 

What was the worst hit you’ve ever taken?

 

The unexpected, not knowing was basically when I was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.  Came out of the blue.

 

You didn’t feel bad?

 

I didn’t feel bad, except I was peeing blood. Not a good sign.  So, that was my first thing.  But that was a good thing, because it made me, obviously, stop and take care of it.  But it was Stage 4 cancer of the hip bone, my bladder, and colon.  And you know, I didn’t know it then, but when I came out, they said: You’ve got six months.  That was eight years ago.

 

Wow. What a devastating diagnosis.

 

But you know, it’s like, I went to the doctor’s, I left Queen’s, I made it to Safeway Kapahulu.  I got the call: You’ve got cancer, you’re going in on Monday.  This was a Thursday.  I was going to a camp on Kaua‘i to cook for fifty people; it was a music camp.  And I thought: I can do that.  So, I left on Friday morning, came back Sunday afternoon, cooking for fifty people, and went off to surgery the following morning.  But you know, things don’t stop because things happen to you. You know.  But I think from it, I learned to be a better caregiver, I became a better listener.  Because rather than asking, How are you feeling?, when someone’s recuperating, I always ask, What can I do to help, is there something you need?

 

But often, people don’t know what they need, or they don’t want to say.

 

Sometimes then, it’s basically just sitting there with them and keeping company.  And that’s okay.  You know. But what I also learned is that like, people think that when you go through heart surgery—‘cause I had five bypass, working on ten percent.

 

Ninety percent blockage?

 

Blockage; yeah.  It was pretty amazing.

 

When was that; was that after your cancer?

 

After the cancer.  My chemo was so intense; I did fifty-four sessions of chemo, twenty-four hours long each of them.

 

I can’t even imagine that.  So, you had surgery, and then you went into intensive chemo.

 

Chemo.

 

And was the cancer eradicated?

 

I still go to see my oncologist every three to four months.  And I love that, only because they’re keeping on top of it.  So, you know, every day, every moment, every breath, is certainly a blessing.  And so, you appreciate that.

 

What happened after your heart surgery?  I mean, ten percent, you must have been operating on such little …

 

I didn’t know.  And what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.  That week, I had done ten fashion shows, and it was the longest fashion ramp in America.  It ran from Macy’s, all the way down to Sears at Ala Moana Shopping Center.  We laid a carpet out there, and you had to walk it ten times with the models.  And that just happened days before, and I didn’t feel it.

 

You weren’t wheezing?

 

Nothing.

 

Wow …

 

You know, your body acclimates.

 

For a while, I guess.

 

Yeah.

 

So, then did you have stents put in?

 

They went in for a stent, and I got up after that, and they said: Mm, so little bit more major.  So, what happened is, I said: Okay.  You know, so it was gonna be in a couple days.  I checked myself out of the hospital, continued doing my meetings and everything.

 

Your doctor had a few words with you after—

 

Well, he called me the next day, and he said: Where are you?  And I said: I’m in a meeting.  He says: You’re supposed to be here resting for your operation.  I said: Well, if you want me to rest, I need to do these meetings so that I can feel better about, you know, not being available for about a month.  And I set it in my mind that even for cancer, thirty days.  Because I was taking care of my mom at that point, too, and she had Parkinson’s and dementia.  And I told her, I said: I’m going for surgery, and I’ll be gone for thirty days. And to the day, I was back with her. So, you know, you can.  It’s a number.

 

But you know, you do take a moment to think things through, and you had to contemplate that you might not make it through.

 

You know, it’s like, the way I looked at it, when you’ve only got such short time to organize, and as they say, get things in order—

 

M-hm.

 

Which is a nice way of saying: You’re gonna die, so you know, make it easier for the people that are left.  The way I looked at it; it’ll be like Zorba the Greek, where everyone crawls through the windows and claims whatever they want in my house.

 

And that’s fine, ‘cause I’m not gonna be around. You know.  But it’s like, every piece that I have in my home has a memory, and that’s what I surround myself with, is those memories.  But I don’t hang onto them because it’s about making new ones every day, creating new ones, and meeting new people, and challenging. You know, there’s been moments where not knowing the challenges and facing fear, I think, is one of the things that I love, because it’s an adrenalin rush for me.  It makes me realize what I have to conquer, so that it’s no longer frightening.  And I think in today’s society, everything is based on fear.  And I really feel for artists today, only because there is no place to fail.  You know, whereas before, we did it because we needed to do it.  It wasn’t wanting to do it; as an artist, I needed to do this. I needed to.

 

And if you failed, then you said there was a place for that?

 

There was a place for that, because not everything worked.

 

Well, what was the place?  I mean, how did you bounce back from a failure in a very tough occupation to support yourself?

 

Well, you know, it’s like, it comes down to, it can be worse.  It’s that simple.  You know, when things are really bad, and then I go: It really can be worse.  And when I stop and think about that, I go: I am blessed.

 

You said artists don’t have room now to fail.  But actually, life is materially better.  I mean, you know, when you look at what we have, compared to what we had a generation ago.

 

I agree with you.  I mean, I think I’m here because of medical, you know, developments that certainly saved my life many times.  I think that like, life is better with the computer, the cell phone, all of these things.  But I just think that one of the things that we’re missing is the basic element of kindness, being able to listen to each other, being able to care for each other in different ways.  I think that really changed my life, but that’s the way I was brought up.  I start and end every day, you know, with a prayer of my own.  And it’s basically time for gratitude.  And I think about all the things that I’m grateful for, for the day, when I start. And at the end of the day, some things may not go well, and I think about it, but I’m still grateful for it. And it makes me believe that I’m blessed.  It confirms that I’m born under that lucky star.

 

Honolulu’s Amos Kotomori now spends much of his time at the serene retreat he built in Bali, Indonesia called Villa Bodhi.  Like most of his projects, it started with a dream.  And while he says Hawai‘i will always be home to him, it’s a place where he finds possibilities in thought.  Mahalo to Amos Kotomori for sharing his life stories with us.  And mahalo to you, for joining us.  For PBS Hawai‘i and Long Story Short, I’m Leslie Wilcox.  Aloha nui.

 

I kinda want to get a sense of how your mind works creatively.  ‘Cause I know if this table were filled with textiles, or just various objects, I know you could create something from it.  What’s your artistic process?

 

You know, if I were to look at this table, I see the stripes, I see that they’re organic.  But more importantly, I see the light reflected on the surface.  And with that, I see a lot of scratches.  And, you know, like, it’s almost like there’s ring marks from a glass, or you know, just simply putting their ring on it and doing this, you know.

 

I think there’s a Hawaiian bracelet mark somewhere. 

 

Bracelet marks, and all of these things.  And that’s what fascinates me, is the scratches. Because those were made by people; they’ve left their mark.  There’s different momentums to it, there’s different depth to it, you know.  I see that, and I go, like: That’s what I want to capture.  So, I’m motivated to do something like that.

 

You also picked this very table for this very program.

 

You know, this is an example of how a thought can manifest itself.  Because in my mind, when I was doing the set many years ago, I thought a triangle table would be perfect for this, because it makes us closer.

 

M-hm.

 

We’re not sitting further apart.  It’s, you know, not a rectangle.  It was always odd to have a rectangle.  And I had it in my mind, went down to C.S. Wo, and there it was.

 

On sale, yet.

 

On sale, and affordable on your budget.  And you know, so we got that, we got the rest of the set, we got the chairs, everything.  And it worked.

 

[END]

 

 

 

NATURE
The Egg: Life’s Perfect Invention

NATURE - The Egg: Life’s Perfect Invention

 

The egg is perhaps nature’s most perfect life support system. These remarkable structures nurture new life; protecting it from the outside world at the same time as allowing it to breathe. They are strong enough to withstand the full weight of an incubating parent and weak enough for a hatchling to break free. But how is an egg made? Why are they the shape they are? And perhaps most importantly, why lay an egg at all? Piece by piece from creation to hatching, host David Attenborough reveals the wonder behind these incredible miracles of nature.

 

Preview

 

 

 

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